Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Leap of Faith (Part One)

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Six Gates, Hall of Seven Sorrows

“Hmph!” Upon the throne adorned with a wolf’s head, a man of unremarkable appearance let out a cold snort and tossed the memorial he held down the steps.

He appeared to be around thirty years old, dressed plainly, yet his domineering presence was impossible to conceal. This man was none other than Chu Shanhe, Chief Constable of the Six Gates. The discarded memorial at his feet was a report of defeat from the frontlines.

Though only Chu Shanhe was present in the Hall of Seven Sorrows, a voice suddenly arose from nowhere: “It seems the imperial army suffered a crushing defeat.” The voice was neither distinctly male nor female, its chilling undertone sending shivers down the spine.

Chu Shanhe showed no surprise, replying irritably, “If that were all, it would be of no consequence. We could simply dispatch more troops to suppress the rebels.”

“Could something have happened to Azure Dragon?” the voice pressed further.

“You’ve been following those two closely; how could you not know? Besides, Azure Dragon is always meticulous—he would never make such a mistake,” Chu Shanhe said through gritted teeth. “Someone is framing Azure Dragon, claiming the intelligence he provided led the vanguard into a perilous trap, leaving no survivors.”

“Perhaps it’s the Embroidered Guards’ doing.”

“Highly likely. I suspect the old emperor is behind it as well,” Chu Shanhe slammed his hand on the armrest, cursing, “Even now, he can’t resist plotting against me. But if they think they can cut off my right arm so easily, they’re mistaken!”

He rose abruptly, his robes billowing as if stirred by an unseen wind, murderous intent flashing in his eyes.

“I’ll take matters into my own hands and quell the rebels. You’re to search for evidence—make sure Azure Dragon is protected. Keep a close watch on those Zhao Ming has recently befriended; there may be agents of the Embroidered Guards among them,” Chu Shanhe commanded in a low, resolute voice.

“Yes, I’ll see to it at once.” With that, the mysterious voice faded away.

The grand hall was left empty, and Chu Shanhe muttered to himself, “Azure Dragon, you’d better not be the cause of this disaster.”

For reasons unknown, a sense of unease plagued Chu Shanhe. He could not pinpoint its origin, and all his pondering yielded no clue.

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Northern Command, Hall of Dark Mysteries

Hua Wenkai reclined on a seat of dark gold, clad in a robe of emerald green embroidered with purple serpents. His ink-blue hair cascaded across his chest. With his left hand, he picked up a letter wrapped in yellow paper; with his right, he sliced it open with a swift movement of his finger.

After reading the contents, Hua Wenkai’s brows furrowed, then he seemed to understand something and murmured, “So you want to borrow a blade to kill—I assure you, the Embroidered Guards’ blade is not so easily lent.”

He tossed the letter aside.

It fluttered down into the bronze cauldron before the throne, where it was instantly consumed by flames.

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Elsewhere, Rebel Camp of Shengzhou

Wen Shanyuan and Tang Jiuyuan, after their conversation, remained unable to resolve their doubts. Though Tang Jiuyuan’s words were not false, after following Su Qing for so many years, the impression the father left was vastly different from that of Su Bai, his son. Were it not for the secret method confirming Su Bai’s identity, Wen Shanyuan would never have believed Su Bai was Su Qing’s own child.

“Enough. Let’s finish this farce with him, and when things settle, let him go,” Wen Shanyuan shook his head, casting an annoyed glance at the thatched hut where Su Bai lay, then strode inside.

At this moment, Su Bai lay with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the straw roof, lost in thought: “I wonder if that letter ever reached the rebels. Will the plan be seen through? In any case, I must perform well when the time comes.”

“Cough, cough.”

The sound of coughing from outside startled Su Bai. He quickly climbed down from the kang and opened the door.

“Uncle Wen, what brings you here?” Su Bai greeted him with a smile, stepping aside and gesturing for Wen Shanyuan to enter. “Please, Uncle Wen, come in—the weather outside...”

