Daming Palace — Phoenix Gate soaring high, palace halls magnificent and imposing. Shangguan Wan’er walked quickly into the palace hall and bowed toward the figure behind the gauze screen: “Your Majesty, the stampede in Shan’he Ward has been brought under control. There is one commoner who was burned to death, but there are no other casualties.”

Behind the gauze screen, two men knelt upon the floor, nestling softly against the knees of the woman seated at the center — though clearly they were far more robust than that elderly woman. The flickering glow of golden light and candlefire illuminated their faces. The two men looked very similar to each other — tall-bridged noses, fair skin, handsome and refined, with the appearance of virtuous gentlemen of jade-like quality, yet the seductive quality at the corners of their eyes and brows undermined that impression.

Shangguan Wan’er lowered her gaze, not a flicker of emotion crossing her face. The aged feminine voice drifted slowly from behind the gauze screen: “How was it brought under control?”

Shangguan Wan’er bowed her head and said quietly: “Ming Huazhang, Junior Administrator of the Capital Prefecture, happened to be nearby viewing the lanterns. When the incident occurred, he immediately mobilized the Golden Crow Guards and steadied public morale.”

Ming Huazhang? The Empress said slowly: “Him again. Lately, I keep hearing his name.”

Shangguan Wan’er could not read the Empress’s attitude and kept her eyes lowered, not daring to respond. Zhang Changzong glanced at the Empress’s expression and said with a smile: “He is indeed worthy of being a successful examination candidate personally appointed by Your Majesty — truly loyal.”

The Empress did not react. Her expression remained as undisturbed as still water. Zhang Yizhi pressed down on his younger brother’s hand from behind and said in a soft, unhurried voice: “This is the great fortune and divine mandate of Your Majesty — the blessing of gods and Buddhas surrounding you through fate’s design, so that Chang’an has been delivered time and again from crisis.”

Zhang Changzong received his elder brother’s signal and immediately caught on, his mouth as sweet as if smeared with honey, praising the Empress as the reincarnation of the Star of the Purple Tenuity, the fulfillment of heavenly destiny.

The Empress listened to her young male favorites carry on for a while, then said flatly: “Enough. Since there’s nothing to worry about, you may withdraw. Have the Capital Prefecture handle the matter of the casualties properly. Chang’an is the capital at the head of all, but in these past two years there have been far too many strange occurrences in the city. I appointed them as the parents and guardians of the capital — not merely for appearances.”

Shangguan Wan’er bowed in acquiescence and tiptoed back, respectfully pulling the hall doors closed behind her. Once the others had gone, the Empress leaned back on the couch, closing her eyes with a trace of fatigue.

Zhang Yizhi, seeing this, moved on his knees to the front and gently massaged her temples. Zhang Changzong, reading the Empress’s expression carefully, ventured: “Your Majesty, you tire yourself for affairs of state day after day — you must look after your own health as well. Now that the Crown Prince has been installed, might Your Majesty share some of the governing duties with him? With the various chancellors to support him, nothing will go wrong.”

The Empress’s eyes remained closed, so Zhang Yizhi gave his younger brother a very direct glare, his expression full of disapproval.

Those words were too eager. The Empress’s temperament had grown increasingly unpredictable; if they angered her, the consequences would be dire.

Yet Zhang Changzong was unwilling to let such an opportunity pass. Keeping up his guileless appearance, he said: “At present, the Crown Prince commands the hearts and hopes of the people. Tonight when I went outside the palace to view the lanterns, I even saw commoners erecting eternal-flame lanterns in the Crown Prince’s name, celebrating his return to Chang’an and wishing him long life and fortune. If Your Majesty were to let the Crown Prince handle government affairs, all the ministers and officials would certainly be most supportive.”

The Empress continued to keep her eyes closed, sighing inwardly. Zhang Changzong, though beautiful, was truly foolish. His attempts at incitement were too superficial, and the Empress could guess his intentions without even looking.

