After leaving the southern study, Shen Qi had not gone far when he ran into Crown Prince Zhu Helin in the corridor. Shen Qi stepped aside and knelt halfway in salute.
The crown prince, radiant and brisk in his steps, paused when he saw Shen Qi, his expression darkening slightly as if recalling an old grievance. He stopped and said mockingly, “Shen ‘Righteous Gentleman’?”
The greeting was laced with sarcasm. Shen Qi remained expressionless and replied, “Your Highness, may you live a thousand years.”
The crown prince still harbored resentment toward Shen Qi for using his injuries to monopolize Su Yan’s attention. Knowing Su Yan’s soft-heartedness and sense of duty, Shen Qi had enjoyed nightly care from him, leaving the crown prince without Su Yan’s company for over half a month.
—And who knew whether Su Yan had been taken advantage of during his stay at Shen Qi’s residence?
Since the crown prince’s “enlightenment,” the palace had arranged for senior attendants to educate him on matters of intimacy with the help of springtime paintings. However, he had dismissed the attendants, scribbled over the paintings, and flew into a rage at repeated persuasion.
The emperor, upon hearing of this, dismissed it as youthful shyness and let it go, saying the crown prince would understand when he was older. In private, he ordered the imperial guards to observe the crown prince, who reported that his attitude toward attractive palace maids remained unchanged, without any signs of youthful infatuation. He treated his personal attendants merely as companions but regarded Su Yan, his Shidu, with unmistakable favoritism. A letter of greetings from Shaanxi was read and reread until it was nearly in tatters before being carefully preserved.
The crown prince’s affection for Su Yan was plainly written on his face, something the emperor immediately recognized. Yet this affection was so pure, carrying the fervor and sincerity of youth, that it lacked any trace of lust. This reassured the emperor, who turned his wary gaze instead toward the licentious and restless Yu Wang.
The emperor was well aware of Yu Wang’s penchant for seduction. Despite repeated admonishments, Yu Wang had ostensibly reformed, focusing on public service and keeping his hands clean. Yet his obsession with Su Yan remained, leaving the emperor exasperated.
As the saying goes, a thief can be stopped for a thousand days, but not indefinitely. Unless Yu Wang was locked behind the high walls of Fengyang, even surveillance by imperial guards couldn’t account for all twelve hours of every day. But truly imprisoning Yu Wang would not only strain their brotherly bond but also provoke the empress dowager to rail against the injustice, possibly even blaming Su Yan as a seducer and demanding his execution.
Caught in this dilemma, the emperor decided to temporarily send Su Yan out of the capital under the pretext of injury rehabilitation, allowing him to gain experience and merit in the provinces while removing him from the center of intrigue. This would give Yu Wang time to cool off, and perhaps, after a year or two, his wandering heart would find a new target, weakening his infatuation with Su Yan.
The emperor, restrained and principled, was willing to forgo his personal feelings to support Su Yan’s ambitions and protect the empire’s talents. To Yu Wang, however, he seemed a hypocrite, feigning righteousness while harboring clandestine desires. Yu Wang believed the emperor selfishly kept Su Yan as an invisible lover and, under pressure, exiled him instead of defending him, showing a lack of genuine care.
—If it were me, I’d protect the one I love no matter what. If they wanted a title, I’d even crown them as the first male empress and declare it to the world. Who dares oppose? The wrath of the emperor, reducing millions to ashes, isn’t just an empty threat.
Yu Wang had planned to provoke the emperor by alluding to events at the waterside pavilion, but with Su Yan already gone from the capital, his words lacked evidence. He resolved to wait until Su Yan returned from Shaanxi, orchestrating a scenario for the emperor to witness, forcing him to relinquish Su Yan and maintain his facade of a virtuous ruler.
The brothers’ mutual disdain—one for licentiousness, the other for hypocrisy—left the crown prince’s affection for Su Yan seeming almost childish by comparison.
But Shen Qi, having eavesdropped from the roof of the Little Southern Courtyard, had seen the crown prince playfully wrestle with Su Yan on the bed. The crown prince’s words betrayed impure thoughts, and his gaze, brimming with possessive desire, was unmistakably that of a rival male.
Even the smallest tiger still drinks blood and eats meat—Shen Qi would never let his guard down.
