In the middle of the night, Yun Xi couldn’t settle. She tossed and turned on her bed, Cheng Chang’s parting words echoing over and over in her mind, from when he’d walked her back to the residence.

He had said, “Once you’re back inside, stay settled and don’t worry about today’s matter. No matter what, I’m here.”

He had also said, “You’re still under confinement — don’t come to the palace for the time being. Just remember, whatever happens, I’m here.”

Perhaps it was simply the depth of the night, but when Cheng Chang had spoken those words, a shadow had seemed to settle over his eyes.

They were, on their face, perfectly ordinary things to say — and yet Yun Xi couldn’t shake the feeling that something about them had been off.

She remembered that Cheng Chang had always been a man of few words.

Even now that they’d grown so close, no matter the subject, he rarely said the same thing twice.

He was reserved by nature, disinclined to interfere in others’ affairs — even when displeased by the conduct of his own servants, so long as it didn’t affect him directly, he’d never once said a word of reproach.

For him to urge her, again and again, to stay in the residence, the way he had today — that was a first.

Yun Xi suddenly thought back to the day Chai Ping died, when she’d gone to Wangshan Villa to find him.

He’d been drinking that day, and he’d told her, “Chai Ping is dead.”

Then he’d added, “I drove him to it.”

His tone had been achingly bleak, the same shadow in his eyes then as she’d seen tonight.

Yun Xi sat bolt upright, her heart pounding like thunder in her chest.

A sudden premonition of something terrible gripped her, though she couldn’t pin down its source. She sat quietly on the bed for a while, then picked up the safety talisman Cheng Ye had given her that day from beside the bed.

She set the talisman down again — not because she treasured Cheng Ye’s feelings so deeply, but because of something he’d said just before confessing them: “About five or six years ago, wasn’t there a drought in Huaibei? Wang’an and Brother Tian’s hometown had been hit by the disaster — that’s when I met them.”

Five or six years ago…

Ning Huan had once said that five or six years ago, during the Huaibei drought, two boys had come from the north, traveling steadily southeast, eventually reaching Jinling — and that they were the Fifth Prince and the young eunuch beside him.

The thought struck her all at once, and her hand tightened around the talisman. She swung off the bed and pushed open the door, heading straight for the front courtyard.

It was just past the hour of the Tiger’s beginning, the world still pitch dark. Before she’d even reached the front courtyard, a soft sound came from the corridor outside, and someone called to her in the darkness. “Young Miss?”

Yun Xi recognized Bai Ling’s voice. “Ling? Why are you up so early?”

Bai Ling walked over. “Uncle Mute is wary of strangers, so Father told me to get up early and bring him breakfast.”

Yun Xi blinked. “Uncle Mute? He stayed the night at the residence?”

She’d been so worried about Tian Ze yesterday, rushing off to the palace by dusk, that by the time she’d returned, everyone in the household had already gone to bed — she hadn’t even realized the mute man had never left.

“Uncle Qin had urgent business at the Western Hills Camp last night. Before he left, he asked Uncle Mute if he’d be willing to stay at Marquis Zhongyong’s residence for a while. Uncle Mute seemed willing, so Uncle Qin let him stay.”

Yun Xi found this rather strange. Just yesterday, when Qin Zhong had first brought the mute man to the residence, he’d been terrified of strangers — even seeing her, he’d only shrunk further into the corner. How, after just one night, had he suddenly become willing to stay in a residence full of people he didn’t know at all?

The thought brought her back to yesterday, when she’d gone to the back courtyard looking for Tian Si and found him apparently just emerging from the mute man’s room.

What had he said, exactly, at the time?

Right — he’d said he’d seen someone bringing water and pastries to the back side room and had gone in to help.

But the mute man had been so frightened and wary of her — why would he stay calm and quiet around a stranger like Tian Si?

Perhaps it was Cheng Ye’s talisman that had cleared her thinking, leading her to a faint, barely-formed possibility.

Yun Xi turned and headed for the back courtyard, pushed open the door of the side room, and called softly into the darkness. “Uncle Mute.”

The figure inside startled awake instantly, and at the sound of her voice, shrank at once toward the corner of the bed.