And yet, it was precisely because of this foolishness that the Empress believed he had genuinely seen with his own eyes commoners erecting lanterns for the Crown Prince — that the common people truly rejoiced in their hearts at the Li family’s return to Chang’an.

Return. This word was deeply suggestive. It was as though everyone had concluded that the Zhou-Wu dynasty was an aberration, an accident, the laughable ambition of a widow. When she died, this realm would ultimately revert to the hands of the Li family.

The Tang dynasty of the Li family — that was the true, unspoken sovereign in the hearts of all the court officials and ministers. In her lifetime she had gone from Bright Consort, to Empress, to Empress Dowager, overcoming every obstacle to finally become Emperor — and every single day had been a struggle. She refused to accept that women were inherently inferior to men. She refused to accept that aristocratic families were born noble while those of humble origins were born lowly. She refused to accept that she, whose strategic acumen and ability far surpassed those of her husband and sons, was forced to remain in a subordinate position. The power to govern had been handed to her as a virtue of her husband and sons; its withdrawal was something she was expected to accept with gratitude.

But why? Why could only men sit on the throne, and not women?

The Empress had fought this resentment for half her life. She had killed her second son, exiled her third, placed her fourth under house arrest, exploited her eldest daughter’s death, and broken apart her second daughter’s marriage. She had done so much, and had at last achieved her wish of becoming Emperor — yet now, in her declining years, she watched helplessly as both court officials and common people alike longed for the restoration of the former dynasty.

It could not even be called a restoration — in the minds of all people under heaven, this was simply the way things were always supposed to be.

Then what had all her years of struggle amounted to?

The Empress’s expression remained tranquil. Only the faint movement of her eyes beneath their lids betrayed her unquiet mind. Zhang Yizhi felt his younger brother had been far too reckless and kept signaling him to stop, but Zhang Changzong believed he had seized on the Empress’s true thoughts and refused to let go, pressing his advantage: “Unlike Prince Wei, only you could guide and teach him. Today Prince Wei still sent someone to pay his respects and inquire after Your Majesty. He is currently under house arrest and cannot enter the palace to pay his personal respects, so he has sent only a lantern, wishing Your Majesty ten thousand years of health and a body as vigorous as a dragon.”

Near the end of the previous year, Junior Administrator of the Capital Prefecture Ming Huazhang had overturned the verdict of the serial bone-excavation case and revealed that the Chu Jun case had been committed by a copycat killer — the true culprit being a close associate of Prince Wei. Although in the end only the associate was punished and Prince Wei escaped the case by claiming ignorance, it was not long before the Empress placed Prince Wei under house arrest.

The Empress finally spoke, saying in a measured tone: “He is dutiful, but one lantern suffices for a blessing. When there is too much, it becomes excessive.”

Zhang Yizhi stiffened with anxiety; his fingers nearly pressed the wrong pressure point. Zhang Changzong’s heart also skipped several beats, unable to tell whether the Empress’s words about “doing too much” referred to himself or to Prince Wei.

He ventured a careful look at the Empress’s expression while her eyes were closed, and worked up his courage to say: “No matter how much Prince Wei does, his heart is devoted only to you. He is merely competing for your affection, hoping you will show him more fondness.”

The Empress did not respond for a long time. Just as Zhang Yizhi’s nerves were fraying almost to the point where he could no longer stop himself from kneeling to beg forgiveness, the Empress finally said slowly: “I’m tired. Both of you may go.”

Zhang Yizhi exhaled a long, relieved breath. He dug his nails sharply into his younger brother’s arm, indicating he should stop talking: “As you command. May Your Majesty rest well — we take our leave.”

Once outside, Zhang Changzong pulled back his sleeve to reveal a bruise that had already formed on his arm, and said resentfully: “Fifth Brother, why did you pinch me?”

