Author: Ru Si Wo Wen

Translator: Xuannie

Editor: Adrian S. Mei

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Summer solstice in the eighth year of Emperor Yonghe’s reign. Somewhere on the outskirts of the capital of Great Xia, where trees rustled like the waves of a green ocean as the breeze swept through the forest, a shrill cry pierced the night. A plain-looking, black bird shot out of the greenery towards the clouds. It swooped past the gates of Chang’an, past its bustling streets, and landed in the grand commandant’s residence—right on the shoulder of a man in black who stood, handsomely poised, in a courtyard.

 

Qin Zhao pulled off the bamboo tube tied to the bird’s foot and scanned through the contents of the letter within before stepping up to the study. The air was thick with sandalwood incense. Reclining behind a low table was a young man clad in inky blue brocade, whose gaze was cast downwards at the lychees he was peeling. The vibrant skin of the fruit was a startling crimson against his pale fingers.

 

“You’re just in time,” said Chu Mingyun without looking up. “Want some?”

 

Qin Zhao handed the letter to him. “Chen Xuanwen’s been found dead.”

 

Chu Mingyun’s fingers faltered as he shot a look at his right-hand man. He wiped his hands clean on a handkerchief and accepted the letter. He scanned its contents lazily, his facial expression unmoved by the news. When he placed the letter on the table, he let out an ambiguous chuckle. “I owed Minister Chen for his aid in my political career, so I sent the shadow guards to ensure his safe return home. To think he still met his end…”

 

“My apologies, milord. We’ve failed you.”

 

“No need. It’s not like you could’ve stopped a suicide.”

 

At the time of his death, Chen Xuanwen was in his seventies. He had served three emperors and garnered much respect from fellow courtiers over a long, illustrious career. He had finally requested to retire after serving as Minister of War and returned home not long ago. The emperor bestowed upon him generous gifts, and countless courtiers bade him farewell—a smooth end for a smooth career. The shadow guards that escorted him, after a successful mission, were beginning their return to the capital when the news reached them.

 

The former minister’s suicide was unexpected, to say the least. The shadow guards hurried back to his residence only to find a bloody mess in an otherwise empty room. The local officials had taken his body away for an examination and subsequent burial. The shadow guards gathered that, on the night of his death, the old man was heard belting out songs drunkenly. When he suddenly fell silent, concerned neighbours came knocking. They were greeted with the sight of his corpse, sword in hand, lying on a floor awash with blood. The old man had apparently slit his own throat. Someone claimed to have seen a message written on the wall in blood.

 

May my death prove my innocence, for I could suffer their torment no more

 

“Did he truly write those last words?” asked Chu Mingyun.

 

“Our men didn’t see anything when they returned to the house, and they were unable to verify the claim. The local officials are keeping quiet about this. Besides announcing Chen’s death, they haven’t shared any other information.”

 

Chu Mingyun scoffed. “They were likely worried the sudden death of a man of Chen’s status would draw unwanted attention from Chang’an. Since it’d take time before someone was sent to investigate, they’ve decided to cover it up as quickly as possible. Isn’t that what they’re best at doing? Pretending that everything is fine?” He leant back on his chair, fingers tapping the letter. “There’s no smoke without fire. Those words do sound like something Chen would say. I believe he could have written the message, but someone took the pains to remove it because it was too obvious a clue.”

 

Qin Zhao blinked. “You also suspect something’s amiss, then?”

 

“Did our men see any of Chen’s kin over there?”

 

Qin Zhao thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Based on the report, no.”

 

“That makes sense.”

 

“What does?”

 

“If we read Chen’s message closely, it’s clear the suicide wasn’t the result of a personal grudge. He served in the courts for decades. He had countless students and many more who were indebted to him in ways large and small. Let’s not forget the many secrets he was privy to. Anyone whom he served would have gained a terrible edge at court.” Chu Mingyun’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Alas, they failed to win him over with words or bribery and thus resorted to threats against his family. It’s nothing new.”

 

“If that’s true, we must act,” said Qin Zhao.

 

“Well, we cannot be sure if he’d made arrangements for his family or if they’ve been abducted. Let’s have the men still stationed there see what they can weasel out of the local officials.”

 

“As you wish.” Qin Zhao added after a moment of thought, “There’s another thing that I realise in hindsight might be relevant. If you remember, we found Chen was being followed by another group during his journey home. Our men have spotted them in Chang’an again, and we can be sure that the group answers to the Su family.”

 

“Su?” Chu Mingyun frowned. “As in, Su Shiyu?”

