This year has been quite rainy. A drizzle fell continuously in the capital, while in Han County, it was pouring heavily.

The streets were almost empty of people.

Nevertheless, many customers still sat in the taverns and teahouses.

On rainy days, people had more leisure time. Drinking wine, sipping tea, and listening to storytellers—accompanied by the storytellers’ eloquent narrations, bursts of cheers erupted in the teahouse.

All traces of last year’s rebellion and fighting had already disappeared. Damaged buildings had been repaired—those with means had made their repairs, while the government fixed those belonging to people without resources. Wealthy families had even donated to charity halls, ensuring that orphans, the elderly, and the weak who had suffered during the conflict were looked after. All seemed peaceful.

But while the external wounds had been repaired and covered, internal trauma inevitably remained. Suddenly, on the empty, rain-soaked street, crying could be heard, along with a woman’s shouts.

People in the teahouses and taverns heard it. The laughter and conversation paused briefly as some looked outside, though most seemed accustomed to the sound.

“Widow Jiang is having an episode again,” someone sighed, looking at the chess board on the table. “How was she not being watched?”

“She only has one frail old mother-in-law at home. She probably lost sight of her for a moment,” his companion replied with a serious expression, contemplating his next move.

“I’ve been saying she should be sent to the charity hall. Old Mrs. Jiang can barely take care of herself, let alone a mad woman,” commented a bystander watching the game.

The shop assistant bringing more tea joined in: “How could Old Mrs. Jiang bear to part with her? Her daughter-in-law is the only family she has left. Even if she’s gone mad, she’s still family.”

At that moment, the woman on the street ran to the entrance of the teahouse, completely soaked in the heavy rain and a wretched state. She seemed oblivious to her condition, continuously shouting, “Help! Murder!”

The people standing at the door guessed what was happening and asked, “Did her family die at the hands of the traitor Xiao Xun?”

Someone nearby nodded: “Her husband and two sons were conscripted as laborers. They encountered troops who said they needed target practice and killed them all.”

Everyone knew how cruel and vicious the rebel Xiao Xun’s troops had been—so unbearable that even the influential families who had initially surrendered couldn’t tolerate it any longer. They had led the people to rise and support the imperial court. Indeed, this woman was a victim of the rebel army.

“Poor thing,” everyone shook their heads.

Someone who couldn’t bear the sight rushed out to wrap a rain cloth around the mad woman and shouted: “Sister Jiang, go home quickly! The bad men have already been killed. Don’t worry!”

Sister Jiang mumbled, “Bad men… were killed?”

The person nodded: “Yes, the Empress’s troops came in and killed all the bad men. Your husband and sons have been avenged. Hurry home now.”

Sister Jiang looked around: “The bad men… really… were killed?”

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

This wasn’t just meant to appease Sister Jiang; it was a fact everyone knew.

But upon hearing the voices around her, Sister Jiang stood in a daze for a moment, then became even more frenzied. She tore off the rain cloth and headbutted the person who was trying to comfort her.

“Bad men! Murder! Murder! Help! Help!”

She screamed and cried, running wildly down the street.

The onlookers could only watch helplessly, shaking their heads with pity: “Nothing to be done. She’s gone mad—doesn’t know or understand anything.”

The mad woman continued crying and shouting in the heavy rain. The people on the street discussed her briefly before returning their attention to their tea, chess games, and storytelling.

Eventually, Sister Jiang, in her delirium, exhausted herself and stopped. Fortunately, despite her madness, she still knew the way home. She staggered and swayed toward her house. As dusk fell, visibility in the heavy rain diminished further, and in front of a low house, what appeared to be a black wall materialized.

The mad woman stared blankly, then realized it was several people. They wore black rain cloaks that almost completely covered their faces and heads.

“Sister Jiang,” the leader called out.

The mad woman, not recognizing her name and not caring whether people or a wall stood before her, stumbled forward, mumbling, “Murder… help…”

The human wall parted to let her through.

“Sister Jiang,” the leader called again. “Who committed murder?”

Sister Jiang, who had rushed forward, stumbled and fell to the ground. Muddy water splashed on her face but didn’t obscure her vision. She saw that as these people moved, their black rain cloaks revealed flashes of golden dragon patterns beneath—

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

Who? Everyone knew. Everyone knew. Why ask such a question? Sister Jiang scrambled to her feet and rushed through her door.

