In the thirteenth year of the Tianbao era: I became Yang Guozhong's eldest son.

"clear."

Cui Shen nodded in agreement.

The discussion by the fire went on until late into the night.

Afterwards, Afu was so sleepy that he yawned twice.

Uncle Wen reheated the medicine and urged Yang Xuan to shut up.

"My lord, that's enough."

"If we keep talking, the medicine will have been given for nothing."

This time, Yang Xuan didn't try to hold on.

He nodded and told everyone to disperse.

When they set off again the next day, Cui Shen was noticeably less talkative.

But the eyes are more lively.

He could strike up a conversation with anyone—the salt vendors by the roadside, the passing porters, the errand boys delivering medicine, or even two old post station workers resting under the shade of a tree.

The question was asked in a subtle and understated manner.

First, ask about the weather, then the route, and which section of the mountain road ahead is difficult to travel.

Then they went on to talk about which state or county had the most goods, and which state or county had the most expensive salt.

Finally, as if by accident, he casually dropped the words "Yaozhou".

The reactions were indeed quite different after being tossed.

Someone frowned first.

Someone started by swearing.

Some people subconsciously glanced around, as if afraid of being overheard.

There was another man escorting the goods who, upon hearing the words "Yanjing County," actually chuckled first.

That laugh wasn't funny.

It's the kind of laugh that says, "If you really want to go there, then good luck to you."

Cui Shen wrote all of this down.

By the time he took a break in the afternoon, he had already added another full page.

Pei Zhao glanced at it and saw that, apart from the prices and place names, there were quite a few more words.

"Afraid."

"blame."

"hide."

"greedy."

Pei Zhao asked:

"You even keep this in mind?"

"Of course I'll remember."

Cui Shen folded the paper.

"My lord said that it's not just about what you say, but also how you speak."

"In Yaozhou, the truth may not necessarily be hidden in the tent first."

"It might also be hidden on a person's face first."

Pei Zhao didn't ask any more questions, he just nodded.

As evening fell, in Chang'an...

The lamps were still lit in the study of the Right Prime Minister's residence.

Before Yang Guozhong even arrived, several of his staff members who were in charge of monitoring the lines, sorting out messages, and keeping track of reports from the southern route started arguing.

One person said in a low voice:

"This can't go on."

"The fact that he neither stopped at Yongxing Post Station nor got stuck at the next inn indicates that he was on guard the whole way, and even more so than before."

"If you ask me, we should put another layer of pressure on him and drag him down halfway."

The other person shook his head.

"drag?"

"How do we drag it?"

"Back at Yongxing Post Station, he was able to use the travel permit to exert pressure. This time at the shop, he can use the traces left by the previous station to exert pressure. If he continues to pass the baton layer by layer like this, he will only become more and more stable."

"Instead of making things difficult for him, it's better to let it go for now."

"Let him go to that rotten land of Yaozhou, and someone will watch how he dies for us."

The man from before gave a cold laugh.

"Do you really believe it will rot away on its own?"

The study fell silent.

No one responded immediately.

Because now that things have come to this point, everyone can see it.

This rebellious son of the Yang family, who was driven out of Chang'an, is at least not as bad as he seemed at first glance.

After a while, a voice of moderate volume came from behind the screen.

"Arguing about this is pointless."

The group immediately fell silent, stood up, and lowered their hands.

It's Yang Guozhong.

He didn't come out; he only spoke from behind the screen:

"Since he still wants to leave, let him go."

"The farther you go, the farther you are from Chang'an."

"only--"

He paused, and his voice turned cold.

"Stop treating him like a dog with a broken leg."

"If he can really establish himself in Yaozhou, then we can see what happens then."

Several people outside the screen responded in unison, "Yes."

But after agreeing, no one really breathed a sigh of relief.

Because this sounds like a lie.

But the meaning behind it has changed.

It's not that we've stopped monitoring it.

Instead, we need to change locations and see just how far he can go.

On the official road, night fell once again.

Yang Xuan and his group were still heading south.

