Who Gave You the Gall to Investigate Her
The Military Region Political Department’s notice came swiftly.
Early the next morning, Old Liu, the village Party secretary, panted all the way to the educated youth quarters.
“Comrade Su! Word from the military region—you’re to report to the Political Department at two this afternoon. They say… it’s a routine background check.”
As he said “routine,” his gaze flickered. After twenty years navigating officialdom, he knew perfectly well what was routine—and what was not. This was not.
Su Qing was steeping herbs in warm water in the courtyard. She did not pause.
“Very well. I’ll be there.”
“Don’t worry, Comrade Su—I heard someone higher up flagged it—likely tied to your personnel file—”
“Uncle Liu.” Su Qing looked up and smiled. “It’s nothing.”
“Truth will prevail.”
Old Liu left.
Su Qing lifted the herbs from the water and flicked the droplets from her hands.
Truth will prevail? In these times, those words were little more than empty comfort. Once the Political Department launched a background check, even if nothing was found, the very fact of being investigated became a stain. From then on, every step she took near the military region would be watched through a magnifying glass.
That was exactly what Lin Wanqing wanted. She needed no actual wrongdoing—only for the news to spread: Su Qing is under investigation by the Political Department. To reach Lu Zhanye’s ears. To reach everyone who crossed paths with her. That would be enough.
Su Qing dried her hands. Then she did one thing: she went to find Shen Henian.
The Cow Shed
Shen Henian was sketching acupoint diagrams in the dirt with a twig. When Su Qing finished speaking, the old man fell silent for five seconds. Then he pulled something from his chest: a letter.
The envelope was already opened, faded yellow, its postmark blurred.
“Master?”
“This came from the capital last month,” Shen Henian said evenly. “I’d planned to wait for the right moment to show you. Now… this is the moment.”
Su Qing took the letter. It held only a few lines, written in bold, traditional characters:
“Henian my old friend: Your letter received. Regarding the young female educated youth you describe, I have already ordered inquiries. If your account holds true, I shall come myself. Say nothing of this. —Junbai.”
Su Qing stared at the signature: Junbai. She did not know the name. But Shen Henian’s next words rooted her to the spot.
“Junbai was my dearest friend forty years ago. His surname is Gu. Today… he serves in the Capital Military Region.”
Shen Henian met her eyes and spoke clearly.
“At the very highest level. So high—Director Qin of the Political Department does not even have the standing to speak in his presence.”
Su Qing’s fingers tightened around the paper.
Shen Henian said no more. Only: “Go this afternoon. Answer as you ought. Do not fear. But if they ask about the jade pendant—” He glanced toward her collarbone. “Do not show it. The time is not yet right.”
2:00 PM. Military Region Political Department
In a drab office, Director Qin sat behind a thin stack of files. Su Qing took the wooden chair opposite him.
Director Qin was in his fifties, square-jawed, with a deep vertical line between his brows—carved there by a lifetime of frowning. He flipped through the papers.
“Su Qing. Female. Eighteen. Native of a northern city. Educated youth. Signed a severance of kinship with the Su family before coming down to the countryside. Appointed specially hired medical consultant to the military region by Comrade Lu Zhanye.”
He closed the file and looked at her.
“Comrade Su, we have received reports casting doubt on your background. The organization requires verification. Tell me—who are your biological parents?”
Su Qing sat straight.
“Director Qin, the severance document is clear: I have no ties to the Su family. As for my parents—” She paused. “I do not know. I was raised in the Su family as a stepdaughter. No one ever told me who gave birth to me.”
It was the truth.
Director Qin frowned.
“Then—do you carry any object that might confirm your identity?”
Su Qing remembered Shen Henian’s warning.
“No,” she said plainly.
Director Qin held her gaze for five seconds.
“Comrade Su, this is standard procedure. You need not be alarmed. But until the review is complete—you are to stay outside the military compound.”
Her knuckles whitened on her knees. Barred from the compound. That meant she could no longer treat Lu Zhanye. That meant her post as “specially hired consultant” was effectively suspended. Exactly what Lin Wanqing had aimed for: keep her apart from him.
