The Sheng family possessed an ancient book.
This ancient book was kept together with the Sheng family genealogy. Only the direct-line heir knew of its existence, and only the direct-line heir was permitted to touch it.
The pages of the ancient book had yellowed, and the corners were damaged. Some pages had become so brittle that they would crumble at the slightest touch.
The ancestors of the Sheng family had passed it down from generation to generation. Every generation was told the same thing:
This book must not be destroyed.
It must not be shown to anyone.
No one had ever truly understood it.
The writing inside differed from the language used in the present day, and even its grammar was strange, as though it had been brought here from another era.
The Sheng family had tried finding scholars to decipher it. They had also compared it with other ancient texts, but in the end, they could only make out fragments.
On top of that, improper preservation had caused the pages to become damp, eaten by insects, and blackened along the edges. Many of the crucial passages could no longer be identified.
Generation after generation passed.
In the end, only the vague consensus that this book was important remained.
No one knew why it was important.
Sheng Chengxiu had seen the book once when he was young.
At the time, his grandfather, Sheng Wenchang, had taken it out of the safe and placed it in front of him.
He had said only one thing:
“This book is more important than all of the Sheng family’s businesses.”
Then he had taken it back and locked it away again.
Sheng Chengxiu had not asked why.
He had only seen that the book was already severely damaged. The edges of the pages looked as though they had been burned, and some pages had even stuck together.
But he remembered the look in his grandfather’s eyes when he spoke.
It was not pride.
It was a profound stillness, like that of someone guarding a secret.
Now, that ancient book lay inside a multispectral scanner.
The AI had been running continuously for several weeks, analyzing the texture, indentations, and faded ink on every page layer by layer, piecing together words that time had erased.
Sheng Chengxiu stood before the desk, wearing a pair of thin-framed glasses.
The projection of the virtual pages was reflected in the lenses, overlapping with the scanned images of the physical ancient book.
He raised his hand and swiped through the air.
The page turned.
The AI had marked the restored text in pale blue on the page, distinguishing it from the surviving ink of the original book.
For passages eaten away by insects, the AI had inferred and filled in the missing sections based on the surrounding context, adjusting the wording to make the sentences closer to comprehensible grammar and marking those portions in a different color.
He turned past the first page and continued reading.
[Fragment One: Record of the Gate]
Between Heaven and Earth, there exists a gate unseen and unknown to ordinary people. Neither gold nor jade, neither wood nor stone… (illegible)
When the gate opens, it does not rely upon human strength or any artifact. The Su clan must correspond with it; only then will the gate respond.
Sheng Chengxiu’s gaze paused over the words “the Su clan must correspond.”
The gate required the Su clan to open it.
But the records left by the Sheng family’s ancestors were extremely vague, as though they had personally witnessed something but had never been permitted to know the whole truth.
He did not immediately turn the page.
He first confirmed that he had not misread it.
The gate.
The Su clan.
He thought of Guichen Studio, that dilapidated shop.
He remembered his grandfather’s words:
More important than all of the Sheng family’s businesses.
He raised his hand and swiped again, continuing downward.
[Appendix to Fragment One: The Golden Road]
When the gate opens, strange objects often emerge. There is gold, jade, medicine, and artifacts, all things that do not belong to this world.
The Sheng clan walks this road; the Su clan guards the gate. The two clans made an agreement: ask not about its source, and investigate not its end.
This path can be traveled. Thus, it is called the Golden Road.
The Sheng ancestors had honored the agreement for several decades without ever crossing the line.
Later, a member of the clan peered into it… (section missing)
Sheng Chengxiu stared at those lines, his gaze lingering for a moment on the four words “Golden Road.”
The portion describing how the Sheng ancestors had risen to prominence was recorded vaguely, as though it had been abruptly inserted into the history and was filled with traces of deliberate concealment.
Thinking about it now, it should have been connected to the Su clan and the gate.
According to the records, the Su clan and Sheng clan had once worked together.
The reason the Su clan had been willing to cooperate with the Sheng family back then was simply because they needed someone to handle the things that flowed out from the gate.
The Sheng clan was responsible for selling them.
The Su clan was responsible for guarding the gate.
It was a Golden Road that had already been severed.
Now, he knew that the road had truly existed.
