The Zhang Family of Shangjing placed great importance on reputation. Rarely had any member of the clan been entangled in a scandalous affair without proper name or status — they had always been a model for the noble families of Shangjing.

Yet on a clear afternoon, the streets and alleyways suddenly erupted into an uproar.

“Have you heard? The Zhang Family’s second young master has violated the precepts of Buddhism, engaging in a tryst with someone inside a temple.”

“Heavens, whose daughter is so bold?”

“Apparently someone from the Military Enforcement Bureau under his command — surname Chen.”

“This is exciting — isn’t he still supposed to be marrying the princess?”

The rumors spread throughout all of Shangjing with the speed of thunder before one could even cover their ears.

Zhang Yuanchu was so furious his vision darkened. He brought the whip down hard across Zhang Zhixu’s back — a sharp crack split the air, and everyone else present in the ancestral hall involuntarily flinched.

“When you first brought that person home, did I not tell you to conduct yourself with propriety and observe proper decorum?”

The man kneeling on the ground said nothing.

Another lash fell, even louder: “What did you promise me? You said it was a debt of saving your life — nothing more.”

He kept his back stiffly straight and did not move.

Zhang Yuanchu struck again with full force: “And this is what you called ‘nothing more’!”

Gong Lan, unable to bear it, threw herself forward to stop him, glaring furiously at her own husband: “Are you trying to beat him to death?”

“If I beat this shameful wretch to death, I’d be rendering a service to the Zhang Family.” Zhang Yuanchu paced back and forth in agitation, pointing with the whip in hand. “Look at him — is there even the slightest hint of remorse on his face?”

Zhang Zhixu’s back was already a bloody mess. His face had gone pale, but his lips were pressed tightly shut — not a word of protest.

Gong Lan said urgently: “Ningsu has already explained it to you — he was saving someone. It wasn’t what it appears.”

“What good does explaining to me do? The whole city already knows.” Zhang Yuanchu grew more incensed the more he thought about it. He shoved his wife aside and brought down another lash. “How do you expect me to account for this to every branch of the Zhang Family?”

Zhang Zhixu felt a sudden, dazed sense that these past few months had been nothing but a dream — that time had never moved at all — and he had simply returned to this suffocating ancestral hall.

No matter what grievances he had suffered, no matter what circumstances he had endured, he must first give the Zhang Family an accounting.

“Fengqing, quickly apologize to your father.” Gong Lan blocked Zhang Yuanchu and turned back to give him a meaningful look. “Just say that from now on — from now on — you and Baoxiang will have no further dealings.”

The ancestral hall fell into dead silence. Her words seemed to drop into mud, producing no echo whatsoever.

Zhang Yuanchu raised his hand again in fury.

·

Chen Baoxiang hurried to the Mingzhu Tower.

The place was as magnificent and imposing as before, yet the recent rain had lent it an inexplicable bleakness.

She left her oiled paper umbrella at the entrance on the ground floor, gathered her skirts, and climbed upward floor by floor.

The wind and rain howled. On the sixth floor, the doors were thrown wide open, and gauze curtains thin as mist swayed and drifted.

The man was seated on a soft daybed by the window, a plain gauze robe draped carelessly about him. A vessel of clear liquor sat within reach, and he had already drunk most of it in one long tilt of the head. His dark eyes swept over to her, catching sight of her with effortless ease.

Chen Baoxiang hesitated slightly: “Ningsu, are you certain I’m the one who can talk some sense into him?”

Ningsu, who stood nearby, nodded: “Please give it a try, my lord.”

She had woken up that very morning fretting over how to ease the tension between herself and Zhang Zhixu — and here the opportunity had simply delivered itself to her door.

And yet the man looked so distant — like cold moonlight reflected in a mirror, a still pond emptied of warmth — and she found herself at a loss for where to begin.

Taking a deep breath, Chen Baoxiang stepped through the doorway, walked over, and reached for the liquor vessel in his hand.

Zhang Zhixu was badly injured, but his strength had not left him. His fingers closed around the vessel and he refused to let go.

She shrugged helplessly, and simply used his hand as leverage to pour herself a cup, then tipped her head back and drank it in one swallow.

“…” Zhang Zhixu looked at her, baffled.

She smiled: “It’s been a long time since I’ve had such fine liquor. One sip and you can tell it’s expensive — a single vessel must cost at least two taels of silver.”

He was not particularly inclined to engage with her — perhaps because some anger still burned in his chest, perhaps because the wound on his back hurt too much.

But his mouth answered on its own: “Five taels.”

