The carriage carrying Su Yan back to the capital, escorted by the Tengxiang Guards, had just entered the borders of Shanxi when it received major news.
The report came from the northern Great Tong garrison town—
The shortest route from Yan’an Prefecture in Shaanxi back to the capital ran uncomfortably close to Great Tong Prefecture. The commander of the Tengxiang Left Guard, Long Quan, who was responsible for Su Yan’s escort, felt uneasy. As soon as they crossed into Shanxi, he sent scouts ahead to Great Tong to investigate the battle situation. Based on their findings, he planned to decide whether to take a safer detour south through the towns of Zhending and Baoding.
The scouts discovered that the Tatar Grand Preceptor, Tuohuotai, was still attacking Great Tong, locked in fierce combat with the newly appointed general Li Ziyang. They were preparing to send back a routine report when the situation suddenly took an unexpected turn—
“Tuohuotai withdrew his forces from the Great Tong garrison overnight? The retreat was so hasty they abandoned plundered supplies all along the way.”
Long Quan looked up from the secret report in surprise. “Could it be another feigned retreat to lure the enemy?”
Sitting beside him by the campfire in the wilderness, Su Yan took the secret dispatch and read those few brief lines several times. After some thought, he said, “Perhaps something went wrong within the Tatars’ own ranks—Tuohuotai may have been forced to rush back and put out the fire.”
The exact situation of the enemy remained uncertain, but Long Quan found Su Yan’s reasoning quite convincing. He nodded and said, “Whatever the case, trouble within the Tatars is to our advantage—the bigger, the better.”
Su Yan recalled the second day of the first lunar month this year, when Emperor Jinglong kept him in the East Warm Pavilion of Qianqing Palace for supper and spoke of the former Great Tong commander and deputy commander who had perished.
At that time, relying on fragments of historical knowledge, Su Yan had asserted with confidence, “The Oirats and Tatars cannot join forces.” When the emperor asked him why, he dared not speak the truth, so he improvised: “Because Your Majesty is wise and mighty, naturally you will not allow the Oirats and Tatars to ally. With ease you can stir the winds and rains between the two.”
Emperor Jinglong, in high spirits, then planned with him the strategy of “driving the tiger to devour the wolf”:
“Since the Oirat shaman can pin the blame for their prince’s death on Great Ming, then Great Ming can likewise turn Wuhalang’s death back onto the Oirats.”
Thus the alliance between the two would surely collapse, Tatars and Oirats would fall into war again, and Great Ming could reap the profit.
The emperor even formally mentioned a mysterious organization within the Ming army—Ye Bu Shou.
To Su Yan, this was the ancient version of a special forces unit, combining foreign intelligence, reconnaissance, raids, and targeted assassinations all in one.
It was precisely because of this conversation that Su Yan conceived the idea of sparing Yan Chengxue’s life, using a ruse of “substituting the peach for the plum” to send him into Ye Bu Shou, to fight poison with poison in the northern steppe.
—Could this sudden retreat of Tuohuotai’s troops be because the “drive the tiger, devour the wolf” strategy had taken effect?
Su Yan found himself recalling the emperor’s gaze and faint smile as he spoke those words. At that time, the emperor had clearly wanted him to stay the night; even the floor heating in the West Warm Pavilion had been lit. Yet, seeing the anxiety and refusal in his eyes, the emperor had made no move to force him, not even uttered an awkward word of entreaty. With great grace, he let Su Yan leave the palace.
Now, looking back, was that not also a kind of stratagem of winning hearts?
Patiently weaving a net, drawing him in step by step, until Su Yan broke the vow he had once made and, with no escape left, uttered the shameful words: “This minister begs to offer himself as a pillow-mate.”
It felt as if he had been played.
And yet…
His discarded robes half-covered the red jade flute, and the plum blossom tassel on its end swayed against the armrest of the drunken recliner. Su Yan covered his brow and eyes with one hand, letting out a soft, heated sigh.
“…Lord Su? My lord?”
The call snapped him out of his muddled tide of thoughts. Su Yan lowered his hand abruptly, seeing Long Quan leaning toward him, his expression a little tense: “Lord Su, are you unwell? Do you feel feverish?”
Su Yan wiped his face—it truly was hot, and surely flushed too. Embarrassed, he shifted back a little: “No, no… perhaps just sitting too close to the fire, overheated.”
Long Quan studied his complexion, finding no signs of chill, and relaxed. “Since Great Tong is secure, we’ll take the original route back to the capital. What does my lord think?”
Su Yan nodded: “The route is for Commander Long to decide.”
After escorting him twice, Long Quan had grown very satisfied with this imperial censor so favored by the throne—mild in manner, courteous, sensible, easy to discuss matters with, showing not the slightest arrogance of a court favorite. Instead he was diligent, caring for the people, a true practical man. The dissatisfaction Long Quan had harbored when first leaving the capital had all melted away.
