Clothing pushed up, the skin revealed by the moonlight felt icy. There was no caressing, only tearing. In the dense darkness of the night, a pool of warmth had formed, and Xiao Chiye cupped it in his hands. From the tide of passion, he struggled to lift himself, and in his panting, he saw Shen Zechuan’s eyes.
There was no hint of surrender in those eyes—only a reflection of the absurdity of his current actions.
A sharp, knife-like pleasure surged through Xiao Chiye. He heated Shen Zechuan, stirred that pool, and held him close in his arms, pressing heavily, licking and biting recklessly. He bit at Shen Zechuan’s nape as if savoring a mouthful of intoxicating potion.
The night was drenched, the bedding soaked with sweat. Limbs tangled and tossed across the bed, Xiao Chiye gradually discovered pleasure through the frantic collisions. He advanced quickly, disarmed in that soft cloud, yet aroused again within it. Silently, he pressed against Shen Zechuan’s core, forcing him to swallow with effort, the nape of his neck completely exposed before his eyes.
Xiao Chiye kissed that neck, lifted Shen Zechuan’s knees. He was no longer a gentleman of restraint; he was a mortal man storming the citadel in darkness. He made Shen Zechuan forget the pit at tea stone and ensured he would never forget this violent entanglement.
They had no lifeline; this night was indulgence beyond suffering. Pleasure burned like a fire consuming the body. When Shen Zechuan reached for the headboard, Xiao Chiye pulled him back, locking him in his embrace.
“Come lose yourself,” Xiao Chiye whispered. “You want me to go mad, how dare you run? You wanted to see who’s more ruthless—I’m not afraid.”
Shen Zechuan’s cheek brushed the bedding, eyes closed, gasping. The pain and unbearable expression on his face were intoxicatingly seductive.
How had he grown into this?
Xiao Chiye grasped his jaw, kissed him, leaving no breath, no pause, flooding him through the numbness in his waist.
Shen Zechuan still wrestled with the aftershocks; Xiao Chiye made no pause, flipping him over, pressing in again.
The wind outside howled relentlessly, mingling with suppressed gasps in the dark. Xiao Chiye sweated, kissing Shen Zechuan again and again.
He refused to yield.
But she had already been defeated.
Xiao Chiye fell asleep.
His ferocity and anger softened into a slightly reckless displeasure. He held one of Shen Zechuan’s wrists, keeping them close in the winter night, turning even a cruel kiss into a burning hearth.
Outside, snow had fallen all night, drifting like willow catkins in silent air.
At dawn, Shen Zechuan withdrew his wrist. Xiao Chiye’s fingers reached after him, moving slightly through the bedding.
Outside, Chen Yang saw Shen Zechuan emerge.
“The training grounds,” Shen Zechuan said succinctly.
Chen Yang nodded. As he stepped aside, he glimpsed the wound on Shen Zechuan’s lip and hesitated.
Shen Zechuan looked at him, reading his thoughts with precision. “The recent reshuffling orders for the Jinyiwei should be issued soon. During this time, I appreciate your care.”
Chen Yang began, “A few days ago—”
“Let’s not speak of turning pages,” Shen Zechuan cut him off, unusually cold today. “In the future, we will inevitably cross paths in Qu Dou. I act cautiously, and I advise our brothers in the Forbidden Army to do the same.”
Chen Yang froze.
Shen Zechuan smiled. “Good days for the Forbidden Army don’t come easy. But the wheel of fortune turns; who can say what comes next?”
Before Chen Yang could reply, he had already lifted his robe and left.
Ding Tao shook snow from his shoulders, dangling in midair, biting his pen, frowning at Shen Zechuan’s retreating figure.
Chen Yang noticed and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Ding Tao said, “Don’t you think he seemed somewhat troubled today?”
Chen Yang glanced at Shen Zechuan’s robes. “Really? He looks fine to me—smiling even.”
Ding Tao took a small notebook from his chest and wrote a few lines while hanging there. “Perhaps it’s from fighting Second Master last night. I heard quite a ruckus.”
Chen Yang felt slightly awkward, glanced up, and said, “Gu Jin, didn’t you teach him social manners? This kid is sixteen; in Li Bei, he should be marrying by now.”
Gu Jin didn’t reply.
Chen Yang said, “Hear me?”
“Wearing cotton!” Ding Tao shoved the notebook back, plucking cotton from Gu Jin’s ear. “Jin Ge! Chen Yang is calling!”
