By the time Gao Shuo released the carrier pigeon, Chu Yuan was still carefully deliberating over the wording of his secret memorial. Since the note was lighter, Gao Shuo’s pigeon arrived at the Northern Surveillance Bureau’s dovecote slightly earlier.
Late at night, Shen Qi was awakened by an Embroidered Uniform Guard officer in charge of the dovecote. When he saw the note, he nearly led his thousands of subordinates in an immediate charge to Shaanxi. But at the last moment, his precarious rationality pulled him back.
—The Embroidered Uniform Guard were the Emperor’s personal troops. Leaving the capital without an imperial order would be tantamount to rebellion. Doing so would not only fail to rescue Su Yan but would also doom himself. The court’s military forces would hunt them down before they even reached Shaanxi—an act of utter foolishness.
The only correct course of action was to obtain an imperial decree allowing him to leave the capital and search for Su Yan.
Yet Shen Qi suspected that when it came to matters involving Su Yan, the Emperor would rather use anyone else before turning to him.
Qianhu Commander Shi Yanshuang had noticed his superior’s strange mood ever since receiving the pigeon message. His deep-set eyes carried an edge of irritation, as if he were a bundle of hidden explosives buried underground, ready to erupt at any moment, contemplating how to turn an unknown enemy into a bloodied mess.
He hesitated and asked, “Lord Tongzhi, do you have any concerns? I am willing to assist you in resolving them.”
Shen Qi, clutching the damp paper slip in his palm, composed himself and instructed, “Find someone reliable from the current palace duty rotation. Have them keep an eye on any movements involving dispatches or troops leaving the capital. Report to me immediately if anything of relevance occurs.”
Shi Yanshuang was alarmed—this was essentially covertly monitoring imperial decrees. If discovered, the consequences would be dire.
Knowing Shen Qi’s temperament, he understood that this decision had been carefully considered. There was no room for persuasion. If he intended to continue under Shen Qi’s command, he had to follow through. After a brief moment of deliberation, he resolved to trust Shen Qi, and by extension, his own judgment in choosing a leader. He cupped his hands and said, “I will handle it at once.”
The following morning during court, an astonishing scene left the officials flabbergasted, and the news reached Shen Qi almost immediately.
“… Xin Zhenhai? The Emperor summoned him? Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. The information comes directly from a trusted eunuch at Fengtian Hall.”
Shen Qi was overwhelmed by a mix of emotions—was it resentment, anger, disappointment, or mockery? Silently, he thought to himself: No matter how diligently I handle affairs or how much merit I earn, I can never surpass the Emperor’s fears and wariness. Even if I present ironclad evidence proving that my previous encounter with Qinghe did not cross the line due to the medicine, he still wouldn’t trust me. Let alone if I truly had crossed the line…
Just what position does the Emperor place Qinghe in? It was clearly more than just a trusted minister. And as for the way he treated me—though it seemed like he favored me with continuous promotions, in reality, he remained distant and guarded. This wasn’t merely the natural suspicion and power play of an emperor…
Thinking of the various scheming individuals surrounding Su Yan—the Crown Prince, Yu Wang, Wu Ming—and now, possibly even the most powerful and supreme figure in the entire world, Shen Qi felt both an immense pressure and an indescribable thrill. It was as if he were a blade thirsting for blood, eagerly anticipating the moment to pierce and tear apart his enemies.
The stronger the opponent, the sharper the blade would be honed—and the more ruthless the attacks would become.
Shen Qi took a deep breath and said to Shi Yanshuang, “There’s something I need you to take care of immediately…”
—
“Fell off his horse and broke a leg?”
Hot tea nearly spilled over the rim of the cup as Lan Xi hurriedly set it down on the table. “What happened? Wasn’t he perfectly fine when he left the palace?”
The eunuch replied, “Indeed! After receiving the imperial decree, Lord Xin returned home to prepare his belongings. He then set off on a fine steed from his residence, heading towards the Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander’s Office to gather his men for departure. Who would have thought that just as he left his house, the horse suddenly went berserk, charged through the streets, and eventually collapsed in convulsions, dead? Lord Xin was thrown off and badly injured.”
Lan Xi frowned, sensing the all-too-familiar sinister air of palace intrigue and bureaucratic schemes. He pressed on, “What was wrong with the horse? Did a veterinarian examine it?”
“They did. It turns out the horse accidentally consumed yew leaves. When it died, undigested leaves were still found in its esophagus.”
“Yew leaves and bark are highly toxic to horses. Any horse breeder or feed seller would know that. How did it ‘accidentally’ eat them? Were they deliberately mixed into the feed?”
