The Censorate’s closing hour was the hour of the Rooster, yet by now it was already well into the hour of the Dog.

Two lanterns hung swaying from the lintel above the gate. The night wind had just begun to stir, and the lanterns rocked back and forth, casting their light over Shen Xiao, who stood quietly beneath the eaves. This was his first day on duty at the Censorate, and with everything still unfamiliar, he had only managed to finish work at this late hour.

The long street lay pitch-dark and utterly still, so silent that one could almost hear the sound of blood moving through one’s veins.

Shen Xiao held his memorial in hand, his gaze fixed on some point in the empty distance.

This was the memorial he had submitted that morning censuring Princess Pingyang. But before it could reach the Emperor, it had been returned by the Chancellery. Naturally — for the Chancellery was Zheng Pushe’s domain, and Zheng Pushe was the Crown Prince’s father-in-law, while Princess Pingyang’s Prince Consort Cui Jinzhi was the Crown Prince’s most devoted supporter. On account of this connection, Zheng Pushe would naturally go out of his way to shield Princess Pingyang.

At this thought, Shen Xiao gave a sudden cold laugh.

This court — what a thing it was, officials protecting each other, a web woven so tight and dense it left no room to breathe. For a man of common origins trying to advance even a single step, the difficulty was immense.

Just at this moment, two sword-bearing guards appeared before Shen Xiao seemingly out of nowhere, like ghosts materializing from the darkness. Their hawklike eyes raked him up and down from head to toe. “Surveillance Censor Shen — the gentleman?”

Their expressions were unfriendly, their tone equally so, as though at any moment they might cut his throat and dump him in a mass grave.

Yet Shen Xiao merely gave a faint smile. Beneath the wide sleeves of his robe, he gripped his memorial tightly. Although the memorial had been returned by the Chancellery and had never reached the Emperor, Princess Pingyang had informants everywhere — she would certainly have learned of his censure.

If it had been some other inconspicuous minor official who had displeased Princess Pingyang, she could have crushed him with a single word. But Shen Xiao was different. Shen Xiao had a “past attachment” with her, and on account of that history alone, she would not quietly demote him without so much as a meeting first.

He had planned every step carefully. Shen Xiao understood the arithmetic of it clearly.

Great aristocratic clans, succession struggles — the court was a web of inviolable entanglements everywhere one looked. He was merely a man of common birth; no matter how high he had placed in the examinations, what did it count for? To climb upward, he needed not only ten thousand times more hardship than others, but also the willingness to gamble.

Once she had toyed with him. It was only right that he should now make use of her in return.

“Princess Pingyang requests the pleasure of your company. Shen Daren, if you will follow us.”

*

Shen Xiao had assumed the two guards would take him to Princess Pingyang’s mansion — but to his surprise, they led him instead to Zhuque Boulevard, the most prosperous street in the city. Though night had fallen, Zhuque Boulevard blazed with light. The Xiankelai restaurant glowed red with tall candles, its doors crowded with guests.

Shen Xiao raised his head and looked at the gilded characters of “Xiankelai” on the signboard above, and recalled that a few days ago, when he had gone out to buy rice, Princess Pingyang’s carriage had also been stopped before this very restaurant.

It seemed she truly had a deep fondness for this establishment.

The guards led Shen Xiao into Xiankelai and straight up to the third floor. The third floor was all private rooms — far quieter than the main hall below. At the door of the Jinyuge room stood four guards. When they saw Shen Xiao arrive, they did not so much as glance at him, addressing the interior with respectful deference: “Your Highness, Shen Daren has arrived.”

The door slid open without a sound, and the brilliant lamplight from within spilled out into the corridor. Shen Xiao tightened his grip on his palm, feeling a sudden flash of nerves.

His footsteps sank into the thick soft carpeting without a sound. Eight gilded crane-and-candle standing lamps stood in the corners, casting the room in a blaze of golden splendor. Through the carved latticed screen, Shen Xiao could make out a richly dressed woman seated on a daybed by the window.

Beyond the window behind her lay the lights of the entire capital, ablaze through the night.

A serving girl in a deep crimson gauze robe appeared noiselessly to receive him. “Shen Daren, this way, please” — she guided him around the latticed screen and led him to the window, then curtsied respectfully before the richly dressed woman on the daybed: “Your Highness, Shen Daren has arrived.”

Yet the woman on the daybed gave no reaction whatsoever, as if she had heard nothing, continuing to play a game of chess against herself.

Without permission, a minor official of the eighth rank such as Shen Xiao was not permitted to look directly at a princess. Shen Xiao kept his gaze lowered and caught a glimpse of her magnificent gown, its train trailing along the floor, as though a whole carpet of golden peonies had bloomed across the ground.

Utterly vulgar, utterly gaudy, utterly opulent.

The gold thread caught the gleaming light of the room and dazzled Shen Xiao’s eyes. He folded his hands in a bow, his voice neither servile nor arrogant. “Your subordinate Shen Xiao pays his respects to Princess Pingyang.”

