On the second day of the spring hunt, Mu Hexifeng, the outstanding young talent of the Mu He clan, died in the Western White Forest. His body was eaten by tigers, and disemboweled, with his head crushed and chest split open. When discovered, more than half of his remains were missing. If not for Mu Hexifeng’s mother being present, perhaps no one could have recognized that the blurry mass of flesh on the ground was once the spirited, prestigious, and flamboyant youngest son of the Mu He clan’s main branch.
The atmosphere of the hunt instantly froze. Mu Hexifeng had commanded troops abroad for years, was exceptionally skilled in martial arts, and ordinarily thirty to fifty people could not get close to him. A single tiger could not possibly have killed him. Moreover, there were no signs of struggle at the scene. Mu Hexifeng’s swords had not even been drawn from their sheaths. Under these suspicious circumstances, Mu Hexifeng’s father, brothers, uncles, and other relatives immediately submitted a memorial to Emperor Xia De, requesting the Ministry of Justice to handle the case, insisting that Mu Hexifeng had been murdered.
From this point on, the situation became uncontrollable. The Mu He clan now had far-reaching influence, controlling most of the power in court. Among the Council of Elders, the Mu clan from Lingnan typically avoided involvement in capital struggles; the Zhuge lineage maintained a low profile; the Helian family had declined since the previous generation and was merely a supporting presence in the Council; the Dong Yue Shang clan, which had risen through religious factions, had little influence on court politics; and the Batuha family in the north, who occupied the northwest, had limited strength in the capital and had always depended on the Mu He clan for survival. Now, with the Wei faction, the only force that could oppose the Mu He clan, having made a grave mistake—Wei Shuyou being stripped of his position as the Capital Prefecture Governor—the remaining Mu He clan, with one empress and three imperial consorts, naturally became the most prominent family in the world today.
The Nine Cities Magistrate’s Office moved into the hunting grounds to investigate, collect samples, and interrogate everyone. The Western White Forest was sealed off, forbidding outsiders from entering or leaving. Even incoming and outgoing letters were strictly monitored to prevent the culprit from hiding or escaping. The Great Xia royal family expressed great sympathy and protection for the Mu He family’s grief over losing their son, supporting them in making every effort to find the culprit and apprehend the criminal. Thus, the hunt was forced to stop.
In Yan Xun’s camp located in the southwest of the hunting grounds, night had brought silence. The heavy bearskin curtain was lifted, and a cold wind blew in through the entrance. The lamp on the desk flickered, and a man in a moon-white robe raised his head, his eyes black and gaze profound.
“Young Master, isn’t Miss here?”
A Jing’s eyes circled the tent, then he turned to leave. Yan Xun raised his long eyebrows and asked aloud, “What is it?”
“The Thirteenth Prince just sent someone to deliver this, saying it’s for Miss.”
Yan Xun’s brows immediately frowned slightly. He put down the book in his hand and said, “Oh, then leave it here for now.”
“Yes.”
A Jing agreed and withdrew. Outside, the wind howled against the tent’s roof, drumming vigorously. Yan Xun looked at the slightly moving curtain, motionless for a long time. His brows were furrowed, his eyes glancing at the package on the desk, silently.
The package was bulging, made of purple-gold embroidered silk from Su Bei’s Gu embroidery, with orchid brocade as the base and a clear moon white lotus pattern. Both ends were tied with rope knots, making it impossible to see what was inside.
Yan Xun only glanced at it once, then turned his head indifferently and continued reading. The room was very quiet; even the footsteps of soldiers passing by outside could be heard clearly. But for some reason, in such a quiet environment, the man suddenly felt somewhat irritated and couldn’t continue reading.
He stood up and walked to the tea table nearby, pouring a cup of tea. The tea had a fresh fragrance, a tribute tea newly sent from Lingnan. Zhao Zhengde didn’t like drinking tea, so he distributed it among the people in the palace. Lingnan was rich in silk and tea; this tea was called Hong Nü, rumored to be extremely precious, picked by the tongue tips of maidens with dignified appearances in the early morning. The taste might not be notably better than ordinary tea, but its value lies in the feeling when drinking it.
With Yan Xun’s status, he naturally had no fortune to enjoy tribute items. But unknown to others, the behind-the-scenes helmsman of the current major tea houses in Lingnan was none other than this Yan Bei Young Master living deep in the palace. Even the local lord of Lingnan, the Mu family, was unaware of this.
Yan Xun held the tea and returned to the desk. The fragrant clear tea seemed to return his emotions to tranquility. Yan Xun’s eyes were half-narrowed, his expression calm, his steps steady. But just as he sat down, his palm suddenly tilted, and the water in the cup spilled out.
