“My Lord—”

Several nearby guards saw the Regent injured and immediately surged forward to seize Su Jin.

Liu Chaoming raised his hand slightly.

Yan Xiu understood and shouted to stop them, “What are you doing? Don’t you recognize this is Lord Su?”

The director of the Imperial Medical Academy also arrived carrying a medicine chest. Glancing at the wound on the back of Liu Chaoming’s hand, he said, “Regent, shall this official first bandage it for you?”

Liu Chaoming shook his head slightly.

His gaze fell on Su Jin’s eyes.

Those eyes that once contained both gentle rain and fierce fire were now hollow, as if life’s念 念had been extinguished.

Evening snow fell continuously on her hair. She no longer cried as heart-rendingly as before, yet couldn’t stop sobbing. Tears kept streaming down—her entire face was wet, already impossible to distinguish where the tears ended and snowmelt began.

“Take her back to the Ministry of Justice for treatment. Everyone else, disperse.”

The Regent had spoken—no one in the palace dared disobey.

Soon, several internal attendants and Ministry of Justice officials brought a stretcher, had Su Jin lie prone on it, and carried her away.

She made no more disturbance, her entire being so quiet it seemed she had lost all sensation of the world.

A string of footprints remained on the snow.

But such footprints were fleeting—when wind blew and snow scattered, they vanished without a trace in an instant.

Most people had dispersed, but the Regent hadn’t left, so the wind lanterns dared not be withdrawn. Lamp-bearing attendants stood in a row, a line of lamplight like fire snakes in the dusk.

A scorching gleam in the snow was piercing to the eye.

Liu Chaoming shifted his gaze to look—it turned out to be the golden hairpin Su Jin had used when attempting suicide just now.

Most of the hairpin’s body was buried in snow, bloodstains still visible. Liu Chaoming recognized it—this was the one kept in his study, which Liu Xuzhi had brought when coming to the capital to use as betrothal gifts.

At that time, Liu Xuzhi had said, this hairpin was made in the likeness of the one your mother loved most back then. If there’s someone in your heart, include it among the betrothal gifts—it represents your father’s and your mother’s intentions.

Liu Chaoming bent down and slowly picked up the golden hairpin.

The snow on it had already frosted over, yet mixed with blood flowing from the back of his hand, it became damp and sultry hot.

This dampness made him feel scorched.

Had she secretly taken this hairpin from his study because she had long harbored thoughts of death?

Liu Chaoming recalled their first meeting through a curtain of rain—her bright eyes and fierce fire. He recalled that day when she wore plain skirts like a butterfly, fluttering into his heart. He recalled just now when she lay prostrate in the snow, weeping inconsolably toward Minghua Palace, raising this golden hairpin he should have used for proposing marriage and stabbing it toward her neck.

Propose marriage?

Liu Chaoming thought of these two characters. His eyes, still as water, suddenly rippled with waves—but they were withered, desolate, as if thinking of some absurd joke.

Butterflies die when meeting snow, marriage fate is entirely entrusted to hardship, and stirred emotions should also perish with flowing water.

Two officials came walking through the snow—the directors from the Ministry of Works and Ministry of Rites respectively.

“This official has come to ask for instructions, my Lord. The ancient bell from Zhaojue Temple has been moved to the Baoen Temple pagoda. His Majesty has passed—should the sounds of state mourning be rung three days hence?”

When the words fell, Liu Chaoming showed no reaction.

The two directors exchanged glances and called again, “Lord Liu?”

Only then did Liu Chaoming come back to himself and ask, “You’re from the Ministry of Works?”

“In reply to my Lord, precisely so. This official is surnamed Lü, director of the Construction Bureau of the Ministry of Works.”

Liu Chaoming responded with an “mm.” After a moment, he asked again, “Does your Ministry of Works… have craftsmen who repair gold, stone, and jade objects?”

“In reply to my Lord, we summoned them this morning. With His Majesty’s passing, not only did we summon those who work jade—we also summoned sword forgers, porcelain makers, all who should be summoned were summoned.” He added, “Does my Lord have business with the jade craftsmen?”

Liu Chaoming nodded once. “Lead the way.”

Where the Ministry of Works and Ministry of Rites adjoined, a row of workshops was set up specifically for craftsmen entering the palace during major events. Director Lü brought a jade craftsman before Liu Chaoming. “My Lord, he has the finest skills.”

The workshop was much warmer than outside. The jade craftsman wore only a thin shirt on his upper body and knelt on the ground, kowtowing.

Liu Chaoming reached into his sleeve pouch and took out four jade fragments. “This official… has a jade ring. I wonder if you have a way to repair it.”

