A deep blue-black steed galloped down the wide Zhengyang Gate Avenue, heading south. As it passed by a carriage, Emperor Jinglong lifted the curtain to glance at the rider, his brows knitting together before he ordered the carriage to halt.
Lan Xi, noticing the emperor’s displeasure, leaned closer to the window. “Your Majesty, that seems to be Yu Wang. Galloping through a bustling marketplace in broad daylight—if he tramples someone and causes a riot…”
The emperor raised a hand to cut him off. “My fourth brother’s riding and archery skills are unmatched. That is the least of our concerns.”
Catching the deeper implication, Lan Xi asked, “Then what should we be concerned about? Your servant is slow-witted—please instruct me so I can make the necessary arrangements.”
The emperor was silent for a moment before saying, “He’s heading out of the outer city. That boundary marker—is it still there?”
“It is,” Lan Xi quickly replied. “Still standing beside the Five Mile Post Station, kept in pristine condition by the stationmaster, just as it was when it was first erected ten years ago.”
“…Notify the Imperial Stables. Have the Tengxiang Four Guards keep an eye on him. If he dares step one foot past that marker, seize him on the spot and bring him to me.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
The carriage resumed its journey, rolling toward Chengtian Gate, where morning court would be held.
—
The Five Mile Post Station was located about five li south of the outer city and served as a checkpoint for officials departing through the southern gate of the capital. Before continuing their journeys, they were required to verify their travel permits here, allowing them to switch horses and replenish supplies at relay stations along the route.
Su Yan alighted from his carriage outside the post station, where he saw the stationmaster, clad in a green robe embroidered with magpie insignia, standing by the front gate. The man greeted him formally, but instead of immediately verifying the permit, he hesitated and said with a peculiar expression, “Lord Su, this way, please.”
He led Su Yan into the main hall at the back of the station, then quietly withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Inside, a young man in a crimson yisa robe stood by the window, his back to the entrance, seemingly lost in thought.
At a single glance, Su Yan recognized the figure and called out, “Young Master?”
The youth turned around—it was none other than Crown Prince Zhu Helin.
Su Yan chuckled. “I thought you were serious about severing ties with me and never seeing me again.”
Zhu Helin scowled, his face taut with forced severity, but the tips of his ears turned red with embarrassment and irritation. He snorted, “Royal Father says that as the heir, I must be magnanimous and tolerant. I am being the bigger person here and letting you off this once. But if you go back on your word again, I will sever ties—and not just that, I’ll take a stick and beat your butt!”
Oh? Back when I was punished with court caning on the butt, who was the one fuming and scolding, stomping his feet in frustration, and scouring the entire apothecary for the best wound medicine?
Su Yan wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his threat. With a teasing smile, he said, “It was this official’s fault. I won’t dare neglect Young Master again in the future.”
Zhu Helin’s expression suddenly dimmed. “In the future…” he murmured, “At the very least, I won’t see you for months. Even if you wanted to neglect me, you won’t have the chance.”
Seeing the usual spirited youth now tinged with melancholy, Su Yan felt an unexpected pang in his heart. He stepped forward and reassured him, “Time flies in the blink of an eye… When I first met you, you only reached this high—”
He gestured at the bridge of his nose. “And your voice was still cracking like a little duck.”
Zhu Helin bared his teeth at him in mock irritation, miming a bite.
Su Yan chuckled and continued, “Now you’ve grown up to my forehead. In another six months, you might be as tall as me.”
“—I’ll definitely be taller than you!” Zhu Helin huffed in defiance.
“Yes, yes. The Crown Prince is still growing. You’ll be much taller in the future.”
“—Why do you keep saying I’m still growing?! I’m not small anywhere!”
“Yes, yes, the Crown Prince is big everywhere.” Su Yan barely suppressed a laugh. “And you’re magnanimous too, not holding grudges and even coming to see me off. I’m truly grateful.”
Zhu Helin gritted his teeth. “You never talk to Royal Father or Fourth Royal Uncle like this!”
“Oh? Then how do I talk to them?”
“With Father, you’re always perfectly respectful, looking at him like you’re admiring a great master’s portrait. With Fourth Royal Uncle, since he constantly teases you, you speak gently, but your face betrays little warmth, and there’s always a hint of wariness in your eyes. That just proves you take him seriously and never let your guard down. But with me? You always just brush me off!” Zhu Helin slammed his palm against the table in frustration. “Tell me, am I wrong?!”
