The Lingguang Temple had been razed to rubble, and the “Heavenly Works Academy” blueprint finalized by Yu Wang and the Ministry of Works was well underway.
At present, the site was being cleared, foundations laid, and laborers recruited. The Ministry of Works was overwhelmed with tasks, leaving Yu Wang relatively free. He spent his time in his study poring over the draft charter for the institute left by Su Yan, rereading it so often the binding nearly came apart.
He had hired a group of advisors—some renowned Confucian scholars with experience running academies, but mostly self-taught engineers and craftsmen from the civilian world—to refine and expand the draft into a finalized charter.
Yu Wang estimated that by year’s end, Su Yan would likely return from Shaanxi. By then, the academy would have its framework in place, just in time to invite him to inspect it.
Nearly a month had passed with no word from Su Yan. He had sent memorials to the Emperor and even written a letter to young Zhu Helin, but not a single note to him. This left him feeling sour.
He justified to himself that their intimate encounter at the Wutong Waterside Pavilion might not have been entirely consensual. Still, he believed that after his initial forcefulness, Su Yan had gradually yielded and even seemed to enjoy himself. The slaps and curses afterward, on anyone else, might have been a punishable offense, but coming from Su Yan, they were mere flirtation.
As the saying goes: Hitting shows affection, scolding reveals love. If both occur, it’s true devotion. Yu Wang didn’t mind being slapped by his beloved. It didn’t hurt much anyway. In fact, he thought that if Su Yan was still angry upon his return to the capital, he’d willingly endure a few more rounds to help him vent.
One thing was certain: Su Yan was his now, and there was no escaping his grasp for the rest of his life.
This thought put Yu Wang in a much better mood. He ground ink, took up his brush, and wrote an effusive love letter brimming with sentiment. Sealing it with wax, he handed it to his trusted guards with strict instructions: “Ride through the night to Shaanxi and deliver this letter to Imperial Censor Su in person. If there is no reply, no need to return!”
The guard accepted the task, prepared his gear, and set off immediately.
Meanwhile, Shen Qi was meeting the Emperor in the imperial study to claim the promised reward.
Because of his outstanding handling of the Ji Yao case, exceeding even the emperor’s expectations in efficiency, Emperor Jinglong immediately issued an edict promoting Shen Qi to the rank of Tongzhi of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. The position of Tongzhi, a subordinate third-rank official, was second only to the Commanding Officer, and Shen Qi now controlled the Northern Surveillance Bureau, making him the de facto second-in-command of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
The position of Commanding Officer, vacant since Feng Que’s death, remained unfilled. To Shen Qi, however, it already seemed within his grasp, just waiting for a few more merits to solidify his claim.
After all, at only twenty-five years old, he had risen from a Qianhu to Qianshi and now to Tongzhi in just a few months—a meteoric rise akin to a firecracker. Climbing further too quickly, though, might provoke envy and backlash. Better to tread steadily.
Moreover, given the emperor’s temperament, he rarely showed favoritism to officials. Even Su Yan, who was an extraordinary exception, had faced censure from the court due to offending the empress dowager and certain influential nobles, ultimately being demoted and sent out of the capital to avoid further trouble.
Though Shen Qi’s promotion was only half a rank, it was a solid and stable step. He was well aware of this and felt no dissatisfaction.
After bowing to express his gratitude, Shen Qi presented a report on a case involving officials from outside the capital, subtly requesting permission to leave the city to handle the matter. The emperor did not immediately grant the request, instructing him instead to organize the documents and then withdraw.
Though Shen Qi felt disappointed, he maintained his composure, respectfully taking his leave.
Once Shen Qi had left, Emperor Jinglong turned to his attendant, Lan Xi, and casually asked, “What do you think of him?”
Lan Xi, since being reprimanded by the emperor, had grown even more cautious and reserved. Not daring to judge officials lightly, he merely replied, “This servant only seeks to serve Your Majesty wholeheartedly and would not dare to comment on others.”
The emperor shook his head. “You’re too timid now, no longer as interesting as you used to be.”
Lan Xi’s heart skipped a beat. He realized his lingering anxiety over the emperor’s stern warning about Su Yan had made him overly hesitant, to the point of losing his usual composure. Fearing he might lose the emperor’s favor altogether, he quickly forced a smile. “If Your Majesty does not mind this servant’s limited vision, I shall boldly offer my thoughts.”
“Go ahead.”