Yun Xi found the fire striker on the table and lit the candle, then looked at the mute man. “Uncle Mute, it’s me. I’m Yun Shuguang’s daughter, A’Ting.”

But the mute man paid her no mind. He seemed terribly afraid of her, waving his arms desperately to push her away, choked, wordless cries rising from his throat.

Seeing him so frightened, a wave of cold dread washed over Yun Xi — yesterday, when Tian Si had come to see him, there hadn’t been a sound out of him at all.

She caught hold of the mute man’s arm and asked, “Someone came to see you yesterday afternoon. Do you… do you know him?”

The mute man didn’t seem to understand her words and tried again to shove her away, but Yun Xi pressed on immediately. “The Fifth Prince — do you know the Fifth Prince?”

The mute man’s movements slowed.

Yun Xi asked, “That person who visited you yesterday afternoon — is he someone from the Fifth Prince’s household?”

“Back then, you were entrusted by my father to care for two young boys. Was he one of them?”

“You lived together near Jishan Fu, and after the battle on the frontier, they left the grasslands and came to Jinling — isn’t that right?”

As the mute man listened, his eyes gradually widened, studying Yun Xi closely, as if trying to trace the shape of her childhood face within her striking eyes and brows now.

But a moment later, he turned his face away again, waving his hands frantically.

Qin Zhong had said as much before — the mute man wasn’t entirely simple; he still understood things, still remembered things.

Perhaps Tian Si had warned him not to reveal the secret that Wang’an was the Fifth Prince — but his attempt at concealment was so clumsy that Yun Xi saw through it at a glance.

Yun Xi sat down slowly at the edge of the bed, stunned.

She was always like this — trusting the people around her with her whole heart, never doubting them in the slightest.

She had never once looked too closely into Tian Ze and Tian Si’s origins, their true identities.

Thinking back on it now — after her father’s death in battle, after her brother’s defeat, when almost no one in Jinling would associate with Marquis Zhongyong’s household — was it really just coincidence that two people had suddenly appeared at her side, willing to share every hardship with her?

Over the years, Tian Si and Tian Ze had repeatedly said that Marquis Zhongyong’s household had done them a great kindness, and she’d never thought much of it. Looking back now, what exactly had they meant by that kindness — was it simply that she’d taken Tian Si on as a constable, or was it something to do with the kindness her father, Yun Shuguang, had shown them?

Tian Si had once said his stutter had come from being frightened by bandits once, long ago — and hadn’t the Mingyin Temple massacre been exactly the first time the Fifth Prince and the young eunuch had ever witnessed bloodshed?

Tian Ze had mentioned, not long ago, that his late mother had been skilled in painting — and the Fifth Prince’s birth mother, Consort Wan, had been a master painter in her own right.

All these small details had seemed unremarkable at the time. Now, in hindsight, every single one of them was a telltale crack in the story.

Even having guessed that Tian Ze was the Fifth Prince, Yun Xi found little relief in the thought.

She remembered once trying to arrange a match for Bai Ling with Tian Ze, and Tian Ze had said, then, that he intended to leave Jinling with Tian Si eventually.

Which meant they’d never intended to reclaim his identity as an imperial prince.

And yet today, Cheng Chang had told her, no matter what happened, not to come to the palace for the time being.

Yun Xi turned the words over carefully in her mind.

She was under a confinement order — what, exactly, was about to happen that would be worth breaking that order over and over again, rushing to the palace?

Yun Xi suddenly thought of the shadow she’d seen in Cheng Chang’s eyes — that faint, bloodlike red he kept buried deep within.

Of course — the Third Young Master had asked her about Tian Si and Tian Ze before. With his intelligence, how could he not have noticed something unusual about Tian Ze?

Or — could it be that Tian Ze’s beating at Wende Hall tonight hadn’t been a coincidence at all?

That someone had orchestrated it, deliberately, from behind the scenes?

After all, the Third Young Master oversaw the Three Judicial Offices.

Yun Xi finally understood what had been unsettling her all along. He’d told her to stay in the residence because something terrible was about to unfold in the palace.

Father and son reunited. Brothers turning against each other. Armies clashing.

