From afar, Su Yan could already see the bright lights in Yangxin Hall—it was indeed still lit through the night.
He ascended the steps and saw Lan Xi standing under the eaves, back toward the hall doors, seemingly lost in thought, the horsetail whisk in his hand twitching restlessly.
Su Yan called twice, “Lan Gonggong,” before he came back to himself, putting on his habitual smile:
“Just right, nephew. The Emperor instructed earlier—if you come tonight to report, you may enter directly without announcement.”
The relationship between Su Yan and Lan Xi had always been a bit delicate.
There was some incense-burning kinship, but only a little. The so-called “uncle” and “nephew” were mostly a polite fiction to draw closer when needed.
There was also some discord. Su Yan was very clear-eyed that this great eunuch was nothing but a self-serving opportunist. To curry favor with the Emperor, he’d as soon push Su Yan into the dragon bed. Even when he lent a hand, it was purely for his own benefit.
Both knew the “plastic uncle-nephew bond” for what it was—useful while it lasted, but neither would tear off the mask until true interests clashed.
But one does not strike a smiling face. Su Yan smiled back: “Thank you, Uncle. Is the Young Master still inside?”
“The Young Master just returned to the Eastern Palace,” said Lan Xi.
Su Yan asked: “It’s been two whole hours—only now he leaves? Father and son had so much to talk about?”
“Ahem—hardly ten sentences. He wasn’t allowed to leave, just detained there.” Lan Xi sighed. “When the Young Master finally left, his face was dark. I sent him to the door and then stood here puzzling over what exactly that meant.”
Perhaps the Emperor worried the crown prince, still young and impulsive, might dash to the Wei residence and stir trouble—risky, and harmful to the situation. So Su Yan guessed.
He cupped his hands: “Then this nephew will go inside to report.”
Lan Xi half-jested: “Then I won’t go in to ask for a scolding—would just be thrown out anyway.”
Su Yan suspected the fellow was teasing about his ambiguous ties with the Emperor, but pretended not to notice, entering with a calm face.
But Emperor Jinglong was not in the hall. A young eunuch stepped forward: “His Majesty has gone to the Lotus Pond to enjoy the view. Lord Su, please follow me.”
Su Yan found it strange: it was only the end of February; not to mention lotuses, even the leaves had yet to sprout. What scenery could there be to “enjoy” at this hour of night?
Strange or not, he followed along winding corridors until they reached the pavilion by the pond.
The night wind was faintly cool. Sure enough, the Emperor was seated at the round table in the pavilion, beneath four tall, bright palace lamps, examining the golden-etched iron charter found in Mister He’s chest.
Outside the pavilion stood two young eunuchs. As Su Yan approached, he felt they looked faintly familiar, though he had no time to think before bowing in audience.
The Emperor motioned for him to sit as well, then waved at the eunuchs. They retreated some distance, though not too far—far enough that they could only catch the murmur of voices, not the words.
“…So, you found them?” The Emperor studied Su Yan’s expression.
A hint of regret showed in Su Yan’s eyes: “We found them, captured them—but one died, and one escaped.”
He recounted the events of the night in detail.
When he finished, the Emperor’s voice sank: “Wolves at heart!”
“Mister He was discovered in Marquis Fengan’s private chamber, and he was also a guest of Marquis Xianan. Tonight the Camp Leader of the Seven Kill Camp failed in his attempt on the crown prince, fled into the marquisate, and was finally captured at the mouth of a secret tunnel dug under the Wei residence.
“From Wan Xin’s testimony onward, all the witnesses and physical evidence piece together a complete chain. The two marquises colluded with cultists and assassins to plot against the heir apparent—the charge cannot be escaped. I beg Your Majesty to act decisively, and bring Wei Yan and Wei Jun to justice, so the law of the realm may be upheld.” Su Yan bowed deeply.
The Emperor pondered for a moment, then suddenly asked: “Yu Wang entered the palace too?”
Su Yan was taken aback, then nodded: “Yes.”
“In the dead of night going to Cining Palace—he must be counting on my Royal Mother being unable to sleep.” The Emperor’s tone carried implication.
Su Yan hesitated, then cautiously offered: “I know the Empress Dowager is close with the Wei family. But the state has its laws. And the crown prince is her own grandson—if the flesh on the back of one’s hand is cut, it still hurts…”
A cold smile, almost mocking, flickered in the Emperor’s eyes. It was as though he had mulled it long, or perhaps only decided at this very instant.
“Send my order to the Tengxiang Guard: seize Wei Yan and Wei Jun, throw them into the Imperial Prison. Command the Northern Surveillance Bureau to investigate every one of their crimes in full detail!”
