“Look at you—there’s a perfectly good carriage you won’t ride, insisting on walking and making yourself suffer,” Song Fan complained while shaking off the mud stains on his robes. He had truly followed all the way from Chang’an. The snowy roads were slippery, making the journey extremely difficult. When the snow was frozen it was hard to walk on, and when it melted it was even harder. Song Fan had followed and complained the entire way without getting a single response from Su Cen.
Having performed his monologue to no audience, Song Fan suddenly stopped and confronted Su Cen: “Aren’t you usually sharp-tongued? What’s wrong, gone mute?”
Su Cen walked around Song Fan and continued silently on his way. He couldn’t beat this person, nor could he shake him off, so he could only shut out his senses, pretending not to hear or see him, as if this person didn’t exist.
Snow water soaked through his shoes and socks, and the cold crept up from his feet—it was indeed bitterly cold. Su Cen took the small roads. By dusk, he had entered the territory of Shanyang County and found a roadside inn. He went in, asked for a guest room, had the innkeeper’s assistant bring hot water upstairs, then went up on his own.
Song Fan smiled helplessly, muttered “how petty,” and could only pay for his own room—the finest upper room available.
The conditions at this rural inn were naturally not very good. The stairs from the first to second floor were narrow and steep. When Su Cen was halfway up, he encountered someone coming down—a tall figure. Even though Su Cen pressed against the handrail, he was still bumped.
The collision wasn’t heavy, and Su Cen didn’t pay much attention, continuing upward. After just two steps, he heard a rough, angry roar from below: “Get out of the way!”
Looking back, he saw the tall figure stopped halfway down, and below was Song Fan’s much smaller frame standing in the middle of the stairs, completely blocking the way down.
That person was a full size larger than Song Fan, and with Song Fan being one step lower, his head barely reached the big man’s chest, making the disparity even more pronounced.
But Song Fan crossed his arms over his chest, completely unafraid, and smiled: “Thinking of leaving after taking something?”
Su Cen felt around his body—his money pouch was gone.
“Damn it, you’re asking for death!” The big man’s face changed. Taking advantage of his higher position, he was about to push Song Fan down with one palm. Unexpectedly, Song Fan was prepared and actually flipped through the air from the narrow staircase, using the big man’s head as support and landing steadily behind him.
The big man pushed at empty air. Unable to retract the force from his hand, he grasped at nothing and fell straight down the stairs.
The loud crash disturbed the diners on the first floor, who all looked over one after another. The big man was dazed from the fall and tried several times to get up but couldn’t. When he finally looked up, he saw a pair of mud-stained cloth boots in front of his eyes. Looking up further, he met a pair of smiling peach blossom eyes.
“Which hand took it?” Song Fan used his sword sheath to lift the big man’s hands. “Left hand? Or right hand?”
Though it was a beautiful face, the words spoken made people shiver with cold.
“Give me back the money pouch and you can go.” Su Cen also came down from upstairs, ignoring Song Fan and extending his hand toward the big man.
The big man considered his chances of fighting Song Fan head-on, then reluctantly reached into his front garment, pulled out the money pouch, and threw it to Su Cen before getting up and running away.
There was a sharp “swish” sound. Before anyone could understand what had happened, the sword was already back in its sheath, an arm fell from the sky, and blood sprayed down, splashing the faces of those present.
The big man clutched his severed limb and collapsed, wailing.
Song Fan curled his lips: “Looks like it was the right hand.”
Two hours later, at a roadside ruined temple.
Su Cen spent considerable effort lighting the pile of damp firewood. Weak flames danced and flickered upward, illuminating his somewhat pale face.
No more hot water, no more food, not even a bed to rest on. Su Cen silently pulled out frozen hard rations from his pack, then found half a gourd in the ruined temple and went outside to scoop up clean snow.
Song Fan wasn’t polite when he saw food. He came forward and took out the other half, bit into it, then frowned. It was dry and hard—one bite nearly broke his teeth. He couldn’t help complaining: “What is this thing? How do you eat it?”
“There was good food and meat originally, but you ruined it yourself.” Su Cen placed the gourd by the fire to wait for the snow to melt.
Earlier at the inn, they had scared away half the customers, and the innkeeper refused to let them stay no matter what, forcing them to travel through the night until they finally found this place to shelter from the wind and snow.
“You should have let me kill that innkeeper—then we’d have hot food and warm beds now.” Song Fan came closer with a grin. “How about it? Want to go back?”
