That night, under the light of a flickering lamp, Su Yan wrote a lengthy memorial to the Emperor and a letter of inquiry to the Crown Prince. At dawn, he planned to send both via the express courier station, stamped with an urgent seal to reach the capital in six days.
Meanwhile, Gao Shuo arrived at the Yanan command post, sealing a slip of paper in a wax tube and attaching it to a carrier pigeon destined for the capital’s Northern Surveillance Bureau of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
Elsewhere, the bandit followers rode under the stars, carrying a box of severed heads to Eagle Beak Mountain, a journey of two days.
That night, Shen Qi, Qianshi of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, was released from prison after completing his sentence. He stood alone in the vast and desolate courtyard of the Su Residence, gazing into the distance at a waning crescent moon.
Yu Wang’s carriage, carrying a stack of newly drawn architectural blueprints from the Ministry of Works for the academy, passed through Huanghua Lane. Upon reaching the entrance of the Su Residence, the carriage was ordered to stop. Yu Wang lifted the curtain and gazed for a long time, but when his attendant respectfully asked if he wished to enter, he shook his head and departed.
In the Hall of Mental Cultivation, the lights shone as brightly as daylight. The Emperor, holding a brush dipped in red ink, was annotating memorials and asked the Crown Prince for his thoughts. The Crown Prince stammered through a hesitant response but, seeing his father frown, had a sudden flash of inspiration and proposed an unconventional solution. The Emperor initially commented, “Not adhering to proper principles—where did you learn this?” but then fell into deep contemplation.
The Crown Prince missed Su Yan—missed him dearly.
—
The following morning at dawn, in the rear hall of the government office, Lu Angao, nicknamed the “Iron-Blooded Censor” within and outside the court, sat upright in a grand chair. He looked energized to the point of exhilaration, showing no sign of the fright he had experienced the previous night.
Zhou Zhidao, the prefect of Yanan, entered, exchanged polite greetings with him, and took the host’s seat. The two began discussing the events at the execution grounds the previous night.
After two rounds of tea, the third key figure had yet to arrive. Lu Angao sneered, “That Su Twelve* is truly arrogant. We agreed to meet at dawn for a discussion—how dare he be late!”
Prefect Zhou, feeling somewhat slighted, tried to smooth things over. “He’s new here and perhaps unaccustomed to the climate. Let me send someone to the inn to check on him.”
At that moment, a servant entered to announce Su Yan’s arrival. Su Yan walked into the hall with a smile. “I appreciate the prefect’s concern. I am perfectly well and even had time to enjoy a local breakfast on the streets. The Shaanxi-style oil-splashed noodles and hulu tou* truly live up to their reputation.”
These local specialties were among Prefect Zhou’s favorites, and he immediately agreed enthusiastically, “With a bit more Sichuan pepper and Zanthoxylum sauce, the mild numbing and spiciness bring out their best flavors.”
Su Yan remarked, “Why were there no chili sauce in the shops? Zanthoxylum is pungent with a hint of bitterness, whereas chili is fragrant, spicy, and slightly sweet—far superior in taste.”
“Chili? Where is it from? I’ve been immersed in culinary arts for years but have never heard of it.”
Suddenly remembering that the Americas had only recently been discovered and chili had yet to be introduced to China, Su Yan regretted, “It’s a Western spice I heard about in Quanzhou, but I haven’t seen it myself.”
Prefect Zhou shared his regret, “I’ll have to ask my friends in Quanzhou to watch for ships from the West. If they find chili seeds, I’ll have them sent back for planting. My backyard already grows ginger, garlic, Sichuan pepper, Zanthoxylum, and mustard greens—there’s even an empty plot just waiting—”
“Ahem!” Lu Angao coughed loudly.
Prefect Zhou snapped back to reality, realizing he had veered off topic again into his culinary hobby. Embarrassed, he sipped his tea to cover his awkwardness.
Lu Angao, knowing Zhou Zhidao to be a mild and somewhat ineffectual official, felt that his decisive methods were all that had kept the prefect’s jurisdiction from falling entirely into chaos. The thought only fueled his resentment toward Su Yan, whom he saw as an interfering upstart.
He spoke sharply to Su Yan, “Since we’re all here, let me make this clear. I’ll overlook your insolence last night for Prefect Zhou’s sake. However, from now on, matters concerning bandit suppression fall squarely under my jurisdiction. You, Su Qinghe*, have no right to meddle. As for horse breeding, you can oversee that however you please—I won’t interfere.”
