Shen Qi left the palace, urging his horse to a gallop. Midway, he stopped in front of a physician’s house, went inside, and employed both persuasion and coercion to ensure the matter wouldn’t be exposed if the Emperor decided to investigate.
This doctor owed Shen Qi a favor, often treating ailments for people in the Shen household. Moreover, Shen Qi had previously secured a position for the doctor’s son, holding him firmly in his grasp. Terrified and grateful, the doctor didn’t dare harbor even a trace of disobedience.
One lie required countless others to cover it, and Shen Qi believed he had sealed every possible loophole. He then returned home, prepared to seek Su Yan’s sympathy and comfort through his predicament.
To his surprise, Su Yan wasn’t there. According to the steward and the guards at the gate, Su Yan had been picked up by Yu Wang in a carriage, taking with him the blue-covered booklet from the study desk, and had yet to return.
A vague sense of unease began to creep into Shen Qi’s heart. He knew Yu Wang had long coveted Su Yan and suspected that Yu Wang might take this opportunity to act on his desires. Yet, Su Yan willingly got into Yu Wang’s carriage and took the personally drafted charter for the establishment of the Heavenly Works Academy with him, making it seem like official business. For now, it was unclear whether this was a case of abduction or voluntary departure.
If Su Yan returned soon, it might not amount to anything serious. But if he delayed, complications were likely to arise.
Shen Qi sat in the main hall, taking up a blade cloth and repeatedly polishing the gleaming, icy blade. He remained silent, waiting from afternoon until twilight, and from twilight until sunset, yet Su Yan still did not return.
The spies he sent out also reported that Su Yan had not returned to his own residence.
Shen Qi, tormented by worry and fury for hours, was consumed by a raging storm of anxiety. His expression darkened like ominous clouds gathering over a city, and his blade’s sharp, chilling gleam occasionally reflected in his eyes, revealing a dangerous undercurrent of murderous intent.
When the last traces of sunlight were swallowed by the night, Shen Qi abruptly stood, his towering figure erupting with suppressed rage. Swinging his blade, he hacked the furniture in the hall to pieces, reducing tables and chairs to splinters in his fury.
He leaned on the tip of his blade, standing amidst the chaos, gasping for air. His eyes glowed with a beastly, blood-red hue, and the metallic taste of iron filled his throat, spilling over as a trace of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
A searing anger burned fiercely within him, a fire that demanded retribution a thousandfold against the instigator, against anyone who dared obstruct his path. He wanted to summon a catastrophic inferno to consume heaven and earth, reducing everything to ashes.
Suddenly, Shen Qi raised his embroidered spring blade and strode out of the hall. Just as he reached the courtyard gate, a small squad of imperial guards entered in neat formation. The leader cupped his hands respectfully and said, “Lord Qianshi, I come under imperial orders to retrieve the list of names.”
It was as if a tidal wave crashed down on him, snapping him back to his senses. Hoarse, he replied, “Wait here. I’ll retrieve it from the study.”
He turned and walked to his study, where he quickly penned twenty names with bold, vigorous strokes. Tossing the brush aside, his gaze shifted to the arhat couch in the corner.
On the couch, faintly visible, were two intertwined shadows, their lingering scent and warmth still intoxicating.
In his daze, Su Yan seemed to lift his gaze to him, his autumn-water eyes brimming with laughter. “Qilang, don’t make trouble,” he said.
“…I won’t,” Shen Qi murmured, his frenzied expression slowly settling into a dark and inscrutable depth. “I just need to survive first.”
He sheathed his blade, his demeanor now cold and imposing as though tempered by frost and snow. Clutching the ink-soaked list, he returned to the hall and handed it to the guard captain.
The captain carefully folded the page, tucked it into his sleeve, and added, “Lord Qianshi, are you heading to the Northern Surveillance Bureau? We can escort you.”
Shen Qi knew this was a subtle reminder—it was time to report to the imperial prison.
The punishment didn’t bother him. What gnawed at him was the thought that he couldn’t see Su Yan one last time before he left the capital. He longed to ask what grievances Su Yan had suffered at Yu Wang’s hands and to hold him tightly through the night, until dawn extinguished the candles’ tears.
“Lead the way,” Shen Qi said expressionlessly. “Let’s depart.”
