Shen Qi was gravely injured, and since the matter involved remnants of the Hidden Sword Sect, Emperor Jinglong sent Chu Yuan to “visit” him under the guise of offering condolences. In truth, it was to interrogate him about the events of the previous night, as well as the whereabouts of the two imperial guards.
Shen Qi had already devised a flawless story—he said he was surrounded by several Blood-Eyed assassins and fought them in a brutal battle. The two guards were outmatched and died heroically, their bodies sinking to the bottom of the river.
Chu Yuan sent men to search the indicated area. They spent half the day, but found nothing.
And with the explosion at the gunpowder depot causing widespread disruption, all six ministries were focused on disaster relief. The emperor had no time for other concerns, and Chu Yuan had to accept the report and hurry back to the palace.
Su Yan escorted Shen Qi back to the Shen residence to recuperate. After handing Shen Qi over to the maids and making sure he was settled, he apologized sincerely: “Qilang, work has been overwhelming lately. I still have to stay on top of the Bai Zhifang explosion case and can’t take leave. I’ll come see you tonight.”
Shen Qi replied, “I’m the one who should be sorry. At such a busy time, I can’t be by your side to share your burdens. In a few days, once this bothersome injury is mostly healed, I’ll come find you.”
Su Yan lightly scolded, “Nonsense. How can this kind of injury heal in just a few days? Be good and rest at home. Don’t make me worry for nothing. If I find out you’re up and about before a full month has passed, I won’t let you off.”
Shen Qi smiled. “Alright, alright, whatever you say.”
After Su Yan left, Shen Qi instructed the house steward to summon his two trusted officers from the Northern Bureau—Shi Yanshuang and Wei Ying.
Once the door was closed, the three began a secret discussion.
—
Leaving the Shen residence, Su Yan boarded a hired carriage alone and suddenly felt like a lone hero fighting battles on his own.
A hero he might be, but after getting used to companionship, walking alone always felt a bit lonely.
Qilang was recuperating, Ah Zhui wasn’t around, His Majesty was busy with state affairs, and as for the young master… what was the young master up to? Surely he wasn’t still copying sutras at the imperial ancestral temple.
A few days ago, Su Yan had visited Grand Chancellor Li and subtly suggested that he be the one to request the crown prince’s return to the palace. Li Chengfeng agreed and said he would lead a formal petition, giving both the emperor and the prince a way to step down gracefully.
They had even chatted enthusiastically about the horse administration in Shaanxi. It was clear that even though Li Chengfeng was aging, he remained a reformist at heart who believed long-standing problems needed to be swept away with thunder and wind.
Su Yan and this Grand Chancellor, who also served as Minister of Personnel, were nominally master and grand-disciple, though they weren’t close. They only left impressions on each other after a fight during the palace examination—Su Yan for his youthful brazenness, and Li Chengfeng for his notoriously short temper.
Since then, Li had taken an interest in Su Yan’s political stance and methods. He once even said to other officials who questioned Su Yan: “It’s easy for a censor to kill off a few corrupt officials. Much harder to save a region and bring prosperity to the people. If you think you can do better than Su Qinghe, I’ll submit a memorial to His Majesty right now and give you the same job. Let’s see how you manage the horse administration in Shanxi!”
The rebuttal silenced the critic.
Many officials who heard about it joked: “In front of Elder Li, best to just praise his capable grand-disciple and be done with it.”
Only a few with real insight understood the long-term benefits and national progress these reforms could bring in eight to ten years—and they deeply admired Su Yan.
As a result, Censor Su’s reputation at court had become increasingly polarized since he toppled Feng Qu’e and proposed the founding of the Tiangong Institute.
Those who scorned him said he strayed from the Confucian path, was wildly unrealistic, and used politics to eliminate opponents. Those who praised him said he held the people and the nation in his heart, had great foresight, and was a once-in-a-century genius.
Even those who cursed him in private had to admit—Su Yan had imperial favor, and was not someone to offend lightly.
