Cheng Chang wasn’t one for idle chatter, and he understood well enough that whether this account came from him or from someone within the Pei household would carry very different weight.

Prince Cong bore the reputation of a corrupt and villainous prince, and had always stayed well clear of court disputes. The Pei family’s affairs ran deep—if the princely household waded into today’s matter, extracting themselves later might prove difficult indeed.

Better to let Steward Feng be the one to speak.

Either way, the young lord of a princely household had been attacked tonight within the Pei residence itself—that alone was no small matter, one that could be made large or small depending on how it was handled. With such leverage in hand, there was no reason to doubt Steward Feng would tell the truth.

Cheng Chang said, “The letter Miss Yun Xi sought was the urgent dispatch General Yun wrote to the court, exposing General Zhaoyuan’s betrayal.”

“Miss Yun Xi had previously gone to the Privy Council to ask General Pei about the dispatch’s whereabouts, but he was evasive, claiming it hadn’t yet been found. However, today, as Miss Yun Xi and I happened to pass by a room in the West Courtyard, we overheard by chance that General Pei had already recovered the dispatch some time ago, and seemed to intend to destroy it. As for the finer details of the matter, the Dowager Matriarch may wish to ask your own Steward Feng—he was present at the time as well.”

With this opening, Cheng Chang tossed the more difficult, unspeakable details entirely onto Steward Feng.

Under the Dowager Matriarch’s burning gaze, Steward Feng had no choice but to steel himself and speak.

He recounted how Yun Xi had sought to reclaim the letter, how Pei Lan had refused to hand it over, and how Pei Lan had used the letter as leverage to force Yun Xi into breaking off the engagement.

The Dowager Matriarch’s face grew paler with every word. By the end, disregarding Pei Ming’s and the other wives’ attempts to stop her, she swung her cane straight at Pei Lan’s hip, shouting furiously, “You unfilial wretch!”

Having once been a female general herself, even at the age of seventy her strength remained formidable. These blows landed with real force, striking Pei Lan hard enough that his whole body shuddered with pain, and he had to grit his teeth to remain standing.

Prince Cong intervened. “Dowager Matriarch, please calm yourself. If you ask me, while General Pei was certainly at fault here, this hardly rises to the level of some grave moral transgression. Moreover, he didn’t conceal the dispatch’s existence from either the Court of Judicial Review or His Majesty—he simply found it himself, though admittedly with some delay. It’s truly not worth harming your health over this.”

He had no wish to become entangled in the Pei family’s internal affairs, and having intervened this much already felt sufficient. Having smoothed things over somewhat and seeing the Dowager Matriarch’s anger begin to ease, he took his leave along with the Princess Consort and Cheng Chang.

The Dowager Matriarch understood Prince Cong’s implied meaning perfectly well.

Pei Lan had handled this matter quite thoroughly. He hadn’t concealed the dispatch’s existence from either the Court of Judicial Review or His Majesty—he’d merely withheld it privately for a time. Who could prove otherwise? If questioned later, he could simply claim the dispatch had been delayed on its way to Jinling, and bear no blame whatsoever.

But could the rightness or wrongness of a matter truly be judged solely by its outcome?

After Prince Cong departed, Pei Ming moved to help the Dowager Matriarch up, but she snapped at him furiously and waved him off.

“You—go kneel alongside that unfilial son you raised.”

“Mother?” Pei Ming was bewildered.

“There were outsiders present just now, and you’re a sitting Minister of the court, so I spared your face. Now I’m asking you directly—what exactly is the truth behind this entire affair?!”

The Dowager Matriarch’s fury was uncontainable. “Luo’er’s case concerns Zhaoyuan’s betrayal, a matter with deep and complicated ramifications. Lan’er has been away from Jinling for years—acting alone, he wouldn’t have handled the suppression of a single piece of evidence so flawlessly. This must have had your blessing—you were involved, you were the one who instructed him to do this!”

“Are the two of you kicking a household while it’s already down, simply because the Marquis’s family has fallen from grace?”

