Su Yan rode the carriage directly home from the Eastern Garden. As soon as he stepped through the courtyard gate, two anxious young servants rushed up to him.
Su Xiaobei, the more composed of the two, stepped forward to support him.
Su Xiaojing, on the other hand, had tears welling up in his eyes. His voice trembled as he spoke, almost on the verge of crying: “Master, you said you were just accompanying His Majesty on a garden outing and would return that same afternoon. But then you vanished without a word for three days and nights, with no news at all! You nearly scared us to death. They say serving the emperor is as perilous as living with a tiger—what if something had happened—”
“Mind your words in front of the lord,” Su Xiaobei reminded sternly.
Su Yan teased, “What are you afraid of? Worried I’ll get eaten by a tiger?”
Su Xiaojing wiped his tears. “My lord, my family was ruined overnight because of a major case from over ten years ago. I wasn’t even born yet, but while still in my mother’s womb, I was sold into servitude. They say the Emperor personally decreed that case back then. I’m terrified… My lord, you must stay safe and not provoke His Majesty….”
Hearing him ramble, Su Xiaobei scolded, “The lord will be fine and unharmed. Stop spouting your ominous nonsense!”
Su Yan patted Su Xiaobei’s arm and then reached out to ruffle Su Xiaojing’s hair. “Enough talk. Go boil some water. I want to bathe and change.”
Su Xiaobei sniffed the air around him and asked in alarm, “Are you injured, my lord?”
“Just a couple of scratches,” Su Yan replied lightly. “Minor wounds, nothing serious.”
“You shouldn’t let water touch the wounds. The weather’s getting warmer, so you must take care. Better to just wipe yourself clean.”
In the end, under the insistence of the young stewards of the household, Su Yan didn’t get to soak in a bath. Instead, the two of them helped him wipe down with hot water.
After enduring both physical and mental turmoil the previous night, coupled with his injuries, Su Yan was utterly drained. He had no appetite and managed only a bowl of red date millet porridge before collapsing into bed.
He fell asleep early and woke up early, roused by the crowing of roosters while the sky was still dimly lit. Feeling refreshed, he got up, intending to breathe in some fresh air. But as soon as he opened the window, he was startled.
Squatting below the window was a man in simple blue clothing and a cap. He looked to be around twenty years old, with unremarkable features.
“Who are you?!” Su Yan shouted in alarm. “Trespassing on private property? I’ll report you to the authorities!”
The young man, relieved to see Su Yan finally appear, stood up and said, “Please don’t misunderstand, my lord. I am Gao Shuo, a scout from the Northern Surveillance Bureau.”
Su Yan raised an eyebrow. “The one lurking on my rooftop?”
The young man looked slightly embarrassed. “I was merely following orders. Please forgive me, my lord.”
Su Yan eyed him suspiciously. “And today, why are you squatting below my window instead of climbing my roof?”
“I was ordered by Lord Commander to deliver this to you.” Gao Shuo presented a black lacquered wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, about a foot square.
Su Yan accepted the box, sensing an inexplicable chill emanating from within. He had no idea what was inside.
“This as well,” Gao Shuo said as he pulled a wax-sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to Su Yan. “The Commander ordered me to wait here for you to return home and deliver this as quickly as possible. However, he specifically instructed me not to disturb your rest and to wait until you were feeling well enough. I’ve been squatting here for half the night—waiting isn’t an issue for me, but I’m worried that the contents of this ice box might not hold up and could spoil.”
Ice box? Su Yan opened the wooden container to find a smaller iron box inside. Between the two layers of the boxes was a murky white liquid emitting cold air. Suddenly, he understood—”ice box” referred to a container using saltpeter, which absorbs heat upon contact with water, effectively cooling the contents inside to keep them fresh.
Su Yan carefully removed the small iron box, opened it, and was startled to see a severed tongue.
The tongue’s stump was ragged, not cleanly cut by a blade. It was caked with dried blood and had discolored but had not yet rotted, likely kept fresh in the ice for the past few days.
Suppressing his nausea, Su Yan slammed the box shut and muttered, “What kind of madness is Shen Qi up to now?”
He considered handing the box back to Gao Shuo with instructions to throw it back in Shen Qi’s face. However, after a moment’s thought, he remembered that Shen Qi was not the type to play pranks without purpose. This must have some deeper significance.
With that in mind, he carefully broke the wax seal on the envelope and pulled out two folded sheets of paper.
One of them was a confession letter, stained with dark, dried blood—evidence that it had been splattered at least three days ago. Frowning, Su Yan examined the handwriting. The content detailed a confession of corruption, bribery, and forming factions for personal gain, even implicating Li Chengfeng, the current Grand Secretary and Minister of Personnel. At the bottom, where a signature should have been, there was instead a blood-stained handprint.
Suddenly, Su Yan realized—it was the confession of his former teacher, Chancellor Zhuo!
And the severed tongue—could it be Chancellor Zhuo’s? If he’d bitten off his own tongue, could he still be alive?
