“Tell the lord: I went to pursue my Dao. I once thought that path lay in him. But after this battle I realized—only the sword is my life’s pursuit. I regret that I cannot take my leave in person. I hope he will forgive me. ‘—These were his exact words. I have passed them on word for word,’” Shen Qi said.
The hall fell into silence.
Whether true or false, it was impossible to judge by Shen Qi’s word alone. If true, then someone was courting death; if false, then someone was about to suffer for it… Yu Wang arched a brow, wearing a smile halfway between schadenfreude and detached amusement.
Su Yan’s hand froze midair with the teacup, his phoenix eyes wide with shock as he stared at Shen Qi. “Qilang, you’re joking?”
Shen Qi answered flatly, “Him? I’ve no interest.”
Su Yan shook his head in disbelief. “Impossible! Ah Zhui would never just walk away like this. Leaving aside his bond with me—right now is the critical moment to topple the Wei family, the Seven Kill Camp, and the Void Sect. His great vengeance unavenged—how could he abandon everything to chase some so-called ‘Sword Dao’?”
“It’s the truth. He left, cleanly and decisively. He didn’t even want this sword.”
Su Yan turned his gaze to the long sword on the table. It had been meticulously cared for, as if newly bought. Only the glossy patina on the spiral hilt betrayed how often it had been held and caressed.
He remembered vividly the expression Ah Zhui had worn when he first received it—
“Let this sword be called Oath. Fitting.” Jinghong Zhui gripped the hilt, looked up at him, and declared with the solemnity of a vow: “The sword’s name is as the heart of the sword. If I betray this heart, the Sword Dao will fail. I will never wield a sword again in my life.”
“‘The sword’s name is as the heart of the sword’—those words still ring in my ears… Ah Zhui’s nature is resolute, to the point of stubbornness. I refuse to believe he would go back on his word.” Su Yan muttered, “There must be another truth behind this.”
But if he claimed there was another truth, then wasn’t he casting doubt on Shen Qi, who had been the only witness? Su Yan’s heart was a tangle. He couldn’t believe that Shen Qi, with his deep devotion, would deceive him—yet he couldn’t believe that Ah Zhui, who had shared life and death with him, would depart without farewell.
Sure enough, Shen Qi’s face changed the moment he heard these words.
Yu Wang seized the chance to chime in “just right”: “So… is this the rudder chopped, or the sails burned?”
Su Yan’s mind was in chaos, pounding with pain. It took him several seconds to realize—Yu Wang was mocking them, hinting that Shen Qi and Jinghong Zhui had betrayed his earlier trust, that with the enemy looming, they had not united but instead clashed, driving one away.
Shen Qi also heard the malice in it, but did not reply—only let out a faint, bone-chilling laugh directed at Yu Wang.
The laugh made Su Yan feel a trace of guilt. If this really has nothing to do with Qilang, then what I just said must have hurt him deeply.
But… in Ah Zhui’s final battle against the camp master and the flute player, only Shen Qi and his men were present. Am I to take everything he tells me as unquestionable truth?
Su Yan’s head ached, his heart ached, his long-empty stomach ached—and all of it wrapped in a Wuming sorrow and anger that made him restless and unable to sit still.
Su Xiaojing, who had been watching quietly, poked his head in from the doorway. Perhaps infected by the heavy atmosphere inside, his usual boisterous voice came out subdued: “My lord, the meal’s ready… why not eat first, and talk after?”
Su Yan set down the teacup. “You all eat. I’ve no appetite. We’ll speak later. Xiaojing, see to it that His Highness and Lord Shen are well hosted.” With that, he strode out of the hall.
Seeing Su Yan so dispirited and unsettled, neither Shen Qi nor Yu Wang felt at ease letting him be alone. They rose at once to follow.
They trailed him to the east wing, where Su Yan entered Jinghong Zhui’s room and slammed the door shut with a “bang.”
Shen Qi hesitated, then knocked several times. No answer. He sighed silently and said: “Each man has his own will—he cannot be forced. That grass… Jinghong Zhui has chosen to leave, let him go. Qinghe, let it go.”
Still no response from within.
Yu Wang stepped up as well. “Why don’t you at least come out to eat? You’ve been fasting since before dawn—how can that do?”
After a long while, Su Yan’s slightly weary voice finally came from inside the room: “I know. Just let me be quiet for a bit, get my head straight, alright?”
