“I looked into all of Zhang Zhixu’s preferences and studied them accordingly. The imitation is decent enough — but many of his habits are the opposite of mine.

He loves bamboo; I can’t stand it. He can swim; I fear the water. He dreads the cold; I welcome it.

He is allergic to rapeseed flowers; I happen to love watching them bloom. Even this purple — he dislikes it, yet I’ve always instinctively bought it.

So you and he are two completely different people?

Not what else would we be?”*

The earlier conversation rang clearly in his ears. Zhang Zhixu reeled as though struck by a tremendous blow — his pupils contracted sharply, and in an instant everything became clear, yet also strangely uncertain.

When had Chen Baoxiang discovered that he was Zhang Zhixu?

With a mind as slow and dull as hers — how could she have possibly figured it out?

And even if she had — why hadn’t she come out and told him directly?

The Buddha figurine tucked inside his sleeve had been waterlogged for too long; most of the gold leaf had already peeled away.

Zhang Zhixu held it in a daze, and only after a long while did he turn to Xie Lanting and ask: “If Chen Baoxiang truly had been to that riverbank before — would that make her a very likely suspect in Lu Shouhuai’s murder?”

“Not necessarily.” Xie Lanting said. “She has witnesses. A half-hour window is not enough time for her to have dragged someone back from Huaikou Post Station and killed them.”

The constables escorting Lu Shouhuai had confirmed that both of them had been drugged at Huaikou Post Station — and making a round trip between the western city gate and Huaikou Post Station would take over an hour at minimum.

Chen Baoxiang did not have the means to do it.

Zhang Zhixu lowered his gaze and nodded, then turned and walked toward the door.

“Hold on.” Xie Lanting stopped him. “You haven’t explained yourself — why did you suddenly become uncertain? Has some new point of suspicion come up?”

“No.” He replied. “You are such a brilliant investigator, and yet you found nothing wrong — how could I possibly find any point of suspicion?”

“Then where are you going right now?”

“Just for a walk.”

Chen Baoxiang had already bathed and changed her clothes. She was reclining on the couch taking a brief rest.

On her table sat the pastries Daxian had sent over; at her side was freshly brewed wine. By all rights, she should have been eating and drinking with a face full of smiles.

But at this moment, there was no one else in the room — only her and Zhao Huaizhu.

“My lady.” Zhao Huaizhu said in a low voice. “That Deputy Magistrate from the Court of Judicial Review has been pressing our people with detailed questions about every small particular of today’s rescue.”

Chen Baoxiang went on drying her hair, absorbed in her own thoughts. The half-dried dark strands fell loosely against the taut line of her jaw. Her usually lively, clear eyes now drooped coldly, and when their gaze swept past anything, it carried a depth of shadow.

“What has he found out?”

“The ones among us kept their mouths shut, naturally — but some of the people lower down couldn’t hold their tongues.” Zhao Huaizhu frowned. “Shall I go over and have them keep quiet?”

“Don’t bother. What needed to be said has already been said — going now would only make things worse.”

“Then as for the Court of Judicial Review…”

“Never mind. Without solid evidence, he can only suspect.”

The anxiety that had gripped Zhao Huaizhu was settled by just a few words.

She couldn’t help but feel grateful — thank goodness they had found her lady. If it had been just the few of them on their own, they never could have managed any of this.

Chen Baoxiang bent her head over her hair, rubbing the ends dry, feeling somewhat vexed with herself.

She had been too hasty today — hadn’t kept up her disguise — and had indeed exposed far too many weak points. Had she been more thorough, she should have lingered at the fork for a longer spell, or perhaps split her forces in two —

But that would have meant leaving him in the water far longer.

Already fragile and precious by nature, he suffered aches and rashes from the slightest upset — delay it any further, and there was no knowing what state he would end up in.

Thinking of how frail and wretched he had looked, Chen Baoxiang let out a long sigh, her lashes dropping low.

Suddenly, from the courtyard, came two faint chimes from the wind bell.

Zhao Huaizhu stiffened in alertness, immediately slipping out through the window and withdrawing to somewhere else.

