For several days after that, Li Jingyun didn’t set foot in the main room again; every meal was brought to her by Badou instead.

“Did Steward Yin offend the young master?” Badou couldn’t quite understand it. “Things were fine before.”

Huayue had little appetite and no taste for anything, but she forced herself to finish every bit of the food he brought, then tidied up the dishes and handed them back to Badou neatly.

“Nothing serious.” She smiled.

A servant had angered her master, and her master had withdrawn a bit of his kindness toward her — nothing more ordinary than that. Li Jingyun had never been a patient man to begin with; whatever appeared to be him caring about her was more likely just a passing whim.

He wouldn’t take it seriously, and she wouldn’t take it to heart either.

“But the young master hasn’t been home at all.” Badou looked troubled. “If the General asks about it, what should this servant say?”

“Just tell the truth.” Huayue looked up at him. “As a servant, you should lie as little as possible. Otherwise, if trouble suddenly comes knocking one day, your master won’t be able to protect you either.”

Badou took the lesson to heart and carried the dishes back to the kitchen.

Huayue looked out the window — wind rustling the trees, light and shadow swaying. For a moment, she thought she saw the corner of a robe.

But when she looked again more closely, there was only a green tree the same color as the robe outside.

Shaking her head, she pulled the blanket up over her head.

The rain in the capital still hadn’t stopped, falling fine and continuous for three days now, pattering on the windowsill and disrupting the rhythm of the konghou being played.

A jade fan reached out from the window to catch the rain, drops splashing on the carved patterns and staining the embroidered front of a robe.

Li Jingyun didn’t seem to mind, leaning against the flower-lattice window with a smile. “What a shame there’s no sun today — otherwise you could see the one-of-a-kind flower-hairpin fan dance here at the Perch Phoenix Pavilion.”

The room was somewhat dim; the person seated in the seat of honor had an unreadable expression. “Instead of training troops with General Li to serve the nation, you idle your days away in places like this — aren’t you afraid of angering him?”

Li Jingyun turned. “I’ve grown too used to being idle — how could I bear the hardships of the training grounds? My eldest brother is still serving the country at home; I hide behind him and steal a bit of leisure for myself.”

“Oh?” Zhou Heshuo rose and took two steps forward, his deep, sharp eyes showing as he looked at him fixedly. “I hear you’ve had some happy news with the Han family recently, and are even planning to propose marriage.”

At those words, Li Jingyun’s brow furrowed slightly, the corners of his eyes drooping. “Don’t even bring that up, it’s been vexing me.”

“What, not going well?”

“How could it possibly go well?” He plopped down beside him, out of sorts, shaking his head. “Han Shuang and I can’t make a life together, but my parents insist on this marriage. Earlier they even had me accompany her to a temple fair, and made me give her a jade pendant.”

Zhou Heshuo’s eyelid twitched faintly. “Did you give it to her?”

“No, I didn’t run into Han Shuang that day, and the pendant went missing too.”

Zhou Heshuo fell silent, his gaze settling on the man before him, three parts suspicion, seven parts confusion.

There had been an assassination attempt at the Eastern Palace, and the pendant found at the scene was from Baolai Pavilion. When he’d traced its origin and asked about it, he’d been furious for half the night, thinking Li Jingyun meant to defy him over a woman.

But looking at it now, it didn’t seem to be that at all.

“The second day of the fourth month.” Zhou Heshuo spoke, pausing before softening his tone. “That night the moon was full and bright. I was in the palace looking at it, and found myself thinking of you — wondering where you’d gone off to enjoy yourself.”

“The second of the fourth month?” Li Jingyun counted blankly on his fingers. “I was still under house arrest by my father then, where could I have gone to enjoy myself?”

He leaned back against the chair and grumbled irritably, “No fine wine, no beauty either — just that dog at home was the only lively company, I played with it a while and then went to sleep.”

Half-smiling, Zhou Heshuo lifted his tea and took a sip.

