Zhaozui Temple received the imperial decree in great haste. Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan were both without their official robes, and the entire courtyard knelt as one. The eunuch who came to deliver the decree was unfamiliar, and he did not dare put on airs. As soon as someone appeared, he hurried to begin reading.
After the eunuch finished reading the edict, he bent at the waist and said to Xiao Chiye, “Governor-General, please rise at once!”
Xiao Chiye accepted the decree, and Chenyang immediately had someone prepare tea.
“Zhaozui Temple is full of sickly air,” Xiao Chiye said. “Today I won’t invite you to sit inside, Eunuch.”
“The Governor-General has gone without rest for days, laboring over official duties. Even if anyone is to sit, it should be the Governor-General first,” the eunuch said cheerfully as he drank a few mouthfuls of tea. Then he frowned and sighed. “How can this tea possibly suit a noble palate? Governor-General, now that His Majesty has awakened, according to the Grand Secretaries’ wishes, you and the Commander should be able to rest.”
“There are still people under the sheds whose illness has not been cleared. Handling official business—one cannot afford to be careless,” Xiao Chiye said lightly. After a few polite exchanges, he grew familiar with the eunuch. The two stood in the courtyard drinking tea and chatting. Xiao Chiye asked, “Did His Majesty awaken today?”
The eunuch was called Fuman. He said, “Indeed. He only woke this morning. The ladies in the palace were so overjoyed they wept, and the Empress Dowager personally instructed the Imperial Medical Bureau to take good care of him.”
The edict itself was all formulaic language—nothing more than praising the Imperial Guards, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the Ministry of Revenue officials for their swift action and timely defense. As for how the rewards would be given, it was only glossed over in a single stroke.
Fuman had only recently taken up his post and usually served in the Grand Secretariat compound. The Grand Secretariat officials looked down on eunuchs, and Hai Liangyi especially loathed them. In the past, when Fuman ran errands, he never even saw Hai Liangyi’s face properly. He had to withdraw to the side, kneel, and answer when questioned. Whatever Hai Liangyi asked, he answered; he did not dare joke around, much less smile ingratiatingly. Now, not only had he been given a cup of hot tea, he had also found Xiao the Governor-General to be informal and easygoing, a free-spirited sort. Gradually he relaxed during their conversation and, wanting to sell Xiao Chiye a favor and use it to build a connection, he leaned in.
“These days I’ve been moving around the Grand Secretariat, pouring tea and holding cups for the Grand Secretaries,” Fuman shifted a couple of steps and lowered his voice. “I’ve heard a bit of talk about the Governor-General.”
Xiao Chiye’s expression did not change. He raised a hand to signal others to withdraw, slung an arm around Fuman’s shoulders, and said, “Then you’re one of the Grand Secretary’s favorites. These days I also have to read the weather and act accordingly. What kind of wind is about to blow—I can only guess. Eunuch, could you point me in the right direction?”
Fuman hurriedly said, “I wouldn’t dare claim to advise. The Governor-General serves both the ruler and the people; all you do is work of conscience. The Grand Secretaries know this as well. As for this round of rewards, the Grand Secretariat discussed it for several days—there’s nothing bad in it. Governor-General, just wait and see!”
Xiao Chiye merely smiled. “I dare not covet merit this time. It wasn’t something one person could settle alone. If the reward is too great, I won’t feel at ease.”
“Oh, Governor-General!” Fuman slapped his thigh. “You’re far too modest. The one handling matters for the Embroidered Uniform Guard—wasn’t that Shen Zechuan?”
“Yes,” Xiao Chiye said. “A cold-faced man.”
Fuman had heard rumors that the two did not get along. He laughed at once and said, “Who would have thought this time the Governor-General would end up paired with him? Since the matter is finished, he’s bound to be rewarded as well. But he serves in the Embroidered Uniform Guard—how to reward him is not something the Grand Secretariat can overstep on. That has to depend on His Majesty’s wishes.”
“He was exceptionally promoted to Southern Commander only before the New Year. If he’s rewarded again now, that’s far too fast,” Xiao Chiye said. “Does the Grand Secretariat have no objections?”
