Qi Jianshuan felt as though he were walking on thin ice, surrounded by pitch-black darkness, occasionally hearing the howls of wolves and eerie laughter that chilled him to the bone.
“Hongke?” Yun Zhensong raised a hand to wipe the sweat from Qi Jianshuan’s brow, asking with heavy concern, “Your complexion is bad. Did something happen?”
Without evidence, and to avoid alerting the enemy, the suspicions the two men shared last night had to be buried in their hearts. No matter how exquisite Han Yan’s medical skills might be, until the truth was fully investigated, Qi Jianshuan would not dare seek him out again under any circumstances.
“…It’s nothing.” Qi Jianshuan snapped back to his senses, shook his head, and brought the spoonful filled with herbal medicine to Yun Zhensong’s lips.
Yun Zhensong drank it down with his help, then pressed down gently on Qi Jianshuan’s hand to make him put the bowl down. Coughing softly, he offered Qi Jianshuan a weak, comforting, and shallow smile. “Although you aren’t telling me what’s been weighing on your mind, I can sense that this matter is very important to you. I’ve thought about it carefully, and there are probably a few reasons why you’re unwilling to tell me. First, you’re afraid I’ll mess things up—and of course, I mean no disrespect by saying this, I’m just analyzing objectively.”
“Second, you’re afraid of implicating me. Actually, I’m not afraid at all; if this really is the reason, I’d rather you tell me so we can face it together.”
“Third… sigh, I can’t think of a third one for now.” Yun Zhensong gave an awkward laugh. “Anyway, I’m not saying this to force you to confess; I just feel that, given our current relationship, we should be considered very close by now, right?”
During his illness, Qi Jianshuan had subconsciously blurted out the name “Zhensong,” and Yun Zhensong had unreservedly relished the warmth of his blazing chest. Their relationship was heating up, and Yun Zhensong wanted to obtain a firm reply, but the other person seemed unable to give one yet.
Qi Jianshuan’s voice was hoarse as he answered, “Considered close.”
“Then I can rest easy.” Yun Zhensong’s thoughtfulness sometimes made Qi Jianshuan feel thoroughly ashamed of himself. “The Prince of Hanchuan just had someone let me know that Young Master Qi is feeling unwell today, telling me to go tomorrow instead. Since that’s the case, why don’t you accompany me out for a stroll around the city later?”
The topic was initiated by Yun Zhensong and then effortlessly deflected by him with a stroke of cleverness. To Qi Jianshuan, this served as both a gentle reminder and an expression of trust.
Qi Jianshuan was evading a problem.
When everyone else knew his true identity, Yun Zhensong alone remained completely in the dark. If things were ever exposed, and Yun Zhensong lifted his head to look at him with those bright, sparkling eyes, asking with innocent simplicity: “I only believe what you say; if you have difficulties that you cannot speak of, I won’t force you either.”
When that day truly arrived, there would be no way to tell clearly whether the kept-in-the-dark Yun Zhensong would feel more heartbroken, or whether Qi Jianshuan—who was trusted yet unable to bear the weight of that trust—would feel more distressed.
Therefore, Qi Jianshuan began to truly confront his inner self and seriously contemplate the future.
What would be the consequences if his identity were exposed? If Zhongzhou could be kept in the dark, everything would be manageable. If it couldn’t be concealed, the crimes of deceiving the Emperor, abandoning the army as a commanding general, and privately training troops—the former would throw him into the deepest dungeons, while the latter would implicate Yun Zhensong.
Yun Zhensong’s speculations had hit the mark nine times out of ten.
The powerlessness of being unable to keep him safe once again enveloped him.
With a heavy, echoing crash, a massive hammer struck the ground, and sweat dripped down strands of hair straight into Qi Jianshuan’s eyes. He closed them for a moment, then placed the sword blank—forged over the course of several nights back into the melting furnace. Beside him, the blacksmith pulled the wooden bellows for him. Amidst the roaring sound of forced air, the blacksmith cast several sideways glances at the taciturn yet extraordinarily skilled Qi Jianshuan.