 

Qin Zhao nodded.

Great Xia had been founded over a century ago. After a revolt led by its first and only grand chancellor, the office was removed and never reinstated. Of the three ducal ministerial offices, only two remained. The grand commandant administered military affairs, whilst the grand censor assisted the emperor in governance. The current emperor was young and ineffectual; the reins of the empire were in the hands of Chu Mingyun, the Grand Commandant, and Su Shiyu, the Grand Censor. Thus, the court was divided into two camps—the Chu faction and the Su faction.

 

“You think Su Shiyu was behind this ‘suicide’?” Chu Mingyun silently eyed the other man. “Seems unlikely.”

 

Qin Zhao said after some thought, “You’re right. Su Shiyu’s known by all as a virtuous man. This vile act seems beneath him.”

 

Chu Mingyun chuckled. “He acts virtuously for show. How would you know if he was truly virtuous?”

 

“What do you actually think, then?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Chu Mingyun. “I hardly know the man.”

 

Qin Zhao nearly rolled his eyes.

 

“In any case, there’s something else I’m more curious about.” The corners of Chu Mingyun’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “The Censorate is staffed with members of the court. Su Shiyu couldn’t have sent them to run his personal errands. So, who was following Chen Xuanwen?”

“We don’t know. Thrice, we nearly caught them, but they slipped through our grasp.”

 

“And of the three times, we revealed ourselves to them just once.” Chu Mingyun silenced Qin Zhao with a slight wave of his hand before the latter could apologise. “I trained the shadow guards myself. I know what they are capable of. Do you genuinely think some people Su Shiyu hired off the street could make a fool of our men?”

 

Qin Zhao was quiet as realisation dawned on him.

 

Chu Mingyun smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Is this colleague of mine backed by powers from beyond the court? Or perhaps, like me, he’s secretly built a small army of his own. How has this knowledge eluded me for so long? I suppose I know far too little about him. For all I know, the little I do know is but an act.”

 

“What are you trying to say?”

 

Chu Mingyun stopped smiling. The lychee pit between his fingers exploded into fine powder with the faintest of pressure. “Dig up everything on him. Leave no stone unturned. After all, he’s currently my biggest rival.”

 

“However, if Su Shiyu’s got the backing of powerful forces, we cannot afford to arouse his suspicion and create more trouble.”

 

“You’re right. We–”

 

A loud knock interrupted him. The doors slid open with a creak. It was Ruji, one of the courtesans under Chu Mingyun’s care. The young woman glided in. She bore a red tray towards Chu Mingyun and bowed to him.

 

“Milord, you must be tired after a day’s work. Try as I might, I cannot ease your burdens, but I’ve made you some soup in an attempt to soothe your wearied body. I hope it’s to your liking.”

 

Chu Mingyun hummed and motioned with his hand. “Set it there. You may leave.”

 

Ruji laid the tray down but did not leave. She threw a glance at Qin Zhao, whose eyes were downcast, before walking around the table in a sweet waft of air. Biting her lips gently, she placed a tender hand on Chu Mingyun’s shoulder. She leant in and spoke into his ear, “I spent hours brewing this just for you, milord. I’m not leaving till I see you finish it.”

 

Chu Mingyun turned to her. He cradled her chin and traced her lip with his finger. She coyly looked down, but before those lips could form a smile, she paled. She gasped soundlessly as a scream caught in her throat. Chu Mingyun tightened his grip around her neck, his eyes dispassionate.

 

“Did I not make myself clear?”

 

Trapped in a stranglehold, Ruji was unable to form a single word. Her body trembled as she nodded her head furiously. Chu Mingyun finally released her.

 

After she had fled the room in tears, he briefly studied the contents of the bowl before emptying it onto a potted plant. He shot a look at Qin Zhao. “Spit it out.”

 

“You seem popular with the ladies,” the man said with his emotionless face.

 

“You seem to have forgotten my temper despite all our years living and training together. Stop teasing me or I’ll beat you into a pulp,” Chu Mingyun grumbled, leaning back against his chair. “As my influence in court grows, so does the number of eyes watching me as well as their level of desperation. The women they’ve planted in my household over the years are all agents hungry for information, not to mention a drain on my coffers with how much they spend. If I had the choice, I’d rather spend the night staring at myself in the mirror than have them in my bedchamber.”

 

“What will you do about them?”

 

“A spy’s life comes cheap. I’ll rid myself of all of them one of these days.” Chu Mingyun rubbed his brow. “Where were we?”

