Prince E Li Run usually stayed quietly in his mansion when he had no other business, and since Li Shubai had already sent word ahead today, by the time they arrived, he had already prepared tea and was waiting quietly for their arrival.

Beside his hand lay a flat box.

“Fourth Brother, I heard Tongchang met with trouble in Pingkang Ward?” He poured tea for them himself, the boiling tea water sending up wisps of steam, its misty essence making the entire tea room seem ethereal.

Li Shubai nodded: “Yes, there was trouble.”

“Was she injured?” he asked again.

Li Shubai shook his head: “She has passed away.”

Li Run’s hand suddenly froze, one or two drops of tea splashing outside, but he felt nothing, only staring blankly at the tea leaves swirling in the cup, his voice as rough as if it were being forced from his throat: “How… did she die?”

“She was stabbed to death with her most treasured Nine-Phoenix Hairpin,” Li Shubai said.

“Who stabbed her?” he pursued.

Li Shubai shook his head once: “The scene was chaotic, the killer wasn’t caught.”

Li Run set down the teapot, fell into a daze for a moment, then said softly: “How could a princess like Tongchang die so inexplicably, it’s simply inconceivable…”

“The most inconceivable part isn’t the Princess’s death, but rather…” Li Shubai gestured for Huang Zixia to place the painting they’d brought on the table and unfold it for him to see, “Has Seventh Brother seen this painting before?”

Li Run nodded: “I saw it once at Zhang Xingying’s home. Unexpectedly… when several of us were pointing at these three scribbles on it, casually joking… they all came true.”

“Yes, I heard about that too,” Li Shubai sighed. “I had also seen this painting before Tongchang’s misfortune but didn’t pay much attention to it. If we had noticed something unusual then, perhaps today might have been different.”

“I… had already felt something was wrong with this painting,” Li Run said hesitantly, speaking with difficulty. “At first glance, I felt it was too strange, and even after returning to my mansion and thinking about it over and over these past few days, I still couldn’t make sense of it. I’m afraid I can only ask Fourth Brother to help resolve my confusion.”

As he spoke, he took up the flat box beside him and opened it.

Inside lay a folded piece of paper, apparently old cotton paper used by the mansion’s seamstresses for tracing patterns, with two or three black ink scribbles roughly drawn with eyebrow pigment. These scribbles were just as chaotic as those on the Zhang family’s painting.

Li Shubai and Huang Zixia exchanged glances, and Li Shubai picked up the painting, gesturing for her to come look at it together.

This was a handkerchief-sized piece of cotton paper, and the artist had no skill, the lines crooked and weak. What could be seen was that these two paintings had the same outlines. The first picture showed a black ink blot with a thin line; the second, crisscrossing lines surrounding an incomprehensible ink mass; the third, two connected black shapes, one above and one below.

While the Zhang family’s painting could barely be interpreted as the manner of three people’s deaths, this painting had roughly the same outlines but the details didn’t match, making it completely incomprehensible, only appearing as three ink blots.

Li Shubai looked at it for a long time, then handed the painting to Huang Zixia before asking Li Run: “May I ask where Fourth Brother obtained this painting?”

Li Run held his teacup, sighing softly: “I dare not hide it from Fourth Brother – this painting was done by my Imperial Mother.”

Both Huang Zixia and Li Shubai were slightly startled, not expecting the painting to have come from Li Run’s mother’s hand. Huang Zixia didn’t know the imperial family’s secrets, but Li Shubai knew very well that Li Run’s mother, Consort Chen, had been gentle and considerate, good at understanding others, and thus had attended closely to the Late Emperor during his last few years of illness.

On the night the Late Emperor passed away, she had broken down from excessive grief to the point of losing her mind and becoming like an imbecile. After obtaining the agreement of the other consorts, Li Run brought his mother out of the palace to care for her in his own prince’s mansion.

“Imperial Mother passed away last year. In the days before her death, as if experiencing a final moment of clarity, she recognized me. Perhaps it was heaven’s mercy – I had thought that in her memory, I would always remain as I was in my childhood ten years ago.” His lips bore his usual slight smile, but his eyes welled up with moisture. “Imperial Mother took advantage of her final moment of clarity to give me this painting. I didn’t pay much attention at the time, but after she passed away, I realized this was the only thing my Imperial Mother had personally given to me. So although I thought it was just something she had drawn during her illness, I kept it in my study. Until a few days ago, when I saw this painting at Zhang Xingying’s home…”

His gaze turned to that painting by the Late Emperor, his face heavy with confusion: “But why would Father Emperor leave such a painting, and why would my Imperial Mother, after being ill for over ten years, secretly draw this painting and place it in my hands?”

Huang Zixia held the cotton paper and asked: “Please forgive your servant’s presumption, but when the Imperial Consort gave this painting to Your Highness, did she say anything?”

“Mother said…” he frowned silently, his gaze indicating those around them. After everyone had withdrawn, he said softly, “Mother’s mind wasn’t clear then, she said, the Great Tang empire…”

The Great Tang empire was about to fall.

But he still couldn’t say it out loud, only saying softly: “She was rambling, perhaps meaning the realm was unstable, that the Great Tang was going to decline… She also said this painting was connected to the Tang dynasty’s survival or destruction, and told me to keep it safe.”

