HMHSE - 32

Not long after the Ministry of Works officials arrived, many new faces appeared in Wangji Mountain.

Minister Liu led a group of subordinate officials into the mountain, systematically beginning the Ministry’s takeover procedures.

After inspecting the surrounding ridges, he turned to his side and remarked: “This is truly a once-in-a-century discovery. Who would have thought Youzhou harbored such a vast mine?”

Shen Rong walked beside him, merely smiling at his words.

That no one had foreseen it was precisely what made the Changsun family’s ancestral scroll so precious.

As they spoke, they approached the mining pit. After the previous collapse, the area had been cleared and now looked much the same as before.

Near the pit entrance, the group of convict miners squatted under close guard.

Today, they were all gathered in one place, heavily watched by soldiers to prevent any disruptions to these newly arrived imperial officials.

Minister Liu glanced at them a few times and asked Shen Rong: “These men appear to be serious offenders?”

Shen Rong nodded: “Yes, but Uncle Liu, rest assured—they’ve already been subdued and can be utilized.”

Minister Liu stroked his beard and chuckled: “I imagine they’ve been intimidated by the reputation of the Youzhou militia commander. Since coming to Youzhou, I’ve heard rumors that thanks to him, my niece was able to safely emerge from the mountain.”

Shen Rong couldn’t help but glance at him. His tone suggested he didn’t know the Youzhou militia commander was Shan Zong.

But if he heard the name, he would surely recall that it belonged to the former eldest son of the Shan family—her ex-husband.

Minister Liu suddenly turned to look around: “Where is Governor Zhao?”

Zhao Jinlian was present today, not far away issuing orders. Hearing the elder minister call out, he approached with a smile.

Minister Liu, with a kindly expression, glanced at Shen Rong and said to Zhao: “This niece of mine is the apple of Lord Zhao’s eye. Now that she’s about to return to the capital, I must ensure her safe departure. There are matters to discuss with you.”

Zhao Jinlian glanced at Shen Rong, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, though he maintained his smile: “Lord Liu, please speak.”

The two walked away, and Shen Rong did not follow. Instead, she took a few steps closer to the mining pit and peered down. The dark abyss reminded her of their harrowing experiences, so she quickly looked away.

Glancing around at the surrounding mountains, she realized she had grown somewhat accustomed to this range.

After all, no other mountain had tested her like this one.

A faint sensation of being watched pricked her awareness. Turning her head, she saw the familiar face among the guarded convicts—the one with the white scar over his left eye.

“I heard the little beauty is leaving?” Wei Shenwu smirked.

A soldier lashed out with a whip: “Insolence!”

Wei Shenwu winced under the blow but kept his mocking smile, his gaze fixed on Shen Rong.

Shen Rong ignored him: “Since I’m leaving, I won’t dwell on your past offenses. Do what you must, but stay out of my sight.”

“What offenses? That Shan fellow has his eyes on me,” Wei Shenwu grinned, baring his teeth. “It’s just a pity—I haven’t repaid you for saving my life yet.”

Shen Rong found his tone grating: “Who asked for your gratitude?” Without another word, she turned and walked away.

The soldier’s whip cracked again, and Wei Shenwu dodged with a laugh, though his expression soon darkened. He stared in the direction opposite to Shen Rong’s departure.

Shan Zong, dressed in black, his sword in hand, emerged through the forest from the opposite direction.

Wei Shenwu kept his gaze fixed on him. When Shan Zong approached, Wei Shenwu flashed a provoking grin: “Your little beauty is leaving. Could it be you’re reluctant to part, wearing such a grim expression?”

Shan Zong looked down at him, his thumb resting on the hilt of his sword: “What grim expression?”

Behind him, Jia Chen San stirred, pressing down on Wei Shenwu’s shoulder with his manacled hands and growling: “Shut up.”

Wei Shenwu seemed subdued, letting out a strange laugh before falling silent.

Shan Zong glanced at Jia Chen San: “Good that someone still remembers my words.” His thumb finally left the sword hilt.

From afar, the sound of carriages echoed—the Ministry of Works officials were already moving on.

Today, Zhang Wei was leading the mountain guard. Upon hearing that Shan Zong had arrived, he hurried over from the other side: “Boss, why did you come so late? Lady Jin… ah, no, Lady Changsun just left with the Ministry officials.”

