The corners of the maple leaves outside the palace path, stained with a crimson edge, swayed and drifted past the sword’s edge, falling onto the ground where Qin Duoye and Qingxuan stood facing each other.
Qin Duoye gave a light chuckle. “Lord Qingxuan jests. How could I possibly be a spy from the northern borders?”
A single chuckle effortlessly broke the tense, sword-drawn atmosphere.
Composed and at ease, completely unfazed by the razor-sharp blade mere inches from his throat, Qin Duoye bent down, picked up a maple leaf from the ground, held it up against the sunlight, and examined it closely as though he were carefully inspecting the fleeting life of the later Great Wei through a single blade of grass or tree.
“To be ashamed, I have been confined within a humble study since childhood, ignoring the affairs of the world and single-mindedly reading the books of sages. It is a pity that I was born dull-witted and only managed to scramble together a menial job to make a living. I have not read the biographical documents of the Holy Emperor, but that does not mean I harbor malicious intentions.”
Qin Duoye’s voice was soft, yet to Qingxuan, it felt as heavy as a thousand jun. That tone drifted in the air like a feather; if anyone were to touch it, they would surely be crushed right down to the ground.
“Qingxuan, you can completely believe that there is no one in this world more devoted to the Great Wei than I am, no one who loves the mountains and rivers of the Great Wei more than I do, and no one who wishes more than I for it to endure for a thousand generations.”
A thousand generations.
Qingxuan’s hand gripping the sword trembled slightly. For some reason, from the seemingly frail civil official before him, he felt a sort of inexplicable, oppressive aura, leaving him unable to muster even a shred of rebellious intent.
An inexplicable urge to submit, to assist, and even to kneel welled up within him.
“What are you standing around for?” Seeing that the young guard seemed dazed, Qin Duoye shifted his tone, reverting to his easygoing demeanor.
He reached out, pushed aside the blade still resting against his neck, took a step forward, and tucked the maple leaf into the half-armor crossed over Qingxuan’s chest, saying softly, “I am willing to be the emperor’s sharpest blade. With unwavering loyalty, I serve only one master.”
“Don’t panic. If you are uneasy, you are entirely free to go back and relay our conversation to Qin Xuan…” Qin Duoye paused slightly. “…relay it to the Emperor. Whether I am a spy or not, let him decide.”
With a complicated expression, Qingxuan glanced at Qin Duoye and slid his soft sword back into its scabbard.
Qin Duoye chuckled lightly and held out a hand. “Lead the way, please.”
And so, for the rest of the journey, no matter how Qin Duoye tried to tease the young guard, Qingxuan remained completely silent. When he grew annoyed by the questioning, he simply quickened his pace.
Qin Duoye smiled faintly.
Why did this kid look like he had been driven to autism by him?
So, Qin Duoye quickened his pace, striving to keep up with Qingxuan’s flying strides. “Lord Qingxuan, are you the leader of the Dark Robe Guards? When did this organization first appear?”
“Qingxuan?”
“Little Qingxuan?”
“Lord Leader?”
Qingxuan abruptly halted, slammed a hand over Qin Duoye’s mouth, looked around in alarm, and lowered his voice to say rapidly, “Shut your mouth! I am not the leader of the Dark Robe Guards. If you talk nonsense like that, we will all lose our heads!”
“Is that so?” Qin Duoye feigned surprise. “Are your heads really that hazardous?”
“Our leader is His Majesty!”
“Qin Xuanxuan?” Qin Duoye was quite satisfied with this answer; it seemed the young emperor still had some genuine competence to his name.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Seeing Qin Duoye boldly calling the Emperor by his given name as if he were utterly fearless, Qingxuan felt his soul practically leave his body.
“It is fine, do not worry,” Qin Duoye patted Qingxuan’s shoulder to signal him to resume leading the way. “I have called him that right to his face, and my head is still safely attached to my neck.”
Once you get thrown into prison, it is hard to say whether you will live or die, Qingxuan thought to himself. Daring not speak another word to Qin Duoye, he kept his head down, leading the way while watching his nose and contemplating his heart.
