Zhao Kuo was still waiting in the woods. When he saw Han Qian coming down, he brought the horse over to help him mount.

Han Qian swung himself onto the horse’s back and said to Zhao Kuo, “If anyone at the manor dares to bully the Zhao family behind my back, I’ll assume you’re the one pulling strings!”

“The Zhao family’s young man is so valiant, and with the Young Master’s protection, no one would dare bully his family,” Zhao Kuo said. Seeing that he had been targeted by the Young Master like a venomous snake, he could only curse his bad luck inwardly, not knowing what had changed—how did the unlearned, ill-tempered Young Master become so ruthlessly formidable, even capable of plotting to kill Fan Wucheng?

“So when I reward you with something in the future, you won’t take it out to play the generous fool again, will you?” Han Qian asked.

“Zhao Kuo would never dare to defy the Young Master with false compliance,” Zhao Kuo said, lowering his head under Han Qian’s stare.

“Good, then I’ll watch your performance,” Han Qian said casually.

In the following days, Han Qian spent an hour each morning teaching Zhao Wuji to read and instructing him in the Sixty-Four Forms of Stone Duke Boxing. For him, this was also an opportunity to review his lessons and practice Stone Duke Boxing himself.

Of course, besides seizing every moment to practice archery and horsemanship, Han Qian spent even more time trying to understand all the seemingly strange knowledge from his dream, pondering and comprehending the deceptions and intrigues that Zhai Xinping had experienced in that short life, as well as his methods of observing, analyzing, and confronting events…

Though the short span of twenty days was far from enough for Han Qian to develop the muscular build of a strongman, the daily exercise of sufficient intensity combined with adequate nutrition had made his body considerably more solid.

While Han Qian’s appearance could hardly be called elegant and refined, at this point he could at least be described as having a calm and steady bearing.

Fan Xicheng, having suffered this heavy blow, maintained a cold relationship with Han Qian, but whenever anything happened at the manor, he would have Zhao Kuo run over to inform Han Qian, showing that he hadn’t forgotten about the Young Master.

Such days continued until the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival, when Han Daoxun finally sent someone to the manor to summon Han Qian back to the city…

***

***

Han Daoxun’s residence in the capital Jinling was located in Lanting Alley in the southern district.

The residence wasn’t large. The front courtyard had only three inverted rooms used as gatehouse and guest quarters.

Through the hanging flower gate was the main courtyard, with three central rooms forming the main hall. The eastern room was Han Daoxun’s bedroom, the middle was the reception hall, and the western room was the study.

The eastern wing of the main courtyard had three rooms, which served as Han Qian’s living quarters after he came to the capital Jinling.

The three rooms of the western wing stood empty. Since there were no women in the household, the western wing was sometimes used as guest rooms to accommodate important visitors.

Between the western wing and the western side room was a passage leading to the back courtyard, which housed the kitchen, stables, and quarters for servants and household guards.

This residence couldn’t compare to the Han family’s sprawling compound in Xuanzhou with its interconnected buildings and densely arranged structures, and it fell far short even of the manor. In the capital Jinling, it could only be considered an ordinary household, with the front and back courtyards together covering just over one mu of land.

Because of the residence’s small size, Han Daoxun could only keep one old servant, one maidservant, and four household guards to attend him.

Leaving the manor, following the main road along the southern foothills of Baohua Mountain and the northern bank of Beidu River, it was less than forty li—riding a fast horse, one could enter the city from the south gate in just over an hour.

Han Qian left the manor after breakfast. Accompanied by Zhao Kuo, Fan Xicheng, and others, he rode his horse to Jinling City, arriving just after noon.

Fan Xicheng, having lost all spirit over the death of his adopted son Fan Wucheng, and being in his sixties approaching old age, felt somewhat fatigued after riding a fast horse for over an hour.

Han Qian, however, could endure it and even appeared quite spirited, showing that his archery and riding training over the past month had yielded considerable results. He could now just barely draw the yellow poplar longbow commonly used by household guards.