Only one thing puzzled him: last year in Shaanxi, there had always been that loyal bodyguard following close at Su Yan’s side. How come he was nowhere to be seen now? Once, Long Quan had asked casually, and at once Su Yan’s eyes had dimmed, though his face still smiled as he replied, “Fate brings and scatters; I suppose he sought another post.” That had made Long Quan feel he’d spoken wrongly, and so he never raised it again.
“It’s late, my lord. Rest now. At first light tomorrow, we set out again.”
Su Yan rose and walked toward the carriage. After sitting too long, his legs prickled with numb pain; he stumbled, steadying himself on a tree trunk. The dead branch trembled, and a few remaining autumn leaves drifted down, one landing on his cloak.
Long Quan instinctively reached out to brush it away, but feeling it presumptuous, withdrew his hand.
Su Yan picked up the leaf, turned it in his fingers for a while in a daze, then carried it into the carriage.
Watching his back, Long Quan felt a faint pang: this man seemed easy to approach, but in truth very few could enter his heart. At least, in all this journey, Long Quan had not.
—Perhaps that bodyguard named Jinghong Zhui once had, but he had since left, leaving behind cracks and hollowness that could not be filled.
—Even many years later, when Long Quan saw Lord Su, power in his hands towering over court and realm, standing on the city wall awaiting the sunrise, he still felt that the man was the same youth who once picked a fallen leaf from his shoulder.
—
In the late tenth month of the Jiawu year of Jinglong’s reign, Su Yan, then serving as Right Shaoqing of the Dali Temple and as Censor-in-Chief and Regional Inspector of Shaanxi, returned to the capital to report on his duties.
During his supervision in Shaanxi, he abolished outdated practices, pushed forward reforms, braved heavy resistance to reclaim grasslands and establish state-run pastures, punished corrupt officials and arrogant clans, resettled displaced herders, and thus greatly reduced banditry and stabilized the people’s hearts.
His new horse administration reform, once implemented across the empire for several years, produced fine warhorses sufficient to equip Ming’s newly raised five hundred thousand cavalry, vastly strengthening national power and military might.
His advocated model of local government management—“dual responsibility for one post,” “quantified evaluation,” “last-place elimination”—won the emperor’s support, was adopted as statute, and supervised jointly by the Censorate and the Ministry of Personnel’s Evaluation Office. It strengthened oversight of local officials’ diligence and integrity, making Ming’s bureaucracy, for a time, notably cleaner and more orderly.
His memorial Twelve Memorials of Impeachment against the Wei Clan, together with the earlier Twelve Articles he struck the Drum of Appeal with to expose the crimes of the Feng faction, spread throughout the land in the court gazettes, establishing his reputation as a “pure stream of loyal ministers.” Even in later generations, though these two memorials could not match the literary heights of Emperor Wu of Ming’s The Lament for My Late Mother, their active political significance earned the praise of historians.
But in the tenth month of the Jiawu year, at this very moment, Su Yan was merely an eighteen-year-old young official, just beginning to make his mark at court, sitting in his carriage after a long journey back to the capital, eager to return home.
Standing before the gate of the Su residence, almost unrecognizable to him, Su Yan was dazed.
This… this is my house? D*mn, what a grand gate! Such lofty decorations! At a glance, clearly the mansion of a high-ranking noble… Could this be against the rules?
The two little servants who had followed along were dumbfounded as well. Xiaojing pinched his own thigh, winced at the pain, and confirmed, “My lord, this really is the Su Residence!”
Xiaobei frowned with a hint of worry. “This must’ve cost no small sum. Who took it upon themselves to do this? What if they ran it up on credit, waiting for you to come back and pay? You’ll be spending the rest of your life drinking the northwest wind and still won’t pay it off.”
Su Yan gave him a look that was both exasperated and amused. “I am at least a fourth-rank official of the court. Surely I haven’t fallen so low?”
The fourth-rank “little steward” shot back, “Such a renovation and expansion—no less than two thousand taels of silver. My lord, care to show us where you’ve got that?”
Lord Su touched his purse guiltily.
In Shen Qi’s letters, he had briefly mentioned “fixing up the house a little.” But he hadn’t thought it would be to this standard.
No doubt the money had also come from Shen Tongzhi’s pocket. Looked like this fellow’s ten years in the Northern Surveillance Bureau had brought in quite a bit of gray income. Caught between gratitude and unease, Su Yan thought to himself that he’d have to persuade Qilang to rein it in, or else when the day came to clean house over illicit gains, sooner or later it would be his head on the block.
——Wait. Could it be that Shen Qi, while he was posted away, had secretly sold off that “Three Hundred Gold” to raise the money?!
Startled by the thought, Su Yan hiked up his robes and dashed through the gates. The two servants, alarmed, scrambled after him.
The two compounds had been merged into one, forming a main and auxiliary layout. The original small Su residence had been turned into a water-featured back garden, while the mansion next door had been converted into a main courtyard with seven rooms facing the street and five rows deep.