This statement was not only domineering but also blatantly belittling, reducing Su Yan’s role to something akin to a stablemaster.
Su Yan did not react with immediate anger. Instead, he turned to Prefect Zhou and asked, “What is the Lord Prefect’s view on Censor Lu’s proposal?”
Prefect Zhou couldn’t quite figure out the newly appointed Censor Su—he looked too young, and as the saying goes, “A hairless mouth does an unreliable job.” Yet, when he spoke, he diverted attention skillfully, making it hard to grasp his true intentions.
He had connections among the capital officials and once overheard one speaking with mockery: “This year’s special imperial examination produced a rising star, highly favored by His Majesty. Even the Crown Prince and Yu Wang are fond of him. He’s quite the troublemaker—biting this person, then that one, leaving chaos in his wake. In the end, not only did he cost the Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard his life, but he also left a noble marquis on the brink of death. If he comes to Shaanxi, Lord Zhou, you’d better watch out—lest he sink his teeth into you.”
Another, however, spoke in admiration: “This year’s imperial examination produced a true talent. Though young and of low official rank, he courageously struck the Drums of Appeal, stormed the Gate, and openly denounced corrupt officials. He listed twelve major crimes against them, presenting irrefutable evidence like mountains. In the end, he cleared his mentor’s name and brought the treacherous ministers to justice. Such integrity! A model of purity in government! If he comes to Shaanxi, Lord Zhou, you should make an effort to befriend him—his future is boundless.”
Faced with these starkly different assessments, Prefect Zhou wasn’t sure whom to believe. In the end, he decided to take things step by step, listen more, and speak less.
When Su Yan turned to ask his opinion, Prefect Zhou stroked his beard and uttered an age-old classic:
“Hmm… uh… ah.”
Lu Angao was secretly frustrated and shot Prefect Zhou a glance, signaling him to stop equivocating and take a stand for the truth. Pressured, Prefect Zhou finally said cautiously, “Censor Su, you see, Censor Lu does make some valid points…”
Su Yan cut in, “So, Lord Prefect, you agree with him?”
Prefect Zhou hesitated again, repeating his “Hmm, uh, ah,” while Censor Lu idly skimmed the tea foam with his cup lid, his chin lifted high.
“With three people voting and two in agreement, no matter how much I object, it seems useless,” Su Yan sighed regretfully before abruptly shifting his tone. “However, there are more than just three of us here. Before I state my position, let’s first hear that person’s opinion.”
Prefect Zhou glanced around. “Which person?”
Lu Angao sneered, “Stop playing games!”
Su Yan pulled a yellow silk scroll from the wide sleeve of his robe and declared solemnly, “A decree from His Majesty! Two Lords, prepare to receive the imperial edict!”
Lu Angao’s hand trembled, nearly dropping his teacup. The scalding tea spilled onto his thigh, making him jump up and hastily place the cup back on the table.
On the other hand, Prefect Zhou seemed to have anticipated this. He adjusted the hem of his official robe and knelt before the decree in Su Yan’s hands.
Lu Angao had no choice but to kneel as well. Su Yan nudged his knee with his boot tip. “You’re kneeling crookedly, Brother Lu! This decree isn’t addressed to you; it’s for me. I’m not a eunuch delivering the edict—why are you kneeling to me? Face northeast, toward the Forbidden City!”
Gritting his teeth, Lu Angao shifted his knees and turned toward the northeast, his voice ringing out: “Minister Lu Angao, ready to receive the imperial decree!”
“Minister Zhou Zhidao, ready to receive the imperial decree.”
“…In recent times, the officials in Shaanxi have proven unfit, and the administration of horse breeding has fallen into complete disarray. Hence, you are hereby commanded to go there and, in coordination with officials from the Imperial Stables and the Supervisory Court of the Gardens, take charge of the horse-breeding affairs,” Su Yan paused briefly at this point.
Lu Angao glanced up at him, a self-satisfied look on his face: See? The court has only assigned you to handle horse breeding. Who gave you the authority to meddle in everything else?
Su Yan smiled faintly and continued reading: “Apart from horse breeding, you are also entrusted with the oversight of civil administration, border troops, public security, agriculture, commerce, and any other matters of governance. If there are issues, you are authorized to act at your discretion and exercise full control. The provincial offices of the Governor, the Administration, and the Surveillance, as well as all subordinate officials in Shaanxi, are placed under your authority and must comply with your directives. Thus decreed and to be obeyed.”
