Dark clouds veiled the moon, shadows flickered like ghosts. The friction of blades drawn from their sheaths cut through the wind like tearing silk, a razor-edge urgency filling the air. In the hall, the bamboo fan tapped thrice; Shen Zechuan remained composed, pouring himself another cup of wine.
“You speak truly,” Shen Zechuan lifted his cup. “Tonight, the accounts must be settled.”
Xi Hongxuan lowered his arms, eyes cold as he watched the crowd surge toward the hall. “You are clever. Had you obediently followed instructions, you would have suffered less.”
“Once you entered Qudu, you moved like a sparrow in a hall,” Shen Zechuan said. “I said you were to be pitied, and I said you weren’t. You wrestled opportunity from the waves back then—I respect you.” He poured his wine slowly onto the ground. “We both understand this: those in hardship rarely learn obedience—those who submit often never live to see the heavens open.”
“I fought the waves, and so did you. Life is cheap, Shen Zechuan—I respect you! Back then, they tortured you in every way and you survived. Yet tonight, in the gutter, you might capsize, hah!” Xi Hongxuan laughed mockingly, then fell silent, cold. “Between us, only one can live.”
“You’ve bathed, you’ve eaten,” Shen Zechuan lightly tossed aside his cup, stood facing the main door, and grasped the hilt of Yangshan Xue, thumb pressing the white pearl inset, smiling calmly. “Before we depart, do you really refuse to tell me Qi Huilian’s whereabouts?”
Suddenly, flames roared in the courtyard. Xi Hongxuan turned to see the residence ablaze. “Stop wasting time on him! Whoever brings me his head, I’ll reward with hundreds of gold and silver!”
Doors and windows shattered, shadows lunged like wolves. Shen Zechuan’s blade was already drawn; he stepped forward, blood spurting with each strike. Yangshan Xue’s edge cut throats cleanly—its steel forged from ice and snow, so swift that when droplets splashed against paper screens, the blade remained unsoiled.
Yangshan Xue, like the Wolf Fang Sword, had long been dormant in Qudu, restrained by its scabbard as an ornament at the waists of young gentlemen. Yet when drawn, it revealed the murderous intent of both blade and master.
Flames surged, half the Xi residence quickly consumed. Qiao Tianya leapt across rooftops, kicking aside assailants, flipping onto the hall roof, displaying Shen Zechuan’s lacquered gold waist badge.
“The Brocade Guards are investigating! The Xi family assembled over a hundred martial heroes at the city’s foot, harboring fugitives! Xi Hongxuan’s intentions are grave, punishable!” Qiao Tianya proclaimed. “This involves the emperor’s danger. All involved will be detained! Cavalry has encircled the Xi residence—surrender now!”
“Do not heed his lies!” Xi Hongxuan shouted. “The emperor and I are bound by life! The Brocade Guards conspire to kill loyal ministers and conceal their crimes. Tonight, all who aid me are righteous heroes! At dawn, rewards shall be granted at the palace gate!”
The pavilion above collapsed with a roar; Xi Hongxuan stood firm in the heat, eyes fixed on the hall.
“Now that the eunuch faction is purged, the emperor opens the path of speech. The one he hates most is Shen Zechuan, a cunning minister who seeks to dominate all! Whoever kills him shall be immortalized in history!”
Qiao Tianya spat silently. This fat man was persuasive—if not stopped, he could spin black into white. He drew his sword and leapt down to engage.
The courtyard, bathed in fire and blood, erupted in chaos. Merchants, clerks, and servants scattered wildly. The external cavalry blocked all exits.
Suddenly, a mighty figure rose in the hall. Xi Hongxuan watched impassively as it fell backward onto the steps, neck gushing blood. Shen Zechuan sheathed his blade and stepped over the corpse, descending methodically.
Xi Hongxuan laughed, trembling. “Impressive—you used this excuse to kill me, and even the emperor cannot blame you.”
Shen Zechuan tilted his head, observing the fire. “You shouldn’t have died so soon.”