The two shut out at the door exchanged a look, unwilling yet helpless.
Yu Wang lowered his voice: “Couldn’t you have smoothed it over first? Or said Jinghong Zhui was just lying low a few days to avoid the limelight? The impeachment of the Wei clan isn’t finished yet—if Jinghong Zhui leaves so irresponsibly, Qinghe’s emotions will take a hit. What if it affects his performance at court tomorrow?”
“I had wanted to hide it for a while. Who knew we’d run into each other so d*mned coincidentally.” Shen Qi kept his eyes fixed on the tightly shut door, his gaze like a blade trying to pry it open. “Qinghe knows how to weigh priorities. It’s only a guard that left. Maybe he’ll be unaccustomed, angry, even saddened for a while—but he’s both intelligent and seasoned. People part when fate ends; spilled water can’t be gathered again. I believe it won’t take him long to come around.”
The “intelligent and seasoned” Su Qinghe, however, was at that very moment in Jinghong Zhui’s room, seething with grievance and fury as he searched everywhere.
Last time, when he left without notice, at least he’d left a handwritten letter. This time—just two words passed along by Shen Qi—and not even words fit for a human being! What the h*ll was this? D*mn Jinghong Zhui, this had better be some crazy prank—otherwise, when you come back, I’ll twist your head clean off!
Su Yan stormed about searching for quite a while but found nothing unusual, no trace left behind. Jinghong Zhui’s room was like the man himself: hard, orderly, sharp—no gaudy excess anywhere. Only one wine gourd remained in the cabinet by the bed.
Picking it up, Su Yan slumped on the bedside, pulled the stopper, and took a hard swig.
The taste was mellow, the strength fierce, with a faintly sour aftertaste—it was homemade red-yeast wine.
Suddenly he remembered: on the seventh of June last year, his birthday, Jinghong Zhui had stood before him holding this very kind of gourd. On that cold, resolute face had flickered a trace of tension, of expectation, as if the next instant he might turn and flee. Yet in the end he had handed it over, saying softly: “Wishing my lord health and long years.”
“…Long years, my *ss. And yet it cuts off just like that—he’s gone just like that.” Su Yan muttered, pouring the wine down in frantic gulps, spilling it all over his clothes. “I don’t care what reasons or hardships you have—leaving like this is betraying me! You don’t believe I can solve problems, don’t believe I can face changes, don’t believe in the choices I’d make under pressure. All you d*mn well think about is shouldering everything alone.
“B*stard! I thought at least you’d be the obedient one, the one who’d save me trouble. And what’s the result? Every last one of you b*stards—every single one!”
Muttering curses, Su Yan drank like the gourd itself was Jinghong Zhui, swallowing furiously. Soon, a heavy flush spread across his cheeks and neck.
Outside the door, Shen Qi and Yu Wang grew more and more uneasy. Then came a sudden thud from inside, like something hard hitting the floor. Yu Wang couldn’t hold back: “No, I have to go in and see!”
Even as he spoke, Shen Qi released a burst of force, snapped the bolt, and pushed the door open.
Around the screen, they found Su Yan sitting slumped on the bed, head drooping. A soaked, empty gourd lay on the ground. The room reeked of wine.
“Drank this much on an empty stomach?” Both Shen Qi and Yu Wang hurried forward to check on him. Normally, Su Yan could hold his drink decently well: if it wasn’t too strong and he drank slowly, two or three jin were no problem. But tonight he had drunk hard and fast—an easy path to being overwhelmed.
Yu Wang lifted Su Yan’s chin and indeed found his face scarlet, eyes glazed—at least seven or eight parts drunk.
“Drowning sorrows in wine, huh.” Yu Wang—who himself could never get drunk—sighed, half bitter, half wistful. “To be able to get drunk… that’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad my *ss. Drinking like this hurts the body.” Shen Qi pressed Su Yan’s feverish forehead and palms, frowning. “I’ll go get a servant to make hangover soup.”
He was just about to leave when Su Yan suddenly clutched his wrist. “D-don’t go yet…” he pleaded.
Under Yu Wang’s jealous glare, Shen Qi placed his other hand gently over Su Yan’s and said softly: “I won’t go. I’ll stay right here with you. Let him fetch the soup.”
With only three men in the room, the excluded “him” was, of course, Yu Wang.
