“The Baizhifang explosion case… a joint investigation team… team leader? What sort of official post is that? I’ve never heard of such a title,” Emperor Jinglong said in Yangxin Hall, looking up from the secret report handed over by the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and eyeing the official who had come to petition for it.
Su Yan explained, “It’s a temporary post. A special task force made up of elite personnel, with me in charge of its leadership and coordination. I’ll have authority to draw from the Ministry of Justice, Dali Temple, and the Northern Surveillance Bureau. On the surface, the team is to investigate the Baizhifang explosion, but in reality, it’s targeting the Seven Kill Camp and deeper forces behind it.
“When the case is resolved and the mastermind brought to justice, the task force will be disbanded, and all members will return to their original posts. That’s why it’s a temporary assignment.
“Also, I’ll need a special budget from the court to cover the team’s legitimate expenses.”
Emperor Jinglong understood now—Su Yan was asking for real authority, albeit one without an official rank. Though the power was restricted to handling “game players,” the decision-making authority and operational freedom were immense.
If Su Yan was going to act, he’d want to be the one making the calls and hated being tied down—very much his style.
The emperor admired this in his heart, but outwardly said flatly, “Denied.”
“—Why?” Su Yan was caught off guard. When he was sent to Shaanxi, the emperor had given him even more power—without even asking for it, he’d received a decree of “absolute command” and a sword of authority to act first and report later. Why was the emperor suddenly being so stingy now?
Just as Su Yan began to wonder if he’d grown too arrogant from favor and needed to be reined in, the emperor stood and walked over to him.
The emperor stood, and as a subject, Su Yan dared not remain seated. He quickly set down his teacup and rose to bow.
Just as he raised his hand, the emperor grabbed his wrist.
The emperor asked, “You think I’m being stingy?”
“No, no, never dare think that,” Su Yan replied with a dry laugh. “It was just a sudden idea… maybe a bit too much to ask.”
The emperor took a deep breath. He wanted to spank him.
The emperor glanced at Lan Xi, standing at the side. The clever eunuch immediately signaled the other attendants to withdraw with him from the inner hall.
As the doors shut, Su Yan was instantly reminded of the last time he was here—of that imperial edict: “Since it’s imperial favor, next time take it all.” His heart pounded with unease. He instinctively took a step back and begged, “Your Majesty, have mercy!”
The emperor didn’t let go of his wrist. He pulled Su Yan closer, nearly pressing him against his chest.
Warm breath brushed his temple as the emperor asked in a low voice, “Where’s the crime?”
Su Yan swallowed. “The crime of… overreaching?”
The emperor gave his rear a light slap, a muffled smack sounding through the fabric. Su Yan shivered, the sensation tingling from skin to soul. He muttered softly, “I know I was wrong…”
“No, you don’t,” said the emperor. “Do you know why I won’t give you this power?”
Su Yan didn’t speak, waiting obediently for the emperor to continue.
“Because what you’re asking for isn’t power—it’s risk! Right now, the enemy hides in the dark while we’re in the light. Countless hidden arrows aim at those on the stage, and you’re offering yourself up as the prime target. How is that different from piling yourself onto a bonfire?”
His words hit home. Su Yan flushed with shame. “It’s really not that dangerous… besides, Your Majesty and Yu Wang are the biggest targets on the stage. If neither of you is afraid, what should I be afraid of?”
The emperor shook his head. “What happened in Shaanxi taught me a lesson. If I’m to give you power, I must ensure your safety. The case must be solved, and the culprit caught—but not at the cost of your life!”
“Rest assured, Your Majesty. I value my life very much. I’m no martyr. However many bodyguards you assign me this time, I won’t complain. I’ll behave and let them follow me around.”
Su Yan saw that the emperor remained unmoved, and his plan was about to be nipped in the bud just as it sprouted. Anxious and flustered, he blurted out, “His Highness Yu Wang also wants to investigate this case and will act together with me. That’s at least some form of assurance.”
