Consort Yao resided in the Western Palace. Though it too had been renovated, Huayue was still quite familiar with the place. She passed through courtyards and corridors, crossed thresholds into the hall, and knelt in the side chamber, gripping her skirt, her peripheral vision catching the gauze curtain hanging at the front.

“Greetings, Your Highness.”

Only a single servant stood in the spacious side hall — one glance told her this wasn’t going to be a friendly reception. The silence all around was suffocating; when no summons came from within, Huayue turned her head slightly to glance toward the servant.

Better not to have looked at all — one glance, and her expression darkened.

Meng Sheng.

This man had defected to Zhou Heshuo even earlier than Shen Zhiluo — anyone from the Wei palace knew him as a lackey and hunting dog for the enemy.

If he was standing here, then whoever was behind that curtain certainly wasn’t Consort Yao.

“So it really is you.” Zhou Heshuo lifted the gauze curtain aside, his narrow eyes slightly narrowing further. “A gentleman ought to be sized up anew after three days apart — the girl from that room has turned into the mistress of the General’s residence.”

Huayue quietly let out a breath, closing her eyes.

Just her luck — with so many people here today, she’d still been singled out from the crowd. Worse still, standing beside him was Meng Sheng, who recognized her.

Huayue guessed exactly why she’d been summoned back here, but she wasn’t panicking — she simply bowed to Zhou Heshuo again, her body soft and pliant: “Thanking Your Highness for the grace.”

Zhou Heshuo’s gaze darkened as he looked at her: “Thanking me for what?”

“If Your Highness hadn’t returned that mandarin duck pendant, this servant would never have risen to the branches of the General’s residence,” Huayue said softly. “I never had the chance to properly express my gratitude before. Now that Your Highness has graciously summoned me, I should kowtow to express my deep thanks.”

With that, she properly knocked her head to the ground three times.

Still nursing some lingering thoughts about how she’d been captured and questioned before, Zhou Heshuo was rather caught off guard by this gesture, and there was a note of confusion in his voice: “A single mandarin duck pendant, and that’s enough to land you the position of principal wife at the General’s residence?”

Timidly biting her lip, Huayue said quietly: “It’s a long story. Earlier when Your Highness returned that treasure, this servant took it straight to the young master. Who would have known he’d suddenly burst out laughing, saying ‘good’ several times over, even declaring he’d never betray Your Highness’s trust in this lifetime. This servant was startled — I hadn’t breathed a single word to the young master about seeing Your Highness. Why would the young master say such a thing? It kept me up for several nights.”

His eyes flickering slightly, Zhou Heshuo came out and sat down in the outer hall, arranging his robes, listening attentively.

This maid in the hall still carried herself the same timid, obedient way as before, her voice soft and small, her expression fearful. She glanced at Meng Sheng standing to the side several times, her throat bobbing: “This servant only just recognized this lord — that’s when I realized I ought to thank Your Highness.”

“Oh?” Zhou Heshuo said, intrigued. “You’ve met this lord before?”

“Indeed I have. The day before Your Highness summoned this servant for questioning, this lord went to Qifeng Tower to drink and chat with the young master. This servant was waiting outside at the time and heard this lord warn the young master to be careful, saying someone was trying to frame him and cause trouble. This servant didn’t understand what that meant at the time, but the young master must have understood — because afterward, when this servant returned the mandarin duck pendant, he said it was a sign of Your Highness’s trust, and that he’d devote himself to you for life.”

She recounted this bit by bit as if recalling it fresh, her expression earnest and sincere: “After that, the young master looked at this servant with new regard, and so as not to arrange the marriage with the Han family, he took me in as a concubine instead.”

Zhou Heshuo watched her in silence, his eyes sharp as blades.

Huayue kept her head bowed, but her posture remained relaxed — not the slightest trace of a guilty conscience from lying, even under his piercing scrutiny, she showed no flaw at all.

Meng Sheng stood off to the side, cold sweat breaking out.

He’d never imagined this young mistress was still alive, let alone that upon their very first meeting she’d hand him such a great gift. That day he really had gone to see Li Jingyun, hoping to leak some information for a bit of profit, and Li Jingyun had been generous, handing over three hundred taels of silver right there at Qifeng Tower.

As a servant, wasn’t skimming a bit of profit like this exactly what one lived for? But how had she found out? And now she was even telling the crown prince about it — the crown prince was suspicious by nature; if he learned Meng Sheng had been dealing privately with outside officials, would there still be any place for him in this palace?