“You—father and son both—how could you be so utterly without conscience?!”

As she spoke, overwhelmed with fury, the Dowager Matriarch sank down into the wooden chair behind her.

Seeing his mother in such a state, Pei Ming, worried and anxious, dropped to his knees and shuffled forward to explain. “Mother, this matter isn’t as simple as you think.”

“Consider this—how did the Crown Prince die, all those years ago? And think about Yun Luo—his talent rivaled even his father’s, a natural-born commander. Why didn’t His Majesty allow him to inherit his father’s title before he went to the northern frontier? Why didn’t His Majesty let him command the campaign himself? Was it truly only because the old Marquis had recklessly pursued glory in that earlier battle?”

“No. His Majesty’s true reason was the Crown Prince.”

“The Crown Prince was benevolent and virtuous, always deeply valued by His Majesty. Years ago, when barbarian forces invaded the Tage Steppe, it was the Crown Prince himself who recommended the old Marquis lead the campaign. But that battle, though won, came at a devastating cost—even the old Marquis himself died defending against the enemy.”

“The Crown Prince’s health had never been strong to begin with. When the old Marquis died, he blamed himself entirely, and fell gravely ill, never fully recovering.”

“Later, when accusations arose at court that the old Marquis had recklessly pursued glory, why did His Majesty believe them? It wasn’t that he truly believed it—he simply wanted to reassure the Crown Prince that the failure in the north wasn’t his fault, but rather the incompetence of the generals involved. He only wanted to ease the Crown Prince’s mind, hoping he would recover more quickly.”

“In His Majesty’s heart, capable generals are hard to come by, but a future benevolent ruler is even rarer, a treasure beyond price.”

“That’s why His Majesty then appointed General Zhaoyuan to lead the campaign, transferring Yun Luo to deputy general as a form of punishment.”

“Unfortunately, that very decision sealed the Crown Prince’s fate. Within a month of news reaching Jinling that Zhaoyuan had betrayed the crown, the Crown Prince fell ill from grief and passed away, coughing blood.”

“Why has the Zhaoyuan case become such a thorn in His Majesty’s side? It isn’t because Zhaoyuan’s betrayal was so despicable in itself—it’s because the Crown Prince died as a direct result of it!”

Pei Ming paused here, drawing a deep breath. “Mother, consider this—His Majesty has spent his entire reign governing diligently and pragmatically, achieving truly great accomplishments. He is, in every genuine sense, a wise and capable ruler. But in his later years, he made this one…”

He glanced around the room, confirming everyone present could be trusted, then continued, “…this one grave misjudgment—refusing to appoint Yun Luo as commander, instead letting Zhaoyuan lead troops, which led to the crushing defeat at the Tage Steppe, costing thousands of civilians and tens of thousands of soldiers their lives, and ultimately costing the Crown Prince his life as well.”

“This is the deepest wound of His Majesty’s entire reign. How could you expect him to face it directly?”

“Sometimes, when a mistake has already been made and cannot be undone, it’s better to simply let it lie. If no one brings it up, everyone can move forward in peace.”

“Just like Yun Luo’s case—simply treat it as though he betrayed the crown alongside Zhaoyuan, or delayed military operations, assign some arbitrary punishment, and be done with it. As long as it aligns with His Majesty’s wishes, the matter can simply be glossed over.”

“If you insist that Lan’er submit Yun Luo’s dispatch to the Court of Judicial Review, before His Majesty himself, wouldn’t that be tantamount to telling him plainly, ‘You made a mistake all those years ago—out of excessive love for your son, you chose the wrong commander. Had you let General Yun lead the campaign instead, the soldiers and civilians at the Tage Steppe would never have died in vain, and the Crown Prince would never have perished because of it.’ Wouldn’t that be like tearing open His Majesty’s old wound right in front of him?”

“Better to simply suppress the dispatch, claim it was never found, or that it was delayed—and let the matter rest there, once and for all.”

