Cheng Chang trudged heavily into the Jingzhao Prefecture office, and when he raised his eyes, he saw a palanquin-chair standing in the middle of the vast courtyard.

Two attendants stood at the front and back of the palanquin, and off to the side stood servant boys holding up an ornate canopy, with others carrying gongs and drums on their backs.

Cheng Chang asked, “This… is… what?”

The servant boy beside him answered, “Third Young Master, have you forgotten? Today is the Longevity Festival of the second year of Zhaoyuan. This was bestowed upon you by the Grand Empress Dowager.”

Only the imperial family was permitted to use a palanquin-chair. As the youngest son of Prince Cong, Cheng Chang naturally qualified as well.

In earlier years, before Cheng Chang had even grown proper facial hair, he had not yet been the scoundrel he was now—his face, as radiant as stars and moon, had been quite the delight of the Grand Empress Dowager. That year, on the Grand Empress Dowager’s birthday, she had asked little Chang if there was anything he wanted. Cheng Chang had pointed at his great-grandmother’s eight-bearer palanquin and said he liked it, and the Grand Empress Dowager had turned right around and bestowed one upon him.

Once Cheng Chang got his palanquin, he had been immensely pleased with himself, and from then on, whenever there was a festival or auspicious day, he would insist on having people carry him through Jinling City to show off.

Cheng Chang, of course, understood exactly what this object in front of him was.

It was that thing… from period dramas, the kind of conveyance emperors or palace consorts used to move around within the palace—two horizontal poles with a seat fastened between them, borne on the shoulders of guards at both ends.

Cheng Chang’s voice trembled: “I… have to… sit in this, to go back to the princely mansion?”

“Yes, Young Prince. Is something the matter?”

A palanquin-chair was different from a sedan chair.

The biggest difference was that it was open on top, so people all along the way could gawk at whoever rode inside.

Cheng Chang asked again, “I… used to ride this often?”

“Not exactly often,” the servant boy said. “After all, it was bestowed by the Grand Empress Dowager herself, so it’s only brought out on auspicious occasions. In all of Jinling City, this is the only one of its kind—when it passes through the city gates, even the old Chancellor’s carriage and the young Prince’s carriage have to yield the way for you!”

Cheng Chang stared at the servant boy, whose pupils reflected his own image back at him.

In truth, this Cheng Chang bore a seven or eight-tenths resemblance to who he had been in his past life, probably because he’d been well-fed and free of illness since childhood, which had made him grow up unusually handsome.

Cheng Chang had always considered himself reasonably intelligent and emotionally astute, but this was the first time he found himself forced to look at himself with the kind of gaze one reserved for pitying the mentally disabled.

What did he think this was? Some limited-edition convertible supercar?

And parading through the streets on top of that? Wasn’t he humiliated enough already?

There was only one word for what Cheng Chang felt in his heart: regret.

He regretted that after his heart had stopped, he hadn’t died thoroughly—why did he have to transmigrate here of all places?

He regretted that when he’d transmigrated, his will to live had been so absurdly strong—why hadn’t he simply drowned in the water instead?

In his past life, because of his congenital heart disease, he had cherished every moment of his time dearly. In a short life of just over twenty years, he could honestly say he had lived more diligently and earnestly than most people. And now that he’d transmigrated into this place, damn it, he was already sick of living after not even a single day!

Cheng Chang struggled, “Can I… not sit in this thing?”

The servant boys seemed as though they hadn’t understood him at all, gazing at him with an expression that was both baffled and deferential.

Then Cheng Chang suddenly recalled—the original Cheng Chang had been murdered. Now that he had taken over this body, his behavior had already diverged from the original’s, and he shouldn’t reveal any more inconsistencies. If someone noticed something off and found an opportunity to exploit it, that would be bad.

His survival instinct told him: endure it.

Just as Cheng Chang lifted his foot to step into the palanquin, Yun Xi behind him suddenly called out, “Third Young Master.”

Yun Xi seemed to remember something and stepped closer. “Third Young Master, might I have a word with you?”

Cheng Chang nodded, and the yamen runners in the courtyard along with the mansion’s servant boys tactfully withdrew to a distance.

Yun Xi said, “This morning, Third Young Master, you were likely too drunk to notice—when you were pulled out of the Qinhuai River, someone had stuffed two gold bars into your sleeve pouch. It’s likely… that someone tried to harm you.”

She clasped her fists over her sword in a bow. “I will do everything in my power to investigate this matter. Please, Third Young Master, be careful.”

Cheng Chang was stunned for a moment, not understanding why Yun Xi would deliberately say this extra bit to him.

After mulling it over in his mind, he suddenly understood—he was the youngest son of Prince Cong, a status of unspeakable nobility. Having fallen into the water today but fortunately still alive, judging by the attitude of that Official Zhang at the yamen, they would surely be eager to downplay the whole matter and treat it as a mere accident, suppressing any mention of the gold bars. Otherwise, if the mansion learned that their esteemed Young Prince had actually been the target of an attempted murder, and the court held someone accountable, wouldn’t that bring a great deal of trouble down on them?

It seemed that officials throughout the ages were all cut from the same cloth.

Cheng Chang didn’t respond, but he did give Yun Xi another glance.

