Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Xie Family Reunited and Set Off

“Clear the road! Move!”

Soldiers barked as they forced a path open.

The prison cart carrying Xie Yu Chuan appeared, and the entire street’s attention snapped onto it like a hook in flesh.

Prisoners in cangues were shoved aside, as if this slow crawl was deliberate—as if they wanted to parade Xie Yu Chuan for every eye and tongue to feast on.

All along the route, people watched with different expressions and uglier curiosity.

Those who knew nothing praised the royal house for mercy and the emperor for benevolence.

Those who understood how a sovereign’s mind worked kept their mouths shut and their eyes cold.

Everyone was already drowning. No one had breath to spare for saving someone else.

And besides, in nearly ten years, no one had seen a convicted official walk out of the imperial prison alive. Curiosity alone was reason enough to stare.

With his head pinned by the cangue and his eyes closed, Xie Yu Chuan looked like a man who’d given up.

In truth, he was conserving strength—thoughts sharp and steady behind lowered lashes.

After surviving the imperial prison’s tortures, why would he fear snow, frost, and a thousand-li march?

After the divine seat was handed over, everything Emperor Long Qing did unfolded exactly as Xie Yu Chuan had predicted.

Again and again, the sovereign tested whether the deity still existed.

After hearing Xie Yu Chuan’s analysis, Tu Hua didn’t show another divine manifestation. Quietly, she hid every trace of miracle she could.

To outsiders, it looked like the Xie family had been abandoned.

And with the Marquis of Dong Bo and Han Lin Scholar Zhang already stripped and exiled for displeasing His Majesty, the court learned the lesson overnight: there were no brave tongues left to speak for the Xie family.

That was what Emperor Long Qing wanted.

He got it—and he was delighted. His brow smoothed, his heart lightened, and the palace filled with feasting and flattery. The next day, edicts of reward rained down through the front court and inner palace, and the echo of kneeling thanks never seemed to stop.

On the morning of exile, Tu Hua opened her eyes and immediately messaged Xie Yu Chuan.

“Any danger today?”

He answered without hesitation: “Unlikely.”

Then, more quietly: “If Xia Hou Jie wanted to cut grass and uproot it, he wouldn’t do it in front of a hundred witnesses.”

Tu Hua considered that and relaxed. The road was long; there was no need to panic over one day.

She went back to her work.

Debt didn’t care about dynasties, and the grind didn’t grant sabbaticals.

Near noon, the prison cart reached the space outside the city.

Xie Yu Chuan sat cramped inside, bound in heavy restraints. His prison clothes were smeared with blood—old and new, dark and bright. He looked carved down to bone by pain. The young general’s old bearing was still there, but it flickered behind exhaustion like a lamp in wind.

The Xie family—young and old—stared through tears, hearts twisting.

Ruan Xing Zhi could only let out a slow breath. In this court, loyalty was expensive.

“Old Madam, take heart,” he told Old Madam Xie. “Nephew has come out alive. That alone is luck. I’ve written ahead to an old friend up north—he’ll watch over you where he can. If the Xie family needs anything, don’t stand on ceremony.”

“You have taken trouble,” Old Madam Xie replied. “We part today and don’t know when we’ll meet again. Assistant Minister, take care.”

“Take care, all of you.”

The cart rolled closer.

“Convict Xie Yu Chuan—down!”

A yamen runner flung the door open and snapped the order like a whip.

Xie Yu Chuan climbed out. The moment his feet hit the ground, pain shot through him so sharp it nearly made him black out.

He lifted his head—and saw his family.

Heat surged up his throat. For a second, he could barely breathe.

His grandmother gave him a small nod. He took a few quick steps forward before he could stop himself, shackles clinking loud enough to make his family flinch.

Back in her second-floor study, Tu Hua was still drawing. Her phone screen lit up again and again with notifications—only this time, when she opened the chat, it was all gibberish.

She’d been linked to Xie Yu Chuan long enough to recognize it: his emotions were spiking so hard the connection was turning into static.

