Chapter Thirty-Six: Scorching Sun, Burning Heart (End)

Late at night, outside the Princess Gao'an's residence, countless eyes prowled in the darkness. A shadow flitted through the alleyways, and several burly men swiftly pursued it, patrolling the nearby streets in circles. They regrouped, only to find nothing, cursing as they returned. The dense maple leaves spilling over the walls of the Princess Gao'an's residence shivered endlessly in the wind.

In the small courtyard where Quan Ce was temporarily staying, Daisy and Pomegranate stood side by side. Daisy was calm, with a gentle smile; Pomegranate, on the other hand, pursed her lips in frustration—no reason other than the noble Princess Gao'an having taken over all the servants’ duties.

"My son was delicate as a child, always beautiful, his temperament as gentle as a girl's. He was so lovable, it made my heart ache," Princess Gao'an crouched by the ground, washing Quan Ce’s feet, gazing up at him with satisfaction in her eyes. "Watching him grow up, go out to serve, and fight in battles, he’s gained the bearing of a man. I wonder which young lady is fortunate enough to marry my son?"

Quan Ce had long since become accustomed to his aunt’s doting ways. He resisted several times, which only made her shed tears, so he finally gave in. To be truthful, this familial warmth was something he deeply longed for, and he gladly drew close to her. "Aunt, when you look at your own child, all you see are virtues. In the eyes of others, your child might be a sinner, hideous even."

Princess Gao'an fetched a cotton cloth and carefully dried the water droplets. "That’s because their eyes are blind, lacking in fortune. How does my son sleep at night? Should I move in to keep you company?"

Quan Ce had learned how to handle his aunt, staying calm. "No need, Aunt. You’re plump and a bit larger than me—the bed wouldn’t fit us both."

Princess Gao'an feigned anger, pinching his cheek. "You’ve grown up enough to dislike your aunt now. Who was that little monkey who loved to snuggle into my arms as a child?"

She settled Quan Ce into bed, waited for him to fall asleep, then softly instructed Daisy and Pomegranate, "You two, serve the young master well. Be vigilant through the night."

Not long after she left, Quan Ce opened his eyes and addressed the darkness at the foot of his bed with a cold command, "To the study."

In the study, a single lamp flickered. Two men stood before Quan Ce—Li Zhen’s Eight Stallions, the top two present. Quan Zhong, whose skills were lacking, could not come and go freely; he had remained outside, not daring to return.

"Master, the prince consort went to a residence in Renhe Ward, with no plaque or sign. Shortly after, a servant headed toward Chang’an, switching horses midway with help from others. The man was captured by Shazha Shu’s people," Juedi spoke quietly. "How should we handle this?"

"Execute him. Dump the body back at the residence as a warning," Quan Ce clenched his jaw, barely containing his anger.

"Yes," Juedi accepted the order, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say more. Second Brother Fan Yu, ever forthright, blurted out, "Master, Quan Zhong sent word—the Renhe Ward residence is the prince consort’s secret mistress, and there’s an eight-year-old son..."

"Second Brother," Juedi cut him off, moving his lips but saying nothing further.

Quan Ce’s mind rang, his body faltered, hand pressing to his forehead. He had to believe it; Quan Zhong would never report such news unless he was absolutely certain.

"Master, don’t grieve. One fire is all it takes—end that wretched woman," Fan Yu suggested, his tone sinister.

Juedi slapped him, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth.

Quan Ce steadied himself. "How about my cousin?"

"Liu Tong is dead. His steward pretended to be him, giving Shazha Shu considerable trouble. We caught one alive," Juedi continued. "Master’s cousin died protecting Liu Tong, was badly injured, and several servants perished."

Quan Ce’s eyes brightened. "Liu Tong’s steward—is he still alive?"

"Yes, still in Quan Zhong’s hands. He’s tough," Juedi nodded solemnly, then reported on Quan Ce’s assigned task. "We scouted Longmen Post Station. Prince Xu’s guesthouse is crawling with spies, from all sorts. Sneaking in is easy; avoiding detection is impossible. To deliver a letter inside would cost a life."

"Deliver a letter? At the cost of a life?" Quan Ce repeated the words, his face turning cold. "Has anyone entered or exited my uncle’s guesthouse these days?"

"Absolutely not. The remaining brothers are stationed all around the guesthouse. Many people have been encountered, but no one went inside—they’re all watching," Fan Yu wiped the blood from his mouth, swearing by it, tough as ever.

"Good," Quan Ce took a deep breath, staring blankly at the oil lamp on the desk. In his pupils, the flame’s halo grew, its brightness piercing his heart like scalding oil, splashing everywhere, burning his chest with pain.

Longmen Post Station, west of Chang’an, was the largest relay station, comprising dozens of independent guesthouses. Originally meant to host envoys from Western kingdoms, it was now filled with imperial relatives of the Li family.

The staff in the guesthouses moved with precision and discipline, never glancing sideways, never skipping steps up the stairs. Food and fruit were served without silk covers, no special privileges given, nor any neglect. They all knew these princes were worth more than words, yet as worthless as weeds. Eyes outside the guesthouses were as numerous as cattle; a single misstep meant disaster.

