That day before dawn, Xie Xiaohua went to knock on the study door as usual. After knocking for a long time with no response, he pushed the door open and entered.

The master rarely slept late. Even on rest days at home, he rose punctually.

What was the matter today?

Upon entering, he first smelled a thick sandalwood fragrance.

Strange—the master most detested men wearing this fragrance or that fragrance. Where was this sandalwood scent coming from?

So Xie Xiaohua took it upon himself to open the window. In the morning light, he saw the master lying stiffly flat on the bed.

“Master?”

“Master, it’s time to rise!”

He called twice with no response. Xie Xiaohua walked forward and gently pushed the person…

Moments later, a shocked, anguished scream pierced the sky.

Cabinet Minister Xie Daozhi had committed suicide by poison. He died in his study, his clothes properly arranged, his hair combed without a strand out of place, his face calm and peaceful.

If not for the stream of black blood at the corner of his mouth, he looked just like he was sleeping as usual.

There had been no prior warning whatsoever.

After returning to the manor in the middle of the night, Xie Daozhi saw that the old madam had already gone to sleep, so he went back to his study. He hadn’t even called his eldest son to his side for a few more words of instruction.

He hadn’t even left a single word behind. What was pressed under the paperweight on the desk was that letter Yan Xing had written to him many years ago.

When Xie Zhifei stumbled his way back to the Xie manor, the body had not yet been placed in the coffin.

Xie Daozhi lay there, quiet and peaceful.

The only change was that both cheeks had deeply sunken in.

He walked forward step by step, tremblingly extended his hand, and touched Xie Daozhi’s face.

Usually this face had no particular expression. Many people described this face as one of deep calculation and cunning.

But Xie Zhifei knew how animated it could be when glaring at him in anger.

He would raise his brows, widen his eyes, deliberately put on a fierce appearance, yet Xie Zhifei wasn’t afraid—the light flowing from his eyes was warm, with laughter hidden inside.

You can’t do this.

We still have accounts to settle between us.

Xie Zhifei grabbed the dead man’s front lapel with one hand, his entire face twisted with rage.

“Get up! Get up… you can’t die, what right do you have to die… get up… get up for me…”

“Third Son!”

“Third Brother!”

“Third Brother!”

“Third Master!”

“Third Son…”

Xie Zhifei turned around in bewilderment, looking at the faces before him, grabbing hold of one.

He couldn’t see clearly who he’d grabbed, only saying urgently, “Did you hear? He called me Third Son—he’s still calling me Third Son!”

“Third Master.”

Xie Xiaohua’s face was covered in tears. “The master has… passed!”

“No! No! No!”

Xie Zhifei roared.

“He called me Third Son, just called me! Are you deaf? Are all of you deaf?”

No one answered him. What answered him were the rising and falling sounds of weeping.

Why are you crying?

Just a few hours ago, he was still waiting for me at the city gate!

He asked me to walk with him.

He asked me if the medicine was bitter.

I wanted to say it was bitter—so bitter I could die—but I didn’t say it out loud. I kept a cold face toward him.

I hated him!

How could he scheme against the Zheng family like that?

Xie Zhifei turned around in confusion, looking at the person sleeping on the bed.

Now what?

Who do I hate?

Who should I hate?

Tears finally gushed from Xie Zhifei’s eyes. At the same time, a bloody taste surged in his throat.

He opened his mouth and spat out a mouthful of black blood.

“Xie Wu-shi.”

Pei Xiao’s soul nearly left his body in fright. He stepped forward and embraced him tightly from behind.

This embrace suddenly reminded Xie Zhifei of a year ago, also in this study, when he saw him lying prone at the desk and went over.

Two streams of turbid tears rolled from his eyes as he choked out:

“Third Son, in this lifetime, your father no longer has a father!”

Xie Zhifei struggled to push Pei Xiao away, fell to his knees on the ground, and cried out heart-wrenchingly toward the person on the bed:

“Father—”

…

The dead cannot be revived, but funeral affairs must be handled: setting up the mourning hall, placing the body in the coffin, making the casket, reporting the death to friends and family…

Every single matter required someone to make decisions.

The old madam, shocked by the news of her son’s death, couldn’t catch her breath and fainted directly.

Madam Wu and Concubine Liu wept in utter grief.

The three sons and two daughters were each more heartbroken than the last.

At this critical moment, the eldest daughter-in-law Zhu Weixi shouldered the burden, working together with Xie Xiaohua to have people handle each matter one by one.

The person reporting the death arrived at the villa. Yan Sanhe didn’t ask how Xie Zhifei was, but instead asked in great detail about Xie Daozhi’s death.

She asked several times before letting the person leave.

Seeing her ask so meticulously, Li Buyan couldn’t help but ask, “Sanhe, do you think there’s something suspicious about Xie Daozhi’s death?”

Yan Sanhe was silent for a long time before shaking her head. “No, I just feel he shouldn’t have committed suicide at this time.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

Yan Sanhe’s pupils darkened.

“Because a soft-hearted person wouldn’t use such a vicious scheme against the Zheng family. And also because, Zhao Yishi already said he would suppress the matter—what reason would he have to die?”

“Could it be guilt?”

“He lived fine for ten years. To feel guilty now…”

Yan Sanhe’s voice was soft and trembling. “Wouldn’t that be a bit too late?”

Li Buyan: “…”

Rumbling thunder came from the distance.

Yan Sanhe looked up at the dark, heavy sky and suddenly felt confused and at a loss.

Xie Daozhi was dead. Not only did her heart feel no satisfaction of great revenge, instead there was an indescribable heaviness.

Why?

“Buyan, accompany me to the Xie family to pay respects.”

“Didn’t you say you’d never step foot in the Xie manor again in this life?”

“I’m worried about Third Master.”

…

Xie Sanye sat in the mourning hall, his entire person dazed and foolish.

When people came to pay respects, when he heard “bow,” he kowtowed; when he heard “rise,” he straightened—like a puppet on strings.

“Miss Yan has arrived—”

Yan Sanhe entered the mourning hall, her gaze immediately falling on Xie Zhifei.

This person wore full mourning garments, kneeling on the ground, his eye sockets sunken, his gaze hollow.

He didn’t look toward Yan Sanhe. His gaze was fixed on the coffin beside him, as if hoping the person inside could open their eyes and walk out.

Yan Sanhe’s heart suddenly ached.

Last night, he had asked her where they first met.

He didn’t know that scene was etched in her mind.

At the end of a dim alley, he stood with one foot on the ground, one foot against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, slowly curving a smile toward her.

An air of carefree indifference.

How wonderful that had been!

Asking for a beating, yet full of youthful vigor.

Not like now.

Yan Sanhe withdrew her gaze, walked before the spirit altar, took up a stick of incense, lit it in the candle flame, inserted it into the incense burner, then knelt and kowtowed.

Because they were of the same generation, the family members only bowed their bodies and lowered their heads.

After the last kowtow, Yan Sanhe nodded to Xie Erli. “Take care.”

Xie Erli’s eyes brimmed with tears. Just as he was about to speak, he heard someone shouting outside.

“His Highness the Crown Prince has arrived—”