“No, not in the feed. The Military Horse Bureau investigated Lord Xin’s stables and found scattered leaves on the ground. Upon questioning, they discovered that his three young sons had been playing outside, saw the bright red yew berries on some branches, and thought they looked fun. They broke off the branches and used them as makeshift whips, playing around. Some leaves must have fallen into the feeding trough. After the incident, Lord Xin was furious and gave his sons a harsh beating.”
“So, it really was an accident, then.” Lan Xi took a sip of tea and sighed. “That Xin Zhenhai… his luck is truly rotten. A little lack of ability isn’t the worst thing, but if you’re unlucky, even the food at your lips can vanish. Nothing to be done but accept it.”
Back during the Xin Wang Case, he had nearly gained the Emperor’s favor by taking down the main culprit—only to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and overhear Xin Wang cursing the Emperor. He heard things he never should have heard. The Emperor had been merciful enough to spare his life and even gave him an empty Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander title, which was already an act of generosity.
And now, entrusted with a critical mission, yet struck by another misfortune—truly, a man doomed to failure.
Lan Xi put his tea back down, flicked his dust whisk, and stood up. “Come on, let’s go serve His Majesty. He’ll soon pick someone else for the task, and when that happens, we’ll be running errands again.”
At the Northern Surveillance Bureau, Shen Qi sat in the back hall, casually playing chess with Shi Yanshuang. Thanks to Su Yan’s introduction and modifications, as well as the royal family’s fondness for it, Western chess had become a popular game in the capital.
Meanwhile, in his palm, he absentmindedly toyed with a few bright red berries, each the size of a longan. The berries glistened with moisture, their tops indented with small pits, where brown seeds peeked through. While his chess moves were half-hearted, his fingers spun the berries with practiced ease.
After capturing nearly half of his opponent’s pieces, Shi Yanshuang finally gave up on checkmating him, shaking his head. “Lord, your mind is clearly not on the game. I win dishonorably.”
At that moment, after a long and patient wait, Shen Qi finally heard hurried and unsteady footsteps approaching. The sound was unfamiliar—it wasn’t any of his Embroidered Uniform Guard subordinates.
He stood up. “You win.”
Walking over to a side cabinet, he retrieved a jar of strong liquor and poured the red berries inside. After sealing it, he handed it to Shi Yanshuang. “Yew berry-infused wine. Let it sit for a month before drinking—it aids digestion, detoxifies, and dispels evil.”
Shi Yanshuang cradled the jar of medicinal liquor with a grin. “Many thanks, Lord.”
An eunuch appeared at the hall entrance, his sharp voice ringing out, “Lord Tongzhi Shen, His Majesty summons you. Please follow me to the palace immediately.”
—
“Young Master, you mustn’t—”
Fu Bao barely had time to finish his sentence before the Crown Prince shot him a fierce glare. “Shut up and follow me properly, or I’ll strangle you right here!”
His temper was foul, his words carrying the weight of gunpowder. Fu Bao knew better than to provoke him further and quickly followed in silence.
Zhu Helin, dressed in simple military attire, stormed out of the palace and spurred his horse into a wild gallop—heading straight for Xin Zhenhai’s residence.
Fu Bao struggled to keep up, barely managing to call out between gulps of wind, “Lord Su is blessed with good fortune—he will surely be safe. Besides, His Majesty has already dispatched five thousand Embroidered Uniform Guard soldiers to Shaanxi. They’re bound to find him soon! Why not stay in the Eastern Palace and—wait, slow down, Young Master! Wait for me—”
Zhu Helin paid no heed to the eunuch’s frantic shouts behind him. Spurring his horse, his figure streaked like a shooting star, cutting through the streets without slowing, knocking over various objects in his path. Fortunately, no pedestrians were harmed.
Galloping to the gates of the Xin residence, he dismounted swiftly and personally knocked on the door.
After dozens of knocks with no response, Zhu Helin, growing agitated and furious, began pounding on the door.
Fu Bao, struggling to catch up, arrived breathless. “Young Master, please don’t be so conspicuous! If the Emperor finds out—”
Zhu Helin’s eyes were red with pent-up emotions as he gritted his teeth. “Let him find out! He forbids me from leaving the capital to find him, and now I can’t even give a few instructions to the leader? All of you keep telling me to stay calm, to maintain the dignity of a crown prince. But a crown prince is still human! Humans get anxious, they get scared! I can’t be like my royal father, remaining calm even as the heavens collapse. I can’t emulate his composure, feigning indifference no matter how frantic he might feel inside. Right now, all I can think about is, what if something happens to Qinghe? What am I supposed to do, Fu Bao? Tell me, what should I do? I’ll go mad!”
