By the time Fang Linyuan finished interrogating the prisoner, daylight had already broken outside the prison.

When he returned to his tent, he saw the military physician just stepping out. Upon seeing him, the doctor quickly stepped forward and saluted.

Fang Linyuan waved his hand and asked, “How is Young Master Zhu?”

“The young master’s injuries aren’t serious. I just changed his dressing, and there are no signs of deterioration,” the physician replied. “General, please rest assured.”

Fang Linyuan nodded and glanced into the tent.

Through the raised curtain, he could just make out Zhao Chu sitting on the bed.

A soldier had already brought him breakfast—some plain porridge and a few light dishes were neatly arranged before him. He had his head slightly lowered, revealing under the edge of the mask a portion of skin fairer than snow and a jawline shaped with exquisite bone structure.

For some reason, a vague image surfaced in Fang Linyuan’s mind: Zhao Chu dressed in a gauzy gown.

That kind of thin summer robe left the shoulders and neck exposed. Under layers of sheer fabric, one could faintly glimpse his collarbones and the delicate hollow where his neck dipped into his shoulders...

His vision swam for a brief moment—and then, without even thinking, a question escaped his lips: “Will his wound leave a scar?”

The physician blinked, momentarily stunned. He seemed puzzled as to why a man would care about such a thing… and even more so that the question came from another man.

He didn’t know how to respond for a moment, turning his head toward Fang Linyuan with a dazed look. “...Huh?”

Fang Linyuan snapped out of it immediately.

“Ah.” He too was startled by his own unprompted question and quickly explained, “It was just a casual question. After all, Young Master Zhu was injured because of me.”

Only then did the doctor understand and promptly replied, “Scarring varies depending on the individual. General, you’ll be returning to the capital soon. If Young Master Zhu is concerned, you could invite a renowned physician in the capital to examine him. After recovery, using scar-reducing ointments may also help.”

But Fang Linyuan barely heard any of it.

He was still shaken by the strange thoughts that had suddenly surfaced. In a daze, he nodded twice, then went into the tent as if fleeing.

*

Upon seeing him enter, Zhao Chu scooped another bowl of porridge and placed it—along with the spoon—before him.

“How did it go?” Zhao Chu asked.

Fang Linyuan, now somewhat composed, immediately recalled the results of the interrogation.

He picked up the spoon but didn’t drink the porridge. After a moment of silence, he looked at Zhao Chu and asked, “Say… if those so-called barbarian bandits were actually sent by His Majesty, what could the Emperor’s purpose be?”

Zhao Chu paused at his words, his hand stilling mid-motion.

“So the interrogation revealed they were raised by the Emperor?” he asked.

Fang Linyuan nodded. “The leader said Jiang Huaqing was acting on behalf of Lord Sang, and that Lord Sang’s task was carried out for His Majesty.”

As he spoke, his gaze on Zhao Chu became slightly tense. “What do you think? Is there a chance he was lying?”

Zhao Chu fell silent, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. His brows drew together as he pondered, not answering immediately.

Fang Linyuan sighed softly. “But the officials in the capital are tangled in such a web… I doubt that assassin even knew the names of more than a handful. For him to make up such a detailed lie—it would be next to impossible.”

“Lying would indeed be difficult,” Zhao Chu finally spoke.

“But that doesn’t mean Sang Zhixin was telling the truth either.”

Fang Linyuan looked at him.

Zhao Chu continued, “Back when trade relations were opened, Sang Zhixin was strongly opposed. At that time, Zhao Jin had the Emperor’s favour, and most trade affairs were entrusted to him. Sang Zhixin naturally wouldn’t take that lying down.”

Fang Linyuan blinked. “So… he tried to sabotage the treaty in this way?”

“It’s possible,” Zhao Chu replied. “But that’s just speculation. If we were to guess, we could guess anything—for instance, that the Emperor had long planned to go to war with the Turks but didn’t want to bear the blame of being called a tyrant, so he set this entire scheme in motion.”

As he spoke, he met Fang Linyuan’s eyes.

“It’s all possible,” he said. “But if we work backwards from the result, there’s a third possibility.”

“What is it?” Fang Linyuan asked quickly.

Zhao Chu’s lips parted slightly, and he looked into Fang Linyuan’s eyes. He didn’t answer. After a moment, his voice lowered as he called his name: “Fang Linyuan.”

Fang Linyuan’s eyes froze.

Then Zhao Chu spoke: “The treaty was never broken. Trade continues as usual. The only outcome of this upheaval… is you.”

“…Me?”

“You were supposed to go to the border, but this incident kept you in the capital.”

*

Fang Linyuan found this utterly absurd.

The Emperor went through all that trouble… just to keep him in the capital?

That would be completely unnecessary.

