Chapter 185: The Hidden Blade (II)

Chapter 185: The Hidden Blade (II)

After the disaster that struck the Zong family, Zong Yao was completely alone in this world.

After the Emperor, pretending to console him, summoned him for a private talk in the study, Zong Yao stumbled out and looked up at the sky.

No one would ever call him by his childhood nickname, Erbao, again.

The Zong Yao of today was a winter cicada—cut off from his flock, with no home to return to.

To make it through the long winter, he had no other choice.

From that day forward, he hid his true self, kept his head down, and stayed at the Hanlin Academy for four years.

He became the most ordinary, most unremarkable of officials—he probably didn't speak a thousand words in a whole year.

People who knew his personality had changed after the family tragedy would sigh to themselves and leave it at that.

No one knew that the day he walked out of the Emperor's study, he'd become a member of the Changmen Guard.

To Zong Yao, the name "Changmen Guard" came from the verse: "By night a bright mirror hangs in the blue sky, shining alone on those inside the Long Gate palace."

Just as the bright moon hangs high above, gazing down on the mortal world, he was tasked with keeping an eye on the dozens of civil officials at the Hanlin Academy for the Emperor.

Mechanically and faithfully, he wrote one secret report after another, reporting their misdeeds and indiscretions, along with their private dealings with other civil and military officials.

...No one paid much attention to a minor official who'd lost his standing, kept to himself, and was as quiet as a shadow.

Thanks to his reports, three Hanlin Academy officials had been punished—some demoted, some had their property seized—and the honors they'd earned through years of hard study vanished like smoke.

Beyond that, even Zong Yao couldn't say how many officials had been marked in the Emperor's book, waiting to have their accounts settled.

Heaven and earth show no mercy—they have no family, no master.

So be it—he'd just devote himself to serving the Emperor.

Even when he was sent to Tongzhou as Assistant Prefect, he showed no joy—he just accepted the decree and gave thanks without any enthusiasm.

He was just moving somewhere else to do what he already knew how to do.

Tongzhou was no paradise—when his colleagues heard he was being posted there, they all wore sympathetic looks and gave him a meaningful "take care."

Zong Yao didn't really care.

At worst, he'd end up like his predecessors—dead or exiled.

Dying would be better.

After death, he didn't want to see his brother or uncle again—they had no face to show him, and he had no face to show them.

The only person he needed to find was Le Wuya, to settle the question that had haunted him for years:

Had his teacher used him back then to spy on the Zong family?

When he was young, he'd chattered endlessly around his teacher, and he could no longer remember if he'd accidentally let something slip that betrayed his uncle and brother.

Arriving in Tongzhou with a death wish.

Luckily, Tongzhou wasn't as dangerous as he'd imagined.

Aside from Prefect Wenren's looks, nothing had given him a scare.

He'd politely accepted the Assistant Prefect's seal, dutifully taken over the deputy's duties, calmly killed a fugitive Japanese pirate, and quietly built an intelligence network as a Changmen Guard.

Everything was going smoothly.

Except for not knowing how to handle Prefect Wenren, everything was going fine.

Simply put, the man was less a scholar and more a wandering swordsman leader.

At dawn, he'd do Baduanjin in the yamen, then move on to the Five Animals exercises.

When Zong Yao just walked by, the Prefect grabbed him and made him join in.

In his words: "Look how frail you are. Don't go dropping dead on the job here—I've got a kind heart and can't stand seeing corpses."

Zong Yao remembered how the Prefect had casually slit Ping Gen'er's throat at the Mixi drill ground with such flair, and found himself speechless. He could only follow along with the bird moves, working up a good sweat.

Back at his desk, once the sweat dried, Zong Yao laid out paper and thought about how to write a secret report on Wen Ren Ming Ke's doings in Tongzhou.

Recruiting private soldiers?

Not exactly.

These garrison soldiers were all from military households under Dayu—the Prefect had just picked the best of them, fed them well, and trained them hard.

Besides, with Japanese pirates running rampant around here, even in peaceful areas, few prefects didn't keep a private garrison for emergencies. Fed well and trained well, one of these soldiers could match ten farming conscripts in a fight.

The current dynasty had no explicit rule against it, as long as the garrison didn't exceed a battalion's size or a thousand men, it wasn't against regulations.

Besides, the Prefect wasn't using these soldiers as private slaves to till his fields, build towers and gardens, or bully people in the streets—he was genuinely training them for war.

Turn him in for that? Zong Yao was just a Changmen Guard—he didn't have a Qin Hui's heart.

Chewing on the end of his brush for a while, Zong Yao decided to go for a walk.

But the moment he stepped outside, he saw the Prefect in the courtyard arguing with a skinny, beat-up old county magistrate whose face was swollen and bruised.

