A servant nearby came up to collect the calligraphy and brought out fresh tea and peach blossom cakes.

Fang Furan sat down beside the stone table and, noticing a trace of weariness in Prince Ling’s brow, asked, “I heard the Third Young Master has been giving you trouble again recently?”

Prince Ling gave a soft “Mm.” “Ever since he’s returned, there’s been no peace—stirring up trouble everywhere. A while ago he summoned Pei Ming for questioning, and these past couple of days he’s gone and questioned Luo Fuyou of the Bureau of Military Affairs. He’s probably realized I used Luo Shu to lure him to Mingyin Temple and is holding a grudge over it.”

Fang Furan said, “Shu’er had already been engaged before the New Year, but recently, I don’t know why, it fell through again.”

“She didn’t want to marry,” Prince Ling said. “Luo Fuyou values his career more than his own life. In his eyes, his daughter is nothing but a pawn. This marriage wouldn’t have benefited his career, so since she didn’t want it, Luo Fuyou let it go.”

Hearing this, Fang Furan felt a pang of sorrow.

Seeing her expression darken, Prince Ling came over and rested a hand on her shoulder, saying gently, “Furan, I’ve bought a house for you in the northern part of the city.”

Fang Furan was startled and shook her head. “There’s no need, Your Highness.”

“It’s not entirely for you,” Prince Ling said with a smile. “It’s for the people of the Fang family.”

“Do you remember the promise I made you seven years ago?”

—”One day, I will help you find all your scattered family members.”

Hearing this, Fang Furan looked up at Prince Ling. “Your Highness has already sent people to search for them?”

Prince Ling sat down across from her. “I sent people last year. I originally planned to surprise you once they arrived in Jinling. But thinking it over, I decided it would be better to tell you now, so you can be happy sooner.”

When the Fang household had been raided and its property confiscated, the household members had all been exiled. Over the years, some had fallen ill, some had died, and only a scattered few remained alive.

Prince Ling said, “Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I could only find seven or eight of them. Among them, besides your two concubine-mothers, there’s also the steward your father trusted most back then. They’re all on their way to the capital now and should arrive in about a month.”

Hearing this, Fang Furan was about to ask about the situation of her two half-brothers, when Physician Xue suddenly came in, leading Chief Officer Cao.

The moment Cao Yuan saw Prince Ling, he bowed hurriedly. “Your Highness, something terrible has happened—something’s happened to Lord Chai!”

“Something’s happened to Chai Ping?” Prince Ling was startled.

Seven or eight days ago, when he’d visited the Court of Judicial Review, hadn’t Chai Ping still been fine?

“Yes, it seems he’s gone mad. The commotion broke out at the Court of Judicial Review this morning, and the Third Young Master has already gone there.”

“Gone mad? How?”

“I heard several death-row prisoners were sent in whose appearance resembled Lord Chai’s father and brothers who died back then. The Court of Judicial Review locked these prisoners together with Lord Chai, and he couldn’t bear it—he went mad.”

Hearing that it involved death-row prisoners, Prince Ling suddenly understood.

When he’d gone to the Court of Judicial Review to see Chai Ping earlier, he’d personally seen several condemned prisoners sent over by the Ministry of Justice. At the time, something had felt off, and he’d meant to ask more, but had been interrupted by the matter of Cheng Chang summoning Pei Ming for questioning.

Prince Ling stood up and headed out of the courtyard, giving orders as he walked. “Prepare the carriage—we’re going to the Court of Judicial Review.”

On the way, he asked Cao Yuan, “Chai Ping is always composed under pressure. Even if he had some inner wound, he’d find a way to overcome it. How could he go mad in just seven or eight days? Did Mingying have someone secretly drug him?”

“Reporting to Your Highness, the Third Young Master hasn’t used any drugs,” Cao Yuan said. “But I heard he’s barely allowed Lord Chai to sleep, and only gives him one spoonful of water a day.”

Prince Ling’s brow furrowed. “What is he trying to achieve with this?”

“Your Highness,” said Physician Xue, walking behind them, “once a person is deprived of sleep, their mind easily breaks down. Lack of water to a certain degree can also cause hallucinations. If those death-row prisoners were indeed the root of Lord Chai’s affliction, then under such extreme terror, combined with exhaustion and thirst, lasting seven or eight days is already remarkable.”

