Yunsheng directed his steps toward the stables. There, he was presented with a fresh mount—a sturdy, dark bay, unfamiliar to him. With practiced ease, he checked the girth and stroked its neck.
The man mounted the saddle, the necessary supplies were brought to him, and the gates of the residence slowly opened before him. As he rode out beyond the boundaries of the Governor General's domain, anxiety once again clenched his chest.
Yunsheng settled into the saddle of the new horse with difficulty. The cold wind pierced him to the bone, and with every passing second, the sense of alarm grew sharper. He endeavored to focus on the path, on the forest trail leading to the neighboring county, but thoughts of Jihua granted him no peace.
He understood: this mission was formally important, and disobedience was impossible. The Governor had given the order—therefore, one could not retreat, nor arouse suspicion. Yet, something in the atmosphere seemed… wrong.
Every sound—the snapping of a branch, the rustling of foliage—forced him to look back. The horse beneath him moved nervously, as if sensing its master's mood. Yunsheng gripped the reins, striving to appear calm, but internally his heart was in turmoil.
"Why did the Governor dispatch me at this precise moment? Why this specific assignment? What is transpiring at the residence with Jihua?"
He realized he could change nothing. Any doubt, any protest would appear as insolence. And he could not allow his suspicion to raise unnecessary questions. Yet, every mile of the road was conquered with struggle. Memories of the previous night swirled in his mind—Jihua's glances through the carriage, their secret conversations. It seemed that all these moments were now under threat.
Yunsheng quickened the horse's pace, trying to concentrate on the task, but the feeling that something was amiss did not leave him. It sat deep in his chest like a warning: "Watch every movement. Be ready for anything. You do not know what awaits you when you return." And he rode forward, clenching his hands on the reins, trying to suppress the internal alarm, but Yunsheng's heart beat in unison with his apprehension.
Yunsheng sighed, tightened the reins, and the horse obediently moved forward. His soul felt heavy and anxious—a feeling that he was going not where he wished, but forced to go where he was bidden.
And with every step, the road seemed longer, and the anxiety—stronger.
Twilight descended upon the road; the reddening sun hid behind the horizon, and the shadows of trees stretched like long specters across the gravel path. Logic dictated that he should stop at the inn he had just passed, check the horse, allow himself at least a little rest, but Yunsheng could not. A restless premonition that something was happening at home gave him no peace. His heart pounded with every thought of Jihua.
He gripped the reins tighter and whispered to the horse:
"Forward, we must press on."
The horse surged forward; the thunder of hooves tore through the silence of the night. The road was empty, only rare stars shimmering in the sky, and a light wind rustling the leaves. Every sound seemed familiar to Yunsheng, as if warning of imminent danger. He paid no heed to the fatigue, the cold, or the darkness around him. Inside grew the feeling that every minute of delay could cost dearly. His thoughts darted between the Governor's order and the inner voice screaming: "Something is wrong there! I must return!"
Night fell like a dense curtain, and only the rhythm of hooves on the road remained constant, as if the sole sign that he was moving forward.
Yunsheng understood: despite the exhaustion and danger, this was his chance—a chance to be on time where decisions awaited him, where he could try to prevent a catastrophe.
And so he rode. Through the entire night and the entirety of the following day, stopping only to exchange horses at coaching inns.
After midday, he caught sight of the city gates. The dusty road had left traces of fatigue on his face, and his muscles ached from the ceaseless riding. He sighed, allowing himself a brief moment of relief.
Lianshui proved quieter than he had imagined. Stone walls, guards with no tension in their eyes, passersby occupied with their own affairs.
He identified himself at the gates and displayed the seal. He was admitted without unnecessary questions and escorted to the garrison. The County Commander—a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard—received him in the official hall.
"A dispatch from the Governor General of Qingyang County," Yunsheng said, extending the sealed scroll.
The Commander accepted the letter, broke the seal, and scanned the lines. Minutes dragged by. Yunsheng stood silently, as protocol demanded.
Finally, the man raised his gaze.
"Hmm…" he drawled. "You are fast."
Yunsheng frowned slightly.
"The order was to depart immediately."
The Commander chuckled, though without mockery.
"I understand. It is just…" he glanced at the letter again. "We did not expect this dispatch for another four days at the earliest."
Yunsheng did not betray his surprise.
"Why?"
"The scouts have not yet returned," the Commander replied calmly. "Without their report, compiling a response is meaningless. They will arrive tomorrow evening, and the full report will be ready in a day, perhaps two."
He carefully rolled up the scroll.
"You may inform the Governor General that the response will be dispatched as soon as everything is ready, or remain here and wait."
Yunsheng nodded.
"Understood."
The Commander looked at him more closely, as if only now properly observing him.
"You must have ridden without stopping."
"Correct."
"Then I advise you to rest," the man said. "There is a decent inn in the city. There is no sense in rushing back today—you will not carry anything new back with you regardless."
Yunsheng thanked him and left the hall.
Once outside, leading his horse by the bridle, he slowed his pace.
"Expected in a couple of days."
"Scouts are still on the way."
"The response is not urgent."
His thoughts assembled slowly, reluctant to take specific shape. He stopped, raised his gaze to the sky—the sun was already beginning to dip toward sunset.
Understanding came all at once, and with every step, it grew heavier.
Yunsheng gripped the reins.
"Damn it…" he exhaled quietly.
He did not yet know for sure what exactly was happening, but for the first time, he clearly felt that his departure had been too convenient and timely.
The man did not stay at the inn for the night; he quickly bathed, changed horses, and hurried beyond the city gates. The sunset began to paint the sky a copper hue, shadows lay long and heavy, as if the road itself was stretching back toward the residence.
The assignment was merely a pretext. He had been removed just enough so that he would not be present at the crucial moment.
Yunsheng exhaled sharply and vaulted into the saddle. He urged the horse forward, first into a brisk walk, then a trot, and soon—a gallop. The wind whipped his face, his cloak beat against his back, thoughts broke off, leaving only one thing: he must make it in time.
Night blanketed the road quickly.
He stopped only for a few breaths to give the horse a sip of water, and drove it forward again.
Snippets of Houwei's words flashed in his mind. "Five days," Houwei had said.
Yunsheng had thought he had time.
He gritted his teeth.
A lie. Or a half-truth.
Yunsheng rode through the night again. Dawn caught him on the road. His eyes stung from fatigue, his hands were numb, but he did not slacken his pace. The sun was rising, and the road stretched on and on. He no longer counted the time. When his strength was running low, Yunsheng crested a hill—and saw the familiar outlines in the distance.
The Residence.
And the first things that caught his eye were ribbons, flags, decorated gates, and people.
His heart clenched painfully. His guesses had proven true.
"No…" escaped his lips.
He dug his heels in, forcing the horse to accelerate, as if he could outrun time itself. Panic, anger, despair rose in his chest—all mixed into one.
Had he ridden at a normal pace, had he stopped for the night, he would not have made it. He had been intentionally sent away so that by his return, everything would already be done.
Yunsheng gripped the reins, feeling anxiety and fury merging into a single impulse. He pressed his body closer to the horse and urged it faster; every movement of the steed sounded like the beating of a heart that could not wait. His eyes were fixed forward—toward Jihua.
Nothing else mattered: fatigue, the night, the road—everything dissolved before a single thought. He must make it in time. He would not allow this moment to pass without him.