Cheng Chang watched Yun Xi disappear into the residence, then climbed back into the carriage.

He was exhausted. These past days had been an unbroken stretch of work. He closed his eyes and rested briefly in the carriage, then instructed the driver, “Back to the palace.”

By the time he reached the palace, it was nearly the hour of the Pig. A guard led Cheng Chang toward the Censorate.

Halfway there, a figure stepped out of the darkness and bowed. “Your Highness.”

It was Director Zhang from the Imperial Medical Academy, who had earlier treated Tian Ze’s injuries.

“Have you confirmed it?” Cheng Chang asked.

Director Zhang glanced around, saw no one nearby, and said in a low voice, “Confirmed. Tian Wang’an does have three red birthmarks on his back. It’s the Fifth Prince, without question.”

Cheng Chang gave a slight nod and continued on toward the Censorate.

Some things, when they’d first happened, had seemed unremarkable. Looking back now, they were riddled with telltale signs.

Back when Marquis Zhongyong’s household had fallen under suspicion, almost no one in Jinling dared associate with them — and yet the brothers Tian Si and Tian Ze had chosen, of all people, to stand by Yun Xi through her hardest years.

Later, after Cheng Chang’s own fall, Tian Si had clearly assisted him and Yun Xi in investigating the case, and yet in Cheng Chang’s presence, he had never once dared even lift his head.

And thinking further on it — one brother a captain, the other now a court investigator — and yet their household kept only a handful of odd-job servants, not even a single maid in attendance. If they weren’t hiding some secret, why live with such careful restraint?

Cheng Chang’s office sat within a private courtyard at the Censorate, guarded outside by his own men.

He stepped into the courtyard, where several of his trusted aides were already waiting inside.

Faced with a secret of this magnitude, everyone was thrown into disarray. The moment Cheng Chang arrived, they rushed forward. “Your Highness, what should we do now?”

“His Majesty and Prince Ling have both been searching for the Fifth Prince, and now it turns out he’s been hiding right in the palace this whole time. Your Highness, should we inform Master Wei first?”

“Your Highness, what exactly is the relationship between the Fifth Prince and Marquis Zhongyong’s household? Marquis Zhongyong’s household seems poised for a resurgence now — if we’re not on good terms with the Fifth Prince, will they stand in our way?”

Cheng Chang sat down at his desk, not answering any of them, and instead asked Su Tai, “Have Pei Ming, Luo Fuyou, and the others been to Prince Ling’s ‘teahouse’ again lately?”

“Reporting to Your Highness, yes. And after their visits to the ‘teahouse,’ they’ve already begun sending men door to door across Jinling to hunt for the Fifth Prince’s whereabouts. It seems their intent is to eliminate him before anyone else can find him,” Su Tai said.

Cheng Chang made a low sound of acknowledgment, then said flatly, “Go fetch Liu Chang.”

Liu Chang was, of course, the Minister of Justice.

The Assistant Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, present in the office, spoke up urgently to dissuade him. “Your Highness, absolutely not. If you have instructions for Minister Liu, you could easily wait until after tomorrow’s court session and find him at the Ministry. The palace has ears everywhere — summoning the Minister of Justice to the Censorate at this hour, word will reach His Majesty before morning even breaks.”

“Indeed, Your Highness. Minister Liu has always been the type to sit on the fence, playing it safe. Whatever reaches his ears has a way of finding its way to Prince Ling. Prince Ling is desperate for some leverage against Your Highness right now — if he learns that you deliberately arranged for Master Tian to be beaten with the rod today at Wende Hall, and reports it to His Majesty afterward, Your Highness’s position could become quite difficult.”

Hearing both officials’ counsel, Su Tai’s expression clouded with hesitation too, and he cupped his hands, seeking direction. “Your Highness?”

Cheng Chang rubbed his temple and said again, simply, “Go.”

Su Tai nodded and set off to the Ministry of Justice to fetch Liu Chang.

The others in the office exchanged uneasy glances, none of them able to guess what Cheng Chang was truly planning.

It wasn’t that these men lacked wit.

Quite the opposite — most of them were trusted aides of Prince Cong’s household, men who had weathered two reigns and, regardless of their official rank, had long since become shrewd, seasoned operators.

But this time, Cheng Chang was executing a scheme within a scheme, step by careful step, and no one could guess where it was all leading.

In truth, Cheng Chang had grown suspicious of Tian Ze from the very moment he began investigating the theft of the defense map.

At the time, Tian Ze hadn’t even known that the thief was Yun Luo — so why had he been so deliberately vague in his case records, concealing his own investigative methods?

There was only one explanation: he almost certainly knew there was something unusual about the missing northern frontier defense map — perhaps he even knew that the map itself was proof of Prince Ling’s collusion with the enemy.

Minister Liu of the Ministry of Justice might have been oblivious, but Cheng Chang, who oversaw the Three Judicial Offices, was sharp and perceptive to an extreme degree.

