You don’t care about me.
It sounded a bit like a laughably resentful remark, but Cheng Jiao-niang did not smile as she looked at the man before her, whose expression remained calm.
Unknowingly, the young man she had met five years ago had shed his youthful immaturity and taken on the composure and restraint of a mature man.
“Five years,” Cheng Jiao-niang suddenly said.
Five years?
They had known each other for over five years already.
A strange pang stirred in the heart of Duke Jin’an. It was truly unexpected that their chance encounter in the valley back then would lead to the bond they shared today.
How many people meet once in passing and never cross paths again, while others meet only once yet remain companions for a lifetime.
What he desired was to spend a lifetime with her, not to joke one moment and part ways the next, never to meet again.
If I die, I die – it doesn’t matter.
In her heart, he was someone she truly did not care about at all. Whether he was overjoyed or in unbearable agony, she did not mind.
Duke Jin’an lowered his gaze and took a step forward.
“Fang Bocong,” Cheng Jiao-niang called out, reaching to grasp his sleeve.
Duke Jin’an halted but said nothing.
After uttering the name, Cheng Jiao-niang also fell silent.
In the hazy, pale light, the two stood quietly on the wild grounds outside the ruined temple, wordless.
He was someone who never spoke falsehoods.
Gazing at the silent woman, a shadow of gloom once again darkened the depths of the prince’s eyes.
“Forget it,” he said with another light laugh, giving her hand on his sleeve a gentle pat. “I was scared out of my wits, my mind was muddled. It was thoughtless of me to ask such a question.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked up at him.
In the faint, pale light, the young man’s features appeared even more handsome, though the slight smile that revealed his somewhat bluish teeth somewhat marred the overall pleasing effect.
Her gaze slowly swept over him from head to toe.
He was tall and well-built, yet a bit too lean. This body had come close to ruin several times already; otherwise, he might have been a bit stronger, a bit fuller.
Noticing her lowered gaze, Duke Jin’an smiled once more.
“I know, and I’ve said it before – these things are trivial matters to you. I shouldn’t impose my own feelings on you, expecting you to feel the same way,” he said, reaching out to pat her arm. “Alright, no matter what, all is safe now. Dwelling on things that would never have happened is just pointless worry. Come on, let’s go and talk about what’s going to happen next.”
With that, he withdrew his hand, stepped past Cheng Jiao-niang, and headed into the temple.
He had taken only a couple of steps when someone wrapped their arms around him from behind.
Duke Jin’an halted.
“At that moment, I thought, if I were to die, there would still be you,” a voice spoke from behind him.
“If I died, you would sort out what’s left.”
“If I died, you would protect yourself well.”
“If I died, you would avenge me.”
The arms encircling his waist tightened, and the person pressed closer against his back.
“Because you’re here, I can face death with peace of mind.”
Duke Jin’an felt as though a fist had struck his chest. For an instant, his breath seemed to stop, and a strange feeling spread through his heart.
Why did words that were clearly sorrowful still make one feel on the verge of tears?
Was this sweet talk? So this, too, could be sweet talk.
This girl – she really knew how to win someone over! No, he couldn’t let himself be swayed so easily by just a few words!
Duke Jin’an lifted his head, took a deep breath, and tried to turn around.
But Cheng Jiao-niang only held him tighter, not allowing him to turn.
“I know that sometimes people say, ‘Live well – living well is what matters most.’ But that’s not always the case. For some, there are things that must be done. Without doing them, even if they are alive, they cannot truly live well.”
“Fang Bocong, I want to live well with you. That’s why I must do certain things.”
“You have your duties, and I have mine. I’m not carelessly neglecting myself or you, nor do I lack trust in you. There are things only I can do, and I only act when I have a measure of confidence.”
Duke Jin’an reached out, gently took her hands, and turned to embrace her.
“If there comes a day, I hope you die before I do,” he said. “Peacefully, joyfully, freely, without worry – and without having to worry about me.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked up at him and smiled.
Duke Jin’an lowered his head, gazing at the person in his arms, and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“You’ve already suffered far more than I have. I don’t want you to live on alone, burdened with sorrow, pain, and vengeance.”
Cheng Jiao-niang closed her eyes slightly as a single tear traced down her cheek. She rested her head against Duke Jin’an’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, drawing warmth from his body in the cool autumn dawn.
“I’ve actually died like this once before,” she murmured. “So I suppose I’m still more unfortunate than you.”
Duke Jin’an smiled again and gently lifted her face, guiding her gaze to meet his own.
