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Shen Xiling’s breathing grew increasingly erratic. She felt herself drawing closer and closer to the truth, yet at the same time, an unsettling unease lingered in her heart.
There was still one thing she didn’t understand.
Earlier, Bai Song had told her that Qi Yin was heading to Lujing but would first stop at Yue’an for nine days.
Why was he going to Yue’an?
Shen Xiling racked her brain, trying to figure out what needed his personal attention in Yue’an, but no answers came.
She was utterly confused and frustrated, yet she forced herself to calm down, closing her eyes again to think through everything she knew about Yue’an.
Yue’an was the most heavily fortified region in Huozhou, barely a hundred miles from Lujing. If troops needed to be mobilized, Yue’an was the most convenient location.
Troop mobilization… Who was the governor of Yue’an?
Struggling to recall, Shen Xiling finally remembered that the governor of Yue’an was also a member of the Han family—a distant branch—named Han Shouzheng.
Why would Qi Yin go to see the Hans? Weren’t they enemies?
The Hans…
Han Feichi…
Han Feichi was also part of the Han family, yet he was close to Qi Yin…
Could it be…
Shen Xiling’s head throbbed as if it might split open. Her vision swirled with chaotic colors. She felt so close to the truth, yet it remained just beyond reach, obscured by a thin veil.
Just a little more.
Just a little more.
Unable to hold back, she collapsed by Qi Yin’s bedside, gazing at the gravely ill man lying unconscious before her. Her heart was fragile yet unyieldingly strong.
She clutched his hand tightly, ignoring the pain as her freshly bandaged wound reopened, and leaned against his arm. Helplessly, she prayed in her heart:
Tell me. Just give me a hint.
Tell me what you’re thinking, tell me what you truly intend to do.
I don’t care whether you win or lose—I only care about your life, your safety.
Please, give me a clue.
Even the smallest one will do.
A clue…
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck Shen Xiling. She recalled a conversation from months ago when they were idly chatting in their mountain retreat in Shangjing, eating loquats.
At the time, she had pestered him about the reasons for his trip to Shangjing and his plans, but he avoided answering. Instead, he pointed to a bird perched on the loquat tree and asked her what kind of bird it was.
She had said it was a sparrow, but he disagreed.
“Is that so?” he had said. “To me, it looks like a yellow thrush.”
A yellow thrush…
Shen Xiling’s eyes flew open!
She abruptly sat up straight, the sudden movement tearing open her newly bandaged wound, fresh blood seeping through. But she felt no pain.
All she felt was an overwhelming sense of shock, panic, and an indescribably complex swirl of emotions.
This man… he… he…
Shen Xiling’s entire body trembled violently!
And at that moment, she heard his faint whisper once more.
Thinking he was about to wake, Shen Xiling excitedly grabbed his hand. But soon she realized it was just his delirium—he was still unconscious, showing no signs of waking.
She felt disappointed but leaned in closer to listen carefully to his murmured words. She could only catch fragments of broken speech.
He said, “Pen…”
Just as he had in the inn, he wanted a pen.
Back then, Shen Xiling had been utterly confused about the situation, but now she had pieced together many things. She finally understood why he needed a pen.
He wanted to write a letter… perhaps to convey some message to someone, or perhaps to arrange for someone to do something.
Even in his illness, this matter weighed heavily on his mind, which spoke volumes about its importance. Shen Xiling gazed at the pale, weakened man before her, her heartbeat quickening, her blood rushing through her veins.
Could I… make this decision for you?
What if… I’m wrong?
________________________________________
The sky at the end of May was a clear, cloudless blue. The city of Jiankang in Jiangzuo was awash with blooming flowers.
The imperial garden of the Liang Palace was always beautiful, but it couldn’t compare to the garden within the Empress’s quarters, which pleased the Emperor far more. Rumor had it that the Emperor adored geraniums, so the Empress’s garden was filled with them, their fragrant blooms creating a pleasant atmosphere. This drew the Emperor to visit often, spending hours in quiet repose. The palace staff spoke of the deep bond between the Emperor and Empress, saying they were a model couple even after years of marriage.
Their relationship was indeed harmonious. Four years earlier, the Empress had given birth to the Emperor’s eldest son, who was naturally showered with affection and named Xiao Yizhao. Shortly after his birth, he was designated as the Crown Prince.
The young prince was now four years old and still under his mother’s care. The Empress, dignified and wise, had a unique approach to raising her son. Even at such a young age, the prince already displayed diligence in his studies. It was said he rose before dawn every day to read, and he could now recite the Analects backward and forward.
The Emperor was delighted by his heir’s progress and thus visited the Empress’s quarters even more frequently. On this particular sunny day, with a gentle breeze blowing, he ordered a chessboard set up in the rear garden for a friendly match with the Empress. Meanwhile, the young Crown Prince, granted a rare break from his studies due to his father’s presence, was led by attendants to chase butterflies in the garden.
Five years had passed, and Xiao Ziteng had changed somewhat. His peach-blossom eyes retained their youthful charm, but the vitality in them had dimmed since he ascended the throne, likely due to the hardships of ruling. He had also grown a beard, perhaps to appear more mature and composed, though this only added to his weathered appearance.
