The room fell silent once again.
Autumn wind swept in through the hall’s doors and windows, carrying with it the sound of a flute from who knows where.
The melody was graceful yet tinged with a certain harshness—not from emotion, but likely due to the player’s inexperience.
The flute suddenly stopped.
“Shi’ba-niang, what are you doing?”
In the Chen family’s small flower hall, the girl who had just had her flute taken away spoke with displeasure.
“Don’t play here. Go somewhere else,” said Chen Shi’ba-niang. She paused, then added, “Actually, don’t play anywhere. Save it for another day.”
“Why? I play here every day. What’s different about today?” The girl frowned, then looked at Shi’ba-niang. “Hey, why haven’t you been going out these past few days to read and write with your Jiao-niang?”
Chen Shi’ba-niang turned and stepped away.
“Grandfather asked me to stay home and help him copy scriptures,” she replied.
“Give me back the flute,” the girl said, catching up to her.
The two left, one after the other.
In the study, Chen Shao set down his teacup.
“Lady Cheng, I know you are someone who understands reason,” he said. “You also know that this matter is not about sentiment, but about the law—something that cannot be defied.”
“Beyond the law, there is still room for mercy,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“Mercy applies to the rest,” Chen Shao said, his tone gentle and composed. “Those who deserve punishment will be punished, but there will be no collective punishment, no implicating the innocent. You can rest assured on that point.”
“My lord, I believe this matter has only come to this because you pressed too hard. It should never have been a capital case,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Chen Shao’s brow twitched slightly. “Pressed too hard”—those four words sounded familiar, as if he’d heard them somewhere else before. But he didn’t like them.
What did pressed mean? What did too hard mean? Matters of the state—how could one turn a blind eye and do nothing?
“Pressed too hard?” he exclaimed, his brows raised in anger. “These people acted out of greed, undermined the foundation of the nation, led to defeat in the northwest, and caused the people to be displaced—who was the one pressing them too hard?”
“Scoundrels like these—how can there be any talk of mercy!”
As his voice faded, silence once again fell over the study.
“Jiao-niang, this is a matter of state affairs. You must stop asking and interfering,” Chen Shao said, his expression betraying a trace of impatience. “You’ve already done what you could. This matter began with their own wrongdoing and subsequent cover-up—it has nothing to do with you. What’s happening now is the consequence of their own actions.”
Out of respect for her being the one who once saved his father’s life—had it been any other child of her age speaking so recklessly about court affairs, he would have scolded them and driven them out long ago.
Cheng Jiao-niang lowered her head and gave a formal salute.
“In that case, I’ll take my leave,” she said.
Chen Shao did not try to stop her, nor did he say another word. He simply watched as the girl rose, adjusted her robes, gave a parting bow, and turned to leave.
At the doorway, she paused once more.
“One more thing,” she said, turning back. “Master Chen, I treated the illness and received payment—your family owes me nothing.”
Chen Shao was slightly taken aback, then shook his head.
Was this a show of defiance?
But in this matter—let alone disappointing this girl—even if it meant putting himself in danger, he would not back down an inch. So what if he displeased the Emperor? So what if he offended the interests of imperial relatives and noble clans?
When serving the country, there was no time to think of oneself. Having received the rare favor and recognition of His Majesty, he was duty-bound to give his all in return.
Chen Shao picked up a scroll from the desk and lowered his head to read.
As he did, the girl, accompanied by a maid, made her way out along the path.
Meanwhile, a maid withdrew her head from over the wall and turned to run back toward the inner courtyard.
Under the veranda where Old Master Chen sat, a few of his granddaughters were laughing and teasing the birds. A young maid came running in and whispered a few words into Chen Shi’ba-niang’s ear. Her expression shifted slightly, and she turned and headed toward the main hall.
“What’s wrong with Eighteenth Sister?”
“Who knows? She’s been acting strange these past few days. She even snatched my flute earlier.”
The other sisters whispered among themselves.
“Grandfather, what exactly happened?”
In the main hall, Chen Shi’ba-niang asked urgently,
“Did Father have a disagreement with Lady Cheng over political views?”
Old Master Chen let out a small laugh.
“Lady Cheng isn’t involved in politics, and her maternal uncle is a military man—what political views would she have to clash with your father’s?” he said, then after a brief pause, added, “Rather, it’s that what your father stands for doesn’t align with what she wants.”
“Then will Madam Cheng be like Third Sister from now on—never having contact with us again?” Chen Shi’ba-niang asked.
Chen Shao’s third daughter had married into a family of equal standing. A few years ago, the two families had a falling out over differing opinions on a legal case. Her husband’s family forbade her from visiting her natal home, and for the sake of her well-being in her marital household, Chen Shao and his wife had hardened their hearts and stopped her from coming back as well.
Speaking of this granddaughter, Old Master Chen couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh.
“No, that won’t happen,” he shook his head and said. “In this matter, your father is not at fault. The difficulty she faces didn’t stem from your father either. If she seeks something and cannot obtain it, she cannot lay the blame on him.”
