As the New Year approached, by the twentieth day of the twelfth month, the various government offices gradually ceased their operations. The Censorate had been particularly busy throughout the year, and the censors worked continuously until the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month before they could finally catch their breath.

At this time, ten days had passed since Su Jin impeached the Third Prince Zhu Jiyou. The Dengwen Drum case concerning Shanxi Province, which had shocked the court and the country, gradually subsided, but it brought with it a lingering afterglow tinged with peach blossom hues.

Su Jin’s reputation for talent was already well-known. At such a young age, he held the official rank of Vice Censor-in-Chief at the fourth grade, so he was not an unknown figure to begin with. After the Dengwen Drum case, Censor Su’s name spread throughout the capital. Combined with his modest and courteous manner and his refined and distinguished appearance, countless marriage proposals suddenly arrived.

Just to speak of the night he returned to his residence—he had barely sat down to have a cup of tea when a matchmaker came calling, and she came with no small credentials, holding in her hands the birth date and time of the youngest daughter of Zhang Shishan, Minister of the Court of Judicial Review.

Su Jin had just managed to send her away when, before half an incense stick had burned, another person came with the birth date and time of the sixth young lady of the Director of the Imperial Observatory.

Censor Su sensed great trouble ahead. Using poor health as an excuse, he sent away the guests, packed his belongings, and rushed back to the palace overnight, burying himself in the Censorate and refusing to come out no matter what.

This made life difficult for Vice Censor Qian San’er, Qian Yueqian.

Now, marriage matters were determined by parental orders and matchmakers’ words. Su Jin had no elders above him, and the person himself was avoiding everyone by hiding in his office. Those seeking to propose marriage had nowhere else to turn and could only seek out his colleagues at the Censorate.

Within the Censorate, those who held ranks higher than Su Jin’s and could barely make decisions for him were only Liu Chaoming, Zhao Yan, and Qian San’er.

Liu Chaoming need not be mentioned—no one dared to bother him with such matters.

Zhao Yan wished he could marry both of his daughters to Su Jin. He was a rival, so he couldn’t be approached either.

Thus, calculating it all, only Lord Qian remained.

Qian San’er had grown up in the Qian residence like a wild weed. After obtaining his official position, he moved out to establish his own household. In previous years, many families had tried to arrange matches for him, but his statement that he was “devoted to Buddhism and would take the tonsure once he tired of working at the Censorate” made all the officials sigh in disappointment.

Censor Qian thus lived for many years in tranquil contentment, but who knew that in recent days, the threshold of his residence had nearly been trampled through?

Qian San’er held in his hands a pile of birth dates and times that various high officials at court had forcibly pressed upon him. He pondered deeply—how could he resolve this matter appropriately without damaging the dignity of these officials?

Have Su Jin pick one himself? Qian San’er shook his head. Setting aside the fact that Su Jin currently had no intention of taking a wife, even if he did, faced with these dozen or so completely different birth dates and times, how could he distinguish a good match from an ill-fated one? He couldn’t very well draw lots, could he?

Qian San’er thought, this is worrying this official to death.

Where flowers bloom, each tells its own tale.

While Qian San’er worried on his end, Zhao Yan on his end had already gotten busy, taking Su Jin’s birth date and time and matching it with both Wan’er and Wan. Both were excellent matches, and for a moment, his eyebrows rose with joy.

However, after a while, extreme joy turned to sorrow as he thought, if only he had known, he should have brought portraits of Wan’er and Wanwan and let Su Jin choose himself. If he chose one he liked, perhaps the marriage could be settled today, saving him from competing with that pack of wolves and wild beasts outside for a son-in-law.

On the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month, an old cat in the palace died, startling everyone throughout the entire palace.

This cat had been raised by the late Consort Shu. Consort Shu was of humble birth and had originally been just a Selected Attendant. After giving birth to the Tenth Prince Zhu Yiheng, because the Imperial Noble Consort still had no sons, Zhu Yiheng was fostered in the Noble Consort’s palace.