“Cheng Fang,” he said, his eyes bright. “Are we pouring out our hearts to each other?”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him without replying.
“How did a moment meant for sweet intimacy turn into a competition of who’s suffered more?” Duke Jin’an remarked, lowering his head to press another kiss to her forehead. With a soft laugh, he added, “Alright, let’s head back now. We should talk about how I’m going to handle the aftermath.”
But Cheng Jiao-niang kept her arms around him, holding tight.
“There’s no hurry,” she said. “Someone has already taken care of it.”
Someone?
Duke Jin’an looked down at her but didn’t press further. Instead, he smiled and drew her even closer into his embrace.
“If that’s the case,” he murmured, “then I’ll hold you a little longer.”
Watching the two standing there – not leaving, not speaking, simply locked in an embrace – Eunuch Jing and Master Gu were utterly dumbstruck.
“It seems from now on, their flirtations truly won’t be limited by time or place,” Eunuch Jing murmured softly.
“Dawn is about to break,” Master Gu said through gritted teeth, pointing skyward.
“Indeed, broad daylight – what kind of spectacle is this!” Eunuch Jing nodded in agreement.
Master Gu was so agitated he nearly clawed the wall.
“I mean, the sky is about to light up! Can we talk about something serious now?” he hissed. “Once day breaks, nothing can be kept hidden any longer. What exactly are we going to do? This is driving me mad!”
Meanwhile, in the county magistrate of the nearest town was also pacing anxiously back and forth in his room.
No lamp was lit, leaving the room dim and shadowy. Suddenly, he bumped into a low table with a loud clang.
“My lord?”
A delicate hand emerged from behind the bed curtain, lifting it to reveal a lovely woman’s sleepy, curious face.
In the gloom, she could make out the man rubbing his leg and hissing in pain.
“My lord,” the beauty quickly rose and approached, “would you like some tea? Let me prepare it.”
The county magistrate irritably pushed her away.
“Go, go, go back to sleep,” he said impatiently.
The woman, frail and delicate, was pushed to the floor.
“My lord,” she couldn’t help but whimper, her voice sweet and aggrieved, “what’s wrong? You’ve been so distracted these past few days.”
With a soft huff, she added, “Has Madam been saying something again?
The magistrate let out an exasperated groan.
“Your mind is always stuck on such trivial matters,” he said, poking the beauty’s head with his finger. “Do you have any idea what important affairs I am dealing with?”
“I don’t know,” the beauty replied.
“If you don’t know, then get back to sleep,” the magistrate snapped, glaring at her. “Don’t bother me, or I’ll have you sold off.”
The beauty, now irritated, flicked her sleeve with a huff and stormed away.
The magistrate leaned against the table, and reminded of the tea she’d mentioned, he suddenly felt parched. He picked up the teapot to pour himself a cup, but just as he raised it to his lips, hurried footsteps sounded outside the door.
“My lord, my lord! Something terrible has happened!” someone shouted from outside.
At that moment, something truly terrible did happen to the magistrate – he choked on his tea and broke into a violent coughing fit.
The room instantly descended into chaos.
“What are you doing, shouting like that before dawn? Trying to summon a ghost?” the beauty scolded toward the doorway while soothing the magistrate.
However, the magistrate didn’t appreciate her concern. Instead, he shoved her aside and stumbled out of the room, still coughing uncontrollably.
Outside, a man stood with an anxious expression.
“What happened?” the magistrate asked, his voice trembling.
“There’s been an incident,” the man whispered, lowering his voice.
The magistrate felt his heart skip a beat, his coughing abruptly ceasing. He pressed a hand to his chest.
“Did it… succeed?” he stammered.
“Word came in the middle of the night. I went to see for myself,” the man said quietly, his face paling at the memory. “It was… truly horrific.”
He bowed slightly.
“My lord, dawn is approaching. We must hurry.”
The magistrate’s expression shifted uneasily as he glanced outside.
To go, or not to go? To act, or not to act?
To act – it was a crime punishable by death…
He had endured ten years of diligent study to secure a modest post in this upper county, all in hopes of rising steadily through the ranks.
“My lord, it’s already come to this. Even if you don’t go, others will report it sooner or later. It’s better to earn some goodwill while you can,” the man urged, noticing the magistrate’s hesitation. “Though one may sound grand in title, sometimes a lofty name cannot compare to real power – the kind that can decide your very life and death.”