Meng Sheng’s eyes darted about, and he lifted the hem of his robe to kneel as well: “Your Highness, this old servant has been wronged. As Your Highness knows, this old servant has always stayed by your side — where else would there be to go?”

Zhou Heshuo said nothing, an oppressive, gloomy air weighing down on everyone present.

Huayue looked around with an innocently blank expression, and when her gaze met Meng Sheng’s, she saw a flicker of threat in his eyes.

No wonder they said a tiger stranded on the plains gets bullied even by dogs — these servants now all liked to threaten and intimidate her, still treating her as if she were that half-grown child from the Western Palace.

Withdrawing her gaze, Huayue smiled faintly: “This servant didn’t get a very clear look, Your Highness. It’s just that this lord had a similar build. And what I heard was just those few sentences — this servant has never been very worldly and couldn’t possibly fabricate lies, so I wouldn’t deceive Your Highness. I hope Your Highness will see the truth clearly.”

Meng Sheng felt his teeth ache. This young mistress’s demeanor had changed over the years — gone was her former arrogance, but this skill at lying with a straight face had clearly grown even sharper. And she claimed she wasn’t worldly — then who exactly was?

Meng Sheng, teeth grinding, prostrated himself repeatedly on the ground: “Your Highness, please see clearly, it truly wasn’t this old servant.”

Zhou Heshuo gave a faint “Mm,” tapping idly on the armrest of his grand chair.

By this maid’s account, Li Jingyun had lost the mandarin duck pendant and learned that someone had thrown it toward the Eastern Palace as evidence against him; anxious and unsettled, when he then saw his maid bring the jade back, he’d naturally assumed it meant the Eastern Palace’s master was magnanimous — that even holding suspicious evidence in hand, he’d still chosen to trust him. That’s why he’d afterward refused the marriage the Princess Imperial had wanted to arrange for him, and firmly pledged his loyalty ever since.

Thinking it through this way, Zhou Heshuo felt rather pleased with himself. He’d originally assumed that letting Li Jingyun know he’d had his household questioned would create friction between them — instead, it seemed he’d inadvertently won the man’s loyalty.

The great hall fell silent once more. Zhou Heshuo looked over the little maid before him and suddenly asked: “Meng Sheng, she says she’s met you — have you met her before?”

Huayue looked up and glanced toward the man beside him.

Su Miao lost not a moment finding her cousin. Li Jingyun was inspecting the imperial guards in the front section of the palace at the time; hearing her explain what had happened, his expression tightened, and he strode outward, undressing as he went.

Today he wore red-trimmed silver armor with an inky-blue robe layered beneath, and silver-gray official boots — quite an imposing sight. But that imposing air lasted only a couple of steps before being tossed straight into her arms, scattering everywhere; Su Miao spent a good while gathering it all up.

“Cousin, what are you doing?” Su Miao said, torn between laughter and exasperation, glancing anxiously around them. “What if someone sees this?”

He shot her a look: “You think I can just march into the harem dressed like this?”

“You can’t get in dressed like that, sure, but you can’t just strip down entirely either!” Before she’d even finished speaking, that inky-blue robe was already draped over her head.

“Hold onto this, don’t let anyone find it,” he instructed, then hurried off in his white undergarment as if flying.

“You keep this, don’t let anyone see it,” she thought he’d said, but before she could even process it, he’d already vanished down the corridor. What she saw next was that the palace pathway ahead had a side door partway along; her cousin ducked through it as he passed, and moments later emerged wearing the uniform of a palace attendant.

“…” How could this even work?

If little sister-in-law was in trouble in Consort Yao’s palace and cousin went in dressed like this to rescue her, that would be the crime of trespassing into the harem! Su Miao panicked, and seeing palace attendants approaching from a distance, she hastily bundled the pile of clothes together and stuffed it under her skirt, forming a round, bulging belly.

“Excuse me.” She stopped the passing attendant, cradling her belly. “Where’s the Imperial Physicians’ Bureau?”

Moments later, she got her wish and found Wen Guzhi.

“Consort Yao’s palace?” Wen Guzhi mulled it over, then reassured her. “Don’t worry, Third Master knows what he’s doing. This trip — it might not necessarily be about a rescue.”

Little sister-in-law was still in that palace — if cousin wasn’t going to save her, then why go at all? Su Miao looked utterly puzzled.

Wen Guzhi was the person around Li Jingyun who knew the most about everything; with just a moment’s thought, he could guess what Third Master was anxious about.