Xi Hongxuan looked up at the sky, calm. All the previous laughter, fury, and scolding turned into past dust. “Early death, late death—both were your plaything. Damn frustrating! Yet I lose to you, and it’s fair. Shen Zechuan, I admire you and yet resist you. You think yourself tempered by a hundred trials—but tonight, I die for underestimating you. There are countless who see you as a thorn. Kill one, kill another, you can never finish. Alas, heaven…”
He gazed silently at the night sky.
“We were not born with jade-like fate. What is easy for others, we must seize with life. Lineage divides us deeply. Ridiculous—I, a legitimate son, live worse than others’ bastards. My life is cheap; yours cheaper. You must charge, struggle, seize. Who will ultimately triumph? You kill, others kill you, hah!”
Xi Hongxuan laughed wildly, suddenly squatted, drew the blade from a corpse, and staggered toward Shen Zechuan.
“I am Xi family’s man! Three victories over Xi Gu’an! I am no worse than him! My parents were blind! My devotion, my love, all mislaid, I—” Xi Hongxuan slit his own throat. Blood spattered on Shen Zechuan; his words garbled. Grasping Shen Zechuan’s sleeve, he slid to his knees, forcing a smile for his last phrase: “…On the Yellow Springs… wait… for you…”
Shen Zechuan stood silently as Xi Hongxuan fell at his feet, blood flowing over his fingers. Against the backdrop of the raging fire, he lifted his hand, shaking off the drops.
The Xi residence burned to ashes. The Brocade Guards detained all survivors. Shen Zechuan personally reported to Li Jianheng, detailing Xi Hongxuan’s gathering of men and his refusal to submit.
Li Jianheng was astonished, but Xi Hongxuan’s collated evidence was irrefutable. The Brocade Guards had traced all participants via the Ministry of Justice—flawless execution, leaving no faults for the censors to pick.
Wei Huaigu, ever cunning, immediately instructed his disciples to claim Xi Hongxuan was a treacherous schemer, manipulating the emperor and staging the collapse at Lotus Flower Tower to evade responsibility. The Wei family spared no effort to avoid blame—such is the fickleness of people.
Yet Ge Qingqing’s search of Qudu’s streets and alleys, examining all records, still yielded no trace of Qi Huilian or Ji Gang.
“He must still be in Qudu,” Shen Zechuan closed the documents. “He intended to use the scholar to threaten me. If he were sent out, control would be lost.”
“The scholar is learned, yet your master is unrivaled,” Qiao Tianya said. “We’ve sent scouts; something will turn up.”
Shen Zechuan said nothing.
Seeing Shen Zechuan deep in thought, Qiao Tianya moved to leave, but Shen Zechuan called him back. “Nothing tonight. I’ll visit the Mei residence—many matters to discuss. Go ahead, ask Gu Jin about those sold from the Fragrance Studio to Xue Xiuzhuo—who are these people?”
Qiao Tianya left. Outside, a few elderly Brocade Guards of fourth rank and above rested, some wearing the embroidered robes and spring knives granted to their ancestors. Ge Qingqing’s group rested elsewhere. Qiao Tianya noted the subtle faction divisions among them.
Shen Zechuan’s rapid rise over the past half-year naturally drew envy. He now held a post equivalent to North Garrison Commander, firmly in the top echelon of the Brocade Guards. Any figure chosen at random here was notable. Though Shen Zechuan had been busy with official duties and hadn’t engaged closely yet, after spring duties, encounters would be unavoidable.
Qiao Tianya felt a twinge of concern, lowered the curtain, and departed.
Xiao Chiye had yet to return to the Maple Mountain drill grounds; only Gu Jin remained at the Mei residence. Qiao Tianya shared half a cup of wine with him, inquiring about the Fragrance Studio.
“Sixteen in total, similar ages, all under twenty,” Gu Jin said, seated along the railing under the corridor. Spring buds gleamed in the sunlight. “Peach has recorded their backgrounds for you; your master will see later. This is tricky—these people are scattered like grass, with no commonalities besides age.”
