“Jiao-niang!”
Zhou Fu dismounted from his horse and looked at the girl sitting by the corner wall of Prince Qing’s residence. In the dim light of night, if it weren’t for the white horse beside her snorting and lowering its head, he would never have noticed her there.
At Desheng Pavilion, he had been delayed by merely exchanging a few words with his attendants, and just like that, this girl had vanished without a trace, nearly causing him to chase after her all the way to Qin Hu’s home.
He wondered if she intended to kill Qin Hu – just as she had abruptly twisted and broken the neck of that murderous maid.
Though he had witnessed far more gruesome and horrifying deaths on the battlefield, that moment had still taken him by surprise.
He was astonished by the sheer strength she possessed, realizing that aside from riding and archery, she was also skilled in close combat and capable of taking a life with her bare hands.
He was equally stunned by her actions.
He had never seen her like this before. No matter how grave the situation, she had always remained expressionless and indifferent, dismissing it as trivial.
She had never directly engaged in a physical confrontation – it seemed she couldn’t even be bothered to exchange more than a few words with anyone.
Yet there she was, reaching out and snapping the maid’s neck.
Zhou Fu hurried over and steadied Cheng Jiao-niang by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you go inside?” he asked.
Why was she sitting here? Could it be that…
“They said it was nothing and I didn’t need to go in,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Zhou Fu froze for a moment before his anger surged.
“Damn it all!” he cursed loudly, then stormed toward the gate.
Although Prince Qing’s residence appeared as usual on the surface, its interior was now heavily guarded. The moment Zhou Fu charged forward, the guards inside immediately noticed – especially when he kicked the gate.
The heavy door of the royal residence emitted a dull thud. However, back when the estate was being renovated, Duke Jin’an had issued strict orders, and the construction office had spared no expense on materials. The gate merely shuddered with the impact, remaining firmly in place.
“…You dare to deny us entry? What the hell is your intention? You think you can toy with us like this? If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have suffered so miserably!…”
“…Open the damn gate! You bastards, open up!”
Amidst the curses, the gate swung open, revealing a line of crossbows aimed directly at Zhou Fu. Under the flickering torchlight, their tips gleamed with a chilling glint.
“Go ahead and kill me then,” Zhou Fu sneered. “Because of you, we’ve already lost one. What’s one more?”
“What are you doing?”
Cheng Jiao-niang’s voice sounded from behind him.
“Come back.”
Zhou Fu glared at the royal guards one last time before turning away.
The crossbows were withdrawn as smoothly as flowing water, and the gate closed once more. Everything seemed to return to its previous state, as though nothing had happened at all – except for a large, distinct footprint on the door, illuminated by the lanterns hanging overhead, a stark reminder that it had all been real.
Inside the courtyard, the guards remained on high alert.
“Sir,” one of the guards turned back and whispered, “are we just going to leave it like this?”
An advisor, stroking his beard, wore a somber expression.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
A guard who had been peering through the gate came running over.
“They’ve gone back to sitting by the corner wall,” he reported.
“Should we drive them away?” another guard inquired.
The advisor shook his head. “For now, we respond to their actions without initiating any ourselves. Until we confirm that His Highness has awakened, we must proceed with the utmost caution. If they don’t force their way in, just let them be. We absolutely cannot go out and give them an opportunity to act.”
“Perhaps that Lady Cheng is having second thoughts and came to accept the invitation,” a guard suggested.
The advisor sneered.
“Too late for that,” he said.
Zhou Fu kicked the base of the wall in frustration.
“What did you even come here for?” he ground out through clenched teeth.
“To see if they still needed my help,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“And now that they say they don’t, why aren’t you leaving?” he demanded, his jaw tight.
Cheng Jiao-niang didn’t answer. She remained seated by the wall, staring down at her hands. The wounds had already stopped bleeding, leaving only a dull, persistent ache.
“I just want to sit for a while,” she finally said.
“You’re not feeling guilty, are you?” Zhou Fu retorted, pointing an accusing finger at Prince Qing’s residence. “They’re the ones who owe us! Everything that happened today started because of them! We’re the ones who suffered for no reason!”
Cheng Jiao-niang let out a faint laugh and shook her head, as if about to speak, but then fell silent once more.
“Hey, speak up,” Zhou Yi pressed, his brows furrowing as he caught her hesitation.
“I don’t feel like talking,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Zhou Fu understood exactly what she meant: she was implying that he wouldn’t comprehend, so there was no point in explaining – and indeed, there was nothing left to say.
What on earth was she thinking? If Qin Shi’san were here, he’d surely understand… Qin Shi’san…
Zhou Yi clenched his fist and slammed it heavily against the wall.
How did things end up like this? How could everything change in the blink of an eye?
He leaned against the wall for support and fell silent.
…
A sharp slap echoed through the room.
Young Master Gao stumbled back several steps, clutching his face.
“Father…” he cried out, his voice trembling with fear.