[Fragment Two: The Su Clan]
Those who have heard of the Su clan know that, for generations, they have been connected to the gate… (unidentifiable) “key.”
It seems the bloodline of the Su clan differs from that of ordinary people. Thus, as long as the Su clan does not perish, the gate will not be severed. If the Su clan were to… (section missing)
Sheng Chengxiu’s fingers stopped in midair.
He did not turn the page.
Those sentences used the words heard and seems too often.
It sounded like notes written many years later by someone who had heard rumors but had never been permitted to enter the core of the matter.
Perhaps the Sheng ancestors had known that the Su clan was connected to the gate.
They knew that the Su bloodline was the key.
But they did not know exactly what it was, nor did they know how it could be used.
The Su clan.
The key.
He thought of Su Muzhen—
That young man who was in debt, guarded the shop, and had been cornered by the Sheng family, yet had never been willing to back down.
Perhaps what those people guarded was not merely Guichen Studio.
They were guarding the gate itself.
And the key.
He thought of Xiao and Chenghui Group, and those forces hidden in the shadows that had blocked every attempt to probe Su Muzhen.
Those things were not coincidences.
Someone was protecting their gate and their key.
He continued turning the pages.
The pages farther back were even more severely damaged.
Some passages had been reduced to only a few recognizable characters. The AI’s restoration markings now outnumbered the original text.
But there were still several sections that could barely be read.
[Fragment Three: The Two Realms]
The gate connects two places. One is here, and one is there.
That place is neither Heaven nor Earth, neither illusion nor reality. It is the “Other Realm.” … (illegible). The sun and moon are the same, yet the passage of time differs.
If the gate remains open, the two realms’… (destroyed by burn marks)
The Other Realm.
Sheng Chengxiu’s gaze paused over those two words.
He thought of the supplies in Guichen Studio whose purposes were impossible to determine.
Medicine.
Gauze.
Masks.
Soap.
Those things did not match the shop’s apparent business.
And their destinations were unknown.
He thought of Su Muzhen—
That young man who could produce an endless stream of money with nothing more than a dilapidated shop.
Now he saw another possibility.
Su Muzhen was very likely sending those things to the “Other Realm” through the “gate.”
He raised his hand and swiped again, turning to the final page.
[Fragment Four: The Blood of the Key]
The blood of the key belongs exclusively to the Su clan… (illegible). This bloodline cannot be altered by human means, nor can it be seized through external force.
For the gate to open, the blood of the key must serve as the guide.
As long as the key remains, the gate remains. When the key is lost, the gate closes.
The ancient gatekeepers all passed their bloodline down from generation to generation, never daring to forget.
If the blood of the key were to become extinct, the gate would… (missing)… day.
Sheng Chengxiu leaned back against his chair and slowly removed his glasses.
He remained silent for a long time.
He looked at those incomplete records.
Every piece of information mentioned the gate.
And the Su clan.
But the gate…
What exactly was it?
Was it truly a physical door?
Or was it a passage?
Or did it have some other meaning?
The ancestors of the Sheng family had left behind no records concerning the gate’s exact location, method of opening, or method of use.
Those truly core pieces of information had never been recorded.
Sheng Chengxiu inferred that the Su clan was the core of everything, while the Sheng family had merely learned about it through certain channels and deductions.
The information was inevitably incomplete.
He looked at the ancient book on the desk, now completely scanned.
The pages were yellowed and the corners were damaged. It looked like a pile of old paper that might turn to ash at any moment.
Yet the words restored by the AI were slowly piecing together an incomplete picture inside his mind.
The gate should be real.
Because it could explain all the inexplicable things that had happened to Su Muzhen.
Those things he had once believed were luck or coincidence now had a vague answer.
It could also explain why Chenghui Group had intervened to obstruct them.
That gate truly existed.
And that secret was hidden inside Guichen Studio.
The name Su Muzhen—
He seemed to be seeing it from an entirely different perspective now.
Su Muzhen definitely knew something.
About the gate’s location.
About how to open it.
About the Other Realm.
Sheng Chengxiu placed his glasses on the desk and lightly tapped the edge of the frame with his fingertip.
He needed that key.
The key that could open the Golden Road.
He had no interest in gold.
He was interested only in the gate.