Meng Sheng was a man who’d betrayed his original master to achieve his current success — greedy for money and power. Years ago, it was he who had identified Feng Zixu and even drawn up the wanted portrait for his capture. Third Master had always kept him funded with silver in exchange for information about the crown prince’s movements. But this time, if the man threatened little sister-in-law’s life, Third Master might not be willing to let him live.

“He looks familiar, but I can’t place him just now.”

Meng Sheng knelt before Zhou Heshuo, eyes darting as he studied Huayue: “Must have seen him somewhere, this old servant is getting on in years — please grant this old servant a couple of days, let me go check the records and think it over carefully.”

His words carried nearly the same tone Huayue had used earlier to identify him, leaving room for maneuvering, treating it as a bargaining chip.

Originally, Meng Sheng, upon recognizing her, had intended to speak up directly — outsiders didn’t know Great Wei had left behind a young mistress at all, and some in the palace even doubted whether she carried true royal blood. But regardless, she was still technically a noble, raised in fine clothes and food; if he revealed this, the crown prince, pleased, might reward him handsomely for it.

But given the current situation, if he spoke up now, this young mistress would surely drag him down with her, and he had no interest in facing ruin alongside her.

Meng Sheng, ever the pragmatist, having finished speaking, immediately kowtowed to Zhou Heshuo.

Huayue quietly let out a breath of relief.

She’d originally still been worried about the matter of him capturing and interrogating her before, but now, having been struck like this, Zhou Heshuo’s expression eased somewhat, though not without a trace of confusion: “A single mandarin duck pendant, and that’s enough to seat you as principal wife of the General’s residence?”

Timidly biting her lip, Huayue said quietly: “It’s a long story to tell. Earlier when Your Highness returned that treasure…”

Zhou Heshuo found himself thoroughly annoyed by Meng Sheng’s conduct — it wasn’t as if he couldn’t see through the man’s self-serving little schemes in front of his master, but since he still had some use, he hadn’t bothered to discard him yet.

With that, he had no intention of keeping the General’s residence’s young mistress here to offend anyone unnecessarily. He immediately let Huayue rise, praised Li Jingyun at some length, and even rewarded her with two pieces of jade to take back to the residence.

The moment she stepped over the threshold and the wind hit her outside, Huayue realized she’d broken out in a cold sweat all over. Her identity wasn’t suited to being seen around like this — today’s recklessness had been entirely her own doing, and if it had truly cost her life, there’d have been nothing to say about it.

As for how much of what she’d just said Zhou Heshuo had actually believed, she couldn’t be sure — but one thing was certain: as long as Meng Sheng remained alive, he could bring ruin to the entire General’s residence at any moment.

Her hands and feet cold, Huayue hurried after the palace attendant, anxious to find someone quickly.

Just as she reached Jing’an Gate, the attendants beside her suddenly grew agitated.

“What is it?” She turned her head.

The lead attendant exchanged a few whispered words with the guards, then came back to tell her: “There’s a fire somewhere in the palace, my lady, no need to worry — just continue straight ahead and you’ll be out. It won’t reach you no matter how it spreads.”

A fire, inside the forbidden palace? Huayue was quite surprised — back in their Great Wei, if the palace could have such a major mishap, the imperial guards would surely have paid dearly for it.

The Great Wei imperial palace really was unreliable after all, she thought, shaking her head.

She waited outside for a while before Su Miao finally emerged, though her expression looked somewhat strange. She came right up, took Huayue’s hand, and climbed into the carriage with her.

The wheels rolled a fair distance before Huayue asked: “What happened?”

Pressing a hand to her chest, catching her breath, Su Miao whispered: “There was a fire in the palace.”

“I heard about that,” Huayue nodded. “What of it?”

Looking at her steadily, Su Miao said: “Cousin went in right before, and right after, the Western Palace caught fire. Burned down a room — and a person along with it.”

Huayue’s heart gave a jolt, and she lowered her eyes.

Not understanding the reason for it, Su Miao said, her face pale: “I only wanted him to go save you — who knew he’d stir up such a huge mess. Thank goodness no one found out, or we’d all be headed straight to the underworld over this.”

Huayue’s mind had drifted off; pulled back by Su Miao’s tugging, she said, feigning composure: “Good thing no one found out.”

“Little sister-in-law, how are you not scared at all? That was the forbidden palace, of all places,” Su Miao shook her head repeatedly. “No idea who burned to death, but this is a big deal — His Majesty already has grievances against the imperial guards, and now with this happening too, he’s bound to be furious.”

Distracted, Huayue answered absently, saw Su Miao home to the Shen residence, then took the carriage back to the General’s residence herself, swaying along the road, losing track of how long the ride took. By the time she reached the western side gate, her head was swimming.

