Chapter 66

Now, let us turn to Xie Ci.

A swath of dense, black cloud rose from the southwestern mountains, gradually shrouding half the night sky. The towering, splendid red walls and golden tiles of the imperial city faded into deep darkness, while the galloping night wind swept past, leaving behind a chilling silence that spoke only of death.

Racing through the night, their swift horses arrived beneath the city walls in the latter half of the night. Lu Haide used a golden token to summon the guards and quietly entered through the smallest gate. Two quarters of an hour later, they reached a residence near the palace. A suit of forbidden army armor was thrown before Xie Ci; he lowered his gaze and donned it without a word.

Lu Haide had already changed into his Grand Steward’s attire: a sapphire-blue robe embroidered with four-clawed dragons and silver threads. The hem shimmered with motifs of water and cliffs under the night, and he glanced at Xie Ci, his high-pitched voice sharp: "Come."

Lu Haide draped a black cloak over his ornate blue robes, and the party led Xie Ci in through a small gate on the west side of the palace wall, winding left and right until they reached the inner palace.

But unexpectedly, Xie Ci did not see the emperor; instead, he was ushered into a modest chamber on the palace's outer edge.

In the silent shadow of the palace walls, guards stood every three steps, sentries every five, and even traces of arrow slits could be seen. Clearly, the old emperor understood Xie Ci’s situation well; he knew the men of the Xie family were formidable.

Pang Huai led Xie Ci into the chamber on the left, looked back at him, but said nothing and withdrew.

With a creak, the half-worn door closed. Inside, there was no light; total darkness.

As Xie Ci moved, his foot struck a small ball of paper. He quickly lowered his eyes, bent down, picked it up, and unfolded it. Inside, a line of tiny script read: "If you pass the audience, everything you desire will be yours."

As for failing—what then? The paper did not say. Nor did it need to.

In the narrow, shadowed chamber, all was still. The inked words on the paper seemed to slither in the darkness like a small venomous snake.

Xie Ci’s jaw was taut to the extreme. He slowly lifted his eyelids; since leaving the inn, his eyes had held only gloom and coldness, nothing more.

His body was tense as a drawn bow.

In that instant, Xie Ci understood: he was caught in the surging, bloodstained currents between the old emperor and Feng Kun.

Perhaps even Lin Guozhang played a part.

Lin Guozhang and Feng Kun wielded power enough to suffocate the emperor, who had always relied on raising new factions to strike down old ones.

The way of the emperor lies in balance and control.

Xie Ci blinked; in this chill, murderous night, he suddenly grasped the old emperor’s imperial craft.

Alas, Feng Kun and Lin Guozhang were stronger than any previous power-brokers, especially the former, who threatened the emperor’s very throat.

The emperor urgently needed a new minister to break the deadlock. The Zheng Shoufang affair was a turning point.

It was very likely Zheng Shoufang had been intended as the emperor's new minister for the capital.

A chill ran down Xie Ci’s spine, heat rising and instantly becoming sweat. Judging by the emperor's knowledge of him, Xie Ci realized that had he not chosen to ally with Feng Kun in time, the end of the war would have meant his death—and the dissolution of the Xie family army and Guiyi Prefecture.

Qin Xian, Chen Yan and the others would have been doomed as well!

Shock, dread, the cold creeping up his back—emotions thundered in his chest like drums and bells. In the end, they all became a fierce, indignant resolve.

He had done all this merely to survive!

Yet in the eyes of those at the imperial summit, it was nothing!

But the more he was pressed, the more Xie Ci’s rebellious spirit burned: if you wish me dead, I will not die! I will carve a bloody path and let no one decide my fate again!

He did not wish to die.

He must not die.

There were those waiting for his return: his loyal men at the inn, Qin Xian and Chen Yan in the north, and the Xie family in the mountain village—a host scattered like stars, longing to gather.

And Gu Wan.

Gu Wan, too, awaited his return!

They were so close, almost ready to break through the last barrier; if he could not see her nod in acceptance, he would die with regrets.

This was how Xie Ci had endured, emotions churning until only a fierce, unyielding resolve remained.

The path ahead was as narrow and perilous as a tightrope, and he knew the future would be no easier; but he would grit his teeth and see it through to the end!

Xie Ci tilted his head back, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them wide.

Yet in this vast, ominous palace, the cold winds howled ghostlike, and the cramped, old chamber was so dark one could not see one’s own hand. Not to mention the future—even surviving the present was not easy.

