Su Jin first met Liu Chaoming in late spring of the twenty-third year of Jingyuan.

That season was always rainy, the fine drizzle falling endlessly over the ten-mile stretch of the Qinhuai River, an overwhelming curtain of unbroken melancholy.

Indeed, there was much to be melancholy about. The spring examinations had just concluded, and one of the successful tribute scholars had gone missing. This morning, when they went to check his lodgings, half-transcribed copies of the *Great Pronouncements* still lay on his desk, yet the man himself was nowhere to be found—neither living person nor dead body.

The disappearance of a tribute scholar required filing a case at the Court of Judicial Review. Unfortunately, the heavens were uncooperative. Halfway there, spring thunder rumbled, and within moments, rain began to fall.

Su Jin rushed through the rain. After crossing the Vermilion Bird Bridge, with the Court of Judicial Review just ahead, someone preceded her, their palanquin stopping before the official bureau.

It was a grand palanquin carried by eight bearers. The high official who stepped down wore black informal robes. Someone held an umbrella for him, obscuring his features, though his silent demeanor carried an imposing dignity. After descending, his steps paused briefly as he glanced toward the rain curtain.

Su Jin froze for a moment before bowing to him through the veil of rain.

This was a troubled spring. The canal transport case and the weapons depot corpse case had erupted simultaneously. The Minister of the Court of Judicial Review was overwhelmed, living each day as if his head hung by a thread. Thus, when the guards at the bureau entrance saw Su Jin’s calling card—merely a magistrate from a capital district office—they said, “His Lordship is currently in conference. Please wait, official.” They did not even invite her inside.

Su Jin did not necessarily need to wait. Simply submitting the documents upward would fulfill her duty.

However, this missing tribute scholar was a righteous friend to her. Over four years ago, when she was expelled from the Hanlin Academy, had this tribute scholar not helped her, she would have faced immense difficulties.

The rain alternated between heavy and light. Under the corridor eaves, a row of people stood tightly packed, sheltering from the rain. Judging by the patterns on their official robes, like Su Jin, they were all minor officials sent to wait.

Su Jin was considering whether to squeeze in among them when the rain above her head suddenly ceased. Turning around, she found that some kind soul had appeared from nowhere to hold an umbrella over her. Dressed as an attendant with neat, orderly features, he said, “Be careful not to catch a chill, official,” pressed the umbrella into her hands, and headed back into the bureau.

The umbrella’s canopy was sky-blue, dignified throughout. The Court of Judicial Review’s attendants, recognizing the umbrella’s prestigious quality, promptly invited her inside. Only then did Su Jin realize this noble umbrella belonged to the high official who had descended from the palanquin earlier.

How strange—in this world, an umbrella’s face proved more useful than a person’s face.

Upon meeting the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, Su Jin bowed respectfully: “This subordinate official, Su Jin, greets Lord Zhang.”

Zhang Shishan knew Su Jin.

He came from the Hanlin Academy and had only been transferred to the Court of Judicial Review last year. When Su Jin had placed second class in the imperial examinations, she had worked with him at the Hanlin Academy for a time on the *Biography of Liezi*. Unfortunately, a tree that stands tall in the forest will be destroyed by the wind. Seeing the young scholar again now, her former sharp spirit completely restrained, Zhang Shishan felt regret in his heart. His words became somewhat gentler, and he gestured to a chair: “Sit down and speak.”

Su Jin sat as instructed. Only then did she notice that the official who had descended from the palanquin was leisurely drinking tea on the other side of the room. Though she had met many people since childhood, this particular person’s appearance was flawless, yet his eyes held layers of clouds and mist, concealing unknown depths.

Su Jin recalled a line of poetry: Opening at dawn, a single bloom upon the misty waters.

Zhang Shishan said, “I’ve already reviewed the documents you had Deputy Minister Liu deliver. Set your mind at ease regarding Chao Qing’s case. He is, after all, a tribute scholar of the court. I’ll draft another official document to submit to the Ministry of Rites. We will find him without fail.”