The very day he returned to the capital, he handed over both the victory report and the Tiger Tally to His Majesty. He was not only the Emperor-appointed General of Longxi, but also the hereditary Marquis of Anping. After reclaiming the frontier, any appointment by the Emperor was an imperial command he could not defy.

The Emperor sat high above the clouds—why would he need to play mind games with a mere subject like him, outwardly showing favour while secretly withholding it?

Fang Linyuan couldn’t make sense of it, but under Zhao Chu’s steady gaze, a faint chill crept into his heart.

The old saying “When the birds are gone, the bow is put away”—he had heard it too many times. He had simply never imagined that in a time of peace and prosperity, a loyal minister might still one day find his merit a threat to the throne.

(NT: “When the birds are gone, the fine bow is put away; when the cunning hare is dead, the hunting dog is boiled.” Metaphor for the fate of meritorious subordinates after their usefulness ends)

He was silent for a moment, but then saw Zhao Chu sit upright, and place a hand gently atop his head.

“Don’t overthink it. Just be cautious from now on and avoid the spotlight. Everything else… you needn’t worry about,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

Fang Linyuan met Zhao Chu’s eyes.

Those eyes were deep, almost stormy—at first glance, they were intimidating.

Yet when they looked at Fang Linyuan, they held a calm, unwavering emotion—as if life and death would be shared between them—and that quiet promise gave an inexplicable sense of security.

It was like being encircled by a massive beast from the depths of a cold lake, its armoured body coiled protectively around him.

“…What are you planning to do?” After a moment, Fang Linyuan heard himself ask.

Zhao Chu didn’t reply right away. Because for him, he already had everything he needed.

Sang Zhixin had those assassins killed—not just to erase evidence for the Emperor, but more importantly, to hide his own ambitions.

Even if the events of the Huazhao Festival had been ordered by the Emperor, the Emperor could never have plotted so far ahead. The private army hidden in Yanzhou had been raised over half a year ago—their true master could only be Sang Zhixin.

Unfortunately, Jiang Huaqing was too greedy. When carrying out Sang Zhixin’s orders, he left himself a way out—leaving behind evidence. As long as that evidence, including their crimes of corruption and factionalism, was delivered to the Emperor, His Majesty would lose all trust in Sang Zhixin.

Before winter fell… Zhao Chu had more than enough ways to plunge the capital into chaos. And then, using someone else’s hand, push that person off the dragon throne.

But none of this could be said to Fang Linyuan.

If Fang Linyuan remained unaware, he would be the victim. If he knew… he would become an accomplice.

Even Zhao Chu himself—must not be allowed to taint him.

So Zhao Chu looked at him and, after a pause, said: “There are some clues, but nothing is certain yet,” he said. “But I will have someone investigate it thoroughly.”

Zhao Chu’s answer was vague, and Fang Linyuan ought to have been suspicious.

But for some reason, he had a kind of trust in Zhao Chu—one he couldn’t quite explain. Because of it, when Zhao Chu said no more, he asked no more.

Just as Zhao Chu advised, Fang Linyuan delegated nearly all remaining affairs to Heng Feizhang. Gradually, everyone in the camp began to realize that ever since the arrest was made, General Fang had cleanly handed things off to Lord Heng. The division of labour was crystal clear.

A few days later, imperial envoys arrived from the capital again.

This time, three civil officials were sent in succession—including one from the Court of Judicial Review, and another from the Ministry of Personnel.

Fang Linyuan had already r been informed by Zhao Chu, and knew these envoys were all arranged by him. All matters regarding the closing of the case would now be under Zhao Chu’s control.

So he handed over the prisoners and evidence without concern, and led a unit of light cavalry back to the capital to report.

Young Master Zhu was among the group returning with him.

It was said that the other merchants had dealings with local Yanzhou guilds and would stay behind a while. Zhu, however, needed to bring the disaster relief grain ledgers back to the capital first, so they split up.

Just before departing, word came from the capital: Her Highness the Princess was showing signs of recovery from smallpox. In another seven or eight days, she would likely be completely well.

Fang Linyuan sat in the carriage, reading that letter over and over, until a faint smile gradually formed on his lips.

Truly… he did need to keep a lower profile.
Otherwise, each time he left the capital, the Princess would fall ill—and if this happened a few more times, even if no one was suspicious, they’d say Her Highness had fallen ill from longing.

Thus, his and Zhao Chu’s carriages—one in front, one behind—travelled slowly out of Yanzhou under escort from a light cavalry unit.

On the very day they left Yanzhou City, the region welcomed its first snowfall of the season.

*

Snow always came earlier in the northern lands than elsewhere.