A dim dusk covered the land—another day had passed. Only three days remained until the grand New Year banquet. The princes in the guesthouses still awaited any word from Chang’an, trapped in their towers, like prisoners, uncertain of fate, ignorant of their path, unaware of the beginning or end, enduring torment like an unending hell.

In the dense woods outside the guesthouses, shadows moved ceaselessly. Daytime surveillance had ended; it was time for a shift. Each went to claim their familiar spot, only to find someone had beaten them to it, forcing them to find new hiding places. The group arriving at night was clearly dozens stronger than the daytime crowd.

"Damn it, the Censorate’s mad dogs—useless skills, numbers mean nothing. Get your gear ready; guard against their chaos."

"To hell with them! What are those bastards from Lijing Gate up to with so many people? Brothers, don’t move—just keep close watch on Prince Xu’s guesthouse front and back. We control exits, not entrances; anyone who comes out, seize them at once."

A massive surveillance ring, and tension soared.

Clip-clop—the sound of hooves echoed down the road. Riders wore night gear, faces masked, hats pulled low—the standard attire for covert deeds. Their manner, however, was brazen, dismounting boldly, vaulting over walls, disappearing with a few rolls.

"Heh, skilled and fearless. Report to the chief—everyone, move to Prince Xu’s guesthouse for security," Lijing Gate’s men responded instantly, but failed to claim the best vantage points; the Censorate’s men had been stationed there from the start.

"Boss, the master said someone’s gone inside—should we act now?" A burly man in black perched on a tree branch, his voice filled with admiration and respect. The master seemed sluggish, but truly cunning.

"Move," the boss ordered without fuss. The woods stirred; a bound, burly man in black was shoved forward. The boss untied him, whispered a few words in his ear. The man’s bloodthirsty eyes glared at the boss, then, like a madman, dashed from the woods, vaulted over the wall into Prince Xu’s guesthouse, as agile as the earlier intruder.

"Chief’s orders: focus on Prince Xu’s guesthouse. Watch, watch, and watch again. If anyone comes out, split into two teams—left to capture, right to search the guesthouse," Lijing Gate’s men passed the command down the line, "If anyone emerges, two teams—left sentry to apprehend, right sentry to search."

The Censorate’s men stirred slightly, but were quickly suppressed. Orders were clear: control exits, not entrances.

"Boss, shall we act?" The burly man on the branch asked, clutching a yellowed envelope.

The boss closed his eyes, silent. Seven men surrounded him, each with a flicker of doubt in their eyes, torn between following the boss in betrayal or staying loyal. Some shifted, changing their angle for an easy move should they need to subdue the traitorous boss.

"Time’s up—move now," the boss snapped open his eyes and gave the order. Eight shadows shot out, the boss uncharacteristically said more, "Brothers, those who live, honor the dead with loyalty and filial duty."

No one answered. His men sprang forward like leopards, each more fearless than the last, splitting into pairs as they sped toward four royal guesthouses.

The cold winter wind rushed past their ears, but their hearts burned warm.

"Enemies are stirring—scatter surveillance, we’ve fallen for a diversion. Quickly, spread out," Lijing Gate’s men were alarmed, swiftly dispatching large squads to the other four royal guesthouses.

The Censorate’s men remained steadfast, unmoved.

"Ah…"

A scream echoed from Prince Xu’s guesthouse.

"Back, back, don’t let anyone escape," chaos erupted at Lijing Gate. They no longer cared for secrecy, splitting into five teams, storming each royal guesthouse with torches and weapons drawn.

Amidst the confusion, a shadow appeared at the rear wall of Prince Xu Li Sujie’s guesthouse, bold as ever. The Censorate’s men sprang like rabbits, swarming to capture.

"Swish, swish…" Dozens of arrows whistled through the air. The shadow became a pincushion, and as the arrows ceased, the villain fled.

"Curse it all!" The Censorate’s chief stared at the corpse—a black-clad figure, dead beyond doubt. He yanked out an arrow, its Lijing Gate insignia unmistakable. "Damn those bastards at Lijing Gate, sabotaging us—kill those mongrels!"

Prince Xu’s guesthouse was a mess, bodies strewn across the floor, one masked man in black, the rest Prince Xu’s guards. Prince Xu’s arm was wounded, blood gushing.

"Your Highness, care to explain what happened here?" White-Haired Marquis Hou Sizhi, now dressed in black, face dark yet smiling.

"This man’s skills…" Li Sujie’s face was ghastly pale, words unfinished as chaos roared outside—the clang of weapons and screams unending.

A black-clad official stumbled inside, "Chief, disaster—the Censorate has stormed in!"

"Hmph, always making trouble. I’d like to see who gave them the nerve," Hou Sizhi left two men to guard, leading his force out with murderous intent.

Amidst the confusion, Prince Xu steadied himself, his shock flashing and then vanishing. His eyes darted, pain in his wounded arm nearly unbearable. He staggered, collapsing onto the masked man’s corpse. When he rose, there was now a letter tucked into the dead man’s clothing.