The guards at the entrance of the Court of Judicial Review saw Qingxuan, bowed respectfully, and pushed the doors open.
A gloomy, bone-chilling cold wind seeping up from the depths of the earth pierced through clothing straight into flesh and blood, accompanied by occasional faint, gasping groans of agony. The corners of the walls bore cracked fissures and dark, congealed bloodstains.
Qin Duoye had been to this place in his past life, but this was his first time entering as a prisoner, so he curiously looked around.
Creepily, Qingxuan felt as though this man were treating the imperial palace as his own home.
He remained calm through every twist and turn as though no matter how massive the storm approaching him was, he would not even blink an eye.
“Fan Jun,” Qingxuan knocked on the only decent-looking door in the place, “a new prisoner.”
Inside, a young man named Fan Jun excitedly flung the door open. “Good heavens, come in, come in! Finally, a guest to torture—no, to entertain.”
Qin Duoye: “……”
What you just said was torture, right?
With a sharp whack, Fan Jun slammed a ledger with blood-stained edges onto the table. “Sign and press your fingerprint!”
Going with the flow, Qin Duoye picked up the brush, gave a grand sweep across the paper to write a horizontal stroke, then suddenly paused. Rather awkwardly, he added a dot to it, wrote a character, and looked up. “Is pressing just a thumbprint fine too?”
He had almost written the surname Qin on it, but fortunately restrained himself just in time, though he did not even know how the name of this current body should be written.
Carefree, Fan Jun leaned back into his chair with a thud and nodded. “Anything is fine. There is red paste over there, go press it yourself.”
Nimbly, Qin Duoye pressed his thumbprint.
Now it was Fan Jun’s turn to widen his eyes and give a thumbs-up. “Good heavens, this is the first time in my life I have seen someone enter prison so neatly without crying or making a fuss. I respect you as a real man.”
Looking him up and down like he was some rare specimen, Fan Jun turned back to Qingxuan and asked, “What crime did he commit to actually trouble Lord Qingxuan to personally escort him?”
Stiffly, Qingxuan spat out two words: “Regicide.”
Fan Jun tumbled right out of his chair with a loud crash.
Scrambling up in a panic with his mouth wide enough to stuff an egg, he looked at Qin Duoye’s breezy composure and sighed, “Good heavens. This warrior has actually managed to stay alive until now.”
Examining the signed ledger for a moment, Qin Duoye handed it back and took the initiative to ask, “What is next?”
Fan Jun chuckled, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Good heavens, regicide is no small crime, hahahaha! Let me think about what kind of torture instruments to bring out to interrogate him… Oh right, let me find you a death row cell first, hehehe.”
Qin Duoye: “……”
This kid looked like a lunatic too.
Good heavens, how many years had passed? Why did the officials in the current imperial court feel either as clueless as Qingxuan or as unhinged as Fan Jun?
Frowning, Qingxuan offered a reminder: “Fan Jun, His Majesty’s exact words were to lock him up and that His Majesty would interrogate him personally. Do not go doing anything extra.”
Flipping mindlessly through another pictorial catalog of torture devices without even raising his head, Fan Jun replied, “I know, I know. I am just looking for a method to drive someone crazy without actually laying a hand on them…”
Qingxuan: “……”
Shaking his head, Qingxuan prepared to leave when his gaze suddenly swept over the maple leaf tucked into his chest, and his footsteps paused.
Thinking of Qin Duoye’s sheer audacity back in the Zhangzhang Palace daring to pull off a stunt right under the emperor’s nose and his master’s unimaginable tolerance, Qingxuan suddenly felt he ought to offer one more warning.
He turned back, snatched the catalog out of Fan Jun’s hands, and said solemnly, “His Majesty’s attitude has not been finalized yet. Treat Scholar Wen properly, understood?”
With a reluctant click of his tongue, Fan Jun agreed unenthusiastically.
Picking up the keys, he said to Qin Duoye, “Let us go.”