Even the Wei family, who once sent fake bandits to break into his house and cut off his nose, no longer dared to treat him like an ant. They’d since abandoned such low tactics, opting instead to attack from the crown prince’s position.
The carriage suddenly jolted to a stop. Su Yan nearly hit the wall. He asked, “What’s going on?”
The driver replied, “There’s another carriage blocking the road up ahead. Looks like it belongs to a wealthy household.”
Su Yan was just lifting one side of the curtain to look out when a figure suddenly slipped in from the other side and threw their arms around him. “Ha! Did I scare you?”
No, he wasn’t scared, but speak of the devil. Su Yan tried to pry the crown prince’s arms off, but to his surprise, this brat had not only grown taller, but stronger. He couldn’t budge him.
Zhu Helin smirked, “If you could still pry me off, all that martial arts training these past years would’ve been wasted.”
Su Yan grumbled, “Am I really the only person in the world who can’t fight?”
He was caught so tightly he could hardly breathe, and eventually surrendered. “I give up, I give up. Please, Young Master, have mercy.”
Only then did Zhu Helin release his grip and switch to holding his hand. “This carriage is too cramped. Come, let’s go to mine to chat.”
Before Su Yan could agree or protest, he was already being dragged to another carriage.
As expected, the crown prince’s personal carriage was spacious and comfortable, lined with soft felt rugs, and equipped with a brazier and refreshments. Zhu Helin pressed Su Yan down onto the cushioned seat and stuffed a packet of shelled abalone into his hands, saying, “I had the imperial kitchen improve the recipe—they came up with different flavors. There are fruit ones and even tea-flavored ones. Try it?”
Su Yan casually picked one up and took a bite. It was green tea flavored—fragrant and slightly astringent, blending surprisingly well with the creamy texture, reminiscent of the milk tea puddings from future generations. He let out a satisfied sigh. “It’s been ages since I had the mind to enjoy sweets. Thank you, young master. But back to the point—you just came back from the imperial ancestral temple, and now you’ve sneaked out of the palace again?”
“It wasn’t sneaking out,” Zhu Helin said as he nibbled on a snack. “There was an explosion at the gunpowder depot, and the Baizhifang district was heavily damaged. Clearing the ruins and rebuilding houses won’t happen overnight. And if thousands of disaster victims aren’t properly settled, unrest could easily follow.”
Su Yan agreed. Placing victims in temples, Daoist abbeys, or even merchant guilds and government offices was merely an emergency solution. Without centralized management, the problems would soon become evident.
Let alone the constant anxiety of living under someone else’s roof—if some officials were to conceal the truth, embezzle disaster relief supplies, or misallocate resources, those victims, left hungry and wounded without timely aid, would inevitably resort to rioting, stealing, or might even become roaming bandits.
Zhu Helin continued, “That’s why our dynasty has a tradition: relief efforts in the capital region are always spearheaded by a prince, even the crown prince. It allows the royal family to experience the hardships of the people, and also wins the goodwill of the masses.”
Of course, Su Yan thought—what a great opportunity to win popular support and boost reputation. In a court full of princes, whichever one got assigned this task reflected the emperor’s favor. No doubt it was a much-coveted job. And in this dynasty, there was only one older crown prince—Zhu Helin. As for the second prince, he was still toddling and couldn’t possibly be considered.
Zhu Helin said confidently, “I must take up this responsibility and make a proper success of it. I want those nagging censors to find nothing to criticize, and I want the Wei clan to give up their fight for the succession.”
Su Yan looked at him seriously. “There’s one most important point, Your Highness, that you haven’t mentioned.”
Hearing Su Yan suddenly address him as “Your Highness,” Zhu Helin immediately grew nervous, like facing an important exam—no matter how well-prepared, the moment before starting always brought anxiety.
He instinctively straightened his posture and replied solemnly, “The most important thing is that all disaster victims are properly resettled—not only should we meet their immediate needs, but we must also instill in them confidence and a sense of belonging toward the imperial court and the Great Ming dynasty. Only when their hearts are united in rebuilding their new homes will we avoid population loss and discontent.”
