The next morning, Lin Sui’an got up and had barely opened her door when she was given a fright by an unexpected visitor.

Jin Ruo stood stiffly outside her door. The tips of his hair, the edges of his shoes, the hem of his clothing — all had been dampened by the dew. Even his eyes looked faintly damp.

Lin Sui’an: “Coming to formally become my disciple so early in the morning?”

“I — I’m not, I haven’t decided yet! I just came to see whether you were still lying in bed at this hour when the sun has already climbed three poles high…” He finished speaking, then turned and walked away — whether from nerves or from having stood so long his legs had gone numb, he ended up walking with his left arm swinging in step with his left leg, which nearly made Lin Sui’an burst out laughing.

If last night’s thought of taking Jin Ruo as a disciple had been an impulse of the moment, then after a whole night’s careful deliberation, Lin Sui’an found herself more convinced than ever that it was an inspired decision. The more she looked at Jin Ruo, the more she liked what she saw — what an excellent disciple prospect: fine-looking, with a personality both proud and endearing, and skillful in the art of reading traces and clues. He hadn’t seemed terribly clever so far, but based on her observations over the past two months, there was certainly room for him to grow.

Morning’s meal was unusually lavish. As Mu Xia put it: once one enters the Eastern Capital, there is no turning back — so eat heartily and gather strength before the fun begins. Lin Sui’an thoroughly agreed. They hadn’t even stepped through the Eastern Capital’s city gate yet, and they had already had a run-in with the Eastern Capital Pure Gate branch. Once they were actually inside the city, heaven only knew what other trouble might come — especially with that chaos-loving pampered young master Hua Yitang around. Speaking of Hua Yitang — Lin Sui’an noticed it was getting late and still he hadn’t appeared for breakfast. Surely she hadn’t thrown him hard enough to actually injure him? That shouldn’t be — she had used a technique that relied on leverage, and had essentially set him down on the ground smoothly… Come to think of it, she also hadn’t seen Fang Ke.

Lin Sui’an couldn’t help glancing over at Ita, who was once again busy brewing her potion tea beside her.

“Ita, has Brother Fang —”

Ita tossed in a handful of Sichuan peppercorns, her eyes bright and round. “Fourth Young Master is giving him a lesson.”

Lin Sui’an: “Hm?”

Lin Sui’an was still puzzling over that when Jin Ruo suddenly spat out a mouthful of soup noodles all over the table. She turned her head — and nearly choked in shock.

Fang Ke stepped through the morning light in what could only be described as — genuinely fluttering elegance. He was wearing a water-red long robe, overlaid with a semi-transparent jade-green wide-sleeve robe. In his hair bun was tied a bright yellow ribbon. Most alarming of all — he was wearing a pair of crimson embroidered shoes, with gold-thread patterns along the sides that appeared to be shaped like… well… lotus flowers?

This extravagant ensemble, rivaling a large decorative moth, draped against Fang Ke’s slender frame, pallid complexion, and deeply shadowed eyes made it very hard for Lin Sui’an to keep her thoughts from wandering.

Could Fang Ke have had some kind of shock last night, and suddenly let himself run completely loose?

Or was it that this person was cold on the surface but passionate within?

“Brother Fang… this outfit of yours —” Lin Sui’an chose her words carefully. “Does it carry some special significance?”

“Of course it carries significance!” Hua Yitang strolled over, his fan fanning briskly, his steps swift as the wind. Today his outfit was even more flamboyant than usual — when the breeze caught him, no fewer than ten layers of robe billowed out like clouds, every layer thin as cicada wings, embroidered all over with layer upon layer of patterns in silver thread that refracted the sunlight into a dazzling prism.

“This is the most fashionable style in the Eastern Capital,” Hua Yitang said, using his fan to indicate each element of Fang Ke’s ensemble in turn — red robe, green outer garment, hair ribbon, shoes. “‘Oriole-Beak Pecks the Flower Red-Flowing Gown,’ ‘Swallow-Tail Skims the Wave Green-Ripple Robe,’ ‘A Melody Blown Through the Little Plum, Spring Piercing Through’ hair ribbon — pity there were no suitable shoes, so we’ve made do for now with the ‘Reflected Sunlight Lotus Flower Gold-Leaf Boot.'”

Fang Ke sat at the table with a wooden face, jaw working mechanically on a steamed bun, expression ferocious. Lin Sui’an had every reason to believe that if the daggers in his gaze could be made physical, he would have cut Hua Yitang into ten thousand pieces and scattered the ashes a thousand times over.

