Han Shuang’s face was like dough dropped in hot oil — deathly pale, then a scorched yellow, and finally an ugly shade of black.
Countless times before, she had spoken to him just like this about her own grievances, blaming him for being cold-hearted and unfeeling.
At first she would still feel a twinge of guilt, but as the days went by, Han Shuang had come to nearly believe herself that she was truly wronged — that she’d never betrayed anyone for the sake of a reward, that she’d never once lied.
Until now.
Li Jingyun stood before her, replaying her hypocritical performance from start to finish, then lowered his eyes and asked her quietly, “Do you know how disgusted I felt, staying silent for five years while I watched you tell this lie?”
The string that had been taut in her chest for so long suddenly snapped.
Han Shuang gripped the bars, her throat tightening so she could barely breathe. Her eyes darted around as she tried desperately to explain: “I wasn’t… I was only twelve back then, how would I have known what could be done and what couldn’t? Brother Jingyun, I truly wasn’t doing it on purpose, I just made a foolish, momentary mistake—”
“And then kept being confused for five years,” he cut her off, his eyes lifting coldly. “I gave you a full five years’ chance.”
Even once, couldn’t she just admit fault?
“I…” Both anxious and ashamed, Han Shuang’s tears poured like a spring, her body sliding a few inches down along the bars as she gripped them. Her mouth murmured over and over, “I really wasn’t doing it on purpose, I really wasn’t.”
At twelve years old, a girl is at the peak of her vanity. When other girls received rewards from one imperial consort or another and came flaunting them proudly, she watched with envious eyes, naturally wanting to obtain one herself.
At that time, Great Wei had only just fallen, and countless loyal officials of the Yin imperial house were in hiding. Feng Zixu was the most renowned of the virtuous scholars among them. Brother Jingyun, admiring his reputation, had hidden him in his own courtyard. Back then the two of them were innocent childhood friends, and Brother Jingyun hadn’t been on guard against her, letting her wander freely through the East Courtyard, where she happened to cross paths with Feng Zixu.
She still remembered what Feng Zixu looked like — like an ancient book worn by hardship, his clothes tattered, yet his bearing magnificent, his brow full of emotions she couldn’t understand.
Exactly like the portrait on the wanted notice.
With a small demon stirring in her heart, Han Shuang had suddenly spoken up while paying respects to the Princess Imperial, seeking credit for it.
She did, after all, love him — she hadn’t said the Li family was hiding someone, only that Feng Zixu had disguised himself and deceived Brother Jingyun. The Princess Imperial, being magnanimous, didn’t blame the Li family, and simply had Feng Zixu captured and beheaded.
Han Shuang hadn’t thought it was any big deal — after all, Feng Zixu and Brother Jingyun had only crossed paths briefly. A stranger’s life in exchange for her moment of pride felt like a good trade.
That time, she’d received three strings of agate and jade beads, two exquisitely translucent jade bracelets, and a beautiful pearl-and-kingfisher-feather phoenix-tail cap. Dressed in all of it, she’d suppressed those girls who liked to compete with her for good several years, unable to hold their heads up.
But now, Han Shuang knelt before him, suddenly regretting it as if she’d gone mad.
If she could do it all over again, she wouldn’t choose those rewards. The two of them growing up together without a rift between them would have been better than anything — he would still protect her, would only look at her, and the one he’d bring into the household would surely be her, and not, as it was now, someone he treated as a thorn in his side.
Han Shuang lifted her trembling lips and raised her head.
Li Jingyun no longer looked at her. He turned his head aside and said listlessly, “You haven’t tired of crying, and I’ve grown tired of watching. If you want to go to court and be a witness, go ahead — I won’t stop you.”
Her eyes went wide. Han Shuang shook her head stiffly, gripping the bars to force herself to stand, saying resentfully, “That way, you’ll die.”
“Dying would be better than keeping company with you,” he laughed, not a shred of warmth in his eyes. “Miss Han, find someone else to fixate on. I truly don’t have a taste for you.”
His words were sharp as a blade, stabbing into her heart again and again. Han Shuang’s eyes turned red, threads of blood creeping toward her irises, twisted and desperate. She had never suffered such humiliation before, and felt so ashamed she wanted to slam herself against the bars.
Wen Guzhi couldn’t bear to watch anymore and spoke gently to advise her: “Young lady, there’s no need. There are plenty of fine men in this world.”
