Charcoal braziers burned in the main hall, yet even at midnight they could not keep the cold at bay. Guan Zhao Jing carried a red lacquered tray, bowing as he placed the cup on the table. Turning back to look at the Western clock, he stepped toward his master and said softly, “It’s getting late. You should eat something and rest. No matter how thorny the matter, you must take care of your health. Everything rests on your shoulders—if you collapse, the Fu Jin will be even more helpless.”

He didn’t respond, turning instead to look at the five-colored golden dragon on the throne. The dragon glared at him with its head raised and teeth bared, perhaps also mocking his incompetence.

Back when Hong Zan had overseen both the salt and grain transport routes, everyone working under him said Prince Zhuang was generous. He sent people to investigate and found that Hong Zan had embezzled enormous funds and was quite loose with his money, rewarding people everywhere regardless of their relationship with him. Those in the know had tasted the sweetness and kept their mouths shut, while those unaware spread his good reputation. Thus, in official circles, Hong Zan was known as the kind and virtuous prince, with a much better reputation than the Seventh Prince, who bore the empty title of Virtuous Prince while engaging in underhanded activities.

Hong Zan formed factions and won people over. To eliminate him would implicate half the court—how difficult! The Emperor had made up his mind firmly. He wanted to reorganize the bureaucracy and eliminate factional struggles, which meant identifying the leaders. In a country, in a court, when too many people make decisions, power becomes dispersed, so the net has to be drawn in. And he was always the great sword used to defeat enemies. Did he harbor resentment? Yes, deep resentment, but someone had to do the job. With the Emperor saying, “We have high expectations for Our Twelfth Brother,” he couldn’t voice his grievances even if he had them.

Hong Zan was like an enormous drum stretched tight with copper nails, without a single gap visible around its circumference. Ji Lan Tai happened to be one of those copper nails that had come loose. If only his mouth could be pried open, the entire drumhead could be peeled off.

It seemed within reach, yet there was no way to grasp it. Should they just let him continue like this, maneuvering around him? He gritted his teeth, “Call Lu Shen Chen and Ha Gang in.”

Guan Zhao Jing complied with a “Yes” and hurried off.

The two men arrived quickly, entering and kneeling as they said, “We await the master’s instructions and will carry them out immediately.”

He raised them, “The case is difficult, and now only one last move remains. Tomorrow, I will enter the Ministry of Justice prison with Prince Rui and the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Ha Gang, select two unfamiliar faces to go in and frighten Ji Lan Tai. Wen Lu was hanged and then—followed the same approach. Leave sentences half-finished, let him fill in the blanks himself. As long as the words ‘Hong Zan’ escape his lips, our task will be half accomplished.”

A counterintelligence plan? It was a good idea, but Ha Gang hesitated, “What if this fellow is determined to die? Ji Lan Tai has a military background and once fought against Tsarist Russia with the Western Expedition General. If he grits his teeth and refuses to speak, we can’t hang him, can we?”

Hong Ce raised his hand, “It doesn’t matter. At the critical moment, I’ll send jailers to save him. Regardless of whether he confesses or not, you must string him up. After facing death, he will naturally hate Hong Zan to the bone. Moreover, Ji Lan Tai fears death. When a surrendered general once roared at him, he wet himself in fear. Such a man, once his escape route is cut off, is like a hopeless Liu Bei—not to be feared.”

Lu Shen Chen smiled and agreed, “If things proceed as the master predicts, the case could be resolved in three to five days. Being half-hanged will be an awful experience. If we then send someone clever to advise him, he’ll realize that if Prince Zhuang is not benevolent, why should he remain loyal? We needn’t worry that he won’t reveal the truth.”

It was like a flash of inspiration as if a breach had opened in a long-overcast sky, letting in a ray of sunlight, suddenly offering hope for the path ahead. He had considered inviting the enemy into a trap, but Hong Zan was too cunning and wouldn’t fall for his schemes. Now, by taking the opposite approach, the plan showed great promise.

He made detailed arrangements—where Prince Rui and the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review would observe when Ji Lan Tai would be placed in the noose and when the jailers would cut him down—nothing could go wrong. Though the methods were somewhat extreme, as long as the case could be broken, he didn’t care even if the Emperor punished him afterward.

Ding Yi had been suffering during this time. Previously dressed as a man, she could move freely throughout the city. Now that she was with him and had been to Lang Run Garden, she had to adapt to a woman’s life. Which prince’s Fu Jin would appear in public, running around outside? Though they hadn’t yet held their wedding, her every word and action already reflected on his dignity. She restrained herself for his sake, like a bird with broken wings, spending her days staring blankly through the lattice window, waiting for news.