The wind along the way was hotter and more humid than it had been in the past few days.

But the rough drawing in Cui Shen's hand was no longer just a collection of scraps of paper.

For the first time, the name Yaozhou transformed from a place of exile into a place whose outline could be seen.

It's rotten.

It's chaotic.

It was eaten until only the shell remained.

But that's precisely why it's valuable.

Inside the car, Yang Xuan finished reading the page that Cui Shenxin handed him, and tapped his finger lightly on the words "well," "brokerage," "former official," and "state."

......

As you walk deeper into the southern road, the sky seems to suddenly lower.

The sun during the day is no longer just for basking.

It was more of a feeling of boredom.

It was as stuffy as an unopened pot covering the main road; if you tried to lift it up, it would take forever to come down.

In the past few days, the team has been walking more steadily than before.

Pei Zhao spread the outposts further apart, and Cui Shen's stack of papers grew thicker and thicker. When Afu ran back and forth, he no longer only focused on being quick on his feet, but also gained a new level of sharpness.

Even Uncle Wen could see it.

This ragtag team, pieced together from Chang'an, is gradually becoming more organized.

The more presentable he looked, the less Yang Xuan spoke.

He spent most of his time resting in the car, occasionally lifting the curtain to look at the road, the people, and the new scrapbook Cui Shen had added in the past few days.

The notes no longer contained only prices and times.

It also has a name.

A name that's half true and half false.

My cousin who is in charge of a brokerage firm.

A drunken old postman once blurted out, "Not just anyone can afford to touch that well in Yaozhou."

When one of the men escorting the goods mentioned the prefecture, he subconsciously cupped his hands in a gesture of respect towards the west.

These words, when scattered, turn to ashes.

But when it is gradually gathered up, it slowly reveals its earthy color.

After walking for another half day, the main road ahead split into two sections under an old locust tree.

An old man selling physalis was squatting under the tree.

Beside it stood an old bamboo basket, filled with some coarse cakes, salted beans, and a few yellowed paper talismans. Further to the side was a thin, lanky man carrying a load on his shoulder, the bundle slung low over his shoulders, as if he had been resting under the tree for a while.

This kind of scene is not uncommon on the southern route.

Strangely, when the porters saw the caravan approaching, they did not move aside as usual for traveling travelers.

Instead, he got up and looked at the main car first, then at the car behind.

Finally, their eyes fell on Choi Shin.

Just one glance.

Cui Shen's heart tightened slightly.

Because that look in his eyes wasn't asking for water, nor was it asking for directions.

It's about recognizing people.

Pei Zhao.

He didn't turn around, but only called out softly.

Pei Zhaoren was still ahead, his hand already on his knife.

The man carrying the load seemed to only then realize what was happening. He quickly put the load down on the ground, cupped his hands in a gesture of respect, and smiled apologetically.

"Don't misunderstand, don't misunderstand."

"I'm not blocking your way."

"Yes... I'm delivering a message for someone."

Ah Fu had already steered his horse half a step to the side, but upon hearing this, his eyelids twitched immediately.

Deliver letters.

Along this journey, anything related to the word "substitute" will not be a good thing.

Pei Zhao neither made way nor stepped forward to arrest the person.

He simply sat on his horse, looking down at the man:

"For whom?"

The man carrying the load swallowed hard.

"I don't know."

"The man found the young man at a teahouse by the Qing Shi Ferry. He said that the letter was to be delivered to a group of people heading south to take up their posts, and that Magistrate Yang was sitting in the main carriage."

"If you can deliver it, I'll give you fifty coins."

Afu almost burst out laughing.

It's the same old trick again.

Several hundred coins, several dozen coins.

Use the cheapest money to buy the most valuable words.

Hearing this from inside the car, Yang Xuan gently tapped the car wall.

"Bring it over."

Pei Zhao then gestured for the man to come closer, but still only made him stop three steps away from the car.

The man carrying the load dared not approach any further and hurriedly pulled out a neatly folded letter from his pocket.