An… empty sleeve?

Hearing this, some vague thought stirred faintly at the edge of Yun Xi’s mind, but before she could pin down what exactly it was, a sense of baseless absurdity pressed it back down again.

Seeing Yun Xi lost in thought, Zhou Cai Ying gritted his teeth and scrambled to his feet, making as if to flee.

But before he could take two steps, Cheng Chang said coolly, “Do you think you can still run?”

Zhou Cai Ying turned back, glancing first at Cheng Chang, then at the bodies scattered around them.

The terror in his heart hadn’t subsided, but hadn’t that cloaked figure already dealt with every one of the assassins? All he had to do was seize the chance to flee, hide somewhere, and wait until the danger passed—wouldn’t he be safe then?

Cheng Chang went on, “Do you think Prince Ling’s assassins were limited to just these few?”

“These men were only sent to test how many allies you have.”

“If he truly wanted to move against you, he wouldn’t need to go through the trouble of killing you at all.”

“Wh-what do you mean by that?” Zhou Cai Ying asked, stunned.

It was already the hour of chou by now, the night thick as ink. The fire striker flickered lightly in the wind, light and shadow dancing across Cheng Chang’s palm.

“You could flee, you could leave the city—but have you thought about your family? Your father, your mother, your brothers?”

“My father is, at the very least, the former director of the Ministry of Rites, currently the vice director of the Astronomical Bureau, and the Zhou household is close kin to the Grand Empress Dowager herself. He might kill me, but why would he touch the rest of the Zhou family?”

“And so what if he wouldn’t?” Cheng Chang took a step closer to Zhou Cai Ying. “Who am I? What standing does Prince Cong’s household hold? And he was still willing to move against me all the same. What are you, in comparison? What is the Zhou family, in comparison?”

Now that he was closer, Zhou Cai Ying could finally make out, in the lines of Cheng Chang’s brow, a bone-deep chill. He’d assumed at first that coldness was simply the spring night’s cold, but looking more closely, he realized it was something else entirely—a menacing air born of deep resentment.

The raging fire of the Imperial City Bureau hadn’t burned his body, but it had lit an unquenchable flame within him instead, and in the thick darkness of this night, he seemed like some spectral figure risen from the underworld, having suffered the agony of a soul torn and battered—and even the small flicker of light in his hand had become an underworld flame, flickering with the power of life and death in its dance.

Zhou Cai Ying, terrified, sank down to the ground.

He stared blankly at Cheng Chang, and after a long while, said desperately, both urgent and afraid, “E-even if Prince Ling wants me dead, I’ve clung to survival under his thumb for a whole year now—if it were you, could you even protect me? You might want my life even more than Prince Ling does!”

Even if he hadn’t known beforehand about the fire at the Imperial City Bureau, he still bore no small measure of responsibility for Cheng Chang’s “death.”

The moment Chai Ping had had him lure Cheng Chang to the Imperial City Bureau, he’d already suspected they meant to set some kind of trap for him.

He simply hadn’t imagined they’d dare go so far as to take the prince’s own life.

Cheng Chang crouched down in front of Zhou Cai Ying and looked into his eyes. “You’re right about that—I’m not particularly inclined to protect you. But,” he paused, then suddenly gave a faint, cold smile, “if I wanted you dead, it would be far easier for me than for Prince Ling.”

The word “dead” sent a chill through Zhou Cai Ying’s heart—and through Yun Xi’s as well, standing beside them.

She looked at Cheng Chang by the firelight. His features were as coolly composed as ever, and yet, somehow, something about him wasn’t quite the same as before.

Zhou Cai Ying stared, dazed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Only three people survived that passage between the inner and outer offices of the Imperial City Bureau that day. Besides me, there was you, and there was Chai Ping. So how the truth of that day is told depends entirely on what I choose to say. I know you want to run now, that you don’t want to help me identify Chai Ping. But if you’d rather be his accomplice, then his accomplice you’ll be. Once dawn breaks and I’m standing before His Majesty, all I need to say is that you were the one who harmed me, and no matter where you run to the ends of the earth, the Imperial Guard will hunt you down—and it might well drag the whole Zhou family down with you.”

“You—you can’t do that!” Zhou Cai Ying panicked. “You know I never meant to harm you—I had no idea they were going to set fire to the Imperial City Bureau!”

