The sound of the imperial drums reverberated across half of Shangjing. Lu Qingrong followed Xie Lanting’s carriage away from the scene, her body still trembling softly throughout.

“My lord,” she said in a trembling voice, “the way you helped me today will surely displease Lord Zhang and Marquis Chen.”

“Upholding the law has always been prone to making enemies.”

Lu Qingrong bit her lip, her eyes rimmed red, tears brimming at the edges.

Xie Lanting glanced at her and felt unsettled.

The person who had once been so bold and imperious now seemed like a startled bird at every turn — she wouldn’t meet his eyes, wouldn’t speak to him in a raised voice, and even when she slept, she curled alone in the corner of the bed.

Xie Lanting had lived a carefree life, and had never been able to bear the sight of someone pitiable — least of all when the person’s fall from grace was not entirely unconnected to him.

So he had bought out her indenture, given her a residence and silver notes, hoping she could rebuild her life in Shangjing.

But Lu Qingrong had no family left, and living alone in her own residence, she was constantly harassed by gangs of ruffians who blocked her door and made a scene.

Left with no other option, Xie Lanting had her brought into his own private manor.

Compared to the adoration she had once looked at him with, the Lu Qingrong of today seemed to have given up all hope in him entirely. She would not speak to him first, and even when they ate together, she kept silent and maintained her proper distance.

After a brief period of wariness on her part, it was he who first grew uncomfortable, and he took the initiative to ask if there was anything she needed help with.

Lu Qingrong kept saying there was nothing, yet her eyes seemed to hold a heavy autumn rain that never once cleared.

With no other recourse, Xie Lanting sent people to inquire after what remained of her family — but in the course of that inquiry, they uncovered far more about Chen Baoxiang’s past.

This woman’s murderous intentions toward Lu Shouhuai were one thing, but her murderous intentions toward Cheng Huaili were equally plain to see.

She and Lu Qingrong had even been childhood playmates, and it seemed that out of resentment over Lu Qingrong’s better circumstances, Chen Baoxiang had disliked her from the very beginning.

She was nothing like the naive and guileless person she appeared to be on the surface.

And yet Fengqing had failed to see through her.

“This person is cunning — it won’t work to investigate from the surface, my lord,” said Lu Qingrong. “You’ll need to send someone to Xiang County. There’s a village headman there who can testify that the child Chen Yuan’er gave birth to was taken away by Ye Qiongxin.”

“The Court of Judicial Review will handle the case according to proper procedures. There’s no need to worry too much.” Xie Lanting came back to himself and said in a soothing tone, “Today is Yin Fengshi’s birthday — we need to go attend the banquet first.”

Lu Qingrong’s expression fell, and she seemed to want to say something but held back.

“Don’t worry — Zhang Zhixu and the others won’t be there.” He smiled. “That man has never liked joining in gatherings. Other than my birthday banquet, no one else can get him to come.”

Only then did Lu Qingrong give a small nod.

Yin Fengshi’s birthday banquet was quite lively. He had invited Xu Buran, Xie Lanting, and seven or eight former schoolmates from their days at the private academy. The group chatted and laughed, drinking and competing over tea.

After the food and drink had satisfied everyone, someone turned to Xie Lanting: “What did you and Fengqing fall out over? He’s always treated you well.”

“Surely it can’t be over a woman.”

“That kind of cliché from the storybooks — how could something like that happen between Fengqing and Lanting? Those two have been thick as thieves since they were children.”

Everyone laughed. Yin Fengshi did not.

He looked at Lu Qingrong beside Xie Lanting, narrowing his eyes slightly: “Why did you bring her?”

Lu Qingrong clutched her pipa and said timidly, “Greetings to all the lords present.”

“You play the pipa?”

The relentless, pressing tone of question after question left Lu Qingrong quite at a loss.

Xie Lanting gave him a shove: “I gave you such a generous gift envelope, and you’ve got this many questions? Isn’t the fresh fish just arrived from Jiangnan enough to keep your mouth busy? Take a leaf out of Xu Buran’s book — he’s not making such a fuss.”

Xu Buran had also distinguished himself this time around and had earned himself the post of deputy commander of the patrol garrison — but there was no trace of joy on his face, and he even looked somewhat haggard.

Xie Lanting nudged his arm: “What’s the matter with you? Don’t tell me you’re pining over someone?”