Jin Ruo looked on in agony. “Oh, dear heaven above!”

Lin Sui’an expressed her view diplomatically: “This outfit does seem rather at odds with Brother Fang’s cool and austere temperament —”

Hua Yitang: “Lin Sui’an, there you go not understanding things. Brother Fang was already born looking like he’s carrying a grudge against the world — he absolutely must use cheerful colors to balance it out. If he dressed in something too plain, wouldn’t that push people even further away? This way he looks so much more approachable and amiable.”

Mu Xia: “Fourth Young Master speaks the absolute truth.”

Ita: “Flowery donkey, very pretty.”

“I get chills just looking at it,” Jin Ruo muttered, rubbing at the goosebumps on his arms.

“…Brother Fang,” Lin Sui’an made one last attempt, “do you have any objections?”

Fang Ke lowered his eyelids. “This outfit cost three strings of coins.”

Lin Sui’an: “……”

You’re telling me your sense of aesthetic is worth exactly three strings of coins?

Lin Sui’an did not understand — but was enormously shaken.

Yet half an hour later, she discovered she had been shaken far too soon.

Mu Xia had actually prepared them an entire caravan: eight four-horse carriages, the draft horses all jet-black, silver bells braided into their manes — plus four cargo carts loaded down with sandalwood trunks of every size. Brown horses with brass bells, and thirty-odd servants accompanying the carts. Most absurd of all, at the very front of the caravan, six magnificent horses with pearl-white coats, their gloss lustrous and rich, their manes and tails braided into lovely small plaits, the ends of each plait fastened with solid gold bells.

Mu Xia looked faintly regretful. “The head of the family said that the Eastern Capital is different from Yangdu, and since Fourth Young Master is here for the first time, it’s best to conduct ourselves with some restraint. Ah, Fourth Young Master, I’m afraid this must feel terribly lacking.”

“Elder brother really does think of everything.” Hua Yitang vaulted onto his horse. In the sunlight, his ten-odd layers of robes swirled out in a glittering arc. He raised his fan high. “Move out!”

Ita gleefully cracked the whip. Fang Ke bit one of the gold bells off the mane of his horse and gave it a chew, then expressed satisfaction. “Real gold.”

Jin Ruo: “Can I find a face veil to cover myself with?”

Lin Sui’an: “Don’t worry. With Hua Yitang up in front taking the lead, nobody should be paying attention to us.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Well… probably…”

Ling Zhiyan looked at the mountain of case files piled before her and let out a long sigh.

Ever since the Feng Family’s Literary Gate case, the Court of Judicial Review had become a target of resentment for the scholars of the Eastern Capital. Every day, Feng Family loyalists staged a sit-in at the gate — three rotating shifts, day and night, eating and sleeping and attending to every need right there on the spot, clearly prepared to outlast the court indefinitely. These students were all bookish scholars who had never lifted anything heavier than a writing brush. Many of them had academic credentials. Striking them was out of the question, and they couldn’t be driven away. The Chief Justice of the Court, Chen Yanfan, was so furious that half his remaining hair had gone white, and with no outlet for his rage, he directed the full force of it at Ling Zhiyan — burying him in hundreds of unresolved cold cases spanning years past, with a strict deadline: all must be investigated and resolved within a month.

Ming Shu and Ming Feng had fumed on his behalf many times, and had on multiple occasions wanted to go make things difficult for Chen Yanfan — all of it suppressed by Ling Zhiyan. He was the only member of the Ling clan’s generation to have passed the imperial examinations at the highest rank and entered officialdom, and bore the weight of reviving the entire Ling family — his every word and action had to be conducted with the utmost caution. He absolutely could not afford to be capricious and unconstrained as certain other people were.

“Sometimes I truly want to be like Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master and shout — ‘to hell with all of you!'” Ming Shu grumbled as he sorted through the files.

Ling Zhiyan’s hand paused on the case file ribbon he was untying. If it were Hua Yitang, he would probably have caused utter chaos over being treated this way — and as for Lin Niangzi, she would likely have turned the Court of Judicial Review upside down and left Chen Yanfan in a helpless, frantic mess. Just picturing it, Ling Zhiyan found his mood oddly lightened.

“By the way, Ling Gong — have you heard about the Heyue City case?” Ming Shu asked.

Ling Zhiyan nodded. “I know.”

