On the day Prince Ling’an departed the city to cross south, Li Du Mansion was thronged with crowds.

Places in the city damaged by the Qi people had not yet been repaired, traces of fierce battles between remnant soldiers and the Yucheng Army still remained in broken walls and ruins, but when people stepped onto this land, the overwhelming vitality overshadowed all desolation and decay.

The royal ceremonial procession was slowly surrounded by crowds moving forward. Wherever the royal carriage went, the people knelt in worship like waves.

But in reality, Xu Zhou was not in the carriage.

Though the great crisis had been resolved, no one knew how many Black Crow Hall spies remained, and there might still be some scattered fugitive soldiers lurking about. Everything required extra vigilance. So Song Muchuan arranged for a double to be in the conspicuous position while several hidden guards secretly escorted Prince Ling’an and the Imperial Princess onto the ship.

It was precisely because of this that Xu Zhou could now find himself among the crowds.

The number of citizens who came out onto the streets today exceeded expectations. Despite Xie Sui’an and several hidden guards doing their utmost to protect Xu Zhou, people continuously brushed against him, and the surging crowd pushed him forward.

Real yet unfamiliar faces flowed past him like water, their shouts and prayers for new hope reaching his ears.

“Long live Your Majesty, may you revitalize our Great Yu!”

This left Xu Zhou somewhat at a loss. He instinctively turned to look for Xie Sui’an.

Her attention was entirely on their surroundings, her sharp gaze scanning every passerby, maintaining high vigilance. Suddenly noticing Xu Zhou’s unusual state, she looked thoughtful, then said in a voice only the two of them could hear: “They’re not exactly worshipping you either.”

This was probably meant as comfort, telling Xu Zhou not to be nervous, but it made him feel even more dejected.

Of course he knew that this moment of unity wasn’t his achievement, and it had nothing to do with whether he was Xu Zhou or Xu Ye—it was simply that the people had chosen a place to invest their hopes.

And this place happened to be on his path home.

But the power of their shouting was still heart-stirring. The waves of sound seemed to lift Xu Zhou into the air. Looking at crowds stretching into more crowds, he suddenly began to feel grateful that he wasn’t sitting in that lofty sedan chair—from there he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything.

By a fortuitous mistake, he now stood among the crowd, surrounded by people who didn’t recognize him. He too was a subject of this dynasty. Along with everyone else, he reverently worshipped that hope with trepidation.

Previously, his imaginings about the common people had mostly been castles in the air—just names and numbers on household registers, representing taxes and corvée labor. The books said the people were the foundation of the state, and when the foundation was solid, the state would be peaceful. He had studied this very earnestly but only understood the surface vaguely. But at this moment, he gained some new understanding.

“Someday, when they look back on today, they won’t be disappointed in me,” he clenched his fists and said quietly to himself.

Xie Sui’an heard him, but she only gave Xu Zhou a deep look without saying anything.

“Don’t you believe me?”

Xie Sui’an smiled: “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“But I want you to see it—that’s also important,” Xu Zhou gazed at Xie Sui’an’s eyes with utmost seriousness.

Such a gaze made a string in Xie Sui’an’s heart suddenly tighten, but she instinctively ignored the meaning behind it, joking and laughing: “I’m only responsible for safely delivering you to Jinling. Don’t expect me to become your female official.”

“Then what do you want to do?” Xu Zhou took her seriously and pursued the question.

Xie Sui’an was stumped.

After a long while, she waved her hand and laughed it off: “Where’s the time to think about that? Let’s talk about it after completing the mission.”

The departure drums sounded, and the ships set sail.

The great river flows endlessly from west to east for thousands of years, while only people rise and fall.

Jinling.

On the night news of the great victory at Li Du Mansion arrived, Shen Zhizhong was in his study frantically writing a secret memorial for his student Xie Chao’en, cataloguing his achievements and clearing his tarnished name.

However, when the maid pushed open the study door the next day, she found him collapsed on the desk, having died silently. All the memorials on the desk had disappeared.

This veteran minister who had assisted two generations of monarchs, just as he was about to welcome his new sovereign, had his tumultuous fifty-year career of service ended by a cup of poison on the eve of victory, dying under mysterious circumstances.

The humid air of returning spring swirled around Li Du Mansion. Water vapor condensed on doors and windows, and people broke into light sweats just from walking around. Everything was sticky and damp, inexplicably dampening one’s spirits.

After seeing off Little Six, Madam Gantang felt that a long race was nearing its end. The path ahead seemed clear—they just needed to push through and could breathe easy. But past hardships made it impossible to easily set down the heavy stone in her heart.

She stubbornly pinned all her hopes on helping Tang Rong recover from his injuries. Watching his wounds improve day by day gave her a groundless sense of hope, as if everything were this simple—as long as the medicine was right and given time, things would slowly get better.

She probably didn’t realize herself that recently she had been seeking out Tang Rong for conversation more and more frequently.

She didn’t have many people she could confide in. Ever since she had scandalously divorced her husband and returned to Li Du Mansion, everyone saw her as an invincible person with keen judgment about current affairs.

