Chu Linlang said she must have remembered wrong and changed the subject.

But after leaving Hu Shi’s room, a layer of frost seemed to settle over Chu Linlang’s face — it appeared that Zhou’s romantic tendencies had not diminished, and that he had found new diversions upon arriving in the capital.

Had this been back in Lianzhou, she might have charged in without waiting and confronted Zhou Sui’an on the spot, demanding answers.

But now, barely a year had passed — she had lived through the turmoil of him taking a concubine, then spent months separated from Zhou Sui’an, and when she saw the man who shared her bed once more, she was struck by a peculiar sense of estrangement.

She even found herself thinking: why bother making things so clear? She simply needed to manage her own present affairs.

They said a grown son no longer listens to his mother — and Zhou Sui’an was certainly not her beloved son. Why should she dig into every minor detail, only to invite trouble and annoy people?

With the Zhou womenfolk newly arrived in the capital, unfamiliar with the people and the land, they naturally needed someone to guide them in settling in. Zhou Sui’an was one of the Sixth Prince’s men, and so the Sixth Prince’s consort naturally took on this responsibility.

And so, taking advantage of the autumn chrysanthemums blooming in the garden, the Sixth Prince’s consort organized a garden flower gathering, inviting well-connected women of the capital as well as the Zhou family’s womenfolk to come and admire the chrysanthemums.

Zhao Shi, with her daughter Zhou Xiuling at her side, settled among a group of senior ladies and exchanged pleasantries with them, making sure to mention in passing that she had another younger daughter at home — in a couple more years, Xiuling would also be of marriageable age.

Originally, Zhao Shi had envisioned finding Xiuling an ordinary landed gentry household and calling it good. But now, having laid eyes on the splendor of the capital, her ambitions had risen along with it — she felt that only a man of outstanding excellence would be worthy of an official’s younger sister.

Unfortunately, these grand aspirations were quickly shattered. Though she hinted tactfully and obliquely at her daughter’s age, the surrounding ladies merely smiled politely and did not continue the conversation — none of them showed much enthusiasm for playing matchmaker for Madam Zhao.

After all, this was the thriving capital. Toss a stone and you could hit a cluster of fifth-rank officials. A sixth-rank administrative officer like Zhou Sui’an was nothing out of the ordinary. Moreover, the Zhou family had come from outside, still carrying the dust of the provinces, their depths unknown — no one was inclined to draw close.

One exchange after another ended in awkward silence, and Zhao Shi’s self-esteem took a blow, leaving her listless and barely inclined to respond when spoken to.

Fortunately, there was an acquaintance from Jizhou at the gathering — before long, the second young lady of the Xie family arrived in the sitting room, following behind her elder sister.

Perhaps it was the favorable air of the capital — the second Miss Xie appeared considerably more amiable than she had been in Jizhou. It wasn’t long before she had settled herself beside the Zhou family’s womenfolk and was speaking cheerfully with Madam Zhao.

Chu Linlang and the second Miss Xie had never had much to talk about, so she moved to sit beside the Sixth Prince’s consort, lending a hand with tea and refreshments, listening far more than she spoke.

From the back-and-forth conversations among the ladies, she managed to pick up quite a few interesting pieces of news.

For instance — after the Emperor had stripped Prince Tai of his power, he had been confined to the Lingquan Temple, where he spent his days eating vegetarian fare and striking a wooden fish drum. The Fourth Prince, having been reprimanded by the Emperor and ordered to remain at home in self-reflection for several months, had now been reinstated — yet his influence was nothing like it once was, and he no longer dared to challenge the Crown Prince as he once had.

But from the Emperor’s manner, it seemed his appetite for justice was not yet satisfied. In recent days, he had been sending case dossiers to the Court of Judicial Review in a steady stream, ordering a purge of Prince Tai’s remaining faction. The majority of these cases passed through Situ Sheng’s hands.

But those who were arrested hardly confessed readily.

