Shen Zechuan’s two fingers on his right hand trembled violently, the fiery pain instantly snapping him awake. Exhausted, he lifted his arm, and when he opened his palm, he realized the fingers couldn’t move freely. Light filtered faintly through the window paper; he had slept until this hour without noticing.
He let his arm fall back, sweat trailing down his temples. After a moment, he turned over and rose, his fingers curling slightly as he dressed.
Fei Sheng heard the movement, turned back, and beckoned the attendant carrying medicine to wait nearby. The door opened, and Fei Sheng lifted his robe to step inside, finding Shen Zechuan standing by the copper basin washing up.
“Master,” Fei Sheng said quietly as he moved to the side, “the physician has been summoned since early morning and is waiting. Shall we send him in for a look?”
Shen Zechuan placed the cloth back in the basin and, unusually, didn’t object. “Call him in,” he said.
Fei Sheng’s face lit up. In that pause, he added, “Last night we released the men. With Six-Ears’ old connections, news travels fast. Master, Lei Jingzhe is already in the city!”
Shen Zechuan paused at the doorway and glanced back at Fei Sheng, thoughtful.
Lei Jingzhe’s rapid response meant they had kept meticulous track of the convoy and calculated potential delays. Since the troops hadn’t arrived, he had immediately entered Dunzhou, likely trying to determine who had intercepted the Scorpion.
“The convoy to Cizhou is escorted by the Libei Cavalry, so news can’t travel that quickly. By now, it should have reached Cizhou. Whether or not Lei Jingzhe discovers it, the goods and people are already ours,” Fei Sheng said, stepping aside as Shen Zechuan took his medicine. “But capturing Lei Jingzhe alive in the city is extremely difficult. Master, there are still four hundred Scorpions guarding the bandits they captured—practically Lei Jingzhe’s forces. We are too few to confront them.”
Shen Zechuan furrowed his brow slightly. “Lei Jingzhe hasn’t yet pacified Luoshan and Duanzhou. That indicates he doesn’t have enough troops. Smuggling arms is likely a gesture to curry favor with the Biansha. Therefore, the four hundred Scorpions inside Dunzhou may not even obey his orders. Besides, we’re here to make profits peacefully, not to plunder. Everything can proceed slowly.” He handed the empty bowl to Fei Sheng. “Cizhou has been quiet recently; I have plenty of time to deal with him.”
When Fei Sheng saw Shen Zechuan’s hand hanging at his sleeve, his expression changed. He lifted his robe and knelt. “It’s broken, Master! On the road we hurried, and I… I was blind not to—”
“Rushing was important. There’s no good physician on the road,” Shen Zechuan said, his tone light. “It’s just two broken fingers, not severed. Later the doctor will bind them with steel splints. Six months and they’ll recover.”
Fei Sheng’s heart pounded. Unsure whether Shen Zechuan’s calm was genuine or feigned, he pressed his hands to his face and slapped himself several times. “Master is injured, and I would die in shame. Without the guards, I let the Master get hurt. I even allowed the Master to act personally—my incompetence! Please punish me!”
Now that he led the Imperial Guards, Fei Sheng’s self-inflicted slaps were deliberate, meant to show humility and serve as a warning: Shen Zechuan must not be harmed again. Abandoned by Han Cheng and rejected by Xiao Chiye in Zhongbo, the Master’s choice was only Shen Zechuan.
Jiao Tianya would also serve under him, even more popular with the subordinates than Fei Sheng, but he was too free-spirited and sometimes treated Shen Zechuan as a friend. From Shen Zechuan transferring Jiao Tianya to Yao Wenyu, Fei Sheng inferred much.
If Yao Wenyu’s health didn’t improve quickly, Jiao Tianya would remain at her side for years. The position near Shen Zechuan now fell to Fei Sheng—a subtle message. He had to ensure the Imperial Guards understood: Shen Zechuan’s injuries must not happen again.
Shen Zechuan never nodded unnecessarily; Fei Sheng would never act on his own initiative. Commands were executed completely. He would never privately report Shen Zechuan’s injury to Xiao Chiye.
The guards under the eaves knelt as Fei Sheng continued striking his own face, flames of pain on their cheeks. Suddenly, a folding fan blocked his hand.
“Enough lessons are enough,” Shen Zechuan said, moving his left hand. “They are grown men. There are penalties when faults occur. When we return to Cizhou, I’ll take care of it. Stand up.”