Teenagers in their rebellious phase are getting harder to appease. Su Yan let out a soft sigh. “‘Brushing off’ is a bit harsh, but I won’t deny there’s a certain ‘casualness’ to how I treat you. When I’m with His Majesty, I must tread carefully, as if walking on thin ice. When I face Yu Wang, I must remain on high alert, never letting my guard down for a moment. But with you, I can truly relax and be myself. Because I know—you don’t just see me as a tutor or a companion. You see me as a trusted friend. That’s why, in the side hall of the Eastern Garden, I made you that promise—to do all I can to help you navigate the stormy seas ahead. Do you really think that was just empty words? That it wasn’t spoken from the heart?”
Zhu Helin was stirred by the earnestness in Su Yan’s final question. His heart skipped a beat as he instinctively grabbed Su Yan’s hand and pressed it to his chest, countering with a question of his own: “How could you possibly doubt my feelings for you? I’ve told you before, ‘I will never betray you.’ Yet you refuse to fully believe me, quoting, ‘Friendship often changes; it is said hearts are easily swayed.’ Isn’t it because you think I’m too young, my nature unsteady, and therefore unworthy of your lifelong trust? Tell me, what must I do to make you believe in me? Do I need to cut this heart out and let you see it for yourself?”
Su Yan was rendered speechless.
After a long pause, he replied, “I’ve underestimated you, young master. I always thought you were still young and that promises made in the heat of the moment might not stand the test of time. I hoped instead that you’d focus on studying governance under His Majesty and grow into the responsibility of leading this vast empire. I worried that spending too much time with me would distract you from your studies. That’s why I’ve avoided the Eastern Palace recently and even stood you up several times. I didn’t mean to truly hurt you… It’s my fault.”
Zhu Helin’s eyes reddened. He wrapped Su Yan in a firm embrace, pressing their foreheads together. His voice was low but resolute. “It’s not that you’ve failed me. I haven’t been good enough. I haven’t done enough to earn your absolute trust…. But I will. When you leave the capital, where you can’t see me, I’ll grow up—quickly. And when you come back, you’ll find a man who’s mature, dependable, and worthy of your faith. Please, give me more time. Please wait for me a little longer. Can you?”
Su Yan’s heart burned at these words, his blood rushing hot through his veins. Where Zhu Helin touched him, his skin felt ablaze—an intensity that mirrored the youth’s feelings: pure, fiery, and fervent.
Why overthink and complicate everything? Su Yan wondered. Who could guarantee what would happen ten or twenty years from now? Who could promise that a heart poured out today wouldn’t be spurned tomorrow? Why not live in the present? At this moment, at least, this boy named Zhu Helin, the future ruler of the empire, offered him nothing but his whole, unguarded heart.
Zhu Helin clung to him tightly. Their breaths mingled, and the rush of blood in their ears drowned out the world. Despite their closeness, it still didn’t feel close enough—as if some deep chasm in his soul remained unfilled.
How could he quench this burning desire, this aching need? Zhu Helin, both bewildered and instinctively aware, leaned forward to touch Su Yan’s lips with his own.
Su Yan was just about to speak when the other party suddenly leaned in aggressively. With a resounding “clack,” their front teeth collided head-on, even splitting their lips.
Both of them covered their mouths and took half a step back, gazing at each other with tearful eyes from the pain.
Zhu Helin mumbled, “Why did you suddenly start talking!”
Su Yan retorted, equally garbled, “Why did you suddenly rush in!”
They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter at the same time. With that, all lingering tension dissipated, and their relationship was restored.
Wiping the slight trace of blood from his lips, Zhu Helin reminded, “When you go to Shaanxi, remember to write me letters. The reports submitted by the Censorate will be delivered through the postal relay system, so for every letter you write to the Emperor, you must also write one to me.”
Su Yan nodded. “Alright.”
Zhu Helin thought for a moment before adding, “Even if you have nothing to report and don’t write to the Emperor, you must still write to me. It doesn’t matter what you write about.”
Su Yan smiled and nodded again. “Alright.”
Zhu Helin seemed like he had more to say, but Su Yan flicked him on the forehead. “If you keep talking, it’ll be dark before I even leave. Are you going to let me go or not, you chatterbox?”
Zhu Helin grabbed the offending finger and gave it a playful bite. “I’m not a chatterbox! You’re the stingy one, always reluctant to waste extra words on me.”