With every line Su Yan read, Lu Angao’s complexion grew paler. By the time he heard, “all officials are under your command and subject to your directives,” his face was ashen. He lost his composure entirely and exclaimed, “If that’s the case, you might as well be crowned Shaanxi Wang!”
“Your statement is highly inappropriate, Censor Lu,” Su Yan said with a smile. “I’m merely here to tidy up the garden—clear away the withered grass and dead leaves, prune the wayward branches. Once the garden is restored to order, I will return to the capital to report on my work.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I plow, fertilize, and rid the weeds and pests from this small plot of land that is the Yanan Prefecture, would you? That way, after I leave, you can cultivate it as you wish—whether planting dogwood or chili peppers.”
“Not at all, not at all!” Prefect Zhou quickly responded, bowing with his hands clasped. Internally, he sighed with relief: Good thing I held back earlier. Now, my words have some room for maneuvering.
Even as Zhou felt fortunate, he couldn’t help but worry: While Censor Lu’s heavy-handed methods kept the city relatively stable, this new Censor Su is young and wields enormous power. Can he really manage the situation? If he fails to control it, won’t chaos reign in this region?
Su Yan turned to Lu Angao and said with a solemn expression, “Now that everything has been laid out, it’s my turn to state my position.
“Lu Angao, first, you disregard the well-being of the people, treating lives with contempt. Second, you neglect proper governance, acting with cruelty and violence. Third, you refuse to heed good counsel, being obstinate and self-willed. You are unfit for office. By the authority of this imperial edict, I hereby remove your responsibility for bandit suppression, dismiss you from your post as Censor of the Imperial Censorate, and strip you of your official rank, reducing you to a commoner. You are to be escorted back to the capital to await the Emperor’s judgment.”
“I have already drafted a report, which has been sent express to the Emperor. When you arrive in the capital, appropriate punishment will await you.”
Lu Angao’s legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, shouting in disbelief, “I am a court-appointed official, recorded in the Ministry of Personnel’s registry! You, a mere seventh-rank Censor, also under the Censorate, have no authority to strip me of my position! This is preposterous!”
Holding the imperial decree, Su Yan lowered his gaze and replied, “This edict, written personally by the Emperor, is my authority. Since all officials below the provincial level are under my jurisdiction, I am entirely within my rights to dismiss those who are unfit for office. Is there a problem with that?”
“I don’t believe it!” Lu Angao shouted in despair. “This decree is a forgery! Never in my eleven years of service have I seen the Emperor issue such a biased and blind order!”
“Falsely accusing me of forging an imperial edict is one thing, but daring to speak such insubordinate words—do you feel unsatisfied because I haven’t beheaded you on the spot?” Su Yan’s voice was sharp and cold. “Defying an imperial decree—are you eager to witness the power of the Imperial Sword, which grants the right to execute first and report later?”
“The—Imperial Sword! The Emperor even bestowed you the Imperial Sword?” Lu Angao scrutinized Su Yan, his expression shifting to one of fear.
Su Yan sneered. “Do you truly wish to see the sword? I fear that once it leaves its sheath, your head will roll to the ground—just like those seven criminals last night.”
Lu Angao froze, his face drained of color. In a daze, he muttered, “I don’t want to see it! I don’t want to see it…”
Su Yan turned to Prefect Zhou. “I’ll need to borrow your yamen officers to escort Lu Angao to the capital.”
Prefect Zhou nodded grimly and summoned his men. Right then and there, Lu Angao’s official hat and robes were stripped from him. Half-dragged and stumbling, he was taken away, still mumbling, “The Imperial Sword grants the power of execution—how could His Majesty bestow it upon a mere favored official? The Emperor is being reckless…”
Su Yan thought to himself, If you keep running your mouth and disrespecting authority, once you face the Emperor in the capital, you’ll only be sealing your own fate.
Though he had used the Imperial Sword to intimidate Lu Angao, he had no real intention of executing him. No matter what, Lu Angao was still a censor—an esteemed officer responsible for oversight and discipline. Even if he had committed a crime, he should be dealt with according to the law. After all, in modern terms, they were colleagues in the same disciplinary department. If he personally killed a fellow official, how would others in the same field view him? How would he continue working within the system?
Prefect Zhou finally steadied his emotions, let out a long breath, and cupped his hands toward Su Yan. “From here on, it will be up to you, Censor Su.”
Su Yan could tell that while Prefect Zhou was competent in routine affairs, he lacked decisiveness when it came to major decisions. Without hesitation, he said, “First, abolish the system of collective punishment under the Ten-Family Responsibility Law. Issue an official notice to reassure the people, encourage them to return to their lands, and exempt this year’s taxes. Any displaced peasants who have lost their land and fled will be allowed to surrender themselves without punishment. Depending on the size of their families, they will be allocated pastureland for farming.”
