It wasn’t that Su Jin hadn’t considered that the lord in the ink-colored sedan chair might be Liu Yun.

Among officials who needed to be distinguished by different-colored transport from the two imperial envoys, there were only a few. If not imperial relatives, then only a few who had been granted noble titles, and then there was Liu Yun—regent and chief minister.

Though she had guessed it, she quickly dismissed the idea.

With Zhu Yushen personally campaigning in Annan, Liu Yun and Qingyue jointly managing court affairs—at this juncture, why would he appear in Shu?

Su Jin looked again at the two people behind Liu Chaoming, paused, and recognized them as Wei Jiang, the Assistant Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and Li Qiong, the censor who had escorted her into Jiangxi when she was exiled years ago.

Rain suddenly began to fall.

The wind had blown all night, but the rain wasn’t heavy—just a few sparse drops sprinkling down, more like the clouds had suddenly grown compassionate and wanted to soothe the ceaseless night wind.

Only after the rain began did Liu Chaoming’s gaze inadvertently fall on Su Jin. He paused briefly, then looked away. His voice was very faint: “Why are you here?”

Su Jin felt somewhat at a loss, not knowing how to face him.

The bone-deep pain from three years ago still made her heart palpitate when she recalled it. But three years had passed—the pain hadn’t subsided, yet the hatred had faded. Perhaps she had finally convinced herself with the phrase “victors become kings, losers become bandits.” If she had been the one who won back then, his fate might not have been better than her current situation.

But there was no debt of gratitude either. She felt no gratitude for the mercy he showed her at the end, nor did she want to calculate whether he had saved Zhu Nanxian’s life.

In that whirlpool, who owed whom, who wronged whom—it had never been clear to begin with.

So she could only forget both kindness and grievances, instead tracing her memories back further—to the misty spring days along the Qinhuai River, to when he asked if she was willing to enter the Imperial Censorate and follow him from then on, to become a censor who guarded her heart with unwavering dedication.

Cycles repeating, she could only revert to her original respectful posture. She performed a serious bow and answered: “Because I happened to learn that the county magistrate of Pingchuan County in Shu was using the new policies as a pretext to oppress the people and seize their land. I wanted to file a petition. I never expected to encounter Your Lordship.”

Liu Chaoming gave a faint “mm.”

The rain grew slightly denser. Zhang Zhengcai had not yet recovered from the fact that Su Xie was actually Su Shiyu. Seeing Su Jin treating the personage in the eastern courtyard with such respect, he was so shocked his liver and gallbladder felt shattered.

No official in the various prefectures of Shu knew this lord’s identity. They only knew he had come to Shu for other important matters and did not ordinarily receive visitors.

Now seeing that even the once-famous Lord Su treated him with such respect, who could he be?

What else could he be?

Zhang Zhengcai’s legs went weak. Thinking again of Su Jin’s earlier words about “oppressing the people and seizing their land,” he immediately fell to his knees, stammering “guilty” twice, but his words were drowned out by the wind and rain and couldn’t be heard at all.

Liu Chaoming’s gaze didn’t stray elsewhere. He asked: “Since you’re filing a petition, do you have evidence and a written complaint?”

Su Jin said: “I have evidence, but there was an accident along the way. The so-called evidence is no longer sufficient to serve as conclusive proof. If Your Lordship requires a written complaint, this commoner can write it immediately. However, this matter is somewhat complex. If Your Lordship reads the complaint and can spare time to hear this commoner explain the full sequence of events, that would be best.”

The so-called accident referred to Old Master Jiang signing and marking the mulberry field deed.

Su Jin had originally wanted to discuss with Zhai Di first before writing the complaint. Who knew she wouldn’t see Zhai Di but would instead encounter Liu Yun? Knowing he was especially rigorous about official business and that nothing could violate proper procedures, she could only answer “I’ll write the complaint immediately.”

If it were the past, he would have scolded, “Without a written complaint, what petition is there?” and then sent her away with a closed door.

But today, whether feelings had grown shallow or hatred had faded, he stood silently for a moment, gave another “mm,” dropped the line “Come in and write the complaint,” then turned and went back into the eastern courtyard.

The eastern courtyard was also divided into front and rear sections. Following a corridor to the left until it ended, one reached the passage.

Rain fell in the evening, rustling through leaves. The night was already dark, and the wind and rain added to the vastness. One could almost mistake the high walls on both sides of the passage for palace walls.

The rear eastern courtyard wasn’t large either. A patch of bamboo was planted in the courtyard. The lights in all the rooms were extinguished, except one that was bright as day. At a glance, Su Jin knew that was Liu Yun’s study.