Shan Zong had already heard. With his sword tucked under his arm, he walked past the mining pit, merely responding with an “Mm.”

Zhang Wei couldn’t detect any reaction from him—it seemed he had grown even more indifferent.

In recent days, during training, Shan Zong had been similarly aloof, yet everyone felt a heightened sense of fear, as if he had become harsher, leaving no room for slack.

Zhang Wei pondered this briefly and then caught up, pulling a notebook from his chest and offering it to Shan Zong: “Boss, this is what Governor Zhao instructed me to give you before he left. It’s an arrangement from Minister Liu—please decide accordingly.”

Shan Zong glanced at it. The notebook indeed bore the seal of the Ministry of Works. Taking it, he opened it.

Zhang Wei surreptitiously observed his expression. There was no visible change when he opened it, but after reading, his face shifted slightly.

Shan Zong’s eyes suddenly widened, glancing toward the direction of the mountain exit.

“Minister Liu has written an order, entrusting Chong Jun to escort the young lady back to the capital.”

On the road back to the city from the mountain, Zhao Jinlian sat astride his horse and informed Shen Rong beside him.

Shen Rong, also mounted, adjusted her veil upon hearing this and glanced at him in surprise, then looked ahead at Minister Liu’s carriage.

Zhao Jinlian seemed to sense her astonishment—he himself hadn’t expected that the so-called travel arrangements Minister Liu wanted to discuss would turn out to be this.

To reassure Lord Zhao, they couldn’t let the esteemed young lady of the Changsun family depart without proper escort—it was essential to arrange someone reliable.

Zhao Jinlian glanced around and coughed lightly: “Minister Liu likely only knows the militia commander by title, not as Chong Jun. I deliberately didn’t mention it.”

Minister Liu had come to temporarily oversee matters for his beloved disciple. As for who the Youzhou militia commander was, there was no need to inquire further.

Since he hadn’t asked, Zhao Jinlian naturally didn’t volunteer the information, especially since he had heard of the deep ties between Minister Liu and the Zhao family—speaking too much might lead to mistakes.

Shen Rong thought it understandable. Turning her head, she glanced back at Wangji Mountain. Since telling him she was returning to Chang’an, she hadn’t seen him.

Zhao Jinlian coughed again, trying to gauge her expression, but the veil obscured her features: “However, this matter depends on what Chong Jun says. After all, in the three years since he accepted the appointment as militia commander, he has never left Youzhou—it was agreed upon from the start.”

Indeed? Then perhaps he wouldn’t be available to escort her this time.

Shen Rong mulled this over, responding nonchalantly: “Thank you, Governor Zhao. I understand.”

As dusk fell, Shan Zong returned to the military post.

Dismounting, he still held the Ministry of Works notebook in his hand. Glancing at it again, he casually tucked it into his chest, his sword tucked under his arm, while slowly unfastening the arm guards on his sleeves.

“Boss?” Hu Eleven came over from the training grounds, walking up to his horse: “I heard from Zhang Wei that Lady Jin is leaving, and the Ministry has tasked you with escorting her back to the capital?”

His ears were sharper than anyone else’s—he had already caught wind of the news. Restless as ever, he was always the first to pop up.

Shan Zong removed one arm guard, shaking off the dust, and gave him a sardonic smile: “Does your head still hurt?”

Hu Eleven immediately stepped back cautiously, clutching his forehead: “I just think it’s odd—you’ve never left Youzhou.”

He remembered hearing about Shan Zong’s appointment when he first joined the military post three years ago. Though it was mentioned briefly, he recalled those eight words: “Forever stationed in Youzhou, never to leave Youzhou.”

In the three years since, he had indeed never seen Shan Zong step outside Youzhou—it was as if he was permanently stationed here.

Shan Zong took the sword from under his arm, a faint smile playing on his lips. Without a word, he turned and walked away.

Pushing open the door to his barracks, he pulled out the notebook from his chest and gave it a final glance before placing it, along with the sword, on the table.

It had indeed been three years since he last left Youzhou.

Escorting Changsun Shenrong back to Chang’an—never in his wildest dreams had he imagined such an arrangement.

…

While the mountain was busy with the handover, preparations had been underway at the official residence for several days.

By the day of departure, there was nothing left to pack.

The Changsun family’s servants weren’t planning to take everything, as Changsun Xin would still be coming.