Gu Jin jerked, nearly slipping. He pushed Ding Tao away, frowning. “What?”
Chen Yang pointed at Ding Tao. “Send him off—use that for this month’s wine money.”
Gu Jin grabbed Ding Tao by the neck. “Two taels won’t even sell a few units.”
Sounds came from inside, and the three went silent. Moments later, Xiao Chiye emerged, dressed, eyes scanning the room before settling on Ding Tao.
“In a while, Elder Brother will enter the city,” Xiao Chiye said, lips sore. He flicked his tongue over them, then quickly let it go. “Don’t report trivial matters.”
Ding Tao nodded vigorously like a pecking chick.
Xiao Chiye paused, asking, “Why are you still here?”
Ding Tao scratched his head, confused, looking at Chen Yang, then Gu Jin, then back to Xiao Chiye. “Master, I’m on duty today.”
Xiao Chiye asked, “Where’s the person you were supposed to watch?”
Ding Tao stammered, “G-go… gone…”
Xiao Chiye said nothing. When Chen Yang led the horse over, Xiao Chiye mounted and, pointing at Ding Tao, said, “Throw him out.”
Before Ding Tao could climb, he was lifted by Chen Yang and Gu Jin. Panicked, clutching his notebook, he shouted, “No, Master! Master! I haven’t caused trouble recently!”
And he was thrown out.
Chen Yang returned. “Master, today the teacher should have arrived.”
Xiao Chiye said nothing and spurred his horse out of the city.
Shen Zechuan didn’t go to the Maple Mountain training grounds; he braved the snow back to Zhaozui Temple.
Ji Gang hadn’t seen him for some days. After letting him in, he hurried to buy roast chicken. Grand Tutor Qi, too, hadn’t seen him for a while; now holding a brush, squinting at a sheet, he dropped it when Shen Zechuan entered. “Lanzhou!”
Shen Zechuan lifted his robes, sitting opposite Grand Tutor Qi.
“The orders for the Jinyiwei must be out. Where do you intend to go?”
“To the Luan Yu Office, near the emperor,” Shen Zechuan said.
Qi nodded, noticing his lip wound, and asked, “Has anything happened outside recently?”
Shen Zechuan paused. “The emperor now has Hai Liangyi for protection; even rotten wood could serve as a pillar. I saved Xiao Er that day because the emperor’s ascension was already certain; killing him would have disrupted the board.”
“Disruption isn’t the problem—it’s losing your bearings,” Qi said. “During your time with Xiao Er, have you gained new insights?”
Shen Zechuan wiped ink from his fingertips, thinking before answering: “He was born after Xiao Jiming—what a pity. If he can be restrained, fine. If not…”
He looked at Qi and stopped.
Qi instead said, “Lanzhou, you still don’t understand.”
Shen Zechuan blinked.
Qi stood, paced two steps, gazed at the snow, and sighed. “You killed Ji Lei.”
Shen Zechuan paused in his wiping.
Qi, unusually somber, continued: “Lanzhou, we live constrained by resentment, yet cannot be killed by it. Five years ago, you couldn’t commit such ruthless acts; now you act decisively. I taught you poetry and books, but never to let hatred control you. Taking life is not virtue; sink too deep, and you cannot return. Remove your inner demons, or you’ll remain trapped in nightmares. Ji Lei deserved death—one stroke ended it. Think of the days in Duanzhou. I never wanted you to tread a cold-hearted path. You say it’s a pity Xiao Chiye was born after Xiao Jiming; I say the opposite.”
“Imagine if today Ji Mu had been the heir of Li Bei, leaving you in Qu Dou. Would it have been helplessness only?”
“The edge of a sword is honed by grinding. Xiao Chiye is the sword. He doesn’t even realize it. His elder brother held high expectations; Li Bei never withheld praise. If he were a worthless child, indulgence would have been his comfort. But Xiao Jiming brought him to war and let him lead troops. Now that he has nowhere to retreat, handing over a brother—was it only to cause pain? Five years ago, Xiao Chiye didn’t know restraint. Now he’s learned control. All lessons can be superficial; only what one learns from suffering is true mastery. Xiao Jiming is a good brother. The greatest fortune for Xiao Chiye is being born after him. Lanzhou, this bond you should understand most, yet now you understand it least.”