Fu Bao grabbed Zhu Helin’s fist mid-swing, his own eyes misting. “I understand how much pain you’re in, Your Highness, but the more urgent things are, the more you must not lose control. Do you know how many eyes are watching the Eastern Palace? The Wei faction, they’re itching to catch even the smallest mistake and instigate their allies among the censors and scholars to submit memorials of impeachment. Imperial Concubine Wei may seem more restrained now, but she’s still scheming in the shadows. Every day, the servants coming and going are closely monitored by myself and Cheng Gonggong, lest something untoward gets smuggled in. If you keep acting like this, you’re practically handing them the weapon to use against you!”
Zhu Helin exhaled slowly, regaining some composure. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to act recklessly, nor do I intend to sneak into the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s unit leaving the capital.”
Fu Bao shivered at the thought but listened as Zhu Helin continued, “I just want to leave instructions with their leader—once they find Qinghe, to deliver a personal letter and token from me.”
At that moment, the gates of the Xin residence creaked open, and a maidservant peeked out, her face displaying clear displeasure. “Stop knocking already! My master fell from his horse and injured his leg. The young masters were scolded and beaten, and the household is in chaos. My master has ordered us to decline all visitors. You should leave!”
With that, she slammed the door shut.
Fu Bao was startled. “Commander Xin got injured? Then who’s leading the Embroidered Uniform Guard out of the capital this time?”
Zhu Helin pondered. “Whoever it is, they’ll have to report to the command bureau to mobilize troops. Let’s go!”
He mounted his horse and headed toward the Embroidered Uniform Guard command bureau.
Fu Bao had no choice but to follow, his horse struggling to keep up. Zhu Helin’s steed was an exceptional thoroughbred, and as the chase continued, the distance between them grew until Zhu Helin’s figure vanished around a street corner.
To save time, Zhu Helin turned into an alley.
He often slipped out of the palace incognito, wandering around the capital. The Emperor, knowing his son’s restless nature, often scolded but never strictly confined him, instead instructing the Embroidered Uniform Guard to keep a watchful eye.
Now, with chaos erupting in the city—the Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander’s carriage had lost control, injuring several people, and the Commander himself had fallen and been hurt—the five-city garrison troops were investigating. Soldiers had cordoned off the area, interrogating witnesses, causing widespread panic among residents in the vicinity.
The Emperor had remained in Fengtian Hall all day, awaiting results while choosing a new leader for the mission.
For the moment, the Crown Prince’s departure from the palace, accompanied only by a few attendants, had gone unnoticed.
The alley was deserted and quiet, yet wide enough to ride through. Zhu Helin had just urged his horse forward when his peripheral vision caught a dark shadow leaping at him from the rooftop on the right.
Startled, Zhu Helin reacted swiftly. His right hand lashed out with his whip, producing a sharp crack as it cut through the air. At the same time, he vaulted off his saddle, propelling himself forward.
The whip struck the shadow with a crisp snap, but the tip was seized by the figure, who wielded a blade that glinted like a serpent as it traveled up the whip.
Mid-leap, Zhu Helin grabbed onto a clothesline mounted outside a second-story window, twisted his body, and kicked through the windowpane, tumbling inside.
The whip was yanked from his grasp, and though he narrowly avoided a fatal blow, a searing pain shot through his hand, as if bitten by a venomous snake.
He landed hard on the floor of a bedroom, rolling a few times before rising amidst a young girl’s scream. Drawing a short sword from his waist, he prepared to defend himself.
The scream pierced the quiet night, drawing curious neighbors to poke their heads out and call, “Is that Miss Xuan? What’s going on?”
Zhu Helin ignored them, his eyes fixed on the shattered window, where the interplay of shadows and light from distant lanterns blurred into an ominous void. A cold wind whistled through, but the assailant had disappeared into the darkness.
The entire encounter had lasted no more than seven or eight seconds. For Zhu Helin, who lacked real combat experience, his survival relied entirely on physical reflexes, instinct, and a stroke of luck. Any misstep could have cost him his life.
Fortunately, his response had been correct.
Breathing heavily, Zhu Helin glanced at his hand and saw two small puncture wounds on the base of his thumb. A few drops of blood oozed out, while the surrounding skin swelled slightly, accompanied by a faint itch.
…It looked like a snakebite. Zhu Helin’s heart raced as he turned to the stunned girl in the room. “Quick, give me a piece of cloth, anything!”
The girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, was initially terrified but quickly regained some composure. Trembling, she tore a decorative tassel from her bed curtain and handed it to him.
Zhu Helin tied the cloth tightly around his wrist, then gritted his teeth and, with determined resolve, used his blade to make two intersecting cuts over the punctures, squeezing hard to expel the venom.
The dark purple blood dripped steadily onto the ground. Zhu Helin was drenched in cold sweat, feeling dizzy and nauseated as his vision blurred.
Breathing became difficult. With the last bit of strength left in him, he murmured, “I am the Crown Prince… report to the authorities…” before collapsing, unconscious.