But he could not act recklessly.
Because beside Su Muzhen was Xiao, and behind him stood Chenghui Group.
There was a line of defense there that he could not easily penetrate.
But none of that was a problem.
Whenever he wanted something, he had never failed to obtain it.
A wolf never voluntarily leaves its hunting ground.
Outside the window, the lights had already gone dark.
Sheng Chengxiu sat in the half-lit, half-shadowed room, staring into the distance as though waiting for a chess game that was about to begin.
◆◇◆◇◆
Jiang Zechen spent three days investigating every clue inside and outside Linbei City that could be investigated.
He did not alarm anyone.
He simply went around the city like someone accustomed to verifying matters on his own.
He visited the medicine shops, the wounded soldiers’ camp, the porridge stations, and several warehouses storing supplies.
Everywhere he went, he asked the same question—
“Where did these things come from?”
At the medicine shop, the shopkeeper could not explain the source of the medicinal powders. He only said, “They were distributed from above.”
At the wounded soldiers’ camp, the military physician pointed at the white gauze and transparent medicine and said, “I don’t know what they’re made of, but they work better than herbal medicine.”
At the porridge station, the woman cooking the porridge said that the dried vegetables and soup ingredients “were delivered by Madam Liu’s people.”
He wrote down the three characters “Madam Liu” in his notebook.
No one knew who she was.
But everyone knew of her.
He found craftsmen on the city wall and asked about the stone used to repair it.
The craftsman said, “Madam Liu’s people brought it. I’ve never seen Madam Liu either.”
At the military supply office, he asked about horse feed and received the same answer:
“Madam Liu’s people delivered it.”
He asked about medicinal herbs.
Again:
“Madam Liu’s people delivered them. Always by convoy.”
When he examined the ledgers, he noticed that a large proportion of the supplies recently arriving in Linbei City all pointed to the same surname:
Liu.
During his days in Linbei City, he had already heard rumors about the Guichen Medical Sect and Doctor Su.
There had long been rumors in the capital that it was an overseas medical sect capable of treating epidemics and producing miraculous medicines.
But no one knew where the medical sect was.
No one had ever seen anyone from it.
Jiang Zechen had originally thought this was simply a story Xiao Yuan had fabricated to conceal the source of the supplies.
But when he saw the quality of those supplies, he suddenly felt that the story might not be entirely fictional.
It was simply that the trail was too vague.
So vague that it seemed like a layer of mist deliberately placed over everything.
He opened his notebook and wrote a line beside “Guichen Medical Sect”:
Need to confirm its connection with the Liu clan.
After writing it, his fingertip paused briefly against the edge of the paper.
He had no evidence.
But he now had a direction he could pursue.
◇◆◇◆◇
The first major council meeting after the Northern Di’s grain raid was noticeably more solemn than usual.
The relief grain from Linzhou had been seized.
The grain Jiang Zechen had brought had also been seized.
Although the grain reserves within the city were not yet at the point of immediate depletion, the shortage had already begun to show.
Xiao Yuan sat in the main seat and quietly listened until the report was finished.
When grain officer Qian You’nian gave his report, his voice was deliberately kept low, as though he were afraid that saying those numbers aloud would lower the atmosphere throughout the entire city by another degree.
After Qian You’nian finished, Xiao Yuan fell silent.
He did not turn the grain ledger before him, which he had already read.
He merely tapped his fingers twice against the desk.
Jiang Zechen sat at the far end of the long table, silently observing.
His bamboo fan remained closed in his hand.
His gaze occasionally swept toward Xiao Yuan, as though judging how this man would respond to those numbers.
After listening to the grain officer’s report, Xia Lanshi remained silent for a moment.
Then he spoke in his usual calm tone.
“Your Highness, regarding the grain problem, I have already arranged for someone to negotiate.”
Xiao Yuan turned to look at him.
He remained seated in the main seat and lightly tapped his fingertip against the tabletop, as though saying, I heard you.
The council chamber fell briefly silent.
Xia Lanshi added nothing.
Jiang Zechen’s gaze moved between Xia Lanshi and Xiao Yuan once.
He noticed that Xiao Yuan’s expression had not changed in the slightest.
Only then did Jiang Zechen finally speak.
“With whom are you negotiating?”