“You still dare to complain?” Zhang Yizhi scolded. “Sixth Brother, you said far too much tonight. Prince Wei and the Crown Prince are the Empress’s own kin no matter what. No matter how wretched their circumstances, she will never have them killed. But what are you? How could you have the audacity to plead Prince Wei’s case? Have you forgotten what became of Xue Huayi?”

Zhang Changzong had been fawned over and held at the center of attention wherever he went for so many years — even chancellors greeted him with courtesy — and he could not tolerate being spoken to in that tone. Zhang Changzong’s expression also turned cold. “You keep your lofty dignity and your detached principles — but the Empress grows weaker by the day. How much longer can she hold you up? After she is gone, where will you flaunt your prestige as Duke of Heng? I’d say you’ll be stripped to the bone.”

How could Zhang Yizhi not know? The two brothers had soared to prominence and brought glory to their entire household because of their service to the Empress — but all this splendor was rootless, like duckweed floating on water. The higher their standing now, the harder they would fall after the Empress’s death.

He had even thought about withdrawing before the flood tide turned, dispersing his wealth and going back to live as an ordinary man in the common world. Yet once ensnared in the whirlpool of imperial power, was it really possible to withdraw simply by wishing to?

From the day they entered the palace to perform for the Empress, they had set foot on a road with no return. Now it was either they killed others or others would someday kill them — the two Zhang brothers had no choice but to seek outside allies. Only by winning the favor of the next Emperor could they preserve their lives.

Yet the Li family were imperial blood — why would they have any need for the Zhangs to support them? It is better to offer help in times of need than to add flowers to an already splendid scene. In the end, they chose to align themselves with the Wu family — who equally had no way out.

Among the princes of the Wu family, Prince Wei had the most talent and ambition. He and the Zhang brothers had found a perfect match in each other: they would pass information to Prince Wei from their position at the Empress’s side, and Prince Wei would in turn guarantee the Zhang family’s safe exit when the time came. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

The prerequisite, of course, was that the next Emperor had to be Prince Wei. Or at the very least, someone who bore the surname Wu.

Zhang Yizhi was silent for a long moment. The cold north wind cut howling through Phoenix Gate. Finally, Zhang Yizhi said: “But you were too hasty tonight — you may have revealed your hand before the Empress.”

Zhang Changzong gave a contemptuous laugh: “She has every court official and minister’s every move in the palm of her hand. Did you think we could ever hide from her? What she needs is an obviously malevolent, shallow, scheming-less puppet.”

When it came to reading the Empress’s mind, Zhang Yizhi was genuinely far inferior to his younger brother — the Empress showed Zhang Changzong greater favor, after all. Zhang Yizhi gave in and asked: “Then what do you intend to do next?”

Zhang Changzong gave a short, scornful sound, turned, and looked at the vast and magnificent Daming Palace — awe-inspiring, dazzling to behold — and said: “The Empress’s suspicion of the Li family is growing heavier and heavier. Send word to Prince Wei. As for whether he can seize the opportunity — that is up to him.”

·

Inside Prince Wei’s residence, Prince Wei read the message that had arrived by carrier pigeon, then without expression fed the secret letter to the flame, burning it to ash.

He stared motionlessly at the candlewick, staring so long that his eyes created illusory shapes, and the vague shadow of another person seemed to flicker in the empty space before him.

He suddenly raised his voice and asked his trusted aide: “How goes the search for Prince Zhanghuai Li Xian’s surviving heir?”

The trusted aide knelt outside the hanging curtain and replied with barely contained dread: “Your Highness, the Su girl and the Ming family’s twin siblings have all continued their activities as usual — there is no sign of anything out of the ordinary.”

Prince Wei gave a cold laugh and finally lost his patience entirely: “That is exactly what you said last October.”

The trusted aide’s body trembled uncontrollably, his head bent so low he did not dare raise it. He hurriedly offered: “But this servant has learned that a man was reportedly seen near the Su family’s residence on multiple occasions — and is believed to be Duke Zhenguo.”