This former junior tutor to the imperial princes had reinvented himself entirely, revealing an unexpected talent for the ruthless methods of a harsh official. Not one person he had interrogated had failed to confess.

The Emperor was pleased — he now had a sharp blade he could use — yet Situ Sheng’s reputation had grown increasingly tarnished.

In particular, he had recently interrogated an elder statesman, a man with many disciples, several of whom were renowned scholars of their generation.

Upon hearing that their teacher had been humiliated, they were outraged and submitted direct remonstrations to the Emperor, declaring that the dynasty had always upheld the principle that punishment did not extend to men of learning and refinement, and that Situ Sheng’s conduct was a gross insult to scholarly dignity.

The Emperor found their argument reasonable and issued a decree demanding an explanation from the Vice President of the Court of Judicial Review — why had he so humiliated an elder official?

But Situ Sheng proved relentlessly uncompromising. Upon hearing the Emperor’s rebuke, he immediately ordered the old official — still bearing the marks of punishment — to be brought into the hall, then declared that every punishment the old official had received would now be administered to him, Situ Sheng, in equal measure.

In his own words at the time: since the Emperor had rebuked him, he owed the elder official an apology.

Yet once the apology was made, as long as the case remained in his jurisdiction, he would continue to investigate.

If the elder official believed himself untouchable and stubbornly refused to confess, then he, Situ Sheng, would keep him company until they had worked through every instrument in the Ministry of Justice’s entire collection.

This brutal exchange — in which both men endured punishment together — had become the most talked-about topic in private circles throughout the capital. According to those present, Situ Sheng would first endure a round of punishment in front of the slippery old official, then administer the same to him in turn.

This was more tormenting, in its way, than simply applying punishment directly — eyes and body were forced to suffer through it twice. Moreover, Situ Sheng truly could endure pain: when the boards struck him, he made no sound at all.

But how could the old official bear it? He had originally believed that stirring up his disciples to petition the Emperor on his behalf would spare him from punishment and let him weather this ordeal.

He never imagined that Situ Sheng would respond by “accompanying him in receiving punishment” — an approach that telegraphed a willingness to drag things out until both sides were ruined. This shattered the old schemer’s psychological defenses entirely, leaving him with no more hope, and in the end he confessed.

When the disciples came to visit and saw their teacher a bloody mess, they rushed weeping back to the Emperor — not to say a word about their teacher’s crimes of corruption and betrayal of public trust, but only to demand: where were the ancestral rules of the dynasty protecting men of refinement from punishment? Where was the dignity of scholarship?

The Emperor replied with exasperation: “Lord Situ received the punishment first, made his apology in advance, and gave every demonstration of sincerity — how can that be called an insult to scholarly dignity? Bear in mind, he did nothing deserving of punishment himself, yet still endured it alongside your teacher. And you would still argue on behalf of a treasonous official? Would you prefer I be dragged off the Dragon Throne and flogged to restore the dignity of scholarship?”

This response finally sent the group of self-righteous scholars retreating in defeat. From that point on, Situ Sheng’s label as a “ruthless official” was firmly and irreversibly attached to him.

Since ancient times, offending men of letters carried the risk of having one’s reputation utterly destroyed and leaving an eternal stain on one’s name. Situ Sheng had walked straight into precisely this kind of great taboo — how could his reputation possibly be good?

Under normal circumstances, a young official favored by the Emperor would have unlimited prospects before him, and if still unmarried, would have been an exceptionally sought-after match.

But now, whenever the capital’s women heard the name “Situ Sheng,” they felt as though a storm of blood and rain were rushing toward them, and they shrank back in panic, wanting nothing more than to avoid him.

Think about it — a man who spent his days immersed among instruments of punishment, who didn’t even spare himself: how hard-hearted must he be?

If you married into his household as his wife, you’d need a body built for endurance just to last to old age!

None of these ladies’ precious daughters could be given to such a ruthless and terrifying man!

Chu Linlang listened for a stretch and found nothing in it particularly surprising. Situ Sheng had always been that kind of person.

