Chapter 18

Anyone capable of being a general wouldn’t be so blind as to miss even this trivial detail, right? Or is he unusually confident about the portrait in his hand?

Shao Qing was completely at a loss. She hurriedly turned to look at Wei Jing and said, “Husband, what do you think of this…?”

Halfway through her sentence, she paused.

Wei Jing intently stared through the carriage curtain at the checkpoint, his expression oddly pensive—uncharacteristically lost in thought.

Following his gaze, Shao Qing saw the red-armored general. He wore a stern expression as he walked deliberately along the checkpoint, inspecting it as if he were entirely unaware of the peculiarity of his own actions.

Does Wei Jing know him? Before the thought could fully form in her mind, she heard Wei Jing murmur softly from behind, “He’s Xu Cang.”

Xu Cang—General Anyuan—had once been stationed at a key fortress on the northern frontier. He guarded the nation’s gate, repelled and captured barbarians, and was one of Wei Jing’s most trusted aides during his northern campaigns.

So, how did he end up in the southwest?

Shao Qing speculated that perhaps he had been transferred to a lesser post after the new emperor ascended the throne. She couldn’t recall Xu Cang’s face, but his name was well known to her. The Xu family was a prominent clan with deep roots, producing many successful officials at court; indeed, Xu Cang’s grandfather had even served as a mentor to several princes. That essentially made him an imperial tutor for the current regime.

When the new emperor ascended the throne, he initiated a massive purge of the imperial court—but families like the Xu family were definitely off limits, as the state still needed to function normally.

Although Xu Cang had, by a twist of fate, edged closer to Wei Jing’s side, he was, after all, a scion of the Xu family. Protected by the influential Meng clan, even though his act of seizing power had led to his demotion to the southwest, he managed to preserve both his life and fortune—exactly as expected.

Now, is he extending his aid—being strict and cautious in public while more relaxed behind the scenes—out of loyalty to his former master?

Shao Qing sighed and remarked, “If that’s really the case, then without me—and if you had survived from the river—you might not have been left with no room to breathe.”

Wei Jing fell silent for a moment, then withdrew his gaze before saying, “The great impostor appears genuine; the great villain seems loyal. No matter who it is, one must never trust anyone lightly.”

His tone was even, the calm of someone who, having endured brutal betrayals, trusted no one easily except, perhaps, Shao Qing. Without further discussing the matter, he furrowed his brow and asked her, “What are you talking about?”

What do you mean by “without her”? Those foreboding words immediately set him on edge.

Shao Qing merely pursed her lips and smiled, offering no explanation.

As for Xu Cang, once the topic had been discussed, it was soon abandoned by the two—after all, their own circumstances were still favorable, and seeking aid wasn’t even on the agenda. Yet neither of them had anticipated that, within just a day, they would encounter familiar people and situations from the past for the second time.

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At noon, as the procession gathered for a quick tea break by a roadside teahouse, the moment Wei Jing stepped off the carriage, his stride faltered ever so slightly—so subtly that it was almost imperceptible. Although he quickly regained his composure, Shao Qing, now well acquainted with his mannerisms while walking beside him, still noticed the slight hesitation.

At that moment, she didn’t say anything. She sat down, and as she called a servant to bring the meal, she winked at him. “What’s the matter?”

Wei Jing remained impassive and only glanced toward the tea pavilion’s lower left side.

Shao Qing picked up her ceramic bowl, blew on the hot tea inside, took a small sip, and followed her gaze in the direction he had indicated.

The old tea pavilion wasn’t very large. With a thatched roof open on all sides and no walls—supported only by four sturdy tree trunks—the space was crowded and bustling. Amid the activity, she casually looked over and noticed a fresh scratch on the base of one of the timeworn, slightly blackened pillars. It was small and hardly noticeable, and had it not been for Wei Jing’s reminder, she surely would have overlooked it. Yet it was clear that it wasn’t drawn carelessly. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a design resembling a three-petaled plum blossom.

Considering Wei Jing’s demeanor, could it be that this was a covert signal?

Indeed, it was!

Because the tea pavilion was noisy and crowded, once they boarded the donkey cart to continue their journey, Wei Jing leaned in close to Shao Qing’s ear and whispered that this was one of the special covert communication codes he had devised—exclusively for his personal guard unit.

