When someone close to you suddenly disappears, what do you do?

Naturally, you report it to the authorities.

But now Hu Shanwei herself was an official—how could she report it?

Shanggong Cao’s demand wasn’t unreasonable. Liu Siyan was from the Palace Administration Bureau, temporarily assigned by the Palace Rectification Department for a task. If the person was missing, who else would they look for but her?

However, Hu Shanwei was confined deep within the palace. She had neither clairvoyance nor supernatural hearing—how could she find Liu Siyan’s whereabouts?

She had no choice but to make a trip to the Embroidered Uniform Guard office to find Commander Mao Qiang. After all, not only had Liu Siyan failed to return, but none of the Embroidered Uniform Guards escorting her had shown any trace either!

At the Embroidered Uniform Guard office.

Mao Qiang’s brows were deeply furrowed as he said, “Palace Rectifier Hu, it’s not that I’m deliberately concealing anything—I truly don’t know why a group of over seventy people just vanished like this.”

Hu Shanwei didn’t believe him. “Is there anything in this world that the Embroidered Uniform Guard doesn’t know about?”

Mao Qiang said, “You’ve only lost one female official, but we’ve lost fifty elite guards, plus about twenty civilian porters and cart drivers requisitioned from the people. Their families come asking every day too. I’m more anxious than you are. I’ve already sent official correspondence to the Transmission Office, asking them to keep watch. Once they discover anything, they’ll immediately report the news.”

The Transmission Office was located just north of the Embroidered Uniform Guard office. These two intelligence agencies were neighbors, both situated in a small alley on West Chang’an Street.

The Transmission Office was also a Great Ming institution with direct access to imperial attention, directly reporting to the emperor about local conditions, disasters, and military situations from various regions, while supervising local officials. Additionally, when officials traveled and passed through various post stations, it was the Transmission Office that verified their travel documents before the post stations provided free accommodation, food, and lodging.

So when officials traveled on business, they couldn’t stay wherever they wanted. Except for post stations, the state wouldn’t reimburse expenses for other places.

Each post station reported daily on whom they received, how much money was spent, and even what was eaten at each meal—all reported by local Transmission Offices. This was the best and most convenient way to track officials’ travel routes, and also a form of supervision.

Hu Shanwei asked, “When will the Transmission Office send over the intelligence from various post stations?”

Mao Qiang said, “No need for them to send it—I’ve already sent Ji Gang and others next door to get it. The Transmission Office is our neighbor. Once we discover anything suspicious, I’ll immediately send someone to inform you.”

Hu Shanwei wasn’t so easily dismissed. She said, “It’s still early today. I’ll wait here for Ji Gang to bring back the post station intelligence. I’m not in a hurry to return to the palace.”

If she went back empty-handed like this, Shanggong Cao’s icy stare would slice her to pieces!

Mao Qiang had a headache: he’d finally gotten rid of one Mu Chun, only to have an even more troublesome Hu Shanwei arrive.

Mao Qiang said, “Please wait here, Palace Rectifier Hu. I need to attend to other matters. Come, you all serve Palace Rectifier Hu well.”

Though he said “serve,” it was actually supervision, fearing Hu Shanwei might wander around the office and discover secrets.

After all, military intelligence kept arriving at the Embroidered Uniform Guard from Hu Shanwei’s “deceased” fiancé. Every year when winter approached, the northwestern situation would become tense.

A servant added tea and attentively presented a red lacquered compartment box with over a dozen small sections containing various pastries and fresh fruits. The fresh fruits included water chestnuts and red water caltrop in season. The most outstanding pastry was a piece of sweet osmanthus lard-steamed chestnut flour cake with a red triangular flag inserted in it.

This cake was a common pastry in Nanjing, but with colorful triangular flags inserted, it became Double Ninth cake, festival food for the Double Ninth Festival.

Unknowingly, another year’s Double Ninth Festival had arrived.

Last year on Double Ninth Festival, her father Hu Rong had taken her and his young wife Chen Shi to climb Niushou Mountain in the suburbs, ascending heights to gaze into the distance. This was the last harmonious festival the family had celebrated together. Afterward, the young wife became pregnant, her attitude toward Hu Shanwei took a sharp turn for the worse, revealing her true nature, and then everything changed…

This year’s Double Ninth Festival: “When chrysanthemums bloom everywhere, one person is missing.”

Hu Shanwei had depended on her father for many years. The bond between father and daughter couldn’t be severed just by saying so.

Eating the cloyingly sweet Double Ninth cake, Hu Shanwei suddenly realized that she was now outside the palace. She could take advantage of waiting for news here to visit her father’s home on Chengxian Street.

No!

As soon as this thought arose, Hu Shanwei vigorously shook her head to dispel it. Her father now had a beautiful wife and young child around him, living a blissful life. If she returned, everyone would be unhappy—including herself. Why bother?

