Gujin received the letter from Endzhou while at Luoshan. He had been preparing to mount his horse and continue galloping when, after reading it, his expression turned complicated. He turned to Huolingyun, who had come by the way to change horses, and asked, “Is this the letter the Duke wrote before you left?”
Huolingyun held his horse by the reins, nodded, and uncorked his water pouch, taking a long drink. “It was written last night.”
Gujin tucked the letter into his chest and drew out another one, handing it to Huolingyun. “This is from Second Master to the Duke… what exactly did the Jinyiwei who went to investigate the carriage say?”
“They said the Hezhou yamen pursued them relentlessly, forcing the driver into a panic. While driving, he lost control on an unmaintained horse road and fell into a river ditch,” Huolingyun replied after hanging up his water pouch and carefully storing Xiao Chiye’s letter. “A few men went down into the ditch and searched for two hours. No survivors.”
Gujin’s expression darkened further. He had been ordered here specifically to keep watch over Master Yideng for Xiao Chiye—yet the master had simply died like this. Standing in place, he muttered to himself, bewildered, “What was the master doing in Hezhou?”
“Isn’t that where his secular home is?” Huolingyun said, still breathless from riding all night. “According to Yan Heru, the master died of illness. If he already knew he didn’t have long to live, it makes sense he returned to see his family.”
“But he severed all worldly ties when he entered the monastery,” Gujin said. “What remains of his family are distant relatives, not direct kin. Besides, he had promised to return to Great Border this year. Even if he knew he was dying, he would have fulfilled that promise first.”
Huolingyun, having never interacted with Master Yideng, looked toward the rising sun. “I’ve rested enough. Time to go.”
Gujin stepped aside to let him pass. After mounting his horse, Huolingyun said, “When you reach the battlefield, tell Second Master this: Tantai Hu also wants to try his new blade.”
Gujin did not respond. Instead, he said, “Let that tiger write to Second Master himself. I’m not going back to the battlefield.”
He brushed the mud from his boots, swung onto his horse, and pointed his whip toward another direction. “I’m going to Hezhou.”
Under the eaves, physicians crowded together in silence, afraid to even breathe too loudly. Fei Sheng saw this was not a place for discussion and quickly arranged for them to move to an adjacent room.
Kong Ling did not disturb Yao Wenyu’s rest and followed Fei Sheng out. “What did the doctors say?”
Fei Sheng glanced at the motionless bamboo curtain and led him aside, lowering his voice. “They’re all frightened. The prescriptions they wrote aren’t even as strong as what our Jinyiwei would dare use. None of them dare give the patient heavy medicine.”
Kong Ling, though knowledgeable, was not versed in medicine. He froze slightly. “Then this…”
Fei Sheng could not bring himself to say it plainly. Everyone had pinned their hopes on Master Yideng. Yan Heru’s sudden interference had caught them off guard. He only said, “The Duke wrote to Ge Qingqing last night, ordering him to search for physicians across the thirteen cities of Western territories. They should arrive in Endzhou after June.”
But how were they supposed to endure these three months?
Fei Sheng did not dare answer. He had watched the physicians come and go all night, his heart equally unsettled. Yao Wenyu had been holding on by sheer willpower—he had already exhausted himself in Cizhou while stabilizing the scholars who had come to join Shen Zechuan, and then spent nights coordinating the administrative structure of the six provinces with Kong Ling and others. By the time he reached Endzhou, he had never truly recovered.
Kong Ling stood for a moment, then said gravely, “Wait here. I’ll report to the Duke. He hasn’t slept all night and is still waiting in the hall for news.”
Fei Sheng quickly added, “Please persuade him as well. My lord has been on edge since hearing about Master Yideng. Now with Sir Yuan Zhe like this too… he may overwork himself. We’ll handle things here with Qiao Tianya.”
Kong Ling nodded and hurried away.
When he arrived at Shen Zechuan’s courtyard, the Duke was standing under the eaves listening to Ding Tao report.
Seeing Kong Ling, Shen Zechuan motioned for Ding Tao to pause. Ding Tao immediately fell silent and stepped aside.
Kong Ling chose his words carefully. “He has just fallen asleep. The physicians are preparing medicine in the courtyard. Qiao Tianya is watching over him. My lord need not worry excessively.”
Shen Zechuan stepped down the stairs. “No physician has given a definitive answer?”
Kong Ling hesitated before replying, “They are all mountain doctors and have never seen a case like Sir Yuan Zhe’s. They are too cautious to prescribe anything strong. But they are doing their best—none of them are careless.”
Shen Zechuan immediately understood. None of these physicians could truly treat Yao Wenyu—they could only offer maintenance, avoiding risk at all costs.
“Send another urgent letter to Yu Xiao,” Shen Zechuan said, stopping in his tracks. “Tell him to keep watch while inspecting the provinces. Gather every physician he can find and send them to Endzhou. Whatever it costs, pay it from my private funds.”
