From afar, the soldiers patrolling the camp struck the clappers to mark the hour; the sound of the wooden blocks came from within the night, and in the great tent’s silence, it was all the clearer. The candle flames on the tall table quivered sharply.

Under Xie Zheng’s cold and severe gaze, He Jingyuan opened his mouth with difficulty. 

“My Lord Marquis may as well take He Jingyuan as a cowardly, timid creature. After the crisis of Lucheng is lifted, if He still has his life, I will certainly confess everything to you in full.”

Hearing this, Gongsun Yin could not help glancing at Xie Zheng. The two of them both gave no definite response.

He Jingyuan handed over the tiger tally for deploying the Jizhou troops—showing indeed his degree of loyalty—yet still held back the matter concerning the identity of the Fan couple, seeking only to preserve himself, fearing that once Xie Zheng obtained military command, he would immediately have him eliminated. Such a small bit of caution was, after all, harmless.

After a brief silence within the tent, Xie Zheng finally pulled at the corner of his lips and said, “Lord He may set his heart at ease. I, Xie, was born from the ranks. Other things I dare not guarantee, but what I have promised, I will not go back on my word. Moreover, Lord He has served as prefect of Jizhou for more than ten years, much loved by the people and esteemed by the Jizhou soldiers. How could this Marquis rashly act against you?”

Cold sweat slid down from He Jingyuan’s temples; he quickly lowered his head and said, “The Marquis jests. Speaking of prestige within the army, who could possibly surpass the Marquis?”

Xie Zheng’s fingers tapped twice, neither lightly nor heavily, on the armrest of his chair. His dark eyes examined the scholarly general bowing respectfully before him, as if weighing something; at last, he relented. 

“Very well. This Marquis shall wait until the crisis of Lucheng is resolved for Lord He’s answer.”

He Jingyuan only felt that the oppressive gaze upon him suddenly lightened; his breathing became much smoother. With even greater deference, he cupped his fists and bent deeply at the waist. “Many thanks for the Marquis’s understanding.”

Xie Zheng rose. The robe embroidered with cloud-sea patterns hung with a perfect fall; even under the candlelight the fabric glimmered faintly. 

He said lightly, “Tomorrow, Lord He is to allocate twenty thousand new soldiers, and at the same time insert into their ranks the craftsmen within the city skilled in hydraulic works. After the Beginning of Spring, the rains will arrive. If the embankment along the Wu River is not completed before the spring flood, this plan will be of no use.”

He Jingyuan quickly replied, “This subordinate will summon the officers tonight to make arrangements.”

After leaving the tent, Gongsun Yin spoke in a low voice to Xie Zheng. “You truly granted his terms.”

Xie Zheng tossed the Jizhou tiger tally to him and asked with a sidelong glance, “Otherwise?”

Gongsun Yin caught it with both hands before managing to hold it steady. “He has operated in Jizhou for many years. Since you intend to use the Jizhou army as the pocket to swallow up the fifty thousand troops of the Prince of Changxin, indeed he cannot be touched lightly. If the commander-in-chief were to die before battle, how could morale not falter? Still… for him to hand over the tiger tally—he truly dares to gamble that for the Fan family’s sake, you would spare his life no matter what.”

Xie Zheng said, “If he did not hand over the tiger tally, how would I dare go north?”

Gongsun Yin could not help but laugh. “That Lord He sees the situation clearly enough. His caution is not without reason—you would not move against him before the great battle, but wary as you are of his prestige among the Jizhou troops, whether he might ‘fall in battle’ then is another matter entirely.”

Xie Zheng did not speak, tacitly admitting the truth of it. As he continued forward, he said, “As for Chongzhou, draft a reply on my behalf. Negotiate other terms with that old man Sui Tuo.”

Gongsun Yin understood. To trade Yanzhou in exchange for the Fan family’s younger daughter was impossible. The reply must have the Prince of Changxin propose other conditions, so as to make him believe they truly cared about that child’s life. Thus, borrowing troops from Jizhou to march toward Yanzhou would not appear strange.