"I didn't bring you here to die on my watch!" the Prefect shouted, hands on his hips, standing in the cold west wind. "Testing a new farming tool—send the young guys! Isn't there a single man in his twenties in all of Yunliang County? Does it fall to your old bones to show off? And what happened? You tipped into a ditch! Lucky for you, King Yan thought your meat was too tough to bother with—that thing was hundreds of catties of iron! If it had rolled on you, I'd be burning paper money at your grave right now!"

The Prefect had a loud voice, but Old Magistrate Qi, his face swollen from the fall, was even louder: "A farmer never tires of his hoe! These wastelands—I fought who knows how many fights to get them! If we don't rough-plow them now, during the winter slack when the ground isn't frozen, then come spring, are you gonna plant with your head?! You're the one demanding military grain, demanding the people have surplus food, demanding this and that—what am I supposed to do?!"

The Prefect was speechless for a moment, then softened, grinning as he sidled up to the fuming Qi Wuhu and gently kneaded his shoulders: "Brother Yingchen, my old man, I'm just worried about you, that's all!"

Qi Wuhu choked on his words, shot him a glare, and shut up.

Zong Yao watched in disbelief.

Whether it was his imagination or not, Zong Yao figured the Prefect had a real knack for being a bootlicker.

The Prefect carefully rubbed his back: "Old man, does the new tool work well?"

Then he spotted the dazed Zong Yao and called out: "Assistant Prefect Zong! Get Magistrate Qi a cup of water!"

Qi Wuhu: "I don't dare!"

Le Wuya: "I'm making it up to you—just accept it."

Qi Wuhu: "..."

Zong Yao turned to fetch water, only to hear County Magistrate Qi clear his throat and recount unhurriedly: "...I brought the wooden ox plow I made in Jinyuan and improved it. Now it can cultivate plains, hills, and paddy fields alike, saving labor while doubling the results... I'm still testing a new rice-threshing bed with this autumn's rice—it can thresh grain more than three times faster than an ordinary bed..."

As Zong Yao patiently and without complaint brewed tea, he mused that the Prefect's fawning over a subordinate was unheard of, a true breach of official decorum.

After steeping the tea, Zong Yao stepped outside to find the courtyard already empty—the Prefect had apparently spirited County Magistrate Qi off somewhere else.

Zong Yao sat holding the teacup, dazed for a while, then sat himself under the eaves and took a sip.

Before he could finish the cup, the Prefect appeared seemingly out of nowhere and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly causing him to spit out the tea.

Wiping the corner of his mouth, Zong Yao turned his head to look and discovered that at some unknown time, the Prefect had already changed into a jet-black archery outfit.

Zong Yao stood up, helpless yet accustomed to it: "Sir, going out again?"

The Prefect said readily, "I'm off to Yunliang County to take a look at his wooden ox. I'll be gone for about three or four days—leave all the yamen affairs to you."

Zong Yao thought, dereliction of duty, always running all over the place, gone at least two or three days, at most five or six—utterly unseemly.

Clutching his teacup, he answered, "This subordinate will serve with utmost loyalty."

The Prefect took a few steps, then hopped back: "Oh, while I'm away, keep an eye out. If a physician surnamed Cui comes calling..."

Zong Yao picked up his words: "I'll keep him for you, book him a fine room at the Moonlight Pavilion, provide for his meals and drinks, and have Registrar Zi take his brother to see a doctor first."

The Prefect raised an eyebrow.

Zong Yao said mildly, "Last time you left the yamen, you gave the same instructions to Assistant Prefect Mu. I was listening right there, so rest assured, Your Excellency."

"With you on the job, I'm at ease." The Prefect draped his red fox cloak over his shoulders. "Mind the house well!"

Zong Yao lowered his head: "Yes."

Using this moment of lowered head, he scrutinized the Prefect's attire and thought, though lavish, it did not violate sumptuary regulations.

Zong Yao spent his days being so critical, gradually discovering that despite the Prefect's unconventional ways, he always strictly adhered to that bottom line, never crossing the line by even a hair's breadth.

Moreover, those acts that exceeded the rules, upon careful consideration, each had a certain appeal.

His greatest fault was merely that he looked like that man.

Zong Yao picked up his brush several times, wanting to write this point in his secret memorial, but after going back and forth, he could not form a single character.

In the end, only a sigh remained.

He put down the brush and stepped out, gazing up at the sky.

He knew that some Changmen Guards fabricated charges or resorted to extortion and threats for profit, or colluded with other officials, becoming a blade in their hands to eliminate rivals.

Zong Yao had never conspired or colluded with any Changmen Guard. He merely used his supposed fondness for racing pigeons as an excuse, raising seven or eight fine birds to relay messages in all directions.