Kong Ling nodded. Before he could respond further, a guard came forward with a letter. Shen Zechuan opened it, saw Ge Qingqing’s seal, and read through it quickly before handing it to Kong Ling.
“Jingdu’s war is over.”
Kong Ling read it briefly. “The Empress Dowager is now short of troops and lacks leverage. Forcing matters further will only strengthen Xue Xiu.”
“She is cornered,” Shen Zechuan said, looking up at the overcast sky. “She wants to use Qi Zhuyin, but she no longer has bargaining chips. If it comes to open conflict, Han Cheng’s twenty thousand troops cannot hold.”
The situation in Jingdu had already reversed. Their weakness was obvious. With only the Eight Great Camps to rely on in the east, and internal unrest in Dan City, there was no real defense left. Qi Zhuyin had become their only lifeline.
Kong Ling scanned further down the letter and drew in a breath. “Pan Xiangjie and Pan Lin are dead.”
“At this point, the Empress Dowager’s true opponent is Xue Xiu,” Shen Zechuan said calmly. “There is no way for her to retreat unscathed.”
Jingdu was in rain—the beginning of the wet season.
The court was investigating Han Cheng. Han Cheng insisted the officials killed in prison were Zhongbo spies. The two factions argued fiercely in court, and news of Pan Xiangjie’s death arrived in the midst of the dispute.
Only then did Liang Cuishan recall that Pan Xiangjie had been held in the deepest cell. When he cried for help, no one responded. Amidst the chaos and tension of the court struggle, he had been suffocated by smoke inside the prison, only discovered after the guards came to clear the cell.
“The grain warehouse case was exposed by Pan Lin,” Xue Xiuzhuo said in the Hall of Governance. “He also provided the financial records to the Ministry of Revenue. His crimes do not warrant death.”
Cen Yu sighed. “This is not to say he should be absolved, but punishment must be proportionate.”
Kong You examined the records carefully. “He did confess, but only after the investigation began. He was already complicit when the irregularities occurred. The death penalty may be avoided, but punishment is unavoidable.”
In the end, the court decided to strip Pan Lin of his office and exile him to Huizhou, but he would remain in the post station awaiting further orders while the Dan City case was still unresolved.
Unlike his father’s generation, Pan Lin had once considered himself a true scholar-official. Proud and aloof, he did not get along with Xue Daxing and others. Now his family had fallen overnight, from noble lineage to disgraced criminals, his father dead, and he himself reduced to a prisoner. In the post station, he was treated coldly and fed scraps.
Xue Daxing once had a quarrel with him at Xiao Chiye’s conferment banquet. Out of courtesy, he brought food to visit Pan Lin, hoping to reconcile before their final separation.
The attendant led him in. Seeing the cramped room, Xue Daxing frowned. “Is Pan Chengzhi really living here? He’s the legitimate son of the Pan family, a Ministry of Revenue official—how could you let him stay in a place like this?”
The attendant unlocked the door. “The Pan family was already confiscated. He is a convicted criminal. This is the court’s arrangement—how could we disobey?” He added casually, “Sir should not stay too long either. If the Ministry of Justice hears about it, there will be consequences.”
Xue Daxing stepped inside, stooped and frail. He peered in and saw Pan Lin sitting by the window. The room was dim, rain leaking through every corner, the floor soaked and damp.
Pan Lin’s robes were wet. His boots were wet. He still wore the prison clothes, his face gaunt and unshaven.
Xue Daxing set down the food box and said softly, “Chengzhi… I came to see you.”
Pan Lin turned his eyes toward him after a long pause. “Sit.”
Xue Daxing placed the box on the table and sat down uneasily. “At least… I’ll speak to them and see if they can change your room.”
Pan Lin’s eyes were red, staring blankly at the rain seeping in.
Xue Daxing shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t come to laugh at you. You’re going to Huizhou… it’s far. This may be the last time we meet…”
Pan Lin remained silent.
Xue Daxing’s voice grew heavier with emotion. “Chengzhi… about the banquet last year… I was wrong. I heard you let Yuan Zhe go—I admire you for that. You had talent, but your family dragged you down. Since the court spared your life, it means they still value talent. When you reach Huizhou, there may still be a future…”
Even he did not believe his own words.
Pan Lin finally spoke. “Pingjing.”
Xue Daxing quickly responded, “Yes.”
“I once held office in the Ministry of Revenue. I hesitated over the account books but never handed them to the Grand Secretary. I served wrongdoing and harmed the people of the eight cities. I deserve death.” His gaze settled on Xue Daxing as though looking at his younger self. “The glory of the eight cities has ended.”
Thunder crashed outside, briefly illuminating Jingdu.
“Go,” Pan Lin said.
Xue Daxing left the food box behind but eventually stood and left in silence. In the corridor, he could no longer tell where the exit was.
Pan Lin sat back down. He never touched the food. He picked up his brush and began writing a “Confession of Guilt.”
It was not for the court, but for his father.
He wrote for a long time, and when he finally set the brush down, he wept. Afterward, he composed himself, lay down on the damp mat, and never opened his eyes again.