Xia Lanshi answered, “A merchant.”
“Can we borrow his name?”
“The person hasn’t arrived yet. It would be inconvenient to disclose it.”
And with that, he offered no further explanation.
Jiang Zechen did not press him either.
Because he knew that an answer pried out of Xia Lanshi’s mouth was not necessarily true.
And even if it was true, it would not necessarily be what it appeared to be.
What truly confirmed it for him was Xiao Yuan’s reaction.
The Prince of Su did not ask further questions.
He did not offer any reminders.
He simply sat there quietly, as though waiting for someone he already knew would come, waiting for that person to naturally arrive at the door.
He noted the words “a merchant” in his mind and drew a tiny question mark beside them.
Before the meeting ended, Xiao Yuan finally spoke.
He said one word:
“Wait.”
It was not an instruction.
It was the conclusion.
When Jiang Zechen returned to his tent, he opened his notebook and recorded today’s conversation.
The tip of his brush paused briefly over the words “a merchant.”
He did not know who that person was.
But Xia Lanshi had chosen to mention her at this particular moment, while Xiao Yuan neither questioned nor pursued the matter.
That meant the person would arrive soon.
And Xiao Yuan already knew she was coming.
In the corner of the notebook, he added another line:
“The Prince of Su is aware.”
When he put down his brush, darkness had already fallen outside.
In the distance, the lights of the administrative offices were coming on one by one.
He did not open the notebook again.
But he knew that sentence was enough to confirm it.
◇◆◇◆◇
News of the Northern Di’s grain raid spread faster than the wind and snow.
When the news spread throughout Linbei City, it was the second day after the incident.
No one announced it loudly.
Yet it settled silently onto everyone’s shoulders like an invisible layer of snow.
There were more people lining up at the porridge station than the day before.
The line was longer and denser, with less space between people than usual.
No one spoke.
There was only the sound of ladles striking the edges of pots and the mournful whistle of wind passing through the roof of the shelter.
Those standing at the back could not see how much remained in the pot.
They could only see the people in front carrying away bowls with steam rising from them.
They did not know whether there would still be enough porridge left when it was their turn.
An old man wearing a tattered padded jacket stood in the middle of the line, clutching an empty bowl.
His knuckles were red from the cold.
He did not push forward.
He simply stood there quietly, as though waiting for something he was no longer certain would happen.
Not far from the front of the line, a young woman was crouching beside a wall, with two children huddled beside her.
The smaller one was crying.
The sound was not loud, but it was like a fine needle piercing the fragile silence that everyone was barely maintaining.
Then someone whispered:
“The grain is gone.”
The sentence was short, as though forced through clenched teeth.
Yet several people nearby raised their heads at the same time.
No one responded.
But the words were like a stone thrown into water, sending ripples slowly spreading outward.
Jiang Zechen stood at a street corner.
He had not brought his notebook when he went out that morning.
He had originally intended only to walk around the city and confirm whether the numbers in the ledgers still held up in reality.
After walking for a while, he had already seen it—
The lines were longer.
There were more bowls.
People were standing closer together.
Then he saw a middle-aged man walking back from the porridge station.
His bowl was already empty, but his steps were slightly faster than when he had gone there, as though he were hurrying back to tell someone, There’s still porridge.
But there were too many people waiting.
So many that it made one wonder whether the rice would even last until noon.
Then came a short cry, as though something had been overturned.
Jiang Zechen turned around.
At the end of the street, a crowd had already gathered outside a grain shop.
When he approached, he saw two men rushing out of the shop.
One was carrying a sack of rice.
The other clutched several pieces of flatbread.
The shopkeeper chased them to the doorway but did not dare stop them.
He could only shout from the steps:
“Put it down! That’s for distribution tomorrow!”
But neither man looked back.
They slipped into the alley from opposite sides and ran quickly, snow spraying beneath their feet.
No one chased after them.
The people around simply watched, their expressions complicated.
Some lowered their heads and walked away.
Others remained where they were for a while, as though wondering whether they should go inside themselves.
Jiang Zechen stood there without moving from beginning to end.
He did not stop the two men.
There had been no time.
The shopkeeper stood in the doorway, both hands braced against the doorframe, as though confirming that the door could still be closed.