 

“We were talking about Su Shiyu,” said Qin Zhao. “I don’t think it’s possible to monitor his comings and goings and the men he’s got working under him without his knowing.”

 

“I’ve got no doubt about that.” Chu Mingyun pondered the situation. “But maybe we can make sure he can’t do anything about it.”

 

“Can we?”

 

Chu Mingyun eyed the empty bowl on his table, then burst out laughing. “I suppose there’s no time better than now.” He sat up and looked at Qin Zhao. “Have rumours of my preference for men spread throughout the capital before the court session tomorrow morning. I don’t care how you get it done. Just make sure Su Shiyu hears of it.”

If the unwed ladies of Chang’an were asked who the most eligible bachelor in the capital was, they would unanimously point to the current grand censor—Su Shiyu. He hailed from a respectable family that had produced three generations of decorated military men. His father, Su Jue, had been entrusted by the previous emperor to care for his son and heir. As one of the ducal ministers, Su Shiyu himself had the love and trust of the young Emperor Yonghe. He was an unassuming gentleman who conducted himself in a soft-spoken and courteous manner. Understandably, eager parents continued to approach him with offers of their daughter’s hand despite countless polite rejections.

 

As far as Chu Mingyun was concerned, Su Shiyu’s mild demeanour was a way to place an appropriate distance between himself and the world; his politeness was but a cover for his aloofness. Chu Mingyun was not interested in dealing with such men. Despite being colleagues for many years, despite the unceasing conflict between their factions, the two men had never shared more than a passing word.

 

This would change one morning. After a court session, Chu Mingyun immediately spotted the striking form of the capital’s most eligible bachelor amidst the stream of officials leaving the main assembly hall.

 

“Pray, a moment of your time, Lord Su.”

 

Su Shiyu stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Yes, Lord Chu. How may I help?”

 

“Well…” Chu Mingyun walked up to him. “I’ve had these thoughts for a long time, and I’ve decided that you should know.”

 

“Do tell.”

 

Chu Mingyun took a deep breath, then took Su Shiyu’s hand. “Will you honestly hear what I have to say?”

 

“Why, of course. Pray, speak frankly.” Su Shiyu tried to pull his hand away, but Chu Mingyun’s grip only tightened. He glanced at the passing officials and smiled politely. “Rumours of Lord Chu’s penchant for men have been spreading in the capital. I believe we should not encourage them further.”

 

“Is that how you truly feel?” A look of sorrow flickered across Chu Mingyun’s face before it was replaced by a grin. Before Su Shiyu could react, Chu Mingyun held him in both hands. “Shiyu, I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

 

The officials streaming around them stumbled.

 

Su Shiyu stiffened before gracing the grand commandant with yet another polite smile. “Lord Chu, do not jest–”

 

“You don’t believe me?” Chu Mingyun tightened his grip. His eyes shone with earnestness. “May heaven and earth be my witness. You’re the only one whose hand I want—ahem—the only one with whom I wish to spend the rest of my life. Will you say yes?”

 

“I will not,” Su Shiyu replied with equal earnestness.

 

“I thought as much. That’s why I didn’t have the courage to confess my feelings for you.” Chu Mingyun was undeterred. “But I’ve changed my mind. I’ve realised that I have to try even if I end up suffering your rejection.”

 

“Have you mistaken me for someone else?” the grand censor said smilingly. “We’ve always been fellow courtiers, not a pair of star-crossed lovers.”

 

Chu Mingyun stared into his eyes. “Are you cross that I haven’t treated you well enough?”

 

“I’ve made no such insinuation. You read too much into my words.” Su Shiyu yanked his hand free.

 

“I don’t blame you for doubting my affection. I shall prove myself to you. Shiyu, you’ll come to know that my love for you is true.” Under his sleeve, he pinched himself so that his eyes brimmed with emotion.

 

Su Shiyu’s smile widened. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke, again, in a gentle tone. “Are you perchance sick?”

 

“I am,” said Chu Mingyun without skipping a beat. “I’m lovesick.”

 

“By your leave.” Su Shiyu gave a curt nod and walked off.

 

“I’ll be here waiting when you have a change of heart.”

 

Chu Mingyun’s gaze lingered on the grand censor until he disappeared from view. The lovesick expression was replaced by a smirk. He was unconcerned with the strange looks that the passing officials gave him. As he reflected on the confrontation, he concluded that his acting had been slightly over the top but nonetheless effective. As he left the palace, his footsteps seemed a bit lighter.