It was truly difficult for her. She didn’t complain or pressure him because she knew his burden was no lighter than hers. When they sat silently together, she would place her hand on the back of his—her slender fingers contained strength. So for her sake, he had to resolve the case quickly. Hong Zan had provoked his fighting spirit. He was a man who, if shown respect, would return it tenfold. But if someone pressed him relentlessly, even if it meant mutual destruction, he would pull his opponent down.

The plan was thorough, and he let out a satisfied breath. She was in the rear hall; he should tell her the news to give her hope.

After Lu Shen Chen and Dai Qin had left, he took a candle and crossed the hall. A maid held back the curtain as he entered. She wasn’t asleep yet, leaning against a pillow and staring blankly at an embroidery frame.

“It’s late, you should rest,” he said, sitting beside her on the edge of the kang bed, examining her face. It had grown thinner recently, making her large eyes look even more pitiful.

She smiled, “You’ve been discussing matters until so late?”

He made an affirmative sound and was about to speak when she straightened up and said, “The steward is outside. It seems something has happened; he needs to report to you.”

“Then I’ll go see.” He said softly, “It’s cold outside. Don’t move.”

He lifted the hem of his robe and went to the outer room. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, he was met by Guan Zhao Jing’s grief-stricken face. He was stunned, sensing that something terrible had happened, though he couldn’t guess what exactly had gone wrong.

“Master…” Guan Zhao Jing glanced toward the bedchamber and lowered his voice, “Something serious has happened. People from the Ministry of Justice are waiting in the service room. They say the Young Master in prison… has died.”

It was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Hong Ce staggered, suspecting he had misheard, and snapped, “What did you say? Say it again!”

Guan Zhao Jing’s lips trembled, “The night patrol found something wrong in the Young Master’s cell. He was hunched over, and they thought he was sick, so they called for a physician. But when they checked… the Young Master had already passed away. The Minister of Justice is uncertain what to do and has sent someone to request your presence to discuss how to report this matter…”

Guan Zhao Jing stopped mid-sentence, his gaze moving past his master’s shoulder, and he shuddered violently. Hong Ce turned back in horror to see Ding Yi, her face ashen, moving forward stiffly, “What did you say? Who died?”

Guan Zhao Jing naturally didn’t dare answer and shrank back, looking to his master for guidance. Hong Ce was also flustered, his thoughts in disarray, knowing only that he couldn’t let her suffer too much, though this terrible news was like a death sentence for her.

He went to support her, his voice hoarse, “Don’t worry, I’ll go check…”

She ignored him completely, pushing him away and staggering down the steps. He had no choice but to grab a greatcoat and chase after her, wanting to comfort her but finding himself unable to speak.

Ding Yi bit her lip, fighting back tears several times. She didn’t believe Ru Jian was dead; they must have made a mistake. Her brother was born clever—perhaps he had used some strategy to escape.

Her chest was painfully tight, waves of blood surging upward. She feared that if she opened her mouth, she would vomit. She clutched her collar tightly, her head aching, her ears filled with a thunderous buzzing. When she got out of the carriage, her legs were weak, and she struggled to enter the Ministry of Justice prison. But after passing through the gate, she hesitated, afraid to go forward—it was fear, boundless fear. She kept reassuring herself that no matter how afraid she was, she had to discover the truth. Ru Jian was still inside; she had to see him, to confirm he was still well.

Those with criminal charges couldn’t leave alive unless exonerated. Since Ru Jian was still in prison, did that mean he was still alive? She trembled as she moved forward, her shoes making no sound on the muddy ground. As she got closer, she looked up at the high skylight. She remembered the way from when she had come with the Seventh Master. But her heart was uneasy as if an invisible hand was gripping her throat. Even with Hong Ce beside her, he couldn’t share her burden.

The cells were separated by wooden railings, and through the gaps, one could see what was happening on the other side. Several officials in uniform stood in the corridor, hands tucked in their sleeves, saying, “Investigate thoroughly. Not a hair or nail must be overlooked. Once the cause of death is clear, we can report upward.”

Ding Yi froze, those two words hitting her like a hammer, scattering her soul. Somehow finding strength, she lifted her skirt and ran over, startling the officials, who exclaimed loudly, “Who is this? Who let her in?”

Hong Ce approached, looked at the person lying on the ground, and swallowed hard. With an effort to steady his voice, he cupped his hands and said, “I brought her. Please be accommodating.”

The Ministry of Justice officials knelt upon seeing him, prostrating themselves and repeatedly kowtowing, “We have been negligent in our duties, leading to the prisoner’s death in jail. It is our failure. Tomorrow we will certainly submit a memorial to the court. We are willing to accept punishment.”

Accept punishment? A life was lost just like that—who could repay it with their own?