Before he could retort, Su Yan pulled back his hand, gestured vaguely in the air as if shaping a figure, and slurred with a heavy tongue: “No need… keep me company… I just wanna ask, have you seen my little concubine? I left her there… such a big concubine, where’s she gone?”
Shen Qi: “…”
Yu Wang: “…”
“How could she be lost? One of you—did one of you hide her? Give her back! D*mn it, I knew you two were up to no good…”
Yu Wang glanced about, spotted a pot of cold tea on the table, and snatched off the lid to douse him—
Only for Shen Qi to block him: “He’s drunk! Drunken words don’t count.”
“Drunken words are truth.” Yu Wang gnashed his teeth. “In his heart, all he can think about is that runaway ‘concubine.’ The living man in front of him he ignores—and even lashes out at us!”
Shen Qi’s own chest twisted, but he kept his face cold. “Whether person or thing, once gone, people remember only the good. Isn’t that human nature?”
“And you’re planning to let him pine like this for a lifetime?” Yu Wang sneered.
“He won’t pine for a lifetime.” Shen Qi wiped the wine stains from Su Yan’s hair with his sleeve, his tone low, steady, but laced with a chill carrying the taste of blood. “It’s like a growth on the skin. When the right time comes, one stroke cuts it off. Perhaps it will hurt for a while—but with me beside him, the wound will heal.”
Yu Wang pondered Shen Qi’s words. Not only did he hear bloodthirst, but also a twisted, obsessive sickness. He grew ever more convinced this man was no good.
Meanwhile, Su Yan had fallen into drunken madness. His way of going mad was peculiar: neither the violent brawler’s rage nor the scholar’s endless chatter. His madness was a full performance.
“Fair maiden, why must you be a thief?” he demanded, tugging at Shen Qi’s sleeve with an imposing air.
Shen Qi froze for a moment, then soothed him: “I’m not a thief, I’m Qilang. You’re drunk—sleep it off and it’ll be fine.”
Su Yan slapped away the arm that tried to lift him up. “Wrong line! You’re supposed to answer: ‘If one succeeds, he’s king; if he fails, he’s a thief.’”
Shen Qi, helpless: “If one succeeds, he’s king; if he fails, he’s a thief.”
Su Yan’s face turned solemn and awe-inspiring. “A thief is still a thief!”
Shen Qi: “…”
Yu Wang couldn’t hold back his laughter.
Su Yan: “Proceed.”
Shen Qi: “…Proceed?”
Su Yan: “That’s the right line. Now, continue.”
Continue what? Who knew what went on in a drunkard’s head? Cornered, Shen Qi stared at the back of Su Yan’s neck, weighing whether pressing his sleep acupoint would be the quickest way to end this nonsensical stage play.
Yu Wang, relishing the spectacle, tugged Su Yan over to his own side: “Right, continue. Let him go on.”
Su Yan glared at Shen Qi: “Keep talking!”
Shen Qi let out a long sigh. “Say what?”
Su Yan, clearly dissatisfied: “Did you even do your homework? Just a handful of lines and you can’t remember them? You’re supposed to say to me: ‘With Your Majesty’s insight and composure, few in the martial world can match you. If Your Majesty were to enter the jianghu, you would surely rank among the top ten masters alive.’”
Yu Wang turned his head to study the “Majesty” clinging to his arm, barely managing to stand, and a flash of alarm crossed his mind: so he harbors such ambition? Well, who doesn’t, in this world—who wouldn’t want supreme power, to reign above all?
Even Shen Qi was briefly stunned. Su Yan hiccuped, waved his hand: “Forget it, forget it. You’re clearly a novice. As director, I’ll begrudgingly coach you through the scene… Once upon a time, there was a Sword God.”
“Sword… God?” Yu Wang arched a brow—back to deities again?
“Yes, Sword God. ‘God’ refers to the height of his mastery of the sword, not an actual immortal… Don’t interrupt me. Let me finish. You’re really annoying!”
“All right, all right, go on.” Yu Wang chuckled bitterly and helped him sit on a round stool by the table.
Shen Qi narrowed his eyes, watching Su Yan with thoughtful intent.
Su Yan’s gaze, misted with drink, seemed to pierce through their own age into another, uncanny world: “The Sword God’s character was lofty and aloof—he was the snow on distant peaks, the shooting star in a winter night. To him, the sword was not a weapon, but the ‘Dao’ to which he devoted his life. Worldly success, failure, fame—he scorned them. Only that instant of swordplay, where one glimpses the pinnacle, was eternal.”
