Yang Xingjian changed into scholarly robes, disguising himself as a cultured gentleman collecting folk customs. He arranged to meet the gray-haired servant from Chang’an at a small street tavern.

The gray-haired servant was an old house-born retainer of the Han family, already over sixty years old, with graying hair wrapped in a blue cloth headband. Seeing Yang Xingjian’s refined and scholarly appearance, claiming to be a gentleman from Chang’an, he treated him with great respect. After repeatedly declining, he finally took his seat at the table.

The tavern keeper brought out meat and vegetarian dishes with wine, placing a pot of new rice wine to warm over the fire. The two men began chatting politely in the capital’s official dialect.

At a table not far from them, a young man and woman sat drinking in silence. The young lady was quite pretty but wore a gloomy expression, while the young gentleman occasionally told a joke or two to amuse her. The tavern keeper assumed they were young lovers having a quarrel, and after serving their wine and food, tactfully refrained from further disturbance.

The gray-haired servant said with considerable regret: “That day this old slave was muddled in the head and shouldn’t have spoken of household matters. Having that scholar write it into a story—if the master were to find out, he would surely punish this old slave severely.”

Yang Xingjian consoled him: “Legendary tales and supernatural stories have always used Han dynasty settings to allude to Tang affairs, never involving current events. Besides, most of the plot is fabricated by literary men—you need not worry, old sir.”

The gray-haired servant sighed deeply and retorted: “Sir, you have it backwards. Most of the plot actually happened. Our Fourth Young Master truly had a bitter fate—this old slave wasn’t talking nonsense.”

Yang Xingjian silently calculated: By the ranking of eldest, second, third, and youngest, Han Jun was Han Ren’s youngest son, styled Jizhou, ranking fourth—that’s correct. He filled the servant’s empty cup and showed great interest, saying: “I would like to hear the details.”

The gray-haired servant remained silent, only drinking with his head down.

Seeing this, Yang Xingjian immediately raised his hand and swore: “May Heaven and Earth bear witness—whatever you tell me today, old sir, I, Yang, stake my life that it will never pass through my mouth or from my pen.”

Wei Xun, listening nearby with pricked ears, heard his duplicitous oath and nearly laughed aloud, but fearing Bao Zhu’s anger, he covered his mouth and forcibly held back.

This crafty advisor plied the servant with drink repeatedly, and before long had gotten the gray-haired man thoroughly drunk, his face flushed red and his guard completely down.

Yang Xingjian timely raised a question: “The palace prohibition is strictly enforced—how could Young Master Han possibly know a noble princess of the deep palace?”

The gray-haired servant wiped the wine from the corner of his mouth and slowly said: “The young master was seventeen at the time, having just entered the Imperial Guards as a halberd-bearer. It happened that His Majesty went to hunt in the Forbidden Park, and he followed the army as escort. Many princes and nobles were present on that occasion. When the princess drew her bow to shoot yellow sheep, her heroic bearing made him fall in love at first sight. He froze on horseback and nearly received punishment from his superior for improper conduct before the emperor. From then on, love took deep root in his heart. But knowing the difference in status made it seem hopeless, he dared not tell anyone.”

Bao Zhu lightly snorted with disdain written all over her face.

Wei Xun felt Han Jun’s reaction wasn’t surprising at all. After all, when he first witnessed Bao Zhu’s rapid-fire archery at the ghost house, he too found it amazingly impressive. He had originally thought she was a pampered crybaby, never expecting she possessed such skills, and from then on regarded her with new eyes.

He quietly asked: “That Han bamboo pole saw you—didn’t you notice him?”

Bao Zhu said in a low voice: “You don’t know how many people follow when the emperor hunts—several thousand Imperial Guards, wearing identical helmets and armor. Whether ugly or handsome, from a distance they all look exactly the same.”

Meanwhile, Yang Xingjian continued questioning: “Since he dared not tell anyone, how did you all find out?”

The gray-haired servant, with wine going to his head, spoke in fragments: “One day, the master went to attend a palace banquet. When he returned, he was beside himself with worry, sighing repeatedly about ‘disaster approaching’ and ‘ambitious matches beyond one’s station.’ When the mistress inquired, the master said His Majesty had taken a fancy to the young master and intended to arrange a marriage with the princess, but he dared not agree.

When this news spread through the residence, the young master first heard of the imperial marriage arrangement and was overjoyed. But immediately after learning his father had refused it, he became so agitated that he collapsed and remained unconscious for several days. If not for summoning famous doctors to administer acupuncture, he might have died of frustration right then. Only then did the household discover his feelings. But the emperor’s word cannot be taken lightly—having refused the marriage was already taking enormous risk; how could they reverse course?

