Chapter 29.2

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Escort agencies were usually run by people with tough lives—who else would risk their life for a bit of silver?

He was well-read, skilled in martial arts, and clearly had experience on the road. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense—only the young master of an escort agency would fit.

Xie Zheng hesitated, then nodded.

Fan Changyu finally understood. “So that’s why you keep saying you’ll leave once you’re healed.”

She pushed the forty taels of silver back toward him. “You should keep it. Rebuilding an escort agency takes money—lots of it. When the time comes for you to leave, if I’ve got anything to spare, I’ll give you more then.”

It wasn’t the first time Xie Zheng had heard her talk about the two of them going their separate ways. Aside from the ugly gashes from surface wounds that hadn’t fully healed, his internal injuries were now mostly recovered. Zhao Xun’s visit today had also come with news: he’d already purchased two hundred thousand shi of grain.

It wouldn’t be long now. He really was about to leave.

So when she brought it up again, something hard to name stirred quietly in his chest.

He raised his hand and pressed down on one of the silver ingots, stopping her from pushing it back. His voice was firmer than usual. “It’s for you. Medicine money.”

Fan Changyu still resisted. “You agreed to the fake marriage arrangement, and we said from the start that I’d cover your treatment. How could I turn around now and take your money? That’d make me a liar. And it’s not like it was easy for you—writing those shiwen while injured and freezing indoors…”

His fingers didn’t so much as twitch on the silver ingot. His black eyes stayed locked on her. “Candy money?”

Fan Changyu blinked, caught off guard. Then she realized—he meant it was to pay her back for buying him candy. She replied earnestly, “But candy doesn’t cost that much…”

“Then hold onto it,” he said. “You can buy more later.”

“You couldn’t possibly spend all that on candy before your injuries heal and you leave…”

Halfway through the sentence, Fan Changyu trailed off into silence.

Buy more later—did that mean he thought there would be a later for them?

The firewood in the hearth crackled loudly, sending sparks flying and breaking the stillness in the room.

His response remained the same: “Keep it.”

Fan Changyu didn’t look at him. She stared instead at the hand he had resting on the silver ingots for a moment before finally asking, “What kind of candy do you like?”

Hearing her question, Xie Zheng withdrew his hand and said, “Anything you choose.”

That night, when Fan Changyu lay down to sleep, she—who normally dozed off easily—found herself staring up at the canopy, wide awake.

She might be easygoing, but she wasn’t made of stone.

Yan Zheng might be temperamental and sharp-tongued, but he had a good heart. Otherwise, when the bandits broke into her home, he wouldn’t have grabbed Changning and run to protect her.

He was good-looking, literate, and possessed extraordinary martial skills. She had always known he was just staying temporarily. He would leave eventually. So she told herself to treat him like a passerby, nothing more.

But today, he gave her such a large sum of silver—and told her to buy him candy in the future?

Fan Changyu suddenly felt a strange, tangled tightness in her chest. She tossed and turned like a flipped pancake, only dozing off in the faint hours before dawn.

As expected, she overslept the next morning. There were still faint shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes. Thankfully, the butcher shop didn’t open on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, so waking up late wasn’t a big deal.

Yawning, Fan Changyu got out of bed and started making glutinous rice balls. Outside in the alley, children could be heard setting off firecrackers, and all of Lin’an was wrapped in the peaceful, festive atmosphere of the New Year.

Meanwhile, in Chongzhou—just one province away—a crushing defeat had just occurred.

In the capital.

The streets were ablaze with red lanterns and celebratory decorations, the scent of the New Year thick in the air.

A military dispatch, marked as urgent—eight hundred li express, had just crossed through Yongding Gate. But instead of being delivered to the palace, it was rerouted—straight to the residence of Prime Minister Wei.

A courier on a galloping horse tore down the narrow lane, snow and frost clinging to the branches of elm and poplar trees on either side.

