Chapter 6: That's What the Contract Says

“Don’t throw the bowl at me, there’s soup in it. I’m wearing the Flying Fish Robe right now—if it gets stained, that’s an offense against the Emperor,” Li Miao said.

In Li Miao’s previous life, many people thought that the Embroidered Uniform Guards should always wear the Flying Fish Robe and carry the Embroidered Spring Blade. But in truth, this was not the case.

Given the productivity levels of the feudal era, only officials could be issued embroidered uniforms; there was simply no capacity to provide such garments to any other group. In reality, the uniform of the Embroidered Uniform Guards was just an ordinary official robe, and the work attire changed according to the regulations of the Ministry of War.

The Flying Fish Robe itself was a special reward bestowed by the Emperor upon meritorious subjects or subordinate officials. Whether one could wear it depended entirely on imperial favor.

Records indicate that the special robes granted to the Embroidered Uniform Guards included the Python Robe, the Flying Fish Robe, the Bullfighting Robe, and the Qilin Robe. The Flying Fish Robe Li Miao now wore had been personally bestowed by the current Emperor. To stain it, let alone to wash it, was already considered a crime.

Such imperial gifts were rarely worn on ordinary days. Wang Hai had insisted Li Miao put on this attire precisely because he anticipated Zhu Zaibin would try to pull something and wanted to guard against it in advance.

As expected, Zhu Zaibin was momentarily choked by Li Miao’s words and set down the bowl he had raised to throw. Yet he continued to glare fiercely at Li Miao, breathing heavily.

After a long moment, Zhu Zaibin cursed angrily, “Just look at you! Useless mud that can’t be shaped!”

Li Miao, eyes still lowered, replied, “Sir, I’ve served under you for twenty years. You’ve long known I’m nothing but mud—why bother trying to shape me?”

“You insist on helping, and the mud suffers, yet you still get angry. Why not just let me go, like passing gas, what do you say?”

“You—!”

Zhu Zaibin, in his fifties and of imperial descent, was a man with a quick temper but considerable poise. Yet now, confronted by Li Miao’s shameless defiance, he was so infuriated he cursed aloud.

His hand, which had just set down the bowl, raised it again, poised to throw it at Li Miao’s face.

“Hey now—” Li Miao thrust out his chest, pointing to the embroidered flying fish on his robe, silently reminding Zhu Zaibin that this was an imperial gift.

With a sharp crack, Zhu Zaibin smashed the bowl to the ground in anger, then pointed at Li Miao’s nose and berated him.

“Can’t you show some ambition, make an effort! How long have you been a Thousand Households Commander? Fifteen years, right!”

“You were already a Thousand Households Commander under me in the seventh year of the Jiajing era! Now it’s the twenty-third year and you’re still in the same post! Do you plan to stay there your whole life?”

“How many times have I given you a chance? I haven’t put this much effort into my own son’s career! Can’t you move your lazy bones and help me out a little?”

Zhu Zaibin looked at Li Miao, who was lounging in his chair with a look of indifference, and felt his frustration deepen.

“Why didn’t you come back to report last night?”

Li Miao replied, “I was tired. Wang Hai had already brought back those few thieves, so I went home to sleep.”

“Who cares about those petty crooks! I’m asking you why you let Yan Xiaosheng go!” Zhu Zaibin snapped. The so-called “heroes” Wang Hai brought back from Yan Xiaosheng’s place were, in Zhu Zaibin’s words, nothing but small fry, despite their reputations in the martial world.

“The matter with Yan Xiaosheng is a fat opportunity—everyone wants a piece of it. Why do you think I insisted you go? Don’t tell me you don’t understand?”

“I understand, I understand,” Li Miao answered. “It’s because Assistant Minister Qian is stepping down, and Yan Xiaosheng has the backing of the Ministry of War. You wanted me to bring him in, hand him over to the Ministry, and earn their favor, so they’d be inclined to recommend me for Qian’s post.”

