In the third month of spring, when the willows were in full bloom, Gu Zhao received a secret edict to head south to Yangzhou.
A few days earlier, the Ministry of Revenue had completed its spring accounting, and the salt tax had decreased by nearly one million taels compared to previous years, with the Liangjiang region showing the largest shortfall.
Private salt smuggling in the Lianghuai area was becoming increasingly rampant. Even the punishment of lingchi—death by a thousand cuts—could not deter these reckless salt smugglers. They had executed Hu Xiaofeng, only for Lei Dawu to emerge in his place. Official salt could not be sold, salt tax could not be collected, and the major salt smuggler Lei Dawu had remained at large for over half a year despite the manhunt. The one pulling strings from the shadows had yet to be uncovered.
None of the tasks the Emperor had assigned had been completed satisfactorily. The Yangzhou Transport Commissioner, the Yangzhou Yantai Yushi, and the Viceroy of Liangjiang were all trembling in fear as they submitted memorials begging for forgiveness.
But what use was begging for forgiveness? A bunch of useless fools.
The Emperor was furious and summoned Gu Zhao:
“Cousin, go to Yangzhou on my behalf. I grant you the authority to mobilize troops and execute without prior approval. Make an example of someone to strike fear into the rest—put an end to the corrupt practices in Yangzhou.”
Since it was a secret edict, Gu Zhao did not publicize his departure. He brought only his personal attendants and a dozen or so guards, quietly chartering a boat from Tongzhou Harbor.
But just a few hours into the journey, as dinner approached, the boat captain dragged a man over to report:
“Boss, this lad was hiding suspiciously in our cargo hold. Should we turn him over to the authorities?”
The man being dragged did not seem flustered at all. He grinned at Gu Zhao:
“Cousin, how come you didn’t bring me along on your trip? Give me a ride, won’t you?”
Seeing who it was, Gu Zhao frowned slightly:
“Xie Ze, did your family know about this trip of yours?”
Realizing they were acquainted, the boat captain felt he had made a mistake and quickly released his grip:
“Oh dear, my apologies. Since he’s your cousin, why didn’t you say so earlier? Young master, did I hurt you?”
Xie Ze’s clothes had been rumpled, and even his hair was slightly disheveled, but he paid no mind to the captain’s earlier rudeness, nor did he care about his own untidy appearance. He waved his hand casually:
“No harm done, captain. I’m starving—I’ve been hiding for most of the day and missed lunch. When will dinner be served on this boat?”
Gu Zhao nodded to the boat captain, signaling him to arrange the evening meal.
Xie Ze had been crouched in the storage hold for several hours, his back aching, legs cramping, hungry and exhausted. Seeing the bed in Gu Zhao’s cabin, he pounced on it while Gu Zhao was still speaking, sprawling his entire body flat across the mattress and letting out a long sigh:
“Ah, that’s better!”
Seeing that Xie Ze seemed determined to stay, Gu Zhao asked again:
“Xie Ze, does the Empress know you’re out? Does the Anyuan Marquis Manor know?”
Xie Ze was the young marquis of the Anyuan Marquis Manor, the Empress’s full younger brother. At eighteen, he was at the age when he should be establishing himself and taking on serious responsibilities.
But this young marquis had no interest in either literary pursuits or martial arts. He had even declined the official position the Emperor offered him, complaining that morning court started too early and interfered with his sleep. Whenever the Emperor mentioned this young brother-in-law of his, he would simply shake his head.
Gu Zhao was four years older than Xie Ze and had spent the previous few years cultivating at Huangjue Temple, so the two were not particularly familiar with each other—at most, they exchanged nods when they met. But Xie Ze was remarkably forward, always calling him “Cousin” this and “Cousin” that whenever they ran into each other at flower-viewing banquets.
Hearing Gu Zhao’s question, Xie Ze laughed merrily:
“Cousin, you’re so clever—why ask when you already know the answer? The one I’m hiding from is precisely the Empress. How could I let her know? Or my family? By the way, cousin, are you also fleeing an arranged marriage on this trip? Since we’re both wanderers in the same boat, why don’t we keep each other company and go find our true loves together? What do you say?”
If this were truly a pleasure trip, bringing Xie Ze along would be no problem. But Gu Zhao was on official business, and salt smugglers were vicious, ruthless criminals. Having a delicate young gentleman like Xie Ze tagging along was simply too dangerous.
