Zhang Zhixu was in his study mounting a painting when the noise and clamor outside suddenly grew a great deal quieter.

He asked Jiuquan with amusement, “Have they finally worn themselves out?”

Jiuquan scratched his head. “That seems unlikely. Usually when one group tires, the next one takes its place.”

His master had not slept a full night at the Secretariat residence for a long while now. Sometimes Jiuquan wanted to coax him into climbing over the wall into Pingxuan Marquis Manor, where at least he could rest properly, rather than being exhausted every day and still not getting any peace.

Just as he was thinking this, the door to the study was pushed open.

Jiuquan turned, ready to say that even Ningsu had no business walking straight in without knocking — and met Chen Baoxiang’s eyes, still carrying a trace of fire.

He: “…”

He immediately made himself scarce and stepped out.

Zhang Zhixu was quite surprised. “Weren’t you busy with something today?”

“Finished.” She came to stand before his writing table, the anger still not quite gone from her face. “Do you have this many people outside your residence every day?”

He gave a light laugh. “It’s quite lively.”

“What’s lively about it — it’s deafening. And you don’t even call the garrison.”

“People need somewhere to let out their anger. Otherwise it builds up, and who knows what might happen.” He spoke without particular concern. “A few more months and it’ll settle down. All these things piling up at once — there’s nothing to be done about it for now.”

As he spoke, he dipped his brush in paste and went to continue mounting the painting.

Chen Baoxiang propped one hand on the edge of the writing table and reached out with the other, seizing his lapel in one swift motion and pulling him in front of her.

“Apart from everything I can see.” She asked. “What other difficulties are you going through that I can’t see?”

Zhang Zhixu’s eyelashes trembled faintly.

They were very close — noses nearly touching. The worry and anger in her eyes, undisguised, came surging toward him inescapably, like the wave of heat that rises when a lid is lifted from a pot.

His heart softened, and on instinct he was about to say nothing was wrong.

But Chen Baoxiang clearly had not come to listen to him deflect. She leaned in and bit the corner of his mouth as punishment. “Speak!”

“It’s truly nothing. Don’t worry.”

She bit him again, furious.

Zhang Zhixu was at a loss for a moment, then broke into laughter. “If you ask me like this, I’ll never say a word for the rest of my life.”

Chen Baoxiang: “…”

She puffed out her cheeks, and seemed to be genuinely angry.

Zhang Zhixu felt those troublesome matters were not worth drawing her into, but faced with her stubborn gaze, he held out for a while and still lost ground in the end.

“The Zhang family has fewer and fewer officials in court. The number of students taken in this year is far less than before. There is much reproach within the clan — they feel I bear no small part of the blame.”

“They themselves backed the wrong side and fell from grace — what does that have to do with you!” Chen Baoxiang’s brow snapped down in fury. “If not for you, the ones who are left wouldn’t have stayed either.”

“The logic is clear, but people are greedy.” Zhang Zhixu sighed. “When you’ve been found guilty, you want to be found innocent. When you’re innocent, you want wealth. When you have wealth, you want to rule the court.”

“I ignored their demands, and some of them simply went out and started doing things in my name.”

At that, the steady calmness that had held in his eyes this whole while finally gave way to a trace of helplessness and weariness.

The name “Zhang Zhixu” had been valuable currency in Shangjing even before; now it was worth even more — a single word of his was worth a fortune. As long as one could claim a connection to him, people would actually pay handsomely just to be received.

Members of the fourth and fifth branches had used this approach to pocket seventy thousand taels of silver in the space of just three months, and on top of that had saddled him with a mountain of debts of personal favor on his behalf in the outside world.

Zhang Zhixu felt a headache coming on just from glancing at it all.

If they had only entangled him, that would have been one thing, but they had not let his elder brother, Yinyue, or even Xilai off either — trumpeting all of them to the outside world as all-powerful imperial favorites, and trading on their names for who knew how many advantages.

He had gone to confront them about it, and those elders had stood their ground with perfect self-righteousness: “If things were as they used to be, would we need to go to these shameless lengths? Isn’t it because you failed to uphold the Zhang family’s standing that this trouble came about — don’t we deserve that money?”

Taking money was not enough — they had also used his name to order his subordinates about, illegally releasing prisoners and abusing their authority. Fortunately he had discovered it in time and put a stop to it, otherwise who knew how great a disaster it would have caused.

Under the law, would it have been unreasonable for Zhang Zhixu to throw them in prison for a month?

But other family members had come to his door that very same day, insisting he release them.

Zhang Zhixu told it all in a relatively composed manner, but the person standing before him looked as though she had been driven half mad with rage. She cracked her whip and made for the door.

“Hey.” He said, caught between laughter and despair, pulling her back. “Where are you going?”

“To make arrests.” Her eyes were blazing. “Didn’t they refuse to let you make arrests? Then I’ll go. I’d like to see who can stop me!”

The weight that had settled on his heart suddenly lifted considerably at that shout.

Zhang Zhixu pulled her back and gave her arm a light pat. “I’ve already dealt with it. No one was released. No matter how angry they are, at most they’ll come to the door and make a scene.”

He no longer needed to eat the finest cuts of meat, and no longer needed the finest silks. As long as he could do the things he wanted to do, his monthly salary was enough to support himself.

So there was nothing the Zhang family had left that could threaten him. At most, they could get under his skin.

Chen Baoxiang looked up at him, her gaze settling on the bloodshot eyes that stared back at her. Suddenly a trace of hesitation and uncertainty crossed her face. Her hand gripped his lapel, squeezing, loosening, squeezing again.

One glance and Zhang Zhixu knew what she was thinking.

He shook his head. “The reforms must be carried through. You know as well as I do that the great clans holding such dominance for so long serves neither the greater good nor the common people.”

The great clans often monopolized the finest resources, whether in officialdom or in commerce. They accumulated wealth generation after generation and built every manner of gatekeeping mechanism and protective barrier to prevent those below from displacing them.

After several hundred years of this, the background of court officials had grown ever more uniform. Even those among the common people with extraordinary talent were often left to waste away with ambitions unfulfilled.

It was rare for the current sovereign to possess the determination and courage to move against the great clans. Miss this reign, and who knew how many more years it would take before the next opportunity came around.

“Before, I told you that the Zhang family had never bullied or oppressed the common people — that everything they did was through legitimate trade.” He said. “I was seeing too shallowly. I need to take responsibility for words I have spoken.”

Bullying and oppressing the common people was not only about strong-arming them with power and violence. Using one’s position for personal gain was not only a matter of how one ran one’s business.

He had proposed that there be fairness. Then he needed to start with himself.

“I have enjoyed the privileges that come with being part of a great clan, so of course I must accept the consequences that come with it.”

“Do not hesitate.” He looked at her with complete sincerity. “Even if it is me standing on the opposite side — do not hesitate.”

Chen Baoxiang suddenly clenched his lapel tight.

Wang Qingfan had been right. Zhang Zhixu was deeply troubled — he had simply never let her notice.

When lovers are in love, the expected thing to do at a moment like this is to feel tender toward the other person and give up the goal. That had been the whole point of the other man’s gambit.

But Chen Baoxiang only felt a little heartache.

Not only heartache over Zhang Zhixu’s difficulties — but heartache over knowing full well how difficult it was for him and still not wanting to stop.

How could she stop? They had come so far with such effort. Even if the sky came crashing down she would hold it up until the reforms were complete.

But what about him?

Once upon a time she had envied him so much for his family background and standing — and yet now those very things had become thorns, wound around him and impossible to pull free.