Wei Jiang and Li Qiong led Tan Zhaolin to an adjacent room to rest temporarily. Su Jin alone followed Liu Chaoming into the study.

Standing at the door, she again felt at a loss. She watched him walk to the desk, pick up an ink stick and grind ink, take a fine wolf-hair brush and place it on the brush rest, then say quite indifferently: “Write here.” Then he selected a case file and went to sit elsewhere.

Su Jin spread out a sheet of paper, pondered for a moment, then put brush to paper and wrote a petition.

With something in her hands, her thoughts weren’t as chaotic as before. She worked with focus and was skilled with brush and ink. In just a moment, she had neatly written the complaint.

Liu Chaoming read it through without comment. After a while, he set down the complaint, moved to the cabinet, and took out a letter to hand to her.

The letter was sealed with wax, indicating it was extremely confidential. Su Jin shouldn’t have read it, but thinking carefully, it should relate to the case of the mulberry fields in Cuiwei Town. She spared herself the affectation and took it to read carefully.

Who knew that the more she read, the more alarmed she became. According to the letter, officials exploiting loopholes in the new policies to oppress the people and seize their land—Cuiwei Town was far from the only place. From Shandong and Shanxi in the north to Yunnan, Guizhou, and Guangxi in the south, there were actually forty-seven locations in total.

Su Jin was stunned for a long moment. The emotions she had just sorted out became tangled again, this time in confusion over the case.

“Your Lordship already knew about Cuiwei Town?”

Liu Chaoming said: “I only knew of it. The full sequence of events wasn’t as clear as what’s in your complaint. There are too many constraints, and I haven’t had time to investigate each case thoroughly.”

Su Jin hesitated, wanting to ask what he meant by “constraints.” After thinking about it, she figured it was nothing more than local officials and gentry, and factional struggles in court.

In any case, it concerned court politics. She shouldn’t pry.

So she changed to a different puzzle: “As far as I know, the new garrison field policy was first implemented in the spring of Yongji Year Two, which is exactly three years ago. How did Your Lordship manage to discover forty-seven prefecture and county officials oppressing people, seizing land, and exploiting the populace in just three short years?”

Liu Chaoming looked at her, was silent for a moment, and didn’t hide it: “I mobilized the Embroidered Uniform Guard.”

Hearing these words, Su Jin was simultaneously enlightened and astonished.

Enlightened because she had just been wondering why Imperial Guards would appear in Shu—Liu Yun had given her the answer so quickly.

And astonished because of the consequences of mobilizing the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard and Liu Yun had always had some unclear entanglement, but the current court was no longer in factional chaos.

Zhu Yushen’s imperial position was gradually stabilizing. Liu Chaoming was a civil official. Even if he held the great power of regent, he had no authority to command the Imperial Guards, who should only obey the emperor.

This was an extremely grave crime.

Su Jin couldn’t help but say again: “Your Lordship, in mobilizing the Embroidered Uniform Guard, did you petition His Majesty for approval?”

Who knew that upon hearing this, Liu Chaoming fell silent again. After a long while, he said faintly: “No.”

But before Su Jin could speak, he added: “The various complications here are complex and cannot be explained in a few words. You need not ask.”

With that short sentence, he cut off the conversation.

Su Jin had nothing more to ask.

She and Liu Chaoming sat across from each other, waiting for his response to the Cuiwei Town mulberry field case. As she waited, she grew somewhat anxious but didn’t dare urge him. Gradually calming down, her thoughts drifted away—to events from three years ago, five years ago, seven or eight years ago, more than ten years ago, when she first entered office, full of ambition yet utterly confused.

Her heart and eyes filled to overflowing with these thoughts. Then gradually she began to understand somewhat—in her ten years as an official, the best time had been those two years as a censor.

Before becoming a censor, she was too lost. After becoming a censor, though she was promoted to vice minister, then minister, and eventually to the position below one person and above all other officials, in the end she had been trapped in power struggles and lost that purity.

Her thoughts reaching this point, she felt like speaking up and asking Liu Yun how the Imperial Censorate was doing now.

But the words came to her lips, and she thought that she and he had each experienced earth-shattering catastrophes. Though most of their kindness and resentment had dissipated and she still considered him an old friend in her heart, on the surface they couldn’t even count as old friends, much less should she bring up matters concerning old friends.

Liu Chaoming seemed to have finally considered everything properly. He put away the complaint and said: “I already know about Cuiwei Town. I’ll have Zhai Di seek you out to investigate thoroughly. You… where are you staying?”

“Yunlai Inn on Liuyang Street.” Su Jin said.

She had wanted to say that Qiguang had probably already found Yunlai Inn tonight, but Liu Yun was sharp of ear and clear of eye—he might well know already.