The Crown Prince, seeing Shen Qi’s indifferent reaction as though he didn’t understand the mocking tone, felt bored and irritated. He couldn’t resist asking with another jab, “How are the boy servants and maidservants I gifted you—ten of each—working out? Even if you switched daily attendants for your sickbed, you wouldn’t repeat anyone for twenty days. Next time you’re injured or ill, you won’t have to drag Su Yan to accompany you.”
This remark not only mocked Shen Qi for playing the victim but also intentionally hit a nerve. However, Shen Qi neither got angry nor revealed the truth: among the twenty servants were spies planted by the Crown Prince. Unable to use or sell them, he had instead bought twenty acres of fertile land in the city outskirts, settling them there to farm. His plan was that when Su Yan returned from Shaanxi, they’d have their own fresh fruits and vegetables to enjoy.
Maintaining his usual stoic expression, Shen Qi replied without missing a beat, “Thank you for your generous gift, Your Highness. I am deeply grateful and will ensure to carry out my duties flawlessly to repay the imperial grace.”
The Crown Prince found this unyielding and impenetrable demeanor increasingly tiresome. He couldn’t understand why his father enjoyed putting ministers under pressure. If everyone behaved like Shen Qi—half-dead and lifeless—where was the fun in exerting authority?
Still, having crossed paths with Shen Qi, he couldn’t let him off so easily. Thinking for a moment, a sly smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “He wrote me a letter.”
The identity of “he” was understood without further explanation. Hearing this, Shen Qi felt a pang of unease in his heart.
“Three full pages,” the Crown Prince said slowly, “describing everything he saw and thought of on his journey and what he did after arriving in Yanan. He just couldn’t put down the pen. He said he missed me. Asked if I missed him, too. Even worried about my heavy coursework and reminded me to take care of my health. So nagging, so annoying. I even told him during our farewell not to write, yet as soon as he reached Shaanxi, he eagerly picked up his brush and sent the letter by express courier, traveling 400 li. Did he write to you too?”
The feigned complaint and pretense of grievance were brimming with the Crown Prince’s obvious pride, childish as it was. Yet it successfully agitated Shen Qi. He bit back his frustration, recalling that Su Yan hadn’t sent him a single word. Any updates he had were from covert reports by Gao Shuo.
—Why didn’t Su Yan write to him?
The Crown Prince read the displeasure on Shen Qi’s face and was elated. With a smug tone, he added, “I’m sure he wrote to you as well. After all, didn’t he call you a ‘brother through life and death’?”
Shen Qi ground his molars until they nearly cracked. Arching an eyebrow, he retorted, “Naturally, it can’t compare to Lord Su’s boundless care for Your Highness. It reminds me of when I was but a child and my uncle wrote to me with such affection. Thank you, Your Highness, for rekindling memories of an elder’s love.”
The Crown Prince froze, his anger flaring. He wanted to shout, What nonsense! Su Yan’s feelings for me aren’t paternal! But he quickly realized Shen Qi’s words were deliberately ambiguous, offering no leverage for criticism. If he rose to the bait, it would only make him look guilty.
For a moment, he felt like a dog biting a porcupine—unable to sink his teeth in.
Shen Qi clasped his hands together in a salute. “The task assigned by His Majesty is urgent. May I take my leave, Your Highness?”
The Crown Prince waved impatiently. “Get lost! And don’t show up to annoy me again unless absolutely necessary.”
Shen Qi turned and walked away without hesitation.
The Crown Prince, still fuming, vented his frustration with a kick to the wooden railing of the corridor, snapping it in half.
—
Shen Qi returned to the Northern Surveillance Bureau with a grim face. The main hall was still bustling, and Shi Yanshuang, a Qianhu whom Shen Qi had promoted, was currently torturing an official.
The man was tied to a “finger-squeezer,” a set of wooden planks that pressed against the fingers with ropes pulling both ends tight. The device crushed the man’s fingers, drawing agonized screams.
“Still no confession?” Shen Qi asked, frowning.
Shi Yanshuang looked ashamed. “Forgive my incompetence, sir.”
The screams were music to Shen Qi’s ears, calming his restless mood. He ordered a small pot of oil to be brought in, its contents kept boiling over a brazier, filling the air with oppressive heat.
Shen Qi submerged the lower end of the finger-squeezer into the boiling oil. The steam scalded the official’s fingers, eliciting soul-piercing shrieks.
Shen Qi sneered coldly, “If you still refuse to confess, I’ll cut off your fingers one by one, fry them in oil until they’re crispy, and then feed them to you. This is called ‘deep-fried dough sticks’—care for a bite?”