The gazes around him were mixed with anxiety, hesitation, and thoughts that had not yet been ignited but had already begun to tremble.
—The order of Linbei City was slowly being peeled open, layer by layer, revealing the fragile thing beneath that had barely been holding everything together.
When Jiang Zechen returned to the administrative office, Xia Lanshi was standing beneath the corridor.
Jiang Zechen stopped for a moment.
“There are people robbing grain in the streets.”
Xia Lanshi slightly raised his eyes, his expression calm.
“Mm.”
Jiang Zechen looked at him.
There was a restrained sharpness in his voice.
“You knew this would happen?”
Xia Lanshi finally raised his head and looked at him.
In a gentle voice, he said,
“It was inevitable. Those who come here are refugees, people afraid of freezing to death, people driven mad by hunger. Everyone only wants to survive. Without grain, disorder will follow.”
He paused.
The faintest curve appeared at the corner of his lips.
“Isn’t that a very simple principle?”
Jiang Zechen fell silent.
He believed that rules stood above everything.
The law could not be thrown into chaos.
People would make mistakes, so they had to obey the system.
Therefore, even when starving, they still had to follow the rules.
That order was what he believed in.
It was like a wall.
As long as the wall remained standing, people would not collapse.
Seeing that he said nothing, Xia Lanshi did not hurry to wait for an answer.
He turned his gaze toward the eaves outside the corridor, weighed down by snow.
Then he spoke as though discussing something unrelated to himself.
“Lord Inspector, you have lived in fine clothes and eaten fine food since childhood. You have never experienced what it is like for a person dressed in rags to endure a long night in a freezing snowfield.”
He raised his eyes and looked toward the distant horizon, gazing at a road he had once walked himself.
“The feeling of having no charcoal fire during a winter night, no bowl of porridge when you are starving, no one coming to save you, and being able only to slowly die…”
His gaze shifted gently and settled on Jiang Zechen’s face.
There was actually a trace of coldness in those pale red eyes.
“Rules are for people who have food to eat.”
Jiang Zechen stood where he was without moving.
He remembered the rumors he had heard back when they were studying at the academy.
Because of the belief that a white mole was an ill omen and because he was an illegitimate son, Xia Lanshi had never appeared before others before the age of ten.
It was only when he was ten that Grand Tutor Xia took him away.
Jiang Zechen had never thought deeply about the meaning behind it.
He had believed that being “adopted at ten” was merely a turning point in his status.
A turning point in his fate.
All he had seen was how deeply Grand Tutor Xia valued Xia Lanshi and how carefully he cared for him.
He had also seen how protective Xiao Yuan was of Xia Lanshi.
At the academy, wherever Xia Lanshi was, Xiao Yuan was there.
Even though Xiao Yuan himself was not favored, the person protected by the Seventh Prince was still someone everyone feared treating too harshly openly.
But only now did Jiang Zechen realize—
Before the age of ten, Xia Lanshi’s circumstances must have been terrible.
He was not speaking about theory.
He was speaking about himself.
Jiang Zechen remained silent for a long time.
So long that even the wind beneath the corridor seemed to stop for a moment.
He finally spoke.
“So you believe order will collapse.”
Xia Lanshi did not deny it.
“Order will not collapse if it can still stand. If it can no longer stand, and you still demand that people continue to uphold it, then it is no longer order.”
“It is merely making people stand in the snow until they freeze or starve to death.”
He turned around.
Then his tone returned to its usual gentleness.
“Lord Jiang, I don’t believe you will abandon your principles because of a single snowfall.”
With that, Xia Lanshi left.
Jiang Zechen remained silent.
He wanted to say something, but he did not know how.
He simply stood there, as though readjusting a wall he had always believed to be solid.
The wall was still standing.
But its foundation had indeed been softened somewhat by the snowmelt.
And for the first time, he felt that the wall…
Might be thinner than he had believed.
When Jiang Zechen returned to his room, he opened his notebook.
He picked up his brush, preparing to write:
“There has already been a grain robbery within the city.”
Yet the tip of his brush remained suspended above the paper for a long time.
It did not fall.
In the end, he wrote only four characters:
“Patrolled the city today.”
He did not write about the grain robbery.
He stared at the words on the paper.
And remained silent for a long time.