Su Yan carried the one-year-old little shizi through the bustling crowd of the Eastern Market.
Fireworks, acrobatics, toys and snacks dazzled Ah Wu’s eyes. He was wildly excited, clapping and giggling one moment, then hugging Su Yan’s neck the next, shouting: “Daddy! Ah Wu wants that—godfather, buy it!”
Su Yan bought him armfuls of snacks and toys, until he couldn’t carry them all and had to hand them to two palace guards trailing behind.
—As for His Highness Yu Wang, he’d shamelessly insisted on tagging along, and Su Yan had no way to shake him. But just as the carriage stopped at the street entrance, an imperial summons arrived from the palace, calling him back.
Yu Wang’s face darkened as he told the eunuch delivering the decree: “I’m not going! Tell my imperial brother I’m unwell, beg his forgiveness!”
The eunuch smiled wryly: “Your Highness, please don’t make it hard for this servant. I’ll kowtow to you if need be.”
Yu Wang had no choice but to leave several guards behind. Before departing, he warned Su Yan: “The brat’s heavy. Don’t carry him too long. If you get tired, hand him to the guards.”
But before long, little Ah Wu, exhausted from his excitement, burned through all his tiny body’s energy. His eyelids drooped, fluttered twice, and he soon fell fast asleep on Su Yan’s shoulder—dead to the world, no position could wake him.
Smiling, Su Yan pinched the boy’s plump cheek, then passed him to a guard along with all the gifts, to be taken back to the palace.
The guards wanted to leave two men behind to continue protecting him, but Su Yan refused, saying he wanted to stroll alone.
So he enjoyed the faint loneliness within the noisy marketplace, slowly wandering from the head of East Market Street to its end.
At the far end, shops grew sparse, pedestrians noticeably fewer, even the street lamps dim. Beyond that stretched the Tonghui River, cutting across the eastern city.
Last year’s Lingguang Temple case had left the river full of floating infant corpses. After New Year, word spread again that two Embroidered Uniform Guard were assassinated and dumped in the river, their bones never found. The common folk thus spun out countless strange tales, each more horrific than the last, until this whole district closed its doors at night—none dared to loiter on the streets.
Seeing the road ahead grow darker, Su Yan was about to turn back when he suddenly noticed, beneath the dim light at the street corner, a stall. An old, tattered banner read “Meat Dumpling Wontons.” A blackened stove smoked there, tended by a slovenly stall owner. Along the roadside were a few greasy square tables and benches, with almost no diners.
—Almost none, because there was still a man in a dark-blue long robe with a tall hat, sitting with his back to him on one of the benches.
From afar, Su Yan found the man’s back strangely familiar. The longer he looked, the more he thought… it was Qilang?
—
Because Yu Wang had shamelessly pushed the little shizi to Su Yan’s door, clamoring that “Godfather must take Ah Wu out to play,” Shen Qi had stormed off in frustration under Su Yan’s helpless gaze.
He had intended to return to the Northern Surveillance Bureau to handle some official work, then, once that little brat tired out and went home, return to Su Yan to continue their interrupted plans. Yet as he walked into a flower-lined alley between two walls, he suddenly recalled something.
It was the conversation he had with Mister He after the man left the prison cart.
—
Mister He had smiled knowingly: “Lord Shen is a fascinating man—ruthless in ambition, yet the most devoted lover under heaven. I dare predict, one day, you will be in his full employ.”
“He—who exactly is he?” Shen Qi pressed. “I won’t serve a mere shadow I’ve never seen.”
Mister He said: “When the time is right, you’ll meet him naturally. For now, you must return to Emperor Jinglong’s court, continue as Tongzhi of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and await contact from the next ‘Gatekeeper.’”
Shen Qi had sneered: “Empty words. Where’s the token of proof?”
Mister He thought for a moment, then replied: “Go back to that wonton stall sometime and order a bowl.”
—
After pondering briefly, Shen Qi turned his horse toward the East Market.
At the wonton stall, not a single customer was present. The boss was dozing, arms folded behind the stove. Shen Qi sat down at a bench. Without lifting his eyelids, the boss lazily asked, “What kind of wontons, how many bowls?”
“One bowl of pork wontons without filling. Add a spoon of scallions and three drops of vinegar.”
