Chapter 127

Chapter 127

The banquet finally ended, the moon already high in the sky.

Wen Buchi declined all subsequent pleasantries and discussions, returning alone in his official sedan chair to the temporary courtyard provided by the Judicial Office.

The courtyard was small, quiet, and soundless.

The wine mingled with fatigue, sinking heavily through his limbs. The taut string of the day loosened, leaving only a dull ache throbbing at his temples.

He pushed open the unlatched door, a rush of cool air greeting him. He raised his hand to light the lamp, but his movement halted abruptly.

Something was wrong.

A faint trace of a living person lurked in the darkness.

Someone was in the room!

The drunkenness cleared in an instant, and the short blade in his sleeve slid silently into his palm.

"Who." His voice was cold, cutting through the silence with unmistakable clarity.

No answer. Only his own breathing and the rustling of bamboo leaves outside the window.

Wen Buchi took a step forward, his boot landing softly.

"Come out."

The short blade in his sleeve had already been drawn half an inch, its edge catching a sliver of moonlight.

At last, a response came from the shadows. No attack, no frantic escape—only a light laugh, carrying a nonchalant, world-weary air.

Then a figure sauntered out slowly from behind the curtain of shadows near the inner chamber door.

The moonlight brightened slightly at that moment, illuminating the visitor's face.

It was Xue Shuyu.

He was holding an orange he'd somehow gotten his hands on, peeling it leisurely. The crisp, refreshing fragrance of the orange peel spread through the air, dispelling the earlier tension.

"If you ask me," Xue Shuyu said with a roguish grin, "Brother Nan's worry is all for nothing. With Lord Wen's vigilance, who could ever get close?"

A wave of weary resignation washed over Wen Buchi as his shoulders relaxed.

He sheathed the short blade, rubbed his throbbing temples, walked to the table, fumbled to light the candlestick.

The warm light dispelled the darkness, revealing Xue Shuyu's casual posture. He broke off a segment of orange and offered it to Wen Buchi.

Wen Buchi didn't take it. Xue Shuyu shrugged and tossed it into his own mouth, then leaned against the doorframe, smiling as he watched Wen Buchi.

"Second Master Xue visits late at night," Wen Buchi said, pressing his brow, his voice tired. "Did Nan Wuxie send you?"

"Lord Wen is perceptive," Xue Shuyu replied, tossing another segment of orange into his mouth with a satisfied squint. "Brother Nan is uneasy about things here. He's in the capital, out of reach, and worries that you, Lord Wen, might wear yourself out enforcing the law impartially—or that some reckless lowlife might cause you trouble."

He spelled out Nan Wuxie's intentions plainly, yet his tone was slick and frivolous.

Wen Buchi didn't take the bait. Instead, he walked to the table and poured himself a cup of tea with the dregs still in it.

"Just say it directly."

"Directly then—" Xue Shuyu looked Wen Buchi up and down, noting his weary expression. "Brother Nan asked me to bring some 'liquid cash' and men, to help you open a grain supply route. With all the turmoil in Nanchang, the worst thing is the common folk having nothing to eat. Grain in hand, peace of mind, you know. Our Xue family can handle this faster than the government, with fewer complications."

He said it lightly, but Wen Buchi immediately grasped the weight of it.

A buffer against famine, a potential bargaining chip—this was a silent support from afar, from that man.

The thought was for the greater good, but also for him, Wen Buchi.

Wen Buchi lowered his lashes, watching the tea's shifting reflection in the cup, and nodded. "If this succeeds, it will indeed benefit local stability. Second Master Xue, you must act with caution, avoiding unnecessary attention—being too conspicuous would be unwise."

"Understood, understood. Lord Wen, rest assured. My elder brother has already instructed me: low-key, steady." Xue Shuyu waved his hand, then leaned in closer, that teasing smile returning. "But seriously, Lord Wen, Brother Nan really cares about you. You should have seen how worried he was—afraid you'd tire yourself out, go hungry. It was downright fussy. If word got out, where would Grand Marquis Nan's reputation be?"

He watched Wen Buchi's reaction as he spoke, but saw only an expressionless face sipping cold tea, so he pressed on: "Hey, Lord Wen, how is it that Brother Nan—such a formidable figure—turns into this when it comes to you—"

Before he could finish the tease, he was cut off. Wen Buchi lifted his eyelids and gave him a cold glance. "If you've only come to say this, Second Master Xue, you may leave."