The jade fragments reflected the furnace fire’s color, emitting a gilt-like light.

The jade craftsman glanced at them. “In reply to my Lord, it can be done. The jade is good jade. I don’t know if my Lord has a matching gold implement. If not, this humble one can use gold foil to inlay on the jade.”

“I have it.” Liu Chaoming answered quietly.

He stood silently for a long while, then gently placed a blood-stained golden hairpin on the table. “Melt it.”

The jade craftsman took the jade ring and golden hairpin and went into the inner workshop.

Director Lü from the Ministry of Works said, “My Lord, it’s already late. Why doesn’t my Lord first return to Liuzhao Pavilion or the Imperial Censorate to rest? This official and Director Jiang from the Ministry of Rites will watch over this. Once the jade ring is repaired, we’ll immediately send it to my Lord.”

Liu Chaoming shook his head and took a seat to one side. “No need. This official will wait right here.”

The hour of midnight had passed. Zhu Nanxian’s death was already yesterday’s matter. The Jinan Emperor should now also be called the Late Emperor.

Director Jiang from the Ministry of Rites, who had accompanied him throughout, seeing Liu Chaoming finally had some leisure, stepped forward. “Reporting to my Lord, this official has a matter to request instructions on. Last night, Her Majesty the Empress—that is, the former Fourth Prince’s consort—learned of His Majesty’s passing at Baoen Temple. Overcome with grief, she originally wanted to return to the palace immediately. However, traveling at night through wind and snow is difficult—Dowager Consort Qi and Dowager Consort Yu stopped her, saying to wait until daybreak before departing. This official calculated—if they depart at daybreak, they should arrive by the hour of Chen or Si at the latest. But… the new emperor’s era name hasn’t yet been drafted. The Empress returning from praying for blessings is a major matter—without an era name, many ceremonial procedures cannot be properly conducted.”

“Oh, this official requests instructions on this matter not because the Ministry of Rites or the Hanlin Academy wishes to shirk responsibility.” Director Jiang added an explanation at this point. “Minister Luo has already consulted with the Hanlin scholars and even sought Lord Shu—Shu Wenlan—to draft an era name. Lord Shu said that His Majesty is delirious—even if an era name were drafted, His Majesty couldn’t select it. He insisted that this official and others first seek Lord Liu’s instructions.”

Liu Chaoming’s gaze fell on the wind and snow outside the window. After a moment, he only responded with one sentence: “I understand.”

What did “I understand” mean? Who should draft it, how to handle it—not even an explanation.

But Director Jiang didn’t dare ask. Rumors flew throughout the deep palace—whether this era name to be drafted should bear the surname Zhu or Liu, once the shell was opened and lid lifted, there was still a struggle.

Who would risk their life pursuing questions with the Regent about this?

So he could only retreat to the side, accompanying this supreme person of the deep palace in watching the snow together.

This year’s snow was truly heavy.

In his memory, over ten years ago in Hangzhou, there had also been such a wind and snow.

That was the ninth year of Jingyuan, the second year after Liu Yun brought An’ran and A’Liu back to the estate.

Hangzhou Prefecture suffered a disaster of refugees. Once winter set in, snow fell. Roadside was full of people frozen to death.

The Liu estate was charitable, opening their granaries monthly to distribute congee. But with all the common people surging before their eyes, one estate’s grain stores were less than a drop in the bucket.

Every time congee was distributed, An’ran and A’Liu went to help. Each time before going, they’d lean on the window sill and ask Liu Yun, who studied diligently, “Young Master, aren’t you going?”

Not going.

Ever since he brought those two back to the estate and was confined to the ancestral hall for five days, listening to Liu Xuzhi ask over and over “If you cannot yet sustain yourself, how can you sustain all under heaven?”—he stopped going.

“Cannot yet sustain yourself”—even if one bestowed kindness to help the people, what was bestowed was still his father’s kindness.

The spring of Liu Yun’s eleventh year, on the anniversary of his birth mother’s death, because burning incense delayed his time to go to the academy, Liu Xuzhi ordered the magnolia tree in his courtyard cut down.

The next day, he packed his bags and left home for the capital.

An’ran and A’Liu chased after him. “Young Master, if you leave, what will happen to us?”

Liu Yun patted his own traveling bundle. Inside, besides clothing, were only some dried provisions he’d bought with the silver coins earned from writing family letters for others in the past.

“I’m going to the capital to take the imperial examinations and make a living. I may not have the means to care for you two. You should stay at the Liu estate.”

But An’ran said, “A’Liu and I don’t need Young Master to care for us. Young Master has shown great kindness to us. No matter where you go, we’ll follow. We will care for Young Master.”