Chief Officer Cao said, “I heard Lord Chai has tried to kill himself several times these past few days, but the Third Young Master had already anticipated this and had men stop him each time. Lord Chai doesn’t say it outright, but in his heart he actually fears the Third Young Master quite a bit—he even sought out renowned physicians everywhere to treat the burn on his right arm.”

“Tried to kill himself several times already?” Prince Ling’s tone carried anger. “Chai Ping is, after all, a fourth-rank official of the Censorate—why didn’t Ji Lun report this sooner?”

“Lord Ji had originally planned to report this to Your Highness and the Central Secretariat first thing this morning, but when he came to the Secretariat the other day, Your Highness was busy meeting with Lords Pei and Luo. Seeing you occupied, Lord Ji didn’t dare disturb you. It wasn’t until today, when the matter could no longer be concealed, that he hurriedly sent someone to inform you.”

Hearing this, Prince Ling’s steps faltered.

No wonder.

He’d been puzzled the other day as to why Cheng Chang would go to such trouble, for so little apparent gain, to make trouble for Pei Ming and Luo Fuyou. So it had been a diversion all along.

“Earlier when the Third Young Master had Lord Chai whipped, His Majesty turned a blind eye to it. Now he’s practically driven Lord Chai to death, yet his own hands remain perfectly clean. Even if word got out, it would only be that he gave him less water and let him rest less—no one could hold him accountable for that. Your Highness, you must find some way to save Lord Chai!”

As Cao Yuan spoke, Prince Ling’s expression grew darker and darker. He said nothing, got into the carriage, and urged the driver to race toward the Court of Judicial Review.

Outside, the Court of Judicial Review’s offices looked calm enough, but inside chaos reigned. Many officials stood scattered about, but most of them belonged to the Three Judicial Offices.

Nearly all the officials of the Three Judicial Offices answered to Cheng Chang. Without his instruction, no one dared interfere with Chai Ping’s case.

Prince Ling ignored the officials’ bows and, led by Chief Minister Ji Lun of the Court of Judicial Review, went straight down to the prison.

The prison corridor was damp and gloomy, faintly smelling of long-unaired mustiness, but the last cell was brightly lit, torches burning on all four walls, casting deep, mottled shadows.

Inside the cell, besides officials and wardens from the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review, there stood a tall, jade-like figure.

Hearing the commotion, Cheng Chang turned around and smiled. “Cousin, you’ve come?”

That day he wore moon-white brocade robes patterned with clouds, the jade hairpin in his hair gleaming, his whole bearing as pristine as frost and snow.

Seeing Prince Ling, Chai Ping tried to rush forward but was held back by the officer behind him. He could only call out, “Your Highness, Your Highness…”

His hair was disheveled, his body filthy, dark circles heavy under his eyes. When he spoke, tears and mucus streamed down his face. Most terrible of all was his right arm, bloody and raw, wrapped in a strip of cloth and hung from his neck.

Was this really the once composed, kind-eyed Censorate official?

Prince Ling’s pupils contracted sharply. He immediately ordered, “Someone, take Chai Ping to the Central Secretariat, and send for the imperial physician at once—”

“Cousin, don’t forget,” Cheng Chang said flatly before he’d even finished, “this man still owes me a life. His charges haven’t been cleared. No one is taking him anywhere.”

“Keeping him locked up like this will only drive him further mad,” Prince Ling said.

“What benefit is there to you in driving him mad?”

Prince Ling’s words carried a double meaning—he was reminding Cheng Chang that if Chai Ping were driven insane, it would be difficult to extract anything useful from him against Prince Ling.

And besides, who would believe the words of a madman?

Cheng Chang clearly understood, but paid it no mind.

“There’s no benefit,” he said with a smile. “But I don’t care.”

“As long as I see him suffer worse than death, I’m satisfied,” Cheng Chang added.

A chill ran through Prince Ling at these words.

He said coldly, “Chai Ping is, after all, a fourth-rank official of this court. He is not yours to torment at will!”

“Have I tormented him?” Cheng Chang said. “He’s the one who doesn’t want to live.”

The corner of his mouth carried a hint of mockery. “As it happens, he still has a shred of sanity left. If Cousin doesn’t believe me, ask him yourself.”

Prince Ling looked at Chai Ping and said nothing.

