As silk letters burned in the brazier, perhaps because the atmosphere was too oppressive, the young Minister touched his chest collar and couldn’t help murmuring to himself.
“So it was wrong from the start. I shouldn’t have left Shangjun, left your side. Otherwise Hu Hai and the others couldn’t have achieved their wishes so easily.”
Fu Su felt somewhat moved listening, yet raised his eyebrows the next moment. His death had only occurred this very day. Not even mourning banners had been hung at Gaoquan Palace yet—those servants merely fled seeking advantage and avoiding harm upon seeing the young prince Hu Hai succeeded. How could his tutor know the news so quickly? There must be some special method of transmitting information.
“This realm, handed to that boy Hu Hai, likely won’t even last five years.”
On this point Fu Su completely agreed. Hu Hai wasn’t incompetent—he’d been ruined by his father emperor’s upbringing. Temperamental, pampered, and never receiving proper imperial education, court politics would certainly be controlled by Li Si and Zhao Gao.
“Li Si and Zhao Gao seek different things. Sooner or later conflicts and disputes will arise.”
Right. Li Si hadn’t completely lost his nature, but Zhao Gao used any means necessary. However much Li Si craved power, ultimately he still aimed to build a powerful Qin dynasty. But Zhao Gao’s goals were unclear, his intentions impossible to fathom.
“When these two fight, Zhao Gao will certainly laugh last. And Hu Hai, taught by him personally, even less his match.”
Yes, this Qin dynasty would likely perish by the second generation. Though Zhao Gao also bore the Ying surname—if he held power, perhaps the realm needn’t change surnames…
Even though Fu Su couldn’t speak out, their thoughts still synchronized as usual when discussing affairs. Fu Su simply stopped caring about the burned silk letters. After all, his tutor had written them all—even burned, they remained in his mind, just unknown who would benefit next.
Fu Su sighed, reluctantly touching the silk letters around the brazier.
“Zhao Gao’s wolfish ambitions will likely be exposed soon.” The young Minister continued muttering softly.
But Fu Su froze in place, because he suddenly realized that even if his tutor’s talents were so stunning, if the one in power was a fool who didn’t appreciate them, like pearls covered in dust, they’d be completely useless.
“I estimate soon someone will come deal with me…” The young Minister spoke calmly about his own fate, not caring at all.
Run quickly!
Fu Su stood up, trying desperately to attract the other’s attention. But he could only disturb the smoke above the brazier, unable to make further warnings.
Perhaps because smoke lingered long in the room without dispersing, the young Minister covered his chest coughing violently.
Fu Su, having done wrong, guiltily quieted down again. But the next second he saw the young Minister pull out a silk letter to cover his mouth—large patches of blood stained it, shocking to behold.
“Bi Zhi! Bi Zhi! What’s wrong with you?” Fu Su was shocked. Only now did he notice his tutor’s terrible complexion—even reflected in the brazier’s warm firelight, still pale as snow. Moreover, his form was so emaciated only bones remained—truly skin and bones.
After a long while, the heart-rending coughing finally ceased. Only the crackling of burning silk letters in the brazier and the young Minister’s bellows-like breathing could be heard in the room.
The young Minister seemed accustomed to such situations. One hand covering his chest, he calmly wiped blood from his lips with the silk letter in his other hand, then casually destroyed evidence by tossing it into the brazier.
“Your Highness, have you returned again? Otherwise why does this jade disc keep warming…”
Fu Su didn’t understand this sentence. He’d also seen the jade disc at his tutor’s chest but never heard of such effects.
Seeing his tutor begin burning silk letters sheet by sheet again, Fu Su paced the room somewhat troubled. Then he discovered in a dark corner, there actually seemed to be a vague figure. When he curiously looked over, he discovered a woman lying there!
Calling her a woman wasn’t quite accurate. Precisely speaking, she should be a female ghost.
In the half day since death, this was Fu Su’s first time seeing his kind. Immediately curious, he approached, discovering beneath this woman was actually a black garment. The woman wore light-colored palace dress, face down—momentarily unable to distinguish who she was.
Just as Fu Su was about to examine her, footsteps sounded outside. Fu Su thought it was a Gan residence servant, but the person didn’t knock at all, unceremoniously pulling open the door with a “whoosh.”