Su Yan immediately accepted the edict. Then, still uneasy, he asked: “As for the Empress Dowager… Your Majesty intends…?”
The Emperor smiled faintly. At that smile, Su Yan suddenly felt there was nothing to worry about. With the Emperor present, no matter how turbulent it became—even if the heavens fell—they would not collapse.
“Tomorrow’s morning court, you may take leave. As for the explanation… say that during tonight’s attempt on the crown prince’s life by the Seven Kill Camp, you were injured in defense.”
…In defense? Su Yan thought back. Wasn’t it Zhu Helin shielding him? He had been the only one among hundreds on both sides with no martial skill. As for being injured, hardly worth mentioning—did a scraped lip even count?
The Emperor seemed to hear his inner complaint, glanced at the scab forming on his lip, and added: “—Internal injury.”
Su Yan nearly laughed: “Yes, yes. This minister was struck by the assassin’s palm wind, suffered internal injuries—at least a day or two before I can move again.”
He also realized: the crown prince had once more nearly been killed at the Disaster Relief Bureau, and in the aftermath the Wei marquises had been raided and hauled to prison overnight. One wave upon another—such a storm was sure to erupt at court. And he, Su Yan, was now standing right at the heart of the gale.
What kind of pandemonium tomorrow’s morning court would be—having seen the ferocious style of Great Ming’s imperial court, Su Yan could already imagine. The emperor told him to feign injury and skip court precisely to avoid the initial storm of winds blowing from all directions. Only when the gale eased a little would he reappear to deliver the decisive word.
“This Minister has one more question. It concerns the inner palace, and as ‘minister’ I dare not ask…” Su Yan looked straight at the emperor, leaning forward across the stone table. The second half of the sentence suddenly dipped in volume, no longer solemn but instead tinged with intimacy: “But as ‘I,’ I want to ask.”
This question seemed to be within the emperor’s expectations. He also lowered his voice and leaned slightly forward, turning the intimacy of ruler and minister into a secretive flirtation between clandestine lovers: “Qinghe may ask freely. ‘I’ will answer truthfully.”
Su Yan pressed down the sweetness welling up inside and asked with an utterly serious expression: “Will you still go to Yongning Palace in the future?”
The emperor answered: “Yongning Palace from now on is the Cold Palace, and its resident is no longer any ‘Noble Consort.’”
Noble Consort Wei had carried on a clandestine affair with another man. Even leaving aside whether that “green hat” was literal, just the crime of disloyalty to the sovereign was enough under palace law to warrant the classic choice between poison wine or a white silk cord. Yet Noble Consort Wei had borne an imperial son. A Mother’s rank elevated by her child, and with the prince still an infant at the breast, both sentiment and reason demanded her sentence be reduced. Thus, demotion and relegation to the Cold Palace was already merciful.
Su Yan did not press for harsher punishment. Wiping out women completely was not his way. Once Wei Yan and Wei Jun were dealt with, the Wei clan would be finished. A lone concubine gathering dust in the Cold Palace could stir up no real waves.
Seeing that Su Yan had not pursued the matter further and seemed able to accept it, the emperor instead felt a faint dissatisfaction—not just discontent, but a sense of being unfulfilled. So he added: “If I no longer go to Yongning Palace, there are still other palaces. Are you content with that?”
Su Yan stifled the jealous tang in his chest and replied with “lofty righteousness”: “The harem is the emperor’s responsibility, and also one of the hard measures for court and political stability… In short, even if only for show, the Three Palaces and Six Courts still need to exist.”
Filtering through this slightly strange officialese, the key phrase was “for show.” Clearly he minded, only cloaked in the skin of a serious minister. The sourness seeping out underneath could probably pickle cabbage. The emperor let out a low laugh: “The harem is indeed a showpiece. I still favor the ‘front court.’”
Su Yan pretended not to catch the meaning and said instead: “This Minister has one more question.”
“Ask.”
“This golden book iron charter—what does Your Majesty plan to do with it?”
The emperor knew he was also asking about the past between the Taizu Emperor and the Void Sect, and so he condensed the hidden story into a brief account:
“When Taizu rose in rebellion, the then-sect master of True Void, Wen Xiang, came to pledge allegiance. Many soldiers in the army were also believers. They saw the cruel Yuan dynasty as a darkness that must be overthrown, and thus hailed Taizu as the ‘Great Light King.’ Under the banner of ‘Light Shining Everywhere,’ they absorbed more volunteer forces and grew stronger.”
