Within the Xuanyuan Prince’s Mansion lay three li of covered walkways. One of them ended in a dead end — and the latter half of that dead end was paved with stone bricks.

Those stone bricks had been specially fired in Minzhou: hard and wear-resistant, carved with deep patterns. If a person walked across them in soft-soled shoes, they would feel the painful digging into their feet within just a few steps.

It was a kind of indirect warning. A warning to anyone who wished to pass: the master of this mansion did not want anyone venturing to the end of this walkway.

Madam Bo had not walked this walkway in many years.

Ever since that woman died, she had been forbidden from setting foot here.

She paused at the entrance for a moment, then gently lifted her delicate silk blue slippers — embroidered with white peonies and adorned with a thousand sea pearls — and stepped lightly across.

Behind her followed a dozen or so people: among them were trusted confidants she had cultivated within the mansion over the years, as well as ladies from other households who were on good terms with her and had come to attend the banquet.

A fine show was about to begin — how could she not invite an audience?

She glanced down at the sachet hanging from her wrist. The spherical incense ball had just burned out. The timing was perfect.

If luck was on her side, she might even get to watch two scenes back to back.

Madam Bo’s mood suddenly brightened like clouds parting to reveal the sun.

She hadn’t felt this cheerful in a very long time. The last time had been, it seemed, when she’d heard news of that woman’s death.

“Madam, ahead is the Painting Residence. You cannot go there.”

Madam Bo’s cheerful thoughts were interrupted. She slowly raised her head and saw a plainly dressed servant boy in blue standing bowed in the middle of the path — she had no idea when he’d appeared.

Ordinarily, no servant boy would dare stand in the way of the mistresses of the various courtyards. Even if that mistress was, in truth, merely a concubine by birth.

But he was different. He was someone who served at the Prince’s side. Though a servant, the words he spoke carried some weight.

A mere servant, emboldened by knowing a few scraps of his master’s wishes, daring to bark at her like a dog. Madam Bo’s fingernails dug hard into her flesh.

But she could not move against this impudent slave yet — she still had more important matters to attend to.

She halted, her eyes curving into a smile.

“I heard from the servants that someone was lurking furtively about the back courtyard. Worried it might disturb Master Zong at the ancestral hall, I came to take a look.”

“Has Madam informed the Master that she intended to come to the Painting Residence?”

Madam Bo paused, then said softly:

“It happened so suddenly, I’m afraid there was no time to notify the Master.”

“Then please, Madam, return.”

A brief silence fell over the air. Madam Bo drew a breath, then smiled more broadly.

“Today’s guests are all of distinguished status. All is well if nothing goes wrong — but if a thief truly slipped in and harmed someone, will you take responsibility for the Prince’s Mansion?”

The servant boy was silent for a moment, then finally said:

“This one would not dare.”

Madam Bo leisurely stepped forward, passing the servant boy and speaking in a very low voice:

“Go away.”

Who, after all, was the true mistress of this household?

She had almost asked that aloud, but as the words reached her lips, she realized her current actions already answered the question well enough. She loved this kind of thing — the self-evident truth, left unspoken. Hidden yet firm, carrying the easy confidence of one who stands above.

Her days of hardship had long since ended. One day she would have servants tear up the stone bricks that cut into the soles of her feet, smash all those unpleasant memories to pieces, and cast them out of the mansion.

The blue silk slippers stopped at the end of the stone-paved path. Madam Bo made a show of glancing around.

“You said earlier you spotted someone going in and out of these rooms. Could you tell which one?”

The maidservant following behind her immediately lowered her head and replied:

“The one in the very center.”

Every word of this reached Xiao Nanhui’s ears.

Separated by only a thin door panel, she didn’t dare breathe, too nervous to even remember her current predicament in that instant.

Then the two arms wrapped around her tightened again, and the voice at her ear sounded with cool indifference:

“What do we do? Someone’s coming.”

Xiao Nanhui’s ears burned hot. She suddenly felt the acute embarrassment of someone whose affair was about to be discovered, her face flushing crimson all at once, her tongue and lips going numb as if paralyzed.

What to do? She wanted to know that too.

It seemed he’d gone too long without hearing a response from her. He tilted his head slightly down and pressed his cheek gently against her blazing one. Sensing that unusual warmth, he let out a soft laugh and drew back — like a satiated python, slowly loosening its coils, leaving his prey.

Air rushed back into Xiao Nanhui’s lungs. She felt as though she could breathe again.

The footsteps outside grew closer and closer, until several silhouettes appeared against the carved door panels.

“This lock has been tampered with.”

It was Madam Bo’s voice. Sure enough, she was connected to all of this.

But was his presence here also Madam Bo’s scheme?

“Your hand.”

Su Wei’s voice sounded again in the darkness. Xiao Nanhui stared at the hand extended toward her, swallowed, and tried hard to move her tongue.