It took Su Yan quite a while, twisting and turning through the grounds, before he finally found the new master’s quarters. Pushing the door open into the inner bedchamber, he saw his familiar canopy bed and desk still there, along with a good many fine new pieces of furniture. He ignored all that and dove straight under the bed in search of the large wooden chest he used for storage.
The chest was still there, locked securely, seemingly moved over intact from the old residence.
Using the key he carried, Su Yan opened the lock and lifted the lid. Inside lay the longsword Oath and other belongings he had stored away. He let out a long sigh of relief and muttered, “Not bad. At least they know to respect a man’s privacy.”
Locking the chest again and pushing it back beneath the bed, he walked out.
Xiaobei and Xiaojing were waiting outside the door. Though Su Yan had never demanded such a thing, they still insisted on observing the rule that “servants cannot enter the master’s room without summons.”
In a good mood, Su Yan’s lips curved as he asked, “Where’s my brother? Have you seen him?”
Xiaojing scratched his head. Brother… in Fuzhou, with Old Master Su and the Madam Dowager? No, wait—that couldn’t be right. Their lord was supposed to be an only son.
Understanding dawning, Xiaobei lifted a brow. “You mean Lord Shen? Haven’t seen him. I also thought he’d be here waiting to welcome you home, since no one’s better informed than he is. He must have long since known you’d be back.”
Su Yan didn’t mind. “He’s probably tied up with official business and couldn’t spare the time. Once he’s free, he’ll come.”
Xiaojing said, “By the way, my lord, you ran too fast earlier and didn’t see—there were a dozen, maybe twenty maids and servants standing in the front courtyard, all waiting to pay respects to their master.”
No doubt also sent along by Shen Qi. Given that man’s nature, they’d all have been thoroughly trained already.
When meeting their master for the first time, servants were supposed to kneel and perform full rites of obeisance. Su Yan waved it off. “No need for all that. Hand them over to the two of you. Divide the work, set the rules. From now on, Xiaobei is the chief steward of Su Residence, and Xiaojing the second steward. That’s settled.”
A steward at fourteen! Just the thought would make others green with envy. Not only was Xiaojing overjoyed, but even the steady, level-headed Xiaobei couldn’t suppress a smile. “My lord, isn’t this a bit too casual? Hiring an experienced middle-aged steward to manage all the affairs of the estate wouldn’t cost much.”
Su Yan dismissed it. “I think the two of you are fine. No need for another steward. Otherwise we’d have to start all over building trust. If any servant dares to bully you for being young, tell me—I’ll dock their monthly wages.”
Only then did Xiaobei and Xiaojing realize their lord was serious about promoting them. Xiaojing whooped and boldly threw his arms around his master’s waist. Xiaobei, scandalized at his lack of decorum, scolded and tugged him back.
Laughing, Su Yan pulled both boys close and flicked each one’s forehead. “Take good care of this household for me, and grow up fast.”
Knowing their master liked cleanliness, Xiaojing promptly ordered the servants to heat water. Su Yan bathed thoroughly, washing off the dust and fatigue of the journey.
The hour was still early, likely before morning court had adjourned. Su Yan planned to stop by the Eastern Palace’s Duanben Hall to visit the Crown Prince first, then once the Emperor was free to summon him, go on to Yangxin Hall to report.
With the Eastern Palace waist-token in his robe, he passed unimpeded through the Donghua Gate and arrived at Duanben Hall. But the rows of guards stationed every three paces were gone, and even the number of eunuchs and palace maids going in and out was sparse.
Su Yan felt a flicker of unease. Approaching the palace gate, he said to the two guards still on duty, “Right Shaoqing of the Dali Temple and Censor-in-Chief of Shaanxi, Su Yan, requests audience with His Highness the Crown Prince. Please announce me.”
The guards blinked. “Lord Su… wishes to see the young master?”
“Yes.” Seeing the odd look on the guard’s face, Su Yan grew even more uneasy. “What, has the young master lost his temper again and doesn’t want to see me?”
After a pause, the guard asked, “Lord Su, could it be you’ve been away from the capital for some time, only just returned?”
“Yes,” Su Yan replied, his brows knitting. “Did something happen?”
The guard said, “By imperial command, the young master went to the secondary capital in July. If Lord Su wishes to see him, you’ll have to request the Emperor’s permission.”
In that instant, Su Yan’s mind buzzed as if full of bees. A flood of flickering images and disjointed words surged up before his eyes—“Nanjing,” “Imperial Tombs,” “Heir Apparent,” “eighteen years old”—flying out from yellowed pages of ancient history books, crashing into him until he staggered, clutching at the vermilion palace wall for support.
His heart raced with unease, though he couldn’t say exactly what it was. He could only grope desperately for the fading memories of his previous life, his face turning pale and drawn.
Alarmed, the guard blurted, “My lord, are you all right?”
Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, Su Yan asked, “May I at least enter the hall for a look?”
The guard was about to refuse when a palace eunuch emerged—one who had once served at the Crown Prince’s side. Seeing Su Yan, he started, then exclaimed, “Lord Su, you’ve returned! The young master left word for you—said you should come inside.”