“Tongzhi Shen is young yet composed, resolute yet resourceful. He is undoubtedly a man of remarkable talent.”
The word “talent” was cleverly chosen. It suggested Shen Qi’s ruthlessness and unconventional methods, subtly hinting at potential disloyalty and difficulty in control. The emperor pondered the implications and smiled faintly. “You mean he may not be entirely loyal to me and could be difficult to reign in?”
Lan Xi knew the emperor often asked questions not for counsel but to test those around him. Lowering his head, he answered, “The Westerners sell razor-sharp paper knives that I find difficult to handle because they’re too sharp and can easily cut the hand. Yet when Your Majesty uses them to carve soft jade, you’ve never had any trouble. This proves that a steady, strong hand can wield even the sharpest blade without fear of harm.”
“He’s useful and effective, but only under restraint,” the emperor mused slowly. “Like the legendary beast Taowu, feared for its savagery but capable of intimidating all manner of demons in the dark. Use him with caution, and should he ever turn on his master, eliminate him first.”
“That’s why,” the emperor continued, “I’ve said before and will say again—I have no clear preference for who should lead the Embroidered Uniform Guard.”
On the day of Su Yan’s birthday, when Shen Qi used a fabricated imperial decree to have him sent out of the palace, it aligned with the emperor’s wishes to some extent. Though the matter was explained away, it left a thorn in the emperor’s heart.
The emperor was deeply calculating, and no official, civil or military, escaped his scrutiny. Shen Qi, with his exceptional capabilities, faced an especially steep challenge in earning the emperor’s trust.
Only Su Yan seemed to occupy a special, untainted place in the emperor’s heart. Unlike with others, the emperor could not bring himself to exploit or harm Su Yan. He found no joy in seeing fear or anxiety in Su Yan’s face and instead hoped to see him confident, pursuing his ambitions freely.
He wanted Su Yan to soar like a falcon in the sky yet also rest like a soft, affectionate creature at his side.
—It felt almost like a destined entanglement from a past life. The emperor sighed, both exasperated and content.
Lan Xi hesitated, then said, “But without a commanding officer for the Embroidered Uniform Guard, won’t operations be less effective?”
The emperor nodded. “Eventually, someone must take the helm. Let’s wait and see… Is Yuan Bin still set on retiring in Nanjing?”
Lan Xi replied, “Commander-in-chief Yuan is in his sixties. When I last sent someone to visit him as instructed, he seemed in good health but humbly claimed poor eyesight and declining abilities, saying he’s unfit for office.”
The emperor sighed with regret. “If he were twenty years younger, I’d have no worries about the Embroidered Uniform Guard.”
Back at the Northern Surveillance Bureau, Shen Qi dismissed the captains who had come to congratulate him on his promotion and shut the door, his expression dark.
His request to leave the city had not been outright denied, but the emperor’s tone made it clear it would not be approved. Shen Qi reflected and concluded that the root of the problem was his previous audacious act of falsely invoking an imperial decree to take Su Yan out of the palace—a grave offense.
Though he had avoided severe punishment at the time, it had cost him the emperor’s trust.
The position of Commanding Officer of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, once within easy reach, now seemed unattainable.
Regret? If not for Su Yan, Shen Qi would have deeply regretted it.
But who else but Su Yan could make him lose his composure, knowingly jeopardizing his interests without a second thought?
He had long known Su Yan was his calamity. He had thought that with Feng Que dead, his trials were over, and he could finally move forward. Yet now, the road ahead seemed even more perilous.
Shen Qi didn’t fear hardship, nor did he shy away from fire and blades. What terrified him was the thought of never seeing Su Yan again.
His mother had once told him that all suffering in life would eventually yield reward. Shen Qi believed that Su Yan was both his calamity and his salvation—the honey after all his trials, the lone kindness granted to him by a cold and indifferent world. The mere thought of gaining Su Yan only to lose him again was enough to drive him to madness.
Fear froze his limbs and filled his chest with violent rage—a rage he once quenched through bloodshed or torture, using screams and gore as a temporary balm. But now, he couldn’t afford to resort to such methods. He worried that the stench of blood would seep into the sachet containing Su Yan’s letter, staining it.
Shen Qi took out the embroidered pouch, unfolded the letter inside, and repeatedly read its contents, his trembling fingertips brushing over the two lines of handwriting again and again as if drawing immense comfort and solace from them.