At the sound of his voice, the boss’s eyes flew open. He straightened his hunched back behind the steaming stove. “Lord Shen, long time no see.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Shen Qi replied. “The Seven Kill Camp and the Void Sect have already been driven from the capital like stray dogs. Why haven’t you tucked your tail and run with them?”
The boss only smiled without answering, feeding wood into the fire.
“So you are neither of the Seven Kill Camp nor of the Void Sect. As a ‘Gatekeeper,’ you serve some other master.” Shen Qi’s voice was calm.
He suddenly recalled Su Yan’s metaphor of the “insect race.”
Su Yan had said, the Seven Kill Camp was a “hive,” its commander a “brain-bug.”
“Above the brain-bug, there is the Overlord. That is the true head of the swarm, its core of power. Hidden in darkness, massive in form, possessing immense intelligence and control. The brain-bug is merely a tool for it to better direct the swarm.
“Perhaps there is more than one hive, more than one brain-bug. But there is always only one Overlord.”
Perhaps the Void Sect leader was just another “brain-bug.” Then who was the true “Overlord”?
The boss still didn’t answer. He only said, “Lord Shen, you really could try the pork wontons. The ‘no-filling wontons’ are only a code phrase—no need to force yourself to eat just wrappers every time.”
Shen Qi sneered: “I wouldn’t dare eat the pork wontons at your stall. Who knows what kind of meat it really is.”
The boss only smiled, and without protest cooked a bowl of plain wrappers, sprinkling vinegar and scallions before setting it in front of him.
Shen Qi didn’t eat. Instead, he placed his chopsticks lightly across the boss’s grimy wrist. The move seemed casual, but with a flick of force, the chopstick tips would pierce bone.
The boss’s grin stiffened under the killing intent. Gooseflesh rose where the chopsticks pressed. “Since we serve the same master, Lord Shen, why frighten a little man like me every time?”
Shen Qi’s voice was cold: “That masked man is your master, not mine. He and I are just using each other, nothing more. Mister He told me to ask you for a token, for future contact.”
The boss slowly dug about in his robes, then produced a thick, black metal tube, as wide as an arm, carved all over with complex ridges.
“This is half of a mechanical sleeve. Normally it won’t open—try to force it and it will self-detonate. Only when matched with the other half can messages pass through from one side to the other, unlocking the tube to retrieve them.”
A flicker of light flashed in Shen Qi’s eyes as he reached to take it—when suddenly, a voice called out from not far behind: “Qilang? Is that you?”
His heart gave a jolt. In an instant of shock, Shen Qi swiftly tucked the half-sleeve into his sleeve.
He shot the boss a warning glare, then turned with a look of mild surprise. “Qinghe… Weren’t you out with the young shizi? Why are you here?”
Su Yan came over, smiling. “Children are tireless but tire quickly too. He fell asleep before long, so I sent him back to Yu Wang’s manor with the guards. I wandered into the East Market, and—what a coincidence—ran into you. So, is this wonton stall really that good? I don’t see many customers.”
Shen Qi immediately stood. “I only thought I’d try, but it was terribly stingy. A whole bowl of wrappers and nothing else. Come, let’s find another place.”
He tossed a few coppers onto the table, then said carelessly: “Boss, keep cheating folks like this, and you won’t last in the capital.”
The stall owner picked up the coins one by one, mumbling indistinctly: “Can’t stay, can’t stay. Next time you come, sir, you won’t see this little stall of mine anymore.”
“Making a living isn’t easy,” Su Yan sighed. He placed another ingot of broken silver on the table, patted Shen Qi’s arm, and said, “Let’s go.”
The two of them walked toward the light. Behind them, the dim glow stretched their shadows long, only to vanish quickly into the dark, deserted alley.
Shen Qi was rather silent along the way. Perceiving his absent-mindedness, Su Yan asked softly: “What is it? Something on your mind?”
“…Do you have anything you’ve kept from me?” Shen Qi asked suddenly.
Su Yan paused in surprise, then smiled: “If it has to do with Qilang, I don’t think I’ve ever concealed it. There are other matters I’m not sure are worth mentioning—but if you ask, I will answer honestly.”