Qin Duoye gave an acknowledgment, but his gaze turned toward Qingxuan, who was still standing anxiously at the entrance. He offered a reassuring smile. “Go back and report your mission; I will be fine.”
Inside the Zhangzhang Palace.
Qin Xuanxuan sat alone behind the dragon-carved desk, suddenly feeling that the hall was far too quiet.
He stroked the shaft of the wolf-hair brush in his hand, lowering his gaze to fixate on the floor in front of the hall. Wisps of agarwood smoke drifted curl by curl from the Boshan censer, scattering into the room.
Gou Hongyang was busily gathering up the scattered red sheer silk and exquisite pure-gold shackles into a pile, then stood quietly to one side with his head bowed. His Majesty had been spacing out for well over a quarter of an hour, and holding these hot-potato-like items, Gou Hongyang did not dare step forward.
Unable to help himself, he spoke up: “Your Majesty…”
Coming back to his senses, Qin Xuanxuan glanced over and said deliberately, “Such petty tricks born of your own accord.”
With a dull thud, Gou Hongyang dropped to his knees on the ground. “This slave deserves death.”
“Throw it out and burn it,” Qin Xuanxuan withdrew his gaze. “Let this be the last time.”
Receiving his command, Gou Hongyang scrambled up and hurried out of the hall.
Watching a strip of red silk slip out from Gou Hongyang’s embrace, Qin Xuanxuan’s mind suddenly flashed with that figure wrapped in sheer silk and gold chains.
Snow-white skin shimmered faintly amidst the fabric, flickering in and out of sight. Moving higher, there were those ink-drop-like eyes that were like a whirlpool, effortlessly pulling people in to drown them.
Recalling those extraordinarily unforgettable eyes, some voice seemed to traverse a hundred years of time to echo in his ears.
It was precisely the scene that Qin Xuanxuan, no matter how hard he tried to imagine it hundreds of times in his childhood, could never simulate.
It was recorded in the Biographies of the Martial and Sincere Holy Emperor in the Book of Wei: Emperor Chengshi of Wei, Qin Duoye, took the head of the Xiongnu Shanyu of the northern borders with a single arrow amidst tens of thousands of enemy troops.
“In chaotic times since ancient times, heroes always cherish heroes. Yet historically, it is always heroes who kill heroes.” [1]
“Good riddance, I will not see you off.”
These words had popped out so inexplicably and inappropriately.
The trigger turned out to be a pair of profound eyes.
“Wait.” Qin Xuanxuan called out, stopping Gou Hongyang.
“Do not burn it. Pack it away and store it instead.”
How could this be?
For once, Qin Xuanxuan hesitated. Originally, he should have simply had Wen Qinghe killed right after using him today.
Yet now, he seemed to have acquired some other desire. He somewhat wanted to see those eyes cry.
“Chixuan,” Qin Xuanxuan said softly.
A dark shadow materialized instantly in front of the dragon desk, dropping to one knee.
It was similar to Qingxuan’s black martial attire, except that the patch of fabric embroidered with honeysuckle cloud patterns across the chest was a deep, dark red.
Qin Xuanxuan issued his command: “Investigate Wen Qinghe using the highest clearance level. Within a day, I want to know who he has been frequently contacting recently, where he has gone, what he has said… Hmph, to dare scheme right against me.”
“Understood.”
Chixuan vanished. A short while later, Qingxuan returned to report on his mission, recounting the conversation along the road word for word to Qin Xuanxuan.
“He really said that?” Qin Xuanxuan raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Hahaha…” Qin Xuanxuan could not help laughing, raising a hand to shield his brow as he laughed in a low voice—a muffled sound that seemed to rumble straight from his chest.
A thousand generations?
The Great Wei would not have a thousand generations left.
Wen Qinghe, oh Wen Qinghe.
What if I were to tell you that I want to crush the Great Wei into ruins in this very generation, letting the Qin family’s dynasty perish in this lifetime?
What would you do then?
Would you cry?