HMHSE - 33

Heading from Youzhou toward Chang’an, the weather remained clear, but winter had unmistakably settled in.

A small hand warmer rested in her lap, filling the carriage with a faint scent of incense drifting from the burner.

Shen Rong rubbed it gently, then lifted the carriage curtain to peer outside.

The carriage was currently traversing a mountain path, flanked on both sides by escorting soldiers from the military post.

In the middle rode a man clad in black, loosely gripping the reins of his horse, his sword resting across its back.

Shen Rong’s curtain was half-raised as she glanced back at the road they had come from, then at him. For three years, he hadn’t left Youzhou, yet here he was, already far beyond its borders.

As if sensing her gaze, Shan Zong suddenly turned his head: “What is it?”

Their eyes met directly. After a moment’s thought, Shen Rong said: “You’ve only left Youzhou once in three years—aren’t you worried?”

He asked: “Worried about what?”

He had arranged everything that needed arranging; otherwise, he wouldn’t have arrived just as she was about to leave.

Though Hu Eleven and Zhang Wei were likely exhausted from the preparations, complaining endlessly.

Shen Rong thought for a moment: “What about Youzhou’s security? Or those convicts in the underground cells—aren’t you concerned?”

“No issues,” Shan Zong replied confidently. “Security has been stable recently. As for that group, I’ve already said—they won’t run.”

“What if they find out you’ve left and no longer care about the four guarding them?”

“They’ll only run if they see me dead—it’s the only way they’ll be satisfied.”

This offhand remark made Shen Rong lift the curtain slightly: “Why? Do they have a grudge against you?”

Shan Zong chuckled: “Exactly—a blood feud.”

His tone was casual, his expression unrestrained, making the statement sound half-true, half-jesting. But recalling how Wei Shenwu constantly opposed him, it did seem like there might be some enmity.

“Young Mistress, we’ve arrived,” Dong Lai suddenly announced.

Shen Rong snapped out of her thoughts and looked ahead. The carriage had stopped.

Before them stood a Daoist temple.

Shan Zong dismounted: “We’re taking a shortcut. We’ll stay here tonight.”

Shen Rong gazed at the temple: “I know this place.”

He turned to ask: “Have you been here before?”

She stepped down, supported by Zi Rui’s hand: “Yes.”

They had taken this same shortcut when they first arrived; this was the temple she had stayed in then. How could she not have been here?

The soldiers entered the temple, and the abbot, upon hearing of their arrival, came to greet them. Recognizing Shen Rong’s carriage and the entourage of the Changsun family, he exclaimed: “Ah, esteemed guests return! My apologies for not welcoming you earlier.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned the soldiers entering this tranquil place.

Daoists were adept at reading people’s appearances. The abbot saw the leading man’s noble yet fierce demeanor—his brow lofty, his presence commanding, exuding an air that blurred the line between benevolence and menace. He was nothing like the gentle Changsun official who had visited before.

Originally, the abbot had intended to mention that weapons shouldn’t be brought into such a sacred place—but in the end, he dared not say a word.

After some arrangements, evening fell.

Shen Rong ate in the main hall and returned to her room as dusk deepened.

A lamp had already been lit inside. Upon entering, she realized it was the same room she had stayed in before.

Outside, the commotion hadn’t died down. So many people had arrived that the small temple couldn’t accommodate them all. Arranging rooms alone must have been a headache.

From within her room, Shen Rong heard Shan Zong’s voice: “Just assign me any room—I’m not particular.”

The abbot replied: “Understood.”

She glanced outside as Zi Rui entered with water to help her wash up.

“Young Mistress, the abbot inquired about your relationship with Commander Shan,” Zi Rui whispered. “He was concerned about assigning inappropriate rooms and offending you.”

Recalling Shan Zong’s earlier tone, Shen Rong dismissed it casually: “It doesn’t matter. I’m not particular either. Since he’s responsible for escorting me, there’s no need to worry about offending anyone.”

Zi Rui noted her words and handed her a warm towel.

By the time the outside grew completely quiet, night had fully descended.

Shen Rong felt fine sitting in the room or lying on the bed—at least at first. But when she closed her eyes, a sense of unease gradually crept in.

She opened her eyes, staring at the dark canopy above in the pitch-black room.

It was all because of her sharp memory. In this familiar place, she recalled the dream she had once had here.

On this very bed, her dream had been filled with the image of an indistinct man—broad shoulders, sweat trembling on their peaks, magnified endlessly before her eyes, reflecting her own hazy face in the candlelight…

Shen Rong sat up abruptly, pressing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart. She thought she must be going mad, recalling the dream again.

Barefoot, she stepped onto the cold floor and poured herself a glass of water from the table.

The water was cool, chilling her throat uncomfortably. She touched her arms, then returned to the bed, pulling out the scroll to distract herself. But without lighting a lamp, she simply sat there wide awake.

“This wretched place—I’ll never come back here again,” she muttered softly, putting the scroll away, slipping on her shoes, and stepping outside.

Zi Rui was still asleep in the outer room, oblivious.

Stepping out, Shen Rong was greeted by a cool breeze that dispersed her tangled thoughts.

