TBR CH126

A desolate mountain, a thatched hut, the crackling of firewood, and a pair of master and disciple sitting across from each other.

Chu Huaicun was familiar with his master’s silence. As a man of the jianghu, he understood more than anyone the value of keeping one’s word and not revealing things easily. And so, though now renowned across both court and common, the famed Chancellor Chu simply waited patiently and quietly for an answer.

The candle had burned down a segment before he finally heard the hoarse voice:

“From what you’ve described, I do recall a certain poison.”

That was within Chu Huaicun’s expectations. Since he had already decided to believe the look of pain he had seen in Ji Ying’s expression at the time, he no longer doubted that something had indeed taken hold of this man under the Emperor’s command.

The only thing that remained a mystery was why Ji Ying had chosen him as the one to ask for help. It wasn’t a question he could afford to examine too closely, but for some inexplicable reason, Chu Huaicun had already pushed that to the back of his mind.

His master’s tone shifted. “This is a truly vicious method. Naturally, the cure is equally troublesome. Are you sure you want to wade into this muddy water? Unless this person is truly important to you, I see no reason to tell you the answer.”

…Would he have to return empty-handed?

Chu Huaicun thought, If Ji Ying was important to him, then perhaps “as an enemy” would be a more accurate preface.

But he also thought—who else had ever gotten closer to him than Ji Ying? He didn’t even mind the man’s presence that much. Even Ji Ying’s ambiguous and possibly false confession didn’t leave him with any particularly negative feelings—just a trace of helplessness.

Back then, he had seen it.

More than the physical pain Ji Ying spoke of, his soul seemed to be in torment. It wasn’t until Chu Huaicun stared straight into his eyes that he noticed the slight constriction in Ji Ying’s pupils—as if a sinner trapped in hellfire had suddenly glimpsed the cool glimmer of ice and snow, and clung tightly to that lifeline.

That man had smiled while crying, his strange actions weaving tightly together—but hiding the truth behind them all.

Chu Huaicun’s fingers twitched slightly, as though they were brushing against Ji Ying’s tearless eyes.

He admitted to the old swordsman:

“That person can’t exactly be said to be someone I value by my side, but I do have a reason for doing this.”

“What reason?”

“He’s someone I must save.”

Chu Huaicun said, “He’s entangled with many powers, and hides many secrets. He knows far too much—possibly even things about the person I’m searching for. I want to find out whether he really is what he seems. If he’s not, then maybe I can use him for my purposes.”

His master knew him too well to be convinced. “What else?”

Chu Huaicun didn’t hesitate: “He asked me to save him.”

“He told you that?” The old swordsman paused.

He was still polishing his sword, but his gaze lingered on this disciple of his—now grown into a man who wielded great power.

When Chu Huaicun had been picked up, he was a child orphaned young, surviving among beggars. All he had was a stolen half-blade of a knife to defend himself. He interacted with cunning beggars and thugs, avoiding losing his food.

When the swordsman first found him, his half a steamed bun had just been stolen, and he had been kicked hard in the back, now kneeling in the mud.

The swordsman’s companion had wanted to help. Back then, his reputation didn’t yet require the “old” prefix. He stopped his friend from interfering and waited, hand on his sword, for the moment he had to act.

It was in the instant when the young Chu Huaicun counterattacked and almost sliced open the old beggar’s throat with his blade.

The swordsman remembered his friend stepping back in horror, shaking his head and muttering that the boy was too cruel—to kill over half a bun.

But the swordsman merely flashed his sword, separating the grim boy and the trembling beggar in the blink of an eye. Chu Huaicun, though young, already had the makings of a future general. He immediately understood the difference in strength and quickly hid his blade. But it still nicked his hand, and blood dripped from his fingers.

He raised his eyes, cold and emotionless, and stared at the man who had interrupted his revenge.

That man’s reaction, however, was strange. Unlike the others, he didn’t sigh or scorn him. Instead, he looked at the half blade in the boy’s sleeve with interest.

The swordsman had then crouched down and asked a peculiar question:

“Willing to come with me? I’ll teach you to wield a sword. But you must promise to remember one thing. Every swordsman must remember it—otherwise, they’ll end up just like you: trying to hurt someone, but instead hurting themselves first.”