Actually, she was quite fragile inside, her heart filled only with family and friends, constantly living in fear. So most of the time she was just chattering, talking about trivial observations, gossiping about household matters, as if trying to escape the unsettled anxiety in her heart.

But Tang Rong listened patiently every time.

Right now, Madam Gantang was holding a wooden bowl, stirring the medicinal paste inside for external application. It needed to be stirred until thick before it could be applied to bandages.

While doing this mechanical work, she frowned and chatted with Tang Rong about Xie Queshan, probably feeling sorry for her younger brother, unable to help but add some complaint to her tone: “The Grand Secretariat Minister is really heartless. He used to say Chao’en was his most promising student, yet he insisted on pushing him into the fire pit…”

After a pause, she sighed again: “If not him, it would have been someone else’s child. There would always be someone who couldn’t be happy.”

“Fortunately everything turned out safely, and Third Young Master’s identity has now been cleared.”

“This is just the beginning. You don’t know how harshly people are cursing him outside. We’ll have to wait until His Majesty reaches Jinling and works with the Grand Secretariat Minister to clear his name before everyone will shut up.”

“Jinling has much rebuilding to do—it probably won’t be that quick.”

“Three months? Half a year? That should be enough time. If this continues, I’ll end up like Little Six, going out to argue with people.”

Tang Rong laughed, probably aggravating his chest wound, and hissed as he sucked in cold air.

“The doctor already told you not to laugh,” Madam Gantang expertly leaned over, parted the bandages to check that wound, saw it was beginning to heal, and breathed a slight sigh of relief, joking: “You should learn to be an ice block like my younger brother—then you won’t strain this wound.”

Tang Rong’s face suddenly reddened a bit, and he hummed quietly.

When Madam Gantang looked up, she saw the blush that had spread to the base of Tang Rong’s ears. The more she stared, the redder his face became.

She had always regarded Tang Rong as a younger brother. For some reason, this moment felt like she had stumbled into a forbidden zone in her subconscious, and she suddenly stepped back.

Seeing her expression, Tang Rong suddenly remembered a seemingly familiar scene and thought himself clever in changing the subject: “Speaking of which, what did you see that made you rush out of Jingfeng Residence in such a panic last time?”

At this question, Madam Gantang’s face also flushed red.

Just as the two were facing each other awkwardly, hurried footsteps came from outside.

A maid ran in breathlessly: “Madam, Madam, urgent report from Jinling!”

“What’s happened?” Madam Gantang had a bad feeling.

“Grand Secretariat Minister Shen… has passed away.”

Crash—Madam Gantang loosened her grip in shock, and the wooden bowl fell to the ground, its medicinal paste slowly seeping out.

Song Muchuan was appointed as the prefect of Li Du Mansion in this crisis, preparing to reorganize the original prefecture soldiers and Yucheng Army together. Xie Queshan had talent for leading troops and was skilled in such military matters, but given his current status made it inappropriate to appear in public, so he could only advise Song Muchuan from behind the scenes.

When news of Shen Zhizhong’s death arrived, they were discussing army matters together.

The room fell silent for a moment. Song Muchuan felt his head buzzing and couldn’t recover for a long while.

How could Teacher suddenly die?

He couldn’t believe it, reading the words on the report over and over. The brief intelligence was clear and precise, leaving no room for any other possibilities.

What about Chao’en?

This thought immediately came to mind. He looked at Xie Queshan in shock.

“The spies in Jinling haven’t been eliminated yet.”

This was the first sentence Xie Queshan spoke.

Song Muchuan finally realized that behind Teacher’s death lurked an even greater crisis.

Xie Queshan’s expression was very calm. He decisively picked up his brush and wrote a letter.

“Send this letter to Little Six Xie—His Highness’s whereabouts may no longer be safe. Have them split into two routes: one with a decoy to draw away enemies, the other secretly taking the overland route into Jinling.”

Thinking of something else, Xie Queshan asked urgently: “Are there still reliable people in Jinling’s Bingzhu Department who can provide assistance?”

“Lord Xie should be the successor to the Bingzhu Department.”

For some reason, a strange feeling arose in Xie Queshan’s heart, and his brush paused.

“Forget it. Don’t contact anyone in Jinling—no one can be trusted. Tell His Highness he must enter the city himself, enter the palace himself. He can no longer depend on anyone.”

Xie Queshan hurriedly finished writing the letter and handed it to Song Muchuan.

Song Muchuan took the letter, looked into Xie Queshan’s eyes, and asked deliberately: “What do you think the Qi people will do next?”

Shen Zhizhong’s death was so suspicious. Though the perpetrator hadn’t been caught, it was definitely connected to the Qi people. Killing a Grand Secretariat Minister on Yu Dynasty territory was already desperate behavior—the Li Du Mansion incident must have enraged Wanyan Puruo, causing her to abandon the peace negotiations. Now the Qi people had to face the possibility of Prince Ling’an’s enthronement. Their blockade had failed—what would they do?

Xie Queshan already understood Song Muchuan’s meaning, and shadows slowly crept across his face.