In these difficult times, the Three Judicial Offices invariably pushed troublesome cases onto others. That the Court of Judicial Review was willing to take it on already represented an enormous favor. But how long would it take for the Ministry of Rites to review the documents and begin searching? Scholars spent their entire lives hoping to see their names on the golden roll. The day after tomorrow was the palace examination—Chao Qing could not afford to wait.

Thinking of this, Su Jin said, “To be frank, my lord, the Capital District Office has also investigated this matter. These past few days, Chao Qing had been studying diligently at his lodgings with nothing suspicious. Only on the day he disappeared did the Grand Tutor’s third young master, Yan Ziyan, come looking for him. They seemed to have argued, and afterward, the man vanished.”

The Grand Tutor’s third young master, Yan Ziyan, was the current Crown Prince’s reader and had recently been promoted to Junior Administrator of the Court of the Imperial Clan. Zhang Shishan asked, “How can you confirm it was the Junior Administrator?”

Su Jin replied, “He carried a jade seal of the Yan family, which was verified by the martial guards at the tribute scholars’ lodgings.”

Zhang Shishan found himself in difficulty. If this matter involved Yan the Third, how could he handle it? Could he possibly take the jade seal and go arrest someone at the Grand Tutor’s residence? Never mind offending the Grand Tutor—if he offended the Eastern Palace, there would be no escaping the consequences.

Zhang Shishan fell silent, looking through the window lattice at the dark, overcast sky. The spring rain was troublesome, its drizzle pouring down to dampen one’s spirits.

Instead, the high official who had descended from the palanquin spoke leisurely: “Yan Ziyan came, and then left again?”

“He left.”

“When he left, Chao Qing was still there?”

“Still there.”

That person held a cup of tea, looking calmly at Su Jin: “If that’s the case, it doesn’t seem to involve Yan Ziyan at all. The Capital District Office didn’t want this hot potato, so you came to the Court of Judicial Review, asking Lord Zhang to investigate the Junior Administrator based on the old relationship and mere hearsay?”

Blocked by these words, Su Jin could only produce a single “yes” after a long pause. She dropped to her knees and kowtowed heavily. “Please help this student just this once, Lord Zhang.”

In the end, she was a scholar, her belly full of poetry and books absorbed into her very bones, all transformed into proud integrity. They say there is gold beneath one’s knees—if not for her old friend, she would never beg anyone in her lifetime.

Seeing her like this, Zhang Shishan was already moved. Just as he was about to rise and help her up, a hand extended from the side stopped him. The official who had descended from the palanquin held his tea and slowly walked before Su Jin, looking down at her from his superior position: “This official will speak some honest words to you. Listen carefully.”

“This year began inauspiciously. You should understand what kind of times these are. Never mind one missing person—even if someone died or several temples burned down, as long as the realm remains generally peaceful, whatever can be glossed over will be glossed over. Officials should maintain official propriety. Before trying to trade on personal relationships with the Court of Judicial Review, first examine your own status.”

That night, Su Jin returned to her quarters at the Yingtian Prefecture Office and sat on the bed in a daze.

Zhou Tongpan from the neighboring room noticed and asked, “That Lord Zhang refused you, didn’t he?” He shook his head and sighed. “I warned you—these old officials are like rocks in a stinking latrine pit, both stubborn and attracted to ‘flies.’ Why subject yourself to such humiliation?”

Zhou Tongpan’s courtesy name was Gaoyan, with the single given name Ping. Having failed the spring examinations that year, he had entered the Capital District Office on the strength of his candidate status. Su Jin turned to look at him and suddenly asked, “Gaoyan, among court officials under thirty years old and third rank or above, how many do you know?”

Zhou Ping was startled. “Young yet holding high office?” After contemplating, he said, “Ever since Emperor Jingyuan began broadly accepting talent, such court officials number no fewer than six or seven, though at least three or four.”

