Chapter 28:
A Gathering Storm
SUDDENLY, a cold, gleaming arrow shot through the air, passing over Shen Jue’s head to pierce the skull of the blood-sweating horse.
With a whinny, the horse collapsed to its knees, its massive body sliding across the ground and stopping just short of Shen Jue and Wei De. The mud and dust stirred by the falling horse covered them both, and the eldest prince was thrown from the horse. He screamed as he hit the ground hard.
Shen Jue turned his head to see a cold-faced young man in the distance, still holding his longbow.
The prince was bleeding profusely from the head, dazed and disoriented. The pain in his leg hit him belatedly, quickly overwhelming his senses.
“It hurts... It hurts...!”
Panicking eunuchs crowded around. Wei De pushed through the throng, shouting for the imperial physicians as he checked the prince’s injuries. Several eunuchs pulled Situ Jin roughly off his horse and dragged him before Wei De.
“Wei-gonggong… This man shot the prince’s horse to save you, but he caused the prince to fall. What should we do with him?”
Shen Jue pressed his lips together, crawled forward a few steps, and pressed his head to the ground. “Captain Situ acted out of necessity to save lives. Please show mercy, Wei-gonggong.”
Situ Jin knelt calmly on the ground, as if the impending disaster had nothing to do with him.
“Nonsense!” Wei De barked. “How can my worthless life compare to His Highness’s precious health and body? If sacrificing my life could ensure His Highness’s safety, I would do so without hesitation! As a captain, this man confused his priorities, and he deserves punishment! Take him to the imperial prison and await His Majesty’s judgment!”
Shen Jue clenched his teeth and said nothing more. However much he might argue, his words carried no weight. He was nothing but an ant struggling to protect himself. How could he save someone who’d caused the prince to fall and break his leg—even if that person had saved him?
Shen Jue’s silence caught Wei De’s attention. At the young eunuch’s age, many boys were hot-blooded, spouting useless platitudes about brotherhood and repaying favors, only to overestimate themselves and rush to their dooms like moths to a flame. Others were timid, short on courage, and forever hiding from trouble. That especially held true of those who’d witnessed the darkness of the palace and been scared so witless that they could barely string a sentence together.
This boy had the courage to speak up for his benefactor, showing his gratitude. Yet he hadn’t pushed, proving that he knew his place. Feeling a spark of interest, Wei De helped Shen Jue stand. “What did you say your name was?”
His opportunity had come. Suppressing his racing heart, Shen Jue replied, “This servant is Shen Jue. He serves in the Fourth Qianxi Courtyard.”
“Shen Jue. That’s a good name. Who gave it to you?” Wei De asked, unusually amiable.
“My mother,” Shen Jue lied without batting an eye. “She was partially educated.”
Educated women were either the daughters of noble families or courtesans. Most eunuchs came from humble backgrounds, which was how they’d ended up in such a line of work. Understanding Shen Jue’s implication, Wei De asked, “Can you read?”
“A little,” Shen Jue answered cautiously, unsure of Wei De’s intentions.
“Good. Very good. You may go now. Rest well.”
The eunuchs carried the prince away on a stretcher. Several imperial physicians had finally arrived to the scene, and they followed the prince now, frantically wiping sweat from their brows. These days, serving as an imperial physician was as dangerous as being an assassin. One mistake and they would bear the brunt of the emperor’s wrath, facing ominous questions like “What use are you?” and threats such as “If you can’t cure him, you’ll join him in the grave!” This prince was the emperor’s only surviving son; if anything happened to him, the physicians would all lose their heads.
Wei De composed himself and hurried after them.
Shen Jue had planned to follow, and the words he’d prepared earlier rose in his throat, but a deep sense of shame stifled them. His mind was in turmoil, his fists clenched. He opened his mouth but ultimately stayed quiet.
After all, he was only fourteen. The pride in his bones was inextinguishable, even if he bent his back in submission. Only those who’d crawled out of the mud, and believed themselves destined for a lowly life, could smile without reservation while kneeling. Such things were far beyond Shen Jue. Even if he suppressed his pride, he couldn’t bring himself to force a sycophantic smile.
Shen Jue returned to the Fourth Qianxi Courtyard in low spirits. At a distance, he saw Xiahou Lian sitting on the threshold of the Shunzhen Gate, craning his neck to look out. Without registering it, Shen Jue felt a warmth in his chest, like a comforting hot coal.
When Xiahou Lian saw Shen Jue, his eyes lit up, and he hurried over. But as he noticed Shen Jue’s bloodstained sleeve, he exclaimed in alarm, “I thought you said you weren’t going to... You know! What happened?”
Shen Jue had almost forgotten his injury. He glanced at it indifferently and said, “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.” Then he shot Xiahou Lian a look. “Do you think I can perform miracles? How could I take someone’s head in broad daylight?”
Relieved that Shen Jue hadn’t done anything too reckless, Xiahou Lian dragged him back to their room. He fetched bandages and medicine, peppering Shen Jue with questions. “So what’d you do? Did you see Wei De? What does he look like?”
“Like an ordinary person,” Shen Jue replied without looking up.
Xiahou Lian glanced at him and noticed his somber expression. He figured Shen Jue was upset about seeing the man who’d slaughtered his family while being unable to exact his revenge. “Don’t worry, Shaoye,” he said softly. “You’ll have your chance to deal with that scoundrel.” Then, as if remembering something, he added excitedly, “By the way, there actually is a way to take someone’s head in broad daylight. Have you heard of Qianji Thread?”
“No,” said Shen Jue, with a sidelong glance. “The only thing I’ve heard of that can kill someone in a crowd is Zhang Liang’s18 giant hammer.”
“What’s that?” Xiahou Lian asked, putting his ignorance on full display. “Anyway, I’m talking about a weapon Qiye Garden assassins used three generations ago. It’s as thin as silk, but it can slice through hair or even metal. It’s so fine that it’s invisible unless you have sharp eyes. You can walk through it and feel nothing. Then, a few steps later, you look down and realize you’ve been cut in half.”
Shen Jue was skeptical. Even the sharpest blade couldn’t slice cleanly through a human body; it took several chops just to kill a pig. “Then why don’t you use it now?” he asked doubtfully.
“It’s too hard to make. Qianji Thread was passed down for three generations, but throughout that time, only the Garuda could craft it. It isn’t just hard to produce, it’s hard to control. You can handle one thread, and it’s possible to set up a preplanned web. But if you want to use an array, or to alter the web to trap an enemy, that’s really difficult. Moving a single thread affects the whole web. To master the arrays, you need to study The Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art and memorize all the web variations. But you know us assassins—we don’t have the patience for math. It’s a miracle if we’re just able to finish the Three Character Classic.”
Xiahou Lian didn’t mention that Uncle Duan still couldn’t write his own name perfectly.