Chapter 149

Chapter 149

People came and went under the corridor of the Judicial Office. The physician hurried in and out with his medicine chest, and the servants carried basins of hot water in one after another, and the water had changed color when it came out.

Xu Yuxiu arrived at the hour of Chen (7–9 a.m.). Wen Buchi did not see him; he sent Meng Zhentang out with a message: Luo Qian had raised private soldiers and hijacked military grain. After a deadly battle last night, she had fled, but the matter was now clear. After hearing this, Xu Yuxiu turned and left without another word, directly ordering the Luo family estate sealed off.

By the time Wen Buchi came out of the room, the sun had already tilted westward. He stood under the corridor, steeped in exhaustion, his clothes stained all over with dried blood. His face was smeared with dust and sweat, with a few blood streaks he didn't know how he got. His eyes were bloodshot.

He stood there watching the people coming and going in the courtyard, somewhat dazed.

He had been standing for a while when he saw Meng Zhentang hurrying in from the corridor. Master and servant caught each other's eye from a distance and understood the situation.

Meng Zhentang stopped, clasped his hands, and reported in a low voice: "My lord, it's done."

Wen Buchi nodded slightly, as if even that effort cost him dearly. Meng Zhentang looked at him, wanting to speak but hesitating.

Finally, he couldn't help it: "My lord, please eat something and rest. Your body won't hold up if you keep this up."

Wen Buchi didn't respond to that; instead, he asked, "Has Lord Xu returned?"

Meng Zhentang frowned slightly and replied, "He should be back soon. Calculating the travel time, he ought to be—"

Before he could finish, a servant hurried over from the corridor, stopped before him, bowed, and reported: "My lord, Lord Xu has arrived."

Wen Buchi stood there, disheveled and weary. "Ask him to wait in the front hall. I'll change clothes and be there shortly."

The servant accepted the order and left. Wen Buchi turned and walked back. After two steps, he suddenly stopped and, with his back to Meng Zhentang, instructed, "Send word to the capital to hurry it up. Settle it within three days."

Meng Zhentang watched his back, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Understood."

***

Deep in the night, the candle had burned down to half its length. The candlelight pooled around the low table, where Wen Buchi sat alone, with a cup of cold tea at his hand.

He stared at the tea, replaying Xu Yuxiu's words from the front hall that day, word for word. He remembered them all.

"Has the wanted notice been issued?"

"No wanted notice was issued."

"What about the lockdown order?"

"None at all."

Wen Buchi found it baffling, but what Xu Yuxiu said next stunned him even more.

"His Majesty is unwell. As his ministers, we must spare no effort to uphold His Majesty's will."

Wen Buchi suddenly found it almost laughable. Uphold His Majesty's will? What will? Luo Qian, that woman, had hijacked military grain, raised private soldiers, and killed imperial officials—she did it all so blatantly, so brazenly.

The wanted notice wasn't issued not because Xu Yuxiu refused to issue it, but because someone was stopping it.

The emperor wouldn't allow it.

That sentence from Xu Yuxiu was a pointed reminder.

You, too, are a high minister. You, too, must uphold His Majesty's will.

Wen Buchi stood at the window, gazing into the heavy darkness, and suddenly a wave of bitterness washed over his throat.

The emperor wanted to kill Nan Wuxie, and he didn't hesitate to use military grain as bait, to let tens of thousands of soldiers go hungry, to sacrifice countless lives. And he and Xu Yuxiu, as his ministers, were supposed to "uphold His Majesty's will."

Whose son, whose husband, whose father? They died defending the country, died in the machinations of a woman and an emperor.

But in the face of the greater picture, they meant nothing. Now that the emperor was ill, the state's foundations were shaken. Any move that did not "uphold His Majesty's will" could cause the court to collapse.

What was the greater picture, after all? The stability of the court, the emperor's plans, the imperial will's inclination...

The candle flame flickered across Wen Buchi's face, making it shift between light and shadow.

On the other side, a sedan chair was moving through the night. Xu Yuxiu leaned against the sedan's wall, eyes closed.

The sedan swayed, carrying his thoughts back to the earlier part of the day.

After leaving the Judicial Office at the hour of Chen, he had taken his men straight to the Luo residence. But that spacious, elegant private residence was already empty of people.

He stood in the courtyard, the silence around him like a graveyard. The pavilions and towers remained, but no people, no sound, not a trace of life.

Just as he was about to leave, someone appeared from behind the moon-gate door.

The man wore a flying-fish uniform, with a narrow saber at his waist, his expression cold.

Someone from the Celestial Inspectorate delivered only one sentence to him: "His Majesty is unwell. Lord Xu, you know what to do about the Luo family matter. Such is His Majesty's will."