Someone came out to greet her, carried her back to the eastern courtyard, undid her heavy formal attire, and pressed a cup of hot tea into her hands.

“Look at you.” Li Jingyun gave a snort. “Walked through the tiger’s den and didn’t even lose a chunk of flesh — so why are you cold all over?”

She looked up at him, brow furrowed tight: “Who did you kill?”

Li Jingyun’s eyelids drooped as he smiled, saying nothing.

Her temper flared, and she pushed him down onto the couch, scolding: “I’m the one who caused this mess — you’re the one who cleaned it up, and you won’t even take credit for it?”

His dark eyes glanced sideways at her, and he found it amusing: “This lord doesn’t ask for credit, and you’re not supposed to be secretly pleased about that? Why are you getting angry instead?”

He’d known enough to go after Meng Sheng, which meant he knew everything — and yet he hadn’t explained a thing to her. Wasn’t that infuriating? Huayue puffed out her cheeks, but in the end let out a sigh and leaned against his chest: “Sorry for the trouble.”

Li Jingyun gave a short laugh, reaching out to pat her head: “You’re the one this lord married, so trouble comes with the territory. This lord isn’t blaming you.”

Thoroughly spoiled beyond reason, Huayue said, torn between laughter and exasperation: “Aren’t you afraid people will talk behind your back, saying you’re too besotted with a woman to think straight?”

“Besotted?” He frowned, tilting her chin up to study her, then seemed to realize something. “There’s a bit of that, I suppose.”

Huayue, furious, bit him.

Laughing as he bore her weight, Li Jingyun said: “Don’t be upset. This lord already had his eye on that man — even if you hadn’t caused trouble today, this lord wasn’t going to let him live much longer anyway.”

A lie — she’d seen the Qifeng Tower ledgers herself, with several entries paid out to Meng Sheng, the two of them exchanging favors frequently; there was no way he’d have given that up so easily.

It was also fortunate that he’d had her go through the Qifeng Tower accounts recently — otherwise she might well have given herself away in front of Zhou Heshuo today. If that had happened, it wouldn’t have been something solved simply by eliminating one servant.

Having survived this ordeal, Huayue leaned against him and let out a long breath.

In truth, killing to silence someone was the lowest resort of all — but having come this far, there was really no other choice left. Would Meng Sheng’s death clear Yin Huayue of suspicion entirely? No — if anything, Zhou Heshuo would grow even more suspicious of her. But compared to being exposed outright by Meng Sheng, this was already the best outcome available.

With the Western Palace on fire and a life lost, how could the current emperor possibly let it go easily? Dozens of imperial guard officials were dismissed, the imperial guards and palace guards merged into one, with real authority placed directly into Li Jingyun’s hands.

This was an extraordinary honor. With real power now in his grasp, no one dared look down on this Third Young Master anymore. Zhou Heshuo temporarily suspended his investigation into Yin Huayue, and even the Princess Imperial, who had previously been hostile, sent a good number of gifts over to the General’s residence.

Huayue found it curious — someone as astute as this Great Liang emperor, why would he place such trust in a young man? But she was also pleased, since with this development, Kang Zhenzhong began visiting the General’s residence even more frequently, and she started planning how to draw information out of him once more, hoping to resolve madam’s years-long knot of grief.

But Zhuang Shi never got to wait for that resolution.

Just as the weather in the capital began turning cool, Zhuang Shi’s face had already grown gaunt and withered. No matter how many physicians they changed or how much medicine was prescribed, she never rose from her bed again. When Wen Guzhi came to check on her, he didn’t even bother taking her pulse this time, only fell silent for a moment before asking: “Does madam have any final wishes?”

Huayue’s eyes reddened.

What final wishes could Zhuang Shi possibly have? These past few days she only ever smiled, smiling whenever Huayue came to her, holding her hand and telling her again and again how gentle and wonderful the former Empress had been.

“I was just this small back then, locked in the woodshed, my life nearly gone. She pushed the door open, radiant, like an immortal descending from the heavens, and pulled me out of that pile of broken branches and rotting leaves.”

Her voice was very faint; Huayue had to lean close to her lips to make out what she was saying.

“I thought then, as long as I could survive, I’d repay Her Highness’s kindness one day, whatever it took.”

“And then I met you. You really do look just as beautiful as Her Highness — the same features, only you were never happy, always pursing your lips, never willing to smile.”

After all she’d been through, who could smile? Zhuang Shi’s eyes glistened with tears as she stroked her hand: “Don’t trouble yourself anymore. I know you’ve been busy lately, trying to help me, trying to make Jingyun forgive me.”