“I understand.” Su Qing stood, her face unreadable. She turned for the door.
It swung open.
Someone stood in the doorway—blocking it entirely. Nearly six and a half feet tall, filling the frame. Uniform crisp, insignia gleaming. Face dark as storm clouds.
Lu Zhanye.
How long he had been there, she could not say—but from his expression, he had heard every word, especially the last.
Director Qin shot to his feet.
“C—Commander Lu—”
Lu Zhanye did not glance at him. His eyes were fixed only on Su Qing. He held them for two seconds, then stepped aside to let her pass.
As she brushed past, she caught the sharp tang of gunpowder and sweat—he had come straight from the training ground, no time even to change.
She stepped out into the hall. Then she heard his voice—low, precise, every word ground out between clenched teeth.
“Director Qin. Who authorized this review of Su Qing?”
Sweat beaded instantly on Director Qin’s forehead.
“This… this follows proper procedure, based on a submitted report—”
“Who submitted it?”
“The source—must remain confidential—”
“I will ask once more.” Lu Zhanye’s tone dropped, cold enough to make the hair on the back of Qin’s neck stand on end. “Who. Reported. Her.”
Director Qin’s lips parted. As head of the Political Department, he had the right to withhold names. But the man before him—his father commanded the greater military region; his own service record earned him deference even from the commander. And now those eyes bore into him like blades.
Qin held out for three seconds. Then his spine went slack.
“It… it was the eldest Miss of the Lin family. Lin Wanqing. She stated Comrade Su’s origins are suspect, unknown, and that her close ties to a commander pose a risk—urging the organization to investigate.”
Silence stretched for two heartbeats. Then Lu Zhanye laughed. Not a gentle laugh—the kind that reminded Qin exactly how he had earned the nickname Living Yama.
“Director Qin. How many years have you held this post?”
“…Eleven.”
“Eleven.” Lu Zhanye nodded. “Plenty of experience. You ought to tell the difference between an official organizational report—and personal retaliation.”
Director Qin’s face blanched.
“A private citizen with no official ties to Su Qing sends an unsigned letter—and you launch a political review of a military region appointee?” Lu Zhanye stepped forward. Qin shrank back instinctively. “Was this logged with the Discipline Inspection Commission? Approved by the Command? Or did you decide this—all on your own?”
Qin’s knees buckled. He had decided it alone. When Lin Wanqing came calling, earnest and invoking the long-standing bond between the Lins and Lus, he had assumed it was a family matter—an easy favor. He had never imagined Lu Zhanye would reject her entirely.
“Cancel the review,” Lu Zhanye said, turning to leave. He paused at the door, not looking back.
“Su Qing is mine.”
“Anyone who moves against her again—need not file reports. Come to me directly.”
The door clicked shut behind him. Softly. But Director Qin felt as though his own heart had been caught in the frame. He sank back into his chair, his shirt soaked through.
Su Qing is mine.
Spoken plainly, to the head of the Political Department—an open declaration of where his loyalty lay, and who stood under his protection.
Down the hall, Su Qing leaned against the wall. She had not gone far—not to eavesdrop, but because her hearing, sharpened by the spiritual spring, could not help but carry every word.
Su Qing is mine.
The phrase echoed three times in her mind. The tips of her ears burned—pale pink to deep crimson, like boiled shrimp.
Boots thudded steadily toward her. She quickly pressed a hand to her ear, feigning a casual rub.
Lu Zhanye stopped before her. Glanced down.
“Let’s go.”
“Mhm.” Her voice pitched higher than usual. She walked ahead, head bowed, hurrying her steps. She dared not look back—her blush had spread from her ears all the way to her neck.
Behind her, Lu Zhanye watched the flush rising on her skin and the quickening of her pace. The corner of his mouth twitched—so faintly it was almost invisible. If Xiao Zhao had been there, he would have shouted without hesitation: Commander—you’re smiling!