“A’luo, hurry and prepare to leave with me!” The newcomer rushed in frantically, only to be choked coughing by the smoky room. But he still insisted on walking several steps, rushing to the young Minister’s side, grabbing his wrist.
Fu Su glanced at the arrival—it was Ying, long unseen.
“I’m not leaving.” The young Minister said flatly, his words carrying unshakeable determination.
“Not leaving won’t do!” Ying stamped his feet hatefully. “You think Hu Hai and Zhao Gao will spare your life? The Tiger Guard troops are heading to your residence. Come with me quickly!”
“If I go with you, you won’t be held accountable?” The young Minister raised his head, giving Ying a reassuring smile. “Moreover, the Tiger Guards aren’t only going to the Gan residence—they’re visiting many ministers’ homes.”
“Eh? How do you know?” Ying froze upon hearing this.
“I have my information channels.” The young Minister’s hand touched the Suanni stone carving beside him. The incense burner next to the carving still emitted ethereal smoke.
Perhaps because the young Minister’s confident composure calmed anxious Ying considerably, he quickly opened all the room’s windows. After ventilation, he walked back dejectedly sighing: “A’luo, why would the First Emperor pass the throne to that boy Hu Hai? Do you think Fu Su will directly rebel at Shangjun?”
Fu Su blinked. News from Shangjun indeed hadn’t reached Xianyang so quickly. Xianyang City still didn’t know he was dead.
So Xianyang Palace was in such chaos? Gaoquan Palace so desolately empty? All thinking he’d raise troops in rebellion?
The young Minister remained silent, still burning silk letters in his hands.
“A’luo, I think you should still come with me, hide for a while.” Ying anxiously pulled the young Minister’s sleeve, trying to persuade him. “If Fu Su rebels, Hu Hai will probably target you first, or take you hostage…”
But Fu Su knew his tutor would never agree, having already learned of his death.
Why had he been so unguarded toward his father emperor’s envoys… letting all their preparations over ten years come to naught…
Here Fu Su fell into boundless self-blame, while Ying was persuaded back by the young Minister. Ying didn’t want to leave like this, but Tiger Guards were already knocking at the front courtyard. To avoid suspicion, he could only depart.
The Tiger Guards were the Qin army’s elite force—clad in heavy armor, guarding the palace, only accepting direct commands from the emperor. So aside from the palace, Tiger Guards could use their badges to enter any Xianyang City residence without needing the owner’s consent.
Just after calling servants to lead Ying out the Gan residence’s back door, Tiger Guards had already entered directly through the main gate, quickly rushing into the small courtyard. The young Minister straightened his clothing and walked out, just encountering the Tiger Guard soldier delivering the edict.
Fu Su listened from inside—the other was summoning ministers to assemble and go to Mount Li for the First Emperor’s funeral.
After the young Minister inquired about the time, the Tiger Guard soldier said they must leave immediately. Even the bedridden King of Yiyang couldn’t decline—all must go. The young Minister said he’d return to his room to change into formal robes, finally permitted to re-enter.
Fu Su felt something suspicious, but the journey to Mount Li was distant—rushing out at deep night wasn’t particularly strange. Earlier wandering Xianyang Palace, Fu Su had also heard others say his father emperor’s remains had rotted during prolonged transport in hot weather—even a cart of abalone couldn’t mask the stench.
Thinking thus, rushing the funeral made sense.
After entering, the young Minister first looked down at his green robes. All his clothing was green—naturally inappropriate colors for funerals. Servants outside had already delivered white mourning garments—plain robe, plain skirt, plain cap all made of raw hemp cloth.
As the young Minister changed robes, Fu Su discovered the female ghost lying in the corner had actually opened her eyes and stood up.
Perhaps having been dead too long, her spirit so weak it was semi-transparent, unable to speak. But enough for Fu Su to recognize at a glance—this female ghost was actually his tutor’s maid Caiwei!
What happened? How did Caiwei die? Wasn’t she assigned to the Weaving Chamber, even becoming head seamstress?
Caiwei now also recognized Fu Su. First shocked, she looked left and right, then discovering the other could see her, hastily pointed to the black garment beneath her, expression anxious.