After all, of all these people, she was probably the only one who had witnessed, in his younger days, the ferocity with which he’d thrown stones at someone with his own hands.

Speak of the devil and he appears. Right in the middle of all the ladies’ spirited discussion, the Sixth Prince returned to the princely residence, accompanied by several officials — one of whom was none other than Situ Sheng, the iron-handed Vice President they had all just been talking about.

Perhaps to avoid blood spattering his clothes during interrogations, he was not wearing a white robe, but instead was dressed in a somber black robe with a long cape of the same color. His presence carried a faint air of pressure.

As he strode down the corridor with calm, unhurried steps, even those who privately despised and looked down on his character could not help but let their gaze settle on the strikingly handsome Vice President.

Chu Linlang also watched for a moment — though what she was watching was not Situ Sheng, but her husband Zhou Sui’an, who was likewise following behind the Sixth Prince.

She noticed that Zhou Sui’an had the plum-blossom satin sachet hanging conspicuously at his waist, swaying back and forth as he walked.

By the time the Sixth Prince and his retinue disappeared around the far end of the corridor, the garden returned to laughter and conversation.

The topic of discussion now turned to how the Emperor, having stripped Prince Tai of his authority, had come to look upon the Sixth Prince with great favor, showering him with recognition — it seemed the Emperor had intentions of cultivating the Sixth Prince and entrusting him with greater responsibilities…

It was only after the gathering that Chu Linlang learned the real reason Situ Sheng had appeared at the Sixth Prince’s residence — he had come to investigate a case.

Apparently, a steward on one of the Sixth Prince’s estates had been harassing and oppressing people, which had led to a lawsuit. Situ Sheng had taken the steward into custody for a flogging, but the steward happened to be a relative of the Xie family’s aunt by marriage. The mother-in-law had asked for someone to intercede, so the Sixth Prince had invited Situ Sheng over to plead for leniency on his behalf.

To liven the mood, he had also brought along several subordinates who had previously served as officials in Jizhou to drink together.

Unfortunately, Situ Sheng was not one for accommodation. After refusing in cold terms, he proceeded to rebuke the Sixth Prince mercilessly for being weak-willed and allowing himself to be manipulated by the woman at his side.

The Sixth Prince was lectured until his face burned red, unable to find a graceful way to step down — yet he didn’t dare talk back to his former junior tutor.

It wasn’t until Situ Sheng rose and took his leave that the Sixth Prince downed a pot of wine and suddenly smashed his cup, shouting for the Sixth Princess Consort to come and confront the so-called great Vice President of the Court of Judicial Review face to face, to see whether it was he who had been listening to a woman’s bidding.

Zhou Sui’an and the others had to block and restrain him from every side before the situation didn’t escalate further. But news of the Sixth Prince’s drunken ranting against his former mentor still made its way to Situ Sheng’s ears afterward.

The bond between teacher and student seemed to have grown thinner and more distant the further apart they drifted, until it all but vanished.

This matter was hardly a secret, and it quickly became known that the Sixth Prince and Situ Sheng had had an irreconcilable falling out, severing all ties.

It seemed Situ Sheng, having used the Sixth Prince as a stepping stone for his own advancement, was now climbing to higher branches — taking the path of a solitary minister, loyal to the Emperor alone.

On this point, Zhou Sui’an was deeply contemptuous, and came home to roundly curse Situ Sheng for being ungrateful and faithless.

Chu Linlang felt that since it was a matter between teacher and student, Zhou Sui’an had no business getting involved, and should absolutely not speak coldly or mockingly to Situ Sheng’s face.

But the moment she said a few words on the matter, Zhou Sui’an dismissed her with evident impatience.

What could a woman who had just arrived from Jizhou possibly understand! Zhou Sui’an reminded Madam Chu to mind her words and actions in the future — here in the capital, a woman of the inner household should stay out of men’s political affairs.