But just sitting here in the Embroidered Uniform Guard office staring at the flagged Double Ninth cake and waiting, Hu Shanwei’s mind was in turmoil, sitting on pins and needles. Various memories from her life, both beautiful and terrifying, ran wild in her mind, beyond her control.

Like the brief, peaceful times when the family of three lived in Suzhou when she was small.

The terror during Chang Yuchun’s massacre of the city and witnessing her mother being scattered by fleeing people and trampled to death.

She and her father moving to Nanjing, running a bookshop for their livelihood, depending on each other.

After her engagement to Wang Ning, their meetings under the flower lanterns and moon during the Lantern Festival…

She couldn’t keep thinking about these things. Hu Shanwei stood up to take her leave, telling the attendants she was going out for a walk and would return.

Leaving the alley, she found herself on the bustling West Chang’an Street. Hu Shanwei strolled along the street, and the earthly atmosphere of human life dispelled the melancholy that had just risen. Passing a restaurant, she saw some porters and laborers who couldn’t afford proper dishes squatting on the street with bowls of noodles, slurping them down.

Hu Shanwei remembered that Mu Chun had this habit—he’d rather squat on the street eating noodles than return home to feast on delicacies, or simply sleep rough on the street like a vagrant.

Since leaving the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Mu Chun had only seen Hu Shanwei once—during the birthday celebration banquet on the eighth day of the eighth month for Empress Ma’s birthday. At the feast, while eating and drinking, much of the powder he used to cover his facial injuries had fallen off, revealing his makeup mishaps. He borrowed rouge and powder from Hu Shanwei to “touch up,” and using the excuse that he was too drunk and his hands were shaking, he asked Hu Shanwei to personally “apply his makeup.”

Hu Shanwei, pitying the difficult situation of this troublesome child, softened momentarily and mixed the powder to help conceal his injuries.

Now a month had passed, and she wondered how his military training at Eagle Guard was progressing.

Hu Shanwei changed into men’s clothing, hired a horse carriage, and went to see Mu Chun.

The Eagle Guard training ground was a large-scale brawling scene. This group of second and third-generation military youth were at an impulsive, combative age.

The rules Mu Chun established were promotion through martial prowess: those who could defeat ten people were promoted to squad leader, then ten squad leaders would spar (brawl), fighting in pairs, with winners becoming centurions.

Ten centurions would continue brawling through the fairest method—drawing lots—and the final victor would be promoted to commander of a thousand.

Commanders of a thousand had the right to challenge Mu Chun in best-of-three matches. If victorious, they could knock Mu Chun from his position and become Assistant Commander.

On this day, a new commander of a thousand who had fought his way through this battlefield of carnage issued a challenge to his superior, Mu Chun.

Mu Chun accepted the challenge on the fighting platform. Over a thousand Eagle Guard soldiers gathered at the training ground to watch Mu Chun make a fool of himself and get beaten, even placing bets with odds of one to nine—surprisingly, one-tenth of the soldiers bet on Mu Chun winning. Mu Chun was almost moved to tears, clasping his fists toward them: “Thank you for your support. I definitely won’t disappoint your expectations.”

Shou Pihou, a centurion of bandit origin, patted one of the soldiers on the shoulder and asked, “What gives you such confidence in Assistant Commander that you’d bet half a year’s salary on him?”

The soldier said, “My confidence in Assistant Commander began with his looks, deepened through his talents, and is loyal to his character. Assistant Commander’s shameless character of winning by any means necessary is well known to all, and he spends all his time with you chicken thieves and dog burglars. I think this platform battle has no suspense—this shameless person will win.”

Centurion Shi praised him: “You have such good judgment!”

Another soldier said, “Right, to win, Master Mu has probably already put laxatives and other dirty tricks in the commander’s food. Look, Master Mu arrived early, but the commander hasn’t come yet.”

Though betting on Mu Chun to win, everyone was full of disdain for the man on the platform—eating from his bowl while cursing him when putting it down.

Mu Chun had a blade of grass between his teeth, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar of the fighting platform, squinting at the autumn sun while constantly jiggling his left leg, completely lacking proper posture.

If his father Mu Ying saw this, he would certainly scold him severely and give him a whipping, but this was Eagle Guard, his own territory where his word was law.

I’ve trained this group of second-generation military trash into soldiers who can fight—I’m proud!

The new commander of a thousand finally arrived. He leaped onto the fighting platform, and it appeared Master Mu hadn’t used laxatives or other dirty tricks—they would really fight.

Since it was hand-to-hand combat, both removed their upper garments, wearing only pants. Both were teenage youths whose stature hadn’t fully developed, their chest muscles still appearing thin. The two charged at each other and, like a street brawl, grappled together rolling and struggling.

