Deep night. The palace gates were locked tight, the Yulin Guard patrolled in torchlit squads, not daring a hint of slackness.
Horse hooves echoed in the alleys, as a troop of dozens of guards rode in at speed. From afar, a gate guard saw the armor gleaming on the riders and shouted: “Is that the little lord returning?”
The red-maned horse at the front seemed even swifter than his words. In a blink it was at the gate, torchlight illuminating Zhu Helin’s young, heroic face. “It’s the little lord. Open the gates!” he called out himself.
The guard, startled to see another man sharing the saddle, recognized Su Yan—His Majesty’s favored minister, a frequent visitor to the palace—and thought nothing amiss. He hurried to summon the key steward.
Soon the gates opened. Zhu Helin flicked the reins, intent on riding straight through, but the guard captain bowed with cupped hands: “Little lord, beyond the forbidden gate, you must dismount.”
Zhu Helin said, “I have an urgent matter for my father. Just this once, make an exception.”
The guard insisted: “Palace rules cannot be broken. I beg the little lord’s understanding.”
Zhu Helin snapped, “I told you it’s urgent—every moment counts! If my royal father blames me later, I’ll bear it myself!” He lashed the horse, forcing his way through the forbidden gate.
The East Palace guards behind didn’t dare follow suit. They dismounted obediently and hurried after on foot.
The gate guards could only watch helplessly as the crown prince’s horse disappeared in a streak of dust.
Only when they reached the gates outside Yangxin Hall did Zhu Helin finally dismount.
Su Yan said with some guilt: “Tonight’s intrusion into the palace—I’m afraid it will make the little lord suffer a scolding.”
Zhu Helin replied, “You mean from those ministers? This little lord doesn’t care. In the past I played and shirked study, so a scolding was fair. But now I’m doing serious business. Whoever dares scold me, I’ll thrash him. Tell me, am I right or wrong?”
Su Yan couldn’t help but laugh: “Right. That’s called expediency in urgent times. Whoever scolds you, I’ll help you strike back… impeach him.”
As they spoke, the two crossed the square and climbed the steps in haste. Recognizing the night attendant eunuch outside the hall doors as Duo Guier, Su Yan called out: “Duo Gonggong, please report to His Majesty—His Highness the Crown Prince and this humble minister Su Yan beg audience.”
—
Inside Yangxin Hall, Emperor Jinglong was reading the latest battle reports from the Great Tong frontier. Hearing that the two sought audience, he didn’t even lift his head: “The crown prince may make a fuss, but Su Yan would not join in blind meddling. For him to come at such a late hour, there must truly be an urgent matter. Let them in.”
Duo Guier acknowledged the order and went out to convey it. Suddenly, the emperor changed his mind and said to Lan Xi: “You go. Admit only Su Yan. Let the crown prince wait outside.”
At the hall doors, Lan Xi passed along the imperial command. Zhu Helin was both angry and aggrieved, but Su Yan squeezed his arm and said only: “Be patient.”
It was clearly just an ordinary sentence, yet for some reason Zhu Helin’s heart instantly calmed. He turned his hand and grasped Su Yan’s in return. “Don’t worry.”
Su Yan nodded, holding the small chest as he followed Lan Xi through the palace gates.
“It’s already the hour of the Boar, and His Majesty hasn’t yet gone to bed. How has his health been lately?” he asked quietly.
Lan Xi smiled and flicked his horsetail whisk. “Why not ask His Majesty yourself, Lord Su?”
He led Su Yan into the inner hall, then tactfully withdrew—motioning for the other attendants to leave as well.
“Your servant Su Yan pays respects to Your Majesty. I know full well that entering the palace at such an hour is a grave offense, but I have an urgent matter—”
The emperor set aside the military report in his hand and beckoned. “Come here.”
Su Yan’s words were cut off. He hesitated, then began again, “Your servant has—”
“Come—here,” the emperor repeated, his tone firmer. “Put that down here. Come.”