Xie Ci scanned both sides of the paper; finding nothing amiss, he crumpled it and silently swallowed it.

Then, Xie Ci soon

discovered there was someone in the next room.

He moved quietly to the thick nanmu wall separating the chambers. Though aged and worn, it bore faint cracks.

The person on the other side, hearing the door, waited in silence, then approached the wall.

Xie Ci caught a familiar scent of agarwood. He frowned; on the other side, the person’s brows also twitched. A gentle knocking came, and a soft, magnetic voice filtered through: "Xie Ci?"

It was Li Yi!

In the darkness, as they confirmed each other's identity, both hearts sank.

Zheng Shoufang had failed to clean up the mess; the emperor’s gaze shifted from him to Xie Ci and Li Yi, who had suddenly emerged.

Both had guessed the situation and the emperor’s thoughts.

Yet this survival game was even more perilous than imagined; likely only one of them would survive.

And the emperor summoned Li Yi first.

Now, Li Yi felt no regret; he had weathered storms all along. Since he had chosen this path, he would not turn back. If he had sought only safety, he would still be eating dust in the northwest.

A eunuch in silver-purple gauze led the way along a wide vermilion corridor. Palace lanterns illuminated the jade-white steps, forbidden troops lined the path, silent and orderly.

From here, one could clearly see the Jade Spring Palace atop ninety-eight steps of white marble, its golden tiles glowing in the night. Li Yi knew he was stepping into the very heart of the empire, where life and death were decided.

The emperor’s wrath could leave corpses by the million.

Tonight, a single misstep could mean instant death.

Li Yi lowered his gaze; he had always striven to climb, but never had he been so close to both supreme power and destruction. Life or death—either he would soar, or perish utterly.

Inside Jade Spring Palace.

Branch-shaped lamps burned brightly on both walls, the vast hall aglow as if by daylight. Forbidden troops and servants stood silent within and without the great doors; yellow drapes hung beside gilded columns painted with dragons diving into the sea, golden dragons spiraling toward the lofty roof.

"Worthless fool!"

At the head of the hall, the old emperor reclined behind his yellow-draped desk, his legs covered with a bright yellow mat, his sharp features tinged with irritation. Before him lay a pile of blue-bound ledgers from the inn and Zheng Shoufang’s memorial.

The memorial recounted the Ningzhou to Ruping incident.

Zheng Shoufang dared not avoid responsibility; he described his actions at length, leaving no fault. He attributed Xie Ci and Li Yi’s swift response to Feng Kun.

Yet no matter how he sought to shift blame, emphasizing Feng Kun’s power and influence, it was of little use. The emperor, expressionless, finished reading and tossed the memorial aside: "So many men, so many casualties, yet you were caught red-handed!"

The emperor had two reasons for retaining Zheng Shoufang. First, Zheng Shoufang’s duties connected to many vital appointments; if Feng Kun uprooted him, the emperor would suffer, so he used Feng Qian, his key informant. Second—and most important—Feng Kun and Lin Guozhang had pressed to the emperor’s throat; after last year’s illness, their factions surged ahead, tightening the situation as the emperor’s health worsened. He needed a new minister to break the deadlock.

After deliberation, he chose Zheng Shoufang as the new minister.

Had it not been for the northwest war, the emperor would have summoned Zheng Shoufang to the capital and granted him power last year. But Zheng Shoufang disappointed him, so the emperor abandoned him as soon as the Ruping news arrived. Yet the choice of a new minister to challenge Feng Kun and Lin Guozhang mattered most now. Both Li Yi and Xie Ci, who had forced Zheng Shoufang into this corner, caught the emperor’s eye. This was the real purpose of the summons and the survival game.

"Your Majesty, Prince of Xiaoshan, Li Yi, has arrived."

The emperor did not touch the ledgers, merely raised his eyelids coldly: "Bring him in."

Li Yi entered step by step, standing before the incense burner. The emperor’s gaze was sharp and scrutinizing, scanning the tall, composed young man.

Li Yi’s life was already laid out before the emperor; things hidden before were now exposed in writing, leaving no secrets.

Long silence, so quiet one could hear the lamps burning. On this cool autumn night, Li Yi sweated beneath his robes, the chill seeping to his bones.

Finally, the emperor’s cold voice rang from the head: "Tell me, if I appoint you as Chancellor of the Secretariat and Grand General of Cavalry, commanding the state’s civil and military affairs, what will you do?"

Li Yi remained kneeling, unmoving, not a flicker in his brow or gaze. His composure passed the test.

