Huo Lingyun had seen wolves before—in the barren wilds of Lianzhou. Those starved wolves, skin stretched tight over bone, would tuck their tails and run through the hunting grounds of Prince Yi, their eyes burning with a green, hungry light.
But what stood before him now was a wolf of Lianbei.
Not only was it powerfully built, it also carried an overwhelming, suffocating pressure. It forced him to tighten his grip on the chains, every muscle along his back going rigid.
Huo Lingyun could not breathe.
Because if he opened his mouth again, Xiao Chiye would snap his throat shut.
He was kneeling here, and the entire atmosphere had already been seized and ruled by Xiao Chiye’s presence. It felt as if the back of his head had been pinned down.
Xiao Chiye wanted him to kneel—and keep his head lowered.
In the long silence, sweat seeped out of Huo Lingyun’s body. He did not want to yield, but when he came back to himself, he had already averted his gaze and lowered his head.
The Lianbei Iron Cavalry had not won a major victory since the great snow that year. The battlefield situation now was stifled and constrained; the age when the iron cavalry dominated the northern plains had long passed.
Huo Lingyun had originally intended to blunt Xiao Chiye’s edge and even the balance of power in negotiations. Instead, he had struck a wall head-on and was pressed firmly to the ground.
Xiao Chiye’s shadow did not move. His lowered gaze locked onto the back of Huo Lingyun’s head as he repeated coldly, “Can you manage it?”
Huo Lingyun gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, swallowing down unwillingness.
He was actually afraid.
Xiao Chiye was completely different from Shen Zechuan. At certain moments, he did not bother with pretenses or negotiation. He simply seized dominance, pressed down every head that dared challenge him, and allowed only one path forward. The early Imperial Guards had understood this very well.
Shen Zechuan idly lifted the lid of his teacup, his fingers tapping lightly against it. That faint, warming presence strangely eased the pressure in the room, allowing Fei Sheng—still kneeling—to draw breath again.
Outside the door, Gu Jin quietly exhaled and loosened his grip on his blade.
Only when Huo Lingyun’s back was completely soaked did that oppressive shadow finally withdraw. Xiao Chiye did not remove his gaze; he merely leaned back into a more relaxed posture, as though he had already lost interest in someone who had lowered his head.
Only then did Shen Zechuan lift the teacup lid and take a sip. In between, he said, “You understand the situation in Duanzhou very well.”
The two of them shifted seamlessly in control of the room, both carrying a dangerous aura. Huo Lingyun’s palms were slick with sweat; he suppressed his earlier arrogance and became even more certain that he had not come to the wrong place.
“The Scorpions approached Prince Yi,” Huo Lingyun said, deciding to show sincerity. “Last December, they incited Prince Yi to launch a surprise attack on Chazhou, to cut off your connection with Qidong. They even provided him with a batch of firearms.”
In an instant, both Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye thought of the White Scorpion. These borderland spies had hidden deep within Great Zhou, colluding with Amur from within to strike at the nation’s heart.
Last December marked the turning point when the Lianbei Iron Cavalry shifted from offense to defense. If Prince Yi had been bold enough to follow the Scorpion’s instigation and attack Chazhou, Shen Zechuan would have been forced into restraint, reducing support for Lianbei.
More importantly, if Chazhou were cut off, Qi Zhuyin would have been forced to detour east of Tianfei Pass to move north. She would inevitably pass through Fangzhou, where Scorpion ambushes lay in wait. At that point, the Great Commander’s life would have been in grave danger.
“They are targeting General Qi,” Shen Zechuan said, looking toward Xiao Chiye. Everything unspoken was already in his eyes.
Hasen’s attempt to encircle and kill Xiao Fangxu was not merely to strike Lianbei—it was also meant to lure Qi Zhuyin out. Amur indeed understood Great Zhou far too well.
“But Prince Yi didn’t act. He stayed in Fangzhou like a coward, and ended up getting his head blown apart by your firearms,” Xiao Chiye said coldly. “Did the Scorpions ever contact you?”
Huo Lingyun stared at his knees. “No.”
“You are lying,” Shen Zechuan said calmly, lifting his gaze through the drifting steam of tea. “You have had contact with them.”
As a former official of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Shen Zechuan had once served in both the Northern and Southern Investigation Bureaus and spent considerable time in the imperial prison. He had his own way of interrogating people.
Sometimes the fewer words spoken, the more the other party would fill in the gaps themselves.
Huo Lingyun had to remain clear-headed. One more wrong answer here could cost him his life. He exhaled deeply, forcing himself to steady his mind. This was already the worst situation possible. When he looked up again, he had regained a measure of composure.
“Yes,” he said. “I had contact with the Scorpions before Prince Yi ever did. In the sixth year of Xiande, after my father won a battle, they sent someone to persuade him to abandon Lianzhou and promised him a noble title in return. My father refused.”
Shen Zechuan tilted his head slightly. The faint red at the corner of his eyes disappeared into the slanted shadow of backlight.
“You said ‘he,’” he said.
Not “they.”