The violent rage and sinister fire in his chest gradually subsided. Once again, he became the cold, resolute, and composed leader of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
“…I want to see you, to hold you and kiss you. I want it so much it feels like every bone in my body aches.” Shen Qi caressed the letter, murmuring like a ghost in the empty darkness, “And you? Do you miss me too?”
—
Su Yan wanted to cry.
Had he known this day would be so cursed—where even drinking cold water could make him choke—he would have clung to Commander Zhang’s cavalry unit and headed north instead of bowing to the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s authority, ultimately walking straight into disaster.
The story began the previous night.
Commander Zhang had heroically saved the day…. or rather, intervened in a moment of injustice—by repelling Wang Wu and his band of bandits. Su Yan had promptly gifted him the 500 fine horses prepared for sale at Qingping Ranch (with payment yet to be made), creating a profitable and effortless favor.
Originally, Commander Zhang’s mission was to go to Qingping Park and collect a batch of 1,000 warhorses intended for the Ningxia Garrison.
Who could have guessed that when the Park Chief Yan Chang led them through most of the pastures, the horses he showed were either too sickly to stand or outright unfit for battle? Commander Zhang erupted in anger, but Yan Chang brazenly declared that these were all the ranch had to offer, suggesting they try their luck at other ranches if dissatisfied.
Amid this deadlock, smoke signals suddenly rose in the distance. Commander Zhang, assuming a Tatar attack on the border, immediately led his troops into action and rescued Su Yan from being surrounded by the bandits.
From Su Yan, he learned that Qingping Park did indeed hide a number of fine horses, but its operators preferred risking execution by selling them to private traders rather than supporting the border garrison. This revelation enraged Commander Zhang.
Su Yan had consoled him: “People die for money, just as birds die for food. If Yan Chang values wealth more than his life, why not let him have his way?”
The two strategized, and the next morning, Commander Zhang led his men into the ranch, exposing Yan Chang’s crimes on the spot and seizing 500 fine horses from the stables. Su Yan kept his involvement hidden and waited for Commander Zhang to finish his task, hoping for an escort on his journey to Lingzhou.
When Commander Zhang expressed surprise at Su Yan’s plan to head to the borderlands, he asked, “You’re just a merchant. Why risk venturing so close to the border where Tatars roam? Aren’t you afraid of running into their forces?”
Su Yan, in truth, wanted to observe the state of the border garrisons. According to Wang Chen, the border troops raised private horses and profited from selling them to the government. Yan Chang had also hinted at rampant corruption in the camps. Su Yan needed to see it with his own eyes to gather firsthand information for future reforms.
Chu Yuan strongly opposed this plan, citing Lingzhou’s proximity to the Great Wall and the Hetao region—areas frequently targeted by Tatar invasions. He insisted that the journey was too dangerous and urged Su Yan to return to Xian instead.
However, Lingzhou’s Qingshui Camp was the last stop on Su Yan’s planned itinerary. With Commander Zhang’s cavalry as an escort, he felt relatively safe and was unwilling to give up.
Chu Yuan, having been reprimanded by the emperor’s secret missive to prioritize Su Yan’s safety above all else, could not let him recklessly endanger himself. The two argued fiercely but failed to reach an agreement, leaving the Embroidered Uniform Guard to forcibly escort Su Yan back.
Frustrated to the point of fury, Su Yan secretly approached Jinghong Zhui, pleading, “Ignore those rigid-minded fools! Take me to Lingzhou!”
But even Jinghong Zhui refused to comply. He shook his head, saying, “They make valid points. Your safety must come first. If you must go to Lingzhou, wait until a larger military escort is arranged.”
Su Yan tried to provoke him: “You boast about your martial prowess, claiming to be invincible against hundreds. Was that all talk?”
Jinghong Zhui sighed helplessly, smiling wryly. “My skills are suited for assassinations, not protecting someone through the chaos of a battlefield. Do you think I’m Zhao Yun, the hero who carried a child through hordes of enemies? And even if I were, you’re no helpless infant to tuck into armor.”
Rolling his eyes, Su Yan ignored him and retreated to the carriage, taking his frustration out on the bound and gagged Wang Chen.
The group bid farewell to Commander Zhang and headed southeast toward Xian.
Who could have predicted the fickleness of fate? Had they followed Su Yan’s plan to brave the journey to Lingzhou, they might have been unharmed. Instead, turning back toward Xian, they ran into a Tatar raiding party within fifty miles.
It seemed Su Yan’s knack for misfortune wasn’t ordinary.
