Chen Baoxiang grabbed a handful of melon seeds and passed them around. The young women huddled together and kept talking.

“Why else would they say men can’t be relied on? General Cheng did all this to marry a princess — he just pretended his first wife and sons never existed. Those two boys died wretchedly too. They said it was the Princess Shou’an who burned them to death, but I don’t believe it — more likely it was Cheng Huaili himself, wanting to climb higher and eliminating the two inconveniences in one go.”

“But those were his own flesh and blood.”

“His own flesh and blood, so what? Look at any of our own families — how many of us have deep and genuine bonds within them? It’s all nothing but interests and the long-term calculations of the clan.”

“True. Look at how powerful the Cheng family is now — and they’re about to take a Zhang woman as a second wife.”

Chen Baoxiang listened with complete absorption, chiming in from time to time: “And what will come of it, now that it’s been found out?”

“I hear the Court of Judicial Review doesn’t dare proceed with charges — it’s been quietly suppressed for now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The Court received an imperial order to investigate, and now that they’ve found something, they don’t dare pursue the case?”

“Miss, you may not be aware — the political situation at court is shifting constantly. The Holy One currently has only Cheng Huaili as a capable general to draw upon; naturally he won’t be easily discarded. If charges were rashly brought, it might…”

“I did hear that there was one person — a fearless official’s wife — who went to file charges.” Wei Qingzhao said.

Chen Baoxiang immediately reached out and grasped her hand: “Tell me.”

“According to our dynasty’s statutes, only officials of the fourth rank or above, or the wives of such officials, have the standing to file charges against an official of the third rank.” Wei Qingzhao explained. “This particular woman is precisely the wife of a fourth-rank Imperial Censor — her surname is Ji. It seems she had some old grievance with Cheng Huaili; this time, she was likely acting as someone’s intermediary, filing charges on their behalf.”

Surname Ji?

Zhang Zhixu ran through his memory and came up with nothing — she was most likely among the women of the inner quarters, never having entered government service.

But Chen Baoxiang went very still. After a long pause, she said: “Is it — Ji Qiurang?”

“That’s right, that’s the name.” Wei Qingzhao looked surprised. “You know her?”

“I don’t know her, just heard her name mentioned.” Chen Baoxiang seemed suddenly agitated. “How did her case go?”

“That I don’t know the details of — only that according to Elder Sister Lu, the Ji Lady beat the imperial drum at the palace gates, and although she was getting on in years, she beat it for three full shichen without rest.”

Something pressed against the inside of her chest — a dull, suffocating weight.

Zhang Zhixu was puzzled: Does this concern you somehow?

No.

Chen Baoxiang answered, her expression drawn: I just think — if even the wife of a fourth-rank official can’t bring him down, then no matter how many rumors I spread, I won’t be able to save Yinyue.

So that was what she was thinking.

Zhang Zhixu pursed his lips: It’s good of you to think of Yinyue so much, having only met her once.

It’s not entirely that. I’m more afraid that if the two of them marry, Cheng Huaili will come after me to settle scores.

Blunt self-interest. Blunt cowardice.

Zhang Zhixu didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh: Could you not at least phrase it more prettily — even if it’s all an act?

I’ll put on an act for anyone else. With you, what’s the point? We’re practically the same person.

There was something both reasonable and infuriating about that.

He was silenced by it, and could only shake his head helplessly.

But Chen Baoxiang seemed genuinely worried. She asked in rapid succession: “Where is Lu Qingrong? Why didn’t she come today? She’s bound to have the latest news.”

“I just came through the covered walkway and I could already hear you calling for me,” said a voice outside, flat with mild complaint.

Chen Baoxiang propped herself up with delight. “I knew you wouldn’t skip coming to see what misery looks like.”

Lu Qingrong strode in, flicking her handkerchief with a note of disdain, and swept her gaze around the room. “You pampered little songbird — you’re kept quite well.”

“Never mind the commentary.” She fixed Lu Qingrong with a look. “What happened with the Ji Lady?”