Chen Baoxiang came back to herself as well, and with a quick motion, pulled the drying cloth from her head.

The cloth passed over her entire face — and when it fell away, her eyes had regained their clarity, and her expression had become lively once more.

“Daxian?” She looked toward the figure entering through the doorway.

Still the same wide-sleeved, narrow-waisted form — a jade crown and silver hairpin. Zhang Zhixu stepped inside, his eyes lifting toward her. Like a clear pond where flowers bloom. Like a snow-laden branch reflected in moonlight.

He walked straight to the edge of the couch, originally intending to ask something — but his gaze dropped and landed on the cut across the back of her hand.

It had been sliced by a reed leaf while saving him — running from the base of her thumb all the way to her wrist, a fine, long wound. She had left it unbandaged; the edges of the cut had gone slightly white.

Zhang Zhixu pressed his lips together and let out a quiet sigh: “Another bad wound.”

Chen Baoxiang curved the corners of her eyes upward: “This counts as a bad wound? It’s nearly healed already.”

“Cheng Huaili is ruthless enough, striking openly in broad daylight like that.” He said. “It’s fortunate you are perceptive — that you knew I would be hiding in the water.”

Chen Baoxiang’s eyelids flickered very slightly.

She stared at her own glossy dark hair ends, and in a tone of seeming ease, said: “That had nothing to do with my perception. It’s more that the hundred coins weren’t spent for nothing.”

“Hmm?”

“The Buddha figurine.” She took out her own and waved it briefly before him. “When I reached the fork in the road while giving chase, I had originally meant to go toward the rapeseed flowers — but suddenly a voice told me to go right, told me you were in the river over there, and so I went right.”

This account was actually rather absurd — any sensible person would refuse to believe it.

But the person sitting before her was Zhang Zhixu — the same Zhang Zhixu who had experienced the even more outlandish affair of a spirit taking possession of a body alongside her.

Chen Baoxiang held her breath and stilled her mind, quietly waiting for his reaction.

Zhang Zhixu was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and began to dry her hair for her. His slender fingers gathered the drying cloth and gently kneaded her damp hair ends, little by little: “Then when you have the time, remember to go to a Daoist temple and offer up your thanks.”

Hmm?

Chen Baoxiang felt a wave of relief wash over her, and she laughed despite herself: “You actually believe it?”

“You’re lying to me?”

“No, no.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Why would I ever lie to you?”

“I didn’t think you would.” He nodded, and the heaviness in the depths of his eyes began to scatter and clear. “In this world, anyone else might deceive me — but not you.”

People say that hearts are separated by walls of flesh and bone — but between him and her, there was no wall. His heart had beaten in time with hers; his emotions and perceptions had been shared with hers. He was the person in this world who understood her best.

Chen Baoxiang had no reason to deceive him whatsoever.

The tightness that had pressed against his chest all this while suddenly eased. Zhang Zhixu set down the drying cloth: “For the next few days, you had better not go out. Shangjing is not safe, and Xie Lanting keeps suspecting you’re up to something.”

“I can’t do that.” She gathered up her dark hair. “The main constabulary just issued me my appointment order — surely I have to take on my duties and get to work.”

“Waiting a few days won’t make any difference.”

“How many days, exactly?”

Zhang Zhixu calculated: “The day after tomorrow is the ceremony to install Lu Shouhuai’s memorial tablet. If you stay away until after that matter is dealt with and then go out, it will help clear you of suspicion should anything else go wrong along the way.”

Chen Baoxiang’s eyebrows arched slightly upward.

What a joke. She had been preparing for so many days precisely for this — to make sure something went wrong at Lu Shouhuai’s memorial ceremony.

A righteous official could not even be buried whole — so what right did that creature, who had trampled over human lives and taken bribes without conscience, have to have his memorial tablet enshrined in the Temple of the Four Deities, receiving the incense smoke of ten thousand worshippers?

Emotions churned inside her, but on her face she kept a sweet smile, and she nodded at Daxian with gentle compliance: “Very well — I’ll stay home then. Once everything is over, come and drink with me up at Zhaixing Pavilion.”