Her hand lay cold and soft in his grasp, completely still. His voice rose softly through the rain: “In three days, we leave for Shu territory.”

She remained silent. The rain suddenly intensified, drumming against the umbrella in sharp, heavy beats, as if awakening her thoughts with each drop.

After an unknowable time, he finally heard her voice, rough and low, saying slowly: “Actually, when my parents and family died, and I was accused of being the murderer, I also suspected Yu Xuan.”

Li Shubai looked down at her. In the heavy rain, under a single umbrella, they seemed enclosed in a world apart. She was within reach, just a head’s bow away from his touch, yet somehow distant as the horizon. It was as if the rain falling on her side carried a different temperature than the rain falling on his.

He merely nodded slightly, saying: “Even as an outsider, I find him suspicious—especially when he misled you into buying arsenic.”

She struggled to continue: “But actually… we had done such things countless times over those three years. It wasn’t the first time. If he truly meant harm, he needn’t have waited for that particular time… During festivals, more of my relatives would have gathered.”

“Also, are you certain he had no opportunity to administer poison?”

“I’m certain.” Though Huang Zixia’s voice was low, her words were crystal clear. “His alibi is irrefutable. After arriving at my home, he only went with me to pick plum blossoms in the back garden. He couldn’t possibly have approached the kitchen, let alone the mutton soup—when he left, the sheep might have still been alive, penned near the kitchen.”

Li Shubai pondered for a moment before asking: “What about after he left your home?”

“He was drinking tea and discussing philosophy with friends, at a place far from my home, and he never left during that time.”

“So it was impossible for him to have poisoned anyone?”

“Yes. No time, no opportunity, no… motive.” She forcefully controlled her breathing before continuing in a trembling voice: “My Lord, you just saw it yourself—he’s someone who shows compassion even to small beggars on the street, a person pure of heart.”

Li Shubai held the umbrella with one hand as they stood silently in the rain. The summer downpour drenched the hems of their clothes as diagonal gusts drove the rain against them.

Looking at her downcast face, Li Shubai suddenly asked softly: “If, after going to Shu territory, all traces have vanished and you can’t find the truth, what then?”

Huang Zixia bit her lower lip in silence before finally saying: “In this world, wherever evil is done, traces must remain. I don’t believe any crime can be washed completely clean by time, leaving no evidence.”

“Good,” Li Shubai replied without hesitation. “I will always stand behind you. You need not worry or doubt—just proceed as you see fit.”

“Mm…” She lowered her head, her eyelashes covering those clear, stubborn eyes beneath which an almost imperceptible glimmer of tears flashed briefly.

“Thank you… my Lord.”

Before she stretched endless flames, scarlet tongues of fire curling up black ash like sky-spanning fire dragons sweeping forward, carrying searing flames rushing down toward Huang Zixia, who stood alone on the ground.

As the fierce fire scorched her entire body in that instant, she didn’t fearfully close her eyes but rather opened them wide, staring intently at the blinding flames before her.

The intense firelight slowly receded, and that person appeared within the flames, wreathed in intense red—a red that stirred the soul, bathed in blood and light, like south red agate, like blood-red coral, like pigeon blood ruby, beautiful and blinding, yet filled with the aura of slaughter.

He walked toward her, watching her writhe in agony within the fierce flames, wearing that habitual indifferent smile. This smile, like spring flowers in full bloom, now pulled his lips into the most cruel and terrifying arc.

His tall figure bent slightly as he gazed at her, like one observing an ant about to be doused with boiling water. His voice echoed coldly by her ear like rippling water: “Huang Zixia, do you regret it?”

Do you regret it?

Do you regret it?

This cold voice echoed endlessly in her mind, more painful than the fierce flames on her body, until she could no longer bear it. With a great cry, she clutched her ears and sat up gasping heavily.

Outside the window, birds scattered in alarm at her voice, wings fluttering as they took flight. Only swaying branches remained, unable to still themselves for a long while.

Huang Zixia sat wrapped in her quilt on the bed, feeling a surge of blood rush to her chest, plunging her into dizzying darkness. She breathed heavily, waiting for the blackness before her eyes to pass, then stumbled to the table, found last night’s cold tea, and drank it all in one gulp.

The chill spread through her body from top to bottom, finally clearing her mind somewhat.

She sat dazed at the table for a long while before woodenly turning to look outside.

The downpour had washed away all dust, and after a night, the scorching summer day had returned.

Just like the weather on the day she first met Yu Xuan.

Though dawn had barely broken, Chang’an was already a scene of bustling prosperity.

Chang’an teemed with people and commerce, towers clustered with ornate buildings, courtyards adorned with brocade—even the night curfew couldn’t suppress the daily and nightly bustle and clamor.

At the very peak of this most lively place’s liveliest spots was the Cuijin Tower at the heart of Chang’an’s West Market.

