When Su Yan awoke, the sky was already bright.
After a good night’s sleep, he felt refreshed, and even the bruises covering his body seemed less painful. However, his clothes, having been soaked, dried by fire, and then pressed on all night atop the stone bed, were now wrinkled beyond recognition. He could only imagine how disheveled he looked.
The cave was empty, with only himself inside. Rubbing his face, Su Yan prepared to jump down from the stone bed, but Jinghong Zhui entered with a bowl fashioned from tree leaves. The moment he saw Su Yan, a faint blush spread across his cheeks as he lowered his head and said, “Lord, please have some water so we can set off.”
The rain from the previous night had evaporated under the now-clear skies, and fresh water was likely difficult to find. After drinking a bit, Su Yan studied Jinghong Zhui’s pale complexion and asked with concern, “What about your wound…?”
“It’s nothing serious. I still have enough strength to escort Lord out of the valley.”
Su Yan insisted on unwrapping the cloth bandages around his waist to examine the injury. The signs of inflammation were more pronounced, and a yellowish-brown pus was beginning to seep out.
“Let’s go. We need to find a doctor immediately. If that’s not possible, at least some disinfectant tools and herbs.”
The two left the cave and began climbing towards the top of the valley along a path Jinghong Zhui had scouted earlier.
—Initially, Jinghong Zhui, as Su Yan’s personal guard, intended to carry him, but Su Yan adamantly refused, mindful of the injury to his lower back and his loss of blood.
“No carrying. And definitely no ‘princess carry’… uh, ‘princess’ is just a rhetorical term, nothing to do with me… Just lend me a hand if things get tricky.”
Despite his words, Su Yan underestimated the difficulty of scaling the steep cliff and overestimated his physical stamina. Ultimately, he relied heavily on Jinghong Zhui’s support, inching upward with awkward, unsteady movements.
At last, they reached the summit, both breathing a sigh of relief.
After a brief rest, they followed the river upstream until they arrived at a small village. There, they found a lumberjack who also served as a barefoot doctor. The man applied medicinal herbs to Jinghong Zhui’s wound to promote healing and prevent decay.
Of course, Su Yan reiterated his “disinfection” theory, using boiled bamboo strips as makeshift tweezers to clean out wood splinters and debris from the wound. These foreign particles had adhered to the flesh, requiring the painful process of separating them before removal.
The barefoot doctor, speaking in a nearly incomprehensible heavy accent, gestured to indicate the need to cut away the necrotic tissue at the site of infection.
Looking at the grime caked under the man’s fingernails, Su Yan decided to perform the procedure himself under the doctor’s guidance. By the end, he was drenched in cold sweat.
Jinghong Zhui lay prone on the wooden bed, his face turned to the side. His gaze toward Su Yan was soft, filled with unwavering trust. Apart from occasionally clenching his teeth and the twitching veins on his temple, he betrayed no sign of pain.
The wound was deeper than expected. Without formal medical training in his past life, Su Yan dared not delve too deeply. He removed the debris, excised the dead tissue, washed the wound with strong alcohol, and applied the herbal paste prepared by the barefoot doctor.
The rest was up to fate, requiring daily dressing changes and prayers to the heavens that no bacterial infection would occur.
The rudimentary penicillin he had once used to save Shen Qi was a fleeting miracle, barely more advanced than applying moldy paste as the ancients had done. Until he could establish a laboratory and devise a method for cultivating and extracting the substance with the era’s available technology, there was no hope of producing another life-saving batch.
The barefoot doctor, impressed by Jinghong Zhui’s endurance, did not charge for the treatment after hearing Su Yan’s explanation of their plight—falling into the valley while fleeing Tartars—and even gifted them a large bundle of herbs.
Su Yan wanted to buy a horse, but the village was so impoverished that even a donkey used for grinding grain was a rare luxury. Thanking the doctor, they set off on foot toward Hengliangzi Town, several dozen li away. Fortunately, they encountered some salt traders midway. After a moment of hesitation, Su Yan traded his only valuable possession, a fire striker, for an old horse and a water-filled leather pouch.
Jinghong Zhui, noting his hesitation, guessed that the fire striker held sentimental value beyond its decorative appearance. After all, Su Yan, who paid no mind to treasures like jade chess sets gifted by a prince, would hardly show such reluctance over a simple tool unless it meant something.
“Shall I retrieve it for you Lord?” Jinghong Zhui suggested, eyeing the departing salt traders.