—
Su Yan woke with a start, sitting up abruptly. Outside, the faint indigo light of dawn signaled that it was near the fifth watch.
On the wooden bed, Su Xiaojing and Su Xiaobei were tangled together in a heap, fast asleep, occupying only a small corner while leaving most of the space for him. Su Yan looked down at the two boys, smiled faintly, and shook them awake. “Time to get ready.”
After washing and dressing, Su Yan rode to the Ministry of Revenue. It was just after roll call when he received his appointment documents from a yawning clerk. On his way back, as he passed the main gate of the imperial city, he couldn’t help but glance inside, lingering for a moment.
Emperor Jinglong had promised him an imperial sword, yet he hadn’t even seen a tassel of it. Perhaps the emperor had forgotten, or maybe it had been a jest, much like the earlier marriage capturing from the successful examinees.”
The whims of emperors were inscrutable. That clandestine, restrained embrace in the imperial study felt like a fleeting illusion, as ephemeral as dew or lightning… Su Yan sighed, feeling an unexpected sense of disillusionment.
He thought of the Crown Prince, Zhu Helin, who was now buried in studies day and night, learning governance under the emperor’s watchful eye, unable to roam freely anymore. Su Yan had been neglecting the prince of late due to his own busyness and the frequent emergencies he faced.
He had stood the crown prince up several times. Even the other day, after leaving the imperial study, he had only managed to sit briefly at the Eastern Palace before rushing home to prepare for his journey. It was no wonder Zhu Helin had hurled old gifts like shadow puppets and balls at him in anger, vowing to cut ties and never see him again.
Recalling the young brat’s tear-filled, furious face, Su Yan shook his head with a bitter smile. He hoped that, by the time he returned from his assignment, the boy would have matured into a dependable pillar for Emperor Jinglong. Yet part of him wished the prince could keep his innocence, unburdened by the heavy responsibilities of the realm too soon.
His horse snorted impatiently, as if urging him onward.
Patting its mane, Su Yan said, “Alright, alright, I’m going. Getting demoted isn’t exactly a proud moment. Who’s expecting a send-off anyway? I’ll just leave quietly, like a cloud leaving no trace.”
With a gentle squeeze of his legs, he urged the horse forward, galloping back along the path he had come.
In the dim morning light, two carriages rolled out of the outer gates of the capital. Su Xiaobei drove the lead carriage, where Su Yan was seated, while the second carriage carried their belongings and was driven by Su Xiaojing.
Su Yan, dressed in a loose pale-blue robe, leaned lazily against his seat, lost in vague feelings of departure and melancholy. Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt, and Su Xiaobei called out, “Lord, there’s a group of imperial guards ahead blocking the road. They look like they mean trouble!”
Alarmed, an image of Shen Qi flashed through Su Yan’s mind—their first meeting on a moonlit stone bridge, with the fiery glow illuminating a team of imposing imperial guards. At the forefront was a man in brocade robes and a frost-bright blade, tilting Su Yan’s face up with his riding crop to meet his piercing gaze.
In that moment, the noisy world faded into silence. It was an eternity in an instant.
Su Yan’s heart thudded as if scorched, and he snapped out of his reverie, breathing unevenly.
Outside, Su Xiaobei called again, “Lord, stay in the carriage. I’ll go see what’s going on!”
Su Yan adjusted his lapels to steady his emotions, then pushed open the carriage door and stepped out, signaling for Xiao Bei to stay put.
Three to four zhang ahead, the imperial guards dismounted in unison upon seeing him, clasping their fists in salute. The leader, a man in his twenties with a dark complexion like charcoal and unremarkable features, cupped his hands and said, “Your humble servant, Chu Yuan, greets Lord Su. My twenty brothers and I are now at your command. We will follow you unwaveringly, with absolute loyalty.”
Su Yan had assumed these were guards sent by Shen Qi, but after a quick glance around without spotting the supposed principal, he noticed a vaguely familiar figure at the rear of the group—someone who resembled the scout Gao Shuo. This left him somewhat puzzled.
Chu Yuan lowered his voice and reminded him, “Lord Su, turn around and look up.”
Following his words, Su Yan turned and gazed upward. Atop the towering city gate tower, beneath a canopy held up by attendants, stood a figure clad in ochre robes. Fixing his gaze, he realized with a jolt—it was none other than the Emperor himself, having left the palace in disguise.