“Y-Your Majesty — there are so many people outside. Is it not somewhat ill-considered for us to do this in such a public manner—”

She waited a long time and received no response. She looked up but couldn’t make out the other person’s expression in the dim light, and her heart began to thud with apprehension.

Surely he wasn’t about to—

“What are you thinking?” The Emperor’s voice was unusually calm, like the Venerable Yikong reciting sutras to bless his thoroughly worldly devotee. “You’ve provoked someone you shouldn’t have. Staying by my side is safest.”

So — it wasn’t because he wanted to publicly declare some unspeakable relationship between the two of them?

Xiao Nanhui suddenly felt mortified by her own presumptuous imaginings, the redness that had only just faded from her face spreading back down to the roots of her neck.

Her skin was still prickling with lingering embarrassment when a hand already grasped hers.

“Haven’t we done this many times before? Why the nerves?”

Done what many times?

Xiao Nanhui’s legs went weak.

She ought to have swept his hand away with great dignity, then pointed a finger at his nose and demanded sternly that he explain himself clearly.

But she didn’t dare.

And within that daring-not was a thread of something that stirred.

In the past she hadn’t understood what lay behind that stirring, but now she was beginning to understand it more and more.

It wasn’t that she didn’t dare. It was that she didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to pull her hand away. Didn’t want to refuse him. Didn’t want to leave him.

His hand was somewhat cool — like moonlight, without warmth. But in this moment, within this vast and dark cage of the Prince’s Mansion, he was like the bright moon — the only presence that could make her feel at ease.

Was there a moon in the sky tonight? Yes, there must be. Surely there was. It must have been because tonight’s moonlight was so beautiful — so let her linger in it just a little while, just a little while longer.

Creak.

The door before them was pushed open from outside.

No moonlight came in — only the chaotic, glaring light of countless lanterns.

In the firelight, a dozen or so bobbing heads merged into a connected shadow. Their faces were indistinct, yet their emotions were plain to see — pointing, whispering, sparing no effort in their speculation.

Heavens. Simply scandalous.

Xiao Nanhui stood frozen in place, staring down at the tips of her feet, as though that might spare her from meeting the astonished, probing gazes of everyone in the courtyard.

She truly had not anticipated, when she left home this morning, that things would end up like this.

She hadn’t done anything wrong. But what of that? Very often, people find themselves in perilous circumstances and suffer harm — not because of anything they did wrong.

Madam Bo’s gaze swept over Xiao Nanhui from head to toe and back again, finally landing on the two hands clasped together.

But beyond that, she could discover neither any suspicious traces, nor any loosened fastening.

Had she arrived too early?

Arriving early was even better — perhaps she’d get to watch something happen in real time.

She cleared her throat and spoke in a voice that was somewhat stern:

“Miss Xiao, do you know what this place is?”

Xiao Nanhui answered honestly: “Just now, a young maidservant who was gathering flowers told me this was once the residence of the young master’s wet nurse.”

At those words, Madam Bo’s face instantly assumed an expression of shock and fury, and the entire crowd behind her — young and old alike — did the same in unison.

“What wet nurse? That is the former residence of the late First Madam, now deceased. How dare you speak such slanderous words?”

What? That humble, cramped room with no windows was Mei Ruogu’s former home?

Xiao Nanhui was beginning to piece together the shape of this evening’s game — yet she sensed it could not be so simple.

Sure enough, seeing her say nothing, the other party grew more confident.

“Let alone a mere maidservant — even I am normally forbidden from setting foot in the Painting Residence. I wonder who it was that Miss Xiao claims to have seen? What’s more, I find no such maidservant at all — only Miss Xiao here, pulling and grasping at a man who is not her husband—”

As Madam Bo spoke, she shifted her gaze toward the man beside Xiao Nanhui. When she had just about made out his face, she suddenly startled.

Wait — this didn’t look like the fourth son of the Huang prefecture magistrate from the eastern districts, whom she had arranged to be here.

Never mind. Whoever’s son he was, he was still a man.

She drew a deep breath, summoned the full authority of a household mistress, and let out the single most resonant declaration she had ever delivered in her life:

“And who are you? How dare you trespass into the inner courtyard of the Prince’s Mansion!”

Xiao Nanhui was instantly dumbfounded.

It felt like watching someone universally renowned throughout the neighborhood for their cleverness suddenly charge into the outhouse to eat filth.

Madam Bo was entirely oblivious. The crowd behind her was equally oblivious.