“What about those who refuse to surrender and continue plundering as bandits?”
“Bandits must still be suppressed. However, we should focus on pacifying and dividing them. As many as possible should be persuaded to return to farming—turning outlaws back into civilians will naturally weaken their numbers. This is only the first step—to make it clear where the government stands. The real issue we must address next is the problem of private horse breeding among the populace. The Household Horse Law must be abolished before the people can truly live in peace.”
Prefect Zhou was shocked. “Abolish the Household Horse Law? How could that be possible? This law was personally decreed by the Taizu emperor and has been enforced for a hundred years. There has never been any intention of repealing it!”
Su Yan thought to himself, If we don’t find a way to abolish it now, are we just going to let it become the spark that ignites rebellion? One way or another, the decline of private horse breeding is inevitable. If I recall correctly, in a few decades, during a certain reign, the court will be forced to sell off large numbers of warhorses just to stay afloat, and they’ll end up having to buy horses from foreign tribes, effectively funding their own enemies. By then, it will truly be too late.
But these thoughts weren’t for Prefect Zhou to hear. Instead, Su Yan simply said, “Everything has its lifespan, and government policies are no exception—they must evolve with the times. The Household Horse Law has run its course, and the burden on the common people has become unsustainable. The key is to strengthen the state-run horse farms. If the imperial stud farms can breed enough warhorses for the frontier, there will naturally be no need to rely on the populace for horse breeding.”
Zhou Zhidao grew increasingly overwhelmed the more he listened—he knew that the entrenched problems were hard to tackle. According to Su Yan’s vision, drastic reforms and sweeping measures were required, and he could only imagine how difficult the implementation would be.
As his apprehension grew, he instinctively sought an excuse to evade responsibility and said, “This matter isn’t something I, as a mere prefect, can decide on. It requires the approval of Inspector General Lord Wei.”
“Ah, you mean Wei Quan—better known as Wei Tangyuan—the Shaanxi Inspector General who petitioned to abolish most of the Court of Imperial Studs and Yuanma Temple?” Su Yan calculated his plans and began to outline a reform strategy in his mind. “I’ll certainly have to deal with that ‘Tangyuan Lord’ eventually, but not just yet.”
He suddenly asked, “Lord Prefect, are you aware of what happened last night at the execution grounds?”
Zhou Zhidao was caught off guard but nodded. “Yes, I’m aware.”
“Today, while having breakfast at a roadside stall, I overheard that the criminal heads displayed on poles outside the city under Censor Lu’s orders disappeared overnight.”
“Most likely taken by accomplices under the cover of night. This has happened before. Recently, thanks to Censor Lu’s strict measures, the notorious bandits have gone into hiding. Their leaders are untraceable, and only a few underlings remain active.”
“And what of that infamous bandit Qi Meng, currently imprisoned? It’s said he’s one of the gang’s leaders. What are your plans for him?”
Zhou Zhidao frowned. “He’s a ferocious criminal. Last time he raided a certain official’s estate, he killed not only the resisting owner but also all the women and servants. And during a previous raid on military supplies bound for Ningxia, he delayed vital provisions to the frontier. According to the law, he deserves execution.”
Su Yan nodded. “Since he’s committed capital offenses, let’s hold a public trial at the main market square. Let the entire city see and hear the case clearly.”
Zhou Zhidao agreed. “That sounds reasonable.”
“Also, precautions must be taken against accomplices attempting to break him out. Strengthen security at the city gates and the prison, deploy additional guards, and instruct officers to remain vigilant and not let their guard down.”
Zhou Zhidao agreed to all the instructions, feeling reassured by Su Yan’s measured approach. The weight in his heart eased considerably.
Su Yan, his throat dry from speaking so much, poured himself a cup of tea and downed it in one go. He glanced at the turbulent skies outside the window. “This weather is stiflingly hot. I fear there will be a heavy storm this afternoon.”
Feeling drained after the verbal sparring and deep strategizing, Su Yan sighed, “Lord Prefect, do not forget the tasks I’ve entrusted to you.” He lazily cupped his hands in farewell.
Leaving the back hall, Su Yan addressed Jinghong Zhui, who was waiting outside. “Ah Zhui, I want to head back to the inn for some rest. When I wake up, I want lamb stew with flatbread and a chilled pot of sweet osmanthus rice alcohol.”