Huo Lingyun recalled a night years ago: a carriage from Dudu, bearing a weighty sealed letter. Huo Qing had stood by candlelight as he opened it, feeling the heavy promise within.
If the borderlands were Qidong’s most bitter outpost, then Lianzhou was the poorest province in Zhongbo. Both regions were similarly impoverished. Lianzhou’s only advantage was that it did not have to face constant assaults from the border cavalry like the frontier garrisons.
After the Zhongbo defeat case, banditry overwhelmed Huo Qing, trapping him in that isolated corner with no support from the imperial court.
That letter had been his only chance to escape his predicament—but he refused it, and ultimately met a fate of being torn apart by dogs.
“It was him,” Huo Lingyun said through gritted teeth. “That person is in Dudu. Anyone capable of making such a promise is no ordinary man. After my father refused the bribe, he was slandered by the Peng officials, and the Ministry of War refused to promote him. They believed Peng Fangmiao’s lies and stopped allocating proper military funds to Lianzhou. Banditry there resurged at that time. Yang Qiu and Cuiqing later joined forces in Fangzhou to establish brothels and revive human trafficking, and from there they connected with Lei Changming of Luoshan.”
Everything was connecting.
Shen Zechuan recalled the confusion he had once felt while examining the Yan clan account books in Dunzhou. Why had so many resources stolen by the Scorpions from Great Zhou left no trace along the Dun, Luo, or Duan routes?
Because they had never passed through Dunzhou at all.
Lei Changming and Lei Jingzhe were merely decoys placed in the northeast of Zhongbo by Amur.
No wonder Yan Heru had been so confident. He had indeed never handled those goods directly—but he must have known about them, because all his merchants had dealings with Cuiqing.
Combining this with Yu Xiaozai’s account of the Xiande sixth-year case, Shen Zechuan’s suspicion grew even clearer.
“The goods were moved through Fangzhou,” Shen Zechuan said, holding his teacup. “They were delivered directly to the banks of the Chashi River. They never passed through Dunzhou at all.”
“‘He’ first tried to bribe Huo Qing with a noble title, hoping to turn him into a White Scorpion and transform Lianzhou’s garrison into an escort force for shipments. After Huo Qing refused, he turned to Peng Fangmiao instead. Peng accepted the bribe and began slandering Huo Qing relentlessly.”
“Yujing,” Shen Zechuan suddenly asked Yu Xiaozai, “what year was Peng Fangmiao assigned to Lianzhou? And who was his teacher before that?”
Yu Xiaozai frowned in thought, then shook his head. “I can’t recall. After Xiande four, governance in Zhongbo became chaotic. The prefects of Duan, Dun, Fang, and Lianzhou changed frequently. I only remember the memorials of impeachment…”
The court was like an ocean. Even the high-ranking positions in Dudu were numerous, and local administration even more fragmented. Not even Yu Xiaozai could remember such fine details.
In Dudu, a visit with a name card and a few exchanged words could allow someone to claim they were a “student” of a powerful official. During the Xiande era, factional struggle between the Hua and Pan clans had already corrupted the court.
“Ding Tao,” Xiao Chiye said after a pause. “Come in.”
Ding Tao peeked in nervously, startled by Xiao Chiye’s expression, and walked in awkwardly. Everyone turned to look at him. He wanted to look at Shen Zechuan but did not dare.
“Do you remember the name Peng Fangmiao?” Xiao Chiye asked.
Ding Tao shook his head blankly.
Outside, Qiao Tianya suddenly said, “Taozi, this name should be in the Ministry of Personnel reference lists after Xiande four. Think again—Hua Sishen, Wei Huaigu, even Pan Rugui.”
After Xiande four, the border cavalry massacre left Lianzhou devastated. Only people like Tantai Hu survived and were absorbed into the Imperial Guards. The original prefects of Lianzhou had all died in the slaughter, so Peng Fangmiao must have been appointed afterward.
Ding Tao’s memory was exceptional. He took out his notebook and began flipping through pages.
Then he suddenly said, “The Censorate! That’s it—the Censorate! During the assassination case in Dudu! There was a surname Fu!”
Fu Linye.
Shen Zechuan remembered the assassination case. It was during that investigation that he noticed the issue with the Qiancheng silk, and the one who obstructed the search of the Lianbei Prince’s manor was Fu Linye, then Right Censor-in-Chief.
Yu Xiaozai suddenly slapped his thigh and stood up. Laughing at himself, he said, “I remember now too! That Fu Linye was originally thought to be from a humble background! He really made life difficult for the Second Master back then. That bastard had long been tied up with Wei Huaigu!”
After Xiande four, it was a struggle between aristocratic families and common officials. Hua Sishen controlled the Inner Cabinet, supported by the Empress Dowager and Pan Rugui. Hai Liangyi relied on the Censorate to resist them. Fu Linye had disguised himself well, wielding considerable influence in personnel evaluations while secretly aligning with Wei Huaigu.
“If Fu Linye placed Peng Fangmiao in Lianzhou,” Shen Zechuan said after a brief pause, “then Wei Huaigu—and even Xi Hongxuan—could also be ‘him.’”