It was already past the ninth month, that moment when late autumn brushes against the edge of early winter. As they travelled south, just reaching the border between Chongzhou and Yanzhou, cold snow began to swirl through the dust-laden winds outside their carriage windows.

At the mountain pass, strong gusts carried yellow sand through the air, and the snowflakes drifting down from the sky were all tinged with the colour of dust. The horses pulling their carts halted in the wind and snow, refusing to take another step no matter how the driver urged them on.

Ahead was a winding mountain path—treacherous under normal weather, and now with wind and snow, it would be sheer folly to proceed.

Fang Linyuan immediately ordered the team to stop. They found a hollow in the mountains nearby, lower in elevation and shielded from the wind and snow. There, he gave the command to rest temporarily and wait for the storm to ease before deciding their next move.

With the shelter of the surrounding terrain, the soldiers and horses in the group could finally catch a break, even light fires to warm themselves and eat some dried provisions.

But as daylight faded, the snowfall grew heavier. They would have to camp out here for the night.

Once the sun slipped behind the mountains, the temperature plummeted. The wind lashed against their faces like blades. None of them wore winter gear—their cloaks and armour were soaked through and chilled to the bone.

Fang Linyuan led them to collect branches from the nearby woods to build windbreaks and pitched tents. He then returned to his carriage and began pulling out furs and bedding, distributing them for warmth.

“General, what about you?” The soldiers, seeing that he had nearly emptied out his carriage, rushed forward to stop him. “You should keep those for yourself. We’ll be fine.”

Fang Linyuan shook his head.

He knew the tents they carried for marches were thin, and in such sudden snow and wind, people could freeze to death.

“The carriage is thicker than your tents—I won’t need it,” he said. “Hurry and take these back to rest. We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow morning.”

The soldiers tried to decline again, but seeing Fang Linyuan standing upright in the storm without so much as a shiver, they could only accept the bedding he gave them with profuse thanks and slip into their tents.

Once he saw they were all settled, Fang Linyuan gave an involuntary shiver and began stomping his feet quickly in place.

Freezing to death!

He wasn’t made of iron—of course he was cold. But he knew those soldiers were always cautious and fearful around him. If he didn’t pretend not to feel the chill, they’d never dare accept his bedding.

Hugging his arms tightly to his chest, he hunched his shoulders and quickly turned around, about to dash back to his carriage.

It wouldn’t be easy to get through the night without bedding, but the carriage at least blocked some of the wind. Maybe he could dismantle the seats somehow—whatever it took to get through the night…

Just then, the door of the carriage parked beside his swung open, the curtain lifting with a flutter.

A soft light spilled out from inside—warm and golden, glowing gently in the cold snowy night.

Then, a figure stepped down, bending slightly as he descended. A hand reached out and firmly grasped Fang Linyuan’s arm.

The touch jolted Fang Linyuan—his limbs already numb from the cold.

He looked up and saw Zhao Chu. The golden beast mask covered his face, revealing no expression. But the hand gripping his arm was steady and strong, leaving no room for resistance as he pulled him toward the carriage.

Fang Linyuan wanted to refuse—but that warm light inside looked too inviting. His mind fogged from the cold, he was pulled onto the carriage in a daze.

The merchant’s carriage wasn’t large. As soon as he entered, Fang Linyuan felt as if Zhao Chu’s presence filled the confined space around him.

His head spun even more.

Then, the next moment, a thick, soft fur wrapped around him. So warm… so soft it made Fang Linyuan dizzy.

It was Zhao Chu—he had taken a fur from the carriage and wrapped him in it completely.

And to ensure it stayed in place, Zhao Chu even reached his arms around him, holding the fur—and Fang Linyuan—securely in his embrace. At first glance, it looked like he was hugging both the fur and the man wrapped inside it.

“Cold?” came Zhao Chu’s voice from nearby as the door of the carriage closed behind them.

His breath still carried a trace of chill, but Fang Linyuan had been out in the cold so long that it now felt like warm, mellow osmanthus wine brushing his cheek.

Fang Linyuan shook his head, about to say he wasn’t cold. But just then, he turned to look at Zhao Chu.

The soft candlelight cast a glow on Zhao Chu’s golden beast mask. Through the slits in the mask, his eyes were very close.

Fang Linyuan suddenly felt as if the ground gave way beneath him—he was falling into those eyes. He couldn’t speak. His mind was blank, holding only one thought—an odd one.

Zhao Chu really was good-looking.

So good-looking that—even without seeing his face—he was beginning to think he looked gorgeous.

--

Author's note:

Let’s see how different people deal with a snowy night:

Fang Linyuan:
(Reassures the soldiers)
(Distributes beddings)
(Makes sure no one dies from the cold)

Zhao Chu:
(Makes the bed)
(Waits for his wife to come home)

 

Translator : DarNan