Volume One, Chapter Seventeen: The Pacification Office

In the imperial study, the scent of sandalwood lingered softly. Emperor Li Chengye, dressed in his usual attire, stood by the window with his hands behind his back, gazing intently at a sturdy welcoming pine in the courtyard. His silhouette was like a mountain—steady and imbued with an unspoken imperial majesty.

Li Xuan stood silently behind him, saying nothing, patiently waiting.

He knew that the scene in the Ninghua Hall the previous night, though seemingly a great triumph for him, had in truth thrust him squarely into the eye of the storm. The greater his demonstrated worth, the heavier the trials he would face.

After a long pause, Li Chengye slowly turned, his gaze sharp as lightning, fixed upon Li Xuan. In that look were scrutiny, surprise, but above all, an undeniable admiration.

“Xuan, you did well last night.”

The words were simple, yet carried the weight of a mountain.

“I dare not claim such praise, Father. I only wished not to bring shame upon you through my youthful recklessness,” Li Xuan bowed deeply, his demeanor humble and composed.

A subtle, meaningful smile curved the emperor’s lips. “Not wishing to bring shame? I think you wanted to bring shame upon those brothers of yours.”

He walked to the desk and sat down, lightly tapping the surface with his fingers. “Each of your elder brothers has their eyes fixed on the throne beneath me—I am well aware. In the past, I merely thought you were a stubborn stone, worthless and unworthy of my concern. But now it seems you are not a stone, but an uncut jade, long clouded by dust.”

Li Xuan’s heart stirred; he knew the true matter was at hand.

“This jade, now that it has been sharpened, I cannot let dust cover it again.” The emperor retrieved a heavy, dark iron plaque from a hidden compartment in the desk and tossed it before Li Xuan.

The iron was cold in his palm, engraved on the front with a fierce qilin; on the back, a seal-script character meaning “Inspect.”

“This is the command token of the Office of Censorship and Pacification,” Li Chengye’s voice was low and powerful. “This office stands apart from the Six Ministries, charged with overseeing all officials, investigating, inspecting, and apprehending. It was once entrusted only to my most trusted, but now, I entrust it to you.”

Li Xuan’s pupils contracted sharply, waves of shock and exhilaration surging within him.

The Office of Censorship and Pacification! It was the combination of the Jinyiwei and the Eastern Depot from his previous life—an unparalleled blade of imperial authority and the most secretive eyes of the Zhou Dynasty. Its power was enough to strike terror into all courtiers.

For the emperor to hand him this blade was no mere test—it was genuine trust and empowerment.

“Father…”

“No need for more words,” Li Chengye waved his hand. “I give you this blade not to wield against your brothers, but to protect yourself. Also, to watch the court for me—to see clearly who are men and who are ghosts. The power is yours, but how you wield it, whether wisely or poorly, depends on your own skill.”

“Your son thanks Father for this great favor!” Li Xuan cupped the token with both hands and bowed deeply, his reverence and gratitude sincere and profound.

***

This emperor’s mind was as deep as the sea, his methods as divine as the gods’. He had given Li Xuan a formidable weapon against the princes yet drawn a red line that must not be crossed.

Leaving the imperial study, Li Xuan gripped the cold iron token tightly, feeling its weight as if it bore the weight of a thousand mountains.

Back in the Eastern Palace, he immediately summoned his trusted aide, Jing Yun.

In the study, Jing Yun, clad in black like a shadowy specter, knelt on one knee and reported hoarsely, “Your Highness, I have failed. These past days, I have watched every corner of the residence, but still cannot identify the spies. They hide too well, indistinguishable from ordinary people, leaving no clues to seize upon.”

His voice was thick with frustration. As a top assassin and scout, failing to find one’s enemy was more agonizing than direct combat.

Li Xuan did not blame him; instead, he helped him to his feet. “This is not your fault. Since they dared plant spies within the Eastern Palace, they must have been carefully chosen. If you could catch them easily, then I would be underestimating those brothers of mine.”

He paced slowly, furrowing his brow. The Eastern Palace was like a sieve that leaked wind—every move he made was under scrutiny, a feeling deeply unsettling. The Office of Censorship and Pacification was a sharp weapon, but that was for external threats; internally, he had to clear his own domain first.

Just as he was lost in thought, soft footsteps approached outside the door.

“Your Highness.”

It was the voice of Xiao Ningshuang.

Li Xuan gestured for Jing Yun to step back and called out, “The Crown Princess, please enter.”

Xiao Ningshuang entered carrying a bowl of ginseng soup, still clad in simple, elegant attire, cold and serene as the moon. She placed the bowl on the table, her gaze briefly sweeping over Li Xuan’s furrowed brow before asking softly, “Troubles weighing on your mind?”

Li Xuan glanced at her, a subtle stir in his heart, and unexpectedly recounted the situation in brief. Perhaps it was the “Muscle Renewal Ointment” she had handed him last night that made him unconsciously regard her as one of his own.

After listening, Xiao Ningshuang said nothing immediately but walked to the window and gazed out at the garden’s every leaf and blade of grass.

After a long moment, she turned back, her clear phoenix eyes shimmering with wisdom. “If you cannot find them, why not lure them out yourself?”

“Oh?” Li Xuan’s interest piqued. “Please elaborate.”

“A snake hides in the grass, hard to find. But if you place a piece of prime meat at the edge, the snake will smell the bait—how can it not show its head?” Her tone was calm yet every word was weighty. “They remain hidden because there is nothing worth their risk. You simply need to throw out a bait heavy enough—a false piece of information so tempting they must report it at once, perhaps even attempt to steal it for verification—and they will reveal themselves.”

Her words were like sunlight breaking through clouds, instantly enlightening Li Xuan.

Of course! How had he been so stuck!

He had read the Art of War before and knew well the strategy of “luring the snake out of its den,” yet in the thick of it, he had failed to think of this. Xiao Ningshuang, daughter of a general, had been immersed in such strategies since childhood; to her, this was second nature.

***

“A brilliant plan! A perfect lure to draw out the snake!” Li Xuan clapped his hands in delight, the gloom in his heart vanishing.

He looked at the exquisite, clever woman before him with newfound admiration and excitement. She was more than a political ally—she was a godsend, a wise companion bestowed by heaven.

For a moment, overwhelmed with gratitude and joy, Li Xuan instinctively stepped forward, arms outstretched to embrace Xiao Ningshuang.

Yet, as soon as his arms opened, he met her instantly freezing gaze.

Her eyes no longer held hatred but were now edged with cold caution and distance. She stepped back slightly, her whole being like a startled hedgehog, bristling with every spike raised.

Li Xuan’s hand froze mid-air.

Time seemed to halt.

His smile stiffened, and a wave of disappointment flooded his heart.

He had forgotten—the thorn in her heart. That debt, though not his doing, weighed heavily on this body he now inhabited.

He withdrew his hand casually, scratched his nose to mask the awkwardness, and gave a self-deprecating smile. “I got carried away in my delight and was too forward—please forgive me, Crown Princess.”

Xiao Ningshuang lowered her gaze, long lashes veiling the complex emotions in her eyes. She did not say “it’s alright,” but calmly replied, “Since Your Highness has a plan, Ningshuang will not intrude.”

With that, she turned and left, her back still straight but somehow hurrying.

Li Xuan watched her retreating figure until the white-clad form vanished at the doorway, then sighed deeply.

The revolution is far from over; comrades must continue to strive.

He gathered his composure, a sharp gleam rekindling in his eyes. Matters of the heart could wait—urgent affairs demanded his full attention.

He immediately summoned Wang Fugui and Jing Yun once more.