He quickly unfolded the second piece of paper. It was a hastily scribbled note:
“Zhuo Qi died on May 4th in the court hall, biting his tongue to commit suicide. His last words were, ‘If you wish to know my crime, see my blood.’ Feng Que has concealed the truth, keeping his body in the Northern Surveillance Bureau’s ice cellar. If you wish to eliminate him, now is the perfect opportunity—Qilang.”
In that instant, Su Yan’s mind cleared.
He’d long suspected Shen Qi of holding significant leverage over Feng Que. And now, Shen Qi had delivered the freshest and most d*mning evidence at the most opportune moment.
Feng Que had fabricated false charges, forced a loyal official to death, and deceived the Emperor by covering it up. The severed tongue, the confession, and Zhuo Qi’s preserved body were irrefutable proof.
—Could this be the opportunity the Emperor had been waiting for?
Whoever broke this case first, exposing Feng Que, would win the Emperor’s favor and establish a meritorious reputation for rooting out corruption. Shen Qi was offering this enormous opportunity to him!
Su Yan’s heart trembled as he asked Gao Shuo, “Why didn’t Lord Commander deliver this to me personally?”
“He had urgent business and couldn’t come, but he trusts me completely, so he sent me instead.”
The response came too quickly, sounding rehearsed.
Su Yan grew suspicious. “What urgent business? Who summoned him? Did Feng Que call him back to the Northern Surveillance Bureau late at night? For what purpose?”
Caught off guard, Gao Shuo stammered, “That… I don’t know.”
“You just said Shen Qi trusts you as a confidant, yet you know nothing of his whereabouts or current situation?”
“It might be a classified mission. Once Lord Commander finishes, he’ll surely visit you personally…”
“Nonsense! Are you lying to me? Was even this letter forged?”
Cornered, Gao Shuo finally bowed and confessed, “Forgive me, my lord. Before losing consciousness, Lord Commander repeatedly instructed me not to tell you about his serious injuries.”
“Injured? Unconscious? What happened? Explain clearly!” Su Yan demanded, his voice rising in urgency, a sense of foreboding creeping into his heart.
“Lord Commander fell severely ill upon returning from Eastern Garden the night before last,” Gao Shuo sighed. “He endured brutal torture, barely clinging to life. His injuries have worsened, with an unrelenting fever. Despite consulting several renowned physicians, none could provide effective treatment. When I left his residence, he was near unconsciousness, barely responsive.”
Shen Qi wouldn’t have ended up like this if he had ruthlessly killed me. It was because he saved me that he sacrificed half his life! Su Yan felt a sharp pang in his chest and murmured, “I knew it—Feng Que wouldn’t let him off easily… This is a high fever caused by localized infection. It can only be effectively treated with antibiotics. Yes, penicillin or cephalosporins… But where in this era could I possibly get such a thing?”
In this time period, even the introduction of Western modern science and medicine by missionaries amounted to little more than rudimentary anatomical and physiological knowledge. In terms of clinical treatment, it was no better than traditional Chinese medicine, and thus its influence was minimal. Forget penicillin as a finished product—its raw source, the Penicillium mold, wouldn’t even be accidentally discovered for another four centuries.
Diseases that could be cured in the modern world with just one capsule were, in ancient times, a life-or-death ordeal. Survival depended on a combination of herbal remedies, the body’s immune system, and sheer luck.
In his previous life, Su Yan used to scoff at stories where protagonists traveled back in time and saved important figures or altered history with just a box of cephalosporins. He dismissed such scenarios as absurd, overpowered conveniences. But now, he found himself willing to trade every bit of fame and fortune he had earned in this lifetime for just one box of cephalosporins.
And yet, even this tiny “cheat code” was something the heavens refused to grant him.
Su Yan’s mind spiraled in futile, chaotic thoughts. They were riddled with noise and disarray, as if a massive stone had lodged itself in his chest, slowly dragging his heart downward, threatening to pull it into a bottomless abyss.
Gao Shuo noticed Su Yan’s pale complexion and the painful struggle evident in his features. Alarmed, he asked, “Lord Su?”
This voice, like a sudden crack of silver breaking through water, jolted Su Yan back to his senses.
An idea flickered in his mind—rough, perhaps even absurd, but it was a desperate, last-ditch effort. He turned to Gao Shuo and asked, “If we mobilized all of Commander Shen’s men to search the entire city for anything moldy or covered in green fuzz—anything at all—how much could we gather?”
“…Moldy and covered in green fuzz?” Gao Shuo froze, bewildered. “What on earth would you need such vile things for?”
“To treat a disease,” Su Yan replied.
Gao Shuo saw the seriousness on Su Yan’s face. He wasn’t speaking nonsense or joking, yet the idea seemed utterly baffling. “That can treat an illness?”
Su Yan answered firmly, “Absolutely. It’s specifically effective for treating wound infections.” Of course, he wasn’t confident at all, but to maintain morale, he spoke with unwavering conviction.
