Volume III, Real Ancient Capital, Chapter 53: The warmth of a fox
By Xiao Xiang Dong'Er | Translated and Arranged by Angel Chua
On the second day of the spring hunt, Muhe's younger generation, Muhe Xi Feng, died in the West Bailin. His body was mauled by a tiger—his stomach and chest torn open. When he was found, the corpse was largely unrecognizable. If not for the presence of Muhe Xi Feng's mother, no one might have been able to identify the pile of mangled flesh and blood on the ground as the once-respected son of the Mu family.
The hunting atmosphere abruptly froze. Mu Xi Feng, a seasoned warrior who had led troops with exceptional martial skill, should not have been easily overpowered, let alone by a tiger. The scene revealed no signs of a struggle. Muhe Xi Feng hadn't even unsheathed his sword, raising suspicions. The Mu family, along with Xi Feng's uncles and cousins, met at the long table, and the Emperor himself questioned the circumstances. The Court was asked to investigate, as many believed Muhe Xi Feng had been murdered.
From the start, the situation was out of control. Muhe held significant influence in the north, and suspicion fell on powerful northern forces. The Elders of the Shrine and the Lingnan Mu clan had stayed out of imperial politics. Zhuge's faction remained low-key, and the Shen Shi family, having declined over generations, had been reduced to a minor player within the Elders Shrine. The Dongyue Shangshi sect, while present, had little impact on the government. Meanwhile, the northern Batuha family, with its stronghold in the northwest, had long aligned itself with Muhe. The only faction capable of challenging Muhe's dominance, the Wei family, had faltered after Wei Shu You was stripped of his position in the capital. The Muhe family, now ascending to even greater prominence, stood unchallenged.
The imperial investigation began with the nine Jing families stationed at the hunting grounds. They inspected every inch of the West Bailin, sealing off the area and preventing anyone from entering or leaving without strict surveillance. All letters were also closely monitored to prevent any covert communication. The royal family expressed deep condolences to the Muhe family and vowed to support their pursuit of justice, halting the spring hunt as a mark of respect.
In the camp located southwest of the hunting ground, the quiet night settled in. A thick beige curtain lifted, allowing a gust of cold wind to blow through the doorway. A man in white robes sat by the flickering lamplight, his gaze deep and unreadable.
"Son, wasn't the girl here?" A'Jing asked, scanning the camp before stepping back outside. Yan Xun, a man of striking beauty, replied calmly, "What's the matter?"
"The girl was sent here by His Highness, the Thirteenth Prince."
Yan Xun raised his brow slightly, set down the scroll he was reading, and said, "Oh, that's where she went."
"Yes," A'Jing replied and then retreated. Outside, the wind howled, making a low, mournful sound against the tent. Yan Xun remained motionless for a while, his brow furrowed, his gaze fixed on a bundled-up object, silent and contemplative.
The Northern Zha Gu orchid drum continued its rhythmic beat in the background. The embroidery on its fabric shimmered like moonlit white lotus petals, but the contents of the bundle remained a mystery.
Yan Xun glanced at it indifferently, turning his attention back to his book. The camp was so quiet that even the distant footsteps of soldiers could be heard clearly. Yet, despite the stillness, a restless irritability simmered within him.
He stood up and poured himself a cup of tea. The fragrance wafted through the air—tea from Lingnan Mu, a tribute presented to Zhao Zhengde, who had no real fondness for tea. The emperor had scattered it among the courtiers. Known as "Red Girl" for its delicate, dignified appearance, it was said to be harvested by virgins, making it particularly precious. Though its flavor was not remarkable, it evoked a sense of elegance and grace.
Yan Xun took a sip, the tea's aroma gradually soothing his emotions. His eyes narrowed slightly as he paced back and forth, his steps deliberate and calm. But as he sat down again, he abruptly spilled the tea in his palm, watching impassively as it soaked into the fabric below.
With a soft sound, the tea seeped into the material, spreading slowly. He remained quiet for a long time, finally murmuring to himself, "I'm soaked; I should clean this up."
At midnight, Chu Qiao returned to the camp. After listening to A'Jing, she sought out Yan Xun.