The young master suffered a serious illness and, disheartened, resigned from his Imperial Guard position and left Chang’an in dejection. Several of us old servants followed him, wandering aimlessly outside for two years. Just when his heartache seemed to be healing, who would have thought we’d hear news of the princess’s death. We rushed all the way back to Chang’an but missed the funeral—the burial mound had already been raised. Unable to bear the shock, he insisted on building a hut at the foot of Mount Zhongnan to wear mourning and guard her tomb for the princess.”

Hearing this, Bao Zhu sneered contemptuously: “Self-indulgent infatuation.”

The gray-haired servant continued: “But that princess was buried unmarried—how could there be such rumors? I hurriedly ran back home to report. The master and eldest young master had him bound and sent dozens of house-born sons to escort him to Zhaoyi, entrusting him to Commander Lu, a family friend, for supervision. Our young master was born handsome, excellent in both literary and martial arts. Since joining the Zhaoyi headquarters, he has risen steadily through the ranks. It’s just pitiful that his heart has grown cold, and he no longer thinks of marriage.”

Yang Xingjian asked the key points over and over several times. Confirming there was nothing new, he understood clearly: the parts of “The Wrong Golden Branch” involving Han Jun were roughly true. But articles most fear being bland, so when that scholar wrote it, he took the liberty of adding the princess’s storyline, forcibly changing it from unrequited love to mutual affection. Only thus did it possess the powerful attraction of love and hatred that spans heaven and earth.

With the family head demoted to Fengxiang and the emperor’s anger still unabated, the Han family had bound Han Jun and sent him far away to Hebei to avoid disaster, naturally not daring to publicize it. But with the plot and characters already formed, even with official power to suppress it, it would be difficult to stop word-of-mouth transmission among the people, especially since they were currently traveling incognito.

Yang Xingjian casually glanced at the neighboring table. Bao Zhu stood up with a stern face, settled the bill, and left.

With matters having reached this point, nothing could be undone. Stepping over the sewage flowing across the street, on the way back Bao Zhu grew more frustrated the more she thought about it. Glancing back occasionally, she saw Wei Xun had a somewhat smug expression, and angrily demanded: “What are you so happy about?!”

Wei Xun pressed his lips together, suppressing his amusement as he said: “When that bamboo pole was crying at the grave, I had already dug a tunnel and stolen the person away.”

Bao Zhu felt blood rushing to her head, her mind buzzing. She was about to explode with rage, yet this mischievous devil was still pleased with himself for acting faster than others. Her temples throbbed as she said in uncontrollable fury: “You’re the fastest, are you? Then tonight you go to the county office and bring me that Han fellow’s head!”

Wei Xun initially said nothing. Seeing Bao Zhu’s face change color, he offered a few perfunctory responses.

That night, urged repeatedly by Bao Zhu, he casually replied: “Fine, fine, okay, okay,” slowly lifting his leg to vault over the wall and disappear into the darkness.

Regional military governors with autonomous administrative officials and independent financial authority differed from other regions. The army was controlled by military commanders at various levels under the military governor, and county-level officials could not mobilize troops. Therefore, the person actually controlling Zhongqiu County was the regimental commander Han Jun stationed there for defense. Half of his three thousand soldiers were responsible for city defense, half deployed at the border.

However, none of this had much to do with Wei Xun. He drifted into the county office like a ghost, strolling leisurely around, and quickly found his target in the eastern flower hall of the prefect’s inner residence.

At first glance seeing this young commander, Wei Xun was certain he was Han Jun.

He didn’t look like a bamboo pole at all. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, straight as a pine tree, similar to Huo Qi. He wore a black robe with circular collar and slit sides, decorated with connected pearl and paired leopard patterns, with a cloth cap wrapped with a headband—typical daily military attire. But while military headbands customarily used bright red silk scarves, he alone wore a white one.

At this moment, this young commander held a scroll of poetry, quietly reading by candlelight.

Wei Xun concealed himself in the shadows, secretly observing. He originally hadn’t intended to take anyone’s life, just came over casually to have a look to appease Bao Zhu. But now seeing the target in person, inexplicably a strong aversion surged from deep in his heart.

The Changli Han clan. Most disciples of the Setting Sun Courtyard had no proper names. As an unregistered abandoned child, Wei Xun had never before thought surnames held any special meaning—they were just calling tools. With his outstanding martial arts that no one could match, he was normally proud and confident, never feeling inferior about his origins.

However, at this moment, he suddenly realized that this man of similar age to himself, merely by being born well, not only naturally possessed the privilege of reading and writing, but even had the qualification to openly discuss marriage with Bao Zhu.