His taut nerves suddenly relaxed, and he answered without hesitation: "I will do my utmost. Using the failed investigation of the Jiangnan grain city as pretext, I will petition for reform of the Secretariat, Ministry of War, Ministry of Rites, Ministry of Works, and the Censorate. I will kindle discord between Lin Guozhang and Feng Kun, using their own power against them, attacking both and their followers!"

These departments were power bases for Feng Kun and Lin Guozhang, especially the former, which they seized while the emperor was ill. Upon recovery, the emperor retaliated, but lost all control.

The emperor was very pleased with this answer: "Good. Remember what you’ve said today!"

"Lu Haide, escort him from the palace."

At last, the elderly voice rang from the top of the jade steps, and Li Yi’s taut nerves eased.

Leaving Jade Spring Palace, dawn was near. The night wind revealed his inner garments soaked and cold.

Li Yi noticed the autumn deepening; mid-autumn was near. The eunuch in silver-purple gauze stepped forward, his high-pitched voice: "Prince of Xiaoshan, this way please."

And so he was led out.

Li Yi’s thoughts raced. He said, "I need to retrieve some items." The eunuch led him back to the old chamber.

Li Yi had left his dagger, hidden crossbow and other belongings there; nothing extra was permitted, even his princely seal. The eunuch ordered the door opened, and Li Yi ascended the steps, discreetly glancing at the next room.

Inside, he moved leisurely, wishing to send Xie Ci a message: he had passed, and the emperor might not summon Xie Ci again. The future was uncertain, but perhaps both could survive; he still wanted to try.

Any advantage was worth seizing.

In a moment of deliberation, Li Yi decided to try sending a message, intending to scratch the shape of a blade on the nanmu wall with his nail, so Xie Ci might hear and understand.

But he had no chance; the eunuch watched him throughout, accompanying him to the inner chamber. Li Yi had to silently arrange his belongings by the wall and then follow the eunuch out.

Next door.

Xie Ci had opened his eyes as soon as they entered the courtyard. In the darkness, he listened as Li Yi finished and left. His heart sank.

Everything changed abruptly.

The cold, murderous atmosphere became almost tangible, weighing down the cramped room.

The autumn wind was already chill, rustling over the mountains and yellow earth roads. It had rained that morning, leaving the ground wet.

After leaving the palace, Li Yi pondered and ordered his men to head south to fetch Yu Manzhen and others, but did not return; instead, he followed the main road.

Gu Wan’s group no longer concealed their whereabouts, and soon Li Yi’s men reported back. He rode hard, reaching the rural inn by afternoon.

Li Yi did not enter; he dismounted. Gu Wan sat at the door and rose immediately. He paused, then told her everything from last night and that morning.

"It’s possible the emperor might summon him again, but the likelihood is small."

Having come this far, Li Yi felt a pang of sorrow for a fellow traveler. To the weary, sword-bearing girl standing at the front, he said, "I don’t know if he’ll return, but I thought I should tell you."

After a pause, Li Yi added, "If… you ever face difficulties, do not hesitate to seek me."

Comfort was useless. After a moment, Li Yi mounted and departed.

Hooves splattered through the mud; the group, light and swift, soon disappeared around the bend.

The group stood stunned. Qin Ying and others hurried out, tears glistening: "…We, what do we do? We must save Little Four! We must go to the capital, right now—"

Xie Yun, Xie Feng, He Yuan, Qin Guan and the rest were frantic, abandoning their luggage to fetch their horses. Gu Wan turned sharply: "No one move!"

Her heart sank, heavy as lead, ice-cold to her core, but she forced herself to stay composed. She shouted, "If we go to the capital, what can we do?"

Break him out? Seek Feng Kun? Useless! No one expected it to come to this: a choice between two, or even both?

But at that moment, Gu Wan was more clear-headed than ever—if they went to the capital, they could do nothing and would only destroy that last sliver of hope.

"No one move, no one goes anywhere. We wait here, and do not make trouble for him." Gu Wan’s voice was hoarse: "I believe he can do it!"

"We wait for him here."

Qin Ying fell silent, mouth open, unable to speak.

Gu Wan lowered her eyes, then after a moment, raised them: "...Half a month, that’s the limit." Saying this, she could not help but clench her fists.

Within the vast palace, all was orderly. In the small, old chamber, it seemed removed from the mortal world. After Li Yi left, footsteps faded into the dim night. Days passed, sun and moon rising and falling, with no further sound.

