“Heading west from the capital, you’ll reach the Shanxi Provincial Administration Department, referred to simply as Shanxi Department. My lord, look—this is Datong Prefecture, near the Great Wall…”
That night, having missed their intended lodging stop, the guards set up camp in the open wilderness. They formed a perimeter and pitched their tents, tending to the horses and resting.
By the campfire, Gao Shuo sat on a large rock, holding an expansive map of the Ming territory, pointing out details for Su Yan.
As a modern person who “enjoyed reading but never sought deep understanding,” Su Yan could roughly sketch out the five continents on a world map, but he was utterly clueless about the Ming dynasty’s territorial changes and administrative divisions. He didn’t even know that the highest administrative units of the time weren’t called “provinces” but “departments.”
Fortunately, Gao Shuo, a seasoned Embroidered Uniform Guard secret agent, had a thorough grasp of such matters. When Su Yan inquired about the route to Shaanxi, Gao Shuo retrieved his personal map and began explaining in detail.
“Datong? Isn’t that one of the Nine Borders?” Su Yan vaguely recalled the name. To defend against the Tatars and other northern tribes, the Ming dynasty had established nine major military strongholds along the Great Wall, collectively known as the “Nine Borders.” He could only remember three—Liaodong, Ningxia, and Datong.
Gao Shuo nodded. “Yes. The Datong Garrison oversees eight guards, seven battalions, and 583 fortresses, all under Datong Prefecture.”
Su Yan pointed to a character beside Datong on the map—”Dai”—and asked, “What does this mean?”
“This used to be the fief of Dai Wang. Oh, but now it’s called Yu Wang’s domain. Though his title changed, he was never sent there. The fief still exists, but the border command has been reassigned, and the Jingbei Army that Dai Wang once led has been disbanded and distributed among various garrisons,” Gao Shuo explained.
Su Yan fell silent. He could still hear Yu Wang’s resentful words from their conversation at the Wutong Pavilion—
“He wants my name, my title, my land, my army… Fine, let him take them. It’s not like I have to fight him to the death over it!”
Even though thoughts of Yu Wang still stirred resentment within him, Su Yan couldn’t deny that the man’s fate was rather tragic. He let out a slow sigh and murmured, “It makes sense. A prince with military power is a threat to any emperor, no matter how wise. Even if he harbors no rebellious intent, there’s no guarantee that his subordinates won’t. History has seen enough incidents—troops wrapping a golden robe around a general, forcing him into rebellion.”
“The Emperor is farsighted. For the stability of the nation, he eliminated these hidden threats in advance.”
—But in doing so, he also sacrificed Yu Wang’s ambitions and freedom.
There was no clear right or wrong—only differing standpoints.
Jinghong Zhui, uninterested in state affairs, was busy roasting a wild rabbit he had caught over the fire. Catching sight of Su Yan’s solemn expression, he suddenly interjected, “My lord, do you want some pepper?”
Su Yan paused for a moment, noticing the oil dripping into the fire, sizzling as the rich aroma of roasted meat filled the air. His mood lightened, and he smiled, “Of course, we need it. Grind the pepper into powder and mix it with salt to make pepper salt.”
“And cumin?”
“That too—grind it into powder and use plenty of it.”
Jinghong Zhui cupped two large bundles of pepper and cumin in his hands. With a slight exertion of inner strength, the spices were ground into fine powder, while the cowhide wrapping remained entirely intact. This display of refined martial skill and precision left Su Yan in awe.
Su Yan cast another expectant glance at the rabbit roasting golden-brown over the fire, then turned back to Gao Shuo. “Once we’ve passed Shanxi, heading southwest, we’ll reach Shaanxi, correct?”
“Correct.” Gao Shuo traced a line on the map along the Yellow River with his finger. “We’ll cross the river here to enter the Shaanxi region. To avoid disturbances from northern enemies, we’ll stay as far from the Great Wall as possible. It should take about half a month to reach Yanan Prefecture.”
Su Yan nodded, his gaze lingering on the capital marked on the map. Unable to suppress the question that had been brewing in his heart, he asked, “Gao Shuo, you…”
He hesitated slightly, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Were you sent here under Shen Qianshi’s orders? What about the other nineteen guards?”
Gao Shuo found himself momentarily distracted as Su Yan’s pale face moved closer. Illuminated by the firelight, his features seemed even more striking, like a rare midnight orchid blooming. Gao Shuo’s heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively leaned back, slipping off the stone he was perched on.