The people didn’t follow her inside, but their voice did.

“Did you see the murderer?”

The murderer? The murderer?

Sister Jiang stumbled into the room, bumping into a table. Her soaking wet, disheveled hair covered her face. Behind that tangled hair, her eyes showed no trace of confusion or foolishness. They were as red as blood, with tears streaming down her face.

Someone had heard her.

Someone had come to ask.

“Help, murder,” she said hoarsely, almost without sound.

…

…

Late at night, the Wei residence was stirred by a knock. Normally at such a late hour, none of the Wei masters would receive visitors, but when they learned the visitor wore a dragon-patterned robe and had a long sword at his waist, the eldest Wei master came out to receive him personally.

As a meritorious official who had led the people of Han County to kill Xiao Xun’s troops and support the Empress, the Wei family could almost stand as equals with the current county officials, just like before.

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

The Wei family had heard of the Imperial Guard’s formidable reputation. They were directly under the Empress’s command, wearing imperial-bestowed dragon robes and wielding the power of life and death.

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

These fierce wolves suddenly visiting tonight made the eldest Wei master feel uneasy.

For more than half a year, the Imperial Guard in Han County had been as quiet as if they didn’t exist, never interfering with the county government’s affairs.

After all, Han County had only recently been recovered—they couldn’t immediately cause unrest among officials and civilians. That would also make the Empress look bad.

The eldest Wei master came out with a smile to greet the leading official. Although the Imperial Guard had been quiet, everyone knew their names.

This high-ranking Imperial Guard officer stationed in the northern surrendered territories was Deputy Commander Zhu Yong, who was also famous. It was because of him that the Empress had established the Imperial Guard.

“Commander Zhu,” the eldest Wei master bowed. “What brings you here?”

“Master Wei,” Zhu Yong said, “someone has accused your Wei family of brutally killing civilians, so I’ve come to inquire.”

The heavy rain outside made his voice sound almost like a jest, and his face bore a smile.

But this former Hanlin Academy scholar’s heart was no longer as gentle as his appearance suggested. The eldest Wei master also smiled: “Commander Zhu, where did this accusation come from?”

“It starts from when the rebels occupied the county,” Zhu Yong said. “Your Wei family managed laborers for the rebel army. One day, you gathered thirty laborers, allegedly to dig trenches. But when the laborers arrived, your son, the eldest young master Wei, drove these laborers to be hunted for sport. All thirty were shot dead on the spot.”

The eldest Wei master smiled again and said to his attendant: “This is absurd. How could such a thing happen—”

“Laborer Jiang Shu and his two sons forgot to bring their baskets. His wife, fearing they would be late for work, hurriedly came to deliver the baskets and happened to witness this scene—” Zhu Yong said, his eyes staring steadily at him.

The eldest Wei master frowned. Jiang Shu? How would he know the names of laborers, let alone care about their wives—unless they were exceptionally beautiful young women?

“Sister Jiang originally accepted her fate. Dying under the rebels was just bad luck. She still had her mother-in-law to care for; the entire family couldn’t perish. She endured the heartache of watching her husband and sons die horribly, hiding without a sound to save her life and escape. But unexpectedly, your Wei family then supported the Empress, claiming the deaths were caused by the rebels, and transformed yourselves into heroes who helped suppress the rebellion,” Zhu Yong continued. “Sister Jiang didn’t dare reveal this secret and could only pretend to be mad, crying for justice in the streets. But no one could investigate—”

At this point, the frowning eldest Wei master sat down, picked up a teacup, and interrupted Zhu Yong.

“Or rather, no one dared to investigate,” he didn’t question, rebuke, or angrily demand a confrontation, but asked with a smile, “Isn’t that what Commander Zhu means to say?”

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

The eldest Wei master waved his hand: “True or false, let’s set that aside for now. I know that if the Imperial Guard wants to investigate, they have countless methods to do so, and my old bones couldn’t withstand such scrutiny.”

He looked at Zhu Yong.

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

“Isn’t the current situation good enough?”

The question seemed abrupt, but Zhu Yong understood his meaning and opened his mouth to answer.

The eldest Wei master interrupted him again, smiling slightly—a smile that was both gentle and arrogant.

“Commander Zhu, you’re not qualified to answer this question,” he said. “You should ask the Empress.”

…

…

The Imperial Guard’s confidential message was quickly delivered to the capital.

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

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