Truthfully, Chu Linlang had little desire to be involved. She was new to the capital, a complete stranger to everything, and in no position to be of any real help to Zhou Sui’an.

And it wasn’t just the shifting political landscape she couldn’t read — she couldn’t even fully read the man sleeping beside her. In only a few short months of separation, Zhou Sui’an seemed to have changed from head to toe.

The fragrant pear-blossom tea he had always favored had been replaced by the expensive Dongting Biluochun. Before leaving the house, he now burned sandalwood incense worth two taels of silver per unit in the incense burner. At his waist hung a sachet of unknown origin. He didn’t even bother to explain any of it to her.

When Chu Linlang cautiously mentioned that Hu Shi had not, in fact, embroidered any sachet for him, Zhou Sui’an only paused briefly, then said with perfect composure that he must have remembered wrong — Manfu had probably picked it up at an embroidery shop to coordinate with his outfit.

Chu Linlang said nothing. She looked at him quietly, and he showed not the slightest sign of guilt — none of the flustered, rattled manner of someone caught in a lie, as he used to be.

After so many years of marriage, Zhou Sui’an had never been good at deceiving her. Seeing him this composed, she couldn’t help but wonder: could she really be overthinking things?

But ever since the Zhou womenfolk returned to the capital, Zhou Sui’an had been absent from home night after night. Whether it was her room or Hu Shi’s, he was barely seen in either. On the rare nights he came home late, he wouldn’t go to anyone’s room at all — he simply slept in the study by himself.

Even Zhao Shi complained that her son, now that he’d come to the capital, was like a rabbit that had vanished into the forest — never to be glimpsed.

Chu Linlang too began leaving early and returning late. She had originally held an official salt trading permit in her own name, but since she had entrusted the business to Xia He’s elder brother to manage on her behalf, she only received a small share of the rental income from the salt permit each year. This income she had not put into the household’s shared funds — it counted as a small private reserve of her own.

Before arriving in the capital, her elder sister from her family, who had been pressured by their father nearly to the point of divorce, had written Linlang a letter — choosing her words with difficulty, asking her younger half-sister to lend her some money.

Without the funds, her husband’s business couldn’t be saved, and their father Chu Huaisheng would likely come to the capital to force the divorce.

Her elder sister could let go of almost anything — except her two children. Driven to desperation, she had no choice but to swallow her pride and ask Chu Linlang for a loan.

Chu Linlang held deep respect for her elder sister. Though they were not born of the same mother, her elder sister had a gentle temperament — entirely unlike her stepmother or father.

The first new garment Linlang ever received in her life had been made by her elder sister, who had set aside fabric before her own wedding to make it for her — that dress had been so beautiful! Vivid pink like apricot blossoms. Little Linlang had been unable to sleep without clutching it, until that wretched pest had gotten it filthy!

Mindful of her elder sister’s kindness, Chu Linlang, having now settled in, arranged to meet her elder sister Chu Jinyin at a tea house.

Chu Jinyin had previously been turned away when trying to borrow money from the family home, and when she approached her own full younger sister, she had been met with mockery and dismissal, leaving her utterly humiliated.

After so much hardship, she could hardly have expected that this half-sister, who had always kept a certain distance from her siblings, would lend her the money without a moment’s hesitation.

Looking at the bank notes Chu Linlang placed in her hands, Chu Jinyin was so moved she hardly knew what to do with herself — especially when she heard Chu Linlang bring up the old memory of the dress she had made for her. She, the elder sister, felt her cheeks go warm with something like shame.

At the time, she had only done it because the fabric was too garish — she’d found the color vulgar and wasn’t fond of it. And seeing that her third younger sister’s wardrobe was so threadbare, she’d worried the girl would embarrass the family at the wedding, so she’d had that fabric cut into a dress for her.

She had never imagined that something she had long forgotten could have left such a lasting impression on her younger sister…

This third sister of hers — she appeared shrewd and capable on the surface, but truly, she was a foolish girl who would give everything she had to repay even the smallest kindness shown to her…

Chu Jinyin was overwhelmed with a tangle of emotions, clutching the bank notes, her eyes growing moist.