Prince Wei narrowed his eyes slightly. Duke Zhenguo had visited the Su family? That all but confirmed that the girl sent to the Su household was his own biological daughter, and that Li Xian’s child was among that twin pair.

What a loyal subject — to sacrifice his own biological daughter for the sake of a dead Crown Prince, raising her in a farming family all these years, cutting off even ordinary contact. A daughter of a ducal house, and yet he had steeled his heart to let her spend her life as a peasant girl.

Truly selfless. Truly a heart of red loyalty.

Prince Wei rose to his feet, pressed down the candleflame to extinguish it, and said: “There is no more time to wait slowly. Better to lure the snake out of its hole. Leak this information to the Su girl — arrange for her to go and create a scene at Duke Zhenguo’s manor. Stir the waters to murk, and you’ll see how many fish were hiding beneath.”

Prince Wei narrowed his eyes, his gaze cold and sinister: “I want to see exactly where the descendant of Crown Prince Zhanghuai — the one for whom a subject would willingly sacrifice everything, even his own daughter — is hidden. And once my imperial aunt learns that the subject she holds dear harbors the surviving heir of Li Xian, whom he regards as the true orthodox successor of the Tang dynasty, I wonder whether she will still be able to sit easy on her throne.”

·

The Lantern Festival had a three-day curfew exemption; it was supposed to be three days of celebration for the entire city. But because of the explosion, Chang’an was placed under a security lockdown. Not only did the imperial guard’s holiday come to an end — even Ming Huazhang was urgently summoned to the Capital Prefecture to await the imperial decree.

Although the explosion had not resulted in a stampede, its impact was extremely grave. During the Lantern Festival in Chang’an, there were not only a million citizens but also foreign merchants and envoys from various nations. For someone to be publicly blown to death in the grand capital of the Great Zhou dynasty — what a disgrace to have spread abroad.

The eunuch envoy delivering the imperial decree, as was customary, lectured everyone at the Capital Prefecture at length, then conveyed the Empress’s decree: that they were to conduct a thorough inspection of lanterns throughout the entire city and ensure that no such incident would occur again.

Ming Huazhang had endured this first thing in the morning and had grown quite accustomed to it. The Capital Prefecture was just like this — when there were accomplishments to be rewarded, it was never their turn; but whenever anything went wrong in Chang’an, they were always the first to be held accountable.

The previous case was not yet fully resolved when yet another hot potato was thrust upon them. The Capital Prefect was furious, and after the imperial envoy left, he vented his anger on his subordinates without restraint.

Everyone bowed their heads and listened. The Capital Prefect, stirred up in his anger, coughed into the middle of his scolding — coughing that grew more and more heart-wrenching. The others hurried to say: “Capital Prefect, please calm your anger — what’s happened to you? Quickly, send for a physician.”

The Capital Prefect waved them off, stopping the constables’ movements, and said: “There’s no need. If we can’t accomplish what His Majesty has charged us with, it’s only a matter of time before we die anyway — so why the extra fuss?”

No one dared respond, and they carefully urged the Capital Prefect to look after his health. The Capital Prefect spotted Ming Huazhang and said with a half-smile: “I almost forgot — our great hero is still here. Shaoyin Ming has just solved the bone-excavation case, and yesterday saved the day and quelled a disturbance. With such extraordinary luck, surely a mere explosion case will be no challenge for the Shaoyin?”

Ever since Ming Huazhang had overturned the Capital Prefect’s verdict, the Capital Prefect could not lay eyes on Ming Huazhang without having a poor reaction, always delivering a few light but cutting remarks. Ming Huazhang remained as composed as ever, and bowing his hands in a gesture of respect said: “I dare not presume. This official is of limited talent and learning and would not dare to overestimate himself. As for what steps to take next, I await the Capital Prefect’s guidance.”