From then on, Chu Huaicun became his disciple—half a son.

Now, Chu Huaicun was no longer that boy who only knew how to cut himself on his own blade. He had gone through many things since then. Yet, when the old swordsman looked closely into his eyes, he saw that same cold and piercing clarity—the kind that could slice through anything.

“Master,” Chu Huaicun said, “That person didn’t say those words directly. But it was my own desire—I sensed his hope. I remember what you told me back then: you didn’t want me to become that kind of man—”

Chu Huaicun placed his hand on his sword. It radiated sharpness, but held no malice.

“‘A man may wield the sword against others, but he must also know how to turn it toward himself.’ I’m sure this is my will. I want to pull him out. Is that reason enough?”

The old swordsman grunted but then laughed.

“You brat, what sort of people do you keep running into?”

He inspected the polished blade while grumbling. “I just left you alone for a while, and you ran off with that brat from the Lin family. Now you’ve met someone poisoned by some kind of venom—don’t even know him that well, and yet you’re set on tracking down a cure. Fine, I have heard of that poison. It’s not just poison—it’s a kind of gu.”

“Even the name’s strange. It’s called Half-Face Makeup. I’ve never understood the full details of that stuff, but I do know someone who might. If you need it, go find him.”

“Who?”

Now that Chancellor Chu had what he wanted, he asked calmly.

The old swordsman dipped his finger in wine and slowly wrote the character “Fang” on the table.

“Just a man of the jianghu—but he might have real skill. Call him Mr. Fang. I heard he’s been working for the court recently. Doesn’t matter—our kind never had interest in power struggles. Go to him. Use my name.”

“Very well,” Chu Huaicun said. “You take care of yourself. I’ll go.”

Chu Huaicun came swiftly and left silently, like a swirl of white snow vanishing from the room. The old swordsman sat alone, polishing his sword, then opened the bundle Chu Huaicun had brought.

Cubed beef neatly stacked, and half a jin of pork head still faintly steaming.

Perfectly matched to his tastes.

He thought back to this disciple of his—whom he had taught swordsmanship but had not truly raised—and also of that elegant, graceful young man in white who once stood beside him.

And murmured,

“Both such loyal and righteous boys…”

“Mr. Fang?”

The Crown Prince sneered. “Even now Uncle wants to shirk responsibility? This was clearly a trap set in advance, with Mr. Fang as mere bait. But the reason you fell for it was your own greed—never knowing when to stop.”

Prince Pingjiang hung his head like a quail, no longer rebutting, silently accepting the scolding of a younger man. Meanwhile, the Crown Prince anxiously paced the palace, then once again ordered his attendant:

“Go. Go check if Chancellor Chu’s carriage has arrived.”

He was too anxious to sit still. The previous scout hadn’t returned yet, but he felt as if ants were crawling under his skin and couldn’t help but send another.

Fortunately, when the attendant lifted the curtain in haste, that white-clad figure appeared in view. It seemed that just seeing him was enough to change the heavy mood in the room.

“Chancellor Chu,” the Crown Prince’s tone shifted quickly. He needed something now, and Chu Huaicun’s delay had already served as a warning. Though he was unwilling to be a puppet, he couldn’t even play the role of a puppet well.

“Prince Pingjiang is here. He can be questioned directly. I have nothing to hide in this matter and must rely on you to navigate it.”

Chu Huaicun cast him a cool glance.

He held high authority—far above this so-called Crown Prince—and had no need for polite words. Then he turned toward the true culprit behind this affair.

Though Prince Pingjiang had heard of Chu Huaicun’s fame, he’d never witnessed his sharpness firsthand. Now, under that cold, sword-like gaze, his very bones felt chilled—like being cleaved apart by an icy blade.

“Prince Pingjiang,” Chu Huaicun said softly, “I believe the men I stationed in Jinzhou are still alive, yes?”

Even if given a hundred lives, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on the men Chu Huaicun sent to oversee military supplies. He had only used the Crown Prince’s influence to seize their power, blocking them from seeing the misappropriations.