“This was because, in chaotic times of struggle, the sect’s doctrine aligned with the era—the key being ‘struggle.’ Buddha and demon struggle, light and darkness struggle, my strength struggles against yours.”
Su Yan quickly grasped it: “When the dynasty was founded and the situation stabilized, development and people’s livelihood should have been paramount. But the Void Sect still demanded ‘struggle’?”
The emperor said: “Wen Xiang asked Taizu to enshrine True Void as the state religion, compelling everyone to believe, branding nonbelievers as heretics.”
When external turmoil no longer provided soil for “struggle,” it shifted inward—from power to faith. Wen Xiang sought not territorial unity but unity of thought. He believed only by fostering unwavering, fanatical faith could an empire become impregnable, its people unbreakable in both body and will.
Su Yan, skilled at drawing connections, immediately saw the double-edged nature of “struggle”—
Revolution and turmoil.
He sighed: “The Taizu Emperor did not want to build a theocracy like the former Northern Cheng. Thus ideological conflict arose between them. When the contradiction grew irreconcilable, only the annihilation of one side could resolve it. So Taizu ultimately betrayed his promise and struck against Wen Xiang.”
The emperor nodded: “When Taizu moved against him, he surely felt guilt. But as emperor, the realm came first. Such guilt could not be shown, could not even be allowed to exist. So he overcompensated by suppressing it—using the ‘Nine Kills and Ten Deaths’ method, exhausting the pardons of the golden book iron charter, and finally executing Wen Xiang, abolishing the sect.”
Su Yan sighed: “That is the kind of man who could unite the world in chaos.”
Emperor Jinglong suddenly fixed his gaze on him, his eyes strange: “So you admire such an emperor more?”
Ah, here it came—the long-lost “Jinglong-style death question”! But this time Su Yan didn’t flinch, he even felt like laughing. He coughed a few times, whetting the emperor’s appetite, then finally answered slowly: “The Taizu Emperor’s great achievements command universal admiration. Naturally, I too revere him.”
Watching the emperor’s expression grow ever deeper, Su Yan couldn’t help the smile tugging his lips. He abruptly shifted his words: “But if I could choose whom to serve, I would still prefer to serve an emperor like Your Majesty.”
“Why?”
“Because… more human warmth.”
“Human warmth?” The answer was so simple and grounded that it surprised the emperor, unlike Su Yan’s usual style.
Wasn’t it actually lover’s warmth? Su Yan’s brain slipped its reins, blurting out this nonsense that nearly startled himself. He gave a dry laugh: “This Minister’s words fell short, Your Majesty, forgive me.”
The emperor’s face hardened: “You mean compared to Taizu, I lack decisiveness and an iron hand, that I’m not ruthless enough?”
No, no, no! Thank heavens you’re not more ruthless, otherwise I—and those two lovers and concubines of mine—would already have little trees growing tall on our graves! Su Yan hurriedly soothed him: “Your Majesty is just right. One degree more lenience and it would be weakness, one degree more severity and it would be cruelty. Not too much, not too little—just right! I admire Your Majesty as you are.”
The emperor’s face was still stern, yet he couldn’t help the smile leaking from his eyes. He shook his head and said: “A lie.”
“It’s true! Truer than pearls!”
The emperor countered: “‘Admiration’ you have—what about ‘longing’?”
“仰” is reverence, “慕” is love. Su Yan couldn’t help reflecting on himself—perhaps the reason he and the emperor had never broken through that line was because reverence outweighed love.
Love’s fire is a poison flame that burns away reason. Once it spreads, it disregards life and death, cares nothing for honor or disgrace, heaven or h*ll—only seeking a shared life side by side. But he harbored too many scruples—for others, for himself—ultimately because he did not love enough, or dared not love enough.
I haven’t yet fallen into the deep pit of a ruler–minister doomed romance. Reason still remains, and there’s still room to save myself—this conclusion, while bringing Su Yan some relief, also left him with an indescribable sense of loss.
This loss wasn’t sharp, but like standing in a fine drizzle, seeping slowly into his bones.
“Qinghe, hurry a little, don’t make me wait too long.” That voice still echoed in his ears. Every time he remembered it, his chest ached dully—how could he remain unmoved?
The more Su Yan tried to sort his thoughts, the more tangled his mind became. At last he forced a smile: “A word is a word, must it really be split apart, Your Majesty? Please don’t quibble over wording.”
The emperor let out a soft sigh, then suddenly raised his hand and tossed the golden book iron charter far into the lotus pond, splashing up a great spray of water.