The Capital Prefect curled his lips in a smile that showed no warmth whatsoever and said: “Shaoyin Ming has plenty of ideas — how would I dare to interfere. Has His Majesty not said to inspect the city’s lanterns? What are you all standing there for? Get going.”

Ming Huazhang bowed in assent. The Capital Prefect swept a glance at him and walked past him with a cold face. Once the Capital Prefect was far enough away, the constables looked at Ming Huazhang with awkward expressions: “Shaoyin…”

Ming Huazhang was quite unperturbed. He quietly lowered his hands — as though the one who had just been publicly humiliated was not him at all — and said with perfect equanimity: “Go attend to your duties. The lantern frames on all the main streets, as well as the decorative lanterns in shops — large or small, every single one must be inspected.”

With the head official and the second-in-command at odds, no one dared to say a word — they clasped their fists and replied: “Yes, sir.”

What should have been a day of rest and celebration at home had turned into braving the biting cold to inspect every household one by one. The bad luck could not have been more palpable. After assigning each person their areas of responsibility, Ming Huazhang took his horse and rode off toward Jinxiu Tavern.

The Jinxiu Tavern proprietor’s business had been thriving and he had just welcomed a son — he had no reason whatsoever to blow up his own establishment. The gunpowder inside the Hundred-Years Lantern must have been planted there by someone else.

Chang’an was a vast city; passive inspection alone was no defense. Only by finding the person behind it all could the threat be permanently eliminated.

Ming Huazhang had barely reached the vicinity of Shan’he Ward when he spotted a familiar carriage. He sighed inwardly, reined in his horse, and slowly trotted up to the carriage: “What are you doing here?”

The curtain was lifted from inside to reveal a face that was adorable and innocent — and habitually unrepentant. Ming Huashang blinked her bright eyes at Ming Huazhang, as if her presence here were nothing but a coincidence, and said with affected innocence: “Second Brother, you’re here. I wanted to go inside and look, but the guards won’t let me through.”

“That they won’t let you in is entirely appropriate,” said Ming Huazhang, unable to suppress his exasperation. “You’re stationed here because you were certain I’d let you in?”

Ming Huashang’s expression grew even more pitiful: “Well — what else could I do? On such a cold day, could you really stand to see me freezing out here?”

“You could go back to the manor.”

Ming Huashang fell silent. She draped herself over the carriage window, looking at him with imploring eyes. Ming Huazhang knew full well that if he did not let her have her way, she was entirely capable of waiting here the whole day — though he had no idea who exactly she was trying to threaten.

And yet, he could not truly leave her out in the cold. He could only sigh: “Fine, come along then.”

Ming Huashang got her wish. She followed Ming Huazhang into Jinxiu Tavern and asked: “Second Brother, His Majesty summoned you all to the Capital Prefecture — what was said?”

“What else? Naturally it was a scolding.”

“Ah? But you clearly made a great contribution yesterday — if not for you, the consequences would have been unimaginable.”

“The explosion happened in Chang’an, which in itself is a failure of the Capital Prefecture’s duty. What I did was nothing more than atoning for our error through service. These empty honors don’t matter. Let’s focus on finding whoever swapped the lantern.”

“How is the proprietor’s wife — are her injuries better? I’d like to go see her.”

Ming Huazhang had the same intention. All the Capital Prefecture’s constables were men and it was rather inconvenient for them to visit a woman — having Ming Huashang go on their behalf was ideal. He led Ming Huashang to the rear courtyard, and when they reached a moment of privacy, Ming Huashang said quietly to him: “Second Brother, I have an idea.”

“Mm?”

“The last time you were ambushed while carrying out a mission, it’s clear that someone within the Xuan Xiaowei wants to harm you. But the Heaven-rank designation is the highest level — and it doesn’t pass through the Xuan Xiaowei’s regular message relay points, so how could your mission have been intercepted? I’ve thought it over and over, and the most likely explanation is that something is wrong within the Control Crane Bureau. So I was thinking — could we deliberately plant a false piece of information, then trace which hands it passed through, and investigate one by one? That way, we could find out who it is that wants to harm you.”

