“We sent men to meet them, but they only reached the border of Tezhou when the carriage from Hezhou had already arrived. They were being pursued by the Hezhou yamen and dared not stop along the way. The carriage overturned outside Tezhou city on an old horse road and fell into a river ditch,” the Jinyiwei hesitated briefly before continuing, “it shattered to pieces… there were no survivors.”
Inside the courtyard, the personal guards fell deathly silent, so quiet that only the sound of running water could be heard. A bamboo tube struck against the stone; fresh water flowed over the newly replaced pool, washing the moss on the surface into a dark, mottled stain.
Feisheng’s heart sank. He immediately looked toward Shen Zechuan.
Shen Zechuan remained composed. He stood beneath the eaves for a moment before speaking. “Why would the Hezhou yamen be pursuing the carriage?”
“When they passed the checkpoint, they revealed traces of their identity and falsely claimed to be relatives of the Yan family,” the Jinyiwei replied. “However, a new decree was issued in Ju City in the past few days. The entire Hezhou region is now arresting Yan Heru. When the yamen heard it was Yan family relatives, they assumed they were fleeing under suspicion of guilt.”
What an incredible coincidence—it was as if even heaven itself was obstructing the Grand Commander’s arrival in Zhongbo.
Feisheng did not believe in coincidence. Qiao Tianya believed even less. The men sent to receive them were all elite; if they said the carriage had overturned, then it had truly overturned—no tricks had been played, at least none obvious at a glance.
Interesting.
Before the Jinyiwei could respond further, Shen Zechuan had already concluded that Master Yideng was likely doomed. Otherwise, they would have handled it privately rather than reporting it to him. If Yan Heru had used the master as a bargaining chip, then he had discarded it too hastily—so hastily that Shen Zechuan could not easily believe he had ever intended to hand the master over in the first place.
Then where did Yan Heru find the courage?
Shen Zechuan raised his folding fan, stopping Qiao Tianya from speaking. He glanced toward the side hall. “It’s late. Go prepare.”
Qiao Tianya’s expression turned solemn as he withdrew.
When Shen Zechuan entered, Yao Wenyu was no longer there. Yan Heru was standing on tiptoe, fiddling with his golden abacus. He was not good at mental arithmetic, but his bead calculations were extremely fast; the beads clicked sharply as they moved, never once slipping.
“What happened to Master Yideng?” Yan Heru asked, leaning over the desk as Shen Zechuan sat down. “I heard some movement.”
There were no attendants in the room. Shen Zechuan poured himself a cup of hot tea and said briefly through the curling fragrance, “It overturned.”
Yan Heru let out a soft “oh,” then said, “It overturned? Is the master all right? I gave strict instructions and even sent capable men from my household to escort him.”
Shen Zechuan did not drink the tea. Instead, he poured it into an empty porcelain dish on the table as if rinsing the cup. “They said the Hezhou yamen pursued them. The carriage fled in panic, fell into a river ditch outside Tezhou, and everyone inside died on the spot. A pity—I was counting on the master to extend my life this year.”
Yan Heru’s expression changed slightly. “The master is dead?”
Shen Zechuan pressed the warmed empty cup between his fingers and looked at him. “The master is dead.”
Yan Heru’s eyes had originally been calm, but under Shen Zechuan’s gaze they gradually shifted into uncertainty. “…I delivered the person.”
The cup slipped from Shen Zechuan’s fingers, rolled across the table, and struck the edge of Yan Heru’s abacus. The room was dim, the lamps partly obscured by bamboo curtains. Shen Zechuan studied him for a long moment, finding no trace of deception on his face. On this point alone, Yan Heru was already better than Xi Hongxuan.
Shen Zechuan smiled faintly, lowering his fan onto the table. “Misfortune falls from the sky. How could it be your fault?”
Yan Heru could not read his thoughts. But having dealt with him for half a year, he knew not to rush—Shen Zechuan was skilled at manipulating hearts. The slightest impatience could be exploited.
“You are truly magnanimous, worthy of a lord,” Yan Heru said. “I have seen so-called heroes elsewhere, none as composed as you. Now that the master is gone, what are we to do? I hear Sir Yao’s condition is worsening. That must be treated.”
“Physicians are easy to find. A divine doctor is not,” Shen Zechuan said casually. “How did you find the master?”
“Hezhou,” Yan Heru’s expression eased. “As you may not know, that was the master’s place of origin. Once I learned Second Master was searching for him, I sent people to watch. Who would have thought he truly returned there? A pity—I arrived too late. If I had come a few days earlier, he would already have been in Endzhou.”
“Things rarely go as one wishes,” Shen Zechuan said. “Nothing can be helped.”
Yan Heru offered alternatives—famous old physicians from Western Hezhou, renowned healers once summoned by noble families, promising to bring them next time. Shen Zechuan even poured him tea.
But the atmosphere slowly shifted.
Yan Heru began speaking of Xi Hongxuan’s failed scheme in Ju City, of bloodshed and collapse. He laughed, but his words were sharp, probing. He even hinted at Shen Zechuan’s vulnerabilities, at how much depended on Yan Heru’s cooperation.
Shen Zechuan remained calm.
Until he suddenly said, “Master Yideng was already dead, wasn’t he?”
Yan Heru’s smile froze for a fraction of a second.
“Impossible…”
“If he were not dead,” Shen Zechuan said slowly, “why would you discard him so easily?”
Yan Heru’s expression changed.
Shen Zechuan continued evenly, “Eight grain storages in the cities are nothing. I wouldn’t kill you over that. But this is different. Xiao Chiye has put effort into finding the master. Once he traces it back and discovers the master died in your hands, not even heaven can save you. So you had to discard this hot potato quickly.”
The truth was laid bare with terrifying precision.
Yan Heru had originally come to settle accounts for the grain affair. But now he was cornered by his own failure. The master was dead—unexpectedly, irreversibly dead—and what had once been a bargaining chip had become a fatal liability. If Xiao Chiye traced it, there would be no room left for maneuvering. Only by negotiating directly with Shen Zechuan could he survive.
“You are very clever,” Yan Heru said, fingers tightening around his abacus. “But since you are still sitting here speaking with me, it means you are willing to leave room for negotiation.”
He leaned back slightly, smiling again. “Without me, Zhongbo cannot sustain the war. I am indispensable.”
“Indispensable?” Shen Zechuan echoed lightly. “You like money that much?”
Yan Heru spoke of profit, ports, grain, trade routes, wealth flowing endlessly. He spoke of alliances and survival, of how everyone here depended on him.
But Shen Zechuan suddenly changed the subject again.
“You really think you are irreplaceable?”
Yan Heru’s smile stiffened.
Outside, night wind brushed through the courtyard. The candle flame flickered violently.
And in that unstable light, Shen Zechuan said calmly:
“Go back.”