Xie Ci sat cross-legged, the dust on the old bed undisturbed except where he sat. He barely moved, except for the meals brought by a young eunuch.

The suffocating shadow of death overhead finally shifted on the sixth evening. Xie Ci’s hearing was far keener than most; suddenly, he caught a faint sound from beneath the nanmu wall.

His eyelids flickered, but he remained seated, unmoved.

In the tunnel beneath the old chamber, Lu Haide adjusted the water mirror. The craftsmen who built the palace were skilled, able to reflect images above.

Lu Haide manipulated the crystal mirror; the dim chamber and bed appeared, showing the young man in black armor, sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, calm as water, without the slightest panic.

He had good composure.

Lu Haide raised a brow, thinking.

Xie Ci likely did not know he had lingered so long at death’s door. The emperor instinctively despised him; when the ruler commands death and the subject refuses, it is disloyal. Xie Ci had not only escaped prison and rescued his kin, but even dared to side with Feng Kun—actions that directly challenged imperial authority.

After Li Yi passed, the emperor nearly ordered Xie Ci’s execution, but paused, and has delayed ever since. Lu Haide observed for two days, then returned to Jade Spring Palace.

The emperor reclined on the dragon couch, the hall filled with bitter medicine and ambergris. Lu Haide approached silently, waiting until the emperor opened his eyes, then softly reported: "Xie Ci is on the brink, unmoving as a mountain, his resolve beyond ordinary men."

The emperor replied coldly, "Is that so?"

Lu Haide knew no answer was required, and withdrew to stand silently. Days passed.

Sun and moon revolved, the old chamber cycling from dim daylight to pitch-black night.

Xie Ci stayed fourteen days in that dark, cramped room. At last, on the fourteenth night, footsteps approached.

The distinctive sound of eunuchs’ black boots, as the forbidden troops stepped back, opening the palace door. Step by step, they entered the courtyard, ascending the steps.

Xie Ci slowly opened his eyes.

The door, locked for fourteen days, swung open.

Xie Ci stood, under the watchful eyes of eunuchs and guards, removing his armor and weapons, then putting on his inner garments and soft armor.

He walked forward, retracing the path Li Yi had taken through the broad vermilion corridors.

At last, he climbed the ninety-nine white jade steps to the top, arriving before the newly painted, gilded palace doors.

The thick red carpet embroidered with dragons ran from the doors to the interior, between silver-blue columns to the highest jade steps. Behind the bright yellow, black-topped imperial desk sat the old emperor in yellow dragon robes, his expression cold.

—This hall was where his father once knelt unyielding, the Golden Throne Hall.

At the top sat the one who held the power of life and death, who had ordered the massacre of all Xie family men.

Fourteen days had settled Xie Ci’s blood.

Yet as he stepped into the hall, the dazzling red and yellow sent his blood surging, almost boiling.

Xie Ci controlled his trembling; today, he would either live or die!

He had no space for other thoughts; he must survive!

Whatever Feng Kun promised—amnesty, or the northern command—he must obtain it, seize his chance for life!

Approaching the great incense burner, Xie Ci lowered his gaze, knelt on one knee.

"Minister Xie Ci, pays his respects to Your Majesty!"

He spoke, word by word.

The emperor gave a mocking laugh, "Minister?"

He was not without sarcasm.

The emperor’s smile vanished; he sat up, his voice cold: "Xie Ci, give me one reason not to kill you. Else, this day next year will be your death anniversary!"

Pang Huai and his men stood behind him; the emperor glanced at Pang Huai, and with a "clang," a sword was drawn, placed against Xie Ci’s neck.

The sharp blade touched his skin, silently slicing the surface.

Killing intent descended, heavy and overwhelming!

Xie Ci suddenly looked up, throat moving as he stared at the blinding gold and vast hall.

"Because Li Yi might become another Zheng Shoufang!"

"And I will not."

His voice was hoarse, each word deliberate.

Before him, the emperor—blind, crippled, high above—sat in a magnificent hall, as if a fierce beast, wounded and aged, still roaring to tear its foes apart.

Li Yi.

There were few in the world whom Xie Ci truly trusted.

But what Xie Ci believed in was interest. Li Yi had waited many years, and now placed his confidants as deputy generals in the northern army.

Thus, Xie Ci believed Li Yi would leave him a lifeline.

Li Yi, having ensured his own safety, would follow the conventional path—targeting Lin Guozhang, undermining Feng Kun. So Xie Ci, to survive, must do the opposite—take an unconventional approach!