“Since Cousin doesn’t wish to ask, I’ll ask instead.”

Cheng Chang unhurriedly straightened his sleeve, stepped closer to Chai Ping, and bent down to look at him. “Do you still want to live?”

Chai Ping stared at Cheng Chang in terror.

Those eyes, like stars and moon, should have been gentle and cool—but now they were swirling with dark, malevolent intent.

He seemed to see again the roaring flames at the Imperial City Bureau that day, the boundless hatred in Cheng Chang’s eyes just before the woodshed door was sealed shut on his orders.

He was terrified of that fire, terrified of him.

“I don’t want to live, I don’t want to live—” Chai Ping shook his head repeatedly. “I’ll give my life back to you, all of it, please, kill me…”

“No,” Cheng Chang straightened up and said flatly. “Your master has said—you’re a fourth-rank official of this court. Dying isn’t so easy for you.”

He said to Prince Ling, “Do you know why I had him bound?”

He gave a slight wave of his sleeve. “Untie him.”

The officer restraining Chai Ping obeyed and released him.

Chai Ping immediately collapsed to the ground. Looking around in terror, ignoring the pain, he fumbled desperately at the cloth wrapped around his neck.

He seemed to be itching terribly—the moment he was freed, he reached for the burned arm and began scratching at it.

The burn hadn’t healed to begin with, and after days of frantic, painless scratching, the flesh beneath was already ravaged, a hint of stark white bone visible.

Prince Ling finally couldn’t hold back and asked Cheng Chang, “What exactly are you trying to do?!”

“What am I trying to do? Can Cousin really not see it?” Cheng Chang said.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped closer to Prince Ling. “Aren’t you the one who’s best at using another’s blade to kill?”

“Back at the Pei Mansion’s waterside pavilion—wasn’t it you who leaked false information to Prince Yun, telling him I was investigating his embezzlement of the Marquis of Zhongyong’s military provisions, forcing him to move against me?”

“You and Fang Furan together killed Yao Susu and framed Luo Shu for it, using Luo Shu to lure me to Baiyun Temple, so that Prince Yun’s shadow guards could chase me to the cliff’s edge—wasn’t that you too?”

“Knowing I’d lost my memory, you used Zhou Cai’ying to lure me to the Imperial City Bureau, then had Chai Ping trap me in the woodshed there, locked in a sea of flames—and now you stand before me pretending innocence, don’t you?”

“I don’t mind that you use others as your blade,” Cheng Chang said. “No matter how many blades you hold, I can disarm you of them one by one.”

“This man,” he pointed at Chai Ping on the ground, “the sharpest blade in your hand—his life is the first one I want.”

“I simply want him dead!”

At the word “dead,” everyone around them felt a jolt of terror and dropped to their knees.

Standing among them, Cheng Chang, dressed in fine brocade with a jade hairpin, his bearing noble and refined—perhaps it was the reflection of the fierce torchlight—somehow appeared sinister and otherworldly.

Chai Ping lunged forward again. “Third Young Master, Third Young Master, please, I’ll give you back my life, just let me leave this place…” He pointed at the condemned prisoners in the corner behind him. “I don’t want to be locked up with these people, I don’t want to see them again, I never harmed them, yet they hate me…”

But Cheng Chang let him talk on, paying him no attention at all.

Terrified, Chai Ping made up his mind and bit down hard at the root of his tongue.

But Cheng Chang reacted a split second faster, reaching out to grip his jaw, forcing his teeth apart, then shoving him backward.

Several officers immediately came forward to restrain Chai Ping again.

Unable to bear it any longer, Prince Ling ordered at once, “Someone!”

Cao Yuan immediately brought guards forward, responding, “Here!”

“Take Chai Ping away!”

“Yes!”

“Court of Judicial Review,” Cheng Chang said as well.

“Here!”

“Whoever dares take him away, kill without mercy.”

“Yes!” The armed guards standing at the cell door responded at once, drawing their blades from their sheaths.

The two sides stood locked in a standoff. Cheng Chang stepped toward Chai Ping again, bending down to look at him, and whispered in his ear, “Don’t you want to die?”

“Then let me tell you a secret before you die.”

“Back then, I actually already ‘died’ in that sea of fire at the Imperial City Bureau.”

“When you had them fetch the bronze lock, I actually saw it. I hated so much that the fire surged out of the woodshed and consumed every one of your men.”