The Dowager Matriarch listened to Pei Ming’s entire explanation without a word, then asked, “So this is why you encouraged Lan’er to suppress Luo’er’s dispatch? This is also why you refused to let Lan’er marry A’Ting?”

“A’Ting is the orphaned daughter of the House of Zhongyong. Once Lan’er marries her, he’ll be forever tied to that household.”

“You feared that the moment His Majesty saw Lan’er, he would think of Luo’er, of Zhaoyuan’s betrayal, of the Crown Prince’s death?”

“Yes,” Pei Ming nodded. “Mother understands her son well.”

“You fool!” The Dowager Matriarch rose abruptly, striking her cane down and cursing furiously. “The Emperor’s true intentions are impossible to fathom—how could you presume to guess at his innermost thoughts based merely on his momentary demeanor?”

“If everything were truly as you describe, His Majesty would have harbored resentment toward the House of Zhongyong from the very start. Yet three years ago, on the eve of Lan’er’s departure for the front, when the entire court was abuzz with accusations that Yun Luo had betrayed the crown, why would His Majesty suppress Luo’er’s case for three whole years, based on nothing more than a single word from Prince Cong?”

“If everything were truly as you claim—that His Majesty would rather let the mistake stand, rather let the matter rest for good—then why, when Luo’er’s case was finally decided, was he only charged with delaying military operations, and nothing more severe?”

“Yes, you might explain it away by saying His Majesty perhaps harbors some guilt toward the House of Zhongyong. But His Majesty is human too, and a discerning one at that—how do you know he hasn’t reflected on his mistakes, hasn’t sought to make amends?”

“The Crown Prince’s death all those years ago caused him such profound grief that he made a grave error in judgment. But three years have passed—three whole years! Is that not enough time for him to come to understand, to reflect deeply on his past mistakes? How exactly do you know how he views the House of Zhongyong now?”

“And once he comes to his senses, do you truly think he won’t see through what you and Lan’er have been doing behind the scenes? How can you possibly predict what he truly thinks?”

“He certainly won’t move against you directly. But by exploiting these loopholes, believing yourselves so clever in divining the imperial will, what do you imagine His Majesty will think of you from now on? What will he think of the entire Pei family?!”

“Not to mention, when the Pei family fell on hard times all those years ago, and you were sent to that desolate frontier post as prefect with no real power to your name—if Yun Shuguang hadn’t helped and supported you, how would you have ever risen in rank? How would you have ever returned to Jinling?”

“A person must walk through this world with integrity, answerable to Heaven above and to one’s own conscience below—only then can one truly stand firm in this world! Now, with the Marquis’s household facing such misfortune, left with only an orphaned daughter and a widowed sister-in-law, you and Lan’er, driven by petty self-interest, currying favor with the powerful, have simply cast them aside!”

“Heaven watches everything we do!” The Dowager Matriarch trembled with fury, striking her cane against the ground repeatedly. “You are ungrateful, heartless men—sooner or later, sooner or later, you will pay for this!”

Seeing the Dowager Matriarch in such a state, Pei Ming and Pei Lan abandoned their kneeling positions and rushed forward to support her, pleading, “Mother, your son will not abandon the Marquis’s household. Once this matter has settled down, if there’s anything A’Ting needs help with, I will certainly send people to assist her.”

“As for Luo’er—he’s already gone, so however his case is ultimately decided no longer matters to him. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’ll have Lan’er submit a petition begging His Majesty to take pity on the orphaned daughter and widowed sister-in-law of the Marquis’s household, and not to cut off the marquisate’s stip—”

“Silence!” the Dowager Matriarch hissed sharply.

“No, wait—” She stopped abruptly, as though something had just occurred to her, her face suddenly draining of color. “No, no, this can’t be right. Could it be, could it possibly be—”

But before she could finish, she suddenly found herself unable to breathe, her eyes rolling back as she collapsed into unconsciousness.

———*—

By midnight, Cheng Chang had returned to the princely residence alongside Prince Cong.

Rain had already begun to fall. Servants at the gate came out with umbrellas to receive them.