The criminal official’s face turned deathly pale, but he gritted his teeth and remained silent. True to Shen Qi’s threat, a pinky finger was sliced off and dropped into the sizzling oil, where it crackled and crisped before being stuffed, still scalding hot, into his mouth.
The official could endure torture, but the horror of consuming his own flesh was unbearable. In the end, he broke down and confessed everything: A breach in the Yellow River had caused flooding in the Huaian region, prompting the imperial court to allocate 90,000 taels of disaster relief silver to the local counties. However, the magistrate of Shanyang embezzled 25,000 taels. When he learned that an imperial censor had been dispatched to oversee the relief efforts, he attempted to bribe him with 10,000 taels. Unexpectedly, the censor was upright and incorruptible, not only refusing the bribe but also scolding the magistrate harshly, vowing to report his crimes to the court.
Panicked, the Shanyang magistrate bribed the censor’s servant to strangle him with a sash, staging the scene as a suicide. To cover his tracks, he then used another 10,000 taels to bribe the Huaian prefect, who in turn submitted a report to Nanzhili, leading to the provincial administration commissioner, the circuit inspector, and even the governor accepting the suicide verdict without question.
It was only when the censor’s coffin was returned home that his wife discovered among his writings a note stating, “The Shanyang magistrate has embezzled disaster relief funds and tried to tempt me with profit, but I dare not accept.” Suspecting her husband had been murdered, she traveled to the capital to seek justice.
Upon hearing this, Emperor Jinglong ordered a thorough investigation. The Shanyang magistrate, overwhelmed with guilt, committed suicide. As for the Huaian prefect, he stubbornly denied taking bribes, claiming he had been misled by his subordinate and was unaware of the truth.
Shen Qi had subjected him to three rounds of torture, but the man still refused to admit guilt. In the end, it was this “deep-fried dough stick” trick that finally broke him, forcing him to sign and seal his confession.
Once the unconscious criminal was thrown into the imperial prison, Shen Qi glanced at the confession document and scoffed under his breath, “Why isn’t it Shaanxi?”
But even if it were a case in Shaanxi, he had no time to deal with it now. First, he needed to complete the emperor’s assignment—eliminating the treacherous monk Ji Yao—before he could take on any missions outside the capital.
As the officers cleaned up the courtroom, the air still carried the lingering greasy stench of fried flesh. Shen Qi paid it no mind, settling into the grand teacher’s chair with his legs habitually propped up on the desk. He then ordered the Embroidered Uniform Guard spies to gather all available information on Ji Yao, intending to find a breakthrough in the case.
At this moment, a gate guard hurriedly entered and reported, “A man claiming to be a courier is outside, saying he has a letter from Shaanxi addressed to Qianshi Shen of the Northern Surveillance Bureau. I took the letter and came to report to you immediately, sir.”
Shen Qi, who had long instructed the guards to keep an eye on incoming correspondence, could barely suppress his excitement. He leapt off his chair and said, “Give it to me!”
The guard was about to retrieve the letter from his inner pocket when Shen Qi suddenly stopped him. “Wait! The air here reeks.”
He gestured for the guard to follow him to the rear hall, ordered someone to bring a basin of water, and meticulously washed his hands with soap. After sniffing them to ensure there wasn’t a trace of blood or grime, he still wasn’t satisfied. He held his hands up to the guard. “Smell them. What do they smell like?”
The guard bent down, leaned in, and sniffed like a dog, taking a deep inhale. “They smell… fragrant.”
Only then did Shen Qi take the envelope from the guard’s pocket and dismiss him with a wave. Although eager to read it, Shen Qi hesitated, staring at the letter as if it were a feast before a starving man. His hands trembled slightly as he caressed the words “To Qianshi Shen” written on the front, unable to bring himself to open it immediately.
Finally, after taking a deep breath, he carefully broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter.
The paper was pristine white, containing only a single page with a few lines of ink. The brushstrokes were elegant, light yet vigorous, like black herons landing on waves of white mist.
“The heavens are vast, the earth boundless.
Among the smoke and fire of this world,
There is none that is you,
And yet, all is you.
Qilang, I miss you.”
Shen Qi’s fingers trembled as a mist blurred his vision, smearing the black ink on the white paper into what was, for him, the pinnacle of happiness.