Knowing this “retrieval” would hardly be legitimate, Su Yan shook his head with a wry smile. “Asking you to do something so underhanded would be disgraceful. If it’s gone, it’s gone—perhaps it was never meant to be mine. Let’s go.”
They shared the horse, careful not to aggravate Jinghong Zhui’s wound, and let the old horse trot slowly. By nightfall, they reached Hengliangzi Town.
From dozens of yards away, the stench of decay assaulted them—a nauseating odor of rotting flesh. Jinghong Zhui tore what little fabric remained from his clothing to cover their noses and mouths before they rode into the town.
What they found was a desolate ruin. The corpses of the villagers had disappeared, likely taken away, leaving behind a ghost town.
The Tartars’ and Embroidered Uniform Guard’s bodies from the earlier skirmish were gone, along with the carriages. The rain had washed away the tracks, making it impossible to determine where the carriages had been taken.
Only vast patches of dark, dried blood remained, baking under the sun and emitting a rancid stench.
After a futile search for clues, Su Yan, overwhelmed by the smell, had to retreat from the town.
Out in the open, he dismounted and leaned against a tree, retching dryly. Jinghong Zhui rubbed his back and offered him sips of water from the pouch.
When Su Yan finally subdued his nausea, he panted, “The Tartars might drive off the carriages, but they wouldn’t bother burying the villagers. This must be the work of Ming troops. In such a sparsely populated area, with villagers preoccupied by survival and only the occasional traveling merchant, only the imperial army could have cleared so many bodies in just two days.”
Jinghong Zhui said, “Perhaps the border guards from the garrison arrived in time and rescued Chu Yuan and the others. But there’s another possibility…”
He didn’t continue, but Su Yan understood his unspoken implication: there was also the possibility that Chu Yuan and the others were all killed by the Tatar cavalry, and the carriage was taken. The border guards arrived too late and could only gather the corpses to prevent an outbreak of plague.
Both of them fell silent, unwilling to accept the latter possibility as reality.
“What’s your plan now, my lord?” Jinghong Zhui asked.
Su Yan thought briefly, and his eyes lit up. “There’s something that can indirectly prove whether Chu Yuan and the others are still alive! Let’s head to the spot where I fell into the valley a few days ago.”
On the way, he explained his reasoning to Jinghong Zhui: if the border guards arrived in time and Chu Yuan and the others survived, they would surely search for him. They would undoubtedly investigate the steep slope where he and Jinghong Zhui had fallen.
Jinghong Zhui’s lost bundle was there, containing critical items like the imperial edict, the Imperial Sword, official seals, and appointment documents. If Chu Yuan found it during the search, he would likely recover and safeguard it.
If the bundle was missing, it was highly possible Chu Yuan had taken it. Of course, it could also have been swept away by the rising floodwaters.
At least it was a lead, and the contents of the bundle were too important not to retrieve.
They rushed to the riverbank where they had fallen.
Jinghong Zhui left Su Yan on the horse and climbed down the steep slope. He returned almost half an hour later, saying, “The bundle isn’t there, but I found a piece of cloth tied to a prominent branch.”
Su Yan examined the palm-wide crimson cloth and confirmed it matched the fabric of Chu Yuan’s outer garment from two days ago.
The cloth bore dark black stains, which he suspected were charcoal marks.
“This should be a sign left by Chu Yuan. I think he wrote on the cloth to indicate their direction or a meeting point, hoping we’d find it when retrieving the bundle. But the rain that night likely washed away the writing,” Su Yan speculated.
Jinghong Zhui scrutinized the cloth but couldn’t discern any remnants of the original writing. Following Su Yan’s train of thought, he added, “If Chu Yuan was rescued by the garrison and convinced them to search for you using his Embroidered Uniform Guard badge, they would have come down the slope. Failing to find you, they might assume the flood carried you downstream and search along the lower reaches.”
“But with the heavy rain and surging river, they might not have found us in these two days. They could even assume we drowned. Alas, they went downstream while we went upstream, missing each other entirely. Who knows if we crossed paths at some fork along the way?”
“Long-distance communication is so inconvenient these days,” Su Yan sighed sincerely. “I really miss my old Mate 8 phone. With it, the world was at my fingertips.”
But without wireless signal coverage, even bringing an entire electronics mall into this world would be futile.