Throughout the journey home, Prince Cong remained silent. Once inside, Cheng Chang bid farewell to him and the Princess Consort, intending to return to his own quarters.

Prince Cong watched his retreating figure for a long moment, then called out, “Mingying.”

Mingying was Cheng Chang’s courtesy name.

Cheng Chang paused mid-step and turned back. “Father.”

Prince Cong studied him. In the rainy night, lantern light flickering, umbrella in hand, he still looked outwardly the same as before—and yet something had genuinely changed.

Exactly what had changed, even his own father couldn’t quite say.

The arrogance, the troublemaking—those were only surface matters. Prince Cong remembered that as a child, Chang had been quite well-behaved, always clinging closely to his elder brother. It was only after his brother’s death that his temperament had gradually soured, day by day.

Just as with what he was about to say now—had this still been the old Chang, he would never have bothered saying it at all.

“Stay out of the Pei family’s affairs, and the Marquis’s household’s affairs as well, from now on. His Majesty… your imperial uncle is getting on in years, and these powerful households in Jinling run deep with hidden currents. Distance yourself where you can.”

Unexpectedly, no trace of surprise crossed Cheng Chang’s face, nor did he press for reasons.

He simply nodded. “Understood.”

Prince Cong paused, taken slightly aback. “You…”

He had assumed his son had grown somewhat close to that young lady from the Marquis’s household recently, and might want to get entangled in this mess.

Seeing Prince Cong’s expression, the Princess Consort, assuming he was about to scold their son again, quickly interjected. “Chang has finally settled his temperament, and he hasn’t done anything wrong tonight—why give him such a face, my lord?”

Then, recalling something else, she said to Cheng Chang with a smile, “Did you listen carefully to what your aunt said tonight? Wan’er makes the most delicious lotus cakes. In a few days, once you’re off duty, Mother will invite her over so she can make some for you—how does that sound?”

Cheng Chang blinked, confused. “Wan’er?”

The Princess Consort feigned exasperation. “Look at you, so distracted. She’s your cousin—the young lady from the Lin family at the Ministry of Rites. Wan’er is her childhood name.”

She continued, probing eagerly, “What do you think of her?”

Cheng Chang gathered his thoughts.

Ah, right. His prospective marriage match.

He considered it for a moment, then answered, “She seems fine.”

She really did seem fine enough.

In terms of looks, she was quite beautiful. In terms of temperament, she seemed gentle and agreeable as well.

This era didn’t place much weight on education, career, or salary—a woman who could simply read and write was already considered accomplished.

From what he’d heard, this Miss Lin had studied the女则 and the Analects as a child, so she was literate. That was good enough.

Though he still felt nothing much toward her.

Cheng Chang’s romantic history in his previous life had been rather tragic, thanks to his congenital heart condition, nearly every relationship ending in some abrupt, unfinished way.

He’d actually been quite popular—handsome, able to focus deeply on his studies, top of his class in every subject, from middle school through college, ten years running as the school’s golden boy.

In high school alone, he’d received love letters enough to fill three drawers.

His first love came in his second year of high school—his girlfriend was an art student a year below him. Young and inexperienced, their hearts fluttered at the slightest touch, a held hand enough to bring color to their cheeks.

Once, after evening study session, he’d walked her home. Perhaps it was the exceptionally beautiful moonlight in the alley, illuminating her face like frost, but something stirred within him—he brushed aside the hair falling across her neck and leaned down to kiss her.

It was his first kiss, her lips soft as flower petals against his, his heart pounding so hard it felt ready to leap from his throat.

Unfortunately, in the very next instant, he collapsed.

He woke up later in the hospital, where the doctor told him his heart condition had flared.

Cheng Chang spent a week in the intensive care unit. During that time, his teachers visited, his friends visited, his classmates visited—but his girlfriend never came.

Two weeks later, once he’d been discharged and returned to school, he ran into her. She told him, in tears, that she couldn’t continue their relationship. Her parents’ disapproval was secondary—the real issue was his congenital heart condition. She couldn’t bear to watch him possibly die before her eyes; she feared she wouldn’t be able to survive it herself, that she might follow him into death out of sheer grief. Breaking up was the only option left to her.