At that time, Consort Shu suffered the pain of being separated from her child and washed her face with tears daily. Even when Emperor Jingyuan conferred upon her the title of Jieyu, it was difficult to ease her worries. It wasn’t until later when she raised a cat that she recovered somewhat.

This was that very old cat.

At first, some said this was a spiritual cat that understood human nature—otherwise, how could the Jieyu have found peace of mind and gradually improved in health after raising it? Within a few years, the Jieyu gave birth to the Twelfth Prince Zhu Qiyue and was promoted to Consort Shu. Then people said this cat was a lucky cat—otherwise, how could Consort Shu have given birth to two dragon sons?

The cat’s spiritual and fortunate aura spread far and wide. Even Emperor Jingyuan tacitly permitted its existence, explicitly ordering that palace servants must not capture or kill it.

Thus, this cat lived leisurely in the palace for over twenty years, becoming an old cat of great longevity with its own feline attendants, right up until the day before, the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month.

The old cat had drowned. Probably due to its advanced age, it could no longer discern its way. When it was fished out, it still had one last breath, but sadly it didn’t hold on.

The people in the inner palace led tedious lives. With nothing to do in their leisure time, they believed in gods, Buddha, and all sorts of things, using them as spiritual sustenance.

Thus, there were many rumors about cats.

Some said that every cat in the palace carried the soul of someone who had died unjustly.

Some said that if you were scratched by a cat, great disaster would befall you within seven days.

Still others said that if a cat died wrongfully, something unclean must be at work.

At the beginning of the twelfth month, the various rumors about the Beauty Li’s tragic death in front of the palace hall had not yet subsided. At the end of the twelfth month, this old cat that everyone thought would live forever drowned, casting an even deeper shadow over the already restless inner palace.

The most widespread rumor was that the unclean thing was the wronged spirit of the former Consort Cen.

Thus, the Court of Imperial Clan, which managed inner palace affairs, suddenly became as busy as a spinning top. The three princes who led as Director and Left and Right Deputy Directors were fine, but those working below them suffered.

With the New Year approaching and people’s hearts in turmoil after the old cat’s death, the entire palace needed to burn mugwort to ward off evil spirits, yet there were only two days to do it.

The various key officials of the Court of Imperial Clan were so busy their feet didn’t touch the ground, especially Chief Administrator Hu.

Chief Administrator Hu was not only busy but also extremely vexed—while instructing the various palaces on burning mugwort, he kept his eye on the portraits of officials’ daughters piled up on the Thirteenth Prince’s desk. The portraits were practically gathering dust, yet not only would His Highness not look at them, his attitude toward the matter could be summed up in one word: burn.

How could Chief Administrator Hu dare to actually burn them? With no other options, he asked someone to find the Crown Princess to report this transgression.

The Eastern Palace didn’t respond at all.

This morning, when Zhu Nanxian entered the public hall and saw the portraits that should have long been consigned to flames once again neatly and properly stacked on his desk in layers, he finally became angry.

He summoned Chief Administrator Hu and stated clearly, “If I come tomorrow and still see these portraits, I’ll use them as kindling and light you up along with them.”

Chief Administrator Hu was so frightened he kowtowed, saying with his mouth, “This humble subject will burn them immediately, burn them immediately.”

After leading two eunuchs to clear all the portraits from Zhu Nanxian’s desk in one swoop, he thought again—if he burned the portraits, he wouldn’t need to wait for the Thirteenth Prince to act; His Majesty, the Eastern Palace, or the Ministry of Rites could all take his life.

Oh, and there was also the Censorate, which managed everything and could impeach anyone.

At the thought of the Censorate, Chief Administrator Hu had a sudden realization. The eunuch behind him also offered a suggestion from the side: “My lord, why don’t we first hide these portraits somewhere?”

Hide them in a place where the Thirteenth Prince wouldn’t think to look, couldn’t find, and wouldn’t quite dare to touch.

Chief Administrator Hu and the Censorate’s second-in-command Zhao Yan were old friends of many years. In earlier years, when the two each held seventh-grade positions, they had arranged a childhood betrothal between their children. Later, Zhao Yan’s official career prospered greatly, and by rights, Chief Administrator Hu could no longer match his status. However, Zhao Yan was an upright person who kept his promises. He still went to Chief Administrator Hu’s residence to formally propose marriage, and the two families became in-laws from then on.