“He saved my life,” Han Shuang murmured, her face pale. “Last time, when I tried to hang myself, he still felt for me. How long has it been since then, how long…”
“Third Young Master here has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. You did grow up together, after all — if you truly sought death, he wouldn’t necessarily feel good about it either.” Wen Guzhi’s eyes were full of reluctant pity. “But don’t try to scheme against him, young lady. You’re a clever person too — Third Young Master hates this the most. What’s done is done, but let’s not say any more. Preserve some dignity for the Han family and go now, quickly.”
Half laughing, half crying, Han Shuang wiped her face haphazardly with her handkerchief and stubbornly asked Li Jingyun, “If the one who betrayed you hadn’t been me, would you have been willing to marry me when you turned eighteen?”
A hint of mockery in his eyes, Li Jingyun opened his mouth to answer.
Han Shuang suddenly panicked. She gripped her skirt and paced in place, turning round and round, covering her ears. “I know, I know the answer, you don’t need to say it.”
She looked up, her whole body trembling so hard even her tongue couldn’t form words steadily. “But the person you married — she’ll betray you too.”
“You men, when you look at women, you’re so shallow-eyed. You really think she’s some kind of good person? Just wait and see — she’ll have her day of betraying Brother Jingyun too.”
“…”
Her skirt swept past, stirring the candlelight on the wall into flickering shadows. Han Shuang trembled as she fled in panic, her footsteps growing chaotic and distant.
Wen Guzhi watched with a look of astonishment on his face, then sat back down across from Li Jingyun, pointing in the direction she’d left. “Are young ladies these days really this fierce? Even when they can’t have you, they still have to curse you on the way out.”
Li Jingyun seemed lost in thought, his expression somewhat grave. After a moment, he acknowledged with a grunt and casually poured Wen Guzhi another cup of wine.
Wen Guzhi drank it down in one gulp, still somewhat indignant. “Little sister-in-law is such a good person. She doesn’t even have any background — how could anyone stab her in the back like that?”
The hand resting on the rim of his cup paused. Li Jingyun pressed his lips together, his expression complicated, and glanced toward the skylight above.
Outside, dusk was approaching.
The gorgeous evening glow filled the sky. Huayue sat in the East Courtyard wrapped in a blanket, taking a bite of the chicken leg Su Miao fed her.
She said with her mouth full, “Cousin, I wasn’t really pregnant. You don’t need to feed me this much.”
“It’s from the kitchen — no point letting it go to waste.” Su Miao fed her while chattering animatedly, her eyebrows dancing with delight. “That eyesore of a place in the estate is finally gone. The servants in the household are all thrilled, every one of them scrambling to bring you things to help you recover. You just rest easy for a couple of days — leave the rest to my uncle and the others to handle.”
Huayue nodded, her gaze drifting to the person standing at the other end of the courtyard.
Shen Zhiluo had come with Su Miao, but from the moment they arrived until now, he hadn’t said a single word, only gazed at the magnolia tree in the courtyard, lost in thought.
“Cousin,” Shuangjiang suddenly called from outside, “Madam wants you to come over for a moment.”
Su Miao hastily stuffed the chicken leg into her hands, glanced at Shen Zhiluo out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t say anything else, just smiled at her. “I’ll be right back.”
“Alright.” Huayue agreed, watching her step out through the courtyard gate.
An evening breeze rose in the courtyard. Even the last magnolia blossom on the branches couldn’t hold on, its half-withered petals rustling down. Shen Zhiluo reached out to catch one, but the petal spiraled away from his hand and fell to the ground instead.
A sense of powerlessness spread from his fingertips to his chest. Shen Zhiluo pressed his lips together and gripped the compass in his hand tightly.
“Lord Shen.” The person behind him called out.
He paused, composed himself, and turned around, meeting Huayue’s calm eyes.
Before, whenever she saw him, she would still show resistance and mockery, but now — he didn’t know what had happened — she looked at him as if he were simply an ordinary old acquaintance, polite and calm.
“Will Li Jingyun get through this ordeal?” she asked.
His sleeve fell back, the stars embroidered on it glittering. Shen Zhiluo froze for a moment, then suddenly laughed bitterly. “You’ve never liked hearing me speak of fate.”