The emperor let out a light laugh. “That fourth brother of mine is naturally strong and a master of martial arts—indeed, a fine source of support. But I wasn’t aware that you and he had resolved your past grudges so thoroughly that you could now join forces. Was it during the time you both endured hardship together in the secret passage under the Linhua Pavilion after the explosion? Or perhaps when you got drunk, climbed over the walls, and went gallivanting around the capital at night?”
Wasn’t that just walking straight into the line of fire? Su Yan wished he could bite off the tip of his tongue, mumbling, “Vengeance has no end… It’s not that I forgive him, I just… know how to separate public matters from private ones.”
That last part was spoken with a guilty conscience. He received another smack on the rear, which left him breathless and weak in the knees. He simply leaned against the emperor’s shoulder and said shamelessly, “In any case, I am investigating this case. Even if Your Majesty doesn’t make it easy for me, I’ll find my own way to lure the snake out of its hole—”
The emperor sighed, a headache brewing. He knew this favored subject of his might appear smooth and slick on the outside, but he was willful at heart. If there was something he wanted to do, he would press on despite all obstacles—unless he were thrown into prison, he’d always find a way to carry out his plans.
Seeing that the emperor still wouldn’t agree, Su Yan immediately switched tactics. His knees were no longer weak, and he stood upright, now speaking with righteous fervor: “Why does Your Majesty care only for this minister’s trivial safety, yet turn a blind eye to the looming crisis? Are you not afraid of losing the greater for the sake of the lesser? Does Your Majesty know what sort of rumors I heard in the streets today?”
“Censor Su, there’s no need to recycle old tricks,” the emperor said with a trace of sarcasm. He let go and walked over to the table, picking up a secret report he had set down earlier. “Come and take a look at this first.”
Su Yan’s tactic of blunt remonstration had already lost its edge. Embarrassed, he walked over, took the secret report, and opened it. His brows immediately furrowed. “On the second day of the second lunar month, unexplained explosions occurred at night in Shuntian Prefecture, Baoding Prefecture, and other locations? The second day… three days ago—that was the same night as the massive explosion at Baizhifang!”
The emperor nodded. “These are urgent reports sent by the Embroidered Uniform Guard from various regions. Because those two prefectures are closest to the capital, their news arrived first. Whether similar explosions occurred elsewhere that night is still unknown.”
The second day of the second month—the dragon raises its head.
A great calamity strikes when heaven and earth go dark, and when the red lotus appears, it enters the void.
The mountains and rivers are broken. This peace… has neither gods nor people.
In the southwest, a thunderous roar rang out like ten thousand bolts of lightning, and the sky flared as bright as day. A massive fireball rose from the earth—or rather, a red lotus blossomed in the void.
Countless fleeting thoughts whirled through Su Yan’s mind. He seized on one and murmured, “I understand now!”
He rushed to grab a brush, spread out paper, dipped into ink, and swiftly wrote two lines in cursive:
“Thunder foretells great disaster; Heaven and earth are dark, and sun and moon lose their light. The Void comes to save the suffering, The Red Lotus manifests, and chaos begins anew.”
“Your Majesty, look—this is a children’s rhyme that’s been spreading through the capital recently.” Su Yan put down the brush and pointed to the ink-soaked page. “The ‘thunder’ here doesn’t mean lightning—it refers to the sound of explosions. And the ‘red lotus’ isn’t symbolic—it’s the fiery glow of those blasts.”
“‘Heaven and earth are dark, and sun and moon lose their light’ doesn’t just describe the aftermath of an explosion—it’s also a metaphor for the current darkened political landscape. The characters for ‘sun’ and ‘moon’ combine to form the word ‘ming’—which is a homophone for our country’s name, Ming. So ‘sun and moon lose their light’ is saying that the ruler or crown prince is without virtue. These rhymes are using the explosions as omens of an impending disaster. ‘The Void’ is described as a savior sent from heaven, come to end suffering and restart the world. It’s extremely subversive!”
“What’s more troubling is that this rhyme didn’t start circulating after the explosion at Baizhifang—it was already spreading beforehand.”
The emperor said calmly, “In other words, the mastermind had long planned to carry out simultaneous explosions on the night of the second day of the second month, in both the capital and surrounding cities, just to validate this prophecy of the ‘Red Lotus’ appearing.”
