Chapter 11
Chapter 11: Trust the Wisdom of Those Who Come After
The Adjudicator’s manor was thick with curling incense.
Zhe Lan Su sat with half his face caught in wavering candlelight. The other half was swallowed by darkness so deep it looked like ink.
“How strong was Fu Shang, really?”
He had asked it thirteen times already.
“My lord.” A black-robed man with a sword case on his back bowed low. “Young Master Fu is also called Fu Nine. Among the Empire’s younger generation, his martial attainment ranks ninth. His Peach Blossom Sword is renowned throughout the Holy City.”
“But Gu Chang An fought three thousand elites alone…” Zhe Lan Su’s voice was tight, restless.
“My lord.” The black-robed man hesitated, then spoke plainly. “Swordsmen of the Martial World are not suited to battlefields. Young Master Fu could not do something as absurd as Gu Chang An. But everyone has their strengths. In a duel, the Peach Blossom Sword takes a life with a single strike.”
“That’s… reasonable.” Zhe Lan Su gulped tea as if it might smother his unease. It didn’t. His expression only grew more strained.
The black-robed man tried to reassure him further. “Back then, Young Master Fu entered Western Shu with one sword, and ten thousand eyes watched him. In three moves, he suppressed and killed an opponent of the same realm. Two years ago, at the Yu Men Pass, Chen Hao Ran of Northern Liang drank peach petals and returned to Nether Spring…”
His words cut off.
Footsteps rushed in. An attendant presented a carrier pigeon, its leg bound with a bloodstained strip of paper.
“The report is here,” the black-robed man said, taking it quickly. He unfolded the note.
His face drained of color.
Even his fingertips trembled.
Eldest Senior Brother has fallen.
Five blood-written words. Bright enough to burn.
Zhe Lan Su stared at the black-robed man’s ashen expression and made a heavy, choking sound in his throat.
“Fuck.”
“Fu… Young Master Fu is dead.” The black-robed man could barely force the words out.
Zhe Lan Su nodded, numb. “Mm.”
“How… how could this happen?” The black-robed man looked as if the world had cracked.
“You’re asking me?” Zhe Lan Su surged to his feet and slammed his fist into the man’s forehead. Rage took him by the throat. “You told me ‘one strike to the throat’—seal your mother’s ass!”
He paced the room, teeth clenched, his face turning from white to green. Fury had nowhere to go; it swelled until his cheeks trembled.
“Useless!” he roared. “All of you are useless!”
His glare stabbed into the black-robed man like poison.
The black-robed man was bleeding, dazed, but he dropped to his knees and kowtowed. “Please calm your anger, my lord.”
“Get every bastard from Que Tai in here.” Zhe Lan Su cut a cold look at the guard. “Now.”
A moment later, a group filed in—some civil officials, some martial. All were his trusted aides and confidants.
One look at Zhe Lan Su’s face, and they knew: the mission had failed again.
Zhe Lan Su’s hair seemed ready to stand on end. “You blew him up into an invincible myth! If you didn’t have the skill, you shouldn’t have taken the job—why run off like fools to die?”
No one dared answer.
How could Fu Shang be weak? The Peach Blossom Sword had been carved out of blood. With those achievements, Fu Shang’s name shook the Empire.
But his opponent…
His opponent was too monstrous.
“My lord.” A burly General stepped forward, voice firm as iron. “I am willing to lead seven thousand troops and wipe out the Lone City in one blow.”
Humiliation had worn them raw. Only a heavy army could wash it away. If they delayed any longer, Gu Chang An’s arrogance would only rise higher.
Zhe Lan Su’s eyes were dark. “A military pledge? Fail and bring me your head?”
“Yes!” the General answered without hesitation.
Gu Chang An’s limit had been measured already: four thousand elite soldiers, proven in the last siege. Seven thousand should have been more than enough.
And yet—
“That goddamn Gu Chang An gets stronger every fight,” Zhe Lan Su muttered, voice twisting. “He’s like a blood-drunk demon. Is seven thousand really enough? Seven thousand… those are my household troops, raised and trained with my own hands. That’s the Zhe Lan clan’s wealth and foundation!”
He was the dictator of Seven Thousand Li.
And he was afraid of a single city.
No one spoke. Because his hesitation wasn’t foolish.
Gu Chang An grew stronger with every battle. Who knew what he might become next? Seven thousand troopers weren’t numbers on paper. They were living men. Was he really going to gamble them away?
Zhe Lan Su’s breathing steadied.
Then he said something that made the whole room go still.
“Trust the wisdom of those who come after.”
The Generals stared, baffled. But the Adviser’s eyes flickered—he understood at once.
“I’ve decided,” Zhe Lan Su said, flat and clear. “I’ll leave this mess for the next Sanction Officer.”
