No one knew who the white-robed young man distributing porridge on the outskirts of the city really was. Countless people, both inside and outside the city, speculated wildly. Some said he was an aide to Zhou Gui; others claimed he was a distant nephew of Kong Ling. The rumors spread, yet none were ever confirmed. It was only after Shen Zechuan left the city that the identity of “Shen Shuba” spread like wildfire, instantly becoming the talk of Chazhou.
In contrast to the storm of gossip within the city, Shen Zechuan’s return journey was quiet—so quiet it was almost unnoticed. They traveled along the official road at an unhurried pace.
Because Shen Zechuan had fallen ill on the way there, Kong Ling and Qiao Tianya took extra care in arranging the return. They even bought a heavy cloak from merchants in Hezhou, just in case the weather turned suddenly cold along the road.
Kong Ling, ever thoughtful, said to Qiao Tianya, “When we return, the Vice Commissioner should see a physician. While he’s home, he can properly recover. Otherwise, with more official trips ahead, we’ll all be on edge the entire time.”
Qiao Tianya held a bowl of water and glanced toward the carriage beneath the shade of the trees. “Where would we even find a good doctor? My master’s condition… it would take a truly exceptional physician to see anything clearly. As his guards, nothing about him is ever simple. I’m not worried about others bringing it up—I’m worried he won’t be able to let it go himself.”
Kong Ling did not know about the medicines Shen Zechuan had taken in his early years and had always assumed his health was simply poor. But from Qiao Tianya’s tone, it seemed Shen Zechuan had once been in better condition back in Qudu than he was now.
After drinking, Qiao Tianya said no more on the matter.
These past two days on the road, he had been bored, turning over in his mind again and again the incident with the bandits that night. Even if Shen Zechuan had intended to use a self-inflicted injury as part of his plan, he should not have been wounded so severely. Once the body was accustomed to reacting quickly, it was far harder to deliberately suppress that instinct in a split second than to act on it.
Qiao Tianya had seen Shen Zechuan draw his blade. The sword Yangshan Snow was too long for most people, but perfectly suited to Shen Zechuan—because he was fast enough. Afterward, when Qiao Tianya examined the wound in Shen Zechuan’s palm, he found it unusual.
Though Shen Zechuan showed no outward change and revealed nothing, Qiao Tianya suspected that his recent avoidance of drawing his blade was deliberate concealment. If so, Shen Zechuan himself might have realized earlier than anyone else that his body was no longer what it once had been. Yet counting from the time they left Qudu, it had not even been half a year.
This matter had to be reported to his master and the marquis.
With that thought, Qiao Tianya tossed out the remaining water, set down the bowl, and stood. “That’s enough. Let’s move on.”
The sounds outside woke Shen Zechuan. His neck ached, and as he turned, his head lightly struck the carriage wall. He exhaled slowly. The window curtain had not been drawn, and he was too lazy to move. Remaining in that position, he watched the shadows of trees slide past as the horses began to run.
“Where are we now?” His voice was slightly hoarse.
Qiao Tianya adjusted his bamboo hat to block the sun and sat outside the carriage, driving. “We’ll reach the border of Chazhou tonight. Another two days, and we’ll be back in Cizhou.”
The official road had not been repaired for years. The carriage jolted violently, making Shen Zechuan’s head ache. “Next time we send grain to Chazhou, have Luo Mu allocate funds to organize labor and properly repair this road.”
Qiao Tianya sighed theatrically. “Then what about when we head toward Libei? The roads there are even worse.”
“Libei uses horse roads,” Shen Zechuan said, rousing himself slightly. “They’re wide and flat, suited for cavalry charges. Be careful making things up behind people’s backs—if the marquis hears you, you’ll regret it.”
Qiao Tianya pulled the blade of grass from his mouth. “I could say it right in front of him and be fine. If he comes back this time, though, you’d better not let him see that wound first.”
Shen Zechuan raised his left hand. Though it was properly bandaged, the heat made the wound itch as sweat gathered, like ants biting at it. “Xiao Ce’an is busy. He won’t be back for at least a month. If none of you mention it, he won’t know.”
Qiao Tianya put the grass back in his mouth.
“You planning to report me to him?” Shen Zechuan asked.