A catastrophe of his own making.

Yun Xi shot to her feet, strode out of the residence gate, mounted her horse, and rode hard for the Tian household.

She reached the Tian household quickly, tied her horse off to the side, and pounded on the door. “Tian Si, it’s me!”

The moment her voice rang out, the gate creaked open. Tian Si stood there fully dressed, dark circles under his eyes — clearly he’d spent a sleepless night worrying over Tian Ze’s safety, even though Yun Xi had already sent word earlier that Tian Ze was fine.

Seeing her, Tian Si looked startled. “A-A’Ting, why—”

But he stopped mid-sentence.

He had never seen Yun Xi look like this before, her eyes burning as if trying to see straight through him.

“Tian Si — Wang’an is really the Fifth Prince, isn’t he?” Yun Xi asked, going straight to the point.

Tian Si opened his mouth, then looked away. “A’Ting, wh-what are you talking about?”

“Back then, my father entrusted two people to Uncle Mute’s care on the frontier — that was you and Wang’an, wasn’t it?”

“My brother was named Grand General after quelling the Lingnan uprising at seventeen. Besides those who’d been on the frontier back then, no one called him ‘Young General.’ But the very first time you met my brother, you called him that too, just like the frontier people did — because you’d lived on the grasslands as well, hadn’t you?”

“You’re skilled with the pen, and yet ever since I became a general, you’ve insisted on staying a mere captain by my side with no real authority, rather than handle paperwork — you won’t even set foot in the Privy Council more than you have to. Why? Is it because someone at the Privy Council, or in the palace, might recognize you?”

“Tian Si,” Yun Xi said, “we’ve known each other for years now — weathered everything together. I just want the truth, one time.”

Tian Si hesitated for a long moment, then gritted his teeth. “A-A’Ting, it’s not — we didn’t mean to hide it from you on purpose. It’s because, because we—”

But mid-sentence, he suddenly caught himself. “Wait — why, why are you here, at this hour? Has — has something happened to Wang’an?”

“I don’t know,” Yun Xi said, lowering her eyes. She said nothing about Cheng Chang, only, “He took the rod last night. His Majesty may use this as an opportunity… to recognize him.”

At this, Tian Si’s face went pale. Without a word, he locked the gate and hurried toward the end of the lane.

Yun Xi caught up. “Where are you going?”

“I… I’m going to the palace, to find Wang’an.”

“No, don’t go.” Yun Xi caught his arm. “I’ll go.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan recognizing his Fifth Prince at last would certainly be cause for celebration — but if, all these years, the Fifth Prince had simply been lost somewhere out in the world, that would be one thing. To have been in Jinling all along, even within the palace itself, all the while refusing to reunite with his father — was that not, in its own way, a form of deceiving the throne?

Since Tian Ze was an imperial prince, Emperor Zhaoyuan would surely never hold him accountable. But once the old Emperor came to fully grasp the situation — that he had spent all these years pining for his most beloved fifth son while that son remained hidden nearby — how could his anger not turn, at least in part, toward Tian Si, the eunuch who had stayed constantly at the Fifth Prince’s side all this time?

Tian Si had spent all these years caring for and protecting Tian Ze — but an emperor’s heart was impossible to fathom, and matters of merit and blame could hinge on nothing more than a single passing thought.

He might well think: it was you who taught my son to refuse recognizing me.

Or he might think: as an imperial prince who would someday bear a heavy burden, he shouldn’t be so close to a eunuch.

Yun Xi said, “I’ll go to the palace and find Wang’an myself. If anything happens, I’ll send someone to tell you at once. Your position is far too delicate — you absolutely cannot be present in the palace when His Majesty and Wang’an are reunited.”

“N-no.” Tian Si said. “A-A’Ting, you can’t go. If — if His Majesty suspects you of helping deceive him, he’ll — he’ll hold you accountable. I’ll — I’ll go. Wang’an, alone, in the palace — I can’t rest easy. Consort Wan entrusted him to my care — I was always meant to look after him properly.”

With that, Tian Si untied the horse tethered outside the gate and made to head for the palace.