Shen Qi asked again: “And if I were to hide something from you?”
Su Yan stopped walking, studying him closely.
Shen Qi’s gaze swept past the roof ridges to the sliver of new moon above. The lights of the night market cast half his face in glow, the other half swallowed by shadow, his expression particularly severe.
“Qilang,” Su Yan called.
Shen Qi turned to look at him, his eyes both gentle and weighty.
“I want to ask you a few questions.”
Shen Qi nodded.
“If you conceal something from me, is it because you’ve thought it over carefully?”
“…Yes.”
“In choosing whether to hide or not, did you pick the lesser of two evils?”
“Yes.”
“And if one day I learn the truth of what you’ve hidden, will you be able to bear the ultimate consequences?”
This time Shen Qi was silent for a while before answering: “Whatever the outcome, I will shoulder it alone.”
Su Yan smiled: “Then it must be something you’ve judged necessary to do. Whether I know or don’t know—what difference does it make?
“Perhaps one day you’ll choose to tell me. Perhaps I’ll be very angry then. But I won’t block your way now, demanding: ‘Qilang, you must listen to me.’
“The path is one each person must walk themselves. We are fortunate to walk side by side, but in the end, we cannot take each other’s steps.”
Love makes us two-in-one, yet beyond love, life still holds so many vast surges and billows—that we remain ourselves.
Shen Qi was dazed for a long time.
He thought, how could there be such a person in this world? Even the phrase “endowed with spirit and grace” was too meager to describe him.
And this person was right here, beside him, willing to hold him in his heart.
Shen Qi, heedless of passersby, pulled Su Yan into a tight embrace.
Others seemed to be whispering, but Shen Qi disliked the disturbance. Suddenly he leapt up, holding Su Yan as he vaulted onto a wall, then sprang onto the roof ridge, drawing gasps of surprise.
Skimming over rooftops, Shen Qi carried Su Yan through the night wind until they stopped atop a tall building, several zhang high, a shadowy garden sprawling below.
“No one can see us here,” Shen Qi said.
Su Yan carefully sat on the slant of green tiles, finding the roof sturdier than it looked. He lifted his head to the star-filled sky and sighed in wonder: “This must be the closest place to heaven in the whole capital, save for the imperial palace.”
Shen Qi bent down on one knee, pressing Su Yan’s upper body gently backward.
Su Yan grasped his shoulders in alarm: “Here? Qilang, this is too… No, no, absolutely not doable!”
Shen Qi gave only one word in reply: “Doable.”
—
Inside the bedchamber of the Su residence’s main house, Su Yan cursed Shen Qi inwardly while applying herbal salve to the mosquito bites covering him.
Shen Qi, guilt-ridden, promised that next time he would bring mugwort to burn first.
Su Yan rolled his eyes, put his clothes back on, and said: “Don’t see me out of the city. If we bump into the Emperor, it’ll only stir up trouble.”
Shen Qi gave a sharp snort.
Su Yan soothed him helplessly: “Seeing me off here is just the same.”
After Su Yan had dressed neatly, Shen Qi personally fastened the fire striker he had given him onto his belt, tying and retying it, never feeling it sat right.
Su Yan took his hand, giving a wry smile: “That’s enough, Qilang. Don’t worry so much—there are a thousand Tengxiang Guards escorting me.”
Only then did Shen Qi stop his obsessive fussing, gazing at him deeply, sighing after a long pause: “Across mountains and rivers, take care of yourself.”
Su Yan boarded his carriage with two young attendants. After bidding farewell to Ruan Hongjiao from the neighboring house, he headed toward the city gates to join the thousand-strong Tengxiang Guard.
The guard was still led by Commander Longquan, with familiar faces like Chu Yuan among them—but all were the Emperor’s personal guards, no one from the Northern Surveillance Bureau, and Gao Shuo naturally wasn’t present.
In plain clothes, Emperor Jinglong had also come to see him off, walking with Su Yan apart from the main force, slowly across the verdant fields of mid-spring.
Wildflowers carpeted the ground, delicate in color like spring’s tender feelings. The two stepped through dew-laden grass leaves, saying nothing, until unknowingly their hands clasped together.
They walked four or five li, nearly at the post station, when the Emperor sighed: “Only longing is like the spring—sending you off north and south of the river.”