In the end, weeping, she told him she liked him far too much—that even after they parted, she would continue to feel this way forever.

After she left, Cheng Chang stood alone beneath the ginkgo tree by the sports field for a long while. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hurt—but what troubled him more was confusion. He couldn’t understand what necessary connection existed between liking someone too much and breaking up with them.

But it wasn’t long before he understood, upon seeing his ex-girlfriend walking through the school campus, laughing and chatting, arm in arm with another boy.

That boy was tall, sunny, handsome. He dribbled a basketball as he walked, moving freely and confidently—far healthier than Cheng Chang.

Living in the modern era, surrounded by countless temptations and choices every single day, people often knew the outcome before even setting foot on certain paths, gave up on certain things before even truly trying.

Pursuing benefit, avoiding harm—that was simple human instinct.

Self-preservation.

Unfortunately, when he’d first fallen for that girl, he hadn’t considered any of this.

He’d been a lonely child. Both his parents had died when he was young, and he’d spent time in an orphanage before being adopted by the elderly hospital director, living under someone else’s roof for five years.

In his third year of middle school, the old director passed away, and he moved back into his parents’ old house, supporting himself with the money they’d left behind.

He had friends, but none particularly close—likely because of his serious heart condition, which kept most people from getting too near.

So when he’d first fallen for that girl, he’d treated her as someone vitally important to his life, even beginning to plan their future together—how he’d take better care of his health, how he’d find a well-paying job or perhaps start his own business, earn enough money, and eventually propose to her, giving her a life free from worry.

But a hard lesson learned is a lesson remembered. Later, in college and then in the workforce, whenever he met a girl who liked him and whom he felt something for in return, he would tell her upfront about his congenital heart condition—the serious kind.

The few girls in college would still try dating him for two or three months before things fizzled out. Later, in the workplace, women who learned of his heart condition would simply go quiet, then send a text the next day, the message clear enough: “I don’t think I can handle a future like that.”

There had been one who stuck around longer than most—but she broke things off right after he underwent bypass surgery and had a pacemaker installed.

Cheng Chang didn’t entirely fault her for it, either.

A heart that could only keep beating with the help of a machine—by most people’s standards, that probably didn’t count as a whole person anymore.

Indeed, looking back now, he could no longer even recall what that very first girlfriend from his youth had looked like.

He only remembered that she’d been quite skilled at drawing. When they broke up, she’d given him a sketchbook filled with drawings of him in various poses—reading, writing, smiling, glancing back at her as he walked through the alley. Her strokes had softened away the sickly weariness usually etched into his brow, bathing him instead in sunlight, making him look extraordinarily handsome.

Handsome enough that Cheng Chang had come to believe she truly had liked him a great deal, once.

Unfortunately, that sketchbook had been lost during a move at some point, much like his memory of her face—and he found he didn’t particularly miss it.

Only now, belatedly, did Cheng Chang realize that he was much like the countless ordinary people wandering through this world, having eventually encased his heart in a hard shell—and his shell happened to be especially thick, seemingly sealing off any capacity for deeper feeling entirely, to the point where, no matter how many varied and interesting women he later encountered, his heart never stirred again.

It had simply become too difficult to fall for anyone.

After years of working, Cheng Chang had attended numerous weddings for classmates and colleagues—some held in small European chapels, others in opulent hotel ballrooms, still others simple outdoor feasts in the countryside.

Whatever the setting, in the end, the couple always exchanged vows: a hundred years of harmony, hearts bound as one, through poverty and wealth, through sickness and health, together until white-haired, never to part.

It was a ceremony marking two people entering each other’s lives.

Cheng Chang had witnessed countless such moments. Though he admired them, he never felt particularly moved.

Because he believed that, in the end, he would always come into this world alone and leave it alone—alone in enjoying whatever joys and achievements came his way, alone in bearing whatever pain and illness befell him. No one would ever truly enter his life.