After over five years of military service, Wei Jing’s personal guards underwent tremendous changes. What began as a few hundred royal imperial guards gradually evolved into the “Qingzhai Guards,” a formation composed of several thousand handpicked soldiers.

This elite unit was capable of shielding its commander and acting as a rapid, unexpected strike force. Its members included not only Wei Jing’s original bodyguards but also, predominantly, war orphans whom he had personally selected and trained after the conflict—all displaying unwavering loyalty. These men would not hesitate to sacrifice themselves for Wei Jing. Moreover, since most carried no family burdens, it wasn’t entirely surprising that upon hearing of their master’s betrayal and dramatic upheaval, they angrily discarded their armor and set off—covering thousands of miles—to rush to his aid.

Shao Qing whispered, “So, are you going to contact them?”

“If you had such a force at your disposal, your confidence would surge—and everything that follows would go much more smoothly, wouldn’t it?”

Wei Jing shook his head.

“No rush.” He replied coolly, “Even if I were to contact them, now is not the time.”

Who’s to say whether those people are truly loyal or not? Once they defect to the new emperor, they might even use that to lure him out. Even taking a step back—even if most of them remain loyal—it would be hard to guarantee that none of the new emperor’s spies have infiltrated their ranks.

If possible, Wei Jing certainly hopes to regain control of the Qingzhai Guards; it’s a powerful bargaining chip. But he isn’t in a hurry—caution must come first. After all, he isn’t alone now; he has Shao Qing with him.

“Let’s keep observing for now. Time will weed out many things.” He carefully explained his plan to Shao Qing. Seeing that she agreed wholeheartedly and nodded, he added, “Be careful for the next two days. We need to slip past Jianjia—that’s Prince An’s fief.”

Prince An—Shao Qing knew exactly who that was.

He is the fourth son of the late emperor and Wei Jing’s half-brother. His birth mother is Beauty Zhu, of extremely humble origins; she was the intimate palace attendant who had served the late emperor since his childhood.

That’s right—she was the very same close attendant who served the late emperor from a young age, no different from Consort Li (now the Empress Dowager). These two, who had known each other since childhood, were both taken into the palace by the late emperor and each bore a son.

Despite their humble origins, both ended up bearing sons. Because the late emperor’s early inner-court struggles were extremely fierce, it was only natural that the two joined forces to resist. Their relationship had always been excellent—they even lived in the same palace. Later, when Beauty Zhu fell ill and passed away, and Prince An was only eight years old, it was only natural that Consort Li raised him.

Since they had the same biological and nurturing mother, the bond between these brothers grew even closer. The late emperor did not value Prince An; he casually granted him a remote and insignificant fief. However, after the new emperor ascended the throne, Prince An’s domain was immediately doubled—now coming very close to Gong County.

It is said that during this manhunt for fugitives, Prince An was one of the commanders, and soldiers from his fief kept appearing in view.

Shortly after the new emperor’s accession, the sudden expansion of Prince An’s territory became all the more conspicuous, and Wei Jing could gather the information he sought with relative ease. He had already informed Shao Qing of this, and she nodded knowingly, relieved: “Fortunately, Pingtao is several hundred li away, far from Jianjia; otherwise, there’d surely be trouble.”

For now, as long as they can successfully get through this phase, everything will be fine.

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Jianjia—whose administrative seat is at Linchang—is the site of Prince An’s palace. This once relatively small palace is now undergoing expansion. Although the renovations do not affect the front halls, the area has inevitably become somewhat noisy and dusty.

Xu Cang, dressed in plain clothes, was quietly led through a side door into the main hall. Lowering his gaze in respect, he said, “I humbly greet Prince An.”

“Rise.” A smooth, youthful baritone sounded, and Prince An turned around. He was a man in his early twenties—wearing a lacquered gauze crown and a deep, dark blue robe. With fair, rosy skin, a broad forehead, and a square jaw, his appearance was strikingly heroic, exuding a princely majesty.

Seeing Xu Cang, he asked, “Still no news?”

Xu Cang looked down, rose to his feet, and clasped his hands. “Indeed.”

“Could it be that he truly perished in Qian River?”

Prince An frowned. “I always feel it was too easy.” He added quietly. His fifth brother should have been more tenacious.

“Could it be that he saw through the ploy?”

