“You went to Tongzhou today?” Lady Xiao Fan knelt on a prayer cushion picking out prayer beads, selecting them one by one. For such tasks, she always had ample patience—at least far more than she had for her children.
At this moment, her tone was calm, as if speaking of the most trivial matter. Yet Han Zhi somehow felt a chill in his heart. Only after he came to his senses did he respond with a yes. Meeting Lady Xiao Fan’s fish-like eyes that were calm as still water, a flash of alarm passed through his gaze.
“After that incident two years ago, I thought you would at least not act so recklessly again.” Lady Xiao Fan glanced at him once before withdrawing her gaze. Her long robe hem dragged across the floor as she cradled the sorted prayer beads and placed them on the table. She naturally sat down and took the tea handed to her by a maid, sipping it. Without even raising her eyes, she sneered coldly: “But you still haven’t made any progress at all. I remember at the time you swore you already had a candidate selected and didn’t need me to trouble myself…”
Han Zhi’s face instantly flushed red. He feared most when Lady Xiao Fan spoke to him in this tone—bloodless warfare that always added another deep, invisible wound to his already battered self-esteem.
She always had ways to make him hurt even more severely when he thought he had become immune to all poison. He swallowed and apologized with difficulty: “I had already caught the person…”
Lady Xiao Fan’s fingers, maintained as tender as bamboo shoots, paused briefly for a moment. When she turned to look at Han Zhi, her eyes no longer held their ancient well stillness but carried deep mockery instead: “Had? I remember your father taught you never to say things like ‘I could have’ or ‘it should have been like this.’ The result is what matters most.”
Under her gaze, Han Zhi lowered his head in humiliation. His hands hanging at his sides suddenly felt as if they had nowhere to rest. His nails dug into his palms, yet he felt no pain at all—only the sensation of not being able to find even a foothold under Lady Xiao Fan’s cold ridicule.
Watching Han Zhi slowly lower his head before her without saying a word, a trace of satisfaction welled up in her heart. The corners of her excessively refined mouth slowly curved into a pleased arc: “Don’t boast about things you can’t accomplish. I remember teaching you that as well, but you never seem to remember.”
Han Zhi took a step back. He always unconsciously retreated under Lady Xiao Fan’s disgusted or disappointed gaze—this had become an instinctive action formed since childhood. He had tried thousands of times to correct it but always in vain.
After finishing her lecture, Lady Xiao Fan immediately asked about his plans going forward: “I heard the murderer you caught escaped. So what do you have left to negotiate with?”
The child she raised—even though she hadn’t spent much effort on him—she still knew his temperament. His nature of not turning back until hitting a wall meant he always had to suffer more hardships than ordinary people before understanding how to proceed.
Han Zhi pressed his splitting headache and forced a smile despite his discomfort: “I’ll find a way.”
What specific method, he didn’t say. Lady Xiao Fan was right—what mattered in doing things was never the process, only the result. If he spoke too confidently now, it would later become a blade flying back at him.
A breeze blew into the Buddhist hall. Lady Xiao Fan nodded and said no more: “You’ve already received notice to accompany the spring hunt. Prepare yourself. If you have no solution before then, I’ll think of another method for you.”
But at this point, Han Zhi couldn’t possibly have any other candidate or method. His self-esteem absolutely wouldn’t allow him to lose to Song Chuyi a third time.
He still remembered when Song Chuning had said Song Chuyi was difficult to deal with, that she was far more formidable than in her dream. Yet he thought he had already overestimated Song Chuyi enough—during that period in Changsha, almost whenever he had free time, he would ask Song Chuning about Song Chuyi repeatedly, asking about her past and present lives, comparing her dream experiences with her real-life performance over and over again. But he never expected Song Chuyi could change so completely.
He suddenly felt Song Chuyi was somewhat like himself. No—she was more like Lady Xiao Fan.
How innocent and flustered she appeared in front of others, that’s how composed and ruthless she was behind their backs. Two years ago she could put on a performance of losing composure to paralyze him. This year she dared to use the trip to Tongzhou as a diversion, having someone secretly rescue Ma Wangkun.
This Sixth Miss Song really exceeded his expectations time and again. Feeling light-headed and unsteady on his feet, he went out to the corridor and let the wind blow on him for half the day before his mind cleared somewhat. He quickly walked to the study in the outer courtyard, took out a box, and carefully read through all the letters inside one by one.
His father wrote in the letter that recently the Tartars had been making frequent moves—in just three months, they had already attacked Datong and Xuanfu six times. Looking at this situation, war would break out very soon.
But if war broke out now, wouldn’t the matter of Xibei warhorses being secretly sold to the Tartars be exposed?
Coincidentally, the Yangzhou embezzlement case had just been stirred up at Zhou Weiqi’s suggestion. If another case of smuggling warhorses emerged, given Emperor Jianzhang’s current temper, he would probably investigate to the very end.
Although Zhou Weiqi and Han Zhengqing had already stopped two years ago when Cui Shaoting took up his post, they couldn’t possibly be completely clean. If someone from any link in the chain bit them, even jumping into the Yellow River wouldn’t wash them clean. At that time, it would only benefit Zhou Weizhao and Prince Duan for nothing.
He lit all the letters at once and threw them into the iron basin beside him, watching them turn to ashes as his mind rapidly calculated.
At this point, the best scapegoat would be Cui Shaoting. But Cui Shaoting was cautious and tactful, and he had backing like Chief Minister Chang. He wasn’t so easy to topple.
A conciliatory policy probably wouldn’t move him either—he had never had much connection with the Marquis of Jinxiang’s household line, and those people of Han Zhengqing’s in Xibei couldn’t do anything to him either. They simply couldn’t grasp any of his weaknesses or peculiar habits.
But methods were always thought up by people. Even the most capable person would have weaknesses. He spun the brush between his fingers, and a smug smile suddenly appeared at the corners of his mouth: “Guan Shan!”
Guan Shan pushed the door open. Seeing the leaping sparks, he was startled, but quickly reacted and hurriedly closed the door: “Yes.”
Han Zhi glanced at him and took off the thumb ring on his hand, tossing it to him: “Go to the estate and see how that child’s studies are progressing. Have him write a letter in his own hand.”
He didn’t believe Song Chuyi could truly let go completely of this child who was the greatest nightmare and concern in Song Chuning’s dream, treating him as nothing.
Guan Shan agreed and was about to leave when Han Zhi called him back.
“Also find a way to deliver this letter to Song Chuyi.” Han Zhi’s usually cold face moved slightly, his smile rather chilling: “Ask her whether she truly doesn’t care about this child’s life anymore.”