The soup and rice brought to the doorway had long since gone cold and hard. In the pitch‑black room, before the bed lay a dying old man with graying hair. Once tall and strong, his body was now hunched, wasted to skin and bones. The hair on his crown had fallen out, leaving only dirty, tangled gray strands hanging loose. A large stain of vomited medicine, brown mixed with dried dark red, spread across his chest — a shocking sight.
Xie Ci’s heart jolted violently. “Uncle! Uncle!” He rushed forward, knelt, and lifted the unmoving elder from the floor.
The touch was icy cold, like the polished blue stone of late autumn — chilling to the bone. The man’s hand hung limp, head lolling to the side, no response at all. His breath was faint, his pulse so weak it was nearly gone.
“Quick! Put him on the bed.” Gu Wan lowered her voice, scanning the room swiftly, then glanced back at Xun Rongbi lying on the floor.
The large chamber’s doors and windows were nailed shut, only the tiniest cracks letting in faint light. Inside, it was pitch dark, the air heavy with the stench of stagnation, spilled medicine, and cold food at the door — and the sight of the dying elder on the ground made the chill even more dreadful.
At that moment, Gu Wan finally understood why Xie Ci’s reaction had been so intense, why their bond since childhood mattered so much.
The dying man leaning in Xie Ci’s arms bore a striking resemblance to Xie Ci’s father, Xie Xinzhong. Gu Wan recalled that Madam Xun and the Marquis’s household had intermarried twice; two generations back, a pair of twin sisters surnamed Hua had married into both the Xie and Xun families.
When Xie Ci saw the old man’s face clearly, his heart trembled. Gu Wan tugged at him. He clenched his jaw and quickly lifted the man onto the bed.
Standing behind him, Gu Wan studied the figure with a scrutinizing gaze. She had already examined him before: Xun Rongbi’s empty sleeves revealed his skeletal hands, each wrist marked with shocking scars.
Here, Gu Wan was an expert. These were the scars left by shackles — wrists worn raw and bloody from long, desperate struggles, deep enough to reach bone. Judging by the marks, she assessed them as injuries from more than a year ago.
Xun Rongbi’s body bore many scars from imprisonment and torture.
On the floor, shattered medicine bowls lay scattered; spilled decoctions stained the bed and footrest, clear traces of violent struggle. The medicine must have been tampered with — Xun Rongbi had been force‑fed, then fought to claw his throat and vomit it out, collapsing to the ground in the process. The top two signs were undeniable, impossible to fake.
Gu Wan examined and assessed repeatedly before finally turning to find Xie Ci. She eyed Xun Rongbi coldly, continuing her work, checking his wounds again. There was no deception. At last, she told Xie Ci to fetch the quilt from the foot of the bed. His greatest danger was hypothermia — if he remained lying there through the night, he would freeze to death.
Xie Ci saw her actions, steadied himself, and immediately inspected Xun Rongbi’s wrists and body. The shocking scars could not be forged. Finding no further issues, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hurried to the bed’s foot, picked up the quilt. One side was soaked, but the other was still dry. They had no choice — they flipped it and wrapped him tightly, rubbing warmth into his neck, armpits, and groin, the body’s core areas.
During this, Xun Rongbi nearly slipped away. His heart stopped for a moment. Xie Ci pressed down with both hands, voice breaking: “Uncle! Uncle—”
Damn!
Gu Wan was startled and blurted, “Move aside, quickly!!”
She regretted not dragging him onto the bed earlier. Panicked, she shoved Xie Ci away, leaped forward, straddled Xun Rongbi, and began chest compressions. She pressed about twenty times. When Xie Ci’s warmed palms touched his neck again, Xun Rongbi finally stirred. He lived!
Sweat broke down Gu Wan’s back. She slid off, quickly checking his pupils, breathing, carotid pulse, and other vital signs. It nearly scared her to death.
Gu Wan collapsed into a sitting position, exhausted. “All right.”
Xun Rongbi’s aged face was tinged with iron‑blue, his lips shifting from purplish‑blue to pale. He struggled, eyelids fluttering for a long time before half‑opening.
“Uncle, uncle, how are you?”
He recognized Xie Ci’s voice. In the darkness, trembling and choking, he strained to lift himself halfway, skeletal fingers fumbling along the edge of the bed. “Go, go take this paper… go to Feishan Pass… give it to Long Shouren.”
Xun Rongbi’s teeth chattered. “Kill… kill that unfilial son, Xun Xun!”
Gu Wan quickly took the paper and opened it. It was half a sheet, palm‑sized, the handwriting still forceful. Clearly written before the room had been cleared out, hidden for a long time, the paper was already wilted.
“Hurry, hurry—” Xun Rongbi’s breath was faint, tears streaming down his aged face. He collapsed again, muttering broken words of hatred.
Xie Ci and Gu Wan exchanged a glance.
Xie Ci snatched the slip, scanned it quickly, then handed it to Gu Wan to keep. After a moment’s thought, he climbed back out through the vent, fetched a padded jacket and hot water. After hastily arranging these, he pressed his lips together, looked back briefly, then turned and followed Gu Wan out through the vent.