Li Shubai took the paper from Huang Zixia’s hand and solemnly returned it to him, saying: “Thank you, Seventh Brother. Now it seems this painting must be your Imperial Mother’s copy of the Late Emperor’s last work, drawn from her memory.”

Li Run held the painting, even more surprised, asking: “That painting was… the Late Emperor’s final work?”

Li Shubai nodded: “I’ve already checked the palace archives. The imperial daily records show that Zhang Xingying’s father, Zhang Weiyi, entered the palace to treat Father Emperor on the tenth day of the eighth month in the thirteenth year of the Dazhong era.”

Li Run recalled the circumstances then, saying: “I was still young at that time, but I knew Father Emperor had fallen ill from taking the wrong medicine, becoming unwell from that May, and by July was in a constant state of unconsciousness. The imperial physicians were at their wit’s end, and we princes who were still in the palace wanted to see Father Emperor but were always blocked by the eunuchs and couldn’t get in. At that time, famous doctors from throughout the capital were summoned to the palace, but none could help…”

“And Zhang Weiyi was the last doctor to enter the palace, on the day Father Emperor passed away,” Li Shubai said quietly. “I’ve already sent people to inquire about his palace visit that year. According to his recollection, he was then a famous doctor at Duanrui Hall in the capital, and in July was summoned to the palace to take the Emperor’s pulse. Father Emperor was already unconscious then, but after his acupuncture treatment, did briefly regain consciousness. But he and everyone in the palace knew this was just a final flare of life, and summoning him to treat the Emperor was only to let His Majesty wake briefly to properly arrange matters after his death.”

Huang Zixia said softly: “However, why did this hard-won moment of consciousness ultimately become the Late Emperor giving Zhang Weiyi a painting?”

Li Shubai and Li Run naturally shared this confusion – at that time, the Late Emperor was on his deathbed, and what he should have been doing was certainly not giving a painting to a civilian doctor, but rather arranging important state matters after his death.

“So this is what’s puzzling. And Zhang Weiyi himself was completely bewildered. Because he had quickly withdrawn after the Late Emperor regained consciousness – after all, how could a mere civilian doctor listen in on palace affairs?” Li Shubai said with slightly furrowed brows. “The palace archives record it the same way. The Late Emperor awoke, and Zhang Weiyi withdrew. Before reaching the palace gate, someone caught up with him, saying the Emperor was grateful for the doctor’s skilled hands and was bestowing an imperial painting. He was overjoyed, quickly kowtowed toward Zichen Hall, received the rolled-up painting, and while walking, opened it to take a look, immediately feeling shocked beyond words.”

Huang Zixia’s gaze followed their low voices to fall on the painting. It was unimaginable that such an inexplicable scribble would be the Late Emperor’s final work from ten years ago. Surely Zhang Weiyi must have found it hard to believe when he first saw this painting too.

And ten years later, that three cases matching the scribbles would occur was truly inconceivable and unfathomable.

After bidding farewell to Prince E Li Run, they set out for home in the thick night.

“Do you want to return to the mansion first, or go to the Court of Judicial Review?”

Huang Zixia said without hesitation: “Return to the mansion, bring some food to the Court. Zhou Ziqin and Zhang Xingying are still there.”

He didn’t object, only saying: “After you return, I’ll wait for you at Pillow Stream Pavilion.”

Huang Zixia didn’t take time to eat, went to the kitchen to get a food box, and took the prince’s carriage to the Court of Judicial Review.

The Deputy Chief Judge Cui Chunzhan had already gone to the Princess’s mansion because of the incident. When Huang Zixia heard this news, she could almost see his usual expression as if suffering from a toothache.

The Court Secretary Fan Yang was on duty, and seeing Huang Zixia arrive, greeted her very politely, his face still pale: “Eunuch Yang, what can we do about this? The Princess, and the Emperor’s most beloved Princess Tongchang, killed just like that in the street!”

Huang Zixia sighed: “For now we can only wait for His Majesty’s orders before deciding anything.”

Fan Yang stamped his foot and lamented, completely unconcerned with other official matters. He didn’t even care when Huang Zixia said she wanted to bring the food box to see Lu Dicui, simply waving his hand to let her in: “Ziqin and that Zhang Xingying is also inside Eunuch Yang, please go right in.”

The sky had already darkened, and in the clean room, only one oil lamp was lit in a wall niche, casting a dim light. When Huang Zixia stood at the doorway, she could only see Dicui and Zhang Xingying pressed close together, that small dancing flame coating them in a faint glow as they stared blankly at that point of light, motionless.

Zhou Ziqin was crouching at the doorway, and seeing her approach, jumped up excitedly: “Chonggu, you’re here? Ah… wonderful, wonderful, and you brought food, I’m starving!”

He took the food box from Huang Zixia’s hands and excitedly called inside: “Brother Zhang, Adi, never mind everything else, eating comes first, come, come, let’s have something to eat first!”

Zhou Ziqin busily set out bowls and plates, putting what he thought were the two best dishes in front of Dicui and Huang Zixia first, then distributed chopsticks to everyone.

Prince Kui’s cook had always been good to Huang Zixia, sending her their best dishes, but unfortunately, none of the four could eat much.

Huang Zixia looked at Dicui, trying to use a gentle tone as she said: “Miss Lu, I believe Ziqin has already told you, we’ve come again because there are some small matters we must ask you about.”