Su Yan replied: “In this golden age, rain and dew are plentiful. A brief parting needn’t cause hesitation.”
The Emperor shook his head: “The river’s edge may not bring storm and wave, but the world holds paths hard to tread.”
Su Yan said with a smile: “Write to me of old friends, letter by letter. For that, my spirit will be emboldened.”
The Emperor finally halted, brushing a stray petal from Su Yan’s temple, saying solemnly: “Fewer memorials, more letters.”
Fewer memorials meant no business rushed; more letters meant words of longing sent often. Su Yan’s eyes grew misty. He answered: “Your servant obeys. Majesty, please turn back here!”
The Emperor kissed the dampness of his lashes: “I’ll walk a little farther with you.”
They went together to the border stele of the capital district. Already the Five-Li Post lay within sight, the Tengxiang Guard lined in formation upon the road. A few trembling eunuchs approached, pleading with the Emperor to return to the palace.
Su Yan bowed deeply: “Your servant bids farewell. May Your Majesty enjoy health and long years.”
The Emperor gazed at him for a long while, then turned and mounted his carriage.
Su Yan watched the carriage disappear into the distance. After a long while, he let out a sigh and, heavy with sorrow, turned to walk toward the post station.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant voice sounded from behind him: “Two men trading verses all the way—how elegant indeed.”
Su Yan snapped his head back—then lifted his gaze higher—and saw Yu Wang, clad in a dark, narrow-sleeved battle robe, one knee bent as he sat atop the boundary stele marked ‘Capital Commandery’. His other leg hung lazily down against the stone surface.
“…Your Highness has been here since early this morning?” Su Yan asked.
Yu Wang slapped the top of the stele and leapt down with a graceful motion. “Wrong. This Wangye has been here all night—never left.”
Remembering how they once scaled the city gates at night and drank beneath this very stele, Su Yan couldn’t help but jest: “Spending a whole night out here in the wild, getting bitten by mosquitoes—comfortable?”
Yu Wang suddenly hooked a finger into his collar. The welted lumps from mosquito bites were instantly revealed. Su Yan smacked his hand away with a sharp slap, sternly pulling his collar back in place. Yu Wang raised a brow. “Your whole body reeks of herbal ointment. Looks like you were bitten far worse than I was.”
“Your Highness came to send me off—or to mock me?” Su Yan asked.
Yu Wang replied: “This Wangye wanted to leave the capital together with you—head northwest.”
Su Yan was startled.
Yu Wang gave a derisive laugh. “I know it’s impossible, of course. Just saying it aloud.”
Su Yan sighed softly. “Your Highness… take care.”
“Those words should be mine to you.” Yu Wang stepped closer.
Su Yan instinctively took a step back, not wanting their closeness to grow awkward. But Yu Wang ignored it, pressing forward until Su Yan’s back touched the cold stone stele. Only then did he curve his lips in a wicked smile and murmur: “Take care, Lord Qinghe.”
Su Yan tried to slip free from under his arm, but the other man abruptly pulled back, waved a hand, and said: “Enough. Farewell—I’ll be going.”
“…Just like that?” The words slipped out before Su Yan could bite his tongue. What else did I expect?
Yu Wang burst out laughing. “So—you can’t bear to part with me?”
“Shameless!” Su Yan spat.
Yu Wang chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Besides sending you off, I also wanted to tell you—last night Ah Wu was so happy he even called out ‘godfather’ in his dreams. Seems he’s truly fond of you.”
At the mention of Ah Wu, Su Yan’s mood unconsciously softened. He earnestly advised: “Ah Wu is very clever. Your Highness should put more effort into teaching him yourself. Don’t keep losing him in the streets, or tossing him off for others to look after.”
Yu Wang thought a moment, then said: “You’re his godfather—hardly an outsider. If that’s still not close enough, how about trying ‘stepmother’?”
Su Yan was left completely speechless.
While he fumed in silence, Yu Wang laughed heartily, turned, and strode away. Even when he was far off, he deliberately raised two fingers like a sword and sliced them through the air.
Su Yan immediately understood the meaning: press forward without hesitation, sweep aside all before you.