Qiao Tianya flicked the reins. “Later… we’ll talk later. I can’t hear clearly right now.”
Shen Zechuan lowered his hand. “I’ll write him a letter when we get home. That’ll settle it.” He paused, then felt a faint itch creep up his neck, reminiscent of the sensation of being bitten by Xiao Er. His tone firmed as he repeated, “That’ll settle it.”
Qiao Tianya responded aloud, but inwardly thought—
Of course, telling the marquis works best. Reliable!
Shen Zechuan had been gone for nearly half a month. It was already late July, and Cizhou was much cooler than Chazhou. Being close to Libei, it already showed signs of autumn.
Zhou Gui had been eagerly awaiting his return. He had gone early to wait outside the city, and when he saw the approaching carriage, he lifted his robes and went forward, beaming. “Vice Commissioner, Chengfeng! You’ve had a hard journey. Come, come—enter the city. I’ve prepared a banquet to welcome you!”
After brief courtesies at the gate, they entered together. The banquet was held at Zhou Gui’s residence, and little official business was discussed at the table. Knowing Shen Zechuan had been ill on the road, Zhou Gui personally escorted him out afterward, saying there was no urgency—everything could wait until he had rested a night.
Even so, Shen Zechuan left Qiao Tianya behind at the Zhou residence. Later that night, Zhou Gui and Kong Ling would gather their aides in the study to discuss matters from the Chazhou trip in detail. Having Qiao Tianya listen and respond would ensure nothing was delayed.
Meanwhile, Ji Gang had also been waiting a long time. He spotted Shen Zechuan from afar at the entrance of the alley and came forward to greet him. It was dusk, and Shen Zechuan’s sleeves hung low, so Ji Gang did not notice the injury. After looking him over, he immediately asked, “How did you fall ill on the road? Before you left, I told Songyue to prepare a cloak—just in case the weather changed.”
Shen Zechuan raised his right arm, guiding his master inside. “Just a chill—nothing serious. Small matter. Have you eaten, Master? I just came from Zhou’s residence, but I’m still not full.”
Ji Gang, walking beside him, had meant to ask more about his illness, but was distracted by that last remark. He brightened. “I knew it! I went out early this morning to pick out a few fresh, fat fish. Whatever you want to eat, I’ll cook it for you right now. Everything’s cleaned and ready—it’ll be quick!”
Ding Tao popped up from behind. “Young master, you’re home!”
Li Xiong followed, also calling out, while Ding Tao’s sparrow chirped noisily from his shoulder. The short distance from the gate to the courtyard felt livelier than anywhere outside. The plants were better tended than before he had left, and the main hall stood open and airy, bamboo curtains rolled up—it felt comfortable.
Shen Zechuan ate again with Ji Gang and asked about Ding Tao and Li Xiong’s training. Fortunately, his injury was on his left hand, which he kept resting on his knee throughout the meal, giving Ji Gang no cause for suspicion. The lively atmosphere lasted until midnight, when Ji Gang urged him to rest early. Since Qiao Tianya was on night duty, Ji Gang took Ding Tao and Li Xiong away as well.
Once the room fell quiet, Shen Zechuan finally exhaled. He removed his outer robe, and the maids lowered the curtains and lit incense. It had always been the rule that no one stayed overnight to attend him; once the maids withdrew to the corridor, he was alone.
He bathed, changed, then returned to his room, draped himself in his robe again, and wrote a letter by lamplight. Around the first quarter of the Chou hour, Qiao Tianya returned and placed the newly drafted documents from Zhou Gui on Shen Zechuan’s desk.
Sealing the letter, Shen Zechuan asked, “Any news from Libei?”
Qiao Tianya draped his jacket over his arm. “Bad news. Best for you to hear it in the morning—so you can sleep well tonight.”
“The worst would be the Biansha already at our gates,” Shen Zechuan said, flipping through the papers. “Go on.”
Qiao Tianya turned a chair around and straddled it backward. “Not that bad. It’s news about the marquis. He led the Imperial Army into Libei but didn’t head north to meet the heir. Instead, he went to the Bianbo Camp near Zhongbo. He stayed there one night, then launched an eastern assault the next day, striking Shasan Camp first and earning merit for the old prince.”
Shen Zechuan looked up, thought for a moment, then smiled. “Taking Shasan Camp is no small achievement.”