Qi paused, solemn, looking at Shen Zechuan, kneeling, gently patting his hair with dry hands.
“I taught you poetry, gave you the courtesy name Lanzhou. Calm on jade steps, steering through boundless suffering, embracing all rivers, widening your horizon. You are a good child—killing is a nod, but hatred must not govern the heart. Lanzhou, aren’t there still your master and teacher? Why force yourself to such extremes? The bitterness of these five years—speak of it if you must.”
Shen Zechuan stared at Qi.
“Twenty-five years ago, the Crown Prince left. I longed and resented daily, hating that I could not strike that blow, could not avenge. I endured the resentment, becoming like this. I became your teacher, I…” Qi choked slightly. “…wanted you to avenge old grudges, but not to forget yourself in the process. You are human, Lanzhou. Do not forget the free days of Duanzhou. Ji Mu’s death was not your fault—it was fate, unchangeable! You emerged from the tea stone pit not as a sinner, but alive—he lived, forty thousand soldiers lived. Foolish child, Ji Gang’s caution still couldn’t prevent you from misjudging yourself, resenting the wrong person!”
Shen Zechuan closed his eyes.
He heard Ji Mu’s call, remembered Xiao Chiye’s scent. In that moment, he finally understood why he was so drawn to it: it was the bright warmth that let him escape the tea stone pit.
Even if for a moment, forgetting blood and arrows, cold and corpses. Duanzhou’s days were gone, distant as a past life. He could no longer recall Ji Mu’s smiling face—he had fallen into a nightmare, endlessly tormenting himself.
Ji Mu was dead.
Why wasn’t it him that day?
His master’s silence was the greatest blame; the inescapable guilt a lifetime long. He could not confess to Grand Tutor Qi; day after day, he finally killed himself.
Xiao Chiye was the mirror opposite, possessing all that he lacked. He observed him, awkwardly imitating to feel human. He could tell no one that within this body, Shen Zechuan was a grim killer.
He was already standing on the edge of an abyss.
Under Qi’s palm, Shen Zechuan lowered his gaze, like a child absorbing instruction. He obeyed devoutly, yet realized in that instant that he could no longer weep.
His throat moved slightly, finally saying with relief: “Teacher… you are right.”
Three days later, the orders for the Jinyiwei were issued. Commanding Officer Han Cheng of the Eight Camps was reassigned as the Jinyiwei commander, restructuring personnel from the twelve bureaus. Shen Zechuan moved from the Elephant Taming Division to the Luan Yu Office. Ge Qingqing was promoted from a captain to office overseer.
Shen Zechuan’s new badge read “Imperial Escort”—a prime position, close to the emperor, most likely to gain his favor.
Xiao Chiye, previously commander of the Forbidden Army and the Eight Camps, now oversaw Qu Dou’s patrols fully. Since that night, after welcoming Zuo Qianqiu, he had stayed at Maple Mountain Training Grounds. After Shen Zechuan left the Forbidden Army residence, they did not meet again.
“Master,” Chen Yang whispered at his side, “he was originally assigned to the Horse-Taming Division, yet now it’s the Luan Yu Office.”
Xiao Chiye slowed fiddling with a nine-ring puzzle. “Then people don’t care for it.”
Chen Yang said, “But at court, isn’t he more exposed to danger? Hai Ge Lao once urged the late emperor to kill him.”
“Debt collected at the blade’s edge—his heart isn’t in lawfulness,” Xiao Chiye tossed the puzzle. “Ji Lei is dead. Han Cheng fills the Eight Camps’ vacancy. Jinyiwei is leaderless now. If he goes up there, what do you think he wants?”
Chen Yang pondered. “If he succeeds—”
“If he succeeds,” Xiao Chiye said, eyes on the training grounds, “he gains claws.”
Chen Yang stayed silent.
After a moment, Xiao Chiye said, “The Jinyiwei belongs to the Ji family. With Ji Gang as shield, and old bonds as blade, it’s easy for him. We can’t intervene directly but can block his opportunities. Promotions need cause. If nothing happens at court, he remains constrained. The Forbidden Army already has patrol duties—why bother Jinyiwei?”
Chen Yang said, “Understood.”
Xiao Chiye drank water, pondered, and said, “Pick a hidden place, set a table. I’ll have a showdown with him—and still invite him to dinner.”
He pressed his bitten lip.
“…After all, they are fellow disciples.”