The Wei residence loomed, cold and imposing. Two stone lions glared fiercely as they gripped their carved pearls. Armed guards in full armor stood in formation, lined up like wild geese. Snow blanketed the walls, and not even a sparrow dared land on the bare trees nearby.

The rider tumbled from his horse, retrieved the dispatch from his coat, and held it high above his head. “Urgent report from Chongzhou!”

The guard at the gate turned pale, quickly took the dispatch, and rushed inside. After passing it to one of the house’s military officers, the officer hurried toward the study with it in hand. “Milord, urgent report from Chongzhou!”

Moments later, the attendant at the study opened the door and retrieved the report.

The entire process was swift and tightly controlled—every document delivered to the Prime Minister’s study followed this exact protocol.

The attendant closed the heavy doors behind him, footsteps silent on the floor, and approached the redwood desk with reverent care. Behind it sat a long-bearded elder, poring over memorials. “Prime Minister, eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch from Chongzhou.”

A hand—steady, sinewy, and marked by age—reached out to take the document. After reading it, the man slammed it down on the desk with a thud. “I should’ve known that ungrateful whelp couldn’t hold Chongzhou together! The autumn harvest wasn’t that long ago—why can’t the entire northwest provide grain?”

The attendant didn’t dare respond.

The old man rose from his seat. He wasn’t dressed in ornate brocade, but in plain, everyday robes. Hands clasped behind his back, he gazed out the window at the snow-covered world. His long, narrow phoenix eyes and upright posture marked him at once as none other than Wei Yan, the Prime Minister who had dominated court politics in the Dayin dynasty for over a decade.

After a brief silence, he said coldly, “Tell that ungrateful brat to get back here. Transfer He Jingyuan—have him take over the Chongzhou front.”

There had once been two blades he wielded with unmatched precision—one was his own nephew, whom he had personally raised; the other was He Jingyuan. His own son, Wei Xuan, on the other hand, was nothing more than a hollow vessel of ambition—stubborn, arrogant, and mediocre.

The attendant acknowledged the order and was just about to take his leave when the man who had ruled as Prime Minister and carried the emperor’s mandate for over a decade suddenly asked, “Has the body of the Wu’an Marquis been recovered?”

The attendant shook his head. “It has not.”

Wei Yan let out a long, heavy sigh. “That child carried the blood of the Wei family. His temperament and methods resembled mine the most. What a pity…”

The attendant, having served at Wei Yan’s side for many years, had learned to read his moods to some degree. Remembering how highly the Prime Minister once valued the Wu’an Marquis—far more than his eldest son, Wei Xuan—he ventured cautiously, “Perhaps the marquis was misled by slanderous men. You raised him for sixteen years—as good as father and son, if not closer. The rumors that you caused the death of Crown Prince Chengde and General Xie… they’re pure nonsense. Where’s the evidence? The marquis never even saw any proof. There might still be a chance to make things right, so why…”

Halfway through his sentence, the attendant suddenly fell silent. He looked up—and met Wei Yan’s gaze, cold and piercing.

He immediately slapped himself hard across the face. “This old servant spoke out of turn!”

Wei Yan said coldly, “One day, he will learn the truth. He already suspects something. If I don’t end him before his guard is fully raised, then the one to be butchered in the future will be the Wei family.”

The attendant was stunned at first, then quickly responded, “Prime Minister, you are the pillar of this nation. Even the marquis could not touch you—especially now, when he’s already gone.”

Wei Yan closed his eyes and said nothing.

By the time he returned to his seat behind the desk, not a trace of wistfulness remained on his face. He asked, “The item I sent men to retrieve from Jizhou—has it been brought back?”

The attendant’s voice lowered. “There’s been no word from the Xuan-ranked death warriors sent to retrieve it.”

A sharp light flickered through Wei Yan’s eyes. “What about He Jingyuan?”

The attendant replied, “The informant we planted beside He Jingyuan reported earlier that he seems unaware of the item’s existence.”

Just then, another voice called out from beyond the study: “Milord, the Governor of Jizhou has sent a brocade box by fast courier.”