Su Yan smiled approvingly. “Your Highness has truly matured. You already show the bearing of a future ruler. So many rulers in history saw the people’s hearts as tools for trade or political leverage. It might work for a time, but never forever. The people are easy to lead, but not easy to deceive. They know full well who actually brings them a better life. It’s just that, overall, the people of the Central Plains are naturally docile. Unless pushed to utter desperation, they won’t rebel.”
Zhu Helin nodded all the while, and finally promised, “Don’t worry, Qinghe. I won’t treat this disaster relief as a means to seek fame. I’ll do everything I can to ensure the people live well.”
Su Yan brushed the pastry crumbs from his fingers and solemnly took Zhu Helin’s hand. “If Your Highness never strays from your original intention, I shall devote my life to serving and assisting you.”
This wasn’t a vow forced before the ancestral tablets, but a lifelong promise willingly given from Su Yan’s own mouth. Zhu Helin’s eyes turned red with emotion.
But even holding hands felt inadequate to express the surge of emotion. He yanked Su Yan over and gave him a full embrace. “Words aren’t enough—how about a kiss to seal the deal?”
Su Yan was stunned at first, then annoyed. He smacked the back of Zhu Helin’s head with his knuckles. “How old are you, talking like a vulgar flirt? Did you pick that up in the marketplace or from some tawdry storybook? Next time I visit the Eastern Palace, I’m burning every last one of those trashy romance books you hide at the foot of your bed!”
Zhu Helin winced, clutching the back of his head. “Treason! Regicide! Attempted murder of your future husband!”
Su Yan grew even more furious and looked around for a cloth to stuff in his mouth.
Zhu Helin quickly snatched the sweat towel from his hand and grinned. “You’ve looked so glum lately—I just wanted to cheer you up. Don’t take it seriously.”
Su Yan’s anger mostly dissipated, though he felt childish for being so easily provoked. Wasn’t he acting just like a brat? He stiffened his expression. “From now on, no being a rogue with me… And those filthy jokes—don’t say them to anyone. It undermines royal dignity.”
Zhu Helin didn’t take it to heart at all, thinking secretly, This young master not only plans to be a rogue with you in words—but also in deeds, and you’ll just have to live with it. Out loud, he replied solemnly, “Censor Su speaks with reason, a paragon of upright virtue. I shall take it to heart.”
“But there’s one thing this young master doesn’t understand,” he suddenly shifted the topic with mischief, “That red mark on Censor Su’s neck—who was it that got all handsy and left it there?”
Su Yan’s heart skipped a beat, and his first reaction was to cover his neck.
But then he thought—wait, Ah Zhui has been gone for days. Shen Qi’s been kept outside by the palace guards. Last night he was in Yangxin Hall… and even the Emperor didn’t kiss his neck. So who did leave that red mark? Could it be a bug bite? But in this weather?
Zhu Helin saw his dazed expression, as if lost in a long train of thought, and his jealousy exploded. He growled, “Well, well—seems like I’ve just exposed not one, but several illicit lovers! Were you using the visit to Linhua Pavilion to engage in some ‘official business,’ or were you flirting shamelessly with the Emperor again?”
Su Yan flushed with anger and humiliation. He picked up a seat cushion and smacked him. “What kind of nonsense are you spewing?! Who’s the adulterer? Who’s the harlot?! I went to Linhua Pavilion and didn’t even touch a lady’s hand, yet still got caught in a sting! And you—what kind of son says that about his father? Are you looking for a beating?!”
The seat cushion wasn’t particularly painful, but Zhu Helin took a few hits, then lunged forward and yanked open Su Yan’s collar. Ignoring his struggle, he bent down and left a fresh, bright red hickey near his collarbone.
At the end, he licked his canine tooth and said, “So it turns out I was the one who left that hickey.”