No reply came from the daybed.

Only the sound of chess pieces landing on the board, each crack ringing out with particular clarity in the silent room.

A wordless show of authority.

An incense stick’s worth of time passed. The game had gone halfway, white and black locked in a stalemate. Li Shu’s gaze shifted sideways and she saw the pristine deep blue official robe standing there without the slightest sway.

So — a man who could keep his composure.

Li Shu tossed the chess piece in her hand onto the board with a clatter, shattering the room’s silence. Only then did she seem to notice the figure of Shen Xiao standing in the hall, and she feigned surprise: “Oh — if it isn’t the top-ranking new examination graduate! Why are you just standing there so stiffly? You — servants with no sense of propriety, why have you not yet offered a seat!”

The tone was cool with a tinge of mockery, so that the phrase “no sense of propriety” sounded, whichever way one heard it, as though it was aimed at Shen Xiao.

Indeed, had he no sense of propriety? A mere eighth-rank official, barely yet established in court, and his very first memorial was a censure of Princess Pingyang? The most favored princess of the Emperor, the eldest daughter-in-law of the Cui family and one of the most distinguished women in the Great Ye realm — he had censured her? He must have been mad with desire for fame.

Shen Xiao naturally understood her veiled rebuke, and his expression shifted — but he quickly suppressed the emotion.

Extraordinary depth of character — a natural talent for officialdom. Li Shu observed him and thought so.

Shen Xiao took a seat on the other side of the daybed, facing her across the chessboard.

Li Shu rolled a white jade chess piece between her fingers with lazy ease.

“Surveillance Censor. Shen Xiao.”

“That is correct.”

“A peasant at dawn, by evening a man in the Emperor’s hall. Quite impressive, the top examination graduate.”

“Your Highness is too kind.”

“Too kind? The top examination graduate truly does have fine literary skill. ‘The Princess dines with ivory chopsticks, spending ten thousand coins a day; the common folk sit on rope beds beside earthen stoves, hanging curtains as their only doors.'”

Li Shu recited Shen Xiao’s censure memorial word for word in a careless, offhanded manner. When she finished, she began to clap slowly. “Fine literary skill — truly fine literary skill!”

“Your subordinate’s memorial was submitted to the Censorate only this morning, yet by this evening Your Highness recites it without a single error missed. Your Highness is the one with a remarkable memory.”

Li Shu raised her brows slightly.

Far from praising her memory, this remark was clearly a veiled jab at the extent of her network of informants.

Indeed — a man this sharp was precisely the same Shen Xiao who, in years past, had swallowed the humiliation of becoming a male companion for the sake of securing an official post.

An opponent like this was worth engaging with.

Interesting — but just why had Shen Xiao chosen to censure her?

For the sake of that one night three years ago?

Impossible.

A man as astute as Shen Xiao would never do something so foolish as throwing an egg against a rock merely out of a desire for revenge.

He had only just entered the court and his footing was not yet stable. At a time like this, he should have been keeping a low profile and working diligently at his duties. Yet instead he had made such a conspicuous censure, as if afraid the whole world would not know he intended to go head-to-head with Princess Pingyang.

Why?

Li Shu could only arrive at one explanation — someone had directed him to do this.

Who had directed him? And to what end?

To bring her down? Or to bring down Cui Jinzhi?

Or was it…to strike against the Crown Prince?

The hand toying with the chess piece went still. Li Shu’s gaze turned sharp and penetrating as she studied Shen Xiao directly.

If it were not for wanting to know who had sent him and for what purpose, Li Shu would not have agreed to see Shen Xiao at all today.

A male companion who had attended her for a single night was not worth one ounce of her mental energy.

A sharp crack — the chess piece in her hand struck the board.

“Shen Daren — do you know how to play chess?”

“I invite Your Highness to instruct me.”

White pieces, black pieces — a silent battle on the board.

This was a dead game that Li Shu had been playing against herself before — white held an absolute advantage, and black was all but dead. That was why Li Shu had abandoned it.

Now that the two of them had resumed play, Li Shu moved first and claimed the white pieces, leaving Shen Xiao with no choice but to take black.

Fairness? That word did not exist in Li Shu’s world. She had earned her power and position through immense hardship — not to lower herself and speak of fairness with some eighth-rank official.

A dead game. It was impossible for Shen Xiao to survive.

Unless he voluntarily submitted and pledged his loyalty to her.

…

A sharp crack.

A black piece struck the board, and in less than one incense stick’s time, a dead game had been reversed — a miraculous escape from absolute ruin.

“I concede, Your Highness,” said Shen Xiao. His thin lips curved in a scarcely perceptible look of contempt.

Li Shu started. The white piece she held slipped from her fingers and clattered across the board. Li Shu’s chess skill could not quite claim to be the finest in the Great Ye realm, but she was naturally gifted, and in matters of wit and strategy she had always grasped things in an instant. In chess she had never once had an opponent take a dead game and bring it back to life.

Least of all without her knowledge.

Formidable indeed!