Today in Cuijin Tower, an elderly storyteller was relating all manner of strange tales and legends from around the world amid the crowded hall’s noise.

“Speaking of the third day of the seventh month in the third year of Dazhong, though the scorching sun originally blazed without a cloud for thousands of miles, by afternoon, auspicious clouds suddenly rose in tens of thousands and rainbow clouds stretched for thousands of miles around the Sixteen Residences where the current Emperor then lived—everyone, do you know what caused these extraordinary phenomena?”

The storyteller’s words bloomed like lotus flowers as he told another incredible tale.

Huang Zixia sat by the second-floor railing, holding a spoon in her left hand and chopsticks in her right, looking down at the storyteller, though her gaze was unfocused and didn’t settle on anything specific.

Zhou Ziqin across from her lightly tapped the back of her hand with his chopsticks.

Huang Zixia came back to herself, shifting her gaze to Zhou Ziqin’s face: “What?”

Zhou Ziqin glared at her disapprovingly: “What are you doing? You invited me to eat, but you’re just spacing out.”

By now the atmosphere in Cuijin Tower was quite lively. The listeners most enjoyed hearing various fantastic tales, and someone called out loudly: “The third year of Dazhong—wasn’t that the year Princess Tongchang was born?”

“Exactly!” The storyteller immediately picked up the thread upon hearing someone engage. “They say this Princess Tongchang, from the day she was born amid those heavenly auspicious clouds, remained completely silent until age three, when she suddenly spoke, saying ‘Can live.’ The current Emperor, then Prince of Yun, was still in shock when the procession to welcome him as Emperor arrived at the gates. Only then did His Majesty, who had long been anxious about the previous Emperor not naming an heir, realize that truly, he could live! From then on, the Emperor loved Princess Tongchang beyond precious treasures, regarding her like a pearl in his palm!”

Huang Zixia naturally had little interest in such fantastic tales. She withdrew her gaze, but saw several people leaning on the railing nearby listening to the story, all turning to smile at someone beside them saying: “Wei, they’re talking about your princess wife.”

That person was a handsome young man in his early twenties, with proper features that held a hint of weariness unsuited to his youth. He held his forehead and frowned, smiling helplessly: “Alright, I should go—it’s almost noon.”

He returned to his seat to drain a cup of sobering soup, then lifted his sleeve to smell it before hurriedly bidding farewell to those at the table and heading downstairs.

The group of young people behind him pointed and laughed: “Look, look, marrying a princess isn’t all good—just look at how Prince Consort Wei has to be so careful even after just a few drinks whenever he comes out to gather with friends, it really makes one feel sorry for him!”

Huang Zixia pointed at the young man heading downstairs and asked Zhou Ziqin: “Do you know him?”

Zhou Ziqin glanced over and said: “Who doesn’t know him? He’s Wei Baoheng, Princess Tongchang’s consort.”

The storyteller in the tower was still enthusiastically saying: “When this Princess Tongchang married the Xianhong fifth-year graduate Wei Baoheng last year, the ten-li dowry procession included rare treasures like the Connected Pearl Curtain, the Defying Cold Screen, the Iridescent Canopy, the Divine Silk Quilt—practically emptying the imperial treasury! The princess’s mansion in Guanghua Ward even has good railings made of gold and silver, strainers of gold thread, eight-treasure beds of crystal and tortoiseshell, and five-colored jade vessels—the golden splendor far surpassing even Han Emperor Wu’s Golden House for Lady Chen!”

In the current Tang Dynasty’s competitive and extravagant social climate, Princess Tongchang’s wedding naturally remained the talk of the capital. In Cuijin Tower, everyone discussed various legendarily priceless items from the dowry, creating quite a commotion.

Finally unable to resist the gossip herself, Huang Zixia asked: “Are these rumors true or false? Did Princess Tongchang’s dowry empty the treasury?”

“It wasn’t emptied, but they say it came close.” Zhou Ziqin bent over his food, sighing, “That Wei Baoheng had amazing ancestral fortune! When we studied together at the Imperial Academy, he often skipped class with me to catch birds’ eggs and loach! Who knew he’d later pass the imperial examinations, marry a princess, and work his way up through positions like Hanlin Academy Scholar and Secretariat Drafter to his current post as Vice Minister of Warx? While I…”

He made an extremely artificial expression of profound grief. Huang Zixia had no desire to humor him: “Aren’t you about to head to Shu territory to realize your life’s ambition?”

“Yes, this is the meaning of my life!” Zhou Ziqin’s eyebrows danced as he waved his chopsticks, saying: “Hey hey, let’s discuss—in the future my title will be ‘Imperially Appointed Constable, Royally Bestowed Coroner,’ what do you think?”

“Nothing much to think.” Huang Zixia was truly speechless.

“Then how about… ‘Imperial Order for Autopsy’?”

Huang Zixia turned her face away, deciding never to speak with this person again.