An opera house?

“Not only have I seen it, I sat below it for quite a while. If not for the heavy rain, I would have wanted to sit longer.”

Lu Shi: “Miss Yan liked it there?”

Yan Sanhe: “I did.”

Lu Shi: “Why did you like it?”

Yan Sanhe thought carefully about her state of mind at that time. “That opera house told me it had stories.”

“I built it for her. I carried every piece of wood myself.”

He actually built an opera house for her?

Yan Sanhe’s heart stirred.

“I was a worthless poor scholar, not worthy of her. She didn’t mind, and Teacher didn’t mind either.”

Lu Shi paused. “Teacher said that opera house would serve as the betrothal gift.”

Yan Sanhe and Xie Zhifei exchanged glances. From this, it seemed they weren’t privately pledged—Tang Qiling had nodded in agreement.

“But she said it wasn’t enough. She said…”

Lu Shi suddenly laughed again, his laugh creasing the wrinkles at his eyes into clusters.

“The day before the wedding, I had to dress up like an opera performer and sing a segment for her on the opera house stage. Her ideas were always peculiar—I had no way to deal with her.”

So this was the promise between them, but due to sudden changes, it was never fulfilled.

Many years later, wearing the clothes and shoes he’d bought, applying the rouge he’d bought, she quietly went to keep this promise.

Unexpectedly, due to Old Nun Huiru’s jealousy, years of anticipation came to nothing, resulting in a heart demon.

And he dressed as an opera performer and sang this opera for her, calmly keeping this promise.

When the opera finished, her wish was fulfilled, her heart demon resolved, her coffin closed—all causes and effects made sense.

Yan Sanhe’s gaze returned to Lu Shi.

Opera performers were among the lowest classes.

Scholars were the most noble and proud people in this world.

But strangely enough, at this moment Lu Shi seemed like a scholar who’d walked right out of an opera—not a trace of dissonance.

“Can my lord tell us about the story between you and her?”

“She and I?”

Lu Shi was silent for a long time. “There’s nothing worth telling.”

Young Master Pei grew anxious. “How is there nothing to tell? How did you meet, how did it begin, and how did you…”

“Young Master Pei.”

Lu Shi interrupted. “Why must some stories be known by everyone? She knows, I know—that’s enough.”

Pei Xiao looked helplessly at Yan Sanhe: He says it’s enough, what do we do?

Yan Sanhe was silent for a moment. “Old lord, we just want to know what kind of person she was? What kind of person are you? How have you spent these years?”

“Her temper wasn’t very good, my nature wasn’t very good. When she saw me, her temper softened. When I saw her, my nature improved. As for how we spent these years…”

Lu Shi paused. “When idle, I’d reminisce a bit, occasionally think about her—that’s how the years passed, one after another.”

His tone was very bland, so bland there wasn’t a trace of joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure, as if discussing something utterly ordinary.

But Yan Sanhe’s heart sank heavily, as if pressed by a thousand-pound boulder.

Eight years in the Jiaofang Bureau, eighteen years at Water Moon Convent—a full twenty-six years of time. How could it possibly have just “passed, one year after another”?

How many days and nights!

Yan Sanhe’s expression remained unchanged. “Since the old lord is unwilling to speak about you and her, let’s start from when the Tang family was raided.”

“There’s nothing much to tell about that either.”

Lu Shi’s face was expressionless. “There was both witness and physical evidence. It was an iron-clad case that couldn’t be overturned.”

Yan Sanhe: “If it was iron-clad, if it couldn’t be overturned, then why after all these years did my lord still point his sword at Yan Ruxian, at Li Xing, at the one on the dragon throne?”

“Yan Ruxian was corrupt and broke the law, colluding with Li Xing to commit fraud in the spring examinations. As a censor, shouldn’t I impeach them?”

Lu Shi: “His Majesty indulged the Yan faction, allowing them to disrupt court politics. As a censor, shouldn’t I remonstrate?”

Yan Sanhe stared directly at him.

“So the old lord’s meaning is that they have nothing whatsoever to do with the Tang family case—it’s purely Lord Lu’s official duty?”

Lu Shi said resolutely, “Yes!”

Yan Sanhe smiled faintly.

“How can the old lord speak lies so righteously?”

Young Master Pei: “If we weren’t participants, we’d really believe it!”

Xie Zhifei: “Must the old lord insist on making yourself the villain, the heartless one, the ungrateful and unrighteous one?”

Lu Shi avoided the gazes of all three, his brow slightly furrowed.

Yan Sanhe stood up, crouched before him, and said softly:

“On the way to see Tang Jianxi, he set out three paths—the main road, the small road, the ghost road. Each road had its outcome.

Chu Yanting took the main road, following the former Crown Prince, and walked himself into becoming a ghost beneath the blade.

Tang Jianxi took the small road, living as a recluse. Though appearing like floating clouds and wild cranes, in reality he suffers daily torment.

And you—which road did you choose?”

Lu Shi’s lips suddenly began to tremble, trembling quite severely.

“Before she left, she said to me: Thank you, I’m going now. I thought those words were for me, but later I realized something was wrong. Why would she thank me? The person performing on stage for her wasn’t me.”

Yan Sanhe raised her eyes, gazing at him quietly.

“Those words were for you. You couldn’t hear them, so they could only be spoken through my mouth.”

Lu Shi looked back at Yan Sanhe. His eyes slowly changed, becoming deeper and more profound than before.

“I think your difficulties—she knew about them, which is why she said those words. Old lord, you walked a road that was neither human nor ghost.”

Lu Shi’s lips moved as if to speak, but in the end, he said nothing, only sighing softly.

“The first time I met you, you had Lu Da nearly strangle me to death. I was so angry I cursed you in my heart to be a decent human being. Later I understood—you were doing it for my good, not wanting me dragged into this.

I thought carefully about why you didn’t want me dragged in—it should be because of the Tang family case.”

Yan Sanhe grasped Lu Shi’s right hand, touching the thick calluses one by one on his palm.

“You said the Tang family case had both witness and physical evidence, was iron-clad and couldn’t be overturned. That’s not true. You could overturn it—you just couldn’t.”

Lu Shi’s eyes suddenly burst with fierce light.

“So you’re using the method of forcing the Emperor to issue a self-criticism edict, using this method unknown to others, to overturn the Tang family case. Am I right?”

As Yan Sanhe spoke, she didn’t know why, but suddenly her eyes grew moist.

No one in this world could be truly impenetrable. Even emperors and saints had soft places inside.

Twenty-six years, this road neither human nor ghost—how could he walk it so resolutely? Wasn’t he lonely? Knowing it was futile yet doing it anyway—wasn’t he afraid?

“Old lord, my heart aches for you,” she said.

Lu Shi looked at the tears brimming in Yan Sanhe’s eyes. “How old are you?”

“This is the third time my lord has asked me.”

Yan Sanhe: “I’m seventeen years old, from Yunnan Prefecture.”

“When she was seventeen, she wasn’t as clever as you.”

Lu Shi withdrew his hand and patted the back of Yan Sanhe’s hand. “Sit, child.”

Yan Sanhe couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re willing to speak?”