That’s right. He had endured ten years of diligent study to secure a modest post in this upper county, all in hopes of rising steadily through the ranks. How could he let this opportunity slip away?
The magistrate slapped his thigh decisively.
“Let’s go,” he declared, not even pausing to change into his official robes. “Quick, gather the men, beat the gongs, summon the guards – we’re pursuing and suppressing the bandits!”
The man answered loudly in the affirmative.
…
In the capital, Gao Lingjun’s eyes snapped open. Inside the bed curtains, the light was dim and shadowy.
He stared blankly at the canopy for a moment, then pressed a hand to his chest.
It seemed like he’d had a nightmare, but he couldn’t remember what it was about.
An ill omen?
The thought crossed his mind, and Gao Lingjun frowned as he sat up. He had never believed in omens – perhaps it was just lingering nervousness.
Though everything had been meticulously prepared – thorough plans for both success and failure, with backup arrangements in case the first attempt didn’t succeed – leaving room to advance or retreat, before matters were truly settled, a sense of unease remained.
He pushed aside the bed curtains. A faint, bluish light filled the room.
Dawn was approaching. Whether it had succeeded or not, news should arrive soon.
“Attendant,” he called out.
Immediately, two maids entered from the inner chamber, offering respectful bows before kneeling. One helped him into his shoes, while the other presented a bowl of tea.
Gao Lingjun took the tea to rinse his mouth, then spat onto the kneeling maid’s body as he rose to his feet.
Disliking the odor of spittoons, Gao Lingjun never used one – his maids served as his spittoons instead.
Once his morning ablutions were complete, Gao Lingjun walked to the veranda. Due to the heavy rain the previous day, the courtyard was somewhat messy, so he stayed on the veranda and performed a set of martial exercises.
Servants in the courtyard busied themselves with their tasks, and birds beneath the eaves began to chirp cheerfully.
As he finished his routine, Gao Lingjun had broken into a light sweat and straightened up, feeling rather refreshed. He took a bamboo strip offered by a maid to tease and feed the birds. The sky was gradually brightening into pale dawn.
Just then, a commotion arose outside the courtyard gate, and several people rushed in, dropping to their knees with a thud.
The bamboo strip in Gao Lingjun’s hand stilled for a moment, though his expression remained composed.
“What is it?” he said. “Did the task not go as planned?”
The man prostrated himself on the ground, kowtowing as he wept.
“My lord, the young master… is gone…”
That cry of grief instantly drained the color from every face in the courtyard.
The young master… gone?
Gone where?
Gao Lingjun stared blankly.
“My lord, my lord,” the man in the courtyard sobbed, kowtowing repeatedly. “The Fourteenth Young Master… he’s been murdered. Murdered.”
Before his wails had even faded, a sharp, piercing bird cry rang out – only to vanish in an instant.
The bird that had been flitting about in its cage moments earlier was now impaled through the neck by a bamboo strip. The strip was hooked over the cage, suspending the bird in midair. Still twitching feebly, not yet fully dead.
The courtyard fell deathly silent. The maids under the veranda paled, their faces ashen.
“What did you say?”
Gao Lingjun finally turned his head, his gaze fixed on the man kowtowing on the ground as he spoke, each word deliberate and heavy.
His expression remained unchanged, not even a flicker of surprise – but in the man’s eyes, it sent a chill down his spine.
“My lord, the Fourteenth Young Master… has been murdered!” He dared not look up again, pressing his forehead to the ground as he wept.
Gao Lingjun slowly stepped down from the veranda.
“The Fourteenth Young Master?” he said. “Which Fourteenth Young Master? The capital is filled with officials, and there are many who rank fourteenth. I don’t know which Fourteenth Young Master you’re referring to.”
As he spoke, he walked up to the kneeling, kowtowing man, bending over to loom above him. The gradually brightening morning light cast a shadow over Gao Lingjun’s face.
The kneeling man trembled from head to toe, not daring to lift his gaze even slightly. It felt as though Gao Lingjun’s towering presence were a mountain pressing down on him, crushing even his ability to speak.
“My lord!” The advisors who had followed him in also knelt, their voices filled with grief and barely concealed panic. “Please restrain your sorrow!”
Gao Lingjun looked at the people kneeling across the ground and laughed again.
“I restrain my sorrow?” he said. “What sorrow do I have to restrain? Is it that my son is dead? How could my son possibly die?”
With that, he kicked the kneeling man before him aside.
“How could my son possibly die!”
His face turned pale with fury, his entire body trembling as he raised a hand and let out a hoarse, piercing cry.