His body was still young after all. As long as he didn’t neglect it and trained diligently, it wasn’t beyond saving.

Yet Han Qian felt no smugness at this moment. His expression showed some melancholy, his mind still dwelling on what he’d seen and heard after leaving the manor—he couldn’t forget the corpses abandoned along the roadside that the authorities hadn’t yet collected, couldn’t forget the starving refugees who swarmed like locusts at the south gate when they rode into the southern district, whipped bloody by Fan Xicheng and Zhao Kuo’s riding crops before being driven away…

Honestly, Han Qian had entered and left Jinling City many times before, previously treating such miserable scenes with indifference and numbness, never expecting that today his heart would be struck with such intensity.

Had that night’s bizarre and fantastical dream really changed him so much?

What kind of strange dream was it?

Han Qian secretly clutched the jade pendant ground into a convex lens hidden in his robe.

The stable hand from the residence ran over to lead the horses away. Han Qian’s expression recovered slightly as he thought that he himself hadn’t yet escaped from danger—perhaps Yao Xishui and those people would send someone today to kill him. What did the miserable scenes of common people inside and outside the city have to do with him?

“Where is my father?” Han Qian asked, dismissing these unnecessary distractions from his mind and returning his thoughts to his own situation, inquiring about his father Han Daoxun’s whereabouts.

“The Master should still be at his office signing in,” Fan Xicheng said.

Emperor Tianyou established the Chu Dynasty and created the Hongwen Hall as an institution specifically managing the court’s library and compilation work, overseen by officials such as the Secretary Monitor and Deputy Secretary Monitor.

The Chu Dynasty was newly founded, with internal power struggles among generals, decrees that couldn’t reach the counties, insufficient finances amid military conflicts on all sides, and endless bandits throughout the realm. Naturally, the court’s focus couldn’t fall on cultural development, making the Hongwen Hall an extremely idle office.

As Deputy Secretary Monitor of the Hongwen Hall, Han Daoxun would never take leave and skip work unless there was urgent business. He usually wouldn’t return from the Hongwen Hall until dusk approached. At this hour, only a few household guards and the steward remained at the residence.

Han Qian, Zhao Kuo, and Fan Xicheng were famished by now. After arriving at the residence and having the maidservant prepare food, they had just hastily finished eating when they heard someone pounding on the door outside, shouting loudly, “Qilang! Qilang! You’ve finally been released!”

Hearing the voice, Han Qian knew it was Feng Yi, son of Vice Minister of Revenue Feng Wenlan, who had come to the door.

Feng Wenlan was also from Xuanzhou and was acquainted with his father Han Daoxun. When Han Qian first arrived in Jinling, he met Feng Yi, who was of similar age, and being kindred spirits, they quickly became close.

Feng Yi was also one of the four ministers’ sons selected to accompany the Imperial Prince, Marquis of Linjiang, in his studies.

How did Feng Yi know he was returning to the capital today? He hadn’t even caught his breath before rushing over?

The doorkeeper opened the door, and Feng Yi entered through the hanging flower gate with a young man, striding in briskly. Seeing that Han Daoxun wasn’t at the residence and ignoring Fan Xicheng and Zhao Kuo, the two household guards, he grabbed Han Qian and said, “Qilang, I heard you were also selected to accompany the Third Imperial Prince in his studies?”

Feng Yi was a few months older than Han Qian and acted quite brazenly around him. His appearance was delicate, and wearing riding boots, a cross-collar short jacket, and a belt decorated with agate and malachite gemstones, at first glance one might mistake him for a young lady from a noble family dressed as a man.

However, if one thought Feng Yi was a refined young master from an aristocratic family, that would be a grave mistake.

Feng Yi was truly no good character. Within a few months of Han Qian’s arrival in Jinling, he could navigate the city’s brothels and pleasure houses with ease and mix with other sons of privilege, all thanks to Feng Yi as his guide.