Suddenly, two deliberate footsteps echoed nearby, as if to alert her.

She turned her head and saw the silhouette of a man under the moonlight. His close-fitting Hu-style attire accentuated his broad, straight shoulders and tightly cinched waist. His shadow stretched long and slanted on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” she instinctively asked.

Shan Zong’s voice was low: “It’s the middle of the night. I’m checking the perimeter as usual. Did you think my escort duty meant I’d just go to sleep?”

She didn’t respond.

“What are you doing out here?” Shan Zong had already heard her movements earlier—pacing back and forth in the middle of the night. Was she not planning to sleep?

“I can’t sleep comfortably in that room,” Shen Rong fabricated an excuse, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard.

Amusement tinged his words: “What’s uncomfortable about it?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“What kind of nightmare?”

Shen Rong glanced at him once, twice, then finally said: “I forgot.”

Shan Zong thought to himself: she hadn’t been frightened during their ordeal in the mountains, yet now she was too scared to sleep because of a dream. Looking at her thinly clad figure wrapped only in an outer robe, he refrained from laughing.

“So what? Are you just going to stand out here?” He reached out and pushed open a nearby door. “If you really don’t want to sleep in your room, sleep here. At dawn, I’ll have Dong Lai wake your maid to attend to you. No one will know. Otherwise, falling ill would truly be a nightmare—you wouldn’t even make it to Chang’an.”

Shen Rong took a couple of steps closer, eyeing the door: “Whose room is this?”

“Mine. Not in use anymore.” He tilted his head, gesturing for her to enter: “There are no other suitable rooms besides yours and this one. The rest are shared among multiple people.”

After speaking, he added with a low chuckle: “Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone.”

Whether he referred to her nightmare or the room switch was unclear.

Shen Rong glanced at the door, then at his looming figure, feeling another wave of discomfort rise within her.

He wanted her to sleep in his bed—what kind of scheme was this?

“Despicable…” she murmured softly.

“What?” Shan Zong had already heard her.

“Ask what? I know you heard me,” she whispered. “You’re just trying to toy with me—pretending to keep your distance while sending me to your bed. Who knows what snide remarks you’ll make later.”

Shan Zong stared at her, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

After a moment, he chuckled softly: “Then stop standing out here in the middle of the night where I can see you.” With one hand, he grabbed her arm and guided her back. “Forget what I said. Go back.”

Caught off guard by his grasp, Shen Rong realized how chilled her body had become from the wind. His hand enveloped her arm in warmth.

Before she could move, footsteps approached from afar, accompanied by voices: “Boss!”

Shan Zong reacted swiftly, switching his grip to pull her close and shove her into the nearest room.

As the door slammed shut, footsteps reached the outside. A soldier called out: “Boss!”

Shen Rong was pressed against the door by his hand. Casually, he asked: “What is it?”

Outside, the report came: “Someone has intruded! A group of soldiers!”

Shen Rong froze, then felt his hand tighten on her shoulder. Her entire upper arm was enveloped in his warmth, dispelling the chill. Unconsciously, she shivered but suppressed it.

“What soldiers?” Shan Zong asked.

The soldier replied: “It’s the local garrison. They barged in, saying any Youzhou troops passing through must be inspected. Should we prepare to respond?”

Shan Zong chuckled softly: “I know who it is. Don’t act rashly.”

With that, he pulled Shen Rong further inside, shoving her into a corner where an altar with candles stood, dedicated to the Three Pure Ones.

The space was cramped. Shan Zong pushed her in, yanking down the hanging curtains overhead.

Shen Rong didn’t know what she was leaning against, only that she was pressed into a narrow corner, his figure looming before her, immobilizing her. When the curtain fell, she was almost entirely pressed against him, as if embraced.

She had been held by him before in the mountain tunnels, but then her mind had been solely focused on escaping. This time, however, she could clearly feel the firmness of his shoulder and chest pressed against hers.

Her hands hung at her sides, brushing against his waist. Her fingers twitched, grazing his side, only to be firmly pressed down by him, rendering her immobile.

Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling. She recalled her dream, though it lacked his presence—now, his aura surrounded her entirely.

Truly despicable, she thought, biting her lip.

Shan Zong’s movements were swift and precise, responding to the sounds outside. To prevent her from being detected, he gave her no chance to move.

But now that she wasn’t moving, neither was he.

She was dressed too lightly, her collar exposing much of her pale neck.

In the dim light, even his keen eyes could see the subtle rise and fall of her skin.

His ears listened intently to the commotion outside, his gaze slowly shifting away.

In the silent moment between them, torchlight flared outside. A group of men stormed in, their footsteps thunderous—a large contingent had arrived.

“The leader of the Youzhou troops—is he in this room?” a voice asked.

The sound of unsheathing swords rang out in unison.

The voice continued: “Youzhou troops crossing our territory dare draw swords against us? Do you seek punishment?”

The door was abruptly forced open.

At the sound, Shen Rong saw Shan Zong glance at her, raising a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence.

In the next instant, the pressure against her vanished. Just as someone entered the room, he swept aside the curtain and stepped out.