“But,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said, “if there’s something you could help with but don’t, people will see you as the enemy.”
“Lady Cheng is not that kind of person,” said Old Master Chen, then smiled slightly. “And if she were, then ceasing contact would be just as well.”
Chen Shi’ba-niang let out a soft sigh.
“Grandfather, I understand all the reasoning,” she said, “but still… I can’t help feeling a little sad.”
“Emotion expressed within the bounds of propriety—that’s what makes us human,” Old Master Chen said with a gentle smile. “There’s no helping it. That’s just how we are born. Grief, joy, sorrow—they don’t go away just because you understand them.”
“If only everything could stay the same,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said.
Old Master Chen let out a hearty laugh.
“Time flows on, never resting day or night,” he said. “Even Confucius sighed at its passing—some things, even sages found beyond their control.”
The carriage rolled along the street. Inside, Cheng Jiao-niang unfolded a sheet of paper, its calligraphy elegant and flowing.
“My knowledge is limited. It’s easy to hear and repeat idle gossip, but there’s little I can truly do to help you.”
Before her, the young man brushed his sleeve with one hand, his expression as clear and composed as his voice.
“And once I understood what was happening, there was little time left. This is a major matter of state, implicating many. We, as inexperienced youths, cannot speak recklessly. Asking my father to intervene is also out of the question—he would not listen to me, nor would the court listen to him.”
“Please give me paper and ink. What I can do is probe indirectly to gather the names, official positions, and affiliations of those involved in the palace discussions at that time.”
“As for what these people seek—it’s nothing complicated. One side wants a full investigation into the Northwest military affairs. Their goal is to completely replace the key military officials in the region from top to bottom. The desertion incident provides the perfect excuse.”
“His Majesty is… somewhat unpredictable.”
“After the disastrous defeat in the Northwest and the punishment of Wang Butang, the Emperor’s anger hasn’t subsided. Naturally, Minister Chen and others wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity.”
“Meanwhile, people like Grand Coordinator Gao wouldn’t back down easily. Wang Butang may have fallen, but his foundation remains. As long as that base holds, it wouldn’t be hard to raise up another Wang Butang. But if even the roots are pulled out, it would be like killing one’s parents—no wonder they’re desperate.”
“So now, one side wants to execute the deserters and put an end to the matter, while the other side, regardless of whether they care about the deserters, is determined to press forward with an investigation. At this point, Minister Chen absolutely will not speak on behalf of the deserters, let alone try to save their lives—that would only hand the opposition a weapon to use against him.”
Qin Shi’san set down his brush and looked at Cheng Jiao-niang.
“Last time, when Secretariat Editor Liu plotted in the shadows, we responded in kind with schemes of our own. But this time, whatever private motives each side may have, what appears on the surface is an open and upright battle of law and principle.
I am someone once broken. Though I have recovered now, I am still young and powerless. In this matter, it’s no wonder Zhou Liu-lang hasn’t discussed it with me—there’s truly nothing we could discuss.”
The carriage suddenly came to a jarring stop, causing Cheng Jiao-niang to sway slightly as she withdrew her gaze.
Outside, the street noise had grown even louder and more chaotic than before.
“We’re almost at the Zhang residence,” the maid whispered.
The Zhangs lived in a cramped alley in the bustling market district.
But this “bustling” was not the kind found near refined wine halls and elegant shops frequented by the elite—it was the noisy, crowded kind where the poor came and went.
There were no inns for travelers, only hawkers carrying baskets and shouting their wares.
Among those passing by were ragged laborers and heavily made-up prostitutes from the lower streets.
Cheng Jiao-niang crumpled the paper in her hand and tossed it to the maid.
The maid caught it, took out a fire striker she carried with her, and reached over to the small incense burner inside the carriage. She gently shook it, and sparks immediately flared from the fire striker. By the time the carriage stopped, the incense burner was reduced to a pile of ashes.
The door to the Zhang residence was easily opened. When the maid appeared, the old servant’s expression grew somewhat strange, but the worried and anxious maid, preoccupied with her own concerns, did not notice.
“Is the master at home?” she hurriedly asked, stepping forward to enter.
The old servant blocked the doorway.
“Su Xin… no, Ban Qin,” he said with some difficulty, “the master is not here.”
The maid was momentarily taken aback.
“I saw the master yesterday and told him we would be coming today,” she said instinctively.
The old servant cleared his throat lightly.
Was this a subtle accusation that the master had gone back on his word?
“The master went to the academy,” he said. “Perhaps you can come again tomorrow?”
“Even if I come tomorrow, I’m not sure I’ll be able to see him,” the maid said through clenched lips.
Those words were frankly quite blunt.
The old servant sighed and glanced at the carriage nearby.
“Su Xin,” he lowered his voice, “have you gotten into some serious trouble?”
“No serious trouble!” the maid snapped, flicking her hand as she turned around. “I’m leaving.”
The old servant called out a few times in protest but eventually gave up and watched the maid walk away.