“So what?” Cheng Chang said. “If you’re made to bear the charge of conspiring against a prince, that outcome would suit Chai Ping, Prince Ling, and even His Majesty perfectly well. At this point, your continued survival serves nothing but a bit of use to me—to everyone else, it’s nothing but a liability. And you should understand this: even if I want Chai Ping to pay with his life, there are plenty of other ways I could make him testify to that fire at the Imperial City Bureau. But if you want to survive, I’m your only option.”

“You have no way out already. This isn’t the time for you to be choosy.”

Zhou Cai Ying listened to Cheng Chang’s words, then after a long silence, swallowed hard, trembling.

If he could, he’d have fled to the ends of the earth right then, never wanting to deal again with this man who looked like a heavenly being but had the heart of an asura.

But he also knew that if the Third Young Master said he could take his life, he could.

After all, he too had played a part in that fire meant to destroy him.

“It was Chai Ping who used the matter of His Majesty and Consort Wan to lure you to the Imperial City Bureau in the first place—I never had any direct dealings with Prince Ling throughout the whole affair. So while I can testify and help throw Chai Ping into prison, using this to bring down Prince Ling himself—that’s simply not possible.”

“That’s not something you need to worry about,” Cheng Chang said, seeing that Zhou Cai Ying’s resolve had begun to waver, and rose to his feet.

“There’s one more thing I want from you.”

“Say it.”

“I want… I want to go back and see the Zhou residence first.”

The sound of hoofbeats came from not far off. Cheng Chang initially thought it might be Wei Jie finally arriving with men, but on closer look, it turned out to be Wei Jie’s trusted aide, Luo Fu, the guard commander of the Imperial City Bureau.

The moment Luo Fu saw Cheng Chang and Yun Xi, he dismounted with his men to pay respects, then said, “Last night, the moment news of Your Highness being in Yangzhou reached Jinling, Prince Ling summoned Master Wei away under the pretext of reopening the investigation into last year’s Imperial City Bureau fire. Before leaving, Master Wei left word that if any news came from Yangzhou, we were to act according to Your Highness’s instructions. And so, when Commandant Tian arrived earlier at the Imperial City Bureau, we’d already gone to patrol the area around the Zhou residence at the east gate, under the pretext of hunting a thief.”

Wei Jie, a proper third-rank commissioner of the Imperial City Bureau, could be tied up with a single word from Prince Ling?

It seemed that, even though Prince Ling wasn’t formally crown prince, his standing within the palace had already reached that of one.

Hearing Luo Fu’s report, Cheng Chang said nothing more about it. Remembering what Zhou Cai Ying had just asked for, he simply said, “To the Zhou residence.”

By the fifth watch, the streets and alleys, which should have been dark and quiet, were instead brightly lit.

The gate of the Zhou residence stood open. Zhou Hongguang paced back and forth beneath the eaves, hands clasped behind his back.

Zhou Cai Ying approached and, after a moment’s hesitation, called out, “Father.”

Zhou Hongguang stopped in his tracks. Seeing Zhou Cai Ying, his temper flared at once. He stepped forward as if to strike him, but seemed unable to bring himself to do it—his raised hand hung suspended in the air for a long moment before he finally lowered it, sighed heavily, and scolded, “Where in the world have you been running off to, in the dead of night!”

Not daring to tell the truth, Zhou Cai Ying stammered out an excuse to cover it up, then asked, “Father, what’s happened here to our household…?”

“A few thieves broke in last night.”

“Thieves?”

Zhou Hongguang made a soft sound. “Don’t know who they were—bold enough to force their way straight into the main courtyard. Thank goodness the Imperial City Bureau guards happened to be nearby chasing down bandits, or your mother might well have lost her life.”

“Mother?” Zhou Cai Ying startled, asking urgently, “Is Mother all right now?”

“She’s fine. Just badly frightened.” Zhou Hongguang sighed. “Those thieves were bold as brass—though they didn’t manage to harm your mother, several of the servants were killed.”

He looked at Zhou Cai Ying, noticing his distracted air, and asked, “Fifth son, what’s wrong with you?”

Zhou Cai Ying shook his head, his expression darkening. “It’s… nothing.”

Seeing him look so shaken, Zhou Hongguang assumed he was simply worried about the Third Young Master’s return to the capital, and offered some comforting words. “Whatever unruly ways the Third Young Master had before, he’s grown into someone quite formidable these past couple of years. Whatever friction there was between you two as children, surely it’s long faded from his mind by now. He’ll arrive in Jinling by dawn, and as Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial, you need only welcome him properly—there’s no need to overthink it.”