He had always been even-tempered and kind to others, and over these years, living alone with no need for spending, coupled with the fact that the Zong family, though diminished, had been nobles for generations with a comfortable fortune, he was generous with his spending on intelligence.

From grand inns and restaurants down to pleasure houses, he had quietly built a tight and refined intelligence network in the capital.

Even if someone failed to produce useful intelligence for a year or more, he never grew angry, sending gifts as usual during festivals.

To such a good master, many were willing to give their loyalty.

Now that he was starting over from scratch, Zong Yao felt no regret.

His life was worthless, and so was his time.

Let it wear away slowly.

As he was lost in thought, his longtime page boy hurried over: "Sir."

"What is it?"

The boy glanced around while deftly pulling a letter scroll from his hidden sleeve: "A letter has arrived."

Zong Yao opened it and read, his brow furrowing deeper with each line.

He had been secretly investigating the Japanese pirate troubles in Mixi County.

The pirates must have had a reason for choosing Mixi as their target.

Zong Yao followed the trail, gathering intelligence from all sides, piecing it together and cross-referencing, and now he had finally begun to see some clarity.

During the late emperor's reign, Grand Secretary Zhang Xie retired to his hometown.

His grandson Zhang Kai, who did not serve in office, owned a thousand mu of fertile land in Mixi and countless grand estates.

One autumn, he had shared wine with a man and taken him to a brothel, treating him like a friend.

However, according to intelligence, this "friend" bore a striking resemblance to one of the scouts among the pirates who had infiltrated Mixi and were beheaded after death.

Reading this far, Zong Yao's expression grew heavy. He closed the letter in silence, then returned to his room, quietly burning the note, ensuring the writing was completely consumed before discarding the ashes into the brazier.

He had not come here to deal with such thorny matters.

...

On this trip, besides taking thirty garrison soldiers with him, Le Wuya, as usual, brought Wen Ren Yue along.

After the new year, he would be heading to the capital.

He had to use this time to let Wen Ren Yue get more grounded, familiarizing himself with farming and sericulture.

Le Wuya rode side by side with Wen Ren Yue and asked casually, "What do you make of our Assistant Prefect?"

Wen Ren Yue thought for a moment and replied, "A man apart from the crowd; his heart is unknowable."

On the day in Mixi, Zong Yao had handed the letter to the Postmaster, and Wen Ren Yue had immediately reported the matter to Le Wuya.

"Using the postmaster to send a letter?" Upon hearing this, Le Wuya stroked his chin thoughtfully. "...Interesting."

Wen Ren Yue did not quite understand.

By all logic, since Zong Yao had come alone with Le Wuya that time, it was inconvenient to use Le Wuya's men, so asking the Mixi postmaster to deliver the letter was entirely reasonable.

The post station was, after all, meant to deliver letters for people.

Yet from that point on, Le Wuya let Zong Yao do as he pleased without any further restraint.

Wen Ren Yue had been observing Zong Yao for him over time and had to admit the man had some real skill. Had Brother Gu not told him to keep watch, Wen Ren Yue would never have noticed anything unusual about him.

Watching him from autumn to winter, Wen Ren Yue only harbored vague suspicions in his heart, nothing he could be certain of.

He really couldn't figure out how Le Wuya had seen through the by-the-book Zong Yao at a single glance.

So, he asked honestly, "Brother Gu, do tell."

Le Wuya said, "Have you heard of the 'Changmen Guard'?"

"No," Wen Renyue shook his head, weighing the term "Changmen" in his mind, and guessed, "'Changmen'—is that taken from Li Taibai's line, 'Night hangs a bright mirror above the azure sky, casting light alone on the one inside Changmen Palace'?"

"More or less," Le Wuya said. "That poem is called 'Changmen Resentment.' The 'Changmen Guard' means doing this kind of work—cursed by heaven, cursed by men, cursed all around."

Wen Renyue couldn't help laughing. "Who came up with that name?"

Le Wuya said, "Me."

Wen Renyue was speechless: "..."

Wen Renyue: "Wha—?"

Le Wuya said unapologetically, "The emperor wants to put together his own inner guards and Imperial City Bureau. I do as I'm told—can't I even gripe a bit?"

Too shocked for words, Wen Renyue managed, "Brother Gu, you..."

Le Wuya lowered his head to play with the little yellow horse's fur. "He reeks of the Changmen Guard. Others might not smell it, but as the head of the Changmen Guard, how could I not?"

Wen Renyue took a deep breath, letting the cold air circulate in his lungs, barely calming the boiling fire in his heart.

He decided not to ask about the past, only the present, and lowered his voice to a whisper: "Lord Zong... is he sent by the emperor to watch you?"

"Yes and no." Le Wuya shrugged lightly, squinting with a smile. "He does his thing, I do mine. When the time comes, he'll come in handy."

Author's note:

Yaya: Resentment sky-high.jpg