Prince Pingjiang quickly tried to make amends:

“They’re fine, all fine. I’ve always treated the court’s dispatch officers with food and comfort. Now that I’ve caused this mess, I’m willing to compensate all involved however necessary.”

“Prince Pingjiang is a relative of the Crown Prince through the maternal line. No matter how much compensation is offered, it’s futile. The Crown Prince still needs you, his uncle, and the palace still needs Consort Shu to hold her position. You cannot fall. But if you remain unscathed, then what of the subordinates I sent? Should they suffer for it—even risk their lives?”

“This…” Prince Pingjiang stammered, unable to form a response. The Crown Prince, however, took over decisively:

“Chancellor Chu’s concerns, I share as well.” He feigned sincerity, though his words cut right to the bone. “How about this—if the matter comes under investigation, there are those in the Eastern Palace who’ve also had access to the ledgers. We could substitute them in your place—people with only a distant connection to you. Aside from Chancellor Chu, I’ll appoint some of my own officials to fill the gaps.”

“Very well,” Chancellor Chu finally showed a trace of satisfaction. “As for Jincheng, Prince Pingjiang needn’t concern himself anymore. I’ll have someone take over.”

The Crown Prince had to strain to control his expression, trying not to let his heartbreak show.

He had worked so hard to discreetly install members of his mother’s family into lucrative and powerful positions—actual military posts. But now, thanks to Chu Huaicun, all of them were being cleanly cut out. Though he was disappointed and resentful toward his uncle’s actions, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hatred for the pristine figure before him.

Under this man, he’d never be anything more than a puppet.

Was that all he’d ever be?

The jade pendant at Chu Huaicun’s waist glimmered gently, reflecting a warm light. As he moved, faint dark patterns shimmered on his snow-white robes. His sword gave off a quiet hum.

The Crown Prince shivered despite himself.

He had seen Chu Huaicun kill before.

This man wasn’t even afraid of the royal family—he dared not think further.

Chu Huaicun watched impassively as the Crown Prince’s expression dimmed. Of course, he could see through the Crown Prince’s petty thoughts. But if he needed someone not too clever yet not completely stupid, the third prince was already a perfect candidate. He didn’t care how others viewed him. To most in the court, beneath Chu Huaicun’s icy and untainted exterior lay the heart of a cold-blooded asura.

No mercy. Detached, untouchable.

He turned on his heel to leave. The Crown Prince held his breath, while Prince Pingjiang’s face lit up with the joy of surviving a disaster.

But as Chu Huaicun reached the door, he suddenly stopped, as if remembering something:

“Oh, and one more thing. I’ll need the prince to come to the Chancellor’s residence for a talk.”

He wasn’t interested in second-hand accounts from the Eastern Palace, and he would never blindly trust that Prince Pingjiang had confessed everything. To him, truth must be extracted, not assumed. His voice carried a note of gentle amusement, but not a trace of true warmth.

Prince Pingjiang’s eyes widened. Behind him, the Crown Prince gave him a shove.

“Well, go on,” he hissed, carefully keeping his voice low.

His uncle’s face turned ashen. With great reluctance, he walked forward—like a martyr headed to the execution grounds.

“Mr. Fang?”

Ji Ying had found the man he was looking for in the rearmost room of a gambling den.

The man had a beard and an air of otherworldly aloofness. His hair was thin and streaked with gray. Upon seeing Ji Ying, he didn’t rush to show any emotion. He merely sized him up slowly.

Ji Ying was used to being scrutinized. He didn’t think there was anything worth looking at—whichever angle you chose, he was just the Emperor’s dog.

Still, he had long grown used to it. Without changing his expression, he handed over a jade token and offered a faint smile.

“I’ve long heard of your name, Mr. Fang. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Ji Ying said with practiced ease, “As for the reason I’m here, I’m sure you already know. You have a ledger in your possession—the Emperor is willing to pay a hefty sum for it. I hope you’ll be willing to part with it.”