Since he didn’t mention a word about Qiguang’s whereabouts, why should she?

“But I’ll be leaving in the next couple of days,” Su Jin added. “After all, I’m no longer someone in court. Seeing how pitiful the townspeople of Cuiwei are, I want to help them before I leave, so they won’t be unable to sustain even their livelihood. That’s why I came to the reception temple tonight.”

Liu Chaoming only responded with one word: “Good.” Indicating he already knew.

The candle on the desk had burned for a long time, its flame like a bean.

Su Jin, thinking the matter here was concluded, stood up, meaning to leave. Liu Chaoming also stood with her and took the first step to the study door, opening it for her.

Having known each other for so many years—traveling the same road, arguing, parting ways, being incompatible as fire and water in mortal struggle—it was rare for them to be this courteous to each other.

As if separated by distant mountains and far waters.

Outside, rain was still falling, denser than before. Li Qiong in the adjacent room heard the door opening and also stepped out.

He had prepared umbrellas for Su Jin and Tan Zhaolin each, and led them from the side, intending to escort them out of the reception temple.

Who knew the three hadn’t even walked out of the courtyard when they saw Wei Jiang hurrying toward them from ahead, holding a sealed letter in his hand. Seeing Su Jin, he said: “Lord Su, please wait.” Taking three steps as two, he reached Liu Chaoming and presented the sealed letter.

Liu Chaoming opened the letter and looked. In his usually waveless eyes, a mass of darkness suddenly sank to the bottom.

He raised his eyes and looked toward Su Jin through the vast night rain.

…

A bit earlier, when the wind had just risen and the rain hadn’t yet fallen.

Not long after Su Jin left Yunlai Inn, after Zhu Nanxian waited for the doctor to finish examining Shuxiang and learned she wasn’t seriously hurt, he instructed her to rest well, then took Yun Xi back to his room.

He planned to take Su Jin and Yun Xi to leave Shu once matters here were concluded. Where they would go wasn’t yet decided—it ultimately depended on the situation. If they couldn’t go south, they’d go north, or perhaps cross the seas to the east.

He was just discussing this with Yun Xi when suddenly someone knocked on the door outside.

Jiang Ci stood at the doorway, calling out in a low voice: “Master.”

Glancing and seeing Yun Xi, he hesitated even more. After a long while, he asked: “Is Aunt Xiang better?”

In these past couple of days, he had changed from his usual reckless and carefree manner, becoming silent and sullen. But an eleven-year-old child wore everything he was thinking on his face.

Zhu Nanxian glanced at him and opened the door wide: “Come in.”

Entering the room, Jiang Ci didn’t sit down. His hands hung at his sides clenched into fists. Suddenly he bowed low: “Master, Yun Xi, I, I apologize on behalf of Father, Elder Sister, and myself to you both.”

He seemed unable to bear his shame and didn’t dare raise his head to look at them. He only bit his lip and said: “Egging Yun Xi on to climb Cuiwei Mountain the other day, troubling Master and Young Master Su to rescue Father this morning, and tonight Qin’er causing Aunt Xiang to be injured—I remember all of these. In the future—all will be repaid by me, Jiang Ci.”

Zhu Nanxian laughed despite himself: “You don’t owe me anything. Just causing less trouble is already very good. What’s this talk of repaying or not repaying?”

“Who says I don’t owe?” Jiang Ci insisted. “What the Jiang family owes Master is what I, Jiang Ci, owe Master.”

He raised his eyes, glancing quickly at Zhu Nanxian, his face flushing as he said: “Master, you taught me that the military officers of Great Sui have responsibilities—to guard, to protect, to fight, to preserve life. They should be open and candid, not owing anyone their whole lives, not owing their families or their country. The Jiang family has military registration. In the future, I want to inherit the military registration and enlist. If I can’t even repay what I owe Master, then I, Jiang Ci, am not worthy of possessing this military registration!”

Zhu Nanxian was somewhat surprised.

He had entered the military camp since childhood, receiving careful instruction from several great generals. The oath of Great Sui’s military officers—he had silently pledged it to himself many times. He didn’t know which idle moment he had mentioned it to Jiang Ci, never expecting he would remember it so firmly.

Looking at him more carefully, his small face was full of stubbornness, but the gaze beneath his thick brows was clear and resolute.

Zhu Nanxian had never truly treated Jiang Ci as a disciple. Hearing him call him master, he only thought it was a child playing around and let him be. Who knew that at this moment, he would inexplicably feel a bit of what it meant to be someone’s teacher.

He was silent for a moment and was about to speak when suddenly he heard a commotion outside. At the same time, commanding voices came from downstairs in the inn: “Apprehending criminal suspects! Everyone come to the main hall!”