Su Yan had no choice but to approach and place the chest on the imperial desk. The emperor caught him by the arm and pulled him into his embrace, inhaling the warm scent at his neck. “Your hair’s still damp—were you caught in the rain?”
“No, Your Majesty, I just bathed.” Su Yan shifted uncomfortably. “Your Majesty, I truly have an important matter to report.”
“Then speak. I’m listening.”
“But like this—”
“You can’t talk like this?” the emperor interrupted. “Or is it that no matter who’s present or not, you must always stand on ceremony before me, bound by rank and propriety?”
It was ironic—he sat there exuding imperial majesty, untouchable and severe, yet complained that Su Yan’s restraint made him seem distant. Su Yan muttered inwardly, then relaxed his tense posture and spoke more casually: “Tonight was far too close, Your Majesty. The young lord and I almost lost our lives…”
Leaning against the dragon throne, Su Yan briefly recounted the events of the night. Emperor Jinglong listened in silence, one arm around Su Yan’s back, his hand gripping his shoulder—tightening imperceptibly each time Su Yan mentioned a critical point.
Finally, Su Yan concluded, “Therefore, this servant took the liberty of surrounding both marquisates first, to prevent Mister He and the Seven Kill Camp Leader from escaping—and came here to request an imperial decree.”
“You mean to confiscate the Wei family’s estate?”
“Your Majesty overstates it. I merely intend to seize the imperial fugitives hiding in the marquisate. Of course, once they’re captured and interrogated, should they confess to other accomplices—that would be another matter.” Su Yan smiled slyly.
The emperor pondered for a moment. “Let me see that golden book iron charter.”
The box sat at the corner of the desk. Su Yan leaned forward to retrieve it, but when he sat back down, his balance slipped, and he accidentally landed on the emperor’s lap.
The emperor gave a low grunt.
Thinking he had pressed too hard on the imperial person, Su Yan hastily tried to get up—but the emperor’s arm locked around his waist, holding him still. Reaching past him, the emperor took the iron charter and examined it carefully under the light. Trapped within the emperor’s arms, Su Yan felt like a child perched on his father’s knee, his face burning with embarrassment.
He tried to slide off quietly. “Your Majesty, the matter at hand is urgent…”
The emperor gave him a light smack on the rear, half-warning, half-teasing. “We are discussing serious matters. Sit still.”
Sensing danger, Su Yan froze.
“It is indeed an item granted by the Taizu Emperor. It seems that even if this Mister He isn’t the current leader of the Void Sect, he must be closely connected.”
“But why would Taizu bestow the golden book iron charter upon Wen Xiang, only to have him killed later?”
“That’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time.” The emperor set the iron charter aside and examined the rest of the box’s contents. His gaze suddenly darkened as it fell upon a string of red-and-gold phoenix pendants.
His eyes narrowed, expression turning grim. He tipped the box over, spilling its contents across the desk, and picked out a scroll of fine Goryeo tribute paper—paper reserved for the inner palace.
When he unrolled it, it revealed an exquisitely painted tantric image of a Bright King and Queen in dual cultivation. Their expressions and postures were lifelike—every intimate detail vividly rendered.
Even Su Yan froze. He’d left in such a rush earlier that he hadn’t inspected the contents carefully—who could’ve guessed that Mister He collected erotic scrolls? And now he’d presented it straight to the emperor—wasn’t that defiling the sacred imperial sight?
Below the painting was a line of text:
“The Great Sun Sutra, Commentary Nine, states: ‘When man and woman unite and the seed takes root in the womb without corruption, this is the meaning of mutual empowerment.’
I seek your guidance, Master, on the interpretation of this passage.”
“Who was asking Mister He about this scripture? Why does it sound so… strange?” Su Yan muttered.
The emperor’s fingers twitched—as though he wanted to tear the scroll to shreds. Disgust flickered across his face; he swept the scroll onto the floor and abruptly pulled the man on his lap into a tight embrace, nearly crushing the breath from him.