Su Yan dramatically wiped his finger on Zhu Helin’s lapel with exaggerated disgust. Zhu Helin huffed, “Oh, so now you despise my saliva?” With that, he grabbed the back of Su Yan’s head and playfully licked his cheek, nose, and lips.
Su Yan wiped his now damp face with his sleeve and laughed, scolding, “You little pup! I’m done playing with you—I’m leaving!”
Zhu Helin opened his mouth as if to say something but hesitated. In the end, he only said, “Then I’ll leave first and head back to the palace. I don’t want to watch your back as you go—you watch mine instead.”
He held Su Yan’s hand as they stepped out of the house together. At the front courtyard gate, Zhu Helin untied his horse’s reins from a stone post, mounted in one swift motion, and turned his head. “I’m off! Keep your eyes on me and remember my face!” With that, he flicked his whip, urging his horse forward, galloping out of the relay station.
Su Yan stood where he was, watching Zhu Helin’s figure disappear into the distance. The horse’s hooves kicked up a cloud of dust on the yellow dirt road, swirling between them like a veil of parting sorrow.
That once dazzling son of heaven gradually shrank into a mere speck in the distance—like a tiny red mark, no bigger than a mole over one’s heart. And in Su Yan’s ears, it was as if Zhu Helin’s plea still echoed:
“Give me some more time… Wait for me just a little longer, alright?”
Su Yan’s eyes burned with unshed tears. He murmured a response, almost unconsciously: “Alright.”
The station master handed Su Yan the sealed travel permits. Su Yan wiped his face with his sleeve, took them, and climbed into the carriage. “Let’s go,” he instructed.
Under the escort of the imperial guards, the two carriages rolled forward.
—
Five miles from the relay station, a massive stone stele stood by the roadside. Bold, calligraphic characters carved into its surface read: “Capital Territory Boundary”
Yu Wang reined in his horse before the stele, gazing at the road ahead where the distant carriages and their guards were barely visible. His expression was dark.
A palace guard rode up from behind, breathing heavily. “We won’t catch up, Wangye… Let’s return.”
Yu Wang’s voice was cold. “It’s merely the distance of an arrow’s flight—if I spur my horse, I’ll reach him in moments. How can I not catch up?”
He raised his whip, but before he could lash his horse forward, someone grabbed the end tightly. His expression twisted in fury. “How dare you! Release me at once!”
The guard captain dismounted and threw himself to the ground, kneeling in front of Yu Wang’s horse. “Please return, Wangye! Have you forgotten what His Majesty said ten years ago when he erected this boundary stele?”
Yu Wang’s face was like ice, his voice squeezing out through clenched teeth:
“Not. One. Step. Beyond.”
The guard captain bowed his head, pleading, “Your Highness, you must prioritize yourself above all else. Do not let a moment of impulse bring ruin upon you!”
Yu Wang was filled with rage. He lashed his whip viciously against the stone stele. With the force of his internal energy, the sturdy granite cracked, a chunk breaking off.
Grinding his teeth, he glared at the ever-diminishing carriages in the distance. “I never wanted to return to the border garrison! I never wanted to command troops again! I just wanted to see him off, to see him one last time—was that too much to ask?!”
“However, Wangye, the Emperor won’t care about any of that. He only knows you violated the oath you swore years ago and crossed the borders of the capital region without permission!”
“And does he remember the promise he made to me?” Yu Wang roared, his eyes bloodshot, tears mixed with fury rolling down his cheeks. “The rebellion at the fortress in the Year of Gengchen—when I shielded him from a spear and almost died—how did he swear to repay me? He begged me not to die, saying that if I survived, we would rule the world together! And what happened after that? Did he keep his word? No! Not only did he break his promise, but he also stripped me of my military command and trapped me in the capital… for ten long years!”
“Ten years, Han Ben! From the fiery passion of my youth at eighteen to now, nearing thirty, the prime of my life has been wasted in this golden cage! What did I do wrong? Is it because the same royal blood flows through my veins? Because of the respect I commanded in the army? Am I to suffer betrayal and humiliation for these reasons alone?”
“‘Yu Wang, hahaha,’” he laughed bitterly, the sound chilling to hear. “‘Yu’ Wang! Does my supreme elder brother know how much I despise that title? Every time someone addresses me as such, it feels like another spear plunges into the old scar on my chest!”