Watching his retreating figure, Su Yan’s lips slowly curved into a smile. He murmured softly: “Yes—General Jingbei.”
The Crown Prince had not come.
But Su Yan could well imagine him, stamping in fury at being forbidden by the Emperor to leave the palace for this send-off—pacing in anger yet helpless. The thought made him both want to laugh and ache with tenderness.
“…Take care, little lord,” Su Yan whispered a distant blessing.
The carriage convoy of Imperial Censor Su of Shaanxi set off.
From high above, the long column resembled an arrow thrust straight toward the northwest.
There lay broad rivers and plains, grasslands and deserts. Farther north, beyond the mighty Great Wall, stretched vast seas of sand and the boundless northern steppe.
—
The Northern Steppe
At the Altai foothills, amidst desolate wilderness, along the clear Selenga River where the grass grew lush, countless Oirat yurts and warriors encircled the grand and splendid golden ordo of the khan.
Oirat cavalry patrolled the frontiers, ready at any moment to strike down invaders—whether savage beasts or raiders from rival tribes.
One rider shaded his eyes with a hand, peering into the distance. Suddenly he cried out in Oirat tongue: “What’s that? Coming toward us… an enemy?”
The horsemen tightened in alarm, forming ranks and galloping toward the approaching figure.
As it drew closer, the dot resolved into the towering form of a man, broad as a heap of stones. He wore an eagle-feathered headdress, and over his shoulders a robe of fluttering ribbons strung with gold beads, bronze mirrors, and animal bones.
In his left hand he carried a four-foot staff crowned with a cluster of golden bells that jingled as he walked. In his right, a curved long-blade; at his waist, a hand-drum.
The riders recognized his garb, and their vigilance eased into excitement. “A shaman!”
“Look at those divine bells and that sacred blade—he’s a great shaman!”
“But he doesn’t seem to be from our tribe. Why wander alone across the grasslands? Could he be a defector from elsewhere?”
“Great Shaman, will you join our Oirat?”
The man lifted his head, revealing the dark face half-hidden beneath eagle wings.
His complexion was deep, between tea-brown and coal-black, gleaming with an oily sheen—unlike any steppe tribesman. His features were sharply cut, and his golden eyes blazed bright as molten sunlight, shimmering with uncanny brilliance.
The cavalry, awed by those eyes, fell silent.
Then the man spoke, his low, wild voice like a lion or tiger just woken from slumber:
“Where is Khan Hu Kuoli?”
At once the Oirat drew blades and drew bows taut. “Who are you, to dare inquire after the khan’s whereabouts?!”
The man asked again: “Is Shaman Heiduo still among the tribe?”
A rider shouted back: “Of course! He’s the Great Elder now, even the khan shows him utmost respect. How dare you speak his name so casually!”
The man gave a short laugh—unclear if scorn or rage.
“Who exactly are you?” the riders demanded.
The man untied the heavy cords binding his robe. The ritual garment slid off, falling onto the grass.
Bared beneath the sky was a body as mighty as a god’s, black skin inked with blood-red tattoos, revealed in all its fearsome glory.
It was a towering tree with luxuriant branches and leaves. The crown stretched from his chest across his shoulders, while the gnarled trunk and tangled vines coiled over his abdomen, sinking roots down beneath his lower belly, hidden under his trousers.
The cavalrymen, struck by the sight of such an overwhelming tattoo, cried out in shock: “—The Sacred Tree!”
A Sacred Tree tattoo of such vastness and intricacy was not something any ordinary Oirat tribesman had the right to bear. If discovered overstepping, the punishment would be execution. What’s more, to complete such a tattoo required the combined work of many skilled tattoo masters; the labor and time needed were so great that even nobles could hardly afford it.
Only the royal line had the qualification—and the means—to bear the blessing of the Sacred Tree.
The man’s voice rumbled: “Look at me. Can’t you recognize me, warriors of Oirat?”
The riders stared at him wide-eyed.
“I am the eldest son of Khan Hu Kuoli, the Son of the Sacred Tree—your crown prince!”
The cavalry fell into a strange silence. Then, suddenly, a roar split the broad, quiet steppe—
“Aletan!”
In an instant, voices howled from every side:
“Aletan!”
“Aletan!”
“Our Golden Prince—has returned!”