“Hmph!” Wen Shanyuan snorted, producing the letter Su Bai had asked Zhang Yuan to deliver.

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Wen Shanyuan had resealed the envelope, leading Su Bai to believe he had come to confront him before opening the letter.

Seeing the letter, Su Bai feigned surprise, “Where did you get this letter, Uncle Wen?”

“You needn’t call me Uncle Wen with every word—I am unworthy of it. You’d do better to seek out Yang Tingyu,” he replied, tossing the letter onto the table, then continued curtly, “I searched every village for doctors to treat you, only to find that you still regard me as a wanted criminal of the court.”

Su Bai noticed the envelope remained unopened and immediately understood—Wen Shanyuan had only seen it addressed to Yang Tingyu and rushed to judge him. But he was not in a hurry to explain; everything was going according to his plan.

He put on an expression of surprise, “Oh! What do you mean, Uncle Wen? My life was saved by you—how could I ever equate you with a criminal?”

Wen Shanyuan scrutinized Su Bai’s face for a long time but found no trace of deceit. He thought to himself, “If I hadn’t already known the truth, I would surely have been fooled by this boy.”

He pointed at the letter and demanded, “Then how do you explain this? You’re recovering here, yet you secretly sent a doctor to deliver this to Yang Tingyu.”

Su Bai lowered his head in admission, “I was wrong, Uncle Wen.”

“Oh?” Wen Shanyuan was surprised, knowing the letter’s contents, but unable to discern what Su Bai was plotting. “All fault lies with me—where did you err?”

“No, no—it was all because I wanted to surprise you and ended up messing everything up, causing you anger. It’s entirely my fault.” Su Bai raised his face, eyes brimming with tears.

“Why do you speak of surprises, young master?” Wen Shanyuan pressed, pretending ignorance.

“You don’t know, Uncle Wen—I intended this letter for Yang Tingyu to help you unite against the court.” Su Bai finally brought out his true intentions, naturally and smoothly. “Yang Tingyu is my father’s most loyal subordinate, virtually his adopted son. I thought, if he saw my letter, he’d surely consider joining the rebel cause.”

“Oh?” Wen Shanyuan squinted at the letter, then at the weeping Su Bai, “half-believing” as he picked up the letter.

After reading it thoroughly, he “suddenly realized” he had “wronged” Su Bai, and immediately apologized, “It was my rashness—seeing the letter, I let anger cloud my judgment, accusing you without even checking its contents. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

“Uncle Wen, we’re family—there’s no grudges between kin. If you find my explanation reasonable, I can write another letter; please don’t dwell on it,” Su Bai wiped his tears and managed a smile.

“Very well, but there’s no rush. Your health must come first. Should you suffer another injury, I could never atone for it.” Seeing Su Bai so “understanding,” Wen Shanyuan smiled with relief.

“Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, I’ll leave you to rest. With the imperial army approaching, you mustn’t leave the camp. If you wish to stroll, there are two guards at the door to ensure your safety.”

Su Bai was delighted to finally gain the permission he sought, though he remained composed, bowing respectfully, “I bid you farewell, Uncle Wen. I’ll obey your instructions and stay here.”

Wen Shanyuan said no more, grunted, and left.

Only after a quarter hour had passed did Su Bai bury his mouth in the quilt and let out a muffled shout.

In the presence of such experts, a single misstep could expose him. Though not his first time, it always left him breathless.

What he didn’t know was that Wen Shanyuan, less than five yards away outside, was listening intently, catching every word of his suppressed cry.

Without expression or a word, Wen Shanyuan departed coldly.

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Half a month later

Within the rebel camp, Wen Shanyuan and Tang Jiuyuan were discussing how to deal with the court.

“It seems the last raid dealt the imperial army a heavy blow—they’ve been silent for half a month, camping a hundred miles away,” Wen Shanyuan observed, pointing at the map.