Liu Chang had no idea Tian Ze could paint, but Cheng Chang knew that Tian Ze had used a strikingly lifelike portrait to confirm that Qin Jiu was an accomplice in stealing the map.

Cheng Chang had then made inquiries with the Grand Empress Dowager, and discovered that the Fifth Prince’s birth mother, Consort Wan, had also been a master painter.

That night, when Yun Luo and A’Jiu had gotten into trouble and Tian Ze had sent Tian Si to Prince Cong’s residence to ask Cheng Chang for help, Cheng Chang had agreed — but hadn’t rushed there immediately.

He had deliberately delayed for two hours.

He’d known that Yun Xi had already called up troops from the Guangxi Bureau — with her there, they’d be safe enough.

But what he wanted was for Yun Xi to come into open conflict with Prince Ling. So he couldn’t arrive too early — if he had, the confrontation would have been defused too quickly, and none of it would have served any purpose.

Only by letting the matter escalate would Emperor Zhaoyuan be moved to hold Marquis Zhongyong’s household accountable afterward — and only then would Tian Wang’an, as the lead investigator on the theft case, have grounds to shoulder the blame himself.

And sure enough, three days after Yun Xi mobilized troops from the Guangxi Bureau, Emperor Zhaoyuan, citing “failure to properly suppress the thieves,” had placed her under house confinement. Cheng Chang had used this window of time to dig into Tian Si and Tian Ze’s true backgrounds, then let slip a hint to Tian Ze that Emperor Zhaoyuan was likely to hold Marquis Zhongyong’s household accountable.

Yun Shuguang had done a great kindness for the Tian brothers, and upon hearing this, Tian Ze — determined to help clear Yun Xi or Yun Luo of blame — had gone before Wende Hall and declared that his investigation had been flawed, that the Ministry of War’s stolen property had nothing to do with Marquis Zhongyong’s household.

The theft case had already been a thorn in Prince Ling’s side, and seeing Tian Ze willing to take the blame on behalf of Marquis Zhongyong’s household, Prince Ling had wanted to make an example of him with severe punishment. Cheng Chang had seized the moment and pleaded on Tian Ze’s behalf instead, arguing that errors in the course of an investigation were only natural — a few strokes of the rod would suffice.

Whether it was some unspoken bond of blood between father and son, or simple coincidence, Emperor Zhaoyuan had found himself unwilling to punish Tian Ze too harshly, and had approved Cheng Chang’s suggestion — twenty strokes of the rod.

Otherwise, how could it possibly have been such a coincidence — that at a moment this sensitive, with the succession about to change hands, a long-lost son would suddenly appear before his father to ask for a beating?

It was, of course, no coincidence at all — simply someone orchestrating events from behind the scenes, playing right into his own hands.

Even before going to Wende Hall to plead on Tian Ze’s behalf, Cheng Chang had already had his own people positioned at the Imperial Medical Academy.

Watching the flickering candlelight in the glazed lamp, he asked Director Zhang, “The medicine I had you give Tian Wang’an — did he take it?”

“Reporting to Your Highness, the Fifth Prince has already taken it. It poses no serious danger to his health, but it will put him through some suffering — right now he’ll simply feel drowsy, but before long, he should develop a high fever.”

Cheng Chang made a low sound of acknowledgment.

Just then, a soft creak sounded at the threshold — Su Tai had returned, bringing Liu Chang with him.

Liu Chang worked under Cheng Chang’s authority, and ever since the Third Young Master’s return from Yangzhou, he’d come to regard him with something close to dread. Being summoned to the Censorate in the dead of night now had him thoroughly terrified — he very nearly dropped to his knees to kowtow on the spot.

Cheng Chang said flatly, “Go to Chonghua Palace and find His Majesty. Tell him Tian Wang’an has developed a high fever after being punished, and ask him to visit the Imperial Medical Academy.”

Hearing this, Liu Chang was thoroughly confused and was about to ask what the Third Young Master intended, but the Assistant Minister of the Court of Judicial Review cut in first.

“Your Highness, this cannot be. If His Majesty is to recognize the Fifth Prince now, in this manner, it may not serve the greater good.” The Assistant Minister, having seen through Cheng Chang’s intentions, was struck with alarm, and heedless of Liu Chang’s presence, pleaded with him urgently.

Cheng Chang’s expression didn’t shift at all. After a long moment, he spoke two words: “The greater good?”

What, exactly, was the greater good?

That supreme, exalted throne?

Cheng Chang rose and walked to the window, gazing out at the distant, layered rooftops of the palace.

Who had ever said he wanted the throne?

Cheng Chang asked idly, “When an imperial prince is formally recognized and restored to the family register, doesn’t protocol call for a ceremony offering sacrifice to Heaven?”

Before anyone could answer, he added, “This is a good opportunity.”

The words seemed strange at first hearing, but those who truly understood their meaning felt a chill run through them, and before long, every last one had dropped to their knees.

Only a single lamp burned in the office, its meager light leaving Cheng Chang cloaked in deep shadow.