But Chu Linlang told her elder sister not to be moved just yet — she needed to hold onto the money first. If her brother-in-law wanted to use the funds, he would have to show her the accounts and records of his business dealings. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them — she simply didn’t want to watch her money disappear for nothing.

Chu Jinyin found this quite sensible and readily agreed.

However, there was one matter she had been debating with herself whether to tell Chu Linlang — now she had made up her mind: “Linlang, there’s something I want to tell you… I hope it will allow you to be prepared, but please don’t lose your composure and go rushing back to make a scene…”

She paused: “It’s about your brother-in-law — the month before last, while he was out on business… he inadvertently spotted your husband at the Wanghu Restaurant in the west of the city, in a private room on the upper floor, drinking wine alone with a young woman…”

Chu Linlang was quiet for a moment, then asked: “Could it have been singing girls brought by his colleagues? Sui’an has never been one to turn down that kind of social engagement.”

Chu Jinyin shook her head and said in a low voice: “I asked your brother-in-law the same thing. But he does business and has seen plenty — he said the woman’s dress carried none of the air of someone from the entertainment trade. She looked more like… a young lady from a prominent household.”

Chu Linlang was silent for a long time. She then asked a few more questions — the woman’s height, what she was wearing, and the style of the carriage she arrived in — and let the matter rest.

Chu Jinyin had hesitated before saying anything, worried she would damage her younger sister’s marriage. But if she said nothing, she feared her sister would be suffering alone in the Zhou household without anyone knowing.

Now, watching Chu Linlang’s reaction, she found herself feeling a little uneasy.

Chu Linlang was the sort who, when pushed far enough, would stand up to even their own father. If she went home and came to blows with her brother-in-law, wouldn’t that make Chu Jinyin herself the one who had stirred things up?

So she quickly urged Chu Linlang not to act rashly. Her brother-in-law was not the man he once was — it hadn’t been easy for him to rise from a regional post all the way to the capital. Men, after all, would indulge in their romantic diversions — this was perfectly normal. There was no sense in jeopardizing so much over something so small.

Chu Linlang smiled faintly and asked her elder sister quietly: “Your husband has been incompetent, has lost money in business, yet why do you refuse to listen to Father and divorce him?”

Chu Jinyin sighed with a touch of bitterness: “He is, admittedly, a bit foolish — he never learns until he runs into a wall. But since our wedding, he has treated me well. The household is clean and peaceful — no maids or concubines causing trouble. And we have two children together. How could we simply separate?”

Chu Linlang only told her elder sister not to worry, and took her leave.

As Chu Linlang settled into the carriage, the smile gradually faded from her face.

One’s reluctance to divorce always came from having something in the marriage too precious to give up.

But what was left between her and Zhou Sui’an now?

Over the following days, Chu Linlang visited the gold shops, selling some idle jewelry, and spent time making inquiries among the property agents in the capital. She also paid a visit to the Wanghu Restaurant in the western part of the city.

That day, she spent a full day at the Wanghu Restaurant, and finally, near midday, she saw a man on horseback waiting outside the shop doors, who then reached out a hand to help a woman descend from a carriage…

Chu Linlang watched from a gap in the window, her disbelief giving way to slowly widening eyes. The hands gripping the window frame were clenched so tightly that she actually broke off a piece of the wooden trim.

But the couple did not enter the restaurant. Instead, they walked together along the lakeshore to enjoy the autumn flowers.

Chu Linlang closed the window and sat alone in the private room, drinking a pot of wine.

By the time she left the restaurant and returned home, the sun was already sinking to the west.

Passing through the front gate, Chu Linlang gave instructions to the doorman: whenever the master returned that night, no matter how late, he was to come to her room first.

Zhou Sui’an came home later than usual, as had become his habit. He entered the room with evident impatience: “Whatever it is, I have official matters to attend to in the study afterward…”

Chu Linlang looked at him steadily and suddenly asked: “Tell me — who is she?”