As a child, the West Palace’s Young Mistress had been the cleverest and most quick-witted — whatever she learned, she picked up quickly. Whenever she finished a piece of calligraphy for him, he would always ask, “What reward would you like?”
The pale, jade-skinned little one would answer without hesitation: “I want your Qiankun disc.”
“What do you want that for?”
“To smash it to pieces.” The young mistress smiled, showing two little tiger teeth, both mischievous and adorable. “Then use the pieces to patch the wall.”
She had hated him bitterly for reading her fate, for determining her future — nine times out of ten, whenever she came to his palace on her own initiative, it was to try to steal the Qiankun disc and smash it.
But now, Yin Huayue leaned against the bench and spoke to him gently. “Please, Lord Shen, take a look.”
Shen Zhiluo suddenly felt a bitterness at the root of his tongue.
He tucked the Qiankun disc back into his sleeve, lowered his eyes, and said hoarsely, “His fate holds a lifetime of wealth and honor, with no great troubles in store. It’s only because you insist on being with him that he now has a few tribulations to weather. This current one isn’t especially severe — you needn’t worry too much.”
Worse ones still lay ahead.
Huayue understood the meaning behind his words and couldn’t help but laugh. “Lord Shen knows I’ve always been rebellious by nature — the more you advise, the less I listen. Why bother with these veiled remarks?”
“They need to be said, whether you listen is up to you, Young Mistress.” He coughed twice, covering his mouth with a handkerchief and wiping hard. “In the end, you’ve never taken any of us seriously anyway.”
“You, plural?” Huayue emphasized the last word, and understanding dawned in her eyes as she turned it over. “Sun Yaozu and the others have contacted you recently?”
Shen Zhiluo nodded. The second seal he’d obtained from Li Jingyun was the First Prince’s private seal, and lately more people had been reaching out to contact him because of it. Sun Yaozu and Yin Ru had originally been watching from the sidelines, but for some reason had suddenly changed their minds and come to pledge their loyalty as well.
The officials of the fallen Great Wei who had scattered were, some, already thoroughly turned in heart; others were merely feigning compliance. Regathering these people would take great effort, and if Zhou Heshuo discovered it, it would mean the extermination of nine generations.
Fortunately, they’d all been distracted lately by the matter of the Household Management Office, and no one was paying attention to a few ordinary tea gatherings and banquets.
Shen Zhiluo returned to himself and suddenly asked, “Have you had any contact with Feng Zixi?”
Lowering her head to smooth out the wrinkles in the blanket, Huayue answered, “I’m just a servant. How would I have contact with the manager of the weapons armory?”
That was true, Shen Zhiluo conceded with a nod.
Yin Ru often said that the Young Mistress had lost her fighting spirit, that she cared nothing at all for revenge — her simply being alive was already a blessing for the Yin imperial house, and no one expected her to do much more.
Feng Zixi now held a high position with a generous salary — there was no reason for him to risk killing Han Tianyong. Even though the wound on Han Tianyong’s throat looked oddly familiar, it wasn’t necessarily his doing.
After a long silence, Shen Zhiluo said quietly, “Take good care of yourself, and don’t take any more risks for the Li family’s young master. The day the palace gates reopen, I will still serve you as my sovereign.”
Listen to that — so loyal, so devoted. If she weren’t lying so comfortably, Huayue might have wanted to sit up and bow to him. Shen Zhiluo, like Sun Yaozu and the others, all thought of her as a useless ornament — one just spoke more pleasantly, the other more harshly.
Yawning, Huayue pulled the blanket tighter and closed her eyes.
Su Miao really did come back after a while. She glanced at the person sleeping in the chair, and her originally carefree strides turned into tiptoeing little steps. She softened her breathing and leaned close to Shen Zhiluo, whispering, “Already asleep?”
Shen Zhiluo nodded and led her away from the East Courtyard.
Ever since Su Miao had gotten drunk and broken the Qiankun disc, the two of them hadn’t seen each other in a long while. Following the Crown Prince’s instructions, Shen Zhiluo had sent Su Miao a gift box as an apology; he’d heard she’d accepted it with a smile, but hadn’t sent back a single word in return.
Today she’d said she wanted to come by, and he had expected she might find some excuse to back out. Yet Su Miao acted as if nothing had happened, leading him into the estate and then seeing him out again.
Shen Zhiluo couldn’t help but ask, “What have you been busy with lately?”