Su Yan’s heart pounded wildly. Gathering his robe, he hurried up the steps to the tower, rushing to salute the Emperor.
“I am in disguise—no need for formalities, lest we attract attention.” The Emperor steadied Su Yan by the arm and waved his sleeve behind him. Lan Xi, understanding the signal, promptly folded the canopy and retreated to a distance.
“Your Majesty, this is…”
“I left the palace for some fresh air, to enjoy the lake and mountain scenery—and to see you off along the way.”
That’s not the truth. It’s obvious he came specifically to bid farewell. Su Yan was deeply moved. Gazing at the Emperor’s refined and elegant features, he softly said, “Your Majesty’s kindness is as boundless as the sea. How could I ever deserve it?”
The Emperor smiled faintly, unfastened the sword at his waist, and placed it in Su Yan’s hands. “This is the Imperial Sword. I hope you will never have to use it.”
Su Yan gripped the sword, its weight solid in his hands. The scabbard was intricately adorned: one side bore a golden dragon soaring through clouds, the other a phoenix dancing gracefully. Seven stars encircled the hilt, emanating an aura of regal splendor. As he traced the dragon’s body on the scabbard, his voice trembled slightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for this great favor.”
The Emperor wanted to embrace him again, but under the broad daylight, with so many eyes watching from below the city tower, the thought vanished as quickly as it arose. It was like late autumn blossoms smothered under a thick frost—rich and vibrant, yet ultimately suppressed.
The Emperor silently sighed, personally securing the sword to Su Yan’s waist. “Besides this sword, I’m also granting you twenty guards to ensure your safety along the way. Shaanxi isn’t as prosperous as the capital—take care of yourself. Should the situation change, I grant you the authority to act at your discretion. Don’t worry about rules or protocols; your safety comes above all else.”
A ruler who would go to such lengths, setting aside formality to express his heart, finally helped Su Yan understand why so many loyal ministers and valiant generals in history had willingly sacrificed everything for their chosen sovereign. The Emperor treated him with the utmost respect; how could he not repay such trust in kind? Their feelings were as clear as ice, as steadfast as stone—surely this moment embodied those sentiments.
Su Yan clasped his hands and bowed deeply, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m leaving now, Your Majesty. Please take care of yourself.” With that, he turned abruptly and descended the city tower without looking back.
Though his departure was somewhat abrupt and ungracious, the Emperor didn’t mind. His gaze lingered on two dark spots on the stone ground, as if two drops of scalding butter had seared into his heart.
Below the tower, Su Yan boarded the carriage. The twenty well-trained imperial guards immediately formed ranks, flanking the carriage as it set out.
Atop the tower, Lan Xi approached with the parasol again and whispered, “Your Majesty, it’s time to return to the palace. Morning court was delayed by an hour and a half, and the officials are likely all gathered at the Meridian Gate by now.”
The Emperor nodded slightly. “Let’s go back.”
Sitting in the carriage, Su Yan placed the Imperial Sword across his knees. As his fingers traced the scabbard’s intricate patterns, his mind wavered. One moment, he was touched by the Emperor’s deep affection, wishing he had the strategic brilliance of Zhang Liang or Sun Bin to repay him in full. The next, a vague sense of regret and loss rose within him, even resentment—how could his brother not come to see him off? How ungrateful!
…Could something urgent have delayed them? Or were they upset that he had left without notice yesterday at noon?
…Surely, they couldn’t have run into trouble! But what trouble could there be? In the capital, he was practically a local overlord, the head of the Northern Surveillance Bureau. Ordinary people avoided him like the plague—what could possibly go wrong?
Su Yan clenched the sword scabbard uneasily, resisting the impulse to turn the carriage back to find out. He reminded himself: it’s only three to five months, not three to five years. Why am I being so sentimental? I’m losing my mind!
Taking a deep breath, he ordered in a clear voice, “Move out.”
—
Yu Wang, physically and emotionally sated, had slept exceptionally well. Rising early the next day, he was surprised to hear that the usually punctual morning court had been delayed by an hour and a half. Suspicion arose in his mind: Could my diligent and hardworking imperial brother be unwell?
He quickly changed into his formal attire, intending to enter the palace to inquire about the Emperor’s health. But as he reached the door, realization struck—today was the day Su Yan was leaving for his assignment. The Emperor wasn’t indisposed; he had delayed court to bid him farewell.