“The original case files reported ten deaths, and Lord Li took it very seriously — he dispatched Investigator Zhang to review the case. And you’ll never guess — that Ji Gaoyang had killed more than two hundred elderly people over three years! A truly monumental case.” Ming Shu clicked his tongue. “You really have to wonder — how does Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master always manage to stumble across cases this extraordinary? Does he have some special fate in his destiny?”

Ling Zhiyan: “Such unparalleled, inexplicable good fortune is indeed truly bewildering.”

Ming Shu glanced around and leaned in closer. “Ling Gong — are you truly going to endorse Hua Yitang’s petition for the imperial examination?”

“The letter of recommendation has already been submitted. Given the Hua Family’s standing and Hua Yitang’s reputation, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“But aren’t you worried that if Hua Fourth Young Master performs poorly, it will reflect badly on you?”

Ling Zhiyan touched his nose.

Ten days prior, the thousand-gold-piece payment Hua Yitang had promised him had been delivered to the Ling family — along with two additional chests of gold leaf. The Hua Family truly lived up to its name as a merchant clan renowned throughout the land — a promise was a promise, and they followed through unfailingly. Now, even if he wanted to take it back, it was too late.

But it was better that Ming Shu and Ming Feng not know about this arrangement. He was still, after all, a man of a distinguished family — he had at least some face to maintain.

“Hua Yitang is upright in character, exceptionally intelligent, and widely learned. I believe in him.” Ling Zhiyan said, suppressing a twinge of conscience.

Ming Shu shook his head. “I actually think you’d have better odds endorsing Lin Niangzi.”

“Ling Gong! Something terrible has happened!” Ming Feng came sprinting in, frantic. “Those scholars sitting outside the gates — they’ve all — they’ve all left!”

Ling Zhiyan was startled. Ming Shu was overjoyed. “Oh, blessed day, they’ve finally gone! They were driving me absolutely mad!”

“Why did they leave?” Ling Zhiyan asked.

Ming Feng wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Hua Family Fourth Young Master’s caravan entered the city through the Changxia Gate half an hour ago. Those scholars most likely heard the news and have gone to find him and make trouble!”

Ming Shu’s jaw dropped. Ling Zhiyan slapped the table and rose to his feet. “Come with me, quickly!”

The Eastern Capital was the second largest city in the Tang Kingdom, second only to Andu with its two hundred years of history. It was roughly twice the size of Yangdu, home to nearly one and a half million people — a genuinely international metropolis. The city was primarily divided into three sections: the Palace City, the Imperial City, and the Outer City. The Palace City was the Emperor’s residence, commonly known as the Forbidden Palace. The Imperial City sat between the Palace City and the Outer City, and housed the offices of the Three Departments and Six Ministries, the Censorate, the Five Directorates, and the Nine Courts. The Outer City contained one hundred and three wards, divided by the Luo River into twenty-nine wards in the southern city and eighty-four wards in the northern city.

The Court of Judicial Review was located in the eastern part of the Imperial City, adjacent to the Department of State Affairs. Ling Zhiyan rode out through the Xuanzhi Gate, entered the southern city, passed through Qinghua Ward, Lide Ward, and Chengfu Ward, crossed the Luo River Bridge, and followed the Central Imperial Avenue straight south — the roads of the Eastern Capital were over ten zhang wide, enough for dozens of carriages to travel side by side — yet at this hour, just past noon, it was the time when the three great markets of the Eastern Capital — the South Market, the North Market, and the West Market — all opened for business. Horse teams, camel trains, cart convoys, cargo, and people filled every street and alleyway to capacity. Even on his fine thousand-li horse, Ling Zhiyan found himself swallowed up in the press, unable to move an inch.

Seeing the road ahead completely blocked, Ling Zhiyan felt a surge of anxiety. He swung down from his horse, tossed the reins to Ming Feng, and dove into the crowd alongside Ming Shu, making for the Changxia Gate as fast as he could on foot. Changxia Gate was the southern gate of the Eastern Capital — also the most bustling and most heavily guarded. Those scholars sitting in protest were all stubborn-minded hotheads, and Hua Yitang was anything but calm and well-behaved. If they were to create a scene at this location, forget the examination — Hua Yitang might be barred from any imperial examination for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, Ming Shu drew a sharp breath and pointed ahead. “Ling Gong!”

