Three Steps: From Assassin to Empress - Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Combing the Assassin’s Hair

The pitch-black dam is suddenly illuminated by the bronze lamps of the official yamen. A junior officer on horseback quickly turns back, followed by hundreds of soldiers.

“Envoy with the Token, this humble official will escort you home,” the officer says respectfully from outside the circle of private soldiers, keeping his distance.

Ying Xiu’s hand, which was clutching the blade hidden in his robe, relaxes. He says nothing. The armored soldiers and the armed private guards stand in a tense standoff, about two rods apart.

The junior officer, holding a lamp and leading his horse, stares at the red-robed young master lounging in the palanquin. The Xi clan of Gaoping, originally from the Central Plains, now resides in Ningzhou. Ningzhou and Jiangzhou are far apart. Xi An may be a tyrant in Ningzhou, but in Jiangzhou, he must still show some respect for the local authorities.

Xi An leans back, his hands resting on the red lacquered palanquin. He glances at Ying Xiu and then closes his eyes. The private guards, understanding his signal, slowly part to create a path. Ying Xiu thanks the officer and walks out, heading straight for Xie Zhou’s carriage.

The driver on the carriage is an unfamiliar face, but his nonchalant tone feels strangely familiar to Ying Xiu. Have I heard this voice before? He can’t quite place it, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Seeing the driver’s warm, respectful smile, Ying Xiu returns it with a polite smile of his own.

The youth climbs onto the carriage. He bends down and lifts the snow-white curtain embroidered with moons. The scent of tea mist wafts out, momentarily clouding his vision. Inside, the man in white sits calmly. Xie Zhou is holding the imperial token, examining it. His long eyelashes are lowered, his expression unreadable. He looks up when he hears the sound and meets Ying Xiu’s gaze.

Ying Xiu sits down next to him and whispers, “I used your token today.” He regrets it now. If he had known how valuable it was, he would never have used it. “You…” Seeing that Xie Zhou is not speaking, the youth hesitates. “Where did you get this thing from?” He is always direct. If he has a question, he needs a clear answer.

The token, which holds the power of life and death, rests in the client’s hands. Ying Xiu’s gaze shifts to those hands, his eyes noticing the clearly defined knuckles and veins. He can’t describe the feeling. He lowers his gaze, his long eyelashes fluttering as he stares at the carriage floor, staying completely still.

“What if I told you this is my own thing?” Xie Zhou pauses. He lowers his head and glances at the youth’s dark hair. Two golden ribbons hang from the sides of his temples, brushing against his fair, handsome face and jaw. For some reason, the youth seems to be deliberately looking down, a little afraid to meet his eyes. “What would you think?” the client asks.

The assassin doesn’t move, as if suddenly frozen, his back ramrod straight. After a long pause, he finally looks up. Ying Xiu’s expression goes from disbelief to shock, then to genuine emotion. His clear, bright eyes are wide, like a deer’s. He opens his mouth, his voice dry, still consumed by shock. He manages to utter a single phrase:

“A family heirloom… How could you just lend it to me?”

Xie Zhou: “…”

The next moment, the youth lunges forward, wraps his arms around Xie Zhou’s waist, and buries his head in the client’s chest. In a rush, he says, “Xie Zhou, you can’t do this again! How can you lend something so important to anyone? What if they took it and ran off? Who would you complain to? It’s a good thing it was me this time. You never know what might happen next.”

The young assassin says it all in one breath. He looks up, his chin resting on the client’s chest, his eyes a little moist and glistening with genuine emotion.

“…What are you talking about?” Xie Zhou is a little confused. He casually places the token on the small table next to them, his hand hovering in the air. He then cautiously and gently pats the youth’s rounded head. He even carefully parts the hair to check: hmm, no injuries.

Ying Xiu looks around in Xie Zhou’s embrace, tentatively reaching out his hand. His fingers brush against the corner of the small table. The client watches his movements silently. That beautiful, slender hand, marked with a few scars, touches the token, hesitates, and then closes around it.

The youth holds the token with both hands and solemnly presents it to Xie Zhou, his face serious. “You must take good care of your family heirloom. Don’t leave it lying around. What if it gets lost?” His tone is full of heartfelt concern, deeply pained by Xie Zhou’s nonchalant attitude.

“Family heirloom…?” The client is very confused.

Seeing that Xie Zhou won’t take it, the youth’s hands begin to move. He slides his hands into the client’s wide, white sleeves, searching for the inner pouch. He touches something, and the client suddenly groans softly. He grabs Ying Xiu’s hands, clamping his slender wrists firmly. The youth’s hands are well-proportioned, with a thin layer of muscle, and his skin looks pale under the client’s fingers.

They remain in this position, the token slipping from between their fingers and falling to the floor.

Plink.

The cold white jade falls onto the carriage’s cushioned floor. Ying Xiu feels a pang of regret. He glances at Xie Zhou with an expression that says, “You’re such a spendthrift,” then frees his hand and bends down to pick it up.