With that, he glanced at the sky. “You’ve still got half an hour to rest. Go on, get some sleep, so you’re not looking exhausted when you stand before His Majesty later.”

Hearing his father’s gentle, caring words, and thinking of how his own flight tonight had very nearly brought disaster down on his entire family, Zhou Cai Ying nearly burst into tears.

After a long moment, he lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I won’t rest. I still have some duties to attend to—I’ll head to the office first.”

He left the Zhou residence, circled around to a nearby street, and stopped in front of a table at a small teahouse.

Cheng Chang sat at the table, looking at Zhou Cai Ying, and asked coolly, “Did you see clearly?”

He had seen clearly.

So Prince Ling had, after all, sent assassins after the Zhou family.

If the Imperial City Bureau guards hadn’t arrived just in time, his mother might well have lost her life to those thieves.

Zhou Cai Ying was silent for a long moment, then asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Cheng Chang instructed Luo Fu beside him, “Bring the dagger and white silk we prepared.”

“Yes,” Luo Fu answered.

He spread the white silk out in front of Zhou Cai Ying and weighted it down with a teapot.

Cheng Chang glanced at the dagger on the table and said flatly, “Write out, in a blood statement, exactly how Chai Ping had you lure me to the Imperial City Bureau, and precisely what happened in that passage between the inner and outer offices that day. Then present it in person before His Majesty.”

“A blood statement?”

“What, you’re reluctant?”

“No… it’s nothing,” Zhou Cai Ying said.

He picked up the dagger from the table, its blade gleaming cold as snow in the chilly night, and drew it sharply across his fingertip.

A bright bead of blood welled up. Enduring the pain, Zhou Cai Ying began to write, stroke by stroke, on the white silk.

Cheng Chang watched silently as he wrote a few lines, then rose and walked to the corner of the street, where the wind blew strongest.

The spring night was cold, and standing there at the corner, even with the wind cutting to the bone, Cheng Chang felt none of the chill at all.

The fire at the Imperial City Bureau a year ago seemed to have left an ember lodged deep within him—before this, before he’d laid eyes on Chai Ping, it had lain quiet enough. But yesterday, the moment he’d seen him on Changhui Mountain, a raging fire had surged up within his heart.

Everything came flooding back—being pursued to the cliff’s edge, being locked away amid the flames—vivid as ever, replaying over and over, finally boiling over into a towering hatred that churned within him, unquenchable.

Cheng Chang himself couldn’t quite say what had come over him.

Before that fire, though he’d been intent on seeking justice for himself, he’d still viewed everything with a certain detachment.

He could only tell himself, again and again, to settle, to calm down.

The evening wind lifted the white folds of his robe, sending them flying.

Seen from behind, his figure was slender and elegant as jade—like some celestial being who’d wandered into the mortal world by mistake, solitary and remote.

But Yun Xi knew that something in Cheng Chang had shifted, ever since the moment he’d laid eyes on Chai Ping at Changhui Mountain.

She didn’t know exactly what he’d gone through that day, or how he’d survived the sea of flames, but she knew this wasn’t the moment to ask.

She walked over to him without a sound.

His eyes were closed, his handsome brow furrowed slightly, his long fingers rubbing over and over at the ridge of his brow, as though trying to dissolve the sharp, dense malice gathered there.

Yun Xi reached out and covered his hand with her own, calling softly, “Third Young Master.”

The back of his hand met a faint coolness, and Cheng Chang startled slightly.

But he didn’t open his eyes, only let that coolness seep through the lines of his skin and into his very bones, hoping it might quiet the fevered blood churning within him.

But the coolness came too slowly.

Cheng Chang felt it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough.

He suddenly turned his hand over, catching hers, and brought her fingertips to his lips.

His lips were startlingly hot. Yun Xi froze for a moment, but didn’t pull her hand back.

The coolness at her fingertips was drawn into him like a breath, addictive, something to be craved. Cheng Chang restrained himself, again and again, on the verge of losing control and parting his lips to bite down gently.

Just then, Luo Fu’s voice came from behind. “Your Highness, Lord Zhou has finished writing the blood statement.”

Cheng Chang’s eyes snapped open at once, as though startled back to awareness. Meeting Yun Xi’s concerned gaze, he was quiet for a long moment, then released her hand and shook his head slightly. “I’m fine.”