"Yan Xun, were you looking for me?" she asked.
"Oh," Yan Xun set aside his scroll and stood up. His white robes glowed softly in the lamplight. "You're back. It's cold outside."
"I'm fine," Chu Qiao replied, moving toward the brazier. She took the warm fox fur and held it over the charcoal fire, then glanced up. "What are you working on?"
"Nothing much. He Tian just stopped by, testing me on what I did yesterday," Yan Xun replied.
Chu Qiao gave a cold smile. "They're like ants on a hot pan now. He Tian was sent north years ago, and he's only ever done small errands. Zhao Che must have sent him to the border city, but even their years of friendship won't help him now. If it weren't for Zhao Che, would He Tian ever have dared to follow the Emperor? Now that Zhao Che's in trouble, he wants to find a way out. But I doubt Zhao Che sent him here."
Yan Xun nodded. "When my father and his elder brother were in northern Xinjiang, they had some dealings with him."
"He Tian is a rat. He betrayed Yanbian by providing topographical maps to Beijing, and now he's trying to weasel his way back in. If you don't want to deal with him, leave it to me," Chu Qiao offered.
"I won't meet with him again," Yan Xun agreed.
Chu Qiao moved closer to the brazier. "Then it's simple. If we let Zhao Che know He Tian came to our camp, his suspicious nature will do the rest. He'll assume the worst."
"Exactly," Yan Xun said. "You take care of the details."
"Yes. Yan Xun, do you find me too involved in this?" Chu Qiao asked.
"No," Yan Xun stood and fetched a white jade box. "Wen Ting sent this yesterday. It's a female outfit, I think she made a mistake."
Chu Qiao took the box, frowning slightly. "Wen Ting's gifts are usually perfect. How did she slip up this time?"
She opened it and her eyes gleamed. Inside was a white fox fur coat. Its silky mink tail was flawless, and its smooth texture was unlike any fur she'd seen before. Chu Qiao was stunned. "Wen Ting must have spent a fortune on this."
Yan Xun remained quiet, his back turned to her as he stood by his books.
"I'll be going now," Chu Qiao said.
"Oh, wait a moment." As if remembering something, Yan Xun handed her a small item. "I almost forgot—Zhao Song sent this for you."
Chu Qiao took it, recognizing what it was. She didn't bother to open it and turned to leave, only half listening as Yan Xun asked, "Aren't you going to open it?"
"It's a shepherd's snow coat. Zhao Song mentioned it yesterday, but I wasn't expecting it to arrive so soon," Chu Qiao replied.
Yan Xun nodded. "Xise Lu You and my father had good relations back then. Despite our differences, we're tied together through history."
"I understand," Chu Qiao said. "I just feel a little sorry for the Thirteenth Prince. He's so eager to help."
"Your work has always been thorough. I trust you. It's late; get some rest."
"You too," Chu Qiao said, and with a final nod, she left the tent.
Shortly after, A'Jing burst in, out of breath. "Sir, that girl took the item Mr. Wu couldn't find, the rare one! Wasn't it meant for Lady Dongyue's birthday?"
Yan Xun, still reading, barely looked up. "If we can't find another one, then we won't send it."
A'Jing stared in disbelief as Yan Xun left his books behind and went to bed.
Snow fell outside the camp, but within Yan Xun's tent, no one slept.
AC Afterthoughts
The chapter is intense and layered, conveying an atmosphere of tension and suspicion. From the beginning, the narrative sets the scene with Muhe Xi Feng's mysterious death, immediately pulling the reader into a world rife with intrigue. The portrayal of Yan Xun is particularly striking, as his calm exterior hides deep contemplation and underlying turmoil. The conversations between the characters reveal a complex web of alliances and betrayals, with subtle power dynamics at play.
The tone throughout the chapter is somber and reflective, punctuated by moments of cold calculation, especially in Chu Qiao's dialogue. The quiet and almost methodical pacing of Yan Xun's actions, contrasted with Chu Qiao's sharp wit and observations, highlights the differences in their characters. Yan Xun's moments of stillness, combined with the growing sense of isolation and foreboding, create an emotional depth that lingers beneath the surface.