With a splash, the tea completely spilled onto the package, quickly seeping through. The man’s face remained calm as he quietly watched the tea spread bit by bit, showing no signs of panic. After a long while, he suddenly muttered to himself, “I’ve gotten it wet; I should open it and handle it properly.”
Late at night, when Chu Qiao finally returned and heard A Jing’s message, she came to Yan Xun’s tent and said, “Yan Xun, you were looking for me?”
“Oh,” Yan Xun set down his book and stood up. His moon-white robe had a gentle glow in the lamplight. “You’re back. Is it cold outside?”
“It’s fine,” Chu Qiao walked to the fire basin, took down the fox fur hand-warmer, and warmed herself by the charcoal fire, raising her head. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Nothing much. Yu Hetian just came by, hinting around about my whereabouts yesterday.”
Chu Qiao gave a cold smile. “They’re like ants on a hot pan now. Yu Hetian has been stationed in the north for many years, rising from a small commanding officer. He has had some friendship with Zhao Che during the years Zhao Che was exiled to the border city. If Zhao Che hadn’t risen to power, how would he have achieved such rapid promotion? Now that Zhao Che is in trouble, he naturally wants to help. But I don’t think Zhao Che sent him; Zhao Che is too arrogant to stoop to such things.”
Yan Xun nodded, “He had some dealings with my father and brother when he was in the northern frontier.”
“Yu Hetian is a small man. Back then, he sent terrain maps to the capital, betraying Yan Bei. Now he comes sneaking around again. If you don’t want to deal with him, let me handle it.”
“Yes, I don’t want to see him again either.”
The lamplight flickered as Chu Qiao moved her feet closer to the fire basin and said, “That’s easy to arrange. We just need to find a suitable way to let Zhao Che know that Yu Hetian visited our camp tonight. With his arrogant and suspicious nature, he will certainly be on guard and won’t bother with whatever Yu Hetian came for. This kind of thing is better not handled by us directly.”
“Yes,” Yan Xun nodded, “Go make the arrangements.”
“By the way, Yan Xun, is that all you wanted to see me about?”
“No,” Yan Xun stood up, went to the back tent, and took out a white jade box, saying, “Wenting sent a piece of clothing yesterday. He must have taken the wrong one in haste; it’s a woman’s style. It’s for you.”
Chu Qiao took it, frowning, and said, “Ji Wenting sends you gifts all the time. How could he be so careless this time?”
Chu Qiao opened it and couldn’t help but brighten at the sight. Arranged neatly in the box was a white fox fur coat. It wasn’t made from whole pieces of fur but was entirely connected with sable tails. The fur was glossy without a trace of mixed color, completely smooth like fine silk. The cuffs were adorned with the chest and abdominal down feathers of white-plumed snow eagles, and the collar was dazzlingly decorated with brilliant black East Sea pearls—a top-quality masterpiece.
Chu Qiao was stunned and said, “Ji Wenting has gone all out this time.”
Yan Xun didn’t respond, turning back to his desk.
“Then I’ll go now.”
“Wait.” As if suddenly remembering something, Yan Xun handed over a package and said, “I almost forgot, this was sent for you by Zhao Song just now.”
Chu Qiao took it, weighing it in her hand, and immediately knew what it was. Just as she was about to leave, she heard Yan Xun ask, “Aren’t you going to open it and take a look?”
“It’s a snow coat from the Western Sier people. He said the day before yesterday that he would send it to me. I didn’t expect it to be delivered here.”
“Oh,” Yan Xun nodded and said, “Western Sier was on good terms with my father in earlier years, and they had a deep relationship. They recently had unrest in five or six counties. Although it’s just a piece of clothing, our position is sensitive, so we should avoid suspicion.”
“I understand,” Chu Qiao nodded. “I had already thought of that, but I didn’t want to disappoint the Thirteenth. He’s quite enthusiastic, as you know.”
“You’ve always handled matters prudently. I trust you completely. It’s very late, go rest.”
“Yes, you should sleep early too.”
Chu Qiao agreed and walked out. Shortly after, A Jing rushed in anxiously and said to Yan Xun, “Young Master, why did Miss take that clothing? That was a rare treasure that Master Wu specially found from the Northern Abyss. Wasn’t the Young Master planning to give it to the Dong Yue Shang Lady as a birthday gift?”
Yan Xun kept his head down, reading without even raising his eyes, and said in a mild tone, “If it’s gone, then find another one. If you can’t find one, then don’t give anything.”
A Jing was immediately dumbfounded. By the time he recovered, Yan Xun had already left the desk and returned to the inner tent to sleep.
Outside, snow fell heavily. That night, except for Yan Xun’s camp, no one in the entire spring hunting festival could sleep peacefully.