ITIEQ C91

 

Chapter 91 – At the Son of Heaven’s Side

“Brother Feng!”

The sound of rain poured all about. The man beneath the bamboo hat, hunched between two stone outcrops, stiffened, then turned back.

“It really is you.”

A young noble in brocade, fan swaying, leaned from his carriage with an easy grin.

“Du Guangzong?” Feng Lin was startled. “What are you doing here!”

To encounter a fellow classmate here—even if their ties were thin—brought a rare moment of solace amid these weary travels.

After years at the Academy, after some tumbling in the secular world, Du Guangzong no longer carried the same haughty pride of youth. He leapt down, clapped Feng Lin’s shoulder warmly, and crouched by his fire.

“Don’t ask. I was stationed in Jing, practicing business. Things were going decently. But then the Academy sent a highest‑priority summons—called me back at once. Who could expect a storm like this on the road…”

Seeing his old peer’s ragged state, he frowned. “You—what happened to you?”

“The Academy summoned me as well.”

“And they told us—if we have any Academy volumes with us, burn them all.” Du Guangzong pointed at half‑dried books by the fire. “These…”

Feng Lin’s face, half‑lit, didn’t rise from the fire. His shoes and socks were drenched, yet he hadn’t even bothered to dry them. Du Guangzong understood without speech.

Each word, each page—worth a thousand gold.

“The village I aided has been slaughtered.”

Du Guangzong gaped.

“I alone escaped,” Feng Lin murmured, his eyes streaked with bloodshot lines. “A hundred and twenty‑one lives—gone. I lived because no one betrayed me.”

“In broad daylight…who dares this?” Du Guangzong whispered.

Silence.

“They are hunting Qingbei students,” Feng Lin said at last. The clues, faint, he’d already pieced. “This is aimed at our teachers.”

Though the Academy flew other banners, bore other names—every student knew, the “Teacher” meant only one man.

Their eyes met. Feng Lin carefully wrapped his book bundle, rose.

“Wait for the rain to stop. I must return to the Academy.”

“Ah, wait—” Du Guangzong grabbed at him, catching only a sleeve. “If it’s as you say—the command to burn books, it was to protect us! You go back, you’ll only throw your life away. You’ll waste the teachers’ care!”

Feng Lin lowered his eyes a moment, then pressed his bundle into Du Guangzong’s hands. “Hide this well.” Turning again to go.

Du Guangzong had never known such mule‑headed resolve. Yet how could he simply let him march into death?

“If you value our classmateship, don’t stop me,” Feng Lin said. “The Teacher spreads the Way—kings and lords, even the Emperor himself, are not equal in weight to him. If I can trade death for the chance that he may live—even if thousands more must follow—that is worth it.”

Du Guangzong was struck dumb. He didn’t even chide him for treasonous words. He only stared at those burning eyes—then let go.

Muddy boots snapped branches beneath. The Dragon‑Cavalry Guards moved like storm winds, camps struck in an instant.

Shen Qinghe rode among them. He had chosen to return to the capital alongside Xiao Yuanzheng. With one decisive blow finished, his chest lightened. If before he had only tested his hand, this time the clash was thunder to shake the world. Across the empire, the clans now held their breath.

One house only troubled his heart: the Yue.

Their shadow lingered deep. Over a hundred years of dominance—they would not bow easily.

A broad palm covered his hand. He looked up—an incense pouch slipped softly into his palm.

“Palace physicians prepared it,” the Emperor said. “Wear it in double measure; it will ease your fatigue.”

Shen sniffed; herb‑fragrance, refreshing indeed. “So thoughtful of Your Majesty. My thanks.”

He tied it loosely at his belt. The Emperor reached, straightened it in one deft motion. Their hands brushed—brief, but telling. Shen felt late awareness: the veil between them had been torn away. Not shame exactly, but awkward rawness.

The Emperor’s eyes lingered, but he said nothing. Twenty years old—it was still so very young. He asked himself, again and again, could such hidden feelings endure? But each time he looked at Shen’s face, he knew the answer. Barriers, restraints, ethics—all as dust.

“Shen Qinghe!”