Su Miao raised an eyebrow and clasped her hands over her heart. “It’s rare that you’d actually show concern for me.”
“I don’t,” he pressed his lips together. “Just asking casually.”
The person beside him broke into a smile, her bright face stunningly beautiful. She bounced along the bluestone path, counting on her fingers as she reported to him: “I was invited up the mountain recently for a floating-cup poetry gathering by the stream, got a few good poems out of it, had them mounted and gave them to my uncle. He’s been quite troubled lately over my cousin’s affairs, so making him smile a bit was a good thing to do.”
“These past few days it’s been all about burning down the Household Management Office. Ha, I didn’t realize it until it happened, but I’ve quite the standing in the capital — so many people rushed to console me, telling me not to act so impulsively next time.”
Shen Zhiluo asked, “Who came?”
“The junior vice minister from the Ministry of War, the attendant from the Eastern Palace, and a few others I’ve met at banquets before.” She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Can’t remember their names. I just remember what they wore — a few of them had quite nice outfits.”
“…”
The person beside her didn’t say anything more, but Su Miao didn’t notice, still chatting happily as they walked. “But you — only bothering to come see me now, in passing, hardly seems like a betrothed husband at all.”
Any normal person hearing this would know she was upset and would need some soothing words, told that no one else compared to her.
But not Su Miao. She rubbed her chin and pondered very, very seriously. “The junior vice minister is gentle enough, but he lets me have my way too much — more like a bodyguard than a husband. That attendant from your Eastern Palace, I don’t know if he’s picked it up from you, but he’s clearly got a stomach full of things to say and just won’t say them directly, going in circles telling me to be careful, all rigid and proper — kind of cute, actually. But I think that gentleman from the Lin family looks the most like it. Tsk, if I weren’t already engaged, I’d really have to consider it.”
His gums tightened, and Shen Zhiluo stopped in his tracks.
He turned to look at her and said, trying to keep his composure, “Whether you care or not is up to you, but Miss Su, if you have no regard for your own reputation, Shen here doesn’t want people pointing fingers at my back either.”
The smile on her face stiffened for a moment, then spread again. Su Miao stretched lazily and said charmingly, “Then go tell His Highness to call off the engagement. Say I’m too promiscuous to be a proper wife. His Highness dotes on you so much, I’m sure he’d agree.”
Ahead was the side gate. Su Miao didn’t see him off any further, standing in place with a smile, waving at him lightly, docile as a little fox wagging its tail.
Shen Zhiluo felt his chest tighten.
How could there be a girl like this in the world? Completely unwilling to play by the rules. Call her heartless, and she’d be devoted to him alone. Call her devoted, and she’d have kind words for everyone.
He felt like a mouse, being batted about by her cat’s paw — she had no intention of swallowing him whole, yet no intention of letting him go either.
His jaw tightened, and Shen Zhiluo swept his sleeve and stepped out the gate.
Su Miao stood behind him, watching that trail of stars disappear beyond the gate, and only then did the smile slowly fade from her face.
The lawsuit between the Han family and Situ Feng dragged on for a full seven days, the two sides arguing from the Capital Prefecture office all the way to the imperial court. In the end, because the evidence Situ Feng held was conclusive, he was sentenced to exile in Huizhou instead of being made to pay with his life for Han Tianyong’s death.
The Han couple fell ill from fury, and the Princess Imperial too was run ragged. Amid the chaos, Situ Feng happily left the capital.
Huizhou, though far away, wasn’t exactly a wasteland — with the Crown Prince’s protection, he could find another official post there and start over. It wasn’t the end of the road for him, so as he climbed into the prisoner’s cart, he was still humming a little tune with his legs crossed, the off-key melody scattering across the bumpy dirt road, carrying a rustic charm all its own.
“There’s a post station ahead,” said the officer escorting him. “We’ll stop there to rest.”
“Good.” Situ Feng agreed with a smile, humming a folk tune again.
The post station wasn’t far from the capital. The officer locked him in a room and went off to find food. Situ Feng looked around and thought the room was rather odd — by Great Liang custom, there was always a partition between the table and chairs and the bed, but in this room, the furnishings resembled the customs of Great Wei instead, with the table and chairs right beside the bed, and even a pot of tea set out.
This journey to Huizhou would surely bring plenty of bumps and jolts along the way, and figuring he might as well enjoy what pleasure he could while he could, he sat down and poured himself a couple of mouthfuls from the teapot.
Leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed, Situ Feng thought wistfully that the last time he’d seen a room arranged like this had been many years ago.
Back then, the tea table in the palace had been placed right beside the bed. He’d stabbed a blade straight through a consort’s belly, watching her collapse onto the table, then stumble and fall against the bed. Bright red blood had trailed a winding path, like red embroidery on brocade, stitching from the table curtain to the bed curtain.
He’d never feared that scene — if anything, he cherished the memory, because that one moment had led to all his high position and generous fortune afterward.
What a pity, though… Situ Feng shook his head and took another sip of tea.
The midday sun was blazing, making him feel drowsy. Situ Feng felt his eyelids grow heavy and hazily thought to get up to relieve himself, but his legs had no strength — the moment he stepped down, he collapsed forward, his forehead striking the edge of the bed with a loud “thunk.”
The blow was hard enough that his vision went white with pain, and he couldn’t help but cry out “Ow, ow” in a string of yelps.
The door was pushed open with a creak. Situ Feng thought it was the officer returning and quickly called out while holding his head, “Come quick, see if my head’s split open! Ow, this hurts like death.”
The person walked over unhurriedly, bent down to look, and said with a smile, “Just a small cut. Nothing serious.”
Since when did the officer have a woman’s voice? Situ Feng was startled, and looked up in confusion.
Huayue met his gaze with a smile, her eyes clear and shining, a few loose strands of hair falling by her temple, adding a touch of gentleness to her appearance.
She took a handkerchief and pressed it to the cut on his forehead, saying softly, “It’ll be fine once the bleeding stops.”
For some reason, Situ Feng felt a chill run through his entire body. He flailed his arms wildly, pushing her away, and shrank back. “Who, who are you?”
“This servant is just a laborer here at the station,” she said, blinking.
Situ Feng shook his head, brows furrowing tightly. “No, that’s not right. You’re not a laborer. How did you get in here?”
He looked toward the door behind her, panicking as he pushed her aside and tried to run for it.
But the moment he took a step, his whole body collapsed to the ground, his limbs weak as if the tendons had been cut, like a boneless heap of flesh, squirming and curling as he crawled toward the door.
The person behind him didn’t grab him. Instead, she followed his movements at a leisurely pace toward the door, her footsteps elegant and clear.
Clack — clack—
Situ Feng’s face was full of terror as he squirmed and begged. “Let me go, let me go, we have no quarrel between us, what do you want? Go away, go away!”
Huayue watched patiently as he crawled to the door, then pressed a finger against it. The rusted hinges let out a creaking groan as the two wooden doors slowly swung shut.
The light narrowed from wide to a thin slit, and finally the last streak of orange faded from his forehead, leaving only a pair of pupils shrunk to the size of pinpoints.
Situ Feng grew desperate, mumbling curses and pleas in a jumble. The person before him listened with remarkably good temper, and casually fed him a pill.
The chaotic sounds gradually turned into indistinct whimpers, unbearable screams of agony trapped in his throat, unable to escape — sounding like a broken bellows in someone’s house, wheezing out fragmented, hollow sounds without a moment’s rest.
A moment later, Huayue put away the bloodied knife and gently laid Situ Feng onto the bed.
He still stared at her with wide-open eyes, but his body couldn’t move at all. The room reeked strongly of blood, yet strangely, he wasn’t dead — his eyes bulged as he watched her stand up, his mouth stretched open in an almost grotesque way, unable to make a sound.
Huayue calmly pushed the door open and stepped outside.
Her skirt swept over the threshold, stirring up a layer of dust. Her face bore no expression, but the depths of her eyes were a murky, dark shade, as if something were choking her — repressed and manic all at once.
She wanted to look up at the sun outside, but the moment she raised her head, Huayue found herself staring straight into a pair of eyes she knew all too well.
Ink pooled in those pupils, black as lacquer, the color swirling and blending together, giving off an inexplicable sense of calm — like dark stone submerged in a mountain stream, like clouds rolling across a night sky.
Huayue stared, momentarily entranced, the killing intent in her eyes gradually fading, replaced by a rising sense of panic.
She slammed the door shut behind her with a loud “smack.”
Li Jingyun stood in the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing the dark jade-black crow robe she had sent to him earlier that day.
He looked down at her, saying nothing.