Her throat tightening, Huayue gripped her hand back.

“There’s no need.” she said quietly. “At this point, if you made him understand now, how would he spend the rest of his life? Better to just let it be — his heart won’t suffer for it this way.”

“Madam.” Huayue couldn’t bear to hear this. “This is what young master owes you.”

Zhuang Shi shook her head gently and smiled: “He owes me nothing. Since the day he was born, I never once properly cared for him — the eldest daughter and second son both had Lady You’s mother’s love, but he only ever had the old nanny watching over him from childhood. I’m the one who failed him.”

Her whole life seemed to have been spent repaying debts — to the General, to Lady You, to the former Empress — and in the end, she’d unknowingly accumulated a debt to Jingyun as well. It was a pity her body was too frail; she wouldn’t have time left to repay this one.

Zhuang Shi felt some regret too, the veins on the back of her hand faintly rising, but in an instant, they sank back down helplessly.

Huayue went back and knelt before Li Jingyun. She asked for nothing else, only that he spend these final days with Zhuang Shi.

Li Jingyun’s face was clouded with darkness, but in the end, he agreed.

When Zhuang Shi closed her eyes for the last time, Li Jingyun was by her side. The room held just the two of them. Zhuang Shi gazed steadily at him, and her clouded eyes suddenly found their focus — she saw her child standing there in his official robes, and saw the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her.

“Won’t you stay a little longer?” he asked.

The way he said it, as if she were merely stepping out somewhere. Zhuang Shi couldn’t help but laugh, laughing until she fell into a fit of coughing: “You’ve become so accomplished — this mother can rest easy.”

Li Jingyun turned his face away and said coldly: “That’s right, you’ve always been at ease about me — never once worried whether I was warm enough or fed enough.”

“I’m sorry, child,” she said, her trembling fingertips brushing against his hand. “Mother is sorry to you.”

His throat worked; Li Jingyun stiffened his neck, his turned-away eyes finally reddening.

“It’s all right. I’m grown now anyway — I won’t hold it against you anymore,” he said, putting on a careless air, wiping his nose. “So stay a little longer. I won’t mind you being a bother.”

“Do you really not mind?” she asked, delighted.

Li Jingyun shook his head, and rather roughly grasped her badly trembling hand, holding it tight, little by little.

Zhuang Shi grew happy, laughing like a small child, her face lighting up.

But that lasted only a moment before the light quickly faded, and along with it, her entire being — the oil spent, the lamp gone out.

The room fell silent, even the sound of breathing reduced to just one.

Li Jingyun sat there stone-faced, his figure cast into a slanting shadow by the setting sun through the window, in the empty, silent room.

As the eighth month brought cooler weather, the General’s residence hung white mourning banners. Wen Guzhi stood in the General’s residence, watching the little sister-in-law with eyes red as a rabbit’s, and the indifferent Third Master beside her, sighing with emotion.

“Why doesn’t your Third Master cry at all?” A young maid from the Imperial Physicians’ Bureau tagging along beside him asked chattily. “Isn’t the deceased this household’s principal mistress? Shouldn’t the young master be crying even harder than the young mistress?”

Wen Guzhi clamped a hand over her mouth and gestured for silence.

Third Master had never been one to show weakness to others — likely because he’d never had anywhere to turn for comfort since childhood. No matter how you broke his bones or cut his flesh, he’d never show the slightest softness in front of outsiders.

This was exactly what the rest of them felt for him most — they’d always wanted to share his burdens, but as things stood, it was still Third Master looking out for them, smoothing over their household troubles, securing them positions and paths forward.

Fortunately, though, he now had someone by his side.

“Hey, isn’t that the Han family’s young lady?” The young maid pulled his hand away and pointed again. “Look, why is she here?”

Wen Guzhi followed her gaze and saw Han Shuang, dressed in plain white with a white flower pinned in her hair, entering to kowtow twice at the memorial hall.

“Brother Jingyun.” Rising, she walked to the side and bowed her head. “Lady Li, please accept my condolences, both of you.”

Huayue returned the bow.

It had been a long time; Han Shuang’s days seemed to have grown rather difficult — she looked noticeably more haggard. But her eyes hadn’t changed — looking at Huayue, they still carried the same deep-seated hostility.

“There’s something I’d like to say to you, my lady.”

Li Jingyun’s expression toward the guests remained courteous enough, but the words that came out carried a sharp edge of ice: “Say it to this lord too, then.”

“Fine.” Han Shuang actually agreed, gesturing toward a quiet corner off to the side.