This year brought frequent rain. In the capital, light drizzle fell endlessly, while in Han Commandery, torrential downpours poured down.

The main streets were nearly deserted.

However, wine shops and teahouses still seated many customers.

On rainy days, people had more leisure time for drinking wine, sipping tea, and listening to storytelling. As the storyteller’s tongue wove golden lotus flowers, waves of applause erupted in the teahouse.

The scars from last year’s rebellion-sparked warfare had long since vanished. Damaged houses had all been repaired—those with means repaired their own, those without were repaired by the government. The aristocratic families had even donated to establish charity halls, where orphans and elderly victims were all cared for. Everything appeared peaceful and prosperous.

But while external wounds could be repaired and covered over, internal trauma inevitably lingered. On the rain-swept, empty street, crying suddenly rang out, accompanied by a woman’s shouts.

People in the teahouses and wine shops heard it. Their laughter and conversation paused. Some looked outside, but most were accustomed to it.

“Auntie Jiang has had another episode,” someone said, shaking their head while looking at the chess board on the table. “How did no one watch her?”

“Only a sick, elderly mother-in-law left in that household. Can’t keep an eye on her every moment,” the opponent said gravely, considering which move to make.

“I said long ago she should be sent to the charity hall. Old Madam Jiang can barely care for herself, yet still has to look after a madwoman,” said someone watching the game.

A shop assistant carrying a teapot to refill tea chimed in, “How could Old Madam Jiang bear it? Her daughter-in-law is her only remaining relative. Even mad, she’s still family.”

Just then, the woman had also run to the doorway. Drenched in the heavy rain, bedraggled and disheveled, she seemed completely unaware, only continuously shouting, “Help! Murder—”

People standing at the entrance could roughly guess what happened. Someone asked, “Her family died at the hands of the rebel traitor Xiao Xun, didn’t they?”

The person nearby nodded. “Her husband and two sons were conscripted as laborers. They encountered government troops, who said they wanted to practice and used them as targets—all killed.”

Everyone knew how detestable and cruel rebel traitor Xiao Xun’s forces had been back then, driving even previously submissive aristocratic families to rise up in righteous rebellion with the people and pledge loyalty to the court. Sure enough, this woman was a victim of the rebel army.

“Pitiful,” everyone said, shaking their heads.

Unable to bear watching, someone rushed out to wrap the madwoman in oiled cloth, shouting, “Auntie Jiang, go home quickly! The bad people have already been killed—don’t worry!”

Auntie Jiang murmured, “Bad people… killed?”

That person nodded. “Yes! The Empress’s troops came in and killed all the bad people. Your husband and sons have been avenged. Go home quickly!”

Auntie Jiang looked around. “Bad people… really… killed?”

The people standing around all nodded. “Yes, yes, all the bad people were killed.” “The Empress has already avenged you.”

These words weren’t just to pacify Auntie Jiang—they were facts everyone knew.

But hearing the voices around her, Auntie Jiang stood frozen for a moment, then became even more frenzied. She tore off the oiled cloth and headbutted the person trying to help her.

“Bad people! Murder! Murder—Help! Help—”

She screamed and cried, tears streaming down as she ran wildly through the streets.

The people around watched helplessly, shaking their heads in pity. “No use—she’s mad. Doesn’t know anything, can’t understand anything.”

The madwoman ran off crying and shouting in the heavy rain. The people along the street discussed it briefly, withdrew their gazes, and continued drinking tea, playing chess, and listening to stories.

Not until the madwoman was dazed and exhausted did she stop. Fortunately, even in madness she knew her way home. She stumbled and swayed toward it. As dusk fell and the heavy rain made visibility dim, before a low house, it was as if an extra black wall had appeared.

The madwoman stood confused, then saw it was several people. They wore black oiled cloth that covered nearly all their heads and faces.

“Auntie Jiang,” the leader called.

The madwoman didn’t know her own name and didn’t care whether what was ahead were people or a wall. She stumbled forward, murmuring, “Murder… help—”

The human wall parted.

“Auntie Jiang,” the leader said again. “Who committed murder?”

Auntie Jiang, who had rushed forward, staggered and fell to the ground. Muddy water splashed on her face but didn’t block her vision. She saw that as these people moved, brilliant golden python patterns showed beneath their black oiled cloth—

“Auntie Jiang,” the voice continued falling. “Who killed your husband and sons?”

Who? Everyone knew, everyone knew—why ask this way? Auntie Jiang stumbled to her feet and rushed through the door of her home.

The people behind didn’t follow inside, but their voices did.

“Did you see the murderer?”

The murderer? The murderer?

Auntie Jiang burst inside and crashed into a table. Her soaked, disheveled hair covered her face. Beneath the tangled hair, her eyes held not a trace of confusion or stupidity but were red as blood, tears pouring out and streaming down her face.