“Who told you to kill Cheng Si-lang?” Gao Lingjun roared, his brows drawn together in fury. “How many times have I warned you? When you strike a snake, you aim for its head. If you intend to kill, go for the person herself! What good does killing Cheng Si-lang do to Cheng Jiao-niang? All you’ve done is provoke her and alert the enemy!”
Young Master Gao looked utterly distraught, on the verge of tears.
“Father, I didn’t order anyone to kill her,” he pleaded. “I was just following your instructions – to have someone delay her. How could I have known that wretched maid would lose her mind and do such a thing?”
Gao Lingjun raised his hand again, and Young Master Gao quickly shielded his face, backing away in panic.
“Father, Father, I truly had no idea,” he cried out. “That wretched maid set me up! Who would have thought she’d actually kill Cheng Si-lang?”
Gao Lingjun withdrew his hand, his face still dark with fury.
“And the woman?” he demanded sharply.
Only then did the retainers standing nearby dare to look up.
“After the coroner finished the examination, Cheng Si-lang’s body was taken away by his family,” one of them reported. “Everyone from Desheng Pavilion has been imprisoned.”
Gao Lingjun paced back and forth a few times.
“What exactly did you say to that courtesan?” he pressed once more.
“Father, please rest assured, I only spoke about matters of pride and reputation. I didn’t mention anything else,” Young Master Gao hurriedly explained. “Even to that wretched maid, I only instructed her to keep Cheng Si-lang occupied at Desheng Pavilion. Besides, that wretched maid has already been killed by… her.”
At this point, he couldn’t help but shudder.
The messenger had reported that the maid, the one called something like “Ling,” had her neck snapped cleanly by that girl’s bare hands.
Snapped her neck!
“So, Father, you can be certain – this matter won’t lead back to us through any official investigation,” Young Master Gao continued.
“Where is that girl now?” Gao Lingjun suddenly asked.
“She’s at Prince Qing’s residence,” the retainer promptly replied.
“Prince Qing’s residence?” Gao Lingjun’s eyebrows shot up.
“Your Excellency, please rest assured,” the retainer said with a smile. “She hasn’t even been allowed through the gate – she’s been standing outside the entire time.”
“The people at Prince Qing’s residence are clearly wary of her,” another retainer added. “It seems that even in desperate circumstances, Duke Jin’an dares not turn to just anyone for help.”
“The fact that she refuses to leave also suggests that the Duke’s condition is far from favorable,” a third retainer chimed in. “Our informants report that two more imperial doctors have been discreetly summoned.”
Gao Lingjun nodded.
“At least there’s some good news. If the Duke dies, this girl – who has already refused to attend to both Prince Qing and the Emperor – will be beyond forgiveness. One stone, two birds. And if he doesn’t die…” A faint smile touched his lips. “…then a rift will surely form between these two from now on.”
He raised a hand to rub his temples, clearly hoping to avoid another unpredictable turn of events like those rumors of celestial omens or divine will, which had caught him off guard and left him scrambling.
“Your Excellency is mistaken,” one retainer said with a light laugh, holding up a finger. “Not two – it’s three.”
Young Master Gao immediately stepped forward, nodding eagerly.
“Yes, yes, three. Actually, there’s one more person who knows we were behind this. But whatever he says now, those wretched Cheng people will never believe him.” A smug grin spread across his face.
…
In the dimly lit prison cell, the sound of muffled sobs and cries mingled with the scraping of iron shackles as the prisoner was dragged along.
“Move faster!”
Lady Zhu staggered as she was shoved forward, the jangling of her chains growing chaotic. She reached out to steady herself against the cold, rough bars of a cell.
“Get in!” a burly prison matron barked, grabbing Lady Zhu’s hair and yanking it viciously. “You little whore.”
With a sharp cry of pain, Lady Zhu was shoved into a room and collapsed onto the floor.
The matron didn’t even step inside, immediately slamming the door shut.
Slowly, Lady Zhu pushed herself up. The first thing that caught her eye was an exquisitely embroidered robe made of fine, plain silk.
“…Did you know that she was your benefactor?”
Qin Hu’s voice came from above her.
Lady Zhu, who had just struggled to prop herself up, immediately slumped back down.
“I know, Young Master Cheng was a good man,” she said.
“No, I’m not talking about him,” Qin Hu replied. “I’m referring to the person who killed your family’s enemy, Secretariat Editor Liu.”
Lady Zhu’s head snapped up sharply.
“So it’s true…” she murmured. “It really was her?”
Rumors had long circulated privately, yet no one had ever been able to provide solid evidence. And given the sheer number of unbelievable tales swirling around that girl, although she had heard whispers, Lady Zhu had never truly believed them.
Qin Hu looked at her and smiled softly. In the dim, flickering light of the oil lamp within the gloomy prison cell, the young man’s smile appeared gentle and radiant.
“Of course,” he said. “It was something she and I did together.”
Lady Zhu stared at him.