Jinghong Zhui couldn’t fully understand Su Yan’s words, but he could guess two or three parts of the meaning. Supposedly, the longer you spend with someone, the more you understand each other’s intentions without words. Every expression would carry meaning. Someday, he thought, he would fully comprehend Su Yan’s thoughts.
He suggested, “My lord, we could head to Yanan City. After all, only Prefect Zhou Zhidao has met you before. Other officials won’t easily believe us without your seal. In Yanan, you can send word to other prefectures to search for Chu Yuan.”
“But a long round trip will waste too much time. It might take two or three months to reunite with Chu Yuan, delaying the mission from the Emperor,” Su Yan said, frowning in thought. After a moment, he decided, “We won’t return to Yanan. We’re going to Lingzhou.”
“Lingzhou? Continuing further into the northwest frontier?”
“Yes. I mentioned this route to the Embroidered Uniform Guard before. The final stop of our investigation is Lingzhou’s Qingshui Camp. If Chu Yuan remembers, and if he has even a shred of hope that I survived, he should head there. Moreover, Gao Shuo told me there’s a secret outpost of the Northern Surveillance Bureau in Lingzhou with carrier pigeons for communication—much faster than relay stations. My only concern is your injury.”
“You underestimate my martial arts, my lord. With my internal energy returning, the wound will heal quickly,” Jinghong Zhui said, raising an eyebrow and attempting to ease Su Yan’s mood with a rare joke. “Rather than worrying about my injury, you might consider the issue of funds. Even if you were willing to take odd jobs—washing dishes at an inn or grinding grain at a stable—there’s not much money to earn in these poor areas.”
Su Broke and Hungry Yan: “…I refuse to work. Not in this lifetime.”
Spreading his hands, Su Yan said, “No capital for business either. Looks like I’ll have to sell my bodyguard by weight to make ends meet.”
Jinghong Zhui burst into laughter. Leaping onto the horse, he effortlessly pulled Su Yan up as well. With his arms encircling Su Yan’s waist to hold the reins, he said, “Rest assured, with me here, you won’t suffer a moment of hardship.”
—
“Report, my lord. No findings.”
“No signs of activity.”
“None on the north bank.”
“Nor on the south bank.”
“…”
Over the past two days, as soldiers reported back, Chu Yuan’s frown deepened, and his expression grew increasingly grim.
Recalling the signs they found on the slope—a trail of broken trees and bloodstains on the riverbank leading into the water—he couldn’t avoid the worst possibility: that Su Yan and Jinghong Zhui had fallen unconscious into the river and been swept away by the torrent.
Though Jinghong Zhui was skilled, his strength had been depleted from the earlier battle with the Tatar cavalry. If he had been seriously injured when they fell, he might not have been able to protect Su Yan. Worse, the torrential rain that night flooded the valley, leaving little room for optimism.
Clutching the bundle they had recovered, Chu Yuan gripped the Imperial Sword through the fabric and thought bitterly: if anything happened to Su Yan, even his death before the Emperor couldn’t atone for his failure.
Sheng Qianxing saw the pain and despair etched on Chu Yuan’s face and offered consolation, “Imperial Censor Su is blessed by the heavens; he will surely be fine. Let’s keep searching.”
Chu Yuan nodded silently.
Sheng Qianxing was a Qianshi from the Shaanxi Regional Military Commission. Acting on orders from the inspector general, Wei Quan, he led a thousand cavalry to protect Su Yan. Unfortunately, bad luck plagued him. After reaching Yanan, he learned that Su Yan had already moved on to inspect local agricultural estates. Tracking him to Pingliang, he discovered Su Yan had recently left the Lingwu Bureau, destination unknown. Heading to the nearby Qingping Park on a hunch, he arrived just a step too late.
Eventually, frustrated and resigned, Sheng Qianxing decided to retrace his steps. On the way, by chance, he rescued Chu Yuan and his men, who were under siege by Tartar cavalry.
When Chu Yuan presented his Embroidered Uniform Guard token, Sheng Qianxing realized that the group might be connected to the Imperial Censor he was tasked to protect. However, upon learning that Su Yan had just been pursued off a cliff and gone missing, Sheng Qianxing lamented that he had once again arrived too late.
Feeling dejected, he joined Chu Yuan in scouring the riverbanks downstream. Despite their efforts, they found no trace of Su Yan.
Chu Yuan finally declared, “If we don’t find Lord Su by today, we must report back to the capital and inform the Emperor.”
Sheng Qianxing, reluctant to face potential punishment, suggested, “How about we search for two more days? If we still find nothing, we can report then.”