Su Jin remained silent. She smoothed a sheet of paper on the desk and ground ink with water. Her brush fell upon the paper, and in moments, she had sketched a portrait. Zhou Ping watched with furrowed brows, gradually becoming entranced. The person on the paper was exceedingly handsome, his eyes and brows seeming naturally created by mountain landscapes and ink.

Su Jin set down her brush and asked, “This person—do you know him?”

Zhou Ping said, “Though there are several court officials of third rank and above, with such appearance and bearing, if he’s not Vice Minister of Revenue Shen Xi, then he must be the newly appointed second-rank Left Censor-in-Chief, Lord Liu Chaoming.”

Su Jin fell silent for a moment, her voice light and airy: “I suspected as much.”

The path through the Court of Judicial Review had been thoroughly blocked. Su Jin lay down on the bed, remembering over four years ago when she had been beaten with clubs and left unconscious by the roadside. Only Chao Qing had come to find her. Wind and rain filled the sky, mud staining his white sleeves. He had hoisted her onto his back and simply discarded even his umbrella. In her daze, Su Jin had murmured her thanks. Chao Qing’s steps paused briefly as he replied in a muffled voice, “Between you and me, we need not speak of thanks.”

To receive kindness in times of peril—one must repay it even if it means tying grass into rings.

Zhou Ping had just risen when he heard knocking at the door. Before dawn, Su Jin stood outside, dark circles under her eyes—clearly she had tossed and turned all night in thought: “Young Marquis’s secret missive—give it to me.”

Zhou Ping had still been drowsy, but hearing these words, he started in alarm: “Have you lost your mind?”

Su Jin said nothing but directly retrieved the secret missive from a red sandalwood box. In the lower left corner was a hollowed-out wisteria flower pattern, and inside was written an essay question.

Such a letter card appeared ordinary on the surface, but contained great significance within—the current Emperor governed through literature. Each month, he commanded Hanlin Academy scholars to distribute essay questions, requiring the imperial princes to answer them within three days. Answering correctly brought no reward, but failing to answer brought punishment. Receiving such a secret missive likely meant some prince was shirking his duties and seeking someone below to answer for him.

Palace rules were strict. Though the secret missive passed through few hands, if someone was determined to investigate, discovery was inevitable. Half a year ago, a timekeeper at the Imperial Observatory had been beaten to death for helping the Fourteenth Prince draft an essay question.

Su Jin poured a cup of cold tea into the inkstone, ground the ink, spread paper, and began writing her answer. Zhou Ping watched in horror from the side and quickly closed the door, following her to ask, “Yesterday when I wanted to burn this secret missive, you stopped me—you already had this plan in mind, didn’t you?”

Su Jin hummed in acknowledgment.

Zhou Ping said urgently, “Are you seeking death? Act with knowledge and caution—a gentleman does not stand beneath a dangerous wall.”

Su Jin replied calmly, “Though a dangerous wall is perilous, there remains a thread of hope. Better than demeaning myself to beg others.”

Zhou Ping wanted to continue persuading her, but someone outside called him to duty. He hurriedly washed his face. At the door, he turned back to see Su Jin still writing swiftly with the appearance of one rushing heroically toward death. He could only admonish, “If you want to find Chao Qing, I’ll think of a solution for you. Don’t act impulsively. Remember to think three times before acting.”

Su Jin didn’t look up, responding only, “Remember to mark my attendance.”

The essay question discussed the foundation of revitalization. After Su Jin finished answering, she tidied her writing materials and went out. It was raining again outside, the rain threads like broken strings, fine and dense. She returned to her room for a rain cape. After thinking for a moment, she also took that sky-blue oiled paper umbrella. This was Liu Chaoming’s umbrella. Su Jin thought that on this journey, if she happened to encounter Liu Chaoming, she would return the umbrella to him.

Zhou Ping had said to think three times before acting. It wasn’t that she hadn’t listened. But what could be done? She truly did not wish to owe anyone anything. A drop of kindness must be repaid with a flowing spring, and Chao Qing’s kindness in supporting and sustaining her—she must now risk her life to repay. Her life was destined for hardship. In the long run, it would be better to have fewer entanglements with others.