"Don't be like that! A joke, just a joke." Xue Shuyu retreated with a grin, peeling the last segment of orange and tossing it into his mouth. "I haven't finished the important business. My elder brother asked me to check: what's the situation here now? That Minister Xu… the Provincial Administration Commissioner, doesn't seem like an easy man to deal with. That banquet tonight—it was quite the scene, wasn't it?"

The conversation finally turned to serious matters. Wen Buchi set down his teacup and spoke slowly: "Lord Xu is a decisive man, prioritizing the fulfillment of His Majesty's will."

He chose his words carefully. "As for Luo Qian, he was unexpected."

"Oh?" Xue Shuyu's interest piqued. "Unexpected how?"

Wen Buchi briefly recounted Luo Qian's "donation of land." Being a merchant himself, Xue Shuyu raised his eyebrows and shook his head in appraisal: "Madman. Either his ambition is enormous… or he's truly insane."

Then, recalling something, he added, "Speaking of Xu Yuxiu, a few days ago in the suburbs, Lord Yan mentioned an old story about him."

"Lord Yan Dongshan?"

"Mhm," Xue Shuyu said, brushing orange peel crumbs from his hands. "He said that back when Xu Yuxiu was in the Hanlin Academy, he ruined the future of a top scholar with a single comment. That scholar is now right here in Nanchang Prefecture… named… ah! He Xi."

He Xi.

Wen Buchi's hand, holding the cup, paused slightly.

Xue Shuyu tried to recall. "Lord Yan said that He Xi had too blunt a nature, daring to say anything. Xu Yuxiu criticized him for 'lacking loyalty and reverence' and had him sent away on an external appointment. Hmph, sounds like a tough character."

"Did Lord Yan really say that? That He Xi is blunt and outspoken?"

"Something like that." Xue Shuyu noticed the strange tone in Wen Buchi's voice. "What's wrong?"

What Xue Shuyu described was the image of a brilliant scholar who lost his position due to his words, exiled to a distant prefecture—sharp-edged, unyielding, refusing to bend.

"Are you sure… Lord Yan was talking about He Xi? The He Xi from the Nanchang Prefecture Registrar's Office?" Wen Buchi couldn't help but confirm, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Sure, same name, same top scholar from the eighteenth year of the Puzhao era, sent out to Jiangxi's Nanchang Prefecture." Xue Shuyu affirmed, then repeated his earlier question: "What's the matter?"

It didn't match.

In the few days he had known him, the He Xi that Wen Buchi saw was a humble eighth-rank registrar buried in files, almost invisible. He spoke very little, responded only when asked, never volunteered a word, and behaved with rigid formality—head down, eyes low, every emotion and thought tightly concealed beneath that old, worn official robe. No edges, no sharpness, barely any vitality.

This was a far cry from the "outspoken" and "tough" top scholar that Xue Shuyu described.

"The He Xi I've met," Wen Buchi set down his teacup slowly, his voice sinking into the night, "is very silent. Excessively cautious, with no trace of sharpness. He seems more like…"

He paused, searching for a word. "…a common clerk seeking stability."

Xue Shuyu dropped his playful demeanor, rubbing his chin: "That's strange… According to Lord Yan, He Xi was demoted because of Xu Yuxiu's word, but the root cause was his own temperament. A man with that kind of character, even if his spirit was broken, shouldn't have turned out like that…"

He couldn’t find the right words to describe the state Wen Buchi had described.

“It shouldn’t lead to… such utter mediocrity,” Wen Buchi finished for him.

A man who once stood at the pinnacle of the imperial examinations, brimming with passion and daring to speak his mind—even after demotion and setback, the core qualities within him could hardly be extinguished entirely. He would either become cynical and resentful, or bide his time in concealment. At the very least, traces of “He Xi” himself should remain.

Yet the He Xi of now was like a cup of tea steeped too many times it had lost all flavor, leaving only just a hollow shell going through the motions.

For a moment, neither spoke. The faint crackling of candle flames broke the silence.

Unless something known to no one had happened to him during these years in Nanchang.