Someone could actually hear.

Someone had actually come to ask.

“Help, murder,” she said hoarsely and soundlessly.

—

Late at night, someone knocked at the Wei residence. Normally at such a late hour, no Wei master would receive visitors, but upon learning the caller wore python-patterned robes with a long sword at his waist, the Wei family’s eldest master personally came out to receive him.

As a meritorious official who had led Han Commandery’s people in killing Xiao Xun’s soldiers and pledging loyalty to the Empress, the Wei family could practically stand on equal footing with the current commandery officials—just like before.

But unlike before, the commandery now had a new government office: the Imperial Guard.

The Wei family had long heard of the Imperial Guard’s fearsome reputation—directly subordinate to the Empress alone, wearing imperially bestowed python patterns, wielding power over life and death.

Deng Yi had been forced to leave precisely because of the Imperial Guard’s might.

This pack of wolves suddenly visiting tonight made Wei’s eldest master feel somewhat uneasy.

But for over half a year, the Imperial Guard in Han Commandery had been as quiet as if they didn’t exist, never interfering with the commandery government’s affairs.

After all, the commandery had just been recovered—surely they couldn’t immediately stir up unrest among officials and people, or the Empress’s reputation would suffer.

Wei’s eldest master emerged with a smile, greeting the leading official. Though the Imperial Guard had been quiet, everyone knew their names.

This Vice Commander Zhu Yong, stationed in the northern recovered territories for the Imperial Guard, was also renowned. One could say that it was because of him that the Empress established the Imperial Guard in the first place.

“Lord Zhu,” Wei’s eldest master saluted. “What instructions do you have?”

“Master Wei,” Zhu Yong said, “someone has accused your Wei family of brutally killing common people, so this official has come to inquire.”

The heavy rain outside created a rushing sound that made his voice seem almost jesting, and his face wore a smile too.

But this Hanlin-educated official’s heart was no longer as gentle as his appearance suggested. Wei’s eldest master also smiled. “Lord Zhu, where does this come from?”

“From when rebel forces occupied the commandery city,” Zhu Yong said. “Your Wei family managed laborers for the rebels. One day, you summoned thirty laborers, saying they would dig trenches. But when the laborers arrived, your son, Young Master Wei, led people in driving this group of laborers for hunting sport. All thirty were shot dead on the spot.”

Wei’s eldest master laughed again, saying to his attendants, “This is truly absurd—how could such a thing happen—”

“Laborer Jiang Shu and his two sons forgot to bring their carrying baskets before coming. His wife, fearing they’d be late and penalized, rushed to bring the baskets and happened to witness this scene,” Zhu Yong said, his eyes gazing darkly at him.

Wei’s eldest master frowned. Jiang Shu? How would he know what laborers were called? He cared even less about their wives—unless they were delicate beauties of exceptional looks.

“Auntie Jiang originally accepted her fate—dying under rebel rule was just bad luck, and she still had an elderly mother-in-law to care for. The whole family couldn’t all die. She endured the heartbreak, watching her husband and sons die horribly. She hid silently, preserved her life, and escaped home. But unexpectedly, your Wei family turned around and pledged loyalty to the Empress, claiming those who died were killed by rebels, transforming yourselves into meritorious officials who suppressed the rebellion,” Zhu Yong said. “Auntie Jiang dared not reveal this secret even more and could only feign madness, crying injustice through the streets, but no one could investigate—”

Hearing this, Wei’s eldest master, who had been frowning, sat down and picked up his teacup, interrupting Zhu Yong’s words.

“Or rather, no one dared investigate,” he said. Without questioning, rebuking, or angrily demanding confrontation, he smiled and asked, “Is that what Lord Zhu means to say?”

Zhu Yong looked at him. “So Master Wei admits it?”

Wei’s eldest master waved his hand. “True or false—let’s set that aside for now. I know if the Imperial Guard wants to investigate, there are countless ways to do so. These old bones of mine can’t withstand investigation either.”

He looked at Zhu Yong.

“But before you investigate, I want to ask one question first.”

“Isn’t it fine the way things are now?”

The words seemed disconnected, but Zhu Yong understood his meaning and opened his mouth to respond.

Wei’s eldest master interrupted him again, smiling faintly—a gentle smile, yet also arrogant.

“Lord Zhu, you’re not qualified to answer this matter,” he said. “You need to ask the Empress.”

—

The Imperial Guard’s urgent message flew swiftly to the capital.

Chu Zhao sat by the window, looking at the clear sunlight, and sighed softly.

“It seems they’re not afraid of me at all,” she said, then smiled. “Well, what is there about me to fear?”