She had once said she wouldn’t lack bedside companions in the future. When she reached Youzhou and returned to her original world, she would surely be surrounded by people like this.

These were people who could legally possess “status.” While thieves casually named by their master could only forever hide in shadows.

Han Jun suddenly looked up, surveying his surroundings with suspicion and wariness. Nothing seemed amiss within his field of vision, yet there was an indescribable sense of danger. He set down the poetry collection and reached for the sword at his waist. The cold touch of the gold-inlaid guard was reassuring.

It was probably the incident at Dunye Ward that had made him somewhat sensitive, he thought to himself. People continuously dying suddenly of acute illness was certainly not a good omen.

Sudden death from acute illness. This phrase that flashed through his mind instantly made him think of that tall, pyramidal burial mound, causing a sharp pain in his heart.

Just then, a personal guard reported: “Captain, Magistrate Liu requests an audience!”

Moments later, Zhongqiu County Magistrate Liu Tai arrived hastily with Han Jun’s deputy Chen Ruhui, accompanied by two staff officers.

A nighttime visit meant serious business. Han Jun urgently asked: “Enemy activity?”

Chen Ruhui shook his head: “It’s about affairs in the city.” He looked toward County Magistrate Liu Tai, who wore a grave expression: “Six more people died in Dunye Ward. The ward chief says people develop symptoms and die within two days, including able-bodied adults.”

Han Jun was alarmed: “So quickly? This doesn’t seem like ordinary disease—could it be plague?” He looked at Liu Tai and asked: “Magistrate, you have extensive experience. How are such matters usually handled?”

Liu Tai said: “Generally, patients are sent to temples for convenient centralized care by monks, who perform rituals to drive away plague demons. However, the temples are currently overflowing with lodged travelers and cannot accommodate more.”

Chen Ruhui suggested: “Why not simply seal the ward gates, give them some grain, and let the epidemic run its natural course.”

Han Jun’s face darkened: “We are the imperial army—we don’t do such cruel things that harm the people. Send riders immediately to request medical doctors and medical students from Xingzhou to come treat them.”

Liu Tai added: “Dunye Ward is the poorest area in the city. People can barely fill their stomachs daily. Even if we invite medical practitioners, they probably cannot afford medicine.”

Han Jun pondered for a moment, then said lightly: “Military medical supplies always keep a twenty percent surplus for losses. With several consecutive rainy days recently, some herbs have become moldy—such a pity.”

His hint was so obvious that Liu Tai and Chen Ruhui understood perfectly.

This time Wei Xun didn’t return as quickly as usual with a “quick trip.” Bao Zhu felt somewhat regretful, sitting restlessly, unable to concentrate on reading.

After waiting a long time, she finally heard tapping at the window. She hurriedly rose to greet him. Wei Xun’s form flashed as he slipped inside lightly, carrying a heavy bundle in his hand. The object was wrapped in cloth and was much larger than a human head. From its shape, it looked like a torso with the head and limbs severed.

Bao Zhu immediately felt alarmed, but the cloth wrapping was completely clean without a trace of blood, leaving her puzzled and uncertain.

Wei Xun placed his trophy on the ground and unhurriedly untied the knots. Inside was wrapped a suit of fine-scale armor of commander grade, its metal plates gleaming brilliantly.

Bao Zhu came forward to examine the armor, turning it over repeatedly, then looked up and asked: “Where’s the head?”

Wei Xun smiled: “I stole his armor. Without this protection, he’s just flesh and blood in cloth. If you really want to take his life, draw your bow and shoot the arrow yourself.”

Bao Zhu pressed her lips together without speaking. She understood clearly that whether to kill or not, Wei Xun always acted according to his own will and never listened to others’ commands. In daily small matters, he seemed obediently compliant. But when touching his bottom line, he had his own principles of righteousness, and these principles didn’t change according to her will.

During the time Wei Xun was away and she waited alone, her momentary angry impulse had already passed. Calming down to think carefully, arbitrarily killing the Zhaoyi army commander guarding the border was not a rational decision.

Though she had thought it through, she was unwilling to concede verbally. Bao Zhu complained reproachfully: “You don’t follow military orders and make your own decisions. Just based on this, you’ll never get promoted in this lifetime.”

Wei Xun rarely failed to respond with playful banter as usual, only smiling as he said: “Life has weight—only by acting personally can one bear the responsibility. If you lack this awareness, don’t create killing karma.”

Bao Zhu snorted, repeatedly calculating in her mind, weighing pros and cons. Finally making a painful decision, she said: “Since passing north requires this person’s permission, we’ll have to meet him face to face sooner or later anyway.”