Furthermore, once the Prince of Changxin knew the child was important to them, he would be all the more careful not to let the child come to harm.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

Several days later, in Chongzhou, within the Prince of Changxin’s residence.

A man’s fingers—pale as bleached bone—tossed the letter into the brazier by the desk. The paper swiftly turned to ash in the glowing coals.

Though it was the chill of early spring, and even indoors the cold lingered, a heavy cloak still hung over the man’s shoulders. His lips, bloodless from illness, lifted slightly, like a child pleased at winning a game; the smile was malicious yet full of delight. “He truly borrowed twenty thousand troops from Jizhou.”

The man who had delivered the message, puzzled, said, “That child whom the heir seized back—she is not at all the Marquis of Wu’an’s daughter, Your Highness. Could this perhaps be a ruse?”

Sui Yuanhuai lifted his eyes—those black pupils so cold they could chill a man’s spine. “Isn’t that the younger sister of his woman? When Qingping County was slaughtered, he threw all caution aside to ride back and save her. If he doesn’t rescue that child, what do you suppose his woman will do once she finds out?”

Standing below him in a brocade robe was Zhao Xun.

He had wanted to say that with the Marquis of Wu’an’s status, what woman could he not have? But recalling that the very woman who had tried to escape several times had always been recaptured by the man before him, he swallowed his words. Instead, he said, “Your Highness is right.”

Sui Yuanhuai said with amusement, “Even if it were a trap—what of it to us?”

Zhao Xun’s heart gave a jolt. He immediately understood—His Highness intended to sit back and watch the tigers fight. He bowed deeply. “Your Highness is wise.”

Sui Yuanhuai looked at him, the corners of his lips curving with an unreadable expression. Under that gaze, Zhao Xun felt prickles along his back and stammered, “Why does Your Highness look at your subordinate so?”

Sui Yuanhuai smiled faintly. “I heard you’ve been teaching that little bastard to read?”

Zhao Xun’s knees gave way, and he dropped to the ground. “Your Highness, spare me! How could a lowly subject like me presume to teach the young master? It’s only that the young master kept crying to see… Concubine Yu. So I coaxed him, saying if he studied well and learned his characters, perhaps if Your Highness was pleased, you might allow him to see Concubine Yu.”

Sui Yuanhuai said, half smiling, “You take it upon yourself to make decisions for me, do you?”

At that, Zhao Xun’s face turned ashen. He pressed his forehead to the cold floor. “This servant deserves death. I beg Your Highness for punishment.”

Just then, a middle-aged woman entered from outside, bringing refreshments. Seeing Zhao Xun kneeling on the floor, her expression changed slightly.

Sui Yuanhuai rested his chin on one hand, his voice unhurried. “Get up. Aunt Lan is watching.”

Zhao Xun dared not move an inch. The woman’s expression changed as well; placing the tray on the table, she stepped back and knelt. “Your Highness, if Xun’er has done something wrong, please punish him alone. Do not implicate this servant.”

Sui Yuanhuai smiled as he personally helped the woman up. “What are you doing, Aunt Lan? Without you, how would I have what I have today? Come, stand.”

His hand, chilled from years of illness, brushed the back of hers as he helped her rise; the cold seeped into her bones and made her heart tremble.

Sui Yuanhuai noticed the flicker of panic that crossed her face, and his smile deepened. He looked toward Zhao Xun, still kneeling. “Ah Xun, you rise as well. You and Aunt Lan are both the people dearest to me. Don’t kneel at every turn.”

Zhao Xun glanced at the woman; seeing her give a faint nod, he finally rose, cold sweat down his back. “To serve Your Highness loyally is my duty,” he said respectfully.

Sui Yuanhuai smiled without replying. His interest waned; he cast a bored look at the scrolls on the desk and said dully, “Have them bring that little bastard here later. I want to see how his reading’s coming along.”

Zhao Xun bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

After Zhao Xun and the woman left, Sui Yuanhuai spoke again, almost to himself: “Are they still loyal to me?”