———*—

That night, as Cheng Chang listened to the Princess Consort ramble on about the merits of the Lin family’s young lady, his thoughts drifted back to memories of the past.

He didn’t feel any particular aversion to this Miss Lin. She was beautiful, virtuous, good-natured—he could maintain proper distance and give things a try, see how it went.

Either way, in this life he’d been granted a healthy body, so marriage posed no real obstacle.

He just wasn’t sure whether this Miss Lin liked dogs. Thinking it over, he decided he still wanted to keep a pet dog of his own.

At least one.

Once back in his room, Cheng Chang suddenly remembered an important matter he’d overlooked—he’d forgotten to mention the attack at the pavilion to Prince Cong.

Though he had no wish to draw attention to the incident, the ones responsible for attacking him were, after all, retainers the princely household had kept for decades. Even if he said nothing, Prince Cong would likely uncover the truth within three days regardless.

Thinking of the attack brought Yun Xi to mind.

Lying on his bed, arm tucked beneath his head, he thought of the resolute look on Yun Xi’s face as she broke off her engagement, the wound on her palm reopening, blood seeping out drop by drop.

She had been injured, after all, saving him.

Cheng Chang found himself moved, wondering whether she’d properly redressed the wound once back at the residence. Such a lovely young woman—it would be a shame for her to be left with a scar.

And then there was the matter of her brother, still unresolved.

Well, he owed her a debt regardless. First thing tomorrow, he’d send someone to check in, see if there was anything he could do to help.

He drifted off to sleep eventually, and in his dream, blades flashed and swords clashed.

A dagger came slashing toward him, its icy chill cutting straight for his throat, when suddenly a hand reached in from the side and knocked the blade away.

Yun Xi turned back to look at him. “Third Young Master, are you all right?”

Just as Cheng Chang was about to answer, the scene before him inexplicably blurred, the pavilion and pond spinning wildly, as though he’d been plunged into water, the stars and constellations wheeling past in disarray. Dazed, he opened his eyes again—only to find himself staring up at the blinding shadowless lights of an operating room.

People crowded around the hospital bed, someone asking, “What’s the patient’s condition?”

“Cardiac arrest.”

Someone else shouted, “Get the defibrillator!”

“Prepare to open the chest.”

A jolt of searing electricity surged through his entire body. He convulsed violently with the current, rising and falling, finally managing to draw a single breath—only for that breath to explode agonizingly through his chest, leaving him in unbearable pain.

“Can he be saved?”

“Hard to say.”

Someone spoke again, close to his ear.

The sensation felt so familiar—this feeling of standing at the very edge between life and death, one step away from an abyss of eternal suffering.

At moments like this, he always told himself desperately: staying alive isn’t easy, staying alive isn’t easy, hold on.

How had he held on, after that?

Cheng Chang wondered, his head aching.

After that? What “after”? There was no “after.” He’d drowned in the water, and when he woke again, he’d become an entirely different Cheng Chang.

……

Cheng Chang abruptly sat upright, cold sweat covering his brow, gasping for breath for a long moment before realizing that everything he’d just experienced had been nothing more than a bizarre, vivid dream.

Only it had felt far too real.

The operating room, the searing pain of the defibrillator against his chest, the voices of the medical staff.

So real he couldn’t tell whether he was the butterfly dreaming of Zhuangzi, or Zhuangzi dreaming of the butterfly.

So real it felt as though it were happening to him at this very moment.

Yet here he was, clearly still sitting on his own bed, still the young lord of Prince Cong’s household.

Outside, the rain continued falling. During the plum-rain season, once it began raining in Jinling, it rarely let up.

Through the paper-covered window, the world outside looked hazy and indistinct, as though shrouded in mist, making it impossible to tell whether it was dawn or dusk.

Cheng Chang sat on the bed a while longer before finally rising, calling for water to wash up, and asking, “What time is it?”

“Reporting to the young lord, it’s just past the hour of mao,” an attendant outside the door answered, then added as a reminder, “You’re off duty today—no need to report to the office.”