Fortunately, he reacted quickly, using his hand to brace against the ground and twisting his body into a crouch. Slightly embarrassed, he muttered, “The moss on the stone is too slippery.”
Jinghong Zhui glanced at him coldly and said, “Lord, the rabbit is done.”
“Let it cool for a while,” Su Yan said absentmindedly, still focused on getting an answer from Gao Shuo.
Gao Shuo, regaining composure, replied truthfully, “The list of twenty guards was indeed submitted by Qianshi Shen. Of the twenty, including me, seven are his people. He dared not fill the roster entirely with his own men, fearing suspicion from His Majesty. The leader, Chu Yuan, wasn’t on the original list—he’s a personal guard of His Majesty.”
Su Yan couldn’t help but chuckle. Shen Qi wasn’t just a trusted confidant of the emperor; he was the emperor’s eyes and ears. Yet, from Gao Shuo’s account, it seemed the two were constantly guarding against one another, even scheming over something as trivial as a guard roster.
Gao Shuo, however, kept quiet about Shen Qi’s imprisonment.
The night before setting out, Gao Shuo had visited Shen Qi in the imperial prison. The sight of the once-powerful official now shackled in heavy irons, dressed in prison garb, calmly sipping cold water while seated on a straw mat, left him choked with emotion. He had berated the jailers for being inflexible, demanding they at least remove the restraints.
Shen Qi had remained composed, dismissing it all with indifference. “It’s only half a month of confinement. Compared to harsher punishments, this is nothing. I’m fine. Your focus should be on looking after Lord Su for me.”
Gao Shuo had agreed. He was well aware of the unusual bond between Shen Qi and Su Yan. He suspected the two shared a private affection hidden not only from the court but also from the emperor and the imperial family. Recalling how he had once spied on Su Yan’s residence and witnessed Yu Wang’s advances toward him, as well as the Crown Prince’s frequent visits in plain clothes, Gao Shuo couldn’t help but worry for Shen Qi, who seemed to be courting danger.
“By the time you reach Shaanxi in half a month, report back on his condition—any difficulties, injuries, or illnesses. Each prefecture—Yanan, Qingyang, Fengxiang, and Xian—has Embroidered Uniform Guard outposts. Take the Northern Surveillance Bureau’s seal with you before leaving and use their carrier pigeons to send updates.”
Gao Shuo had dutifully agreed but asked, “Does Lord Qianshi have any letters or messages for me to deliver?”
Shen Qi had reached into his robe but then withdrew his hand, resting it on his knee. Without any expression, he said, “No. And don’t tell him about my imprisonment.”
“But Lord Su is leaving tomorrow morning. If Lord Qianshi doesn’t see him off and he doesn’t know why, he’ll surely feel regret…”
“Better for him to feel regret or even resentment than to worry unnecessarily.” Shen Qi had closed his eyes, turning his back to Gao Shuo, signaling an end to the conversation.
Gao Shuo sighed inwardly but had no choice but to follow the orders given.
“Anyway, these twenty guards were carefully selected and are trustworthy, right?” Su Yan said.
Gao Shuo replied, “We are sworn to protect Lord Su with our lives. However, I still urge you, my lord, not to take in strangers of unknown background in the future. One must always be wary of the hearts of men.”
Jinghong Zhui let out a scoff from the side, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Gao Shuo immediately turned a sharp gaze on him, his eyes carrying an intensity reminiscent of Shen Qi. “I’m talking about you! If Lord Su hadn’t decided to take you in, you would have been arrested on the spot for blocking an official carriage and bound for the capital to face the authorities.”
Jinghong Zhui had never cared about anyone’s opinion except Su Yan’s. Facing an old grudge with the Embroidered Uniform Guard, he once again took on the demeanor of an assassin and fugitive, his eyes flashing with the cold gleam of a drawn blade. “Even if all twenty of you joined forces, you might not be able to defeat my single swift sword. Want to try?”
Enraged, Gao Shuo slammed the map onto the ground and sprang to his feet.
Su Yan sighed and rubbed his forehead. Gao Shuo truly was Shen Qi’s trusted aide—normally composed, yet somehow always at odds with Wu Ming… or rather, Jinghong Zhui. That particular trait was just like Shen Qi.
“Enough! What’s all this noise? Both of you, shut up!” Su Yan commanded in a low voice.
Gao Shuo picked up the map, cupped his fists toward Su Yan, and said with remorse, “My apologies, my lord. I take my leave.” With that, he walked toward the perimeter where the other guards were stationed.