“Though she was the one who carried it out – I merely offered a little help,” Qin Hu added with another faint smile. “And yet, you have wronged the very person to whom you should have erected a tablet of eternal gratitude.”
Tears welled up in Lady Zhu’s eyes as she shook her head desperately.
“No, it wasn’t me… it wasn’t…” she sobbed, reaching out as if to clutch the hem of Qin Hu’s robe. “Young Master Qin, it truly wasn’t me… I never intended to harm Fourth Young Master… I never even thought of it…”
Never thought of it! Who could have imagined!
I never thought of it either, but…
Qin Hu looked at the woman before him, disgust flashing in his eyes as he roughly shook off her hand.
“But you still killed him!” he snapped. “You killed Cheng Si-lang!”
He reached out, seized Lady Zhu by the collar, and yanked her upright. “You killed someone she cared about! Someone she cared about! She’s already lost so much – and you made her lose even more!”
Lady Zhu choked as the collar tightened around her neck, her face flushing crimson as she gasped for air.
No… no… it wasn’t me…
She stared at the young man before her – perhaps the closest she had ever been to him. And his hand was gripping her robe, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin summer fabric.
“The tea has gone cold. Given the melancholy weighing on your heart, Lady Zhu, it would be better for you to have some hot tea.”
“In that case, I must thank the Young Master for that single word ‘melancholy’ as well.”
Lady Zhu looked at the face before her.
She could see that he was troubled by his own worries, just as he had been able to hear the concern and care within the strains of her music.
“Shouldn’t it be thanks to a kindred spirit? If not for a kindred spirit, wouldn’t the melody you played to soothe my mood have been played in vain?”
“Young Master, you are mistaken. Whether you are a kindred spirit or not is for you to decide. Whether I play or not is simply my duty to perform. It is my obligation.”
The person before her seemed to laugh heartily.
“Good, ‘duty’ indeed. You bear some resemblance to her in that way…”
Yes, in truth, his laughter, his joy – they were not because of her, but because of that one shared trait of duty, the slight resemblance to her.
Lady Zhu slowly smiled.
Qin Hu released her, letting her fall to the ground.
“You did not wield the blade, but you guided the hand that did.”
“Do you still believe yourself innocent? All of this – it’s because of you!”
Lady Zhu lay crumpled on the floor and laughed softly.
“Yes, it’s all because of me,” she said, raising her head. “If Young Master Qin says it was because of me, then it was because of me.”
Qin Hu looked down at her, a cold smile on his face.
“Then you know what you should do, don’t you?” he said slowly.
Lady Zhu gazed at him, still smiling, and nodded.
“I know,” she replied.
After uttering those words, Qin Hu did not spare her another glance. He turned, pushed the door open, and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him.
Lady Zhu stared at the low-legged stool placed in the empty prison cell, then slowly crawled toward it. As she loosened her sash, she stood up and stepped onto the four-legged stool.
This cell had a window.
A flicker of surprise crossed Lady Zhu’s face. She reached up, grabbing the loop formed by her sash, and looked toward the sky.
Look – she could see outside. The dawn light seemed about to break.
A little higher… just a little higher, and she could see even clearer.
Lady Zhu rose onto her tiptoes.
Back then, when her mother had chosen this path, she should have taken her along. Still, it wasn’t too late now. She was about to reunite with her father and mother. Though her reputation was already in ruins, at least her body remained pure.
A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth. This was already good enough.
With a soft thud, the four-legged stool was kicked over.
Dawn began to brighten the eastern sky. Qin Hu, standing outside the prison cell, lifted his gaze.
No need to rush. There was time to deal with them one by one.
He pulled up his hood, shrouding his face, then boarded the waiting carriage and departed.
As dawn’s light gradually filtered into the room, a eunuch who had been dozing in a seated position jolted awake with a sudden nod of his head. Instinctively, he glanced toward the bed – and saw a pair of eyes open, gazing back at him.
The eunuch froze for a moment, then rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
“Your Highness?” he cried out.
Duke Jin’an looked at him, his gaze somewhat unfocused.
“Hm?” he responded with a faint sound.
The eunuch scrambled to his feet from the floor.
“His Highness is awake! His Highness is awake!”
With a loud crash, the door burst open. The commotion made Zhou Fu, seated by the corner wall, snap his head toward the sound.
A carriage sped out from the residence, heading straight for the imperial palace.
Could it be…
He stood up and couldn’t help but hurry a few steps in that direction.
Behind him, his horse let out a loud whinny. Zhou Fu turned to see Cheng Jiao-niang mounting her steed.
“Hey?” he called out.
Cheng Jiao-niang glanced at him.
“Let’s go. It’s daylight now, and I’ve sat long enough. I want to return home,” she said. “There is still much to be done.”
Zhou Fu looked toward Prince Qing’s residence, then back at her, and nodded. He pulled his own horse over, swung himself into the saddle, and followed her.
Under the gradually brightening morning light, two figures – one ahead, one behind -rode away along the street until they disappeared into the distance.
