Chapter Fifty-Three: The Second Meeting

“My lord, this…” Li Mi stood by Wen Shanyuan’s side, and naturally caught sight of the words written on the slip of paper. He hesitated, unsure whether to speak.

“These things can’t be forged. There’s even the Six Gates’ anti-counterfeit seal on the back,” Wen Shanyuan said, showing Li Mi the faint imprint on the reverse side.

This was a special seal made by the Six Gates, carrying a subtle fragrance. Without the secret formula, it would be sheer fantasy to reproduce it. Though the color was faint, once stamped, it was nearly impossible to remove. This was why Wen Shanyuan placed such faith in the origin of this message.

Yet, he did not answer Li Mi’s question directly—whether to go or not, he remained undecided.

Seeing Wen Shanyuan in a quandary, Li Mi offered, “Perhaps I should go instead. If you go in person and something happens… To prevent such a thing, let me meet the people from the Six Gates.”

Wen Shanyuan nodded reluctantly. “Very well. But be extremely careful. The men of the Six Gates are wolves in human skin—ruthless beyond even the Embroidered Uniform Guard of the court. Be vigilant.”

“Rest assured, my lord. I will handle this matter properly.” Li Mi bowed and left the command tent.

Even after Li Mi was gone, Wen Shanyuan’s unease lingered. He was about to call after him with more cautions when a peculiar scent wafted by…

“Strange, what is that smell? Could it be…” Wen Shanyuan mused, a glint of intrigue crossing his face.

Meanwhile, as Wen Shanyuan was busy handling affairs, Zhang Yuan was brought, under the friendly escort of two soldiers, to the bedside of Su Bai.

“You may leave. I am about to treat the patient and require quiet,” Zhang Yuan said, standing at the doorway as the two men tried to follow him in.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. If you run off, who will bear the blame?” one of them retorted sullenly.

Unmoved, Zhang Yuan simply turned and strode out of the room. The two soldiers, flustered, hurried after him, adopting a gentler tone. “Doctor, please understand our position. We’re just lowly guards. If you escape, we’ll be the ones to suffer for it.”

The first to yield gave his companion a look, and the other quickly caught on and apologized. “Sir, forgive my thoughtless words. Please don’t take offense at the likes of me.”

Seeing Zhang Yuan unmoved, the two finally agreed to his wishes.

Only then did Zhang Yuan’s expression soften. He reentered, closing the door behind him with a thud.

Inside, his gaze fell upon Su Bai lying on the sickbed.

“His breath is faint, the external injuries merely staunched for now. He doesn’t look quite as he did yesterday,” Zhang Yuan remarked in surprise.

As he pondered, a boy’s voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

“You’ve come, sir.”

The voice was weak, but not so grave as had been described. Zhang Yuan was not startled, though he glanced at the door. Seeing the two guards outside unmoved, he exhaled in relief.

He approached Su Bai, leaned in, and murmured, “What are you pretending for?”

Su Bai opened his eyes lazily. “I’ve been lying here so long my back is stiff.”

He stretched with vigor, and his joints cracked audibly.

Outside, the soldiers heard the noise and called, “Doctor, please don’t kill our young master in your treatment!”

Zhang Yuan shot Su Bai a glare, then said to the door, “If you interrupt me again, you can treat him yourselves!”

The two immediately fell silent and returned to their posts.

Inside the room, the two eyed each other warily.

Concerned for his granddaughter’s safety, Zhang Yuan could not help but begin, “You…”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say—he wanted to ask why Su Bai was feigning illness, but didn’t know how to begin.

“Sir, I know what you wish to ask. Please, hear me out,” Su Bai replied quietly, seeing Zhang Yuan’s hesitation.

Zhang Yuan sat quietly on the stool by the bed, listening.

Su Bai rolled over onto his back, gazing at the ceiling. His voice was soft as he spoke: “Though I am now in dire straits, not long ago…”

A look of nostalgia crossed his face. “A year ago, I lived without care in a grand estate, with maids and servants at my beck and call. Never did I imagine that a single decree from the Emperor would destroy my family.”

At this, even Zhang Yuan could not suppress a gasp. “You… you are the missing young prince?”

Though Zhang Yuan lived far from the capital, Su Qing was a hero known throughout the Ming realm. His sudden death a year prior, and the official announcement that his adopted son had rebelled, were widely discussed. Few believed the verdict, but as it was the Emperor’s will, it became an unalterable fact. For Zhang Yuan to deduce Su Bai’s lineage was no great feat.

“What are they babbling about in there? That old man never stops, and he told us not to make noise,” muttered the guards outside, believing it was only Zhang Yuan speaking. To their ears, Su Bai was deathly ill and could not be conversing.

Inside, Zhang Yuan’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. He could hardly believe a ten-year-old child could travel so far to such a remote place.

Sensing his doubt, Su Bai smiled slightly. “I know you find it hard to believe, but…”

He turned to Zhang Yuan and said solemnly, “It is the truth.”

“Why tell me all this? What good does it do you?” Zhang Yuan asked, perplexed. He was a solitary old man who could not even save his own granddaughter—how could he possibly help Su Bai?

“All those who brought you to treat me were once subordinates of my father.”

“Then isn’t that for the best? Why hide the truth?”

Su Bai clenched his fists, his eyes flashing with cold light. “Sir, perhaps you don’t know my true situation. To those uncles I’ve never met, I am but a tool—easily discarded once used.”

“What do you mean by that?” Zhang Yuan pressed, confused.

“You need not know too much. To do so might only bring you harm,” Su Bai replied, unwilling to share the whole truth.

Instead, he said, “Sir, I only ask that you deliver a letter for me.”