Through his clothes, one can see Ying Xiu’s slender, narrow waist. As he bends, his head is lowered, and a few strands of his dark hair fall loose. The fine, silky strands, like black ink, are not distinct in the candlelight, lightly brushing against Xie Zhou’s hand.

“Found it!”

Ying Xiu rises happily, the token in his hand. He insists on putting it back in Xie Zhou’s hand. “I read in books that when an official or general has done great deeds for the emperor, the emperor gives them a death-exemption token. A long time later, if the official’s descendants make a mistake, they can show the token, and the emperor will spare them.”

Ying Xiu chatters on, recounting everything he has read. At the end, his eyes sparkle as he asks Xie Zhou, “Is that how you got your token?”

Ying Xiu looks at Xie Zhou with great admiration. Xie Zhou holds the slightly warm token, lost in thought for a moment. He wonders what kind of books people send to the Hai Kui Pavilion. Under the youth’s expectant gaze, he simply says, “Yes.”

It can be considered a family heirloom, I suppose.

Now that Ying Xiu has asked his questions, it is his turn. “What is your relationship with that person?” the client asks, his voice calm and warm, showing no hint of anything amiss.

Ying Xiu’s attention is diverted, and he doesn’t press for the token’s origin. He becomes silent, then says casually, “You could say he’s an old acquaintance.” Recalling his conflict with Xi An, he feels it’s a long story best left untold. However, the Xi clan is based in Ningzhou. Why is Xi An in Jiangzhou? What is he here for?

“…An acquaintance?” It seems they have some bad bl00d. The Xi clan member clearly has feelings for Ying Xiu, but Ying Xiu is completely oblivious.

The smile in Xie Zhou’s eyes slowly fades, replaced by a calm indifference. He motions for Ying Xiu to lean closer, then slowly runs his fingers through Ying Xiu’s soft hair, untying the ribbons. The client meticulously straightens the assassin’s dark hair. After a period of care, Ying Xiu’s hair is like a smooth curtain of silk, like the softest ink, flowing through his palms.

It is beautiful, especially the look of trust and admiration shining in his clear eyes. The cold edge of a sword has become a gentle, obedient thing in his hands.

Ying Xiu narrows his eyes, like a lazy cat, leaning against Xie Zhou and enjoying the feeling of his hair being combed. He thinks that Xie Zhou, with his extensive connections, must have already heard about what happened at the weir, yet he hasn’t mentioned a word. Ying Xiu worries that Xie Zhou might blame him for being meddlesome, just as the eldest son of the family couldn’t understand why he cared about the death of a commoner.

With this thought, Ying Xiu cautiously explains, “It’s such a waste to dump all that grain into the Yuan River. I’ve been hungry before, so I didn’t want them to go hungry too.” He pauses and thinks seriously. His face shows a bit of apology. “I don’t know if the river god gets hungry. Probably not, right? Don’t books say that gods don’t eat grains but only drink dew and absorb the wind?” If the river god needed grain to survive, it should have been working the fields itself, not taking the people’s food.

“You did nothing wrong,” Xie Zhou’s low voice says. “Never doubt yourself, no matter what.”

The youth’s calm, gentle voice holds a power that slowly soothes Ying Xiu, making his heart feel steady in his chest. The youth becomes happy and nuzzles against Xie Zhou, almost messing up the hair Xie Zhou has just combed.

Xie Zhou’s hand, holding the golden ribbon, freezes midair. After the youth settles down, he continues to use his hands as a comb, stroking Ying Xiu’s dark hair again and again. As for the token, when Ying Xiu isn’t looking, Xie Zhou slips it into his robe. It should be tied to Ying Xiu’s waist. That way, anyone who sees it will know that the current emperor stands behind Ying Xiu. If they know that, no one will dare to stop him. They will respectfully kneel before him, making his path smooth and free of obstacles.

The token falls lightly into his sleeve. Ying Xiu knows it’s there. He feels an urge to turn his head and see Xie Zhou’s expression as he combs his hair. He imagines Xie Zhou’s lowered eyebrows, his long lashes, and his deep, dark eyes reflecting his own image. The youth wants to turn, but he fears that a sudden movement will ruin Xie Zhou’s effort. He can only sit still, his heart pounding.

Inside the lantern’s glass shade, a flame burns gently. The candlelight casts two silhouettes on the carriage wall, like a painting. A line of candlelight and a few shadows startle the birds returning to their nests. Hasty footsteps echo through the private residence of the Wang clan. Several Wang family clients, holding long lanterns, hurry down the long corridor.

The assassin who works for the eldest son of the family has appeared publicly at the Yuan River ceremony with an imperial token. Was this at the eldest son’s order? If not, then the assassin acted on his own, challenging the Jiangzhou officials and bringing trouble to his master. Where is the loyalty in that?

If there is no loyalty, keeping him alive would be like raising a wolf in the house.