Su Yan, startled, neither cried out nor struggled. From the emperor’s sudden intensity and the heavy, stifled rhythm of his breathing, he could feel the deep fury coiled within him.
“Your Majesty?” Su Yan asked softly.
The emperor drew a deep breath, loosened his grip slightly, and said with cold detachment, “That is the handwriting of Lady Wei.”
Su Yan instantly understood. So that Noble Consort Wei, whether blinded by delusion or pure folly, had not only painted erotic scenes as love offerings but even left notes about bearing children for her partner—and that partner happened to be a heretical sect leader wanted by the court.
With a noble consort like that—no matter whether he cared for her or not—how could any man not feel humiliated? And this man was the Son of Heaven himself.
Su Yan thought the emperor must surely be furious—yet the anger seemed not to come from jealousy alone, but from something deeper, colder. The disdain in his tone carried not outrage, but contempt.
He felt a pang of distress, so he stroked the Emperor’s back and tried to comfort him: “To live a decent life… no, that’s not it. A true man fears no… no, that’s not right either. Then it should be, um…”
Su Yan racked his brains, but his usual quick wit completely failed him. He was so flustered that a fine sheen of sweat broke out on the tip of his nose. The Emperor lowered his head, kissed his nose, and said, “Your thought is received. Don’t trouble yourself—We will handle it.”
“The box stays here. Zhen will give you something in exchange.” The Emperor kissed his nose again, then couldn’t resist going lower to catch his lips. The kiss left them both breathless before he reluctantly pulled back, murmuring, “Grind ink for Zhen.”
Su Yan obediently murmured an “Mm,” sliding down from the dragon throne to fetch the inkstone and ink stick.
The Emperor personally wrote the decree on silken paper, stamped it with his seal, and handed it to Su Yan, saying: “Besides the Embroidered Guards, We’ll dispatch another thousand Tengxiang Guards. You will lead them to seize Mister He and the head of the Seven Kill Camp, and escort them into the Imperial Prison. Should the Wei clan dare obstruct, it will be treated as defying Zhen’s decree.”
Su Yan was a little surprised. “This minister leading the force?”
“To apprehend the principal criminals of this case, it’s proper for the investigation leader himself to take charge.” The Emperor paused, then added: “But—Zhen means for you to command from the rear, not to charge into battle. Remember that!”
Su Yan smiled. “Even if I wanted to charge, I haven’t the skill.”
He carefully rolled up the decree and tucked it into his robe, then asked: “Your Majesty intends to strike the Wei family hard this time, not let them fester further?”
The Emperor hesitated briefly, then didn’t answer directly. “Just focus on seizing the culprits. Zhen will manage the aftermath. Truth be told, Zhen has never considered the Wei family a true concern. What really warrants caution is—”
Su Yan took a bold guess: “The Empress Dowager?”
The Emperor cast him a glance, eyes carrying a trace of reproach.
He quickly shut his mouth, thinking the Emperor wouldn’t continue on such a sensitive topic. Unexpectedly, the Emperor didn’t avoid it, though his answer was deliberately vague: “Yes—and no. We’ll discuss it later. For now, go.”
Su Yan bowed and turned to leave—when he suddenly heard the Emperor’s chilly voice: “Why is your mouth split open again?”
That word “again” was exquisitely chosen. It not only served as clever repetition, but also carried layers of meaning: suspicion tinged with displeasure, displeasure with warning, warning concealing latent menace… all of which, of course, happened to be the key point for today’s exam—Su Yan shivered, banishing his wild associations, and answered with an innocent face: “I fell during the attack at the Disaster Relief Bureau.”
The Emperor tugged at the corner of his lips, waved him away, and at the same time ordered him to summon that “brat” waiting outside the hall.
Su Yan realized—the Emperor did not want the Crown Prince involved in this matter.