Zhou Sui’an’s head jerked up, his voice coming out strained and difficult: “What are you talking about?”

Chu Linlang had already formed a clear picture in her mind. She asked directly: “The one who gave you the sachet — the one who arranged to meet you at the Wanghu Restaurant. Which family’s daughter is she?”

Zhou Sui’an reacted as though he’d been bitten, and shot to his feet. He steadied himself for a moment: “You were there doing social engagements with colleagues at the restaurant, and I simply met a few charming women there — we only had a drink together. As for that sachet, didn’t I say Manfu…”

Before he could finish, Chu Linlang could contain herself no longer. She seized the sewing basket from the table and hurled it at him with full force: “Do you take me for a fool, fobbing me off like this?”

In all the years Linlang had been married into the Zhou family, she had always done her utmost to maintain a graceful and dignified bearing before her learned husband.

So even though Zhou Sui’an had heard from the old Chu family servants that Linlang, as a child, had been fierce enough to fight boys, he had always struggled to imagine what it would look like if Chu Linlang truly lost her temper.

Now, the basket struck him squarely on the head. He staggered back two steps, momentarily dazed — then came the furious roar: “Chu Linlang, have you lost your mind!”

But Chu Linlang was already striding right up to him, grabbing him by the collar: “You won’t talk? Then I’ll tell you. The one who gave you that sachet is Xie Youran — the Xie family’s daughter and younger sister to the Sixth Prince’s consort!”

Zhou Sui’an had never imagined Chu Linlang would know this.

He was like a cat with its throat seized — eyes bulging wide, words failing him entirely. He could only croak out a denial: “You… you’re talking nonsense!”

Chu Linlang shoved him hard against the table beside them, and continued in a cold, measured voice: “Did you two truly think it was hidden without a flaw? I gave the restaurant attendant just two taels of silver, and he told me everything — how many times you arranged to meet there, how much wine you drank each time, how long that private room door stayed closed. Do you want me to have him write down the verses of poetry you two recited together as well?”

Zhou Sui’an knew there was no hiding it any further — and the truth was, he had been suppressing everything for so long that he no longer even wished to hide it. He buried his face in his hands and burst into sobbing, then reached out to grab Chu Linlang: “Linlang, you have to think of a way to help me — save me…”

It turned out that when he had first come to the capital, he had traveled on a boat belonging to the Xie family, and through the proximity of the journey, he had grown somewhat acquainted with the second young lady of the Xie family.

At first, Zhou Sui’an had been mindful of his position and took great care to avoid any appearance of impropriety around the Sixth Prince’s sister-in-law.

But remembering that she had disparaged his lute-playing, he felt a flash of indignation and let a certain sharpness slip into his manner of speaking.

What he hadn’t expected was that this very attitude caught the second Miss Xie’s eye. She found him similar to the cool, detached Situ Sheng — a man who refused to flatter and fawn — and far more captivating than any of the highborn young gentlemen she knew.

What followed was like something out of the opera — two people who had begun with incompatible temperaments and mutual irritation found themselves, through a sequence of twists and encounters, discovering in each other a different kind of pleasure: the push and pull of a man and woman testing each other’s limits.

The second Miss Xie’s temperament was unlike any woman Zhou Sui’an had known before — she had the boldness and brightness that Chu Linlang had possessed as a girl, combined with genuine literary talent, a pretty face, and a headstrong willfulness softened by an impulsive spirit.

Zhou Sui’an had slipped in before he even realized it, and by the time he recognized how deep he had gone, he saw that he was not far from ruin.

Chu Linlang had no patience for his flowery literary notions of love and went straight to the point: “Have you been intimate with her?”

Zhou Sui’an stared at her again with disbelieving eyes, unable to fathom that Chu Linlang would use such a blunt and unbecoming word.

Chu Linlang had no tolerance for his silent wide-eyed staring, and asked again: “Did you. Sleep. With her?”

—