Mr. Fang gave a half-hearted smile and tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Lord Ji,” he said warmly, as if this wasn’t their first meeting, “Let’s not waste time on pleasantries. But the matter of the ledger—it’s not so simple. Before I act, I hadn’t planned on making enemies with Chancellor Chu, who’s now in high favor at court. And yet now I realize… perhaps you lack the means to cover for me after all—”

He knew perfectly well he was bluffing.

This old fox was sharp.

His words had only one meaning. Ji Ying remained calm: “I’ve handled things poorly. To make amends, I’ve prepared an additional thousand taels of silver as an apology. I hope you’ll honor your promise and hand over the ledger.”

Only then did the old man show a hint of satisfaction. He reached into the chest before him and pulled out a ledger covered in red seals and signatures.

“I do enjoy dealing with smart people.”

Ji Ying didn’t even feel like smiling.

His heart had been acting strangely for the past few days—beating too fast for no reason. And that was all because of Chu Huaicun. He thought perhaps he had truly been in unbearable pain that day, which was why he had gone to the Chancellor’s residence and spilled all those words he never should have said.

But once spilled, water couldn’t be gathered back. He found himself revisiting that moment again and again—chewing over the aching and itchy mess of feelings.

A fool tormenting himself.

He thought, Chu Huaicun would never be troubled by such things. The Chancellor remained as untouchable as a snowdrift atop a lonely mountain. A few days had passed since then—Chu was now painstakingly cleaning up the scandal involving Prince Pingjiang, discreetly safeguarding the Crown Prince’s faction.

Ji Ying, on the other hand, was still tailing the Emperor, handling his dark and dirty business. Nothing he did these days was honorable.

Mr. Fang, the one scamming Prince Pingjiang out of his money, clearly had backers.

This whole thing—was Ji Ying’s plan from the beginning.

Though they’d crossed paths since then, he and Chu Huaicun had each stood on opposing sides, with little chance to exchange words. But Ji Ying still felt unwilling. He’d hoped—foolishly—that his collapse that day might have changed something.

He kept looking for signs, though he couldn’t show it. He didn’t dare bring peach blossoms into the palace and instead placed them somewhere outside—but even that couldn’t be explained away.

Chu Huaicun had sat beside the Crown Prince, glancing his way. Ji Ying had offered another fake, bitter smile—even he was disgusted by it—but it left no impression in those icy eyes.

Chu Huaicun still sent the new imperial gifts to Qin Sangzhi’s residence.

Ji Ying was jealous.

Then he lied to himself: Chu Huaicun doesn’t really like her either.

He didn’t see Chu Huaicun often. But even that felt worth treasuring.

Ji Ying steadied himself and took the ledger from Mr. Fang. But the old man suddenly wore a strange, surprised look—as if he wanted to say something. Yet his many years in both the martial world and the court told him to shut up.

Ji Ying could feel it too: he was drowning in lies and deceit, barely able to breathe.

But he had no time to worry about that. He thanked Mr. Fang and left the room.

And so, he didn’t hear what Mr. Fang muttered behind him:

“Why do I have that feeling all of a sudden… ‘Half-Face Makeup’ was lost long ago. Am I imagining things? But this Lord Ji’s complexion is awfully pale. If it’s really true… oh well. I’ve no business meddling in other people’s affairs. No time to wade into someone else’s muddy water.”

Ji Ying hated noise, and the gambling den was one of the noisiest places in the world. He walked back through the narrow hallway and returned to the main area.

This was a chaotic place where everyone learned to ignore identities. Ji Ying was in disguise—plain clothes, and his usual cold presence somewhat concealed.

Around him, everything shimmered silver and gold in decadence. Some people shouted with joy, some wept in silence.

He wanted to leave quickly, but his feet froze.

At that moment, his first instinct was to run, like prey sensing a veteran hunter.

Following his gaze, the sights and sounds of the world began to spin and blur.

Everything melted away—except for that one pair of eyes staring at him from across the crowd, cold as a mirrored lake, impossible to look away from.

Amidst the gamblers stood Chu Huaicun. He wasn’t wearing his usual pristine white court robes, but still dressed in white—meeting Ji Ying’s eyes calmly.

Why would he be in a place like this? Ji Ying wondered.

But soon, only one line remained in his mind:

—He’s walking toward me.