She’d assumed a battlefield commander would be steady through anything.

Apparently not through this.

Tu Hua set down her pen and walked to the balcony.

Far away, she saw a thin, tall figure taking one painful step after another toward a cluster of kneeling, sobbing people.

Xie Yu Chuan finally reached his family.

Old Madam Xie looked at her surviving grandson and couldn’t hold the ache in her eyes. “Child… you’ve suffered.”

Xie Yu Chuan dropped to his knees and knocked his head three times before Old Madam Xie and his mother, Madam Zhou.

“Your son was unfilial,” he said hoarsely. “I made Grandmother and Mother worry.”

Madam Zhou’s tears broke loose. Old Madam Xie hauled him up with both hands, as if she could keep him standing by force.

“It’s enough that you came back alive,” Madam Zhou whispered, staring at the wounds she didn’t dare touch.

The Xie family crowded in around him, asking questions, pressing hands to his shoulders, looking him over as if they needed proof he was real. For a brief moment, after disaster and ruin, they were simply a family again.

After a few hurried words, Xie Yu Chuan turned and walked to the Ruan family. He cupped his hands and bowed deeply.

Ruan Xing Zhi quickly steadied him. “Nephew, no need for ceremony. On the road north to Liao Zhou, be careful in everything. Don’t be careless. Remember.”

The warning was gentle in sound and heavy in meaning.

Xie Yu Chuan met his eyes and understood. “I will remember Uncle Ruan’s teaching. A thousand miles is never smooth. With responsibility on my shoulders, I won’t collapse. If there’s a mountain, I’ll cut a road through it. If there’s a river, I’ll build a bridge. Uncle, rest assured.”

Ruan Xing Zhi’s chest loosened, as if he’d been holding his breath for days. “Good. Good. Good!” He said it three times, fierce with pride. “Worthy of a tiger of a military household. If you keep that will, the Xie family won’t fear never rising again. Good child. Your father and brothers in heaven will bless you with a safe journey!”

Around them, other prisoners clung to their relatives for final words. The air filled with crying, pleading, and the sound of people trying to memorize faces.

The constables had seen enough farewells to be bored by grief. They waited, restless, hands on weapons.

When the time was up, an order constable shouted, “All prisoners—line up!”

At once, the prisoners were driven to the handover point, where the transfer registry was done.

Normally, the capital’s exile handover was simple: escort the convicts outside the gate, compare the roster, stamp the documents, and send the line on its way.

Today, the process was not simple.

The official handling the transfer, Xiong Jiu Shan, brought his subordinate yamen runners and checked each convict one by one—name, age, crime—careful and suspicious, as if a single mistake might bite him later.

There were over a hundred exiles in this batch. Many had once been nobles, proud and difficult even in chains.

To keep the escort under control, the authorities had selected dozens of yamen runners and soldiers from various yamen barracks.

Ruan Pei Ning tried to grease the wheels, slipping benefits to the escorting constables. It didn’t help much.

The Xie family had angered His Majesty. Most people didn’t want to touch that fire, not even with money.

Nearby, several womenfolk stared at Madam Ruan with envy. She had family here. She had hands to hold.

Second Madam Zhang looked at Madam Ruan clutching her child and said softly, “Being a daughter of the Ruan family must be wonderful—treasured like a jewel.”

Madam Zhou looked at her sharply. “You had a chance to go home. Why didn’t you listen? Bo Yuan Marquis Manor could have protected you.”

Madam Zhang snorted. “What home? My mother is gone. I married into the Xie family, so I’m the Xie family’s wife. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for my husband to return.”

Madam Zhou’s throat tightened. The Xie family men had long since died on the battlefield.

Wait until when?

Madam Zhang glanced toward Xie Yu Chuan, speaking with Old Madam Xie. For all her sharpness, her eyes softened. “Yu Chuan’s gotten thin,” she murmured. “He looks more and more like his uncle.”

Up front, a constable’s voice cracked through the noise. “Xie family prisoners—over here!”