Then he left.

Such is His Majesty's will.

Xu Yuxiu's first reaction to those four words was shock.

His Majesty? His Majesty had ordered Luo Qian to do this? Hijack military grain? Harm the soldiers? Why? For what?

His second reaction was inner conflict.

Luo Qian deserved to die. That woman's deeds warranted a hundred executions. But His Majesty had ordered her to do it.

His Majesty must have had a reason. Xu Yuxiu didn't know it, couldn't guess it, but there must be one.

In that brief moment, countless thoughts raced through his mind, until finally, he raised a hand and waved.

"Withdraw the troops."

The junior officer was also confused, but Xu Yuxiu offered no explanation. He turned and walked out.

As he stepped out of the Luo family's main gate, a saying suddenly came to mind. He couldn't remember who said it, but he remembered the meaning: The first duty of a minister is loyalty to the sovereign.

When the sovereign commands, a minister should not ask why.

He lifted the curtain and got into the sedan chair. The sedan set off toward the Judicial Office.

The sedan swayed, carrying his thoughts back to the present. Xu Yuxiu opened his eyes and stared at the small patch of darkness on the ceiling of the sedan.

His Majesty was ill. At such a time, he should even more so uphold His Majesty's will and spare no effort in carrying out His Majesty's arrangements, even if he didn't understand, even if he couldn't figure it out, even if there were countless grievances in his heart.

Because he was a minister.

Swaying gently, he closed his eyes, letting those thoughts churn in the darkness and then sink down little by little.

If Li Sheng were not ill, what would Xu Yuxiu have done? Would he have issued a wanted notice, locked down the entire city, and searched every inch of the city to find Luo Qian?

He didn't know.

There is no if.

Li Sheng is sick.

Wild horses, dust, living things blown by breath.

Such is the fickleness of the world, fate cannot be toyed with, life cannot bear it. Wen Buchi took Li Sheng's life with his own hands to protect Nan Wuxie, yet now, because of that last lingering breath of Li Sheng's, he has no choice but to let the one who gravely injured Nan Wuxie walk away unscathed. And Xu Yuxiu? He is loyal to the royal house, loyal to the nation, his loyalty shines as bright as the sun and moon. But he knows too little, too shallowly. His sincerity falls into a fog; he is in the game but unaware of the game. In the end, he acts with righteous name but commits wrong deeds, using a clear stream to aid the muddy tide.

The world is like a tide, men like duckweed. Xu Yuxiu took a few heavy breaths. What he feared was not the emperor's wrath for defying his will, but that the step he took would not be the path to hunt down Luo Qian, but on the string that would cause the court to collapse.

The sedan chair lurched to a halt.

"Your Excellency, we have arrived."

Xu Yuxiu stared at the darkness for a long moment before lifting the curtain and stepping out.

The night was deep. He stood at the entrance of the government office, gazing at the heavy sky to the north.

***

Yongci! Yongci!!

Nan Wuxie felt as if he were falling endlessly, his consciousness sinking in a sticky darkness, like plunging into waterlogged cotton—unable to touch the bottom, unable to float to the surface.

The pain was veiled in a hazy mist, elusive and intangible. There was no clash of gold and iron, no sharp ring of blades meeting, only a soft wind mingled with the sandalwood of his youth, slowly washing over his chaotic mind.

Suddenly, the darkness shattered, dissolving into a warm yellow glow. The light was hazy, and he forced his eyes open, drenched in cold sweat. Through the blur, his vision slowly focused, and he saw a palace wall before him, vermilion and very tall, cutting the sky into a narrow slit. Sunlight slanted down from the top of the wall, landing at his feet in a small, warm patch.

He looked down and saw a wooden horse clutched in his small hand.

Nan Wuxie froze. "This is…"

He remembered. It was autumn in the fourteenth year of Puzhao's reign.

He had carved this wooden horse for days. After finishing it, he kept it in his bosom, waiting for the day he could show it to his father. But his father never returned. This time, only his uncle Chao Xiaochen returned to report.

He hid behind a pillar in the main hall, peeking inside. The hall doors were open, and sunlight streamed in. He saw Uncle Chao standing below the imperial steps, clad in armor, his cloak trailing to the ground, his silhouette like a mountain. On the throne sat a figure—he didn't look carefully at the face, only saw a dragon robe so dazzling it made him dizzy.

He heard Uncle Chao speaking.

"…In this battle, Marquis Nan personally led eight thousand elite troops, raiding over a hundred li in the night, bypassing the enemy's main force and striking directly at their rear granaries. The fire burned for two days and one night, destroying all enemy provisions. They collapsed without a fight…"

Chao Xiaochen's voice was reassuring, deep like a distant mountain bell.