Because the Sword God treated the sword as faith itself, he attained such a realm. Shen Qi’s glance dropped to the Embroidered-Spring blade at his waist. A blade was just a blade—a tool for killing, not any so-called “Dao.” At least to him, never.
—Is there anything in this world for which one’s obsession and love could outweigh everything, even one’s life? Yu Wang asked himself. The old scar across his chest, long healed, began to itch and sting faintly again.
“The Sword God endured training harsher than mortals could imagine, yet he still fell short of the peak he sought. No matter how he strove, that final step would not be crossed.”
“…Then what should he do?” Yu Wang asked in a low voice.
Su Yan, with a look that said Young man, you’re ambitious indeed, patted his shoulder. “Good question. But even the Sword God didn’t know the answer—if he had, he’d have reached the summit already. Until one day, he met the destined woman of his life.”
A sudden light came over his drunken face. “He realized—his sword was too cold. Could that be the bottleneck holding him back? So snow fell from the mountaintop to the ground, the god descended from the clouds into the dust. He fell in love with the woman, married her, had children. He became someone who lived with smoke and fire, and his sword gained warmth. For the ones he wished to protect, his sword grew faster, sharper, stronger—through entering into feeling, he broke through the barrier.”
Yu Wang smiled faintly. “Isn’t that good, then?”
Shen Qi, however, showed disdain. “If he truly pursued the Way of the Sword, he would never halt his steps. Any pause is only so one can walk farther.”
“Young man, excellent! You really grasp the role!” Su Yan slapped his thigh in delight—so hard he winced with pain, but it didn’t stop the drunken, dedicated “director” from pressing on. “One day, the Sword God received a challenge from another Sword Immortal. Their understandings of the sword diverged; this was to be a battle wagering life itself, even faith itself.
“Though intrigue prevented the duel from being completed, the Sword God discovered something wrong—he could not let go of his pregnant wife. He feared that, if he died in combat, no one would care for mother and child. This fear became a heavy shackle weighing down his sword.
“What once broke his bottleneck—entering into feeling—had now become a greater bottleneck still, pushing him further away from the Way of the Sword…”
Yu Wang, deeply resonant, pressed on: “And then? Between ‘sword’ and ‘feeling,’ what did he choose?”
“You guess.” Su Yan gave him a crooked, drunken grin.
“Perhaps he chose feeling? Even immortals can’t escape when love takes hold.”
Shen Qi shook his head. “He would choose the sword. Though the choice is bitter, what’s carved into one’s bones never changes.”
Su Yan burst into wild laughter, hiccuping all the while. “Both wrong, hahahaha! The reason he was the Sword God was precisely that he stood in a realm we mortals cannot reach! No inner struggle, no painful choice—he naturally comprehended leaving behind feeling! So he left wife and child, returned to the realm of the Sword God, and finally reached the ultimate pinnacle of swordsmanship. From then on, no rival remained under heaven. He bore—and savored—that solitude. The Way of the Sword was complete.
“‘Feeling’—first it comes naturally, then it goes naturally. In the end, it forges the Dao itself. D*mned if it isn’t the most ingenious prop the world has ever produced—isn’t that so?” Su Yan laughed until tears streaked his face.
Shen Qi and Yu Wang exchanged a long look. Both were silent, yet their eyes brimmed with pity, ache, bitterness, regret—and more tangled emotions still.
When Su Yan had laughed enough, he rubbed his face with his sleeve, muttering incoherently again: “Bullsh*t. Comparing him to the Sword God is putting him on a pedestal… D*mn it, born without that fate, saddled with this sickness—yeah, I mean you, you b*stard… Talking about seeking the Dao—better first ask if you’ll have food for the next meal, or where the h*ll you’re sleeping tonight!”
He suddenly lifted his head, shouting at Shen Qi: “Where’s the sword? Bring it here! Don’t want it? Don’t want it, my *ss—smash the d*mn thing!”
Without a word, Shen Qi rose to go fetch the sword to smash it.
Su Yan regretted it instantly, grabbing Shen Qi’s clothes: “Three hundred gold! Fifteen hundred taels of silver! Converted to RMB, rounded up, that’s a million! He doesn’t care, but my heart aches! Don’t smash it—give it to you—” He turned his head to glance at Yu Wang, thinking this fellow was pleasing to the eye as well, “And you too. You two split it.”