“Your Highness.” A guard’s voice came from outside the door. “Third Young Master’s friends have arrived.”

Zhou Heshuo nodded, set down his cup, and rose. “Since it’s a gathering of your friends, I won’t intrude further, lest they feel constrained. There’s a nine-string phoenix zither playing downstairs — I’ll go listen to that.”

“Take care, Your Highness.” Li Jingyun rose and bowed.

Once the man had walked off, he let his smile drop, rubbing his temples with visible exhaustion.

Xu Changyi and Liu Chenghe came through the door, and seeing him sitting there unharmed, both let out a breath of relief.

“Has His Highness left?”

“Mm.” Li Jingyun looked up. “How did it go?”

The door was firmly shut. Xu Changyi sat down beside him and said quietly, “He already sent people to your residence, questioned several of the servants. No one let anything slip.”

Li Jingyun nodded, rubbing his stiff neck. “Nearly cost me my life.”

“It wasn’t that severe. You’ve hidden your movements well, and there’s no one around you who knows the truth. Even if he laid the mandarin duck pendant right in front of you, all you’d have to do is deny it.”

“Dream on.” Li Jingyun snorted a laugh. “You think those who eat the imperial rice are so easily fooled? If there’d been the slightest flaw, none of us would be keeping our heads on our necks today.”

Xu Changyi smiled. “Third Young Master is capable of anything — how could you stumble on a small hurdle like this?”

The two chatted for a while longer, but Liu Chenghe remained silent the whole time. Li Jingyun turned to look at him, raising a brow. “What are you thinking about?”

Frowning with difficulty, Liu Chenghe asked, “That maid by Third Young Master’s side — what kind of person is she?”

Bringing this up made Li Jingyun a little irritated. “Is she even human? Give a dog a bone and it’ll wag its tail and bark for you. She’s something else — I saved her life and she doesn’t even appreciate it, guards against me like I’m some kind of thief.”

Thinking of the way she’d dodged and resisted him that day, he felt a fire rise in his chest, wishing he could buy ten hairpins from Baolai Pavilion and snap them one by one in front of her, just to teach her what it meant to be truly angry.

Liu Chenghe’s face went pale. “Then it’s over.”

“What?” Li Jingyun tapped the table edge. “Can’t you say what you mean all at once?”

“The people the Crown Prince sent to the General’s residence didn’t just ask questions — they took someone away.”

Liu Chenghe glanced at him, scratching his head as he added, “Someone from your courtyard.”

His dark eyes flickered for a moment before Li Jingyun took a good while to realize just who in his courtyard could possibly be taken away.

His jade-boned fan tightened in his grip. His expression darkened, and after a long pause, he raised a hand and covered his eyes.

“As a servant, you should lie as little as possible. Otherwise, if trouble suddenly comes knocking one day, your master won’t be able to protect you either.”

— Those were the words she’d taught Badou. He’d been standing outside the window at the time, listening, and had been furious about it. But angry as he’d been, he hadn’t sent her back to the steward’s quarters right away.

Now, even if he wanted to send her back, it was too late.

Flinging his sleeve, Li Jingyun rose and headed straight out.

The Perch Phoenix Pavilion was a grand place, its three-story eaves hung with red-and-gold lanterns, the hall alive with fluttering skirts and laughter. A shopkeeper counting his abacus, dripping with gold and silver jewelry, brushed past him, lightly bumping his hand.

Li Jingyun kept walking, expressionless. On the second floor, he turned his palm over — a key lay quietly in it, one that fit the door before him perfectly.

Zhou Heshuo was next door.

A dozen or so guards stood in the room, the atmosphere tense. Zhou Heshuo, unhurried, finished a cup of tea slowly before finally speaking. “A few questions. Once you’ve answered, you may go back.”

The little maid before him seemed terrified, prostrate on the ground, her small frame trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Zhou Heshuo watched with amusement. “Don’t be afraid. Your master and I are old acquaintances, I won’t harm you.”