Seeing this, Yun Xi untied her own horse as well and caught up with a few quick strides. “I’m different from you. I’m from Marquis Zhongyong’s household — if His Majesty wants to suspect me of deceiving him, he’ll suspect me sooner or later regardless, whether it’s today or some other day. I have to go into the palace today. Better the suspicion falls on me than on my brother.”

She paused, not mentioning the deeper reasoning behind it, and simply said, “So let’s go together. Whatever comes, we’ll deal with it as it comes. We’ve made it this far together over the years — one more trial won’t make a difference now.”

———*—

At dawn, in the main courtyard of the Imperial Medical Academy.

Several apothecary officials and court ministers waited outside the hall. Inside, Emperor Zhaoyuan had already been there for the better part of a stick of incense’s burning.

He now rested in a carved wooden chair in the middle of the hall, waiting for the Academy Director to take Tian Ze’s pulse.

Among the officials waiting outside was one particularly clueless soul who, seeing the Emperor’s exhausted state, nudged the man beside him and whispered, “What do you suppose this is about? Did they get last night’s case wrong? Why would he come to the Imperial Medical Academy in person before dawn? This Tian Wang’an is only an investigator — even if he’d been wrongly punished, having the Third Young Master or Prince Ling say a kind word on his behalf would already be more than generous. What’s all this about?”

Most of these officials had been the ones waiting outside Wende Hall the day before, when Emperor Zhaoyuan had questioned Tian Ze over the theft case. With such a major case still unresolved, fearing they might be needed again, they’d all stayed the night in the palace rather than risk leaving — and now, before dawn had even broken, it seemed the drama was continuing.

The man beside him, somewhat more perceptive, glanced carefully into the hall and murmured back, “In my opinion, this probably has nothing to do with last night’s affair. My guess is something’s gone wrong with Investigator Tian himself.”

“Something wrong with him? He’s just an investigator — what could possibly be wrong with him?”

The sharper man glanced toward the two figures standing at the front of the group — the Third Young Master and Prince Ling — both perfectly composed, betraying nothing at all. He shook his head. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Just then, Director Zhang finished taking Tian Ze’s pulse and withdrew his hand. Emperor Zhaoyuan asked at once, “Well?”

“Reporting to Your Majesty, judging by his pulse, Master Tian’s fever is most likely the result of years of overwork and mental strain from his official duties — it has little to do with tonight’s punishment. This humble official has already had a sweat-inducing decoction prepared. Once Master Tian takes it and sweats it out, the fever should break.”

Hearing this, Emperor Zhaoyuan relaxed somewhat, his gaze settling on Tian Ze’s pale face where he lay on the bamboo couch. Without quite realizing it, he began to trace, in the young man’s brow and eyes, the faint echo of Consort Wan from long ago.

No wonder he’d found the boy so striking during the palace examination. In truth, Xu’er had made an error in a single character in his examination essay — by rights, he shouldn’t have placed among the top three at all. But Emperor Zhaoyuan had favored him regardless, personally granting him the honor of placing second.

Looking back now, it truly was blood calling to blood.

In truth, Emperor Zhaoyuan had already suspected, the moment he’d seen Tian Ze’s painting, that this might be Cheng Xu after all — Consort Wan had been renowned above all for her portrait work, and Tian Ze’s brushwork, his technique with color and shading, matched hers precisely.

But upon arriving at the Imperial Medical Academy, Emperor Zhaoyuan hadn’t rushed to verify Tian Ze’s identity right away.

He was old now, his health failing badly. Seeing Tian Ze so ill, sunk in fevered sleep, he’d thought of the late Crown Prince and couldn’t bear to face, once again, the grief of burying a child before his own time. It wasn’t until Director Zhang assured him nothing was seriously wrong that his heart eased somewhat, and he called out, “Liu Chang.”

“Present, Your Majesty.”

“He…” Emperor Zhaoyuan gestured toward Tian Ze. “What year did he come to Jinling?”

The Minister of Justice, surely the one who knew Xu’er best by now, having been the very one to recognize his talent and bring him into the Ministry.

“Reporting to Your Majesty, roughly five or six years ago.”

Five or six years ago — that would have been a year after Yun Shuguang’s death in battle.