When Han Jie first deceived Ming Huashang into joining the organization, he had spoken of the Xuan Xiaowei in lofty, glowing terms — as though once she joined, she could simply coast into a comfortable retirement without effort. At the time, Ming Huashang had been dazzled by the promise of a steady official posting and a secure retirement, and only after she joined did she discover that surviving in the Xuan Xiaowei long enough to earn that retirement pension was anything but simple.

Over the past year she had carried out several missions and gradually pieced together how this system operated. The Xuan Xiaowei was an intelligence network concealed within the fabric of civilian society — plainly speaking, it fused the notorious copper suggestion box system and the brutal secret police of the early Zhou-Wu dynasty into a single body, at once gathering intelligence and carrying out espionage, assassination, and surveillance tasks. Its members were scattered like sparks through every stratum of court and society alike, and were unknown to the public at large.

The Xuan Xiaowei was rigidly hierarchical, with heavy barriers between ranks; members maintained strict secrecy from one another — two agents might pass each other on the street without ever recognizing it. By rank, the Xuan Xiaowei was divided into four categories: Heaven, Earth, Profound, and Yellow. Heaven was the highest rank, allowing direct access to the Sage Ruler with a dedicated communication channel; advancement there meant a career of unhindered ascent. Only a rare few were fortunate enough to reach this level. Earth rank was responsible for carrying out missions, requiring cooperation among teammates — making it the one tier among the four where members were known to one another. Profound and Yellow were purely intelligence-gathering personnel: Profound monitored meritorious officials and court ministers, Yellow monitored commoners, each tasked with recording in meticulous detail every event of every day, writing it on paper and relaying it to information relay points, where dedicated personnel maintained the network before ultimately consolidating everything into the palace.

These four ranks worked in concert, weaving a great hand that kept the court and the common world firmly in the Empress’s grasp. But new problems inevitably arose alongside such a system: a force of this scale generated an unimaginable volume of information daily, and the Empress, however brilliant, was ultimately mortal — she could not possibly read through all of it. So above the Xuan Xiaowei, she established a specialized institution for processing intelligence and transmitting dispatches, called the Control Crane Bureau.

Indeed — the very Control Crane Bureau that popular rumor had it was dedicated solely to finding male favorites for the Empress. Whenever ordinary people heard of the Control Crane Bureau, they thought of Xue Huayi, the two Zhang brothers, of the Empress’s romantic affairs. In truth, the Control Crane Bureau’s actual function was far greater than what the public imagined.

If the Xuan Xiaowei was the Empress’s eyes, ears, and hands, then the Control Crane Bureau was her auxiliary mind. The Control Crane Bureau was staffed entirely by palace maids and eunuchs — people with no family to rely on, no descendants to depend upon, bound entirely to the Empress. Most of them could read and write. Each day, the intelligence transmitted back by the Xuan Xiaowei was consolidated through various relay nodes into the Control Crane Bureau, where these palace attendants reviewed it, summarized the key points, and presented them to the Empress. When the Empress wished to act on something, these attendants would also draft her orders and transmit them down through the Xuan Xiaowei’s external network to the relevant Earth-rank agents, who would then carry out the assignment.

Although Ming Huashang was a novice of limited skill, having an older brother who was Heaven-rank had its advantages — she could access the dedicated communication channel as well. If even their messages could be leaked, then the problem was not outside the palace but within it.

Someone inside the Control Crane Bureau was betraying the Twin Jades.

If it were only herself involved, Ming Huashang would certainly choose to keep a low profile — taking the initiative to strike first was not her style. But Ming Huazhang had been ambushed, and Ming Huashang could no longer hold back.

She would never allow anyone to hurt Ming Huazhang.