Yu Wang let out a soft scoff. “No matter how elaborate your farewells, they can’t compare to the intimacy of a single night in my bed.” He smirked faintly, thinking of the fresh traces left on Su Yan’s body. Had he not been leaving for months, revealing those marks while undressing would surely have made the Emperor taste a bit of jealousy.
Sinking back into his chair, Yu Wang idly flipped through the account book on the desk, but restlessness crept in. The words on the page swam before his eyes, refusing to make sense. Annoyed, he closed the book and pinched the bridge of his nose, only to find an image of Su Yan—elegant and peerless—lingering in his mind, impossible to dispel.
He slapped the armrest and stood abruptly, pacing to the door of his study. But his steps faltered, and he turned back, pulling another book from the shelf, blaming the summer heat for his restlessness.
After struggling with the book for a while, he realized he’d been staring at an ink spot on the page’s edge. Frustrated, he threw the book out the window, where it hit a servant’s head.
The servant scrambled inside to apologize, presenting a blue-bound booklet. “What’s this?”
“It’s a draft of the charter for the Heavenly Works Institute. Lord Su said yesterday it was for Your Highness, but seeing that you were busy, I didn’t present it immediately. I forgot last night and only remembered this morning. Please forgive me!”
Yu Wang couldn’t be bothered to argue with a servant and waved him away. Taking the Draft Charter for the Founding of the Heavenly Works Academy, he leaned lazily against the armrest of his round-backed chair and began flipping through it.
After a few pages, his posture gradually straightened. By the time he reached the academy’s guiding principles, drafted by Su Yan, he was sitting upright, his expression serious.
“My life is finite, but truth is boundless.”
“The flames of truth burn the hand; I am willing to be the one who bears the fire.”
“Truth…” Yu Wang murmured over the word, rolling it over in his mind. He sensed that Su Yan’s use of the term did not align with the Buddhist idea that “hearing the truth lightens all burdens.” Instead, it seemed to refer to a different, more tangible and unwavering force—one that had existed since time immemorial. Could this be the ultimate pursuit of the study of the principles of things?
A young man willing to dedicate his entire life to seeking such a force, even at the cost of becoming the one who bears the fire—just how much conviction and courage must he possess?
Yu Wang admired the striking elegance of Su Yan’s handwriting and continued reading.
Although labeled a draft, the document was remarkably thorough. It covered every conceivable detail of the academy’s founding, including aspects Yu Wang hadn’t even considered. The meticulous effort was evident.
In the latter half, he noticed numerous smooth, glossy red stains dotting the pages. Running a finger over them, he realized they were wax drippings. Someone had later scraped them clean with a blade.
So, the second half of this document had been written by Su Yan under candlelight, pushing through exhaustion, so weary that molten wax had dripped onto both the pages and the back of his hand.
By the final few pages, the handwriting had become stiff and sluggish, as if the pen weighed a thousand pounds. The writer’s fingers, locked in the same position for too long, must have been numb, cramping, and aching with pain.
This was Su Qinghe’s parting gift to him before leaving the capital…
Perhaps he couldn’t let go of the Heavenly Works Academy he had proposed, or maybe he sincerely wanted to lend his support. Either way, he had poured every ounce of his knowledge onto these pages, entrusting him with his painstaking efforts without reservation.
And after Su Qinghe had toiled through the night, writing until exhaustion, he himself had dragged him into the Wutong Waterside Pavilion and mercilessly tormented him for most of the day—no wonder Su Qinghe had collapsed twice from sheer exhaustion. By the end, his face was pale, his lips bluish, his breathing weak, and it took him a long time to recover.
Yu Wang suddenly recalled—had he forgotten to feed Su Yan before sending him home? A full day without food or rest, followed by being utterly spent in bed… With his delicate and scholarly frame, how could he have endured it?
And today, he still had to force himself to get up, endure the fatigue of travel, and embark on a long journey.
Yu Wang sat motionless, his chest heavy with frustration, his expression darkening. Then, abruptly, he tucked the book into his robes, stood up, and left the study.
He mounted a horse alone and galloped out of the estate, leaving behind a cloud of dust. The palace guards scrambled onto their horses, hastily chasing after him.
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Will he follow su yan?