“I understand this matter of an unaccompanied man and woman is somewhat unseemly to speak of. But if you do not give your name, I shall have no choice but to send men to escort you to the authorities. At that point, whatever household you come from, it will not come out looking well. Quecheng is at the foot of the Son of Heaven, and this is the Prince’s Mansion — today’s guests are many and distinguished, and circumstances are different from usual. Do not fault me for being harsh. The fault lies with your having appeared here at such a time—”

“Jiang Fei.” The man who had been silent all this while finally spoke. His voice, rare in its expression of feeling, carried a trace of irritation — as if vexed by a buzzing mosquito on a summer’s day.

“What is that noise? Go and have a look.”

Madam Bo’s ever-prominent cheekbones nearly lost their grip on the flesh of her face at that sentence.

Noise?

The insult shattered Madam Bo’s composure. She did not notice the man’s manner of referring to himself.

Before his words had fully faded, a purple-robed eunuch official had already stepped out from the shadow beneath the eaves — his pale, fine-featured face wearing an expression of genial warmth.

He lowered his head and walked in small steps toward Madam Bo, stopping only when he was half a step away, then raised his head and studied that somewhat contorted expression carefully.

“In reply to Your Majesty — it is the side consort of Xuanyuan Prince, Madam Bo of the Xiao mountains, who has just been speaking.”

Your Majesty.

Just those two words were enough for Madam Bo to understand the outcome of this evening’s game.

She would not even know the result of whether she had won or lost, because her game board had been overturned, black and white pieces scattered across the ground.

How had today’s affair been exposed? Why was the Emperor here? What exactly was the relationship between that low-born creature of the Xiao family and the Emperor?

These questions would have no answers.

“This consort kowtows in greeting to Your Majesty. This consort did not know Your Majesty’s identity and spoke improperly — this consort begs Your Majesty to forgive her transgression!”

She prostrated herself on the ground with a show of frailty, trying to stretch out her torso as much as possible. But she had not performed such a full ceremonial bow in many years, and her body had long grown stiff and ungainly from a life of ease and comfort.

“The Imperial Uncle has arrived.”

Prince? A wild surge of joy rushed through Madam Bo’s heart, though her face instead showed deeper anguish. She turned to look at her husband’s face, every line of it written with misery and grievance.

Yet the man who had always been gracious and refined with her, who had always spoken to her gently and warmly — that man didn’t so much as glance at her, standing only at the end of the stone-paved path with a furrowed brow.

Xuanyuan Prince Su Che let his gaze sweep briefly across the scene, and understood almost instantly.

“Your subject pays respects to Your Majesty. Not knowing Your Majesty would come to attend the banquet, we were unable to welcome you from afar—”

“It was on a whim,” the Emperor’s voice paused in a seemingly casual manner, then continued at an unhurried pace, “that I wished to hold a private meeting with Xiao, the military escort — to discuss matters of military intelligence. Fearing that walls have ears, I took it upon myself to borrow a room. Will the Imperial Uncle hold it against me?”

“Your subject would not dare.”

“There is no need for the Imperial Uncle to be so formal. We have not gathered in many years — this is a good opportunity to exchange a few words of family conversation.”

The moment the other man finished speaking, Su Che already understood his deeper meaning.

This was clearing the field in preparation to settle accounts. The Imperial Family’s face could not be entirely disregarded, but what needed to be done would not be lightly set aside.

That had always been his nature.

Su Che said nothing more — he gave only a single look, and the entire courtyard full of spectators who had come from who-knew-where dispersed completely in an instant.

Anyone with half a brain understood that what was about to take place in this courtyard was not something just anyone could witness.

Madam Bo naturally understood this too. But she did not believe it. Xuanyuan Prince was still present — even if this was the Emperor, surely he could not have her beaten to death on the day of her son’s one-month celebration, in front of the master of the mansion?

“Your Majesty, today’s matter requires careful examination. The hour is already late—”

Indeed, her husband was going to speak up for her.

Madam Bo’s heart lifted as she began to slowly rise to her feet — but that flat, unhurried voice, as though it read her thoughts, sounded again.

“Since evening has fallen, let us bring up the lights. By clear illumination, right and wrong can be distinguished.”

The oil lamp from inside the room had appeared in his hands — at some point unbeknownst to anyone. Su Wei’s fingers lightly hooked the handle, and with his other hand he took a fire striker from Jiang Fei, igniting the wick that lay shrunken in the oil.

The firelight flickered and wavered, and in a short while a thick, floral scent began drifting out in all directions.

The moment Xiao Nanhui caught that familiar smell, she understood at once, her gaze falling on the oil lamp.

He set the lamp gently on the ground, illuminating the stone tile beneath it.

Only then did she notice: carved into that stone tile was a perfectly formed plum blossom.

“Kneel.”

The Emperor’s voice was so flat it carried no discernible emotion — yet it was more terrifying than any cry of rage or scolding.

Madam Bo bit down hard on her lower lip, as though still wishing to struggle a moment longer — but her knees betrayed her first, pressing firmly to the ground before that stone tile.