The two left immediately, carrying the paper.
The midnight darkness had not yet lifted. Hooves clattered, fast and urgent.
Before dawn, Xie Ci and Gu Wan rode out of the city, having bought two horses, galloping straight west toward Feishan Pass.
Xie Ci was heavy with thoughts. Gu Wan said: “If proper medicine and care follow, he should be able to live a few more years.”
Feishan Pass was the most crucial stronghold facing the northern Rong, located at the very frontier of the realm. It was the first line of defense against the Rong armies pressing south, garrisoned by Xun Rongbi’s most trusted general, Long Shouren. They avoided the official road — the military artery was too conspicuous.
Fortunately, Xie Ci had lived in Suzhou for three years, during which he had trained and hunted often. He knew the mountain paths that led toward Feishan Pass.
Racing along the winding, rugged trails, they reached the end of the mountain path by midday. Leading their horses for about an hour, they mounted again, and within a quarter hour arrived before the gate.
At that moment, small bands of Rong cavalry were harassing nearby, so the gate was shut tight. From afar, watchmen blew horns to signal.
But Xie Ci and Gu Wan wore the armor of the Governor’s Mansion guards. From a distance, Xie Ci raised his reins: “The Governor has an order for General Long — General Long must come at once!!”
He held up a scroll and lifted the command token. The guards inspected the seal, then sent one to report, opening the barriers to lead them inside.
Before they reached the gate, the sound of hooves thundered. A middle‑aged voice boomed: “What is this? Where is the hand order? Show me at once!”
The hoofbeats roared. A general in red armor, about fifty, broad‑shouldered and imposing, with hair and beard touched by frost, eyes blazing — a figure of great might.
Xie Ci tossed the scroll directly. Long Shouren frowned, about to scold — but at first glance, he saw that half‑sheet of torn paper!
He was stunned, staring hard, his eyes nearly splitting with shock.
Long Shouren read the slip several times, then quickly concealed it, glancing around. “You two brothers, come with me.”
No one else was alerted. Long Shouren pretended not to understand the order, leading Xie Ci and Gu Wan up onto the city wall. Once inside, he shut the door urgently: “What’s going on? Who are you two?!”
Xie Ci said: “I am Li Tongzhen, son of Governor Xun’s sworn friend.”
He cut to the essentials, beginning with suspicion, then recounted in detail everything they had seen and heard.
Long Shouren listened closely, recalling, and the more he thought, the more alarmed he became. “Outrageous! Outrageous!!”
“You two wait here. I’ll investigate first. If it’s true… tonight we move!”
Grinding his teeth, Long Shouren ordered them to remove the Governor’s guard armor, sending the two “messenger guards” back to complete their mission. He swiftly dispatched scouts to confirm his suspicions, urgently adjusted the defenses of the pass, and contacted his loyal troops in Suzhou along with other generals close to Xun Rongbi.
All afternoon, men and horses came and went from Long Shouren’s headquarters. At last, he slammed the desk, cursing: “What a deceitful, unfilial dog!!”
Long Shouren stormed into the adjoining chamber, used as a temporary council room. The fifty‑year‑old general’s eyes blazed with fury. “Tonight we march! We’ll strike from within and without, seize this traitor, and rescue the Governor!!”
Gu Wan quickly asked: “General Long, how much chance do we have?”
Long Shouren sneered coldly: “He thinks he can replace his father in a matter of days? Pure delusion!”
By then, night had fallen. Long Shouren hadn’t even eaten. He immediately gathered his trusted troops, opened the gates, and retraced the path Xie Ci and Gu Wan had taken, launching a counter‑march straight toward Suzhou’s main camp.
Through mountains and grass, they pressed on, remounted at the trail, and under the dim moonlight, elite cavalry and infantry muffled their hooves with straw, advancing at top speed toward Suzhou City.
At last, Xie Ci and Gu Wan’s taut nerves eased slightly. They had listened intently all day to the movements in Long Shouren’s headquarters, so tense they hadn’t even eaten lunch, fearing poison. They were deep inside Long Shouren’s stronghold, surrounded by Suzhou’s army. They waited the entire day. Nothing happened.
Long Shouren had already confirmed the matter inside and out. Once verified, he could not wait a moment longer — he set out immediately, charging toward Suzhou’s main camp.
If the enemy intended to act, they had plenty of chances in daylight. Yet nothing had happened.
On horseback, in the early winter night, the wind sharp as blades, Xie Ci lifted his head. A crescent moon hung between the mountains. At last, he allowed a trace of joy to show: “Yuan-niang, it must be true.”
Gu Wan thought for a while. “It should be.”
The circumstances leaned heavily toward a power‑seizing plot. The likelihood it was true had greatly increased.
Still, Gu Wan whispered: “We’d better stay cautious.”
Xie Ci replied: “I know.”
The two exchanged a glance. Only after killing Xun Xun would they truly believe. Until then, they could not.