Liu Yun looked at them, about to speak but stopping himself.

He was someone not skilled at explaining nor willing to explain much about his own affairs. After a long while, he only said, “Let’s go then.”

That was already a matter from the tenth year of Jingyuan.

Jiangnan suffered peach blossom floods two years running. The Zhejiang region had complete crop failures. Hangzhou Prefecture was prosperous—disaster victims from everywhere flocked there. The city couldn’t contain so many people, so soldiers blocked them at the city gates.

Leaving the city gates and walking north along the official road, the further they went, the more shocking it became. Roadside was full of those who’d starved to death, died of illness. Some still had a breath left, barely alive with only skin and bones, with deceased relatives lying beside them. The corpses had long since rotted, some not even having all four limbs intact—presumably gnawed by dogs.

Hangzhou’s spring had apricot blossom rains that didn’t dampen one’s clothes.

But Liu Yun only felt this rain was colder than snow.

Where was the estate, where was the town, where were the rivers and mountains and all under heaven? This was clearly a human hell.

A seven or eight-year-old little girl, seeing the three of them in bright fresh clothing, crawled forward on her knees, constantly kowtowing. “Young master, this young master—my mother and I haven’t eaten in three days. I beg you, please share some food with me.”

She was so thin even her eye sockets had sunken. Clearly only seven or eight years old, her black hair was withered yellow, even mixed with one or two white strands.

Liu Yun looked at her silently. After a long while, he instructed, “A’Liu, share some of our dried provisions with her.”

A’Liu was originally a refugee himself and knew the bitterness of famine years. Clutching the cloth bundle, he said, “Young Master, the road to the capital is still far. If we share, we… what will we eat later?”

“I…” Liu Yun lowered his eyes. “I can write characters for people, write family letters.”

“It’s useless.” An’ran said. “Young Master, you don’t know—every single refugee has been separated from their relatives. Staying alive is already difficult—how could they still think of seeking family?”

The little girl kneeling prostrate on the ground raised her eyes. Taking advantage of the moment when the three were talking, she suddenly snatched away the traveling bundle from A’Liu’s hands and turned to run.

They had already been away from Hangzhou Prefecture for three days. Without the dried provisions in the bundle, going forward or back, the road was vast and uncertain.

A’Liu panicked completely, shouting loudly, “Stop!” Without waiting for Liu Yun and An’ran to stop him, he chased after the little girl into the distance and in a flash disappeared without a trace.

The sky was nearly dark. Come nightfall, who knew if the rain would grow heavier, whether A’Liu could find his way back.

Liu Yun and An’ran stood rooted in place. They wanted to search for him, yet feared they’d all become separated.

Liu Chaoming pondered for a long while, then took a broken piece of silver from his waist and placed it in the hands of a lean man who’d been leaning against the side of the desolate road, constantly eyeing them. “This uncle, my younger brother and I need to search for someone. I trouble you—if shortly a male child about seven or eight years old, clean and handsome in appearance, returns, you must please have him wait here.”

The lean man looked Liu Yun up and down, took the silver and bit it with his teeth. A color of reluctance floated up between his brows. “Judging by your appearance, you must be a young master from a wealthy family. Since you call me uncle, I won’t deceive you. This wilderness is full of refugees who’ve suffered famine. A small child—how could one who’s lost ever be found again? He’s surely already been abducted.”

Hearing these words, An’ran’s whole body shook—he actually froze stiff.

The lean man looked at Liu Yun again. “Don’t understand? Someone like you, a young master, probably can’t understand. Famine—understand? No food, starving unbearably—what do you eat? After eating grass, after eating tree bark, you can only eat people!”

Liu Chaoming stood stunned. After a moment, as if unable to stand steady, he staggered back a step.

“Don’t believe it?” The lean man continued. “See all the corpses everywhere? Where did the missing arms and legs go? Before they rotted, they all went into people’s stomachs!”

The rain threads were clearly extremely fine, yet somehow created endless disturbance.

Falling on a person’s forehead, they felt heavy as a thousand pounds.

Liu Yun’s heart trembled fiercely from the lean man’s words. But after a moment, he crouched down and took out another piece of broken silver from his waist, placing it in the man’s hands. “This uncle, since you know about such abductions, you must also know roughly where they take people. I trouble you—could you take me to search? I’m willing to use silver and dried provisions to exchange for my younger brother’s life.”

The lean man examined Liu Yun again, his gaze sweeping past the jade ring hanging at his waist. “Very well. It seems you, young master, can truly afford the price.”

He stood up and handed the two pieces of silver he’d obtained to his wife, who sat on a straw mat holding a small child.

“Follow me. I’ll take you to search.”