Ling Zhiyan looked up. Ahead, brilliant light was streaming and scattering everywhere, as though countless jewels were radiating in all directions — nearly blinding. He shielded his eyes with his sleeve, and at last was able to make out a dazzling caravan moving slowly toward him. The wheel hubs and carriage beams were all gilded. Leading it at the front were six magnificent horses with coats like flawless white silk, gleaming with a rippling, wave-like sheen. Ling Zhiyan was stunned — could these be the legendary pearl-white horses? It was said that a single such horse, from birth through adulthood, cost no less than a hundred gold pieces in feed alone — truly one in ten thousand. Yet here before him were six of them appearing simultaneously. Ling Zhiyan swallowed — six hundred gold pieces in feed alone. Worth considerably more than he was.

A man of hundred-year aristocratic lineage like Ling Zhiyan could still be struck speechless by this — let alone the ordinary citizens of the Eastern Capital. The long-established noble families of the Eastern Capital favored an understated, refined elegance, preferring to show their wealth only in subtle, unobtrusive details. For a family to so brazenly inscribe “we have money” across their foreheads and parade it through the streets was the sort of singular absurdity that left everyone simply stunned. For a moment, the whole crowd seemed to wake as one and part to both sides, staring in speechless wonder.

Then, at the front of the caravan, a group of simply-dressed scholars appeared — they linked arms and formed a row across the road, like a wooden fence blocking the way. The scholar in the center position, brows furrowed and voice sharp, bellowed: “Is the one approaching the so-called greatest pampered young master of Yangdu — Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master?!”

That shout snapped Ling Zhiyan back to his senses. He now noticed for the first time that no one was actually riding on the six pearl-white horses — only stable hands leading them. Could it be that Hua Yitang had anticipated the Literary Gate scholars would come to cause him trouble, and that this ostentatious caravan was nothing but a decoy — while he himself had already slipped into the Eastern Capital through some other means? Ling Zhiyan’s heart eased slightly. Worthy of Hua Fourth Young Master indeed — what a careful and thorough mind.

But the very next second, from inside one of the luxurious carriages came a lazy, drawling voice: “To hell with them! Whose blind eyes are so dim they come and bark in the middle of the road?!”

Ling Zhiyan’s eye twitched: Truly worthy of Hua Fourth Young Master — still this infuriating!

None of the scholars had expected the other party to have such a vile mouth. Bound by their dignity as men of letters, they couldn’t exactly curse back. They stood there red-faced and purple-necked with suppressed fury.

From inside the carriage came a snort of laughter. The driver Mu Xia jumped down from his seat, raised his arm high, and the carved and jewel-inlaid carriage door creaked open. Slender, pale fingers reached out and grasped Mu Xia’s forearm, and a figure emerged slowly from within — a folding fan snapping open with a crisp pop.

In that instant — the gleaming pearl-white horses, the gilded carriage, the blazing noon sun — all of them lost their luster. The young man’s robes were like a wisp of cloud drifting through a clear summer sky, trailing notes of fruity and woody fragrance in his wake. His features were peerlessly handsome, and wherever his gaze fell, the whole world seemed to shimmer.

Everyone held their breath. The entire street fell silent.

Ling Zhiyan: “……”

Truly worthy of Hua Fourth Young Master — if he isn’t showing off, his whole body itches.

The ringleader of the scholars coming to demand justice was the first to recover his wits. He raised his voice fiercely. “Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master — you have slandered the Feng Family’s Literary Gate, persecuted its scholars, severed the literary heritage of the Tang Kingdom, and committed crimes for the ages! We have come today at the risk of our lives to seek justice — on behalf of the Feng Family, on behalf of the Literary Gate, and on behalf of every scholar in the realm!”

Hua Yitang gave Mu Xia a glance. Mu Xia immediately set to arranging a cushioned seat, a leaning rest, a small wooden table, refreshments, and a tea bowl at the front of the carriage — remarkably, even with all this cumbersome paraphernalia, the Hua Family carriage was spacious enough to accommodate it all with ease.

Hua Yitang smoothed his sleeves, settled himself comfortably against the arm rest, pointed the tip of his fan at the ringleader scholar, and asked: “Who are you?”

The ringleader was a young man of roughly twenty, with a round face and small eyes. Hua Yitang’s dismissive attitude sent blood rushing to his face. “I am Shan Yuanming, a tribute scholar from Suizhou, courtesy name Baiping, styled the Hermit of Reeds and Rushes. I have come here to —”

“The Weeds Hermit, is it,” Hua Yitang said with an easy smile. “Since you’ve come here shouting about justice — then let us debate what justice actually is.”