“Madman.” Su Cen was too lazy to respond further. He tore the dry bread into small pieces, threw them in the water to soak, then carefully simmered it over the fire.
Only then did Song Fan realize the dry bread wasn’t meant to be eaten directly. He stopped gnawing on it and waited for Su Cen to finish preparing it before trying to get a share. He found a pile of dry grass to lie on, crossed his legs, and said: “That thief stole your money pouch and you weren’t angry. That innkeeper drove you away and you weren’t angry either. I helped you get back your money pouch, yet you’re mad at me. What’s the logic in that?”
A thief indeed wasn’t worth pitying. Su Cen shook his head gently: “That’s not what I’m angry about.”
“Oh?” Song Fan became interested.
“I just can’t understand why that innkeeper assumed we were together and threw me out too.”
Song Fan was stunned, then burst into laughter, laughing so hard he swayed back and forth, scattering the straw. “Worthy of being Su Su—your roundabout way of insulting people is truly impressive.”
Su Cen thought to himself that knowing someone was insulting you yet still clinging on shamelessly showed quite impressive thick skin.
Seeing the temperature was right, Su Cen retrieved the gourd and slowly ate the softened dry bread. Song Fan saw this and quickly came over, circling around several times without seeing any sign that Su Cen intended to share.
When waiting didn’t work, he decided to snatch it, grabbing the wrist of the hand Su Cen was using to hold the bowl and forcibly pulling it toward himself.
Not content with this, Song Fan had other ideas and tried to guide that wrist to feed him.
Su Cen winced in pain but couldn’t pull his hand free. Just as it was about to reach Song Fan’s mouth, he simply loosened his grip, letting the soup and water from the gourd spill down, drenching Song Fan.
Song Fan’s eyes narrowed. He looked down at himself, then up at Su Cen. Those eyes suddenly flashed with vicious light as he gripped that wrist bone and applied force, actually dislocating it.
Heavy breathing echoed in the dilapidated temple. Su Cen clutched his twisted, displaced wrist to his chest, breaking out in cold sweat despite the winter cold.
Song Fan took pleasure in tormenting people, looking down at Su Cen from above with bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes: “Refusing the toast only to be forced to drink the penalty wine. You only behave when treated this way. Or do you actually like this kind of treatment? Could it be that Li Shi satisfies you like this every night?”
Su Cen couldn’t bear to hear that name now, especially couldn’t bear to hear Song Fan say it in a mocking tone. His gaze glared viciously upward, like a small beast that would bite even if it meant mutual destruction.
Song Fan bent down to grab the wrist that was visibly swollen and red, watching Su Cen’s face contort in pain while his eyes still refused to show weakness. A puzzled expression appeared on his face: “You can embrace him, smile at him, yet you’d rather starve yourself than feed me a single bite. Is he really that good? Worth your life and death devotion?”
Su Cen knew who Song Fan meant by “him” and said coldly: “You’re actually jealous, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am jealous,” Song Fan was stunned for a moment, then smiled. “Why does he get to be the center of attention, carried when tired, surrounded by people like you who plan everything for him, while he just sits there obediently and owns the world? Yet I was born having to run—run slowly and I’d be trampled underfoot, ground into mud, never to rise again. Li Zhuo, Li Zhuo—’washing ice and cleansing snow,’ ice-snow clever. But do you know what I’m called?”
Only then did Su Cen realize he had never actually known Song Fan’s real name.
“As a child I was called ‘hey,’ later they called me ‘young master,’ then I finally had a name—surname Song, given name Fan… Song Fan…” Song Fan laughed long and hard, his gaze suddenly turning vicious. “He gets to live in sunlight, open and honest, while we have to roll in mud piles. I’m just taking back what should have belonged to me—what’s wrong with that?!”
Su Cen took a breath to ease the pain in his hand: “Since ancient times, imperial succession has always been rivers of blood. It was Emperor Taizong who seized Crown Prince Chongde’s position, not the young emperor. He’s just another victim of imperial power—his father died early and he was thrust into crisis, but fortunately his nature is pure and he knows right from wrong. He has a good example now and is working hard to learn. He’ll be a good emperor in the future.”
Su Cen stared at Song Fan, saying word by word: “But you cannot.”
Song Fan’s grip tightened bit by bit: “Do you really think I don’t dare kill you?”