Gu Zhao was already thinking of arranging for a few men to escort Xie Ze back at the next dock, while he played along with the conversation:
“Your true love? Where is she?”
Xie Ze laughed even harder:
“That’s what I’d like to know! Haven’t met her yet—that’s why I need to go out and search. Ah, ‘Alone in my longing, how boundless it grows; my heart pounds with sincerity and truth!’ My beloved, who haunts my dreams and occupies my every thought, where are you? I’ve been searching for you for eighteen years, and it’s been such a hard search!”
At this point, Gu Zhao understood completely—the talk of a “true love” was all nonsense. Xie Ze simply wanted to go out and have fun.
He had his attendant arrange lodging for Xie Ze. A few days later, when they reached a dock, Gu Zhao found another boat and arranged for guards to escort Xie Ze back.
But just before disembarking, Xie Ze left a letter and vanished.
In the letter, Xie Ze wrote:
“Cousin, I know you intend to send me back to the capital, but since I fled to avoid an arranged marriage, I naturally cannot return. If you insist on driving me away, I have no choice but to slip off midway. You see, if I stay with you, at least you can keep an eye on me. But if I run off, where would you even look for me? If something happens to me, how would you explain it to my elder sister? Let it go this time—but next time we meet, you can’t chase me away again.”
The Gu family upheld strict moral standards, the palace rules were severe, and the monastery’s precepts were rigorous. Since his earliest education, Gu Zhao had always practiced self-restraint and discipline, and he had never seen a troublemaking devil like Xie Ze who could stir up such chaos—it was truly an eye-opener.
What was wrong with the Xie family’s way of doing things? The Empress was dignified, virtuous, and a model of motherhood for the realm—how could her younger brother be so unruly?
Given the neither-close-nor-distant relationship between the Gu and Xie families, this cousin by marriage could not be beaten, scolded, or even properly disciplined—that was for the Xie family to handle themselves.
So Gu Zhao simply wrote a letter to the Marquis of Anyuan’s residence, stating that he had encountered Xie Ze on the way south and requesting that the Xie family send someone to pick him up.
A few days later, at the next ferry crossing, Xie Ze was indeed waiting there, boarding the boat with a grin:
“Cousin, you’re not sending me away anymore, are you?”
Gu Zhao did not mince words and told him frankly:
“I wrote to your father, asking him to send someone to fetch you. Being away from the capital is not the same as being in the city—the road ahead is long and treacherous, passing through many poor and remote areas where river bandits and outlaws frequently appear. Until the Xie family’s people arrive, you will stay with me.”
Xie Ze didn’t want to leave anyway. He had come out to enjoy the scenery and live like an immortal, not to suffer. Traveling alone was boring, and he would have to deal with the troublesome details of food, clothing, lodging, and transportation. Of course, following Gu Zhao was much more convenient.
As for the family sending people to catch him—why worry about tomorrow’s troubles and ruin today’s fun? When they arrived, he could just run again.
Gu Zhao and Xie Ze’s party left the capital in March, when mornings and evenings were still cold enough to require padded jackets. By the time they reached Yangzhou, it was early summer in April, the weather had warmed, and they had changed into lighter clothing.
Traveling by boat through the canals of Yangzhou late at night, warm breezes blew past—it was wonderfully comfortable.
Xie Ze lay half-reclined at the bow with his head resting on his folded arms, legs crossed, humming a light tune as he admired the star-filled sky over Yangzhou and the night scenery along the shores. Though it was the dead of night when all was silent, the signs and lanterns stretching along both banks in layers were enough to show how bustling and lively the city must be by day.
Gu Zhao was inside the cabin listening to his attendant report on the arrangements for their lodging, when he suddenly heard Xie Ze shout urgently:
“Assassins!”
With that cry came the sound of splashing water—the noise of people climbing onto the boat from the water. Gu Zhao grabbed his sword and rushed out of the cabin. The clash of blades rang out everywhere as guards on all parts of the boat fought in a melee with masked black-clad attackers who had launched a surprise assault.
At the bow, a black-clad figure had Xie Ze pinned down. Xie Ze’s hands were desperately holding back the attacker’s knife-wielding arm, but the blade’s tip had already pierced into his lower abdomen.