Jinghong Zhui, unfazed, handed the roasted rabbit on a stick to Su Yan. “My lord, it’s cooled down. Eat it while it’s still warm.”
Su Yan didn’t take it. Instead, he sighed. “Wu—Ah Zhui, be more courteous to them, or at least don’t be so openly hostile. Didn’t you hear Gao Shuo say that more than half of them are imperial guards? Making enemies everywhere won’t do you any good.”
Hearing Su Yan call him Ah Zhui made Jinghong Zhui’s ears heat up slightly. As long as he wasn’t being teased with little concubine, he could endure it. He stiffly replied, his expression blank—(Su Xiaobei: Deadpan face! Su Xiaojing: Frozen pear face!)—”Understood. I won’t cause trouble for you in the future.”
Su Yan raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m advising you just to avoid trouble for myself?”
Jinghong Zhui’s voice deepened. “I know my own temperament—I’m difficult, my words are harsh, and I’m not well-liked.”
Su Yan chuckled. “What are you even worried about? Do you think I just met you today? If your words were dripping with honey, that’s when I’d find it strange. Everyone has their own strengths. I know yours full well.”
Jinghong Zhui pressed his lips together tightly and stayed silent. With clean hands, he tore off the rabbit’s legs, placed them neatly on a plate, and then stripped the meat from the back and belly, stacking it into a tidy pile. He handed the plate to Su Yan.
Su Yan, not fond of getting his hands greasy, held the plate and ate with chopsticks. Watching Jinghong Zhui gnaw on the rabbit bones, now mostly stripped of meat, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop gnawing on the bones. Come eat some meat with me.”
“There’s not much meat on a rabbit. Next time, I’ll get you a deer.” Jinghong Zhui bit down on the crispy bones, chewing them to bits and swallowing everything. “I’ve eaten all sorts of things since I was little. I’m used to it. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Su Yan knew Jinghong Zhui had grown up in poverty, enduring countless hardships. His heart ached at the thought. “There’s still dry rations in the cart—sesame buns, fried noodles, crackers, and jerky. You can take some and cook yourself a meal.”
The “crackers” were a type of travel food made from flour and water, kneaded into the shape of small game pieces. They could be boiled, fried, or prepared in various flavors by mixing the dough with salt, ginger juice, pepper, animal fat, or meat broth.
Jinghong Zhui fetched a bag of crackers with a “three-flavor” seasoning, boiled them into a pot of soup, tossed in some wild greens, and divided it into two bowls to share with Su Yan.
Su Yan ate until he was stuffed, hiccuping as he washed his hands and face. He paced a few laps around the campfire, listening to the chirping of insects and the occasional haunting cry of a night bird. Sleepy as he was, the eerie noises sent a small chill down his spine.
Su Xiaobei and Su Xiaojing, exhausted from driving the carriage all day, had earlier eaten some dry rations and fallen asleep in the second carriage, which carried their luggage.
Feeling drowsy himself, Su Yan prepared to sleep in the carriage and asked Jinghong Zhui, “Where are you sleeping?”
“Anywhere is fine,” Jinghong Zhui replied, pointing up at a high tree branch. “That’ll do. Away from the ground, no snakes or insects.”
Su Yan looked up at the bare branch, thinking, Even Bear Grylls would at least cut some leaves to make a shelter. You’re really just going to sleep on a branch? Aren’t you worried about being eaten alive by mosquitoes?
“Just sleep in the carriage with me,” Su Yan offered. “The benches inside can be folded up against the walls. Spread out a mat, and there’s enough space for two people.”
Jinghong Zhui hesitated and then declined. “How can a subordinate sleep alongside his master? I dare not overstep.”
Su Yan clicked his tongue. “It’s not like you’ve never shared a room with me before. Remember the second night after I fished you out of the river? You were bandaged up like a mummy, and I was recovering from a beating. Two miserable brothers in arms sharing a room—I even wanted to chat with you to pass the time, but you were as silent as a gourd. Didn’t take long before you moved to another room. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Jinghong Zhui couldn’t help but recall that night. The young official, dressed in a deep blue robe, lay prone on a couch, his expression calm despite his injuries, his words flowing like a warm current in the dim firelight.
The memory softened Jinghong Zhui’s gaze as he looked at Su Yan in the firelight. Without further resistance, he let the matter drop.
Zhui zhui is so cute