“Doesn’t that already indicate the problem?” Qiao Tianya sipped from the tiny porcelain cup, frowning. “The harder to track, the more important. This wine’s good, but why such a tiny cup? Smaller than my finger.”
“Drinking is distracting. When the masters return, smelling of wine, they’ll scold you,” Gu Jin said. He left shortly, leaving Qiao Tianya to himself.
Qiao Tianya sat alone, enjoying spring and his wine. Spotting his qin, he was tempted to play. He carried a tray along a winding path through green branches and suddenly heard strings. He followed the sound, cautiously peering through the greenery.
In the sunlit corridor, someone sat cross-legged, long black hair pinned with wood, wearing a sky-blue robe with wide sleeves, a “Zhaowen” pouch at the waist. A gray-and-white kitten leaped onto his back, pawing at his hair.
He scooped up the kitten into his sleeve, still focused on the qin. Qiao Tianya recognized it—his own instrument. Stepping closer, his view shifted to the man’s face.
April spring sunlight caught floating willow catkins and tender green shoots. His complexion was pale, but unlike Shen Zechuan’s icy white—it was the warm white of jade in sunlight. Not sharp like Shen Zechuan, nor intensely striking, yet unmistakably extraordinary.
Qiao Tianya recalled a poem his elder sister-in-law once quoted:
“Accumulated stones yield jade,
Pines aligned like emerald.
The man’s beauty unmatched,
The world has no second.” [1]
Without speaking, Qiao Tianya already knew who he was.
“What leisure,” Qiao Tianya climbed the railing, placing the tray down. “No need to follow this sheet music. If you wish to learn, I’ll teach you.”
The man looked up, laughing. “Seek wine, and it arrives; seek song, and it comes. Brother, fortune smiles upon me.”
“The residence is filled with spring beauty, yet none appreciate it. I visit the spring and find you—that’s fate. Hearing this tune—that’s fate too. True friends are rare; I cannot offer much, but I can play well. Miss me, and none else can teach you.” Qiao Tianya poured and drank a cup, tilting his chin to him. “Will you learn or not?”
“Serving a teacher is akin to serving a father,” he said calmly, putting down the qin, fingers playing with the jade pendant. “One may apprentice, but to teach, one must earn respect first.” [2]
Qiao Tianya stroked his lightly stubbled chin. “I, Qiao Tianya, speak no falsehood. Believe me, apprentice; doubt me, then do not.”
The man relaxed his grip on the pendant, studied Qiao Tianya, and after a long moment, smiled. “I believe you.”
Xiao Chiye returned to the Mei residence at dusk. When dismounting, Chen Yang recalled, “Master, Young Master Yao returned recently. Though he avoided the feast, he may still visit.”
“His trail is hard to find; who knows when he’ll feel inclined.” Xiao Chiye removed his dusty, sweat-stained outer robe and entered. “If he comes, prepare light dishes. He’s accustomed to the Sea Pavilion—avoids rich food.”
Gu Jin met them, leading Xiao Chiye further inside. Xiao Chiye rubbed his shoulders. “Bring in some plain meat and water; it’s been a tiring day. Has my retinue arrived?”
Gu Jin nodded. “Half an hour ago. They’re handling documents in the study.”
“Have they eaten?”
“No. The master instructed the kitchen—dinner awaits your return.”
Xiao Chiye tossed his Wolf Fang Sword to Gu Jin. “Wipe the scabbard. Smell myself first. I’ll sharpen the blade. Watch the dishes; tonight is busy, but boil enough water. Qiao Tianya? Have his master’s embroidered robe cleaned and scented for court. That’s all for now—go.”
Gu Jin left. Xiao Chiye opened the door.
Inside, Shen Zechuan listened briefly, dipping his brush in ink without looking up. “Wise—Second Young Master is a man of discerning taste.”
[1] From White Stone Lang Qu, by Guo Maoqian
[2] From Lüshi Chunqiu: Encouraging Learning