Normally, for top-tier ore of this caliber, removing impurities completely, enhancing the blade’s flexibility and hardness, and forging a true precious sword would require five days even for the most experienced blacksmith. Yet this man had accomplished it in just three nights, every single hammer strike landing with absolute force, precision, and perfection. The mental energy expended was so colossal that even the craftsman who had initially been reluctant to let Qi Jianshuan use his tools now wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and beg him to teach him.
However, this man was troubled. Every time he rested, he wore an expression of intense, absorbed contemplation, making it impossible for anyone to find an opening to disturb him.
As the weather grew hotter, Yun Zhensong no longer needed Qi Jianshuan to warm his bed at night, and the two of them invariably spent their nights apart.
Fortunately, after recovering from his illness, Yun Zhensong took advantage of the gap before the birthday banquet to wander around the entire city whenever he had free time, with Qi Jianshuan naturally accompanying him as his guard.
Hanchuan was situated in the northeastern part of Greater Xuan, bordering the Taiyin Mountains. North of Taiyin lay the nineteen northern tribes. The winding, five-thousand-kilometer national border was a territory that five hundred and thirty thousand Black Iron soldiers had guarded with their lives over the long years.
The Liuyi River flowed through Hanchuan, and the Taiyin Mountains shielded it against wind and sand. Supplemented by support from Zhongzhou, Hanchuan’s trade with the northern tribes, the Western Regions, and Jiangnan had previously been an endless stream of activity. Through years of development, Hanchuan had long since become a melting pot of diverse people and influences. However, Li Yan employed iron-fisted methods and never allowed any severe incidents of pillaging or slaughter to occur in Hanchuan, which further facilitated the exchange of goods.
Although the trade routes between Greater Xuan and the northern tribes had been severed, commerce with other regions remained thriving.
Yun Zhensong analyzed the situation meticulously, concluding that if Qing County was to generate wealth and transition from primary industries to secondary and tertiary ones, building roads was an absolute necessity.
By opening up transportation links with Hanchuan, Qing County could claim a share of the profits from Hanchuan’s century-old commercial prosperity.
Thus, his leisure strolls carried a very deliberate purpose: first, he would inspect the street vendors, observing food, drink, entertainment, clothing, and household goods, silently noting everything down to write in his “Magistrate’s Growth Diary” upon returning.
Afterward, Yun Zhensong would spend a large portion of the night checking which items did not exist in this era, how many gold coins the blueprints in the shop cost, and what the manufacturing costs would be once the blueprints were acquired—or else determining which technologies urgently required improvement.
Most importantly of all, he pondered the problem of road construction.
These were all the avenues through which Qing County would make its fortune in the future.
If this was one of the factors that prompted Yun Zhensong to raise the difficulty level of the script, then his interactions with Qi Yan served as the decisive factor.
Entering the South Courtyard the following day, Yun Zhensong heard Li Yan flirting with Young Master Qi from outside.
“Sweetheart, don’t keep your eyes closed the whole time. Look at me.”
The other person remained silent.
Receiving no response, Li Yan was not discouraged and chuckled dissolutely, “Tell me, doesn’t what I’m doing count as hiding a beauty in a golden house? Though you aren’t delicate, and your temper can practically be called explosive, I genuinely like you…”
Qi Yan’s mouth twitched twice, and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
He turned a deaf ear to Li Yan’s naked professions of love.
In truth, he hadn’t detected Li Yan’s affection at first, and had even been dim-witted enough to think Li Yan possessed a pure and kind heart. The first time he realized the truth was when Li Yan helped him wipe down his body.
Li Yan had been out hunting beyond the city walls that day and happened to stumble upon Qi Yan lying on the weeds, hovering on the brink of death. Li Yan ordered his men to brush back the hair from Qi Yan’s forehead, revealing his face.
Across his brow cut a streak of red, his face was streaked with blood, his waistline was lean and firm, and his skin had a wheat-colored tone. Covered from head to toe in scars, he possessed a unique, brutalized aesthetic of torment.
Li Yan’s breath hitched; he lost all enthusiasm for hunting and wanted nothing more than to save this person immediately.
He rushed back to the estate without pausing, summoned the finest physicians to take his pulse, and used exclusively precious medicinal herbs. Driven by a strong will to survive, Qi Yan woke up within a few days.