Cheng Chang nodded, glancing out the door to see several unfamiliar guards stationed in the courtyard. “What’s this about?”

“Reporting to the young lord, these men were sent early this morning by the Prince to guard your safety. He didn’t explain why, but it’s surely for your own good.”

Cheng Chang understood at once—Prince Cong had likely learned somehow about the household guards’ betrayal and had sent additional men to ensure his son’s protection.

Cheng Chang said nothing in response, instead thinking that since he was off duty today, he might make a trip to the Capital Prefecture Office.

Zhang Dahu had been posing as the dead boatman in the office’s woodshed for several days now—there should be some progress to report. He’d go check on the situation, and while he was at it, ask Yun Xi how matters concerning her brother stood.

With this in mind, Cheng Chang returned to his room to change.

The attendant following him in, helping him dress, spoke up excitedly. “Young lord, I heard quite the interesting bit of news before dawn today.”

This attendant was named Sun Haiping, one who frequently accompanied Cheng Chang and was considered relatively clever and reliable among the household staff—his one flaw being a rather loose tongue.

Cheng Chang asked instinctively, “What news?”

“It’s about that down-and-out young lady from the Marquis’s household. Didn’t she break off her engagement with the Pei family’s Second Young Master last night, at the Dowager Matriarch’s birthday celebration?”

“By rights, after pulling off such a shocking move, you’d think she’d lie low for a while, wouldn’t you? But no, not her. Guess what she did? Before dawn even broke this morning, she took the ancestral tablets of the old Marquis and her brother, and went to kneel before the palace gates, declaring she intends to seek justice for her brother.”

Cheng Chang was taken aback. “Is that true?”

“It is,” Sun Haiping said. “If you ask me, that down-and-out young lady from the Marquis’s household is being rather foolish. Her brother’s been dead for ages now—we even saw his body ourselves when it was brought back, charred black, ashes to ashes and all that. What’s there left to seek justice for?”

“Besides, His Majesty just issued a decree last night convicting her brother, and it doesn’t even affect her directly—yet she can’t even wait until dawn before rushing to the palace gates to protest? Isn’t that just asking for trouble with His Majesty?”

Sun Haiping clicked his tongue. “Young lord, shall we head to the palace gates to watch the spectacle? I hear quite a crowd has already gathered there.”

Cheng Chang fell silent for a moment, then focused on one particular detail. “Yun Luo’s body, brought back to Jinling—it should have been inside the coffin. How exactly did we come to see his remains directly?”

“That’s on account of that down-and-out young lady’s carelessness, running her cart straight into your carriage, young lord. As it turned out, you were unharmed, but her flimsy little cart couldn’t take the impact and tipped right over, knocking the coffin lid clean off—that’s how her brother’s body ended up exposed. She was quite furious about it at the time, but since she was clearly in the wrong and had no one to back her up, she wisely let it go and carried her brother’s body back into the coffin all by herself.”

Cheng Chang paused, stunned. “You’re saying she brought Yun Luo’s body all the way back to Jinling entirely on her own?”

“Seems that way? We were all pretty drunk at the time, so the details are a bit hazy. You were remarkably magnanimous about it too, young lord—despite her offending you like that, you didn’t hold it against her much.”

Hearing this, Cheng Chang felt an unpleasant twinge in his chest.

He truly hadn’t realized there was such history between himself and Yun Xi.

Looking at it this way, the fact that Yun Xi had been so diligently helping him investigate his case, even risking her own safety to save him without hesitation, was truly remarkable.

Cheng Chang thought that even though those past misdeeds had genuinely been committed by the real young lord, since he himself had come to inhabit this body, it wasn’t right for him to simply enjoy the wealth, status, and healthy body that came with it while taking no responsibility for the past.

He sat in silence for a moment, then said to Sun Haiping, “Bring me my official robes.”

Sun Haiping was startled, wondering if the sun had risen in the west—was his young lord actually planning to diligently attend to official duties, patrolling the streets even on his day off?