“No more delays!” Chu Yuan snapped. “Procrastinating will only worsen our guilt.” He instructed, “You continue the search. I will take some men to the nearest Embroidered Uniform Guard post to send an urgent report by carrier pigeon. I’ll also leave Su Yan’s two attendants with you—should any impostors surface, they will recognize them immediately.”
After giving his orders, he led the remaining eight Embroidered Uniform Guard and galloped away.
Sheng Qianxing sighed helplessly. He thought he had landed a lucrative assignment—after all, he had heard that Censor Su was highly favored by the Emperor. If he took good care of him, he might earn a few kind words in a memorial, possibly securing a promotion. But now, before he even laid eyes on Censor Su, the man had already gone missing. If the Emperor grew displeased and took out his anger on him, what was he supposed to do?
Four days later, Chu Yuan’s secret memorial and Gao Shuo’s note arrived in the capital, carried by carrier pigeons, one shortly after the other.
At that moment, Emperor Jinglong was presiding over court at the imperial gate. Below the jade steps, two officials from the Ministry of Works were locked in a heated debate over different methods of controlling the Yellow River’s flooding.
Urgent and confidential memorials from the Embroidered Uniform Guard had their own dedicated channel and could be delivered directly to the Emperor at any time. Lan Xi received the document from the courier and, not daring to delay, immediately presented it.
The Emperor took the memorial, glanced at it, and his expression changed drastically. He shot up from his seat.
The two officials below were in the midst of an intense argument. One of them pointed at the other and shouted, “Cultivate oneself, regulate one’s family, govern the state, and bring peace to the world! Pan Jiao, you can’t even manage your own household! Your wife cuckolded you, and now all of the capital knows about it—what face do you have to stand in court and blabber on? You want to argue with me about flood control? Fine! Go and deal with the floodplain that is your wife first!”
The official named Pan Jiao turned ashen and was about to throw a punch when a loud crash echoed from the jade steps above.
The other officials, who had been enjoying the spectacle, were startled and turned their heads. They saw Emperor Jinglong suddenly rise from his seat, utterly losing his usual composure. His sweeping sleeve had knocked over the jade table in front of him.
The two quarreling officials thought they had angered the Emperor with their bickering and immediately fell to their knees, trembling.
The rest of the civil and military officials, shocked, followed suit, bowing and pleading, “Your Majesty, please calm your anger and take care of your health.”
A chorus of voices filled the hall, urging him to “calm down.”
But the Emperor had no intention of reprimanding anyone. He didn’t spare them a glance before hastily declaring, “Court is dismissed,” and striding out of the Hall of Supreme Harmony.
Lan Xi lifted his robe and jogged to keep up, hearing the Emperor speak in an unprecedentedly anxious tone: “Summon the Chief of the Embroidered Uniform Guard to the Hall of Supreme Harmony immediately.”
“Which Chief does Your Majesty mean?” Lan Xi asked carefully.
“Shen… No, summon Chief Xin Zhenhai.”
There were three commanders with the title of Embroidered Uniform Guard Chief, but none held the actual authority of the Zhangyin. Xin Zhenhai was the oldest among them, having earned his rank through meritorious service in quelling Xin Wang’s rebellion. He was known for his steady temperament, though Emperor Jinglong always felt that he lacked initiative and flexibility when handling difficult matters. Thus, he had never entrusted him with full control over the Embroidered Uniform Guard. The other two commanders had inherited their titles from their fathers and were little more than figureheads—completely unworthy of the Emperor’s regard.
Lan Xi accepted the order and immediately dispatched someone to summon Xin Zhenhai. Catching up to the Emperor inside the Hall of Supreme Harmony, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, presented a freshly brewed cup of tea, and cautiously asked, “Your Majesty, has something happened?”
The Emperor did not take the tea. Instead, he threw the tightly clenched memorial into Lan Xi’s hands.
Lan Xi scanned its contents and blurted out in shock, “Su Yan—Censor Su was ambushed by Tatar cavalry and fell into a river valley. He is still missing? But hadn’t Your Majesty already issued a secret decree instructing Inspector General Wei Quan to dispatch a thousand elite soldiers from the Military Command to protect him?”
The Emperor’s voice was grim. “I did. But they lost him before they even laid eyes on him. These provincial garrisons and military commands are utterly useless. I must send the Embroidered Uniform Guard to overturn the entire Shaanxi Province if that’s what it takes to find him!”
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