That gentle tone, under such oppressive weight, would naturally make someone want to draw close and trust him — this was the ruler’s art of persuasion, most effective on a servant who had never seen the world.

Sure enough, the little maid calmed somewhat, timidly raising her head and glancing at him quickly.

Weak, helpless eyes, like the clear rain outside.

Zhou Heshuo paused, his tone gentling further. “Just three questions. Answer them and that’s all.”

Huayue lowered her eyes, her hands clenched pale inside her sleeves. She never imagined she’d meet this man again under such circumstances, let alone that he would now appear so mild and kind.

Long ago, the red walls and yellow tiles had burned in an unending blaze, this face covered in blood, ferocious and manic. But time had smoothed his brow, and now he smiled and asked her, “Have you seen this pendant before?”

He handed her a white jade mandarin duck pendant. Huayue looked up and studied it, a flash of surprise crossing her eyes before she lowered her head again. “S-seen it, yes… it’s the one Madam picked out for the young master.”

He nodded slightly and asked again, “Do you remember when this went missing?”

Her body trembled, her voice taking on a tearful edge. “I remember. This pendant, I remember it most clearly.”

Li Jingyun, watching through a small hole in the wall, wiped his face and aimed a small crossbow at Yin Huayue.

He’d known all along that servants couldn’t be trusted. No matter what kind of servant, they’d sell out their master to save their own life.

The East Courtyard needed no close attendant — hadn’t needed one before, wouldn’t need one after this either.

He pressed his lips together, his finger on the mechanism tightening slightly.

“…That day, when I went out with Miss Han to burn incense, when the young master came back, the thing at his waist was already gone.” The little maid’s shoulders drew in, her voice thick with fear. “The young master thought this servant had tampered with it, and nearly… nearly threw this servant out of the East Courtyard.”

She glanced at the pendant again and murmured, wronged, “So it was here after all.”

“…” His finger on the mechanism froze, then slowly loosened.

Li Jingyun stared blankly through the small hole and saw Yin Huayue kneeling there, timid and restrained, tears welling in her eyes, helpless and pitiful — nowhere near the composed, steady manner she carried at the residence.

A woman’s tears were the most deceiving thing there was. Zhou Heshuo, his heart softening at the sight, crouched down before her, swaying the white jade mandarin duck pendant. “Then on the second day of the fourth month, between the hours of the dog and the pig — was your master at the residence?”

Recalling carefully for a moment, Huayue nodded gently. “He was. He was playing with the dog at the west side gate… nearly got bitten by it too. Many people saw it at the time, and this servant was there too.”

The suspicion in his heart dissolved. Zhou Heshuo pressed his lips together and rubbed his brow in self-reproach. He glanced at the maid before him, then suddenly crouched in front of her, loosening his fingers to let the pendant fall into her arms.

Huayue’s eyes brightened, and she reached out both hands to catch it. A chill touched her palms, and warmth touched the corner of her lowered eyes at the same time.

She looked up, puzzled, and met Zhou Heshuo’s gentle, lingering gaze head-on.

“Such a small matter.” He wiped the tear at the corner of her eye with a curled finger, smiling warmly. “Not worth crying over.”

The man in the python robe, crouching before her amid a forest of armor and blades, murmured to her as if coaxing some treasured pet.

Who could withstand that? Line up a hundred maids in a row, and with a single such arrow the Crown Prince could pierce through ninety-nine hearts. No matter whose household’s rice they ate, in that moment, every one of them would gladly walk through fire for His Highness the Crown Prince, without hesitation.

Zhou Heshuo was confident — this trick of his was well-practiced, tried and true every time. This way, this little maid wouldn’t go complain to Li Jingyun, and today’s suspicion and interrogation wouldn’t harm the friendship between the two of them.

Sure enough, the little maid before him flushed, no longer daring to look at him, turning her head bashfully aside. She should have risen and taken her leave, but she didn’t move, lingering before him, wanting to stay with him a little longer.