The mutual accusations left them both, for a moment, with nothing more to say.

Once, both of them had been proud and full of vigor. Now they stood aged and worn before each other — Emperor Ji’s legs completely destroyed, fit only for a wheelchair. As for Ye Luosha, the girl who had been in the flower of her youth was now prematurely old. She was barely forty, yet her hair had gone white as snow.

How had she spent these years? Had life been hard for her too?

For a time, neither spoke. The room was as silent as death.

Though they had been hurling accusations at each other, seeming to suspect one another, in both their hearts lay a quiet grief.

If the other had truly been the one to betray the Di Imperial Clan, why would their own life be this difficult?

It was not Ye Luosha alone — even Emperor Ji, at not yet fifty, had aged to look like a man past sixty.

The years spare no one — least of all those who carry hatred in their hearts.

At last, Ye Luosha’s temper quieted. She sat down in a chair and poured herself a cup of tea. She even poured one for Emperor Ji.

He took it and drank it in a single draft. They sat across from each other in silence.

After some unknown stretch of time, Ye Luosha’s gaze settled on his legs again. This time, her voice was a fraction softer: “Was the injury from that battle?”

Emperor Ji’s expression was not pleasant to look at, but his tone, too, had softened somewhat.

He gave a nod. “Yes.”

Ye Luosha let out a quiet sigh. The one truly to blame for everything that had happened back then was the Zhan family. What had it to do with Emperor Ji?

Di Dingtian had been his own elder brother. Unless he was willing to betray Di Dingtian in order to become Emperor himself, what possible reason would he have had to join an outsider in selling out his own kin?

If the one who had betrayed the Di Imperial Dynasty was not Emperor Ji — then why, now, did he remain at the Ninth Prince’s side, in the role of adoptive father?

“Back then…” Ye Luosha had a great many questions she wanted to ask.

But Emperor Ji had just opened his mouth as well: “Back then, you…”

They looked at each other. Ye Luosha asked first: “Back then — did you take Wu Ya away?”

Emperor Ji looked at her, and answered her question with one of his own: “The Second Prince and the young Prince — you were the one who took them from the palace. Where are they now?”

Ye Luosha pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Perhaps the suspicion could be set aside — but trust was another matter entirely. If Emperor Ji still had any dealings with the Zhan Imperial Court, telling him about Mu’er would bring utter ruin down upon the boy.

“I asked first. Should you not answer me before I answer you?” She fixed him with an icy look, not the slightest inclination to yield first.

Emperor Ji met her gaze with an equally cold stare. “With you so guarded against me, how do you expect me to speak honestly?”

“I only wish to know — is the Ninth Prince…is he…” Ye Luosha’s hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her breathing grew faintly unsteady. “Is he Wu Ya?”

Emperor Ji’s expression did not change. He had long anticipated this question. But if Zhan Lengxing harbored even the slightest ill intent toward the Di Imperial Clan, revealing A’Jiu’s true identity would be to cast him into a place from which there was no return.

“He is the Ninth Prince of the Zhan Imperial Clan. How could he be Wu Ya?” His eyes were utterly still, and not a trace of warmth touched his words.

Ye Luosha did not know whether to believe him or not. She did not trust Emperor Ji, and Emperor Ji certainly did not trust her — so whatever he said, how much truth it held was impossible to know.

The situation they found themselves in was this: each suspected the other, yet neither dared be the first to reveal their own secret.

For a moment, the room once again fell into a cold and frozen silence…

Meanwhile, Feng Jiu’er had indeed returned to her room to change clothes — but afterward, she did not go to attend to the Ninth Imperial Uncle. Instead, she seized a moment when no one was watching, and slipped quietly away from the foot of the cliff.

Though she had only traversed that path once on the way down, she had memorized it clearly — every foothold. Using the speed of her descent as reference, she had calculated each distance.

Coming down was easy; going up took effort. But going up was actually the safer direction.

Taking the same route she had come by, it took no more than the time needed to burn two sticks of incense before she was standing steadily at the top of the cliff.

The direction back to the Imperial Academy was clear in her memory. Before long, she was on the rooftop of Mingyue Courtyard within the Imperial Academy.

It was a coincidence tonight — Qiao Mu and Xiao Yingtao were not in the room.

She trusted them both — but what she had to do tonight was far too important. Right now, alerting no one was the safest course of action.

She dropped from the rooftop, slipped in through the windowsill, and the whole process produced barely a sound.

She went to the bottom of the wardrobe and opened the hidden compartment as fast as she could. The little wooden box was still there — and the necklace Mu Mu had given her was still inside.

She nearly wept with relief. She had been terrified that during her disappearance, someone with ill intent might have turned over even her belongings in search of any clue.

The necklace…

Feng Jiu’er sat down at once. She lifted the hem of her skirt, pulled off her boot and stocking, and drew out the chain that the Ninth Imperial Uncle had fastened around her ankle.

The chain on her ankle, once put on, could not be removed by any ordinary means — but Mu Mu’s chain could be taken off. Otherwise she would have had to wear both chains on her body at all times.

Now, looking at the Ninth Imperial Uncle’s chain and Mu Mu’s chain — the golden key and the golden lock — Feng Jiu’er was seized with a bitter anger at herself.

The signal had been this obvious all along. Why had she only now thought to take them out and test them? She should have noticed something was wrong long ago. The lock and the key — even the engravings on them were identical.

Part of it was her reluctance to dwell on Mu Mu’s family heirloom. She had received it and, finding no opportunity to return it, had simply put it away — and without looking at it closely, she had missed what was right before her eyes.

There was no time to waste. While everyone was still gone, Feng Jiu’er immediately brought Mu Mu’s chain close to her ankle, fitting the golden key to the golden lock, and pushed it in.

A soft click — the golden lock opened. It actually opened.

They were brothers. They were truly brothers.

But why? How had the Ninth Imperial Uncle come to be the Ninth Prince of the Zhan Imperial Clan? And Mu Mu — why had he been cast out into the world, growing up at Ye Luosha’s side?

No matter the reason, this was now a truth that could not be undone.

Ye Luosha had said over and over that Mu Mu must not forget the blood debt and the ruin of his homeland. That had always left a question simmering in her heart — could it be that both Mu Mu and the Ninth Imperial Uncle were Princes of the former dynasty?

That question, for now, had no one to answer it. She could only return and carefully sound out the Ninth Imperial Uncle first.

As for the Ninth Imperial Uncle himself — did he know?

She separated the two chains, fastened Mu Mu’s chain back onto her own wrist, and was preparing to leave when footsteps suddenly sounded from outside.

“Jiu’er is not even here — what exactly are you searching for?” That was Xiao Yingtao’s voice, indignant and incensed.

And then Qiao Mu’s low, steady voice: “Jiu’er has not been back. She is not a criminal — she has simply been caught up in all of this against her will.”