Unable to speak at all?
Though without verbal communication, Fu Su understood her meaning—wanting his tutor to wear this black garment.
Fu Su knew Caiwei was most loyal to his tutor. Especially persisting until now after death, this black garment must have great significance. But the problem was Fu Su’s condition wasn’t much better than Caiwei’s now. How could he notify his tutor?
His gaze circled the room, Fu Su fixed his eyes on the brazier.
The young Minister’s hands preparing to dress froze there, because he saw the brazier’s curling smoke actually defying natural law, gathering into a thin line, drifting gracefully toward some corner of the room.
Though Ying had opened windows earlier, this couldn’t cause such a situation. Having witnessed many extraordinary people and events over the years, the young Minister took it in stride, following the smoke to where it pointed.
There quietly lay a black deep robe.
The young Minister bent to pick it up, only then remembering this was delivered by a weaving maid—the deep robe Caiwei had previously mentioned, saying he must wear it.
His normally numb hands actually felt a trace of coolness. The young Minister thought it an illusion.
Great Qin revered black. Black clothing was originally a color only the imperial family could wear, but if worn inside unnoticed, it would be fine.
The young Minister only hesitated an instant before following Caiwei’s intention, donning this black deep robe properly, then covering it with white mourning garments outside.
Fu Su watched his tutor finish wearing that black deep robe. Caiwei’s face showed a relieved smile, her form slowly dispersing into air.
Was this because lingering concerns were completed, allowing true rest?
Fu Su sighed, because he still had many concerns, yet now contemplated whether to let them go.
He was already dead.
He watched his tutor place all silk letters in the brazier. Only after seeing them all ignite did he push the door open.
Footsteps outside quickly departed. Fu Su didn’t follow. He had little interest in his father emperor’s funeral.
He just stood there, staring at those silk letters in the brazier slowly consumed by flames, finally burning to a pile of ash.
Meanwhile, the young Minister stepping outside the Gan residence paused, touching the cooling jade disc at his chest. His usually calm face showed uncertain surprise, looking back toward his small courtyard.
Why did the jade disc cool upon leaving the Gan residence? Could Fu Su have just been in his room?
How was this possible?
“Minister Gan, please proceed quickly.” The Tiger Guard soldier behind gave the young Minister no more time to hesitate, gripping his sword hilt meaningfully, his words carrying undeniable threat.
The young Minister looked at his aged father beside him, could only press his lips together and continue stepping forward.
Modern Era – Mute House
The Boss touched the jade disc worn beneath the crimson dragon robe at his chest, startling awake from memories.
Throughout these two thousand plus years, he’d continuously asked himself—if he’d turned back regardless of everything then, could he have preserved Fu Su’s soul?
But this was merely speculation, because he’d completely not known then that after the jade disc recognized its master by blood, it recognized not the flesh but the soul.
One thought’s difference—close yet worlds apart.
The Boss picked up the teacup beside him, discovering the tea had cooled, and put it down again.
The sun declined westward, lanterns just being lit.
The Boss’s form hadn’t moved for a long while, until the two Changxin Palace Lamps at Mute House’s entrance automatically brightened their burning flames.
He stood up, walked to the carved window, opening only a crack barely enough to expose one eye.
Through the gap, he fixedly watched a young man carrying a lunch box, walking over with an exhausted expression. The other wore casual clothes, but the white coat crumpled in his backpack still showed slightly. The Boss had long since inquired—this person worked as intern doctor at the nearby hospital.
Only after seeing off this young doctor from his sight did the Boss slowly close the carved window, lingering to touch the jade disc beneath his chest clothing that had momentarily warmed then cooled again.
His body had long since died, ice-cold beyond compare.
If not for wearing the crimson dragon robe Caiwei had sewn for him, he would have long turned to dust.
Everyone he knew—friends and family—had all died, yet he still lived.
Like a walking corpse.
He kept this jade disc placed closest to his heart. Throughout the long years, tirelessly searching for Fu Su’s reincarnation.
Because only when he found the other would the jade disc warm, bit by bit conducting this warmth from his heart throughout his entire body.
Only then did he feel he was still alive.
Unfortunately, each reincarnation lasted only a brief few years.
This time, he hoped it could last longer…