Madam Bo’s eyes were fixed dead on the plum blossom carved into the ground. The stone plum blossom bloomed in silence — without fragrance, but it would also never wither.

Tonight the wind blew from the southeast, and she knelt downwind, her nose and mouth full of the scent drifting from that oil lamp.

She knew that smell far too well — even the faintest whiff of it set her nerves on edge and her heart racing.

She tried to hold her breath, but she could not simply stop breathing, the veins in her neck standing out with the strain.

Fine, if it was just a fragrance, breathing in a little should do no harm — as long as she didn’t—

“Madam Bo, do you know why you must kneel?”

She assumed a bewildered expression, her voice threaded with sobs:

“This consort — this consort does not know where she has erred. This consort only heard the servants’ report and, worried for the safety of the lady guests and for Master Zong, acted in haste without first confirming the facts — and certainly did not know the Imperial presence was here. This consort swears before Heaven, not a shred of impropriety entered her mind, nor any intention of stirring up needless trouble!”

“Touching. Utterly convincing.” The Emperor nodded, with every appearance of genuine agreement. “And yet, My wish for you to kneel has nothing to do with any wrongdoing on your part.”

This time, Madam Bo was genuinely bewildered.

“Then why—”

“Does Madam Bo not come from a distinguished family? How is it she does not know the protocol — that a side consort must kneel before the true mistress of the household?”

That single sentence fell like a blow to the head, instantly shattering the flawless facade Madam Bo had maintained until now.

Destroying a person from the inside out. Killing without a single drop of blood.

She had once used the same tactics against others. In this mansion no one had been her match, and she had believed no man would ever grasp such refined cruelty.

And yet the man before her clearly did. Not only did he grasp it — he wielded it with far greater viciousness than she ever had.

“As My words have indicated, Madam has committed no offense and has no cause for alarm.” Su Wei’s voice became gentler still, as though they truly were exchanging casual conversation at a family banquet. “Today is, after all, a grand celebration in this household — cause for toasting with fine wine. I came empty-handed on a whim, but as it happens I noticed a fine vintage on the table just now inside that room. Allow me, then, to offer borrowed flowers as a tribute. Please, Madam, do not refuse.”

If everything up to this point could be described as a kind of sting, then hearing these words, Madam Bo truly understood at last what it meant to be executed by a thousand cuts.

Each prior moment had been its own torment — yet after the man finished speaking, time seemed to slip through her fingers and flow away all at once.

In what felt like an instant, the Emperor’s pale hand was already holding a freshly poured cup of wine before her face.

Jiang Fei’s voice rang out nearby, still carrying its customary hint of courteous warmth:

“Madam Bo, please accept this gift.”

Madam Bo’s eyes were fixed rigidly on that cup of wine, her eyeballs straining so hard they nearly crossed. Her carefully dressed temples had begun to crease. The rouge on her lips had been half-eaten away by her chattering teeth.

“This consort fears she may behave badly after drinking and does not dare drink before Your Majesty. This consort is willing to confine herself for three months as self-punishment, to reflect on today’s mistakes—”

“My has already said — Madam has committed no wrongdoing. Besides, it is only one cup of wine. Why does Madam Bo refuse?” His voice remained as composed as ever; no one could pick out the faintest trace of malice in it. “Or is it that Madam Bo bears resentment toward the former mistress of this room, and is deliberately striking a pose of defiance — choosing death over compliance in this place? Or perhaps it is My you resent?”

Madam Bo’s back could no longer hold up her body. She trembled from head to foot like a sieve.

“This consort — this consort would not dare—”

Watching it all, Xuanyuan Prince Su Che several times nearly spoke up to plead for her. In the end, he could not bring the words to his lips.

He had no standing to plead. The Emperor had not pronounced any punishment. Yet why the woman on the ground was shaking with terror — that, he had already understood.

If she had not tampered with that wine, then everything happening now was nothing more than an ordinary imperial gift of wine.

And the hand holding that wine cup was steady as a boulder — absolutely motionless, as though nothing in the world could shake it.

“Will you drink or not?”

Madam Bo’s suppressed sobs came out in broken fragments.

“Will you drink or not?”

He asked once more. The tone, weight, and pitch were no different from before — yet it was precisely this level, flat voice, devoid of any rise or fall, that anyone could feel no emotion in, which was the most bone-chilling thing of all.

The covered walkways extended in all directions — yet she had walked herself into the one that was a dead end. There was no going forward, no going back, no going left, no going right, no ascending to Heaven or descending into the earth.

After a long while, Madam Bo finally reached out with trembling hands to take that small, delicate porcelain cup.

The man standing before her finally smiled, his voice taking on a note of compassion:

“Madam, do hold it steady. If even a single drop of that wine spills on the ground, you will have to lick it clean.”