“Exactly,” Qiao Tianya said. “Such a big merit deserves a reward.”
“And what did the prince reward him with?” Shen Zechuan asked.
Qiao Tianya raised a finger. “He gave our marquis a camp.”
Shen Zechuan lifted a brow slightly.
“The Bianbo Camp,” Qiao Tianya continued. “The prince left him there. As for Shasan Camp—the one he captured—it was handed over to Guo Weili. Remember him? The one who framed Gujin for treason. The handover didn’t go smoothly. The marquis withdrew to the rear, caught between Shasan Camp and Liuyang’s three camps. Neither the northern nor eastern battles involve him anymore.”
Shen Zechuan closed the documents. “Bianbo Camp is the heir’s supply base. Ce’an is now in charge of Libei’s logistics.”
But Libei had no shortage of logistics generals. Why would Xiao Fangxu insist on giving that role to Xiao Chiye? Compared to commanding Shasan Camp, this position was far more difficult. As a frontline general, Xiao Chiye would only need to win battles; over time, his achievements would silence all criticism. But as a logistics commander, he would rank lower among generals, constantly answering to others, running across Libei to deliver supplies. The work was grueling, the credit minimal, and the grievances many.
After a pause, Qiao Tianya asked cautiously, “Was the marquis picked up somewhere? Compared to the heir, this treatment is… worlds apart.”
Shen Zechuan looked at him. “You look like the one who was picked up.”
Qiao Tianya raised his hand in understanding and fell silent.
Shen Zechuan handed him the sealed letter. “Send this out tonight. It’s late—you don’t need to stand watch. Go back and rest.”
As Qiao Tianya reached the door, Shen Zechuan called him back.
Turning, Qiao Tianya said earnestly, “I know, I remember—the injury, it’s settled. I won’t mention it to the marquis.”
Shen Zechuan was momentarily at a loss, having forgotten what he meant to say. He waved him off instead.
After Qiao Tianya left, Shen Zechuan did not linger long. It was already deep into the night. He extinguished the lamp and lay down, listening to the frogs croaking in the courtyard pond—perhaps caught by Ding Tao or Li Xiong—so loud they kept him from sleeping.
He did not know how long passed before his consciousness blurred.
There was no one beside him. The sweet fragrance of incense turned strangely into a thick, cloying scent of blood in his dream. The Chashi sinkhole, which had not appeared for so long, lay beneath his feet again. Looking down, he saw nothing inside.
The faint croaking of frogs echoed. Shen Zechuan broke into a light sweat and unconsciously turned over, facing away from the sound.
Tonight, the sinkhole had no wind or snow. The blazing sun shone down, scorching his skin, making sweat pour. Though there were no bodies, he felt surrounded by unseen figures, suffocating him. He tugged open his collar, gasping, sweat blurring his vision—until he saw someone lying in the pit.
It was himself.
A chill pierced through his spine. He thought of Qi Huilian—his teacher calling his name, though the voice was drowned out by the frogs. He had never feared returning to this place before. But now, he wanted to escape.
Someone approached.
He opened his eyes almost instantly.
Xiao Chiye had only removed half his armor, moving quietly—yet Shen Zechuan woke so suddenly that he froze by the bedside, still holding his arm guard.
They stared at each other.
Sensing something wrong, Xiao Chiye tossed the arm guard aside, rolled up his sweat-damp sleeves, and crouched by the bed. He cupped Shen Zechuan’s face in his hand. “What were you sneaking a look at?”
Only then did Shen Zechuan seem to come back to himself.
Xiao Chiye leaned closer, his sharp gaze searching Shen Zechuan’s face. In the dark room, his eyes were like stars—bright and steady—gradually pulling Shen Zechuan back to clarity. Xiao Chiye brushed his slightly damp hair and said softly, “That road was hell to travel. Tell Zhou Gui to fix it soon. He locked down the city—I was stuck outside shouting for ages.”
For some reason, Shen Zechuan laughed against his palm. The nightmare—his own corpse lying at the bottom of the pit—faded in an instant.
Half laughing, he asked suspiciously, “Then how did you get in?”
Xiao Chiye took a slow breath. “Climbed over the wall. Langtao Xuejin is still tied up outside.”