The emperor had tried others before Zheng Shoufang; all had failed, either crushed by Feng Kun and Lin Guozhang, or forced to suicide.

Otherwise, the emperor would not have chosen Zheng Shoufang, then noticed the even fiercer Xie Ci and Li Yi.

Now, the emperor cared less about loyalty than ability—the capacity to break the deadlock.

That was why, for fourteen days, he had not ordered Xie Ci’s execution.

One Li Yi might not suffice.

As Xie Ci spoke, Zheng Shoufang was present, standing in a wrinkled apricot robe below the jade steps. He had been kneeling in plea for mercy, but the emperor dismissed him, ordering him to rise and stand by the desk, glaring coldly at Xie Ci.

Xie Ci stared back, eyes blazing.

—Filial piety and propriety ran deep; though Xie Ci harbored resentment, he had never clearly conceived regicide. Toward the emperor, his thoughts were turbulent and suppressed. Toward Zheng Shoufang, his killing intent was limitless!

He rasped, word by word: "I ask only one thing—that Zheng Shoufang die!"

Zheng Shoufang’s face changed: "You—!"

"Leave," the emperor said suddenly.

But this abrupt cessation of hatred and killing intent toward Zheng Shoufang made the emperor decide at last.

Face flushed, Zheng Shoufang could only withdraw.

When Zheng Shoufang departed, the emperor finally sat upright, leaned over the desk, gazing down at Xie Ci.

"Very well."

That aged, hoarse voice at last betrayed a hint of satisfaction.

"You spoke well. I agree."

The tolling of bells, resounding and clear, swept away the shadow of death overhead—completely gone.

Xie Ci left the palace and returned to the inn; it was the dawn of the fifteenth day.

Gu Wan had waited half a month.

During those days, she not only steadied herself, but also reassured everyone that Xie Ci would make it. She kept the group calm, forbidding disorder.

She herself could not falter.

A chaotic rear would be disastrous for Xie Ci; they had to be methodical. Gu Wan even sent word north and made arrangements.

Days passed.

Her original deadline was half a month—she had studied psychology and knew the situation would resolve by then; it could not drag on.

Either Xie Ci would return, as Feng Kun expected, achieving his goal and stepping onto the bloody stage of the capital.

Or…

No matter how Gu Wan steadied herself, believing in Xie Ci’s protagonist aura, when night fell, an unspeakable anxiety lingered.

It was the fifteenth day.

But as days passed without news, she relaxed.

No news was best.

It proved Xie Ci still had a chance! The emperor must be weighing and watching him.

She believed Xie Ci had figured it out.

If there was any chance, she believed he could endure!

He would use every advantage and skill.

The unknown was frightening, but now there was a path—however perilous, it gave him a goal and direction.

Gu Wan explained this to Qin Ying and the others.

On the fifteenth day, Gu Wan had not slept all night, rising early to the hall.

Dawn had not arrived; autumn was deep, night rain pattered, easing only at daybreak. The proprietress had returned and was napping behind the counter, the door half open, cold winds blowing in.

Gu Wan sat alone at a table by the door, turning her teacup, reflecting on many things, even regretting not agreeing to him sooner. The memory of that pure, youthful face, shrouded in rain, flashed before her eyes.

Xie Ci had changed greatly—he had to. But his sincere heart toward her had never changed.

By the fifteenth day, she was near her limit. The light grew, traffic passed in the rain. She wondered, if only…

If she had agreed sooner, perhaps he would have no regrets.

As Gu Wan mused, the boy from the ink-wash painting, clear and earnest, appeared in the yellow light, sitting beside her under the eaves, sharing a meat bun.

She was dazed, when suddenly, urgent hoofbeats approached along the road, the sound of cloaks brushing in the wind. Gu Wan was startled, stood up and looked out.

In the brightening rain, a man in cloak and straw cape, hair soaked and disheveled, face stubbled, clad in black armor, stood beneath the inn’s eaves.

Raindrops fell from his hat; he was ragged, pale and weary, but his eyes were calm and bright. His features, as always, were striking as a night-blooming rose.

…Xie Ci?

Gu Wan’s eyes widened—Xie Ci! It really was Xie Ci!

What is joy beyond expectation, if not this? Heaven rewards the faithful—now, at last!

She was ecstatic, rushing out like the wind.

In the rain, on the steps outside the eaves, the two embraced tightly!

Damn it! Xie Ci had finally returned! Xie Ci had really come back!