Han Ben wept openly, kneeling before the horse, refusing to rise. His voice trembled as he pleaded, “Wangye, please… turn back. My lord… my general!”
As he spoke the last two words, his voice broke, echoing like the clash of swords on the battlefield, each syllable heavy with despair and loyalty. “General, if not for yourself, then think of the sixty thousand brothers of the Jingbei Army. The banners and structure may be gone, but the men remain, their hearts steadfast. If they were to learn that their general showed such disregard for himself, risking his life for something so small, how devastated would they be? If you must cross this boundary stone, then step over my corpse to do it!”
Yu Wang felt as though cold water had been poured over him, quelling the flames of his rage. He trembled, murmuring, “This is not a trivial matter… you don’t understand…”
He looked to the distant caravan of carriages, now two small specks on the horizon, disappearing into the green wilderness. The vast world seemed empty, leaving only him and his horse in the cold, lonely silence of the fields.
Ten years. He thought the only thing left of himself in the capital was an empty shell, his soul wandering the battlefields of the borderlands where his blood had once soaked the earth.
But who would have thought that within this long-still body, a faint heartbeat had stirred again? It was because of that boy—unexpectedly cast into his life by fate—that a fragile hope and an intense longing had rekindled within him.
—It was this contradictory blend of fragility and fervor that left him unable to face his true feelings. Even now, he couldn’t remove the carefree mask he had worn for so long and reveal his genuine self.
—That mask had adhered to his skin after ten years, becoming one with his flesh. Tearing it off now would surely be agonizing, a bloodied mess.
—For that boy, he had been willing to endure the pain and try to remove it. But now… he couldn’t even see him one last time!
Even if they were to meet again six months later, who could say what would have changed? Perhaps everything, or perhaps nothing at all. The feelings of this moment, like the wind passing through the fields, would be gone as quickly as they came.
The wind swept through the plains, rustling his luxurious robes. Yu Wang stood motionless, like the boundary stone behind him, solid and unyielding.
Inside the carriage, Su Yan suddenly felt a pang in his heart. Lifting the curtain, he glanced back at the road they had traveled. All he saw was a vast expanse of distant mountains, silent beneath the azure sky.
“I’m leaving… really leaving!” he murmured to himself, as if speaking to someone who wasn’t there. “You’re truly not going to see me off?”
—
The carriage bumped along the packed dirt road, traveling less than two miles before coming to a halt again. Chu Yuan, the leader of the guards, shouted ahead, “Who dares block the imperial road? Move at once!”
The person standing in the middle of the road remained unmoving, as if deaf to the command.
The guards exchanged wary glances, drawing their blades. Hearing the commotion, Su Yan’s heart tightened. He lifted the curtain and peeked outside, his gaze dimming upon recognizing the figure.
“Stand down. I know him,” Su Yan said. “Let him come.”
The guards sheathed their weapons but kept a watchful eye as the man approached the carriage. Reaching the open door, he dropped to his knees and bowed low.
Su Yan quickly stepped out and tried to help him up. “What are you doing? Why such a grand gesture? Get up! And where are your clothes?”
Wu Ming, shirtless with a bundle of thorny branches strapped to his back, refused Su Yan’s hand and pressed himself to the ground. “I’ve come to seek your forgiveness Benefactor. If not for my stubbornness, Benefactor wouldn’t have been implicated and demoted from your position in the capital. I owe you my life, yet I’ve repaid your kindness with harm time and again. I’m consumed with guilt and have no way to atone for my actions. All I can do is follow the example of the ancients and beg for your punishment, hoping it will serve as a warning to others.”
Su Yan looked down at the man’s bronzed, muscular back, covered in countless tiny, bleeding scratches from the thorns. He sighed. “It’s not as serious as you think! My clash with the Wei family was inevitable, even without your involvement. It’s just a coincidence that our paths crossed in this matter. You can’t blame yourself entirely.”
Wu Ming remained obstinate, “You’re too kind-hearted Benefactor. If you won’t punish me, I’ll do it myself.”
Su Yan, exasperated, nudged him lightly with his foot. “Fine, I’ve punished you. Now get up. If you don’t, I’ll get angry. Where have you been these past few days, and what have you been doing?”
Reluctantly rising, Wu Ming kept his head low and said with shame, “After the failed assassination at Lingguang Temple, I was wanted by the authorities and had to hide in the outskirts. Last night, I learned of your demotion for sheltering a wounded fugitive and your impending departure from the capital. I decided to wait for your carriage here at Five Mile Post, and thankfully, I’ve found you.”