Fuman carefully set down his teacup and said, “The Governor-General finds him annoying, so naturally you pay attention to him. But right now the Grand Secretaries are busy with other matters. If he really is promoted, no one would dare argue with His Majesty over something like this. His Majesty has suffered calamity after calamity—right now even Grand Secretary Hai is complying with everything. Still, let me speak frankly out of private concern. This man’s rapid rise is itself a hidden danger. Among the Embroidered Uniform Guard, all the officials with ranked plaques of fifth grade and above come from families with deep foundations. As for Shen Zechuan… who would respect his family background? Shout the name ‘Commander Shen’ once in the streets and you’d draw countless spits. If he rises higher, those people will humiliate him openly and in secret. When merit is too high and reward too great, it invites jealousy. The Embroidered Uniform Guard is a beast like wolves and tigers—if he wants to hold on to his reward, he’ll have to rely on his own ability!”
Xiao Chiye exchanged a few more casual words with Fuman, then had Chenyang see him out. Chenyang escorted him outside, gave Fuman a supporting hand, and waited until he was mounted. Halfway along, Fuman felt his sleeve grow heavy. He reached inside, took a look, and immediately beamed.
“Governor-General is generous,” Fuman said, stuffing the silver away. “A man fit to be a friend.”
Shen Zechuan met with Liang Cuisan and listened as he calculated the accounts clearly and cleanly. Shen asked a few more questions, and Liang answered them all fluently and in good order. For someone like this to be stuck as a lowly clerk was truly a waste.
“These past few days have been chaotic,” Shen Zechuan said. “There are countless pharmacies large and small in Que City. The movement of medicinal materials has been confused and complicated. For you to remember things this clearly—you put in real effort.”
“This is simply my duty,” Liang Cuisan said with concern. “Just what I’m supposed to do. Commander, you look well today.”
“The medicine worked; the illness is gone,” Shen Zechuan said. “These accounts need to be copied. Leave one copy with the Ministry of Revenue, submit one above, and give another to the Imperial Guards so they also have a clear picture.”
A few days earlier, when the epidemic spread, people panicked. Old grudges could all be set aside. But now the rain had stopped, and it was time to discuss merit and reward. All three parties were involved; it was hard to guarantee there would be no mutual accusations or backstabbing.
Liang Cuisan served below and had seen plenty. He originally thought Shen Zechuan and the Imperial Guards were at odds and that this would turn into a red-faced, thick-necked fight. Instead, Shen neither pushed himself forward nor made noise. Once the matter was done, he did not cling to the merit.
Liang Cuisan hesitated, then said, “These accounts were recorded at the Commander’s instruction. To submit them just like this…”
“I was muddle-headed while ill. Many things you handled yourself,” Shen Zechuan said as he closed the ledger. “I see that you act with order and have served in the Ministry of Revenue for many years. How is it that you’re only a desk clerk?”
Liang Cuisan seemed to sense something. He said hoarsely, “I began serving in the Ministry of Revenue in the second year of Xiande. At that time, the people above were from the Hua family… I was poor. I only knew how to do the work and had no silver to grease connections. They kept me in my original post. These years, my performance evaluations have all been middling—no merit, no fault.”
Shen Zechuan fell silent for a moment, then said, “Now His Majesty has opened the channels for remonstrance, and the Six Ministries are short of talent. You needn’t be disheartened. When an opportunity is meant to come, it will come naturally.”
Knowing that Shen Zechuan was offering guidance, Liang Cuisan hurriedly bowed and said, “The Southern Commander’s recognition—this humble officer will never forget it!”
Shen Zechuan stood up and said nothing more. He lifted the curtain and went out. Liang Cuisan stared at the floor in a daze. Only after a long while did he realize that tears were streaming down his face.
He had not told Shen Zechuan that he was from Juexi. The first several decades of his life had been delayed by study, and he passed the examinations late. At first he was to serve in the Ministry of Personnel, but someone paid money to take his place. He then transferred to the Ministry of Works, where he worked several years with excellent results. Because he was good with numbers, he was transferred again to the Ministry of Revenue. There, he thought, was where he would finally spread his wings—only to find a distant Hua-family relative pressing down on him from above, muddled and incompetent. Liang did the work, but the reports all went up under that man’s name. He tried to find a way to transfer elsewhere, but his superiors refused, squeezing him as unpaid labor. Pressed again and again, he ultimately became nothing more than a clerk, not even counted as an official.