“That expensive?” Chen Baoxiang drew a sharp breath and immediately pressed her cup forward to be refilled.

The liquor burned down her throat. Her body warmed, and her nerve steadied. She clicked her tongue, set down the cup, rubbed her hands together, and said: “All right then. Let’s begin.”

Zhang Zhixu instinctively edged back by several inches.

“What are you afraid of — I’m not going to kiss you.” She clicked her tongue again, produced the medicinal ointment Ningsu had given her, scooped out a dollop, and spread it across her palms. “Take off your outer robe.”

“…” That was somehow worse than a kiss.

He turned his face away and said stiffly: “I don’t need you.”

“I know you’re cross with me, but this medicinal ointment came from the medicine chest you gave me — it works well.” She pressed a hand firmly to his shoulder, clearly intending to simply force the matter.

Zhang Zhixu caught her hand and looked up at her with undisguised irritation.

She studied his expression, let out a resigned sigh, and dropped herself down beside him on the daybed: “Still angry?”

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically.

He had, in truth, already talked himself into letting it go. She had deceived him — but hadn’t he himself entertained the thought of deceiving her in return? Between the two of them, they cancelled each other out. Neither of them had an easy life; there was no point in staying stuck on this grievance.

But then she had gotten tangled in the Princess Imperial’s murky waters. Clearly she had been put in a difficult position, clearly she had had no choice — and yet she had never once thought to speak with him plainly and honestly, simply turning around to engage in another round of empty pleasantries with him.

She trusted him that little.

“Still bothered that I hid the killing from you?” Chen Baoxiang reflected on herself for a moment, then sighed. “But when you think about it, Lu Shouhuai was someone you wanted removed as well. I kept things from you, yet I was also acting on your behalf.”

“On my behalf?” Zhang Zhixu looked at her. “He broke the law — there are imperial statutes to punish such offenses. You killed outside the law and you dare call it acting on my behalf?”

“Imperial statutes.” Chen Baoxiang turned those two words over in her mouth. “If they were truly fair, I wouldn’t have needed to take such risks.”

“Is it for you to decide whether the law is fair or not?”

“Naturally, what I say doesn’t count.” She looked up at him. “But, my lord — can a crooked ruler draw a straight line?”

Zhang Zhixu was momentarily stunned.

The person before him had shed that mask of foolish ignorance. Her eyes were calm as a lake — but beneath the surface, dark currents moved.

“Lu Shouhuai had the lives of tens of thousands on his hands. A hundred deaths couldn’t begin to repay his debt. Making him pay with his life was the most basic measure of justice.” She spoke. “I did nothing wrong.”

The wind swept in from behind her, black hair falling loose at her shoulders, white gauze veiling her face. Zhang Zhixu felt as though he were looking at endless paper offerings and a long procession of mourners in white — desolate, grief-stricken, and burning with resentment that could find no release.

Yet those who serve as officials must rely on solid evidence and act according to the law. Decisions cannot be made on emotion alone — that was an iron rule.

He asked: “This catastrophe you speak of — do you have any evidence?”

Chen Baoxiang pulled her lips into a thin smile: “Of course not.”

“I know — you’re going to say that everything requires evidence. If everyone convicted others based on feeling alone, the world would fall into chaos.” She scratched at her chin, a trace of restless frustration surfacing. “But I was there. I lived through it. He destroyed the evidence, yet I survived. When the chance finally came, of course I was going to demand he pay that blood debt.”

The trailing edge of her voice carried a fury she could not fully suppress — like water brought to a boil, surging up once more against the walls of his chest.

Reason told Zhang Zhixu that what she had done was against the rules, not something to be encouraged.

But after sitting with his thoughts for only a short while, he found that he understood Chen Baoxiang.

When the law offered no justice and the world offered no reckoning, how could he reproach a victim for not retaliating within the system? Reporting to the authorities from inside a black market workshop was useless. Reporting from a remote village swallowed by floodwaters was equally useless.

She had indeed had no authority to privately execute an official — but just like Lu Shouhuai, she had left behind not a shred of evidence.

No evidence. No conviction.

He shifted his gaze and reached out once more for the liquor vessel she had pushed away.

“Hey — you’re still drinking? Look at the state of your back.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why were you beaten like this?”

Ningsu, who had been silent throughout, finally spoke: “The master’s elders wanted him to have no further contact with you. The master was unwilling.”

Zhang Zhixu shot him a sideways glance.

Chen Baoxiang’s eyes went wide. She stared at him for a moment, and then the smooth, fluent tongue that had never faltered from the moment she stepped through the door suddenly stumbled: “For — for that?”