The torchlight illuminated the doorway but didn’t penetrate inside. Through a gap in the curtain, Shen Rong could just make out the figure at the door.

It was a young man—tall, slender, with a pale face and narrow eyes. Clad in warrior’s Hu-style attire, he carried a broadsword, scanning the surroundings: “Where is the leader of this troop…?”

His voice cut off abruptly as his gaze landed on the curtain. His expression shifted: “Shan Zong?”

Shan Zong stood before the curtain, smoothing out his rumpled clothes and tightening his arm guards before glancing at him: “What? Meeting me for the first time today?”

The other man scrutinized him, the torchlight illuminating his narrow eyes, devoid of goodwill: “I received news that Youzhou troops crossed into my Tan Prefecture. So it’s you personally leading them? Have I misjudged? You’ve actually left Youzhou?”

Shan Zong replied: “Since I am personally leading them, what’s the issue? Must you, Zhou Zhenjiang of Tan Prefecture, inspect us in the middle of the night?”

“All troops passing through must be inspected, especially Youzhou troops. I have every right to check,” the man responded coldly.

Hidden behind the curtain, Shen Rong observed silently.

This area belonged to Tan Prefecture. She recalled that when Youzhou still had a military governor, it oversaw nine prefectures and two counties, with Tan being one of them.

Now, without a military governor, each prefecture governed independently, dividing military and administrative powers. Tan’s status was inferior to Youzhou’s, hence its military leader was merely called a Zhenjiang, unlike a militia commander.

She felt this General Zhou’s midnight raid seemed deliberately targeted at Youzhou troops.

Reflecting further, she realized it wasn’t so much about Youzhou as it was about Shan Zong.

But soon, the situation became unclear. Shan Zong took another step forward, blocking the gap: “A minor prefectural Zhenjiang doesn’t have the authority to inspect me.”

The man’s face darkened, a hint of green seeping through his pallor: “Since each prefecture governs independently, this isn’t Youzhou. Within my territory, I have the right to search everyone—including every room.”

Instinctively, Shen Rong gripped the hem of her robe. If the soldiers acted recklessly, he might actually do it.

Suddenly, a laugh echoed from outside. Shan Zong dragged over a Hu-style chair, placed it before the curtain, and sat down, lifting his robe. One hand rested on his sword, his eyes fixed on the man, a mocking smile playing on his lips: “You can try. If you dare search even an inch here, I won’t hesitate to let blood flow in this sacred Daoist place.”

The torches in the hands of the soldiers who had broken in wavered slightly, and they retreated half a step, knowing he never made empty threats.

Across the surrounding prefectures, who didn’t know the reputation of Youzhou’s militia commander?

The man’s expression shifted several times, weighing his options in silence.

Shan Zong remained seated, leaning on his sword, coldly observing him in a standoff.

After what felt like an eternity, nearly half the torch oil burned away, he finally waved his men to retreat. Looking at Shan Zong, he said: “I truly didn’t expect you to be here in person. Consider yourself bold enough to utter such harsh words to prevent my inspection.”

Glancing around, he added: “I hear there are other esteemed guests in the temple. I’ll leave it at this for today to avoid causing a scene.”

With a stern expression, he turned and walked out, his hand tightly gripping his broadsword, clearly seething with anger.

The soldiers holding torches followed him out.

The Youzhou troops, who had been on high alert, now began to sheathe their swords and regroup.

Outside, Dong Lai anxiously called out: “Commander Shan, Young Mistress…”

“No issue,” Shan Zong interrupted promptly.

Such a commotion would surely wake the entire temple. Once Zi Rui woke, she would inevitably discover their Young Mistress missing.

Shan Zong rose, leaning on his sword, and ordered outside: “Close the door. Dismiss.”

A soldier immediately shut the door, and the sound of retreating footsteps faded. The room grew dark again.

The curtain was lifted, and Shan Zong returned. Shen Rong remained standing in the shadows.

“Who was that?” she asked.

Shan Zong replied: “Zhou Jun, Zhenjiang of Tan Prefecture.”

Shen Rong let out a soft hum, thinking to herself: may she never encounter this person again. Aloud, she asked: “Does he also have a grudge against you?”

He chuckled: “Correct. I have many enemies.”

Shen Rong, having narrowly avoided disaster, glanced at his silhouette, recalling how he had blocked her earlier. Just as she was about to turn, she realized he was still obstructing her path, trapping her in place. Softly, she said: “Move aside.”

Shan Zong watched her slight movements in the dimness. Her lowered voice took on a different tone.

His voice softened in response: “Wait. Once the outside settles, I’ll leave first.”

True to his word, he waited silently for a moment, his face always turned toward her. Only after hearing his soldiers regroup and their footsteps fade did he turn and lift the curtain to exit.

As the door opened, Dong Lai’s voice sounded again: “Young Mistress, she…”

“Follow me,” Shan Zong commanded, and instantly, the last trace of movement outside ceased.

Shen Rong adjusted her clothing and hurried out, lifting her skirt as she walked briskly back to her room.

Closing the door behind her, she pressed a hand to her chest, finally exhaling in relief.