“A young scholar, arriving in Jinling — where did he live, how did he support himself?”

“Reporting to Your Majesty, Investigator Tian has an elder brother. In their first years in Jinling, Investigator Tian devoted himself to his studies at home, while his elder brother seems to have served as a constable at Jingzhao Prefecture. This humble official isn’t entirely certain of the details, but Your Majesty could ask General Mingwei.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan fell silent for a long moment. “Yun Shuguang’s daughter — Yun Xi?”

“Yes,” Liu Chang said. “At the time, General Yun was still a constable at Jingzhao Prefecture herself. Investigator Tian’s elder brother, Tian Si, seems to have served under her.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan made a low sound of acknowledgment.

His Xu’er, having traveled so far to reach Jinling, and yet refusing to return to his side — choosing instead to stay near this Yun woman — why?

Didn’t he know his father had spent all these years searching for him?

The sweat-inducing decoction was ready. Director Zhang fed it to Tian Ze himself, and before long, fine beads of sweat began to form along his brow.

He seemed to be in considerable pain, his brow furrowing even in his unconscious state, low groans escaping him.

Emperor Zhaoyuan asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

Director Zhang said, “Reporting to Your Majesty, this sweat-inducing medicine is quite potent — it tends to bring on aching bones as the fever breaks, which is why Master Tian shows signs of suffering.” Before Emperor Zhaoyuan could ask further, he added quickly, “But rest assured, Your Majesty, this is simply the necessary course of the treatment. Once the fever breaks fully and he rests for a couple of days, he’ll recover completely.”

What Emperor Zhaoyuan didn’t know was that the aching in Tian Ze’s bones wasn’t from the sweating at all — it was the result of the fever-inducing poison he’d been given earlier, now clashing with the medicine meant to counteract it. Caught between the two, his body inevitably suffered for it.

Tian Ze was soon drenched in sweat. He’d been sleeping deeply, but the pain wracking his body slowly stirred him from unconsciousness. In his confusion, he cracked his eyes open and rasped, “Water…”

An apothecary official quickly poured a cup and helped him drink.

The cool water eased him somewhat as it went down.

His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, his whole body submerged in a thick fog. Distantly, he could hear voices, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. A vague sense of foreboding pressed on him, but all he could manage was to hold onto that last thread of fading consciousness, fighting not to slip back under.

Seeing that Tian Ze had sweated out most of the fever, Director Zhang ordered clean garments prepared, then reported to Emperor Zhaoyuan, “Your Majesty, this humble official needs to change Master Tian’s robes.”

Under normal circumstances, it would have been a grave breach of etiquette for an official to change clothes in the Emperor’s presence. Director Zhang had just been about to have Tian Ze carried to an adjoining room when Emperor Zhaoyuan raised a hand. “Do it here.”

Then he glanced at Wu Mao, the eunuch in charge of the brush and seal, standing attentively nearby, and instructed, “Go help.”

Wu Mao acknowledged the order, handed his ceremonial whisk to a young attendant behind him, stepped forward, and solemnly washed his hands in a basin of water.

Since Tian Ze lay on his stomach, Wu Mao first had an apothecary official help prop him up, then lifted his robe.

The moment he did, he froze.

There, plain against Tian Ze’s fair back, were three unmistakable red birthmarks.

Wu Mao startled violently, rising to his feet and stumbling back several steps. “Your Majesty, this— this—”

Emperor Zhaoyuan saw the marks on Tian Ze’s back as well.

Though he’d already suspected the truth, seeing it with his own eyes was an entirely different thing.

After all these years, he had finally found him.

Emperor Zhaoyuan rose slowly, supported step by step by a young eunuch behind him, moving forward. He tried to speak, but before he could get a word out, he was seized by a violent fit of coughing.

It was the kind of cough that seemed to tear its way up from deep within his chest — the release, at last, of years upon years of pent-up, bone-deep longing, each cough more wrenching than the last. And yet there was no sorrow in his eyes. Only clarity. Only joy.

“Good — good—” Emperor Zhaoyuan kept repeating between coughs.