Su Cen gritted his teeth, still refusing to bow his head.
After a moment, there was a faint sound—the joint snapped back into place. Song Fan suddenly smiled: “I won’t kill you. I want you to watch with your own eyes what becomes of those people, whose surname this world really belongs to.”
Su Cen took several sharp breaths and rubbed his wrist, thinking that Song Fan really didn’t seem very smart. Li Zhuo, Li Shi, Li Sheng, and this Li Nobody who didn’t know his own name—the whole family was surnamed Li. Could they really end up surnamed Song after all the fighting?
This journey lasted over half a month. Entering the twelfth lunar month, Su Cen finally reached the borders of Yangzhou. Song Fan’s promise to escort him to Yangzhou wasn’t just talk—he had actually followed the whole way. Su Cen was thoroughly annoyed and tried several times to shake him off unsuccessfully, finally just letting it be and ignoring him.
Seeing Yangzhou’s boundary marker, Su Cen finally breathed a sigh of relief, pointing ahead: “Yangzhou territory is just ahead. Are you satisfied now?”
“So you discovered it?” Song Fan smiled lightly. “I was indeed here to monitor you. Originally I just needed to follow from the shadows, and when we reached a deserted place, it would be more convenient to deal with you on the spot.”
Song Fan stepped closer, smiling: “But Su Su, you’re really too adorable. Following you, I ended up following all the way to Yangzhou.”
The blade in his hand emerged partway from its sheath. Su Cen couldn’t help but step back several paces. He really had no use value now—whether the Secret Door killed or spared him was just a matter of a single thought.
Song Fan smiled with satisfaction and sheathed his sword again: “But I said I wouldn’t kill you. Stay peacefully in Yangzhou and wait for me to show you a good play.”
Looking ahead in the distance: “Our old friend is coming. I’ll leave first.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Song Fan touched the ground with his toes and leaped into the air, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Only after a moment did Su Cen come to his senses. His ears were finally quiet, his legs weak, his back cold. After a long while, he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
It was a four-wheeled carriage that stopped just as it reached him. A thick cotton curtain was lifted, and someone got down from the carriage, smiling gently at Su Cen: “You’ve finally returned.”
“Feng Yiming?” Su Cen was slightly stunned. “How are you here?”
Feng Yiming smiled at him: “I came to pick you up. Do you believe it?”
Su Cen couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. On this journey, someone had seen him off and someone was picking him up—except the one seeing him off hadn’t meant to, and this one picking him up…
Su Cen looked at the carriage behind Feng Yiming. The horses were robust and the wheels heavy—clearly prepared for a long journey. He said directly: “Where are you going?”
Feng Yiming smiled helplessly: “I really can’t hide anything from you. I’ve been transferred to Vice Minister of Public Works. I originally wanted to wait for you to come before leaving, but after waiting and waiting without seeing you, and with urgent pressure from the court, I had to set out first.”
Su Cen was slightly stunned. Vice Minister of Public Works was a fourth-rank capital position. With the current factional struggles at court, it was a time when people were needed, so Li Shi transferring Feng Yiming back was reasonable. He could finally return to the place he had dreamed of. Su Cen nodded: “Congratulations.”
But Feng Yiming shook his head gently: “With the current court chaos and uncertain future, this trip could be fortune or disaster.”
Su Cen bit his lip hard, and after a long while said: “Take good care of him.”
Feng Yiming nodded: “I will.”
With parting imminent, the atmosphere was desolate. The two faced each other, not knowing what to say. Feng Yiming stretched and prepared to depart, smiling: “Now that we’re parting, we probably won’t have a chance to meet again. Take care of yourself.”
Su Cen also smiled: “What? Never returning to Yangzhou?”
“Not returning. The capital is so good—fragrant carriages and precious horses, beautiful women like clouds. Why come back?”
Su Cen teased: “Since when have you been interested in beautiful women?”
“Life is short, one must enjoy oneself when possible,” Feng Yiming turned to board the carriage and waved at Su Cen. “I’m leaving.”
The carriage gradually drove away. The two crossed paths at Yangzhou’s border—one person coming out, another going in.
Only after Su Cen’s figure disappear
ed at the end of the gray road did Feng Yiming lower the carriage curtain and sigh softly: “Indeed, no matter how many times, he always chooses you.”
##
![Flying Dust [Fei Chen]](https://www.freenovels.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/9k.png "Flying Dust [Fei Chen]")
