Chapter 188: The Scheme (Part 2)

Chapter 188: The Scheme (Part 2)

Zong Yao's expression was just the right amount of innocent confusion: "My lord..."

Le Wuya wasn't buying it. Holding his teacup, he quietly watched him, waiting for his reply.

Zong Yao's pretense failed, so he had no choice but to fall back on stalling: "My lord, this... this is too detailed. I'll have to make inquiries. Should I be discreet about it, so that no one else finds out?"

Le Wuya looked at him, his smile casual and handsome, as if it were painted on his lips, carrying a devil-may-care vibe: "Suit yourself."

Zong Yao pursed his lips.

Whether it was his imagination or not, he felt as though he were facing a good-looking soldier thug across the table.

He felt like a bookworm facing down a brute.

Le Wuya: "Those are some nice pigeons you've got there. You can give me a straight answer by tomorrow, right?"

Zong Yao was taken aback. Cold sweat started to bead up, slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

He fought to keep his cool: "My lord, my pigeons haven't been feeling too perky lately..."

Tea steam curled up.

Through the thin veil of mist, Le Wuya fixed his eyes on this former student, now the Changmen Guard.

"The gray one is indeed a bit listless. Use that black one with the white patch on its tail instead. It's slower than the gray one, but it can still make it to the Mi County post station overnight."

Zong Yao swallowed his fear and said mildly: "...My lord, young pigeons on their maiden flight don't know the way yet. I'm afraid they'd let you down, my lord."

"Didn't your personal servant take four pigeons to Mi, Yunliang, Xiangjin, and Yuyuan counties twenty-five days ago?" Le Wuya lowered his head and took a sip of tea, watching the tea leaves floating up and down in the brew. "In that time, those four pigeons have made over ten round trips. How can they still not know the route?"

Zong Yao was dumbstruck, his eyes wide. A surge of panic churned in his chest, making his heart pound like a drum, and his vision kept going dark in waves.

Le Wuya had no Changmen Guard, no beggar information network established in Nanting, but he had planted his own spies and informants everywhere.

—The soldiers he'd sent back were his eyes and ears.

Le Wuya treated them so well they could never forget it. They wanted to come back, so they'd bust their butts to keep watch for him, acting as his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

Moreover, this Lord Zong was a homebody, but Le Wuya had his own free-range bird on the side.

Ever since his family was wiped out and he avenged them with all that ghost-act nonsense, Zhong Piaoping had gotten a little unhinged. Aside from clinging to Le Wuya like a chick to a mother hen, and treating the simple-minded Yuan Zijin like a fellow chick to play with, he rarely spoke to anyone else. He wandered around all day looking calm, but in truth, he was secretly eyeing everyone, convinced they were out to get him.

That made him perfect spy material.

He'd seen the pigeons flying out of the government office with his own eyes during his midnight strolls.

Zong Yao's hands were clenched under his robe, palms slick with sweat, but his eyes stayed calm: "My lord, I just had my men take them out to build up their stamina. Where they went, I honestly have no idea."

Le Wuya chuckled: "Assistant Prefect Zong is usually so tight-lipped, but I never knew you had such a silver tongue."

Zong Yao: "I wouldn't... presume."

He visibly stumbled over the words.

Because he clearly saw Le Wuya pull a thin bamboo tube from his bosom and casually twirl it in his hand: "Assistant Prefect Zong, when I was a child, my family was extremely strict. Bows and arrows could not be taken out of the practice grounds. I got the itch, so I made myself a slingshot. I'd shoot cicadas and birds to practice my aim—especially bird legs. Never missed."

Zong Yao: "..."

So that's why the little gray pigeon was limping yesterday, with feathers missing from its butt!

When Zong Yao saw its disheveled state, he figured it had run into a hawk on the way and dropped the message tube. He'd felt bad for it and given it an extra handful of good millet.

Le Wuya, right in front of him, pulled a thin sheet of coarse paper from the tube.

On it was nothing but a string of numbers, arranged from top to bottom, the characters varying in size.

Le Wuya showed the paper to Zong Yao.

Even now, Zong Yao still tried to weasel his way out: "My lord, this is just for weight training the racing pigeons. The numbers are just ID tags."

He explained in a mild tone: "You might not know this, my lord, but a good racing pigeon can fetch a hundred taels, so they must be numbered to prevent loss. The racing pigeon numbers are all registered. If my lord is concerned that these pigeons are carrying private messages, you might ask an acquaintance to look up the numbers."

Seeing Le Wuya's half-smiling, half-doubting expression, Zong Yao added: "It's not that I'm stubbornly arguing to defy your lordship, but I worry that since we both serve as officials in Tongzhou, if a rift were to form over my humble hobby, it would truly be detrimental to the great cause of Tongzhou."

Le Wuya leaned back, letting out a long sigh: "Wenzhi..."

Zong Wenzhi—he was no longer that innocent young clerk who had bounced out the door to welcome him in.

Zong Yao lowered his eyes and said respectfully: "Does my lord have any instruction?"

Le Wuya: "Instruction? I wouldn't dare. I'm merely expressing some regret."

Zong Yao's composure steadied somewhat.

Let Wen Ren Ming Ke investigate all he wanted.

These racing pigeons were brought from the capital.

Even if he traveled a thousand miles to verify, all he would find was exactly what he wanted him to find.

The methods of the Changmen Guard—how could they...

However, before he could finish his thought, Le Wuya cast him a sidelong glance and sighed with genuine feeling: "Once you enter the Changmen, it's as deep as the sea."

Zong Yao started as if stung by a scorpion, rising abruptly to his feet, all the remaining color draining from his pale face!