The official residence now felt less like Shan Zong’s place and more like a secondary villa of the Changsun family in Youzhou.

The carriages and horses were ready. Guangyuan stood outside the gate, looking dejected.

How he wished that one day his master could return to the prosperous eastern capital of Luoyang alongside the noble lady, to the illustrious Shan family.

Now, the noble lady was leaving, and his master hadn’t even shown up—it seemed all hope was lost.

Just as he was about to sigh, Zi Rui and Dong Lai emerged one after the other.

Shen Rong, wrapped in her cloak, pressed a hand against the scroll in her chest, stepped out of the official residence.

As she climbed onto the carriage using a stool, she paused briefly, glancing toward the street. Pedestrians were few, no soldiers or horses in sight.

Zi Rui, sharp-eyed, asked: “Young Mistress, do you have something to wait for?”

Shen Rong withdrew her gaze, lightly pursed her lips, and boarded the carriage directly: “No, let’s go.”

She had already bid farewell to Minister Liu yesterday. Governor Zhao and his wife had intended to host a farewell banquet for her, but she politely declined.

Thus, today the carriage passed through the city’s main streets, accompanied only by the Changsun family’s entourage—just as it had been when she arrived.

It was still early; the city gates had not yet opened.

The carriage stopped beneath the city wall. Dong Lai approached to announce their presence.

Hu Eleven’s figure appeared atop the city wall. He called down: “Understood! We’ll open the gates immediately!”

The carriage curtain lifted, and Shen Rong glanced up at the city wall.

Hu Eleven dismissed the guards to open the gates, catching sight of her slightly protruding figure from above. Rubbing his nose, he felt an inexplicable sense of nostalgia.

At first, this “Golden Beauty” seemed haughty and untouchable, but over time, people had grown accustomed to her. Now, with her gone, both Youzhou and Wangji Mountain felt incomplete, as if something vital were missing.

Suddenly recalling something, Hu Eleven gazed toward the direction of the military post from atop the city wall.

Since returning from the mountain that day, Shan Zong hadn’t mentioned this matter. Hu Eleven wondered if he would come today.

He thought: Likely not. After all, for three years, he hadn’t left Youzhou—it was a solemn promise made at the time of his appointment. Given his boss’s resolute nature, he probably wouldn’t make an exception this time either.

Below, the carriage had already begun to slowly pass through.

The sky was half-blue, half-gray. A cold northern wind swept across the wilderness, buffeting the sides of the carriage. The empty official road was so quiet that even the cries of southbound geese were absent.

The carriage curtain fluttered, and Shen Rong felt the biting cold. Exhaling, she noticed faint wisps of white mist curling from her nose.

Winter had arrived.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves thundered in the distance. A group of riders approached like lightning, encircling the Changsun family’s convoy front and back.

Dong Lai reacted swiftly, drawing his horse to the front, nearly unsheathing his sword. Upon recognizing the approaching group, he sheathed his weapon and retreated.

Shen Rong lifted the carriage curtain. Outside, soldiers from the military post, clad in full armor, surrounded them on both sides, blocking their path. From behind, a man in tightly fitted Hu-style clothing, sword in hand, spurred his horse forward, heading straight for her carriage.

Shen Rong kept her eyes fixed on him until he reached her, confirming it was truly him.

Her fingers brushed the curtain; though surprised, her face betrayed nothing: “What is this about?”

Shan Zong halted before her carriage: “To escort you.”

“How?” Shen Rong raised an eyebrow, looking at him: “I heard you haven’t left Youzhou in three years. If you’re only accompanying me partway, there’s no need for such trouble.”

From the moment they set off, she hadn’t expected him to come.

With that, she moved to lower the curtain.

A hard, cold object stopped her hand—Shan Zong’s sword scabbard extended, pressing against her hand, preventing her from closing the curtain.

“It is troublesome—I’ve only managed to arrange this now.” His face, in the dim light, revealed no trace of a smile, though perhaps there was a hint in his tone: “To escort you back to Chang’an.”

The sword scabbard withdrew. Shen Rong, momentarily taken aback, let her hand drop, and the curtain fell.

As the curtain descended, his figure turned his horse’s head, clearing the way beside them.

Above the city wall, Hu Eleven shielded his eyes, carefully observing the scene, utterly astonished.

The boss was actually stepping out of Youzhou?

All for Lady Jin!