“A letter?” Zhang Yuan stared blankly. “Where is this letter?”

“I am unable to write just now. I need you to fetch paper and ink, and then deliver the letter to the Imperial Army sent to suppress the rebellion.”

Zhang Yuan lowered his eyes, his gaze evasive, clearly hesitant about Su Bai’s plan.

Having lived two lifetimes, Su Bai could easily sense Zhang Yuan’s mistrust.

He said nothing more, waiting quietly for Zhang Yuan’s response.

“Let us consider this carefully,” Zhang Yuan said after a long silence, choosing not to trust Su Bai and offering a vague excuse instead. After all, he had only met Su Bai twice—entrusting his granddaughter’s and his own safety to someone he barely knew was a daunting risk.

“Very well, you may go for now,” Su Bai said, understanding Zhang Yuan’s plight and not pressing the matter further. To force the issue now would only backfire.

Supporting himself on his knees, Zhang Yuan struggled to stand and said, “Be cautious, young master. This technique you use to mask your breath may fool those outside for now, but not for long. Your ruse will soon be exposed.”

“Thank you for your advice, sir. I understand,” Su Bai replied, knowing he could not keep up this charade forever—and that he would have to work harder to win Zhang Yuan’s help.

Creak—

As the door opened, the two guards poked their heads inside, all but ignoring Zhang Yuan.

“Ahem!” Zhang Yuan coughed loudly, drawing their attention.

The two snapped out of their daze and fawned upon him. “Ah, forgive us, sir! Shall we escort you somewhere?”

Zhang Yuan, looking weary, waved them off. “I’ll return alone. No need to follow.”

“But—”

Before he could finish, his companion clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Well, sir, please do as you wish. We have other duties to attend to as well,” he said, excusing them both.

Zhang Yuan was surprised at how easily they agreed, but left in silence.

Once he had gone, the hand dropped from the younger guard’s mouth.

“Why did you do that? If that old man escapes, we’ll both lose our heads!”

“Enough!” his elder brother snapped. “Did you drink too much last night? Don’t you see what’s happening?”

“What do you mean? Why are you always so secretive?” the younger protested.

“Come here, you dolt.” The elder pulled him behind a haystack.

“What now? You’re such a pain!” the younger grumbled.

The elder glanced around, then whispered in his ear.

“Will that really work?” the younger asked, frowning.

“Just do as I say. When have you ever had a bright idea? Go now,” his brother urged impatiently.

The younger, seeing no choice, agreed. “Fine, fine.”

He had only walked a few steps before turning back. “Brother, I made some porridge this morning and left it by our campfire. If you’re hungry, have some.”

His brother was caught off guard by this random remark.

“You rascal. Got it,” he replied with a laugh.

The sun had all but vanished; night claimed the land.

At that moment, Li Mi waited outside the Eastern Forest for the Six Gates’ envoy, but no one appeared. He took out the dart, gripped it tightly, and gazed ahead.

Less than a hundred paces away, dozens of eyes watched him hungrily—Wen Shanyuan and his men.

Just as Li Mi was about to destroy the letter, a faint scent of gunpowder reached his nose. Examining the dart more closely, he finally saw the truth.

He concluded that it must have been sent by a low-ranking bailiff from the Six Gates.

“Is it really necessary to mobilize so many experts just to capture a minor character like this?” asked Huo Youwei, a trusted and high-ranking officer under Wen Shanyuan.

He and the others had been secretly gathered by Wen Shanyuan, who had told them they were to capture an important hostage tonight.

But Huo Youwei’s doubts could not wait, so Wen Shanyuan revealed his intentions.

They had already waited half the night, but as midnight approached, even Wen Shanyuan began to suspect the Six Gates’ information was false.

“Maybe the Six Gates learned of our ambush and fled early,” Huo Youwei suggested.

“It’s possible. Let’s wait a bit longer,” Wen Shanyuan replied, though clearly wavering. But this was an opportunity he could not let slip. If he could capture a member of the Six Gates, he would gain an advantage—whether to fight or negotiate with the court, he could plan ahead.

The Six Gates were always tight-lipped and elusive; catching one of their men was a rare chance.

“If this man carries a third-rank bailiff’s dart, he must be highly skilled. But if he needs gunpowder to launch a message dart, he’s likely a relative or disciple of a higher-ranking officer—making him the most valuable target for capture.”

Silently, Wen Shanyuan prayed that their quarry would appear.

Meanwhile, lying flat on a crude wooden bed in the camp, Su Bai stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Zhang Yuan is not the lifeline I hoped for. If I wish to escape, I must find another way. Still, he is not entirely useless.”

A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he pondered his next move.

But then a trace of guilt flickered across his expression. “He’s but a pitiful man caught up in my troubles. Am I being too heartless?”

Yet, recalling Xi Menghe’s piercing gaze, Wei Mingyuan’s mocking smile, and his own bedraggled reflection by the stream on that stormy day, he steeled himself.

“If I can’t even harden my heart this much, how will I survive in this world? Su Bai, your hands are no longer clean—why waste sympathy on someone irrelevant?”

Footsteps sounded outside. Su Bai quickly employed his breath-concealing technique, suppressing all signs of life until he appeared little more than a comatose invalid.

Over the past days, he had secretly practiced the inner cultivation methods he learned in the Su family, combining them with those taught by Xi Menghe. To his surprise, he had regained a hint of inner strength.

He did not know how talented he truly was, but judging by his progress, he was likely above average. This only deepened his confusion as to why Xi Menghe had deceived him before.

Outside, hurried footsteps approached. Then, a pair of small, youthful hands slowly pushed open the door.