Tang Jiuyuan showed no joy, only concern for the current situation. “Brother, be cautious. I sent several scouts days ago to monitor their movements, but none returned alive. The court may have new tactics against us.”

“True. Though we’ve gained some advantage, the court is strong. Including support staff, we number only fifty thousand, and our location is easy to attack but hard to defend. If they send more troops, we can’t hold out,” Wen Shanyuan nodded gravely.

Both fell silent as they studied the map.

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Just as they were at a loss, a voice broke the silence: “I’ve just received news—Chu Shanhe arrived two days ago. Azure Dragon was spared, for now, not sent to the Embroidered Guards’ prison.”

After the army’s crushing defeat, it encamped a hundred miles from the rebels. Azure Dragon was arrested for providing false intelligence that led the troops into disaster, and was to be escorted to the capital. But thanks to Chu Shanhe’s efforts, the authorities relented, granting time for investigation.

After half a month of searching, Chu Shanhe began to suspect it wasn’t the Embroidered Guards’ doing, but someone provoking conflict between the two factions to resolve the crisis of the rebels’ encirclement.

Meanwhile, the Embroidered Guards had launched their own search half a month prior, seeking the impersonator. Yet the informant seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving no trace even after exhaustive investigation.

Yet, within the rebel camp a hundred miles away, the very person they sought stood before Wen Shanyuan and Tang Jiuyuan.

Shengzhou lay at the empire’s southern edge, and though it was summer, the man before them had his face wrapped in a black silk scarf and wore a bamboo hat. His voice was low and unmistakably male.

Upon his arrival, Wen Shanyuan and Tang Jiuyuan bowed in thanks, “We are grateful for your intelligence—it enabled us to defeat the imperial troops.”

“It was my duty, no need for thanks,” the man replied coldly, emotionless as a machine, his presence radiating a chill.

“May we ask if you can help us break the siege?” Tang Jiuyuan stepped forward.

“I did not come to break the siege, but to deliver Yang Tingyu’s message,” the man answered icily.

“What does Tingyu say?”

“He says there’s only one way to buy more time. Even if we destroy these troops, more will come. Sooner or later, we’re doomed.”

Tang Jiuyuan shook his head with a bitter smile, “We know it well. Since he has a plan for our deaths, we’ll follow it.”

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After hearing the man’s words, Wen Shanyuan and Tang Jiuyuan frowned deeply, “Is this plan truly viable?”

“Indeed, its success depends on too many conditions. If things don’t go as Tingyu expects, what then?”

“We don’t fear death, only dying in vain. If this plan can delay the court for half a year, our deaths will have meaning. But if Chu Shanhe doesn’t act as expected, we’ll be slaughtered like fish on the chopping block.”

“I’ve delivered the message. The rest is up to you. Farewell.” With that, the man vanished, leaving them no time to respond.

“This...” Watching him disappear, Wen Shanyuan stamped his foot in frustration, “If this plan fails, won’t our fifty thousand men die for nothing?”

The two sat disheartened on the steps, unsure how to proceed.

After a long silence, Tang Jiuyuan finally said, “Let’s follow Tingyu’s plan.”

Wen Shanyuan stood abruptly, glaring at Tang Jiuyuan and retorted, “What! How can you agree to that? Impossible! How can he predict events— even Dao Xuan, that old sage, couldn’t foresee the world’s changes. Why should Yang Tingyu gamble so many lives on a single thread?”

“But do you have any other option? Never mind the hundred thousand troops, just Chu Shanhe alone could destroy us,” Tang Jiuyuan countered. “Since we’re doomed anyway, we might as well take the gamble. Maybe Tingyu really will be right.”

Wen Shanyuan looked into Tang Jiuyuan’s fervent eyes and sighed, “I truly am at a loss with you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

Tang Jiuyuan, too, broke into a smile, then into laughter.

The two sat side by side in silence, yet all was understood between them.

It was as if they had returned to their fearless youth, when they emerged from mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, following Su Qing in slaying border bandits. Now, they had rediscovered that same madness.
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