“But do you know why you weren’t burned to death that day?”

“Because I was thinking, at the time, what method would make you die in the most agonizing way.”

“I wanted to watch you die in the way you feared most.”

“I’ve finally found it.”

He straightened up, pointed at the condemned prisoners in the corner of the cell, and said with a soft laugh, “Look at them—your father, your brothers—how much they hate you.”

“If you hadn’t passed the examinations, why would they have died because of you?”

“Your old father had reached sixty years of age, and your youngest brother was only fifteen—how innocent they were.”

“And yet, having barely clawed your way back to life, you never learned to repent.”

“Using killing to stop killing is an immeasurable sin—even the underworld itself may refuse to take you in.”

“With so many lives on your hands, haven’t these years been terrifying for you?”

“Is there a single day you haven’t lived as if in purgatory? In a nightmare of endless suffering?”

“Every night when you dream, isn’t there someone asking you, over and over?”

“Why wasn’t it you who died back then?”

“Why wasn’t it you?”

Why wasn’t it you who died?

Why not you?

You’re the one who should have died!

You should be dead!!

As Chai Ping listened to Cheng Chang’s words, he trembled more and more violently, terror and panic building up inside him until it finally burst. He let out a sudden, agonized scream, wrenched himself free from the officers restraining him, and threw his head back against the blade of the guard standing at the cell door.

It happened too fast—by the time his throat was half severed and blood sprayed out with a wet burst, no one had reacted.

Scalding blood splashed onto Prince Ling, and onto Cheng Chang as well.

For that instant, the entire prison fell almost completely silent, only the crackling roar of the torches audible.

Everyone stared at Chai Ping’s corpse, their faces filled with shock and horror—including Prince Ling.

Only Cheng Chang’s eyes remained calm and composed. He glanced flatly at the now-silent body on the ground, then reached up and straightened his sleeve.

After a moment, the Chief Minister of the Court of Judicial Review called out, trembling, “Y-Your Highnesses.”

Prince Ling stared fixedly at Cheng Chang for a long moment, then flicked his sleeve and left the prison of the Court of Judicial Review without a word, taking his men with him.

That final flick of his sleeve was a gesture meaning to have the body collected, but since Cheng Chang said nothing, none of the officials below dared to act.

They had all just witnessed it.

This young prince, with just a few words, had driven a fourth-rank official of the court to his death.

Though his clothes were stained with blood, his hands remained perfectly clean.

Since the Third Young Master’s fall into the water, the officials had only known him to have become more capable than before—none had expected he would also possess such ruthless, iron-fisted methods.

After a long while, the Chief Minister of the Court of Judicial Review asked, trembling with fear, “Young Master, shall… shall we collect the body?”

Cheng Chang’s eyes were perfectly calm, his face expressionless. He glanced once more at the corpse on the ground and said flatly, “Collect it.” Then he left the cell.

Cheng Chang walked out, step by step.

At the end of the corridor, a dim, dusky light glowed.

Dusk had fallen.

He walked toward that light, and suddenly gave a very soft laugh.

Everyone around him, hearing that laugh, felt overwhelmed with dread, and one by one they knelt down.

When he had fallen from the cliff and been shattered to pieces, when the raging fire had burned through his flesh and bone, though he had been brought back to life, he had truly felt all that pain.

He had done no wrong to anyone, sought no conflict with the world—so what had he done to deserve having all this agony inflicted upon him?

Cheng Chang reached the mouth of the corridor. The dark golden light of dusk fell over him, making the blood on his body burn bright red.

Dusk—the hour when demons roam.

His face, once celestial in its beauty, now took on an extreme, bewitching cast. The faint mole by his cheek, usually unremarkable, now appeared strikingly vivid and searing, stained with blood.

The corners of Cheng Chang’s mouth lifted, slightly. Then, after a moment, lifted further.

Finally, unable to hold it back any longer, he burst into loud laughter.

Was this what revenge felt like?

It felt so satisfying!

He stood alone beneath the slanting sun, laughing uncontrollably.

But that laughter was desolate and vast with sorrow.

He stood there, his fine robes stained with blood—a prince of overwhelming power, and also a mortal soul fallen into demonhood.

He was no bodhisattva.

He was just an ordinary man, unable to escape this deep karmic web of the mortal world.