After a moment, he thought he’d figured it out, and said excitedly, “Young lord, are you planning to wear your official robes and take us to watch that down-and-out young lady’s spectacle at the palace gates? Good thinking—with official robes on, those wretched guards at the palace gates won’t dare chase us off.”

With that, he immediately fetched the official robes, intending to help Cheng Chang change.

Cheng Chang glanced at them and noticed they were the casual variety. “Not these.”

An imperial censor’s official robes came in two forms: casual wear and court attire.

Since ancient times, censors served as the emperor’s eyes and ears, their duty to speak candidly and remonstrate freely. Regardless of rank, when matters demanded remonstrance, they held the right to an audience directly with the Emperor.

The so-called casual wear was what Cheng Chang typically wore while patrolling the streets.

The so-called court attire, meanwhile, was what he wore for imperial audiences.

Sun Haiping blinked in confusion. “Young lord, you—you want to wear court attire? You’re going to see the Emperor?”

Cheng Chang glanced at the sky and gestured for Sun Haiping to help him change, urging, “Hurry, or morning court will be over before we get there.”

———*—

The rain had begun falling since midnight, and by dawn it had eased from the previous night’s downpour.

When Yun Xi received the imperial edict and brought her father’s and brother’s ancestral tablets to kneel before the palace gates, the sky was still pitch black around her. She wasn’t sure exactly when, but gradually, dawn began to break.

Officials heading to morning court passed by her, one after another. Some glanced only briefly at the names on the tablets before her and steered well clear. Others, kind-hearted, stopped to offer a word or two of comfort, but seeing she wouldn’t budge, shook their heads and moved on.

It made sense, really. The night before, she had first broken off her engagement with Pei Lan, offending the Pei family, and then received the imperial edict convicting her brother—the House of Zhongyong had become a household of convicted criminals.

Fallen this far, who would possibly help her now?

Clearing her brother’s name would have to rest on her own shoulders alone.

Yun Xi knelt upright, her eyes fixed on the towering, sprawling palace before her, her vermilion constable’s uniform already soaked through, its once-bright color turned dark and heavy.

The steady rain trickled down the back of her neck, but she felt no cold—having knelt this long, she’d grown numb to it by now.

Footsteps sounded behind her, drawing closer.

Yun Xi wondered, which official had come to witness her spectacle this time?

No matter. Let them look. As long as she could personally present the urgent dispatch to His Majesty, as long as she could clear her brother’s name, she didn’t care if she became a laughingstock in others’ eyes.

Unexpectedly, the patch of sky and rain above her suddenly stilled.

Yun Xi blinked, startled, and looked up to find someone standing before her.

Cheng Chang held an umbrella, his pale blue court robes like ink washed across silk, his strikingly cold, elegant features set against the misty rain and heaven and earth, striking enough to eclipse mountains and rivers.

He looked at her and asked, “Did you bring the letter?”

Yun Xi, stunned, said, “What letter?”

A moment later, she recovered and nodded. “I brought it.” From within her robes, she drew out a letter wrapped in a lotus leaf and handed it to Cheng Chang.

This was the one letter that could prove her brother’s innocence.

Yun Xi had no idea why Cheng Chang had come.

She only knew that he hadn’t come to watch her spectacle.

She could see it in his eyes.

Cheng Chang took the letter and examined it carefully, then crouched down to look at Yun Xi and said, “I’ve… never remonstrated before the Emperor before. I’m not certain how much I can accomplish.”

“But I can try, for your sake.”

“Will you trust me?”

Yun Xi stared at him, blankly, as though she could hardly believe what she’d just heard.

After a long moment, as though only now grasping what he’d truly said, she pressed her lips together and murmured “Mm,” nodding.

Cheng Chang carefully wrapped Yun Luo’s urgent dispatch back in the lotus leaf and tucked it into his robes.

He handed the umbrella to Yun Xi. “Keep the umbrella.”

Then, with a faint smile, he said, “All right. I’ll go try.”