The Empress, however, showed little sign of aging. While she was no longer as slender and graceful as in her youth, her newfound maturity lent her an air of regal dignity, making her even more fitting as the mother of the nation.
Xiao Ziteng played as White and, after casually placing a piece, turned his head to look at the happily playing Crown Prince. He remarked, “Zhao’er seems to have grown thinner lately. Don’t be too strict with him, my dear. He is still young and should enjoy the simple pleasures of childhood.”
Fu Rong studied the chessboard, holding a black piece thoughtfully. Hearing this, she smiled faintly and replied, “Your Majesty mustn’t blame me unjustly. It’s Zhao’er himself who is so diligent—it’s I who has been trying to persuade him to relax.”
With that, she placed her piece on the board and added, “He knows he must share his father’s burdens in the future, which is why he studies so diligently every day. Such filial piety shouldn’t be discouraged by me—it’s Your Majesty who must persuade him.”
These polished words brought a fleeting smile to Xiao Ziteng’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Burden-sharing?
How could he even be sure he’d remain seated on this throne? If Han Shouye succeeded in his coup, the empire would fall into another’s hands. By then, Xiao Ziteng would be dead, mocked by all under heaven, and Zhao’er would have no chance to display his filial devotion.
Empress Fu had maintained her position as Empress for years, her status unshaken even as countless beauties entered the harem. Beyond her powerful family and son, this stability stemmed from her ability to read Xiao Ziteng’s thoughts effortlessly. A mere wrinkle of his brow was enough for her to understand his concerns, making her indispensable to him.
She dismissed the attendants and glanced briefly at Su Ping, who was leading the young Crown Prince in chasing butterflies. Then, in a low voice, she asked, “Has there been trouble with the Left Chancellor?”
Empress Fu truly understood Xiao Ziteng deeply, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
Indeed, what troubled him now was the report he had received yesterday: the Left Chancellor had vanished near Qingyuan City, likely assassinated by agents sent by Han Shouye.
When Xiao Ziteng heard the news, he was enraged. Had Su Ping not been present, he would have overturned the table in the imperial study.
Qi Yin… He could die at any time, except now. Now, he absolutely could not.
Xiao Ziteng still needed him to accomplish many things.
His own surroundings were riddled with spies planted by Han Shouye—even Su Ping had been bribed. Every move he made was under scrutiny. He relied on Qi Yin to mobilize troops and handle affairs outside the palace.
Of course, Xiao Ziteng hadn’t bet everything on Qi Yin alone. For his upcoming journey to Xiaoshan, he planned to bring generals from both the Fu family and lower-ranking clans to ensure his safety. Qi Yin was merely one piece of the plan—but an indispensable one.
If Qi Yin failed to fulfill his role, all of Xiao Ziteng’s plans for Xiaoshan would need to be adjusted—or scrapped entirely.
Qi Yin must not die! He must not ruin the grand scheme!
Yet Xiao Ziteng was trapped within the palace walls, powerless to control events north of the Yangtze River. He felt anger—and helplessness.
Overwhelmed by frustration, the Emperor lashed out at inanimate objects. He swept the chessboard off the table, scattering the pieces across the floor. The sound startled the servants, who fell to their knees in fear, though none dared approach due to the Empress’s earlier command to dismiss everyone.
The young Crown Prince was frightened, thinking his father was angry at his playful antics. Tears streaming down his face, he clung to Su Ping’s arm and wailed, then whimpered that he wanted to return to his study to read.
As Su Ping turned to comfort the prince, a bold eunuch stepped forward to clean up the scattered pieces. Irritated, Xiao Ziteng prepared to kick the insolent servant away when he noticed a glint in the eunuch’s eyes. With a discreet motion, the eunuch slipped a note from his sleeve into the Emperor’s hand.
Xiao Ziteng’s expression shifted instantly.
Frowning slightly, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. Without hesitation, he quietly tucked the note into his sleeve.
In the depths of the palace, silently passing messages… Only the Great Liang’s Privy Council could achieve such a feat.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. Not even Su Ping, busy comforting the prince, nor Empress Fu, sitting opposite Xiao Ziteng, noticed anything.
By the time Su Ping had calmed the young prince and hurried over to attend to the Emperor, Xiao Ziteng pretended to still be furious. He declared the eunuch guilty of overstepping his bounds and instructed the Empress to punish him lightly before leaving in haste.
Once back in the imperial study, Xiao Ziteng dismissed everyone around him and retrieved the note from his sleeve. He unfolded it and read:
“Still proceeding southward; unwavering loyalty.”
The writing was bold and daring, sharp as a blade, yet elegant and refined, exuding a transcendent grace.
Xiao Ziteng’s eyes lit up!
This was Qi Yin’s handwriting.
He would never mistake it! Having grown up alongside Qi Yin, he was intimately familiar with his calligraphy—the strokes, the structure, the style—all unmistakably his. No one could replicate it perfectly.
Even the phrasing, even the tone—it was all exactly the same…
He must still be alive!
Xiao Ziteng clenched the note tightly in his hand and looked westward.
That was the direction of Xiaoshan.
His eyes shone with boundless hope.
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