“I… this little one… what I mean to say is,” he stammered, a rare sight, hesitating as he spoke, “if my benefactor does not find me unworthy, I am willing to follow you, to witness with my own eyes the day you overthrow the Wei clan and other corrupt nobles who oppress the common people. You may command me as you wish—I will face fire and water without complaint.”
Su Yan’s expression turned stern. “Are you a ‘little one’? If so, would it be appropriate for me to have a ‘little one’ by my side?”
Wu Ming felt even more ashamed. “No. It’s not appropriate.”
Su Yan’s lips curved into a slight smile. “You shouldn’t let guilt crush you. Speak as you normally would, act as you normally would—like when you stayed at my house before. I actually prefer it that way.”
Wu Ming couldn’t help but straighten his back and meet Su Yan’s gaze. “Does this mean, my lord, you’ve agreed to let me follow you?”
Su Yan replied, “If I didn’t agree, would you stop following me?”
Wu Ming shook his head honestly. “I’d follow you in secret.”
“Then it’s settled. Instead of hiding and living like a fugitive, why not travel with me openly? We can look out for each other.” Su Yan teased, “My carriage may not be big, but it can still fit a little concubine.”
Embarrassed to the point of his face turning crimson, Wu Ming protested awkwardly, “My lord!”
Su Yan burst into laughter. “The capital is abuzz with rumors that I, Su Yan, was so angry over a concubine stolen by Wei Jun that I chopped off his arm in a fit of rage for them. The stories are quite vivid. Haven’t you heard?”
Wu Ming’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, almost too ashamed to show his face.
Su Yan reached out and touched Wu Ming’s chest with his fingertips, brushing against the firm muscles.
Wu Ming flinched as though struck, instinctively trying to move away but ultimately staying still, allowing Su Yan to undo the fabric binding the thorny brambles on his back.
Patting his arm with a hint of admiration, Su Yan said, “You’ve got a great build—lean in clothes, muscular without… Now get in the carriage; I’ll find you a jacket.”
He turned back inside, and Wu Ming followed, sitting properly on the opposite seat, the blush on his face still lingering.
Su Yan rummaged through his bundle, pulled out a long robe, and draped it over Wu Ming’s shoulders. Smiling, he said, “We’re about the same height. This robe fits me loosely, so it should be just right for you.”
Wu Ming quickly dressed himself. Su Yan also found a suitable cap and placed it on his topknot. Once properly attired, Wu Ming looked quite the part of a respectable bodyguard.
From the front of the carriage, Su Xiaobei peeked in. “My lord, shall we set off?”
Su Yan nodded. “Let’s go.”
As Su Xiaobei lightly cracked the whip to get the horses moving, he mused to himself: It’s true what they say—‘one doesn’t look extraordinary until compared to others.’ Among these scruffy-looking Embroidered Uniform Guard guards, Wu Ming does look halfway decent.
Inside the carriage, Su Yan asked with a smile, “So, are you finally going to tell me your real name?”
“You already figured it out, my lord… ‘Wu Ming’ was my alias as an assassin. I can’t use it anymore. My real name is Jinghong Zhui. Surname Jing Hong, given name Zhui.”
“That’s an uncommon surname. What’s your older sister’s name? Once the Wei family is completely taken care of, we can rebuild her grave and erect a proper tombstone.”
“Jinghong Tao. The ‘tao’ from tao zhi yao yao.’”
“Zhui and Tao? Your parents gave their children names with such a playful contrast—one to chase, one to flee.”
“No, not flee. It’s ‘tao’ as in tao zhi yao yao, zhuo zhuo qi hua…—‘peach blossoms flourish, their beauty glows brightly.’ A woman prepared for marriage, destined for a home of harmony.”
“Ah, so I’ve gained a concubine of harmony and grace,” Su Yan teased again.
Jing Hongzhui, whose face had just regained its normal color, blushed once more, his voice low but firm. “My lord, please stop joking about this!”
“If you’re pretending to be my bodyguard, you should address yourself as ‘your subordinate’ or ‘your humble servant.’ Otherwise, others might find it suspicious.”
“It’s not pretending—I truly wish to serve you, my lord. It’s not just to escape trouble. Don’t you believe me?”
“That depends on how you perform,” Su Yan replied with a smile, tossing him a melon. “Start by peeling this melon for me—without breaking the rind.”