“If we mobilize all the brothers and post notices across the capital offering to buy such things, we should be able to collect some within a few days…” Gao Shuo estimated.
Su Yan shook his head. “I need it sooner and in larger quantities. Please think carefully—is there any quicker way?”
Gao Shuo pondered deeply. The distant chime of a temple bell suddenly sparked a thought. “I’ve got it! Outside the western city gate at Guangning Gate lies Tianning Temple, an old monastery built in the Sui Dynasty. The monks there produce a fermented mustard concoction called Chen Jie Cai Lu, used to treat lung abscesses and throat ailments. Last winter, I used a small amount to cure my persistent cough—it worked wonders.”
“Does this… mustard concoction involve mold?”
“Yes,” Gao Shuo explained. “The monks store mustard leaves in large clay vats to ferment until green fuzz grows three or four inches thick. They seal the vats and bury them underground for years. When unearthed, the mustard turns to liquid—this is the Chen Jie Cai Lu. If you need mold, that’s likely the largest and most concentrated source in the capital.”
Su Yan’s spirits lifted. “Perfect! If it treats pneumonia, it must have antibacterial properties. Let’s go to Tianning Temple and request it from the monks. If they refuse, I’ll use the crown prince’s token to command the city patrol to seize it—rank has its privileges, after all.”
Gao Shuo, convinced by Su Yan’s scholarly demeanor, thought he might indeed know some miraculous remedy and decided to follow his lead.
After briefing his household staff, Su Yan rode with Gao Shuo to Tianning Temple. They quickly explained the urgency to the abbot, who agreed to sacrifice the current year’s supply of Chen Jie Cai Lu. The monks opened a vat, collected all the mold-covered materials, and carefully sealed them in containers, which they handed over.
Without delay, Su Yan and Gao Shuo returned to Shen Qi’s residence, arriving by mid-afternoon.
Shen Qi lived alone in a quiet alley in a spacious courtyard house. The property had been acquired from a capital official who had been reassigned elsewhere. The residence, with its three main sections, two courtyards, connecting hallways, and over seventy rooms, was built to the standards of a fourth-rank official. As members of the emperor’s personal guards, the Embroidered Uniform Guard enjoyed a prestigious status, making it common for fifth-rank officers to live in such accommodations. Shen Qi also maintained a large household of maids, servants, accountants, and guards. In comparison, Su Yan’s small courtyard, though also a three-section residence, was much smaller in size, with fewer attendants. For someone of his rank, it felt modest, even cramped.
When Gao Shuo entered the gate, he whispered a few words to the steward and then led Su Yan directly to the main house of the primary courtyard.
He stopped at the veranda and said to Su Yan, “The Commander is inside. I am but an outsider and a subordinate—it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to enter his private quarters. Lord Su, please feel free to proceed.”
Su Yan thought to himself, I’m an outsider too; how can I simply walk in uninvited? Yet his concern for Shen Qi’s condition overrode his reservations. Holding the jar tightly, he pushed the door open and went inside.
Inside, three or four maids bustled about with basins of water, bowls of medicine, and rolls of gauze. When they saw an unfamiliar young man enter, they showed no surprise, simply greeting him with a polite “Good day, Lord” before continuing with their tasks.
Without dwelling on the oddness of the situation, Su Yan quickly stepped past a twelve-panel huanghuali screen carved with dragon motifs, its inset scrolls of calligraphy and paintings partially obscuring the view of the inner room. He entered the bedchamber, where his eyes immediately fell on the figure lying prone on the bed.
Shen Qi was bare-chested, lying face down on the bedding. His wounds were not bandaged but covered with a layer of sterilized white gauze, boiled in hot water and dried beforehand. Before long, the gauze was soaked through with blood and pus, prompting the maid attending to him to carefully peel it away and replace it with a clean layer.
Su Yan rushed to the bedside, set down the jar, and asked in a hushed voice, “How is the Commander doing?”
“He’s had a high fever for two days and a night. We’ve poured countless herbal remedies into him. The fever drops slightly, only to rise again—it’s relentless. The doctor came just now, but all he could do was shake his head and sigh…”
Su Yan leaned forward, hesitated for a moment, and then reached out to lift the gauze covering Shen Qi’s back. The next moment, he staggered back half a step, struck by the horrifying sight, and drew in a sharp breath.
“What kind of torture did he endure? How could it…” His entire back was a horrifying mess of flesh, with not an inch of intact skin visible. It was like a crimson quagmire, and faint white bone was visible near the shoulder blades, a ghastly sight.
One of the maids choked on his words, “It’s the ‘combing’ punishment.”
Su Yan’s hands and feet turned icy cold.
The “combing” punishment! One of the ten most brutal tortures, infamous even five centuries later. The mere mention of it in historical texts exudes a stench of blood, enough to strike terror into anyone.
Unconsciously, he knelt by the bed, leaning forward, his trembling fingers lightly clasping Shen Qi’s hand. His chest seemed seared by the man’s burning-hot skin.