Ding Yi could hardly believe it. She simply couldn’t accept that Ru Jian, who had been busy drying straw just two days ago, now lay on the cold mud floor, a corpse. She collapsed, crawling over on all fours to check his breathing and feel his wrist, saying softly, “Third Brother, why aren’t you sleeping on the bedding? Are you lying on the ground to trick people? Get up quickly. If you catch a cold, I won’t take care of you.”

He was silent and still. Though his face was as white as paper, his brow was relaxed. She couldn’t remember what he looked like before he was fifteen. Since their reunion, he had always been burdened with worries, rarely happy. Now he was no longer troubled, but he was dead.

She caressed his face, which no longer held any warmth, and murmured, “I came too late.” After wiping the blood from the corners of his mouth and chin, she lost all strength and slumped, resting her forehead against his arm.

She breathed with difficulty, as if unable to continue, the pain-numbing her heart. Family ties were so tenuous—she was alone and helpless once more. If Heaven intended to take back this blessing, why had it allowed the siblings to reunite in the first place? It seemed that after all her hardships, she could only have one year of reunion.

She finally burst into loud sobs, shaking him vigorously, like a mad woman, “Third Brother, you can’t leave me… answer me, talk to me, please…”

Hong Ce was powerless in the face of her grief. He could only go and hold her tightly, but her strength was so great that she pushed him away, making him stagger. She turned to look at him, her gaze so mournful it chilled his heart.

“Who killed my Third Brother?” She stood up, glaring at the officials, “Isn’t the Ministry of Justice supposed to be impenetrable? Isn’t it filled with skilled guards? Why did my Third Brother die in prison? You must explain this to me, or I will go to the palace gate and strike the grievance drum, asking the Emperor to redress this injustice!”

Everyone present looked at each other. They had all heard something about her relationship with Prince Chun and dared not confront her. The coroner stammered, “Based on the lividity of the corpse, it must have happened around the hour of Hai. I examined the body and found no wounds, but when probing the throat with a silver needle, there were signs of poisoning…”

“So he died from poison?” Hong Ce said through gritted teeth, “Good! The great Ministry of Justice, a place of righteous law, actually allowed someone to die inexplicably under your nose. I ask you, with your first and second-rank titles on your heads, what exactly are you good for?”

He was furious, and the officials were terrified into silence. Minister Chen Liu Tong trembled, repeatedly bowing, “It was our negligence. But all food and drink in the prison are checked by specialists, and anyone coming or going must present credentials. I have already ordered a thorough investigation of all provisions from dusk until the hour of Ren and questioned each guard on duty. Nothing unusual was discovered. Could it be that Wen Ru Jian… feared punishment and…”

Hong Ce frowned even more deeply, “What are you saying?”

“Could it be that Wen Ru Jian… fearing punishment…”

He grew angrier, cursing loudly, “Nonsense! Weren’t you the presiding judge on the first day? Didn’t you establish whether Wen Ru Jian was a deserter or had been trafficked? Since his crime wasn’t punishable by death, why would he fear punishment and commit suicide? He was poisoned. If not for your negligence, how did poison enter the prison? Don’t tell this prince that he carried it with him for emergencies. Ask yourself, do you believe that?”

Chen Liu Tong was speechless. After hesitating, he cupped his hands and said, “This official is guilty. Your Highness’s rebuke is justified. Now that the coroner has completed his examination, the body should be handled promptly. May I ask Your Highness for instructions—should it be sent to the public funeral home or claimed by the family?”

Sent to the funeral home, lying alone in a dark room full of snakes and insects, then casually buried in a pit once the officials no longer cared—would that complete his life? Ding Yi shook her head, gritting her teeth, “I cannot let him become a wandering ghost. I will take him back, observe mourning, and hold a funeral, letting him depart with dignity.”

This was how it should be. Hong Ce felt deeply guilty toward the siblings and dared not say more. He turned to instruct Lu Shen Chen to prepare a coffin. She swayed like a leaf in the wind. He was worried and wanted to support her, but she kept him at a distance, coldly pushing his hand away, “Have someone send him back to Wine and Vinegar Bureau Alley. Don’t concern yourself with the rest—I can handle it myself.”

His heart grew cold, “Why must you be like this…”

She acted as if she hadn’t heard, crouching down to hold Ru Jian’s hand, choking back sobs, “Third Brother, you’ve suffered. Your sister will take you home.”

The Provincial Administration Office had special stretchers for transporting bodies. Two jailers placed him on it, with Ding Yi supporting him from the side. Just as they exited the prison door, they heard a bailiff exclaim in surprise. She looked back to see that beneath the dried grass in the corner of the wall was a blood-written character, not very clear, crooked, and uneven, spelling “Zhuang.”