“You mean Ji Qiurang.” Lu Qingrong was nonchalant. “What else could have happened? The Holy One will not entertain her. She beat the drum for a good while and was dragged away by the Imperial Guards.”

“Dragged away — a fourth-rank official’s wife, and they just dragged her off?” Lin Guilan drew a sharp breath.

“Hmph. Fourth rank, third rank — before the Holy One, it’s all just servants.” Lu Qingrong said, sideways glance sharp. “Did anyone really think someone could defy the Emperor’s will?”

The words settled, and the room went quiet.

The young official’s daughters were silent with a kind of hollow dread — like foxes who had seen a rabbit die, wondering what that portended for themselves. But Chen Baoxiang was silent out of despair.

Useless. Even a fourth-rank official’s wife filing charges was useless. As long as the Emperor had no wish to cut Cheng Huaili down, the truth could be spread across the imperial desk in torn, bleeding strips, and it would still be nothing more than dust — swept away with a flick of the sleeve.

“Oh — I thought I saw a Pei family sedan chair out front just now.” Lu Qingrong clicked her tongue. “This little girl of yours actually seems to be winning out over the daughter of the Board of Revenue.”

In the past, hearing that would have made her eyes light up. But right now, Zhang Zhixu could see that Chen Baoxiang looked as though something inside her had died — no matter who came, no matter what was said, not a single ripple stirred.

She had even grown somewhat weary, and began showing people to the door: “You should all head out — I need to rest a while more.”

“You’re sending us away already? What do you mean by that?”

“Come along, come along.” Sun Fuyu played peacemaker. “We’ll come back when Baoxiang is feeling better.”

“But she’s…”

“Let’s go.”

The young women bodily steered Lu Qingrong out the door. Taking in the guards and servants posted all around Xun Yuan, she found no avenue for complaint and could only leave in frustration.

The moment she stepped out, Pei Ruheng’s sedan chair was indeed stopped at the entrance to the alley.

Lu Qingrong, still seething, walked straight up to it. “What are you here for? The person inside has already found a higher branch to perch on — she won’t be lowering herself now.”

Pei Ruheng, hearing this, reached out an expressionless hand and lowered the sedan chair curtain. “Just passing by.”

“This is so far from Pingxuan Alley — and you just happened to be passing by? Pei Ruheng, I think you have feelings for Chen Baoxiang—”

“Master Xie has gone to the Spring Breeze Tower,” Pei Ruheng said, cutting her off with a cool edge to his voice. “You have the leisure to concern yourself with other people’s affairs — perhaps you ought to be attending to the duck about to fly from your own plate.”

Lu Qingrong: “…”

The sedan chair was lifted. Pei Ruheng sank back listlessly against the cushions.

“Young Master.” Shoumo, brow furrowed, lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t it be better if you went yourself to explain things?”

“What is there to explain.” He said coldly. “I wrote what I wrote. If she doesn’t want to hear it, then nothing I say will matter.”

“But you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly these past few days — that’s no solution either.”

“Who told you that? I simply have no appetite because it’s turned warm.”

Pei Ruheng’s expression darkened. “There are ten thousand women in Shangjing. If I let go of her, do you think I can’t go on living?”

“Yes…”

Zhang Zhixu had actually been somewhat curious about Pei Ruheng’s behavior ever since that poem — but given Chen Baoxiang’s present mood, she seemed to have no interest whatsoever in the subject of Pei-gongzi.

“We need to go see Yinyue.” She struggled to get out of bed.

Zhang Zhixu was still aching through every movement, but he managed to follow along all the same. “Don’t rush. Things may yet take some other turn.”

“What other turn is there? Unless you use immortal techniques.”

Chen Baoxiang’s expression was grave. She wrapped her robe around herself, dabbed on a little lip color without much care, and headed for the door. “This world devours people. The rich devour the poor, men devour women, and Cheng Huaili has never once shown mercy toward the women in his life — especially his own. If Yinyue marries him, I’m afraid she won’t survive it.”

Cheng Huaili and mercy toward women — particularly those who belonged to him — had never once appeared in the same sentence.