Su Yan froze. The emperor said: “I am not Taizu. Whether this is too lenient or too weak, I do not know. But I truly cannot bear to see you weep in grievance, nor can I bear the light in your eyes going out.”
The words struck right at Su Yan’s defenses. In an instant, his mind bounced back and forth, a hundred and eighty degrees, between “The emperor understands me” and “The emperor wants me.” And because he realized that he did in fact harbor desire for this man before him, his whole body grew stiff.
The emperor’s expression was calm, but inevitably carried a trace of weariness. That hint of fragility occasionally shown by a man in absolute control, the sense of contrast, hit Su Yan like another blow.
He stammered: “Then maybe I… I could just…” But he couldn’t finish.
The emperor said: “I won’t force you.”
Su Yan: “Not forced, not forced.”
The emperor: “I’ll wait for you to say it willingly.”
Su Yan: “But waiting too long isn’t good either… as for ‘willingly’… honestly, since I was a child I’ve always been volunteered for things—donations, paying X fees—gotten used to it, it’s nothing…”
The emperor: “You’re already so flustered you’re rambling. That’s my fault.”
Su Yan was on the verge of tears: “Your Majesty is too good—too good. I don’t deserve it… I only deserve a key.”
The emperor: “What key do you want? To the national treasury, or to my private funds? I thought you weren’t interested in finances, that you had more heart for the Ministry of Justice and the Ministry of Works. So you actually want to go to the Ministry of Revenue? Hm, that’s not impossible either—we can discuss how to arrange it later.”
Su Yan: “…I was wrong. Better I just shut up and do my work. I’ll go out of the palace to deliver the edict.”
The emperor lowered his eyes to the tassel at the edge of the table, the corners of his mouth curving slightly without a trace.
Su Yan only wanted to withdraw and end this mind-addling conversation. Rising too hastily, he banged his thigh on the table edge. He rubbed it with his hand, thinking subconsciously: another big bruise later.
The emperor’s gaze fixed on his thigh through the fabric, and suddenly he asked: “Is the seal still there?”
“Yes, yes—still there.”
Su Yan broke out in a cold sweat, terrified that the next words would be: “Take off your pants and let me check.”
Luckily, at the critical moment the emperor let him off—perhaps just giving him a longer leash. Who could say? Anyway, one moment survived was one moment gained. Su Yan was so moved he quickly saluted and prepared to leave.
But the emperor suddenly raised his voice: “Aside from that edict, also deliver a verbal order to Shen Qi. Reprimand him severely for me. Tell him I intend to charge him with dereliction of duty for allowing an important criminal to escape.”
Su Yan’s heart sank. It wasn’t as terrifying as being asked just now about the seal, but still chilling. Because suddenly he remembered—those two familiar-looking eunuchs waiting by the pavilion earlier—who were they?
They were the same ones who had been hidden behind the folding door of Yangxin Hall, when Su Yan had been crouched in the corner, trembling as he listened to the emperor berate and coerce Shen Qi, furious that Su Yan would rather play dog-chain to Shen Qi than obey him, even smashing the door in rage.
The emperor hadn’t blamed them then, just sent them away.
By rights, the emperor disliked using servants who weren’t obedient. Yet now he kept them, even had them waiting here—not ordered to withdraw, but loitering neither near nor far.
What did His Majesty mean by this?
Deliberately letting them see and hear, but not clearly?
These two… could there be something off about them?
Su Yan immediately grew alert, deciding to go along with it and plead guilty and beg mercy for Shen Qi.
Sure enough, the emperor grew angry, threw down a cold line—“If you want to plead private ties, then share his punishment”—and swept away.
Su Yan knelt outside the pavilion for a while. When the emperor did not return, he got up and brushed the dust from his knees. One eunuch went after the emperor; the other, with a small mole on the bridge of his nose, kindly came to help him up.
“Lord Su need not be too fearful. His Majesty is merciful. He won’t punish you just because of a disagreement.” the eunuch said.
Su Yan’s face was still pale: “Let’s hope so. But as for Shen Qi, I don’t know if there’s still any room to turn things around… May I ask, Gonggong, how should I address you?”
The man said: “My lord can call me Yongnian.”
“Thank you, Yongnian Gonggong, for your comfort. I shall take my leave.”
Yongnian touched the mole at his nose, smiling: “You’re too polite. That time in Yangxin Hall, you even interceded for the two of us. I remembered it, and thought I should repay kindness with kindness.”
But Su Yan seemed distracted, cupped his hands absentmindedly, and walked away.
As he went, he thought: Whose man is this? Mister He’s? The Wei family’s? The Empress Dowager’s? Or…
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