A person this formidable — she would either make him an ally and bring him under the Crown Prince’s banner. A pity that the Crown Prince’s circle was composed entirely of great aristocratic families who would never deign to accept a man of common birth.

In that case… she would crush him utterly, leaving no threat behind.

Li Shu raised her eyes, concealing the cold sharpness within them behind a look of close examination, and studied him carefully.

He was wearing the newly issued eighth-rank official robe — proper eighth-rank officials wore a deep blue round-collar long robe. There was a saying current in Chang’an that was quite cutting about it: “Capital officials are like winter melons, growing unseen in the dark,” referring precisely to eighth-rank officials; once that deep blue robe was on, a man resembled a winter melon crouching in a shadowy corner.

Yet Shen Xiao was tall and lean, with a perfectly upright spine, and so this particular winter melon of his was rather pleasing to the eye.

Shen Xiao was very handsome — but unlike Cui Jinzhi, whose good looks came with the refined and elegant bearing of an aristocratic lineage, Shen Xiao’s features tended toward a cool, stern severity. His brows were sharp and swept into his temples; his eyes were deep-set; his nose was high and straight. His face was long and lean, and because he was thin, there was not a spare ounce of flesh on his face.

Without any expression, he simply presented that grave, stern face, submerging all joy and sorrow and anger and grief beneath the thick, dense darkness of his pupils.

Li Shu studied him for a moment, and her gaze slowly grew appreciative. She suddenly smiled and said, “I never had a proper look before — today I see that Shen Daren is truly a handsome man.”

Dark brows, deep eyes — handsome, and also severe.

Shen Xiao had just managed a move on the chessboard that overshadowed her, and his mind was racing to calculate what Princess Pingyang’s next step would be. He had run through scenarios where she swept the board clean in a rage more than once in his head — but the last thing he had expected was that she would suddenly begin remarking on a man’s looks.

Li Shu propped her elbow on the chessboard in a languid gesture and rested her chin in her hand, leaning closer to Shen Xiao for another careful look. “Truly handsome.”

Shen Xiao was taken aback — he could not work out what she was trying to do. Everyone said Princess Pingyang was supremely calculating, yet in this moment she seemed less supremely calculating than supremely…captivated by a man’s appearance.

Shen Xiao had lived twenty-five years in strict discipline, applying himself to his studies and never once entertaining any thought of women. Had Li Shu not compelled him to attend her three years ago, he would still be a man of pristine virtue to this day.

It was for precisely that reason that the night he had been made to attend her remained vivid in his mind with particular clarity.

That had been a humiliation — a destruction — the disgusting experience of having to fawn and please like a dog because he had neither power nor standing.

As Li Shu continued to speak, she actually raised her hand toward his face. She smiled and said, “Look at these brows, these eyes — truly —”

“Clatter, clatter…”

Before Li Shu could react, Shen Xiao’s expression suddenly changed violently — he raised one arm and sent the chessboard together with the table crashing to the ground. He staggered back several steps and pressed himself against the railing, gasping for breath, staring at Li Shu with the look of a man facing mortal peril.

As though Li Shu were something as repulsive and terrifying as a poisonous snake.

Li Shu’s hand, outstretched toward Shen Xiao’s face, hung suspended in midair. Meeting Shen Xiao’s look of revulsion, she slowly withdrew it.

The expression on her face froze solid in an instant.

She had grown up in the Cold Palace as a child — knowing nothing of propriety, possessing no learning or accomplishment. At every formal palace banquet, she would sit cowering in her new clothes at the feast, like a dog that had accidentally taken a seat meant for a person.

The people at those banquets had looked at her with precisely this sort of disgust — exactly like Shen Xiao’s gaze just now.

Li Shu suddenly let out a soft laugh. She rose and walked a step or two toward Shen Xiao, her voice gentle and cold.

“What has come over Shen Daren? People who didn’t know better might think I was about to do something improper to you.”

She smiled. “Shen Daren need not worry — I have no interest in you whatsoever. I simply wished to say… Shen Daren, being so handsome, the deep blue official robe does not particularly suit your fair complexion. Light blue would suit you better.”

Li Shu held out a hand as if to indicate the measurement. “Like the cold uprightness of a green bamboo stalk — isn’t that so?”

Shen Xiao was startled.

Eighth-rank officials wore deep blue; ninth-rank officials wore light blue.

From eighth rank to ninth rank was not merely a matter of rank. Ninth-rank posts were the lowest official appointments — not considered proper official positions at all, commanding no real authority, assigned only the most trivial and tedious of tasks.

Years of painstaking study through poverty, in exchange for a first-place finish in the imperial examinations. One memorial of censure, in exchange for a light blue official robe.

Those sharp and piercing eyes fixed on him, like an array of fine blades, nailing him into the dark night of Chang’an.

Never to rise again in this life.

“Hong Luo — it is late. We return to the mansion.”

Li Shu turned and walked away. The long train of her gown dragged along the carpet, as though a carpet of golden peonies had bloomed across the floor.

Blooming with wild abandon.