Hot flashes

Xiao Jue sat on the throne, holding the memorial in his hand, the paper already warm from being held in his palm.

The memorial was set aside and placed on top of the thick stack of files.

Those files were copies of account books, confessions, and correspondence sent by Han Zhang from Jiangnan. Each one was bound with thin rope, and the cover was labeled with the year and the subject. They were stacked together like a small mountain.

The small hill pressed down on the right corner of the imperial desk, making the sandalwood surface of the desk seem to dent slightly.

When the drums signaled the end of the court session, snow had already begun to fall outside the palace. The snow was light, like fine salt, and was whipped up by the wind, pattering softly against the glazed tiles.

The officials filed out, their footsteps echoing through the empty palace, like seashells left on the beach after the tide has receded, scattered and desolate.

Shen Yu walked at the very back of the crowd. His steps were slow, each one firm and measured, as if he were measuring something.

After leaving the palace, instead of turning left towards the inner cabinet as usual, he stood under the corridor, looking at the bare old locust tree in the courtyard, and stood there for a long time.

Snow fell on his shoulders and onto his graying hair, but he didn't brush it off. He just stood there, like a stone statue forgotten in the wind and snow.

Shen Xun caught up from behind, stopped beside him, and called out in a low voice, "Uncle."

Shen Yu did not respond. Shen Xun waited a while longer, and seeing that he still did not speak, he couldn't help but ask, "Uncle, what about Jiangnan..."

"We'll talk about it when we get back." After saying these four words, Shen Yu stepped into the snow.

The study in the Shen family mansion.

Shen sat in the main seat, the tea in front of him having gone from boiling hot to ice cold, without touching it.

The sandalwood prayer beads in his hand, which he usually twirled very slowly, one bead at a time, as if counting the days, were spinning incredibly fast today. The crackling sound was particularly jarring in the quiet room, like a string of lit firecrackers that just wouldn't stop.

Shen Xun sat to the left of Shen Yu, his face ashen.

Shen Duan finally stopped using his prayer beads.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the faces of everyone in the room before finally settling on Shen Yu.

Shen Yu sat there, his expression unreadable, only his eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight, like two pieces of burnt charcoal, covered with a layer of grayish-white embers, but with an unextinguished fire hidden beneath.

"How many people are still able to move around in Jiangnan?" Shen Duan asked. His voice wasn't loud, but his tone wasn't like a question; it was more like confirming something he already knew the answer to.

Shen Yu remained silent for a moment. "The Cui family's estate in Suzhou was shut down, and most of the servants left. The few remaining people weren't even enough to guard the gate. The Lu family's estate in Huzhou was even more ruthless; more than five hundred people were reduced to just over a hundred, mostly the old, weak, sick, and disabled, who couldn't do much."

"The Zheng family's fortified village in Songjiang..." He paused for a moment, "Han Zhang personally went to the Zheng family's fortified village, and it opened its gates the next day. The villagers received silver and land, and 70% of them left."

Shen Duan closed his eyes.

The rosary slipped from his hand and fell onto the table with a dull thud. The beads scattered, rolling all over the table, some rolling to the edge, falling to the floor, rolling into a corner, and disappearing into the darkness.

The room fell silent again, so quiet that you could hear the sound of snow falling outside the window, fine and dense, like countless silkworms nibbling on mulberry leaves.

After a long while, Shen Duan opened his eyes. He looked at Shen Yu, his voice so low it seemed to be squeezed from his chest: "Is everything ready on Shi Yu's side?"

Shen Yu's gaze shifted. He looked at Shen Duan, and Shen Duan looked back at him; the two brothers stared at each other for a moment.

The others in the room didn't dare to breathe; they knew what the two were talking about.

Cheng Yan.

The Shen family's escape route. A secret shared by the Shen family and several other aristocratic families.

A name that should have been mentioned only at the last minute.

"Send a message to the Cui, Lu, and Zheng families," Shen Duan's voice returned to its calm, as still as a stagnant pool, "say that the Shen family is ready. If they don't want to wait to die, they shouldn't hesitate any longer."

He stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. The snow was still falling, heavier than before, drifting down in flakes like goose feathers.

A cold wind blew in, causing the candlelight to flicker violently a few times, almost going out, but it eventually stabilized and reignited, casting flickering light on the faces of the people in the room.

"Since that person is so unjust," Shen Duan's voice came from the window, as light as a leaf falling on the snow, but the weight in his words made everyone lower their heads, "then don't blame us for being unjust."

Cui Yin received the message from the Shen family late at night.

The messenger was an old servant of the Shen family, surnamed Liu, who was over fifty years old and had worked for the Shen family for most of his life. He was the person Shen Duan trusted most.

He was wearing an ordinary gray cotton robe and a felt hat with the brim pulled low, covering most of his face.