Le Wuya held the thin paper scroll between his fingertips: "From top to bottom, the numbers on the left side of odd-numbered lines are written large, representing page numbers; the numbers on the right side are written small, indicating column numbers; even-numbered lines are entirely in small script, representing the character position from the top. I just wonder—is the master text the *Dou E Yuan* published by Wenying Bookstore in the twelfth year of Tianding, the *Huajian Ci* published by Wanmin Bookstore in the first year of Tianding, or the *Book to Sons* published by Jinling Bookstore in that same first year of Tianding?"

He smiled: "An official like you, transferred from outside—you've just switched from *Huajian Ci* to *Book to Sons*, haven't you? Not quite familiar with it yet."

Back then, when he had secretly established the Changmen Guard, he had used these three thin books as cipher texts for private communication.

Officials in the capital were entangled in complex networks, so they were divided into two lines, using *Dou E Yuan* and *Huajian Ci* respectively.

Officials transferred from outside were exclusively assigned *Book to Sons*.

This way, even if intelligence was intercepted, without the corresponding reference text, it could not be deciphered.

And these three books were all common leisure reading, utterly unremarkable when found on a desk.

Le Wuya had made a small gamble.

He bet that the Emperor had not changed the master texts.

Even if Le Wuya were dead, replacing them with suitable new master texts and secretly distributing them to the postmasters would be an enormously laborious undertaking.

Moreover, all the intricacies of this system, with his death in prison, were known to no one but the Emperor.

Then why would he bother going to all that trouble to swap in a new one?

Zong Yao's reaction was all the confirmation he needed.

"Who are you—" Zong Yao's face went pale. "What the hell are you—"

"I'm whatever you are." Le Wuya lifted his chin. "Same as you—I just got here earlier and turned out to be more useful."

Zong Yao's nails bit into his palms as he forced himself to stay calm.

Right.

First off, there's no way anyone comes back from the dead in this world.

This Wen Ren Ming Ke had been to the capital before, had rubbed shoulders with princes, and had been in the emperor's good graces.

He'd gone to the capital because he'd exposed a county magistrate for growing opium poppies...

He'd been fast-tracked from county magistrate to prefect...

Wei Yixian's downfall had been so swift, so neatly done...

He'd had smooth sailing at court, won the emperor's favor, and wrangled big military funds...

The pieces clicked together like beads on a string, and a suspicion began to form in Zong Yao's mind.

Drenched in sweat, he raised his head. His heart was churning, but suspicion and doubt still lingered:

If he was also a member of the Changmen Guard, why hadn't the emperor told him outright?

Wouldn't two of them have been twice as effective? ...

Zong Yao's eyes flickered, and then it hit him:

Right—the emperor was paranoid. He didn't trust Wen Ren Ming Ke's word alone, so he'd sent Zong Yao here to spy on him.

But that meant he himself—

At this thought, Zong Yao could no longer control himself. Cold sweat poured off him.

He'd barely gotten his footing, and now he'd exposed his identity right under the nose of the man he was supposed to be watching!

But why hadn't those postmasters said a word about it?

Zong Yao mulled it over, and then it all clicked.

The Dayu postal stations were where all the intel flowed through.

If a Changmen Guard sent word, they had to help.

But they might not know who that Changmen Guard actually was.

Moreover, even if they did, these people were sly old foxes—why would they help one Changmen Guard out another?

Zong Yao's head spun. He reached out and grabbed the table to steady himself, almost in tears.

He'd let the emperor down again!

As his spirit crumbled under the weight of defeat, a hand gently landed on his shoulder: "It's been a while since I saw His Majesty. The old man's doing well, I hope?"

"He's well..." Zong Yao's voice caught in his throat. He lowered his head, not daring to meet the other's gaze. "His Majesty's in good health."

Le Wuya curled his lip without a hint of shame.

Damn heaven—it never takes the bastards, so it's up to him to do the job?

But his voice was impossibly gentle: "Don't worry. I'm not going to report to the emperor that you screwed up. You're still young—a slip-up. Just don't let it happen again."

Zong Yao was too ashamed to lift his head: "I've been a fool."

"Don't sell yourself short. The emperor has good judgment—he chose you to be my helper. Surely you're not suggesting the emperor picked wrong?"

Zong Yao stammered, "I wouldn't dare!"

...Surely Prefect Wenren couldn't be gullible enough to actually think he'd come to assist him?

No—he had to know the emperor sent him to keep tabs on him. He just couldn't say it out loud.

Prefect Wenren... had let him save face.

At this thought, Zong Yao felt even more ashamed than before.

Seeing Zong Yao waver, Le Wuya pressed his advantage and launched into a perfectly straight-faced spiel: "I've been flying solo here, struggling on my own. Now that I've got a partner, I'm not so alone anymore."

"Many eyes are on me, so I can't move freely. Assistant Prefect Zong wears that mask very well—do keep it on. If you're short on money, men, or carrier pigeons, feel free to ask me for whatever you need."

"My knowledge of Tongzhou's intelligence is limited. I'll make a show of things out in the open while you work behind the scenes. Together, we'll get the job done for His Majesty."

His voice was dripping with sincerity: "Wenzhi, I truly need you."

Le Wuya's eyes gleamed as he watched Zong Yao's pale, flustered face.

He was certain that, having lived a second life, he'd once again gotten Zong Wenzhi in his pocket.

From the past to the present—whether the naive Zong Wenzhi or the grown version, he was fated to be played by him for life.

With that cool certainty, Le Wuya switched to a coaxing, honeyed tone: "So then, what's the real situation in Mi County?"

Author's Note:

Come trick, come ambush this young comrade in his twenties.

And ambush him twice over.