Putting on a cultured and refined facade with a harmless, innocent expression, Li Yan made Qi Yan lower his guard and induce him—while wrapped in a sense of gratitude and completely un-defensive—to blurt out his own background.
Later on, when Li Yan investigated his origins, he couldn’t help but marvel at Qi Yan’s innocence and naivety. All it took was a little helping hand to get him to spill that he was the adopted son of the Grand General of the North. At the same time, this made Li Yan develop an even greater interest in him.
When Li Yan personally fed him medicine and meals, a bewildered and suspicious Qi Yan had let out an “Huh?”, to which Li Yan hypocritically explained, “I just love taking care of people. Since I saved your life anyway, let me also take personal care of you while you recover from your injuries.”
Thinking this was simply some eccentric quirk of his, and upholding the principle of not understanding yet respecting it, Qi Yan had frowned and reluctantly opened his mouth with an awkward twist of his expression.
Li Yan coaxed, “Be a good boy, say ah—”
Qi Yan’s sturdy body gave a violent jolt, his eyes widening in shock.
Undeterred, Li Yan persisted, “Ah—”
Helplessly, Qi Yan yielded: “…ah…”
And then, until Li Yan stripped away all of Qi Yan’s clothes and said with a beaming smile, “Don’t be shy, I’m just helping you wipe your body down.”
“Fuck…” Qi Yan’s breathing grew heavier, his mind plunging into a blank void. By the time his consciousness cleared up, the bedding was already an absolute mess.
Lifting his reddened eyes in ultimate shame, Qi Yan snatched his clothes back and scrambled to put them on while muttering curses, “You scoundrel! Beast! Rake! What the hell did you do to your grandpa?! Fuck! Fuck!!”
Watching Qi Yan in a state of exasperated panic where he couldn’t even put his clothes on properly, Li Yan’s smile deepened as he pampered him: “Don’t rush, let me help you dress…”
“Get lost, damn you!” Qi Yan propped himself up on his arms, deciding to go stark naked with a “broken-pot-falls-to-pieces” attitude as he cursed, “If you touch your old man’s body one more time, I’ll bite you to death even if it kills me!”
Li Yan froze for a moment, then burst out laughing with a bright “pfft.” He snapped his fingers to summon the servants, shedding all his patience and gentleness toward them, leaving only cold detachment: “You, go bring that peacock-feather-woven robe of mine and serve Young Master Qi in putting it on. The rest of you, clean this place up. All of you, blindfold yourselves; if anyone dares peek even a little bit, dig your own eyes out.”
Hearing this made even Yun Zhensong feel somewhat embarrassed. Deciding to intervene and rescue Young Master Qi’s ears, he intentionally manufactured a sound outside the courtyard. Li Yan’s voice paused, and he slowly turned his head.
Spotting Yun Zhensong, Li Yan raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Magistrate Yun has arrived.”
Hearing this, Qi Yan opened his eyes and looked intently in Yun Zhensong’s direction, studying him carefully.
Li Yan glanced sideways at him, swept his gaze back and forth between the two men, and drawled, “My sweetheart really does welcome everyone except me.”
Qi Yan couldn’t be bothered to respond, ignoring him completely.
Yun Zhensong: “……”
“Fine then, you two chat, I’ll take my leave first.” Li Yan walked off with his hands clasped behind his back.
Qi Yan spoke up: “Yun Zhensong?”
“Hmm?” Yun Zhensong asked. “Did the Prince of Hanchuan introduce me to you?”
Qi Yan faltered. “Uh, you could say that.”
Yun Zhensong had come to spend time with Qi Yan at the Hanchuan Prince’s request, acting essentially as the Prince’s lobbyist. With such an impure starting point, anyone would feel uncomfortable.
Yet Qi Yan showed no signs of making things difficult for him whatsoever, and could even be considered amicable, which completely put Yun Zhensong at ease.
Gazing at Qi Yan’s legs, Yun Zhensong sighed, “These legs…”
“Don’t waste your pity on me. Everyone has their own destiny; whether they can be cured depends on the will of heaven. At worst, I’ll just spend the rest of my life sitting down.”
How could Yun Zhensong not understand this feeling of being imprisoned? He frowned and declared, “These legs, I will help you cure them, if you’re willing to trust me.”