The assembled officials waiting outside, some genuinely confused and others merely feigning it, wore identical expressions of bewilderment. But seeing the Emperor himself in such a state, they understood something significant was unfolding — and as trusted officials, they knew not to be careless about it. The Minister of Rites stepped forward. “Might this humble official ask, Your Majesty — this Investigator Tian—”

“What Investigator Tian?” Before he could finish, Wu Mao cut him off. “This is the Fifth Prince — His Majesty’s long-lost Fifth Prince, restored to him at last—”

At these words, everyone present exchanged stunned glances.

Tian Wang’an, lying there inside — could he truly, truly be the Fifth Prince?

But…

Everyone’s eyes turned toward Cheng Chang and Prince Ling, standing at the front of the group.

It was a sensitive moment, right on the cusp of the succession changing hands, with the Third Young Master and Prince Ling locked in open rivalry within the palace. And yet, everyone present understood well enough in their hearts that Cheng Chang, as a collateral branch of the family, held no true claim to the throne — the succession itself was never really in doubt.

But now, at precisely this juncture, the Fifth Prince had returned.

Why the Emperor had spent all these years so single-mindedly searching for the Fifth Prince — everyone present understood that well enough too.

If this Fifth Prince had been an ordinary man, it might not have mattered much — he would have posed no real threat to either Prince Ling or the Third Young Master regardless. But as it happened, this Fifth Prince was remarkably talented — placing second in the imperial examinations was only the start of it — and close, besides, with both Marquis Zhongyong’s household and the Prince Nan’an household.

A person like that, suddenly thrust into the heart of imperial succession — there was no telling what chaos might follow.

And more troubling still — from Tian Wang’an’s sudden confession of investigative error yesterday, to his twenty strokes of the rod at the execution chamber, to his sudden high fever this morning, to His Majesty rushing here to recognize this Fifth Prince — every step of it seemed, on reflection, far too neatly timed.

Like a net, carefully woven in advance, drawing them all here, trapping them in place.

An emperor and his son reunited should have been cause for tremendous celebration — and yet, for a long moment, the assembled officials seemed to entirely forget to offer their congratulations.

They felt, instead, a bone-deep chill.

As if someone had simply reached out and shoved them all headlong into this chaos, leaving them scrambling to find their footing.

It was Cheng Chang who spoke first, cupping his hands in a bow. “This humble subject offers Your Majesty congratulations on this reunion with the Fifth Prince — may fortune turn at last, after such hardship.”

The first faint light of dawn had begun to break by now, catching in his eyes, drawing out the barest, faintest trace of a smile — there and gone in an instant.

At this, the assembled officials finally came to their senses, dropping to their knees together in unison. “We offer Your Majesty our congratulations on this reunion with the Fifth Prince — may fortune turn at last, after such hardship.”

Just then, a guard hurried in from outside to report. “Your Majesty, General Mingwei and her Captain Tian have entered the palace, saying they’ve come to visit Master Tian at the Academy. Does Your Majesty wish to receive them?”

Hearing this, Cheng Chang’s brow tightened, almost imperceptibly.

Wu Mao glanced toward Emperor Zhaoyuan, who gave a slight nod, and so he said, “Let them in.”

The moment Yun Xi and Tian Si stepped into the Imperial Medical Academy, the first thing they saw was a hall full of kneeling officials. Yun Xi blinked, startled, her gaze landing on the striking figure standing at the very front of the group, and her heart sank like a stone.

But with the Emperor present, she couldn’t say a word out of place. She and Tian Si entered the hall together and bowed before Emperor Zhaoyuan. “Your servants pay their respects to Your Majesty.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan walked toward the two of them, glanced at Yun Xi, then turned his gaze to Tian Si. “You’re the eunuch who’s stayed beside Xu’er all these years?”

“Reporting to Your Majesty, this humble… this humble commoner is indeed him.”

“What is your name?”

“Tian Si.”

“Your real name.”

“Reporting to Your Majesty, this humble commoner never had a name, growing up. As a child, people… people simply called me A’Si.”

“And you?” Emperor Zhaoyuan’s gaze shifted to Yun Xi. “When did you first learn that Wang’an was my Xu’er?”