“Many thanks for Your Majesty’s reward.” Under the killing glare from Shen Qi, Yu Wang lifted the corners of his mouth, gently wiping away Su Yan’s tear tracks with his sleeve, speaking with the kind of patience he’d never shown even his own little heir: “All right, the play’s been told, Your Majesty is tired. Let this humble servant attend you to bed.”
Su Yan: “I don’t need anyone attending… If I want to sleep, don’t I know how to sleep on my own?”
As he spoke, he climbed toward Jinghong Zhui’s bed still in his crown and shoes, but Shen Qi immediately grabbed his waist and dragged him back. His crown fell off, hairpins tumbled free, and a waterfall of dark hair spilled loose. Shen Qi scooped him up in his arms:
“We don’t sleep in someone else’s bed. We go back to our own room to sleep.”
Su Yan wailed: “Turned the sky upside down! I’m the master here, every bed in this house is mine. I’ll sleep wherever I d*mn well please! You all get out!”
Yu Wang saw his cheeks flushed with anger, his eyes misty with drink, his whole body exuding a sweet wine fragrance—irresistibly tempting. He couldn’t help but say: “Fine, whichever bed you want. Shall I warm it for you first?”
The word “warm the bed” somehow set Su Yan off. He pounded Shen Qi’s lower back in fury: “Get lost! You’re worse than a hot-water bottle! At least a hot-water bottle doesn’t run away!”
Yu Wang, dragged into this by the misfortune of “running hot-water bottles,” suffered undeservedly. Shen Qi couldn’t even spare a sneer—Su Yan’s blows had landed on his wound, and he clenched his teeth to endure.
Taking advantage of the moment, Su Yan twisted free and leapt to the ground—only to step on an empty wine gourd and pitch forward. Yu Wang rushed to catch him.
In his arms, the man went still. Looking down, Yu Wang realized Su Yan had passed out from the drink, lashes damp, with a tear trembling at the corner of his eye.
Yu Wang was silent for a while, then sighed: “If one day, the one leaving was me… would he be this sad too?”
Clutching his still-throbbing wound, Shen Qi answered for him: “He’d drink too. But it’d be celebratory wine.”
Yu Wang shot him a sideways glance: “Jinghong Zhui’s leaving—hardly so mysterious, is it? He can’t think straight now, but once he digs deeper later, I’ll be waiting to see how you clean up the mess.”
Shen Qi’s voice went cold: “That’s between me and him. No need for Your Highness to meddle. Since the host is asleep, it’s not proper to keep a guest—Your Highness should take your leave.” He stepped forward, intending to take Su Yan from Yu Wang’s arms.
But Yu Wang tightened his hold, eyes sharp as blades: “This is the Su residence, not the Shen residence. You’re a guest too. Why should I leave while you stay?”
Shen Qi’s hand clamped onto Yu Wang’s like an iron vise, no trace of weakness from his injury, his voice clear and deliberate: “Because I’m his husband. Because he’s my wife.”
Yu Wang froze—then burst into laughter: “You say so, so it’s true? Did you ask this king’s opinion?” With a twist of his arm, he easily broke free of the iron grip. “The only reason you’re still standing is because I think it dishonorable to strike down someone not yet recovered. Since you throw away courtesy, don’t blame me for showing none.”
A murderous glint flashed in Shen Qi’s eyes. But before either could move, Su Yan furrowed his brow in his sleep and muttered: “Go, all of you, go. I’m better off alone… D*mn dogs biting dogs, nothing but fur in their mouths.”
Dogs… biting dogs?
The two men, on the brink of clashing, froze, each suddenly stifled with the same frustrated realization—they were both dogs. Who wasn’t? As for Jinghong Zhui—“the lost is always the best” truly rang as a universal law…
“And you—leave and don’t come back. If you dare come back, I’ll smash your d*mn dog head!”
The comparison alone was enough to bring balance back to their hearts.
As for who should take care of drunken Su Yan… whichever one it was, the other deeply doubted whether he could restrain himself and not take advantage. In the end, neither won the right.
Of course, this owed much to Lord Su’s lingering aura of intimidation even in sleep—enough that neither man dared press his luck. And it owed much to young master Su Xiaobei’s iron-faced fairness and decisive action—
He nearly picked up a broom and swept both high-ranking men out of his master’s bedchamber.