Xu Buran waved it off, signaling he had no wish to speak of it.

With the subject shifted, no one paid Lu Qingrong any further attention.

As the wine took hold, the guests at the banquet scattered throughout the garden — some gathered in twos and threes for private conversation, while others drank alone in brooding silence.

Xu Buran was drinking straight from the spout of the flask when someone suddenly appeared beside him.

“My lord,” Lu Qingrong greeted him with a curtsy.

Xu Buran glanced sidelong at the pipa in her arms and shook his head. “Fengshi was right — you can’t actually play, and yet you brought it along to keep up appearances.”

Lu Qingrong touched the strings of the pipa with a trace of embarrassment: “I grew up in the countryside and have no real abilities to speak of. But all the lords here are the finest of people — without it, what else could I bring to hide my inadequacies?”

“Someone who dared to file a formal complaint against Chen Baoxiang — how could that person be afraid of a small banquet like this?”

Lu Qingrong smiled faintly: “Everyone has something they fear. Even someone of your stature, my lord — do you not fear the sight of blood-soaked bodies?”

Xu Buran’s expression darkened suddenly.

The matter in Nanzhou — he had only reported it to his father and had said nothing of it in front of anyone else. How did this woman know?

Lu Qingrong glided her fingers deftly across the strings, moving them with the ease of long practice, and a fluid rendition of High Mountains, Flowing Waters poured forth.

And in the midst of that music, she spoke softly: “This humble woman would like to make a deal with you, my lord.”

·

Chen Baoxiang sat together with the Zhang siblings, drinking tea.

“Selling the corpse of one’s wife is already contemptible enough — and something like that can actually be used as evidence?” Zhang Yinyue knitted her brows.

Zhang Zhixu said: “The most pressing matter right now is to find out what other evidence Lu Qingrong has in her hands, beyond this one piece.”

Zhang Ting’an asked: “Why not first question the authenticity of the evidence?”

Chen Baoxiang pressed her face into her hands.

She fully understood the concern these Zhang family members had for her — but apart from Zhang Fengqing, the other two knew nothing at all, so how could they sit here giving her advice?

Zhang Ting’an in particular — the Emperor hadn’t forced him into the palace again, but that didn’t mean he had been let off, and his own affairs were still unresolved. How could he save anyone else?

Yinyue also didn’t look well. Her complexion was pale, and her eyes held little light.

Chen Baoxiang couldn’t help leaning over to ask: “Something on your mind?”

“No.”

With Cheng Huaili dead, the one who should have been happiest was her — finally free of that engagement, no longer having to marry that awful old man. Yet except for her, no one in the family was pleased about it, including Zhang Xilai.

He hadn’t even come to pay his respects to her for several days in a row.

Zhang Yinyue brooded over it gloomily. If that was how things were, she thought, it would have been better if Cheng Huaili hadn’t died at all. Whoever she married made no difference to Zhang Xilai anyway — and now it had even dragged Sister Baoxiang into trouble.

Her eyes grew hot, her nose scrunched, and she was on the verge of tears.

It was precisely at that moment that Zhang Xilai stepped through the doorway.

“Father, Little Uncle, General Chen, Aunt.” He clasped his hands and greeted each one in turn, the angle of each bow so precise it might have been measured with a ruler.

Yinyue turned her head away and refused to look at him.

Zhang Ting’an was puzzled: “Didn’t your tutor say you were practicing riding and archery today?”

“Yes, I have already completed a full hour of practice,” Zhang Xilai replied with clasped hands. “The documents from the Bureau of Construction have also been reviewed and approved. On my way here, I noticed the grass in Father’s courtyard had grown a little too dense, so I helped the groundskeeper trim it as well.”

Zhang Ting’an nodded with satisfaction: “You’re a sensible child. Since you’ve already been busy all morning, go and rest for a while.”

Zhang Xilai stood without moving.

He drew a slow breath and clasped his hands once more in a deliberate bow: “Father, there is something your son must report.”

“Can’t you see the elders are busy?” Zhang Ting’an waved him off. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“It’s all right.” Zhang Zhixu looked toward him. “If it weren’t important, you would not have spoken up.”

“Yes.” Zhang Xilai produced a dagger and held it out before him with both hands. “The death of Cheng Huaili — I can take responsibility for it.”