Chief Administrator Hu thought that at present, the only person who could help him with this favor was probably Right Vice Censor Zhao Yan, Lord Zhao.

He ordered someone to wrap the portraits in the hemp cloth used for wrapping mugwort, and openly led two eunuchs all the way through the front palace, arriving outside the Censorate to request an audience with Lord Zhao.

When Zhao Yan heard Chief Administrator Hu’s purpose, he felt it was highly improper and initially wanted to refuse. But then he thought again—wasn’t he currently lacking portraits of his two daughters? Chief Administrator Hu was truly delivering a pillow when he was sleepy.

Moreover, tomorrow was the New Year’s banquet. Su Jin had been hiding inside the Censorate all this time, but surely he couldn’t avoid seeing people tomorrow? At that time, imperial relatives and nobles, high officials and capable people would inevitably pull him aside to discuss marriage proposals. What if he couldn’t compete with them?

Zhao Yan thus said solemnly, “Very well, I’ll help my in-law safeguard them for one day. Remember to take the portraits back tomorrow, in-law.”

The two eunuchs followed Zhao Yan all the way through the central courtyard, walking to the front of the duty chambers.

Unexpectedly, Lord Zhao suddenly halted his steps, and the two nearly collided with his back.

The duty chambers of the three directors were adjacent to each other, and in front of Zhao Yan’s chamber stood two uninvited guests—Liu Chaoming and Qian San’er.

Qian San’er knew that Liu Chaoming probably had some familial connection with Su Jin, and was there to find him about Su Jin’s matter. Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet explained the reason when he ran into Zhao Yan.

The two eunuchs saw the Left Censor-in-Chief and were so frightened they knelt on the ground, identifying themselves as subordinates of the Court of Imperial Clan. Unfortunately, they were holding too many portraits and couldn’t hold them all at once. The portraits fell to the ground, and the beauty paintings wrapped in hemp cloth rolled out one by one.

Liu Chaoming and Qian San’er knew of Zhao Yan’s relationship with the Court of Imperial Clan. Seeing so many portraits, they roughly guessed the cause and effect.

Qian San’er observed rules in official business, but privately he didn’t like to be constrained.

He had just been worrying about how to have Su Jin select one he fancied from the dozen or so birth dates and times in his hands. Seeing so many portraits stamped by the Court of Imperial Clan, a plan formed in his mind.

This was truly a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse—his luck was extremely good.

Qian San’er curved his crescent-moon eyes and walked very amiably up to the eunuch who was trembling with fear and anxiety, bent down to help him pick up the portraits one by one, then said gently, “It’s all right now. You two may withdraw.”

The two eunuchs felt as if they had received a great pardon and fled in a flash.

Qian San’er then said with a beaming smile to Zhao Yan, “Lord Zhao, then shall San’er help you take these portraits to your duty chamber and place them there?”

Zhao Yan felt that Qian Yueqian was purely like a weasel paying New Year’s respects to a chicken.

The meaning of his words, when you thought about it carefully—wasn’t it basically saying that if anything really went wrong, old Zhao here would take the blame?

With a face full of suppressed frustration, Zhao Yan followed Qian San’er into the duty chamber, not noticing that Liu Chaoming had also entered.

The duty chamber was quite spacious. The three directors faced a table piled high with beauty portraits like a mountain. One was secretly pleased, one was depressed, one was expressionless, but none of them left.

The Censorate could hardly rest a few days all year, and in official business, they mostly worked together cooperatively. Who would have thought that this hard-won leisure time would be wasted on “scheming and plotting”? Zhao Yan thought with even greater depression.

He could guess Qian San’er’s purpose, and naturally Qian San’er could guess his, but both held their ground, neither speaking first, since after all it wasn’t anything glorious.

At this moment, Su Jin knocked on the door of the duty chamber and asked, “Lord Zhao, you were looking for me?”