Su Yan slammed his fist on the table. “Just to manipulate public opinion, they were willing to sacrifice countless innocent lives—treating living people as pawns to be discarded. It’s despicable, inhuman!”
He then recalled the four tattered pages of scripture and murmured, “‘A great calamity strikes when heaven and earth go dark, and when the red lotus appears, it enters the void.’ If this cult really exists, could it be called the ‘Red Lotus Sect’? Or perhaps the ‘Void Sect’?”
The emperor’s expression changed slightly.
Su Yan caught the subtle shift and probed, “Your Majesty has heard this name before? The Red Lotus… or the Void?”
Emperor Jinglong fell silent, tapping the edge of the table with his fingertips—a habitual gesture Su Yan knew well, a sign the emperor was deep in thought and conflicted. He waited patiently, not knowing whether an answer would come.
At length, the emperor said, “The Void Sect.”
The so-called “Void” was not the physical vacuum known in later science, but a philosophical concept: the source of all things, the root of the universe. In essence, it was the ethereal realm of blissful perfection present in nearly every religion.
Su Yan had perhaps wondered whether the soul might persist after death, whether—if it were a form of energy—it might follow the law of conservation. But wherever it went, it could not possibly be this so-called “Void” built on the foundation of blood and lives.
“Heretical cult!” he spat angrily.
The emperor said, “That’s why, at the founding of Great Ming, the Taizu Emperor ordered a complete ban on the Void Sect’s teachings among the people. Its leader, known at the time as the ‘Void Master,’ was executed not long after.”
Then, were those unofficial accounts true—that the Taizu Emperor had once used the power of a certain cult in his uprising, only to destroy it once it had served its purpose? Could that cult have been the Void Sect? Su Yan dared not ask further. This kind of political gossip was far too sensitive—it could cost him his head.
After a pause, he said, “I previously speculated that the ‘Player’ has been scheming for over a decade, motivated either by ambition or revenge. Now it seems… could it be revenge against the royal house of Great Ming? Could the ‘Player’ be the new leader of the Void Sect?”
These questions, though indirect, sought to confirm the founding emperor’s ruthless methods. Emperor Jinglong looked at Su Yan, his expression deep and unreadable.
Su Yan knew he was plucking hairs from a tiger’s head and felt sweat beading in his palms. After a long pause, he finally heard the emperor answer, neither angry nor pleased: “Perhaps.”
Enough. That single “perhaps” was the clearest answer Emperor Jinglong could give him, and also the greatest tolerance and trust one sovereign—equally formidable in method—could extend to a subject.
Su Yan bowed deeply, cupping his hands. “Many thanks, Your Majesty.” At least now he knew who he was fighting, and how to win this battle.
The emperor grasped his hand and gently pulled him upright, looking him in the eyes as he said in a low voice, “That time was that time. Today is today.”
“I understand.”
“Taizu was Taizu. I am me.”
Su Yan smiled faintly. “I understand that too.”
The emperor sighed. “Tell me—do you… wish to distance yourself from the Great Ming imperial clan, to stay away from the whirlpool of power?”
Su Yan replied, “I already stand at the eye of the storm. All I can do is ride the wind and break the waves. I’m not afraid!”
The emperor gripped his hand a little tighter, fell into a long silence, and finally let out a compromising sigh. “Do whatever it is you want to do. Just remember—Zhen is your pillar that holds up the sky. With me here, the heavens won’t fall.”
Su Yan took a deep breath, suppressing the heat on his face and the fire in his chest so it wouldn’t burn too hot, wouldn’t burn away his reason. Then he boldly lifted the emperor’s hand and rubbed it against his own cheek, saying, “The sky is high and unreachable, and the revered may not be questioned, but I still want to ask—can I get a little closer to the giant ao [mythical turtle] holding it up?”
The emperor’s gaze flickered. Before Su Yan could tell if the emotion in it was surprise or gratification, he heard the emperor softly say, “Granted.”
An arm wrapped tightly around his waist. The sovereign’s embrace was intense and warm. Su Yan closed his eyes.
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