In the empty study, a shadow stepped out from the darkness. “The Zhao mother and son bear no disloyalty toward Your Highness.”

Sui Yuanhuai merely smiled. “Keep watching.”

The shadow withdrew once more, vanishing as though it had never been there.

Sui Yuanhuai seemed tired. The refined lines of his brows and eyes held a trace of weariness. He propped his forehead with one hand, gazing absently at the view outside the study window.

His body was failing badly; these past years, he had survived only by the support of decoctions and medicine.

Sixteen years… no, another year has passed—it has been seventeen. Seventeen years since that great fire in the Eastern Palace, which had burned away half his face and nearly half his body’s skin. It was only because of that fire that he could exchange identities with the eldest son of the Prince of Changxin—and snatch back a life from death.

The one who truly died in the Eastern Palace back then was the Prince of Changxin’s eldest son.

That had been a long-plotted jink.

The Crown Prince was dead; his mother and son knew they would be next. She personally orchestrated the Eastern Palace fire.

Feigning unbearable sorrow, she invited many noble ladies of the capital to come visit with their children, to keep her company and soothe her mind.

The Prince of Changxin’s residence had been the haven her ladyship had arranged for him. When a palace maid accidentally overturned a teacup and soiled the Prince of Changxin’s eldest son’s clothes, his mother ordered a maid to bring the Prince of Changxin’s eldest son to change. The garments taken off him were ultimately put on him, and the Prince of Changxin and his consort mother both perished in that fire.

His face had been burned beyond recognition; with the Prince of Changxin’s consort dead, the household servants could not possibly identify him. They relied only on the clothing and the items he wore to conclude he was the manor’s eldest son, and so they took him back.

From then on he was no longer the imperial eldest grandson, but the Prince of Changxin’s burned, half-dead legitimate eldest son, Sui Yuanhuai.

Aunt Lan had once been his mother’s confidante and had escaped that fire. She later married a wealthy merchant and secretly helped him all along. After giving birth to Zhao Xun, she poisoned the merchant so that Zhao Xun could inherit the merchant’s estate; only after Zhao Xun could stand on his own did she return to his side to take care of him.

To be presentable to others again, the dead skin burned from his body had been gradually replaced over the years.

In the earlier years when his face had been burned, none of the servants dared meet his gaze. Later, he endured the cutting pain to have the burned skin replaced, and the servants came to fear him all the more.

Thinking this, Sui Yuanhuai sneered.

Yet his mother-consort’s choice to place him in the Prince of Changxin’s household as a fallback had been full of considerations.

A man whose face was burned could not serve as the manor’s heir in truth; no matter whom the Prince of Changxin might marry in the future, that new wife would surely treat such an eldest son—who posed no threat—with care, cultivating a reputation for virtue for herself.

More fortunate still, after the Prince of Changxin’s consort died so miserably, her natal family feared that his ghastly, neither-man-nor-ghost appearance would cause the Prince to reject him. When the manor took in a new wife, they might privately grind him down, so they married the consort’s own younger sister to the Prince as a successive wife.

That sister of the Prince of Changxin’s consort truly treated her late sister’s child as her own, bearing Sui Yuanqing and constantly instructing Sui Yuanqing to be close to this supposed “brother.”

But stolen affection—can it truly be affection?

Once that mother and son learn the truth in the future, they would likely wish they could tear him limb from limb.

These years he had maintained only a surface harmony with that mother and son.

The hand that had been propped at his temple suddenly pressed hard against his brow.

Back then, to deceive the world, he had burned most of his face. Now, after replacing the dead skin, his head often exploded with pain; just now it had flared up anew, stoking a surging malice in his heart. He wished he could torment a few people to ease himself.

At that moment the door opened. A small child appeared in the doorway, holding a stack of large characters he had practiced. The child’s dog-like eyes showed a trace of fear, yet he still lifted those clear eyes to look at him, pressed his lips, and called, “Father.”