Indeed, if the Crown Prince personally led troops to raid his second brother’s maternal clan, it would smack of private revenge, even fratricide. Impossible to explain cleanly.
Once outside, Zhu Helin grabbed Su Yan’s arm, scanning him up and down before leaning in to whisper through gritted teeth: “Why is your mouth all red and swollen again? Did Royal Father do that—did he do something to you? Speak honestly!”
Su Yan glared at him. “It’s split—of course it’s inflamed! Inflamed—of course it’s red and swollen! And whose fault is that?”
“…Anyway, it’s not this young master’s fault,” Zhu Helin muttered.
Su Yan smacked him on the back and shoved him toward the hall. “Your father called you. Get in.”
“But you—” Zhu Helin tried to grab him again.
Su Yan was already striding down the steps, tossing back: “By imperial order, I’ve a case to pursue. This minister takes his leave!”
—
Marquis Xianan’s Residence.
Gao Shuo and two other secret Embroidered Uniform Guard agents, in their attempt to rescue Ruan Hongjiao, had clashed with Mister He, alarming the household guards.
Gao Shuo led men in retreat, while the other two disengaged after a struggle and escaped as well. The guards gave chase on horseback, gongs clanged in alarm, chaos erupted throughout the Marquis’s compound—so loud that even Marquis Fengan’s residence a street away could hear the commotion.
The Seven Kill Camp’s Leader had to exert extra effort to shake off the guards and slip unseen into the guestroom where Mister He lodged.
Mister He had just refused the steward’s offer to fetch a doctor, using fright as his excuse to stay secluded.
As the Camp Leader dropped in through the hole smashed in the roof, Mister He was loosening his robe and examining the knife wound across his back in the mirror.
The injury wasn’t grave: a gash seven or eight inches long, blade unpoisoned—ordinary wound powder would suffice. “Brother Lian, fetch me the second vial from the left on the shelf,” he said without looking up.
From his wide sleeve, the Camp Leader extended a hand sheathed in black leather. With a flick, the vial flew straight toward Mister He’s skull.
Mister He raised his hand, fingers opening like a blossom. Qi gathered into a pull that caught the vial neatly in his palm.
The Camp Leader mocked in a distorted, androgynous voice: “With such mastery, and yet you’re wounded by common rabble? A tiger brought low on flat plains.”
Mister He sprinkled the powder onto the wound and replied blandly: “I may possess abundant qi, but my body is frail and ill-suited for martial forms. You’ve long known that—why bother with mockery now?”
The Camp Leader asked: “Who attacked you?”
Mister He answered: “Judging by their bladework, they were Embroidered Uniform Guard.”
A frown formed beneath the mask. “The Embroidered Uniform Guard have infiltrated Marquis Xianan’s residence? This place is no longer safe. You should be moved.”
After applying the powder, Mister He picked up a length of gauze, winding it around his shoulder as he mused in a languid tone: “There is another matter, somewhat displeasing. I uncovered Ruan Hongjiao’s identity as a spy and moved to silence her, but these Embroidered Uniform Guard interfered and ruined it—then even stole my box.”
…Somewhat displeasing? That was disastrous, wasn’t it?! The Camp Leader’s blood boiled at his airy tone. Remembering how Mister He stuffed every odd trinket into that box and would often pull it out to bask in self-indulgent delight, he felt a sudden urge to lop off the man’s head and apologize to their Master instead.
Mister He finished bandaging, straightened his robes, and his gaze swept over the Camp Leader’s voluminous crimson cloak. He seemed to pierce right through it, lips curving with a knowing smile: “Internal injuries? Few in the capital could wound you. Looks like tonight won’t be peaceful—a storm follows hard upon the last.”
The Camp Leader’s fist clenched and unclenched beneath his sleeve. He lowered his voice: “Then why haven’t you withdrawn at once? Waiting here for people to block the door?”
Mister He calmly washed his hands in the bronze basin and replied unhurriedly: “I’m waiting for someone to receive me.”