Unlike Han Qian, Feng Yi had two older brothers who had grown to adulthood and received hereditary posts in counties below, achieving modest success. Feng Yi also had a doting grandmother protecting him, so he ran wild in Jinling City. As long as he didn’t cause a catastrophic disaster, Feng Wenlan could do nothing with him.

The young man behind Feng Yi was Feng Yi’s maternal cousin, Kong Xirong, second son of Kong Zhou, Deputy Commander of the Left Divine Martial Army.

Kong Xirong was extremely tall, a full head taller than Han Qian. Having been supervised by his father in martial training since childhood, he was exceptionally robust, standing there like an iron tower. Yet Kong Xirong’s temperament was far gentler than his maternal cousin Feng Yi.

Because Kong Zhou served as a general in the border army in his early years, Kong Xirong lived with his mother next to his maternal uncle Feng Wenlan’s home, and thus spent all his time hanging around with Feng Yi.

Though Kong Xirong was somewhat older, he was often bullied by Feng Yi, yet he willingly endured Feng Yi’s ordering him about.

The disgraceful things Feng Yi did were often blamed on Kong Xirong, so that Kong Xirong’s reputation in Jinling City was even worse than Feng Yi’s.

Kong Xirong was also one of the four imperial prince companions selected this time.

“Tell me, isn’t this terrible luck? Why did the palace have to select us to accompany the Third Imperial Prince in his studies? At the beginning of the year, my father had a fortune-teller read my face, and he didn’t say I’d have bad fortune this year!” Feng Yi complained endlessly upon seeing Han Qian.

“…” Han Qian glanced at Fan Xicheng and Zhao Kuo and said, “You two go rest outside.”

Fan Xicheng, Zhao Kuo, and the other household guards hadn’t yet known that Han Qian was returning to the city from the manor to accompany the Third Imperial Prince in his studies. Hearing Feng Yi’s unguarded rambling, they excused themselves and went to rest in the back courtyard.

Feng Yi showed no signs of stopping. He pulled over a chair and sat down. Seeing a teapot on the table, he reached out to touch its wall, felt that the tea inside wasn’t hot, grabbed it and tilted it to his mouth, gulping it down.

Having just heard from a servant that Han Qian had returned to the city, he hadn’t even brought his horse and had run straight over, sweating profusely and terribly thirsty. He continued complaining, “Listen, if Prince Xin needed people around him and we were selected, that would be fine—maybe it would be a path to future success and prosperity. But instead they selected us to play house with a brat. Tell me, isn’t that unlucky?”

Han Qian knew Feng Yi was referring to the rumor that Emperor Tianyou might depose the Crown Prince and install the Second Imperial Prince, Prince Xin. Some ministers in court were indeed doing everything possible to establish connections with Prince Xin.

Just as Feng Yi said, in all likelihood either the Crown Prince or Prince Xin would eventually ascend the throne. So if one had to make a bet at this point, one would only choose sides between the Crown Prince and Prince Xin.

Whether the Crown Prince or Prince Xin became emperor, the Third Imperial Prince, Marquis of Linjiang, would have no good outcome. Those of them forced to be placed around the Third Imperial Prince would be fortunate not to be implicated in the future, with no hope of any great prospects. No wonder Feng Yi was full of grievances.

Dissolute as Feng Yi was, having been exposed to such matters since childhood, he understood the basic priorities.

“…” Han Qian just smiled, listening quite seriously to Feng Yi’s complaints without rushing to agree.

“Zhou Kun was originally supposed to accompany the Third Imperial Prince in his studies with us, but half a month ago he fell off his horse and actually broke his spine. He’s lying at home now, a cripple—tell me, isn’t that sinister? Doesn’t it seem like a sign of terrible luck from the very beginning?” Feng Yi asked.

Hearing Feng Yi say this, Han Qian’s heart jolted with alarm.