Chongyin Workshop was particularly lively in winter. The storyteller was recounting the capture of Jiang Tianping in Hubei with great emotion and vivid expression—this was good news that had just been brought back to the capital by the Deputy Imperial Commissioner, Prince Dongping. This Jiang Tianping, who had caused the Censorate official to create that chaos on Zhuque Street, had finally been caught, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

After all, the New Year was approaching, yet one piece of bad news after another kept reaching the court—Prince Gong’s rebellion, Han Zhengqing’s rebellion, trouble in Hubei. For the past half year, one incident had followed another, seemingly without letting anyone catch their breath.

Now that the New Year was near, the capital had no festive atmosphere. This had something to do with the Imperial Guard arresting people everywhere, and also with the rumors about the Grand Princess Consort. Originally, after killing Master Yuanhui, many people felt that the fate business was a vicious scheme that the monk Yuanhui had deliberately fabricated to bring down the Song family and seize power, and they hadn’t taken it seriously. Even when it later spread from Madam Wei, hadn’t Her Majesty the Empress reprimanded her? So everyone had put it out of their minds.

But now it had spread again, and it was truly carved on a stone tablet dug up from the hot spring villa at the Imperial Mausoleum. This couldn’t possibly be people slandering the Grand Princess Consort, could it? Perhaps this Heaven-Devouring Lone Star fate was real, and the Grand Princess Consort might indeed be an inauspicious person.

After worrying about this for a while, it was finally good to hear this great news—that the rebellious Hubei Provincial Governor had finally been captured. Everyone’s hearts felt somewhat better.

The storyteller’s vocal skills were excellent, and those below listened with boiling blood. When he finished a section and took a drink of water, preparing to continue, someone below became dissatisfied.

“How many times has this been told already? Everyone knows that villain Jiang Tianping was caught. Tell us something new!” someone grumbled, and immediately others echoed the sentiment.

After all, there was war in the north, and the coastal raids hadn’t been quelled. Everyone wanted to hear something fresh. Things that had passed—after the initial excitement of hearing about them, they became uninteresting.

The storyteller snapped his folding fan, not the least bit annoyed, and asked with a smile, “Very well, what would you all like to hear? I’ll tell it!”

The servers busied themselves weaving through the crowd, adding tea and changing water. The accountant happened to come by to settle some small copper coins and, seeing this scene, smiled at the proprietor. “Quite lively indeed. They won’t want to hear about that stone tablet business, will they? That can’t be told. You’d better be careful…”

A while ago, many people had pestered the storyteller about this stone tablet business. Fortunately, the people at Chongyin Workshop were clever and immediately found many strange tales and unofficial histories to dilute the matter. Now gradually no one here mentioned wanting to hear about what prophecies had appeared at the Imperial Mausoleum.

The proprietor moved his abacus and glanced over there, not particularly concerned, lowering his head. “They won’t. There are plenty of fresh stories to hear now. How many stories about Prince Gong haven’t been told yet? No time to mention this anymore.”

The accountant smiled, turned to leave, and accidentally stumbled when bumped by someone. Looking up, he saw it was an acquaintance and couldn’t help stopping to bow. “Young Master, you’re here?”

Inside the hall, things had become even more raucous. Faintly, words about fire or no fire drifted over.

The proprietor frowned and was about to go look when he heard this, turned his head, and saw Qingbai who had bumped into the accountant. He smiled. “Come to listen to opera again? What a pity—there’s been no opera these past few days, only storytelling!”

Qingbai wore a white robe with a gold-trimmed waist sash. He didn’t look like a young Daoist at all, but rather like a wealthy young master. His eyes were very lively, and hearing this, he laughed. “I came to listen to stories too—it’s the same. What’s being told today?”

Before the proprietor could answer, somehow chaos erupted in the great hall.

The capital had been outwardly relaxed but inwardly tense recently. Because of Prince Gong and Han Zhengqing’s rebellion, security had been very strict, for fear that some spies might infiltrate. The proprietor’s eyes widened, and without time to speak with Qingbai, he turned and ran into the great hall.

He discovered the commotion was over what story to tell. The people below insisted on hearing about the fire at Earl Changning’s estate, but the storyteller was unwilling to tell it.

Someone asked whether the fire at Earl Changning’s estate was another warning from heaven, again reminding everyone that the Grand Princess Consort was a disaster star.

How could the storyteller dare take up this topic? He called for a server, wanting to leave the stage, but who knew the people below would become even more energized. What had been just a few people clamoring now became a large crowd making a fuss.

This was exactly what he feared. The proprietor had been on edge ever since hearing about the fire at Earl Changning’s estate, and who knew that just as he mentioned being afraid, this matter would come knocking at his door.

Holding his forehead with an intense headache, he went forward to mediate. With much coaxing and persuasion, promising tea and opera performances, he finally managed to pacify everyone. He had someone bring out a different storyteller. Seeing the previous storyteller come down angrily, he couldn’t help but complain in a low voice. “Why did you have to touch that nerve?!”

What kind of place was Chongyin Workshop?! Other places might gossip about the Grand Princess Consort all they wanted, but could Chongyin Workshop join in this commotion?! Simply preposterous!

The storyteller waved his sleeves, so angry he seemed about to emit smoke from his head. His eyes swept over everyone in the venue, and he cursed under his breath with a frown. “The hell! Did I want to tell it?! It was two pretty boys from who knows where who instigated people to make trouble!”

As he spoke, he began searching around privately.

But where could he see them now? He couldn’t help feeling discouraged. “Next time I see those two bastards, I’m definitely giving them a beating. Making trouble without fearing consequences—who knows what their intentions are. Should report them to the Imperial Guard for interrogation. Who knows where those spies came from!”

The proprietor wiped the sweat from his forehead and followed his gaze in a sweep around, but unfortunately saw nothing. He patted his shoulder. “Be more careful next time. If people like that make trouble, give us a heads up.”

The storyteller agreed, raised his hand to wipe his forehead, and when he looked up, he accidentally caught sight of two figures upstairs. His eyes immediately widened. “Aren’t they right there?!”

The proprietor looked up and only saw two shadows. He was just thinking whether to simply go up and catch them red-handed when several people suddenly burst in from outside.

He looked and laughed, greeting them with a call to Qing Zhuo. “What wind blew you all here?”

Qing Zhuo didn’t speak. His expression was rarely somewhat heavy and grim. With a wave of his hand, Han Feng, Cuiting, and several unfamiliar but well-dressed young servants went stomping upstairs.

The proprietor vaguely felt something was wrong, but still hadn’t fully reacted. “You came looking for Qingbai? Why didn’t you come together? He’s upstairs right now…”