When the founding emperor of Dashuo established the Embroidered Uniform Guards, he intended them to be a special force answerable only to the throne, with promotions and salaries decided by the Emperor alone—ensuring their loyalty.

But rules are dead, people are alive. After several reigns and much maneuvering between throne and court, the Embroidered Uniform Guards were no longer just the Emperor’s private soldiers. The two Assistant Commanders under the Chief Commander were now both recommended by the Ministry of War—a way for the court to plant its own people within the organization.

Zhu Zaibin’s plan was for Li Miao to use the pretext of cleaning up the capital to arrest Yan Xiaosheng, a Ministry of War agent, and then make a deal—trading the favor for a justified promotion to Assistant Commander.

The hierarchy within the Embroidered Uniform Guards ran: Chief Commander, Assistant Commander, Deputy Commander, Chief Inspector, Thousand Household Commander, Hundred Household Commander. Li Miao, as a Thousand Household Commander, held a fifth-rank position; Assistant Commander was third-rank—a leap few would ever make, and only possible in such a unique office.

Outside, people would fight tooth and nail for such a chance.

Yet Li Miao had beaten Yan Xiaosheng half to death, then let him go, leaving him to his own fate. They chatted idly, accomplishing nothing.

One must hold leverage to negotiate, but by releasing Yan Xiaosheng, Li Miao had reduced the whole affair to an unspoken exchange of interests.

In a few days, the Ministry of War would surely send a hefty reward, but Zhu Zaibin’s plan to have them advocate for Li Miao’s promotion was now impossible.

How could Zhu Zaibin not be furious after working so hard to create this opportunity?

He spoke in bitter disappointment, “You’re not just some muscle-bound brute—you understand all this! Why must you always go against me?”

“So many years, so many times! Every time I try to promote you, you act out. You skip roll call, refuse guard duty. Others scramble for credit while you sleep, others get promoted and you cheer for them!”

“Others work from dawn to dusk, yet you live like a young master, working just four hours a day. Fine, you’re talented, your martial skills are high, I tolerate you. But what harm can a promotion do you? Do you really love being a fifth-rank Thousand Household Commander so much?”

Red-faced with rage, Zhu Zaibin paced the room, scolding with every step until his beard was disheveled and his clothes crumpled, his dignity as a high official utterly lost—he looked just like an old father berating his useless son.

Seeing Zhu Zaibin truly angered, Li Miao finally removed his hand from his face, sat up straight, and took out a yellowed piece of paper from his robe.

The moment Zhu Zaibin saw that paper, his bluster faded, and he waved impatiently, “Don’t start with that old thing again!”

Li Miao ignored him and unfolded the paper, which he had retrieved from under the paperweight on Zhu Zaibin’s desk.

Faintly visible were the words “Li Miao” and “four hours a day,” but the rest was obscured by old bloodstains, leaving only a black smudge. At the bottom, a handprint could be made out, as if someone had signed it.

“This is what I exchanged my life for back then. The handprint you left was pressed with my blood,” Li Miao said.

This happened when Li Miao was twenty, still a Hundred Household Commander. He had completed a deadly mission for Zhu Zaibin, barely surviving. Zhu Zaibin rescued him and, supporting the bloodied Li Miao, asked what he wanted in return.

Li Miao pulled out a paper modeled on a “labor contract” from his previous life and had Zhu Zaibin stamp it with his bloody handprint.

Zhu Zaibin had thought it a joke, but ever since, Li Miao had only worked four hours a day. Whenever Zhu Zaibin berated him for slacking, he produced this paper to silence him. And each time Zhu Zaibin saw it, remembering Li Miao lying battered in his arms, he could never bring himself to press the matter.

But this time was different.

After a moment of silence, Zhu Zaibin finally spoke: “Li Miao, this is no joke.”

“His Majesty has grown frail these past years and has begun building his tomb, preparing for his passing and the crown prince’s ascension.”

“My time as Chief Commander is nearly at an end.”