The figure on the throne said nothing. Chao Xiaochen continued, "In this battle, our army killed twenty thousand enemies, captured countless supplies. The enemy's strength is broken; they will not be able to invade for five years."

Nan Wuxie's eyes shone as he listened from behind the pillar. Eight thousand elite troops, a hundred-li night raid, twenty thousand enemies slain—Father was so impressive.

He clutched the wooden horse in his arms until his palms sweated. Later, the figure on the throne waved a hand, and Uncle Chao withdrew.

As soon as Chao Xiaochen stepped out of the hall, he saw the little head peeking from behind the pillar. He froze for a moment, then smiled.

"Xiao Ci?"

Nan Wuxie peeked out halfway from behind the pillar, looking up at his uncle. Chao Xiaochen crouched down to the child's level, his gaze sweeping over the boy's face from top to bottom. "You've grown taller," he said warmly.

Nan Wuxie didn't know what to say. He looked at Uncle Chao's weathered face, at the dust on his armor.

That dust was from the border—the same dust his father walked on.

Chao Xiaochen looked at him, reached out, and tousled his hair. "Missing the Marquis?"

Nan Wuxie nodded. Chao Xiaochen said nothing, tousled his hair again, then stood up, took Nan Wuxie's small hand, and turned back toward the hall.

Nan Wuxie, led by him, had to trot to keep up. He heard Uncle Chao's deep voice addressing the figure on the throne: "Your Majesty, I have an impertinent request."

"I beg to take Xiao Ci out of the palace for half a day."

Nan Wuxie looked up at Uncle Chao's sturdy shoulders. Chao Xiaochen did not turn back, only held the child's hand tightly.

"The Marquis is fighting at the border. This child is alone in the palace. It breaks my heart. I beg Your Majesty to show mercy and allow me to take him out for a walk. I will return him before dark."

The emperor did not answer right away. The hall was very still. Nan Wuxie clutched the wooden horse in his bosom, his eyes fixed on the bright yellow figure on the throne, waiting for him to speak.

Emperor Puzhao's expression was inscrutable. Silence stretched for a long time, and at last he nodded.

"Go," he said airily. "Return him before dark."

Chao Xiaochen bowed. "Your servant obeys the decree."

He led Nan Wuxie out of the hall one step at a time. As they passed through the doorway, sunlight hit Nan Wuxie's face, forcing him to squint. He didn't even rub his eyes, only looked up at Uncle Chao.

"Uncle, where are we going?"

Chao Xiaochen looked down at him with a gentle smile. "Anywhere Little Ci wants to go."

Nan Wuxie thought for a moment. "I want to see mountains. The artificial hills in the palace are too small. I want to see real mountains."

"Alright," Chao Xiaochen said. "I will take our Yongci to see the mountains."

Chao Xiaochen's horse was a sorrel, larger than any horse Nan Wuxie had ever seen. Sitting on its back, his legs dangled, swinging, unable to reach the stirrups. Uncle Chao sat behind him, one arm around his waist, the other holding the reins.

The horse neighed loudly, its four hooves lightly kicking the ground, and galloped toward the green mountains outside the city. The wooden horse was tucked securely in his bosom, bulging slightly. As the horse ran, the wind rushed past his ears, filling his sleeves, making them billow as if they might lift him up.

He had never run so fast, never felt such a sharp wind. The wind in the palace was soft, orderly, never intimate with anyone.

This wind was different.

This wind was alive.

As they passed through the city gate, he looked back. The vermilion gate grew distant, smaller and smaller, until it became a red dot and vanished behind him. He turned forward, facing the wind, and broke into a wide grin.

Chao Xiaochen took him all the way west, to the nearest mountain outside the city. The mountain was tall; from its peak, one could see the entire bustling capital, the golden tiles of the palace, and the city wall winding like a gray snake into the distance.

Nan Wuxie jumped off the horse and ran to a large rock at the summit, standing on tiptoe to look far into the distance.

The wind was strong, whipping his clothes wildly. He quickly pulled the wooden horse from his bosom and held it tightly. The sunlight was just right; he raised the horse toward the sun, squinting as he looked at it.

The little wooden horse's shadow fell on his face, swaying.

He mimicked the galloping warhorses on the battlefield, flexing his wrist up and down, making the toy horse prance and leap against the sunset. His childish face was full of earnestness and longing, and he even made sound effects softly: "Tat, tat, tat-tat…"

Chao Xiaochen walked over and stood behind him, looking down. "What are you doing?"

Without looking back, Nan Wuxie shook the wooden horse toward the sun. "Making it run. Faster, faster—like Father's warhorse."