He stood alone before the window, facing the moon — but even the moonlight seemed to shrink from him, halting a mere inch away, refusing to grant him even the faintest glow.

And so the shadows, seizing the moment, crept slowly over the folds of his robes, blooming across him in ring after ring of deep, dark stain — which, at first glance, looked exactly like the bloodstains that had once splattered his fine robes the day Chai Ping died.

The malice that had always lain hidden beneath his brow surfaced all at once, spreading through his eyes — his once clear, stream-pure gaze now tinged with a single point of blood-red, beautiful and unsettling all at once.

He had promised Yun Xi he would get better. He had struggled against it, restrained himself, tried with everything he had — but it was simply too hard.

He had tasted revenge once.

And it had been achingly, unforgettably sweet.

What did Chai Ping’s death even matter, when Prince Ling still walked this earth, alive and well?

The despair and agony he had endured, brushing against death time and again, had sunk so deep into his very bones — how could he possibly let the true culprit escape without a taste of it himself?

Cheng Chang could easily guess why Prince Ling had been meeting so frequently with Pei Ming, Luo Fuyou, and the rest of late — beyond his own grand ambitions, the man was surely also laying out an escape route.

And once the Fifth Prince, Cheng Xu, returned to the palace, Prince Ling’s only remaining path forward would be — to force a coup against the throne.

Cheng Chang called out flatly, “Liu Chang.”

“H-here,” Liu Chang stammered, trembling.

“Well? Off to Chonghua Palace with you.”

“Reporting to Your Highness, Tian Wang’an is merely a lower sixth-rank investigator. Even with a fever, His Majesty… he may not be willing to lower himself to visit the Imperial Medical Academy for him,” Liu Chang said, casting a fearful glance at Cheng Chang.

Cheng Chang knew he was feigning ignorance — he’d clearly heard, just now, that Tian Ze was Cheng Xu.

But Cheng Chang had no patience to argue the point with him, and simply said, “It doesn’t matter. There’s a painting on my desk — the portrait Tian Wang’an drew of Guard Qin Jiu while investigating the theft case. Take it, show it to His Majesty, and then mention Tian Wang’an’s fever. His Majesty will follow you to the Academy of his own accord to check on him.”

Having Tian Ze beaten. Having him dosed with a fever-inducing drug. There was no other purpose to it — just finding a pretext to lay bare Tian Ze’s back in front of Emperor Zhaoyuan.

None of them deserved anything better, in the end.

Not Prince Ling. And certainly not Emperor Zhaoyuan.

It had been Prince Ling’s hand that had struck at Cheng Chang’s life, time and again — but had Emperor Zhaoyuan not shielded and indulged him all the while?

And this time, upon his return — who had it been, using him, scheming against him, turning him into nothing more than a piece on the board to counterbalance Prince Ling, if not that very man seated upon the throne?

Every step arranged, every trap laid — first showing weakness, then lavishing him with praise, then handing him just enough power to make a prince’s heir dangerous enough that he’d have to be destroyed if he didn’t strike first. Wasn’t that its own way of driving him to the very edge of ruin?

If Prince Ling was the true culprit, and the Fang family his accomplices, then Emperor Zhaoyuan was the true architect behind it all.

This had always been a feud between father and son — so why should he have been dragged into it?

He had died and clawed his way back to life so many times over — why should he be the one to suffer for it?

He wasn’t willing to let it go. They had driven him to the edge of ruin — so now, no one would walk away unscathed.

“Liu Chang.” Cheng Chang called out again, cold.

“H-here.”

Cheng Chang smiled. “Aren’t you the fence-sitter? Whenever there’s the slightest stir, don’t you always make sure to pass a word along to the Secretariat?”

His tone was severe, and Liu Chang froze rigid at the words.

“Reporting to Your Highness, this humble official will never do so again, never again. And… and what this humble official passed along was always trivial, meaningless information. Anything touching the fate of the realm, this humble official would never dare breathe a word of it.”

“It’s fine,” Cheng Chang said. “Once His Majesty arrives at the Imperial Medical Academy to see Tian Wang’an, send word to the Secretariat as well — bring Prince Ling here.”

“This king wants that cousin of mine to witness, with his own eyes, exactly how his father and his fifth brother are reunited.”

Only this way would neither Emperor Zhaoyuan nor Prince Ling have any time to react or scheme — this way, neither would gain the upper hand over the other.

He meant to drive Prince Ling into open rebellion.

He meant to force him into patricide.

He meant to see father and son take up arms against each other, tearing each other apart.

They had driven him to the very end of the road — so let them all come down together, and keep him company in this abyss.

“Y-Your Highness, please reconsider,” Liu Chang said, finally speaking a genuine word of truth. “If… if His Majesty recognizes the Fifth Prince so hastily, this palace… there’s no telling what chaos might follow.”

The night was very quiet. The moonlight seemed almost afraid of the figure before it, shrinking back another inch, and the room grew darker still.

Cheng Chang stood motionless within the deep shadow, his voice soft and distant. “Go.”