He had thought his life’s proud dreams of prosperity were slain, that he had already awakened to emptiness. Who would have guessed that fortune and misfortune are intertwined—that after dark willows comes another village bright with flowers.
Only after two more days were the palace prohibitions lifted. The Six Ministries returned to normal operation, Zhaozui Temple withdrew its people, and those patients not yet recovered were placed under the continued care of the Imperial Medical Bureau.
Shen Zechuan was clean and neat once more. The python robe and phoenix belt were back on him, saber and plaque hanging as he stood at the gate. Xiao Chiye had also tidied himself up, wearing his red robe with the angry-lion motif, looking tall and long-legged.
The two exchanged perfunctory bows.
“I’m heading this way,” Xiao Chiye whistled to summon Langtao Xuejin and patted the horse’s back. “Commander, are you entering the palace with me?”
“Governor-General, please go first,” Shen Zechuan said politely. “This subordinate must report to the Commander-in-Chief.”
“Staying under someone else is never very comfortable,” Xiao Chiye said as he swung up onto the horse. “When are you coming up to play?”
“I’m afraid of heights,” Shen Zechuan looked up at him. “You’d better sit steady.”
“With all the aftermath to deal with, whether I can sit steady depends on whether you’re willing to show mercy,” Xiao Chiye tapped his chest with the riding crop. “Go easy.”
They parted before Zhaozui Temple. Shen Zechuan did not immediately go to find Han Cheng. Instead, he drove to the place where Ji Gang and Qi Huilian had been placed.
The small building enclosed a courtyard, with a half-dead pear tree poking over the wall. Shen Zechuan entered, crossed the courtyard, and went up the steps—only to see the main hall’s doors tightly shut, with no sign of Ji Gang or Qi Huilian.
Qiao Tianya sensed something amiss. From the scattered footprints on the ground, he could tell there were people around. His hand closed on the hilt of his saber as he stepped forward, laughing. “No one here? Then I’ll be drawing my blade—”
A sudden gust of wind swept through, shaking the dead branches of the pear tree. Wild grass brushed against their robes. Qiao Tianya’s sharp eyes swept the area, and he had already realized that the courtyard and its surroundings were full of people.
“Draw what blade? We’re all acquaintances,” came a rather weak voice from inside the room. “Lanzhou, why aren’t you saying anything?”
A flash of viciousness appeared in Shen Zechuan’s eyes, but he forced a smile. “Second Young Master—recovered?”
Xi Hongxuan was inside, wrapped in a fox-fur cloak. He had grown much thinner, and his complexion was extremely poor. Holding a teacup, he slanted his eyes toward the door and said darkly, “If I weren’t better, how would I dare see you? Good brother, you hid a big figure here—why didn’t you even give me a heads-up?”
Shen Zechuan laughed loudly and gestured for Qiao Tianya to retreat. He himself pushed the door open hard. Dust billowed up inside. An entire room of guards looked at him in unison, blades already drawn, reflecting a field of snowy light.
Xi Hongxuan sat in the very center, teacup in hand.
Shen Zechuan stepped inside without the slightest fear and said, “One fool and one madman—what kind of big figures are those? If you wanted them, you could’ve just told me.”
Xi Hongxuan could not laugh. “If Qi Huilian doesn’t count as a big figure, then Hai Liangyi isn’t anything rare either! Lanzhou, oh Lanzhou—you hid things deep enough! The Eternal Prosperity Grand Tutor personally taught and guided you—ha! Were you planning to make yourself emperor?”
“He’s already mad,” Shen Zechuan said as he took out a handkerchief and wiped the dust unhurriedly, flicking Xi Hongxuan a glance. “What are you afraid of—a madman?”
“I’m afraid!” Xi Hongxuan suddenly smashed the teacup. “A madman trained a mad dog, and it bit me when I least expected it, tearing me to pieces!”
All around them, blades surged forward.
Shen Zechuan gave a short laugh. “That makes no sense at all. If you want to kill me, at least let me die knowing why.”
“Did you,” Xi Hongxuan said in a sinister voice, “team up with Xiao Er to play me?”
The atmosphere in the room froze instantly. Shadows fell across Shen Zechuan’s profile. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled, bracing himself on the table.
“Yes.”
Shen Zechuan studied Xi Hongxuan, his eyes pitch-black, contemptuous and wicked.
“I dare say it like this—do you dare believe it?”