That’s right—Xu Cang was nothing less than a stratagem. His former identity and everything he does now are all parts of an elaborate plan.

As Prince An Wei Ping—who had once been rendered insignificant in comparison to his legitimate younger brother—he was well aware of Wei Jing’s capabilities. If Wei Jing were still alive, relying solely on searches conducted by ordinary soldiers—even if carried out with utmost rigor—would surely not be enough to catch him. So, after conferring with his aides, he decided to pin his hopes on Xu Cang, who had been exiled to the southwest.

This “tight in public, loose in private” approach might seem like an old subordinate secretly offered help, but in reality, it was nothing more than laying down a series of traps.

According to the intelligence reports, Prince Qi—gravely injured and poisoned—had leaped into the river. With the river’s current so swift, even if he managed to make it ashore, he would most likely be in mortal peril.

Officials from every town, big and small, had been immediately mobilized to carry out relentless searches around the clock. Catching Prince Qi would be nearly impossible, wouldn’t it? At this time, if a former subordinate who hadn’t forgotten old loyalties were to come forward, the man—already like a spent bow—would most likely resort to seeking help, right?

Unfortunately, nearly ten days had passed since the incident, yet there was still no sign of movement.

Frowning and deep in thought for a moment, Wei Ping waved his hand and said, “Now, you go back and conduct a meticulous search—leave no stone unturned.”

“Understood!” Xu Cang replied with a short word and silently withdrew.

Upon stepping out of the spacious and imposing main hall into the searing sunlight—where the heat was both stifling and oppressive—he almost immediately began to sweat. Though his expression remained unchanged, deep in his heart, he couldn’t help but exhale a tremendous sigh of relief.

He is a scion of the Xu family—his life preserved under the shelter of the Meng clan—and he can still don his battle armor. In the current situation, he naturally cannot afford to drag his family into it. If Prince An’s men find him, he’ll have no choice but to comply, and he must cooperate completely without even the slightest lapse. Besides his family, he has a wife and children.

Yet beneath his outwardly proactive demeanor, deep down, he only hopes that Prince Qi never comes after him. After enduring inner and outer torment day after day and barely making it to today, he can now practically conclude that the plan has failed.

With his thoughts in disarray, he despised himself even as memories of Prince Qi flooded back. He exhaled deeply—because, compared to the mountainous, rain-soaked, stifling, and humid southwest, he truly preferred the vast, open lands of the north.

A mouthful of wine, a bite of meat, a single stroke against the barbarians, a heart full of passion—and even as sand and dust pelted his face, he felt clean and at ease.

Alas, such times and that version of himself have long passed and can never be recaptured.

…

Back at Prince An’s palace.

After Xu Cang left, Wei Ping glanced at his retreating figure and snorted lightly. He might have suspected that Xu Cang wasn’t entirely pleased, but that didn’t matter—what mattered was that the other party had to do it and do his utmost, no matter what. What a pity—all that effort had yielded no result.

“I just can’t believe that Prince Qi died like this,” he said to another person in the hall. This man had been sitting there all along, although he hadn’t spoken until now. Prince An hadn’t introduced him to Xu Cang, and he didn’t even spare Xu Cang a glance; he simply sipped his tea leisurely.

The man, who appeared to be just in his early twenties, wore a deep blue, wide-sleeved robe. His long black hair was not tied up but was loosely fastened at the back with a strip of plain black satin. With sword-like eyebrows, phoenix eyes, a prominent nose, rosy lips, and fair, radiant skin, he was exceptionally handsome. Unlike Wei Jing’s heroic attractiveness, he had the refined charm of a literati, exuding an aura of elegance. This man was none other than the chief aide in Prince An’s palace, Wei Xu (*).

Note: different Wei from Wei Jing.

Wei Xu was far from merely a subordinate. He was originally a renowned man from Jingzhou whom Wei Ping had sought out on several occasions. The two shared similar ambitions and considered themselves close friends. It was on that basis that he came out of retirement to go to Jianjia.

Thus, his words were equally direct: “Believe it or not, this plan is no longer effective. We must devise an alternative as soon as possible; otherwise, the longer we wait, the less hope there will be of capturing Prince Qi.”

“How about Zhang Kuo? He has been lying low with the Qingzhai Guards for some time now. No word from him?”