He did not humiliate Fei Sheng further. He respected scholars and treated the Imperial Guards fairly. Monthly stipends were timely, converted into cash by Qu Du standards. Their quarters were spacious and bright, with Ji Gang coaching them. At first, they thought Shen Zechuan capricious, but over time, they realized he had clear preferences, decisive commands, and never took out his anger on subordinates.
Fei Sheng wiped his tears, kowtowed a few more times, and finally stood aside. Ding Tao, watching, felt immense guilt. The city physician arrived at that moment, and Fei Sheng drew back the curtain to welcome him in.
Shen Zechuan’s fingers were indeed broken but not severed. As he had predicted, the doctor bound them with steel splints; in six months they would be almost fully recovered.
“Do not use knives or bows for now,” the old physician said. Grateful for ample pay, he lingered to advise, “This injury has been delayed several days. Fortunately, it was addressed today; otherwise, even with steel splints, proper healing would be impossible. Your health is delicate. With sudden temperature shifts in the eighth month, take care in food and clothing. Avoid falling ill.”
He rolled up his sleeves while packing his kit and added, “Do you have trouble sleeping? Business is necessary, but mental strain is heavy. Nightmares can weigh down the body. I’ll prepare a small sachet with sleep-inducing herbs. Place it under your pillow at night and try it.”
Fei Sheng bowed, carried the medical kit out, and sent the doctor off.
Shen Zechuan sat in the chair, examining his right hand in the brief silence. His fingers were bound together, stiff and difficult to stretch. At least they weren’t severed.
But why had he dreamed of the Jianxing Prince’s Mansion?
Last night’s dream felt like washing yellowed fabric. The nanny appeared only in silhouette. He had cried at the thought of reaching for the cup of tea. Was it truly for the tea?
He rested his elbow on the armrest, slowly leaning back, eyes tracing the half-lowered bamboo screen to the shadows under the eaves.
There sat the deaf-mute nanny.
The courtyard was small, poorly lit at dusk. Shen Zechuan, short enough to see into the inner room without bending, wanted that cup of water, his throat burning. He stood on tiptoe.
He lifted himself onto his toes—but this wasn’t the first time. Knowing the teacup might fall, he peered into the dim room. Too dark, no windows open, half the beaded curtain dead and white in the gloom, unmoving.
Frowning, he stared, peering down.
Why was he looking inside?
Young Shen Zechuan stood on tiptoe, leaning against the table edge, staring into the darkness. He blinked several times but did not retract his gaze. Instinctively, his fingers reached out, brushing the teacup. In the darkness, someone stirred. Shen Zechuan’s distraction caused the cup to topple. The crash echoed sharply, startling the inner room. The nanny’s elongated shadow silently gripped his feet, and at that moment, Shen Zechuan glimpsed a terrified face.
He gasped sharply and realized he had unconsciously clenched his right hand, pain flaring in his fingers. The day was hot, yet cold sweat coated his back.
He saw Shen Wei.
Shen Wei’s terrified, twisted expression struck him. Shen Zechuan stood, irritably relaxing his hand, facing the shadows under the eaves, yet he could not recall what Shen Wei had been doing.
Why was Shen Wei so frightened?
The inner room was too dark to see anything. Shen Wei’s face seemed lodged in the dense blackness. Shen Zechuan repeatedly tried to recall, but the memory froze on that single expression.
Damn it.
Shen Zechuan could usually suppress his anger below the surface, but this time he couldn’t. His face revealed clear disgust, standing at the breaking point. Like a trapped beast, he closed his eyes in the sunlight, sweat seeping at his temples.
His cut fingers bled, staining his robe, the stark white and crimson overlapping again. The beaded curtain, though lifeless, seemed alive in his mind, whipping violently. The shadow grabbed him, his fingers still bleeding. The nanny endlessly extended her arm, embroidering without pause, the shadow stretching into a scorpion.
Crack!
Shen Zechuan abruptly shifted his gaze.
Ding Tao had fallen to the ground, staring like a stranger, his hair standing on end. Sugar spilled, rolling across the floor, hitting Shen Zechuan’s broken folding fan.
Shen Zechuan bent down, picked up the candy, and offered it to Ding Tao. But Ding Tao recoiled, terrified, moving slightly back to escape Shen Zechuan’s shadow, refusing to reach out.
Shen Zechuan’s throat moved as if stripped bare, fully exposed to the scalding sunlight. His pale neck revealed vulnerability. A long pause passed before he laughed softly, tossing the candy aside.