Lady Pingyun ran up, robe trailing. Gao Rong with her, both faces grave. Halting when they saw who stood at Shen’s side—the Emperor—they bowed.

“What is it?”

“Your students…those still outside…danger.”

Shen stiffened, his relaxed poise gone. Laughter fled, shadow fell across his face. The wild Lady shrank under that sudden pressure.

“I said a month ago—classes dismissed, students hidden, stay quiet!”

A hand steadied him from behind. He met the sovereign’s calm gaze—exhaled, forced his voice steadier. “Explain.”

“Teacher…” Gao Rong swallowed. “Winter comes. Each year thousands freeze by the Zhuo River. Your disciples sent word back—they chose to stay, to save lives.”

Indeed. As winter bit, even one more warm bed, one more physician, delayed death. Many chose to risk remaining, though the hunt pressed near. It was only a matter of time before traces were found.

Lady Pingyun exhaled, almost mocking. “Even your students take on the hearts of bodhisattvas. You—run into such danger, even with Him beside you—” eyes darting at the Emperor—“is not wise.”

“Call me Teacher, then their peril must be avenged,” Shen answered, steady. Hand braced on the carriage shaft, he bared his teeth in a grin.

“Lady, if you don’t join me in this deed—you’ll regret it one day.”

Conviction shone. For a moment, Lady Pingyun stared—then smiled. Life calculated only by profit was a dull life. So be it. “Fine. Count it as a debt from my last life.”

“Too much honor.”

Gao Rong was uneasy. His eyes flicked, meeting the Emperor’s—the hand upon Shen’s back, unwavering, eyes calm, never once doubting. The truth pressed obvious. This man’s bearing…not mere noble, but the sovereign himself. The thought made Gao Rong’s breath choke.

“Quite well‑matched, aren’t they?” Lady Pingyun murmured, watching the distant force.

“…What?” Gao Rong croaked.

“Shh. Shen Qinghe’s clever students must guard the secret well.” She smiled. “One never knows—Heaven and fate may yet owe us a little credit.”

Elsewhere—

“This thing,” the scion Yue Yin declared, slapping down a bundle of strange sheets, “we found passing through towns. Curious—see for yourselves.”

The lords present each spread one open. Rough paper, crude, wider than usual. Yet words sprawled across:

“The Qingbei News of Yong Dynasty” blazed the masthead. Beneath: plain folk’s phrases on farm skills, arithmetic tidbits—then, a sensational tale at bottom: ‘The Cold Gate Scholar’s Slap of Fate’.

“—I was reborn, back in the storm‑soaked night when I was accused of cheating the examination. In my past life, my paper was swapped by the powerful, my cries unanswered, beaten to death at the Examination Gate…”

The princes read on, eyes gleaming, some chuckling, until cut short by three dread characters: To Be Continued.

“What a thing,” chuckled Prince Lu, cousin to the Emperor. “Where did this come from?”

Yue Yin’s jaw clenched. “It was created by the Emperor’s new Secretariat man. That fellow.”

Brows arched. “So bold a talent in His Majesty’s court…?” The prince amused. For his own amusement he would have recruited such a writer, had he not been the Emperor’s sole.

But the others present—lords of ancient clans—grew thoughtful. Wei Hongli in particular stiffened. The name Shen Qinghe rang bitter in his ears—the very man who had shattered his kin, left his cousin half‑dead. Fury welled.

He slammed the “News” down. “It’s that fiend!”

Others stirred, whispering darkly. Words flew:

“He already sullied the capital before—infamous even then. Cut off from all relation.”

“Now in office by what foul means? A man like this at His Majesty’s side is peril itself.”

“Such villains mislead the throne—we tremble for the dynasty!”

Voices clamored until all eyes turned. And by convergence of thought—they already had their scapegoat.

Prince Lu himself faltered. Even he grasped this much: the clans had retreated, but someone must be punished. And a single Secretariat Gentleman was ideal flesh to offer, less dear even than a king of blood.

The elders smiled among themselves. So easy. So obvious.

Even sacrifice of a prince they would bear – what was a mere minister?

Thus, within Lord and clans, the wheel turned. At the Son of Heaven’s side—Shen Qinghe was crowned… “the guilty one.”