Silence slammed down.
“My lord, you…” the Adviser began.
Zhe Lan Su lifted a hand, cutting him off. “My mind is made up. Tonight I’ll submit a memorial to the Empire’s Central Court and confess my guilt. I’ll claim the Commandery Princess was shot by my own hand. With that charge, I’ll be stripped of my post as Adjudicator.”
“My lord, reconsider!” The Adviser broke into a sweat.
A royal Commandery Princess wasn’t worth much. Even if the Central Court suspected she had died by my lord’s hand, they might not make a fuss.
But if my lord submitted a memorial and announced it openly, it would drag in the face of the tuo ba imperial clan. Even if His Holiness the Heavenly God wanted to let it slide, he wouldn’t be able to.
“Reconsider your mother’s ass!” Zhe Lan Su snarled. “Who left the Lone City mess behind? Hu Yan Shou, that old bastard! And now I’m the one expected to carry this heavy, humiliating blame!”
He jabbed a finger at the floor as if he could pin the whole city there. “I’d rather lose the power to rule a region than watch innocent troopers under my banner die. Gu Chang An is barefoot—he doesn’t fear shoes. He really dares to kill everything.”
His voice dropped, hoarse with something that wasn’t quite rage anymore. “My prestige is built on iron-blooded elite soldiers. I can’t afford the losses.”
For the first time, the once fiery dictator looked… tired.
The room filled with uneasy sighs.
Could they blame Hu Yan Shou?
After Hu Yan Shou left office, the Lone City had been on its last breath—only a few hundred white-haired veterans. It should have been easy to crush.
Who could have known a monster like Gu Chang An was inside—one man worth a thousand?
Zhe Lan Su was simply unlucky.
“My lord,” the Adviser said carefully, “if you step back now, it’ll be hard to rise again.”
A Sanction Officer was equivalent to a third-rank frontier governor in the Central Plains, with absolute autonomy—over Seven Thousand Li, a powerful warlord.
One level higher was Judge—the position Hu Yan Shou now held—equivalent to a second-rank minister.
If Zhe Lan Su resigned on his own, he would waste fifteen years of career. In a game of power, you retreat and others advance. Climbing back up to Sanction Officer, let alone higher, would be almost impossible.
“No choice.” Zhe Lan Su slumped into his chair, anger edged with something small and bitter. “That bastard Gu Chang An.”
Power was life.
Now he was about to throw away half his life by choice. The pain of it sat behind his ribs like a stone.
“My lord,” a trusted aide asked solemnly, “you’re decided?”
Sometimes stepping back opened up the sea and sky.
If they couldn’t remove the cancer of Seven Thousand Li, then every advance only brought more death—and they still had to keep the cancer hidden. It was exhausting.
Zhe Lan Su was exhausted. They were, too.
“I’m leaving,” Zhe Lan Su said. “After I’m gone, let the flood rise for all I care. Take whatever we can. When the Holy City’s edict arrives, we’ll complete the handover and go.”
His mouth twisted. “Gu Chang An… you actually managed to outlast me.”
It tasted like humiliation.
The Adviser’s expression tightened. “My lord… what if the incoming Sanction Officer lifts the lid and reports everything to the Central Court?”
The air turned heavy, as if a hand had closed around the room.
Zhe Lan Su wasn’t hurried at all. “Heh. Once you step into a swamp, do you think your shoes stay clean?” He tapped the armrest with one finger. “With something this serious, anyone who touches it bears responsibility. I lose my head. The new Sanction Officer loses his future.”
He smiled without warmth. “And Hu Yan Shou thinks he can stay out of it? If the Lone City is exposed, his fate is the same as mine.”
Relief stirred—quiet, reluctant.
Even if the new Sanction Officer dared offend Zhe Lan Su, would he dare offend Hu Yan Shou at the center of power? On this boat of shared interests, if it capsized, everyone drowned.
“What if he wants to run too?” one General rumbled.
The word run turned the room icy.
Zhe Lan Su’s face went iron.
The General slapped his own mouth at once and lowered his head, cheeks burning.
“If I go, he has to go,” Zhe Lan Su said, voice sharp. “Two Sanction Officers in a row won’t even finish their terms. If no one is sent to investigate in secret, the court ministers are idiots.”
His gaze slid across the room, cruelly satisfied. “He won’t get the chance to run. He’ll be forced to grind his teeth against the Lone City. The next Sanction Officer is the unluckiest bastard of all.”
As he spoke, his tone grew lighter.
The room’s tension eased, and heads nodded. Zhe Lan Su’s political instincts were frightening—cut losses early, push the heaviest pressure onto the next man.
“Let’s see how he handles Gu Chang An,” the Adviser murmured, and he couldn’t quite hide the gloating in his voice.