Or perhaps beneath this stagnant pool lay something unseen.

“Interesting,” Xue Shuyu finally murmured with a low laugh. Wen Buchi did not respond. He gazed out at the heavy night beyond the window, the dizziness from the wine steadily intensifying.

Luo Qian’s inscrutability, Xu Yuxiu’s rigidity, the deadlock over land purchases, the undercurrents among the people—and now, an unfathomable He Xi added to the mix.

Xue Shuyu flicked away the last bit of orange peel, clapped his hands, and said, “Alright, message delivered. Time for me to go, Lord Wen. Rest early.”

He paused at the door, turning back with that roguish grin flickering on his face. “As for Brother Nan, I’ll be sure to give him a ‘truthful’ report.”

The door closed softly, taking his silhouette and the faint scent of oranges with it.

Wen Buchi stood alone in the flickering candlelight, unmoving for a long while.

***

The events of the world always catch one off guard. Belts of smoke and flame brutally tore through the perpetual mist that shrouded the borderlands.

Arrows gathered into a sky-darkening black cloud, rising from the Xiaomi army’s rear with the shrieking of a reaper’s scythe, then poured down like a sudden storm upon the tranquil Songnan Township.

The iron cavalry of the Xiaomi Kingdom, having long plotted, launched a multi-pronged fierce assault at the cusp of the monsoon season’s end.

Songnan Township was utterly overwhelmed. The entire town suffocated in chaos.

The roar of battle shattered the frontier’s early morning slumber. Arrows swarmed like locusts, blade-light reflected the rising sun, spraying a harsh and brutal tapestry of blood.

Chao Xiaochen led the Zhennan Garrison in a hasty defense.

The clang of bronze and iron pierced the battlefield. Shields were instantly pinned into porcupines, blood spurted through the gaps.

The thunderous charge of cavalry drowned out the dying screams, hammering into the ranks like a mighty ram. Horses neighed, men roared and screamed, all mingling into a boiling, bloody maelstrom of carnage.

The front line twisted and deformed under the immense impact, like a fabric being violently torn. Chao Xiaochen’s banner pointed forward desperately amid the chaos. His silver armor quickly soaked through with blood, indistinguishable from his enemies’ or his own. Everywhere he looked, enemy riders surged and blades gleamed.

At the bloodiest center of this grinding mill, a particularly treacherous and swift dark streak suddenly separated from the chaotic backdrop of shouts and horse cries.

A “thwack,” and blood exploded.

The arrow’s force carried Chao Xiaochen off his horse, sending him flying through the air. His blade clattered to the ground.

His personal guards fought desperately to retrieve him, but the line wavered. Once a breach was torn, it could not be mended.

A defeat. A sudden, tragic rout.

The urgent military dispatch, stained with mud and dark blood, was carried by couriers who rode their horses to death, breaking through passes and startling travelers on the official road. In the pre-dawn hours before the sky was fully bright, it crashed one after another into the solemn Marquis Nan’s Mansion in the capital and the tightly guarded imperial palace.

Tearing open the wax seal, his eyes swept over the hasty yet alarming account of the battle. Nan Wuxie’s blood ran cold in an instant.

Chao Xiaochen gravely wounded. Defensive lines breached. The situation desperate.

He had expected Xiaomi to be restless, but not to erupt so violently and so suddenly.

What tightened his heart even more was the brief assessment appended at the end of the report: “Enemy forces are rampant, already spilling into neighboring prefectures and counties of southern Jiangxi, threatening to spread further.”

Neighboring southern Jiangxi!

He gripped the edge of the letter, unconsciously applying pressure. Just days ago, he and Xue Shuyu had discussed their fear that unrest on the southern frontier would affect Ganzhou.

Now, the prediction had come true.

The bedroom fell silent. Outside the window, the sky in the east was struggling, inch by inch, to break free from darkness.

His soldier’s instinct, steeped in blood and bone, immediately kicked in. As for the private grudges against imperial power and the friction with the court, in the face of real border flames, they had to step aside.

“Request an audience at the palace.”

He was resolute. “Immediately.”

It had been a long time.

In the faint morning light, the heavy gates of Marquis Nan’s mansion groaned open, and a rider galloped toward the imperial city.