The watching soldiers surrounded the platform making noise, and no one noticed the cross-dressed Hu Shanwei walking into the training ground to join the crowd of spectators.

Yes, Hu Shanwei had walked straight into the garrison as freely as entering her own vegetable garden. No one stood guard at the gate—they’d all taken their money to bet on Mu Chun losing, wanting to see him pinned down and beaten on the platform to vent their frustrations.

The new commander attacked Mu Chun’s lower body, lifted him by the waist, and executed a beautiful throw.

A dull thud rang out, clear even to Hu Shanwei standing at the outer edge of the crowd of spectators. She thought it must really hurt.

“Well done!” The watching soldiers erupted in thunderous applause and cheering.

Mu Chun writhed and struggled like an earthworm. The new commander laughed heartily: “Give up!”

Mu Chun supported himself against the platform to stand up, casually wiping away his nosebleed with the back of his hand, and smiled contemptuously: “Is that all the strength you have? You’re not carrying a new bride to bed—put some effort into it!”

Everyone burst into laughter.

Hu Shanwei’s face suddenly reddened. This was the first time she’d heard Mu Chun speak such crude words. Previously, others had called Mu Chun a troublemaking demon, but Hu Shanwei thought he was just innocently reckless due to his youth, without malicious or perverted thoughts.

Now it seemed she needed to reassess Mu Chun as a person, or perhaps since becoming Assistant Commander, he had been corrupted by bad influences and gradually turned bad.

Hu Shanwei had been surrounded by scholarly refinement since childhood. Later, with her fiancé, when they met and traveled together, he treated her with emotion that began with feeling but stopped at propriety, never behaving improperly or presumptuously toward her.

Hu Shanwei turned to leave immediately. Hmph, I can’t stay in such a filthy place for even a moment!

Ah!

From the platform, Mu Chun let out a terrible scream.

Hu Shanwei’s heart clenched painfully, and she couldn’t help turning around again to see Mu Chun sprawled on the platform once more.

The watching soldiers cheered and applauded again. Hu Shanwei worried for Mu Chun and couldn’t help standing on tiptoe to see how he was doing.

Mu Chun suddenly sprang up, catching his opponent off guard, like a coiled rattlesnake suddenly striking, landing a punch on the new commander’s abdomen.

The new commander doubled over in pain. Mu Chun performed a somersault while grabbing his opponent’s waist, returning the favor with a throw of his own.

The new commander bounced three times on the platform. Shou Pihou acted as referee, counting to ten, and when the commander still hadn’t risen, declared Mu Chun the winner.

Sigh!

The soldiers who’d lost their bets sighed in disappointment and dispersed.

The winners were naturally happy—nine-to-one odds meant they’d struck it rich!

Counting their silver, they said to Mu Chun on the platform, “Who would have thought Master Mu actually had some skill!”

Mu Chun said, “Without the diamond drill, don’t take on porcelain work. If I had no skill, how would I dare come to Eagle Guard?”

The soldiers who’d won their bets whistled mockingly at Mu Chun’s crotch, teasing: “Oh, Master Mu hasn’t married yet—still a virgin, right? Since that thing’s never been used, who knows if it’s a diamond drill or a piece of rotten wood!”

In military camps, women were the most frequent topic of conversation. Even if you didn’t understand, you had to pretend to; even if you couldn’t, you had to act like you could. Every few sentences had to include crude jokes, or others would look down on you and you’d never fit into the group.

So Mu Chun deliberately acted like a seasoned veteran, bare-chested, flexing his eight-pack abs, thrusting his hips back and forth, saying: “I’m quite impressive—if you don’t believe me, come try!”

His pants, loosened during the fight, had slipped below his hip line from all the thrusting, revealing a deep dimple at his lower back.

Everyone was shocked by Master Mu’s shamelessness and audacity, taking their money and leaving: “Forget it, we’re not women.”

Hu Shanwei naturally saw and heard all of this, wanting to grab a bucket of water to wash her eyes and ears on the spot!

I was wrong to come here. I should never have come. I’ll never come again. Hu Shanwei turned and walked away quickly.

On the platform, Mu Chun continued his oblivious hip thrusting, looking exactly like a famous Western singer’s signature dance move from over five hundred years in the future.

His trusted subordinate, Centurion Shou Pihou, said: “M-Master, please stop.”

Mu Chun glimpsed something from the corner of his eye below the platform: “No way, those guys haven’t all been scared off yet.”

Centurion Shi said: “But you’ve scared away Palace Rectifier Hu!”

Like Sun Wukong had cast an immobilization spell, Mu Chun suddenly froze completely motionless.

Author’s Note: Hu Shanwei: The death stare of a homeroom teacher.