Xiahou Lian was stunned. Four assassins’ deaths would be an unimaginable blow to Qiye Garden. They took in orphans from all over, raising them in the village. Each child started learning horse stances at five, practicing with a wooden blade at seven, and then with a real saber at ten. Training each assassin took at least seven years, and they rarely lived past twenty-eight.
On top of that, two-thirds of those children chose to stay in the mountains and live as farmers. Even though new children were brought in to replenish the assassins’ ranks, most fell within two years. The most dangerous times for an assassin were their early and late years. They were either too young and inexperienced, perishing from carelessness, or too worn down, their body so broken from years of accumulated injuries that they lost all will to live.
That was why Qiye Garden assassins stuck closely to their plans. They would only strike once, and if they missed, they retreated immediately. Large-scale operations were few and far between, and undercover agents were only sent as support and backup. But both the Xie family massacre and the recent assassination in the palace were instances in which the Garden had undertaken a rare large-scale operation.
The abbot, that bald old ass—could he really have sold out Qiye Garden to Wei De for money in his twilight years?
Assassins came and went like shadows, but they could still gloat about their deeds. A typical boast might go: “We kill men within ten paces, then leave no trace for a thousand miles. Once our work is finished, we dust off our clothes and depart. None know our names nor what we’ve done!” But to become a eunuch’s lackey? That would simply be too disgusting. What could such an assassin boast about? Having a master with no member? Xiahou Lian grimaced.
Shen Jue watched as he became lost in thought. “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Tell me.”
Before Xiahou Lian could answer, the patter of footsteps came from beneath the window. “Shen-gonggong, the imperial guards are outside asking to speak with you.”
Xiahou Lian exchanged a glance with Shen Jue, then grabbed his sleeve, but Shen Jue patted his hand. “No need to panic.” He stood, put on his hat, straightened his clothes, and walked out.
An imperial guard with thick brows and striking eyes stood at the palace gate. Seeing Shen Jue, he bowed, then handed the boy a few packages of medicine. “This humble officer hails from the same town as Situ. He asked that I deliver these to you.”
“Situ?” Shen Jue asked, puzzled.
“You don’t know Captain Situ?” Surprised, the guard scratched his head. “He’s the guard who killed several assassins last night. His side was wounded while he chased after the best assassin—a woman.”
So that was him. Shen Jue’s heart remained calm, unmoved. He had encountered both kind hearts and blackened souls in the palace—though kind hearts were rarer, as they often met tragic fates.
Lowering his eyes, Shen Jue adopted his usual humble demeanor. “This servant is dull-witted. I didn’t realize that was Captain Situ. Please convey my gratitude for his kindness to him.”
Having navigated the palace for two years, Shen Jue had polished his already gentle, respectful demeanor with an additional veneer of humility. Thanks to his harmless, well-mannered facade, he’d already risen to become a minor supervisor, rather than serving tea and washing powerful eunuchs’ feet or chamber pots like the rest of his cohort.
Effortlessly maintaining his approachable yet distant smile, Shen Jue waited for the imperial guard to finish his polite but meaningless chatter so that he could resume his rest.
Instead, the imperial guard dropped his eyes. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to convey your thanks.”
Shen Jue’s smile stiffened slightly. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Wei-gonggong wanted to know how Situ survived, since everyone else died. He claimed that Situ must’ve been cowardly and held back, refusing to give his all. They might’ve caned him if Situ hadn’t been injured so badly. Now, orders from above have arrived: Situ’s been demoted to a suburban camp.” The guard sighed deeply, very nearly cursing Wei De as a “damn eunuch” before abruptly remembering that Shen Jue was one as well and quickly clamming up.
Shen Jue was silent for a moment, then said warmly, “Don’t worry, sir. Captain Situ is highly skilled. The suburban camp won’t be able to bury his talent.”
“That’s true. Life there won’t be easy for him, though. Ah, well, it’s partly Situ’s own fault for being too honest. He doesn’t have many friends, and he never sends gifts to powerful eunuchs to curry favor… But, uh, don’t misunderstand, Shen-gonggong. I don’t mean that you aren’t powerful.” The imperial guard cursed his own loose tongue, forcing a smile.
“You worry too much, sir. I understand. Captain Situ is a good man. And though I may not have much power, I do know a few people. Perhaps I can put in a good word and get him a better position in the camp,” said Shen Jue. It would be easy enough to do. Whether it would work was uncertain, but Shen Jue didn’t mind purchasing Situ some goodwill.
The guard’s eyes lit up, and he smiled. “That’s wonderful! Situ’s lucky to have a friend like you. I need to return to my duties now, so I’ll take my leave. No need to see me out!”
Shen Jue returned to the room to find Xiahou Lian seated in front of the mirror, fixing his disguise. “Xiahou Lian,” he asked casually, “do you think good people are rewarded for that goodness?”
Xiahou Lian looked up at the ceiling and thought for a moment. “Yes. They at least get a better reincarnation in the next life.”
“Is that so?” Shen Jue set down the medicine and smiled to himself. “I suppose I’m shortsighted; I only care about this life.”