She was born with features as cool as starlight and bright as moonlight; in that one still moment, even the spring glow resting on her lashes seemed like frost on a leaf.

This girl… wasn’t bad.

He opened his mouth: “You…”

Before he could finish the thought, the servant boy behind him called out again: “Young Prince!”

The servant boy gestured toward the sun overhead, reminding him obsequiously, “Young Prince, the auspicious hour is the third quarter of the Weishi hour—the good time has arrived. Shall we head back to the mansion now?”

In an instant, all of Cheng Chang’s hopes were dashed, and he resignedly sat himself down on the palanquin. A gong sounded, startling him into a shudder, and the next moment, the palanquin was hoisted high, the canopy raised aloft, and two mansion servant boys rushed to the front of the procession, one striking the gong on the left, the other calling out warnings on the right, and off they went.

Watching Cheng Chang’s figure disappear at the mouth of the lane, Luo Shu curiously asked Yun Xi, who stood on duty beside her, “A’Ting, what were you just saying to the Third Young Master?”

Yun Xi knew she couldn’t tell anyone else about the gold bars, so she said, “He fell into the water this morning, I was reminding him to be careful.”

Luo Shu looked puzzled. “You still have it in you to remind him of that? Have you forgotten? Three years ago, you carried Brother Yun Luo’s body back to the capital all by yourself—who was it that overturned Brother Yun Luo’s coffin?”

“That’s a separate matter,” Yun Xi shook her head. “It happened while I was on duty, so it’s only right that I remind him.”

What she said was only half the truth.

Zhang Huailu could afford to keep Cheng Chang’s attempted murder hidden, but she could not—there was no wall in this world without a crack in it. If this matter ever reached Prince Cong’s ears one day, Zhang Huailu could shift the blame by saying his subordinates hadn’t reported truthfully, but how could she deflect it? Better to shoulder the responsibility now.

Besides… today, after Cheng Chang had fallen into the water, something had indeed seemed off about him. She couldn’t quite say what it was, but it was as if he had lost some of his memory, and his whole demeanor seemed a beat slower than usual.

She wasn’t sure whether the near-drowning had damaged his brain, or whether it would leave some lasting affliction.

Yun Xi stopped herself at that thought.

She told herself: never mind. The Third Young Master was, after all, a noble Young Prince born into imperial favor and wealth. Whatever became of him going forward had nothing to do with her.

Luo Shu spoke up again, “A’Ting, you still haven’t told me.”

“Told you what?” Yun Xi asked.

“Your engagement with Second Brother Pei.” Luo Shu stepped closer, asking with great intimacy, “What are you two planning to do?”

Yun Xi was silent for a moment, then answered honestly, “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

Luo Shu stared at her without blinking, then after a moment, reached into her sleeve pouch and pulled out an exquisite, delicate little box, pressing it into Yun Xi’s hands. She said gently, “This is new rouge from the Baozhaige shop, I had a hard time getting my hands on it. I originally thought that if your engagement to Second Brother Pei were settled, I’d give it to you as a congratulatory gift. Since it’s not settled yet, it’s left me anxious on your behalf.”

She smiled faintly. “A’Ting, if there’s any progress with you and Second Brother Pei, you mustn’t hide it from me. The three of us grew up together, after all—tell me early, and I’ll prepare something even better for you.”

“All right.” Yun Xi nodded. She looked at the rouge box in her hand and handed it back to Luo Shu. “I’m on duty at the yamen these days, I have no use for this. I appreciate the thought, but I can’t accept it.”

Luo Shu was taken aback. After a moment, she gave a somewhat helpless smile and took back the rouge box. Then, as if remembering something, she asked, “By the way, A’Ting, in a few days when Second Brother Pei returns to the capital, will you go to welcome him? Let’s go together.”

She paused, then leaned in even closer, as though about to reveal some great secret, and said in a low voice, “I heard that Yao Susu from the Yao household will be going too.”

Yao Susu’s father was the Commissioner of the Privy Council, ranked at the First Grade, First Rank.

Yun Xi, hearing this, remained unmoved, only saying, “We’ll see if I’m on duty that day.”

Then she called out toward the yamen, “Tian Si!”

“Coming!” came a voice from inside the yamen at once.

A moment later, a yamen runner emerged—fair-skinned, clean-featured, and quite young in appearance. “Y-Yun—Constable Yun.”

Tian Si had joined the Jingzhao Prefecture a year ago and had been serving under Yun Xi ever since. Aside from a slight stutter, he had no notable flaws.

Yun Xi said to Luo Shu, “I still have to patrol the streets today, I won’t keep you company any longer.”

With that, she left, taking Tian Si with her.

By the third month, Prince Cong, who had gone to the outskirts of the capital to welcome the imperial procession, heard that his youngest son had gotten into trouble. He rushed back to Jinling together with the reigning Emperor at full speed, and upon arrival, immediately confined Cheng Chang to his quarters, gave him a thorough beating, and then had him fast for three days. Not even Yun Xi and Zhang Huailu, who came bearing the case files to register the matter, managed to get an audience with him.

Zhang Huailu had originally intended to treat Cheng Chang’s fall into the river as an accident. Seeing Prince Cong vent his fury entirely upon the Third Young Master, he was only too glad to wash his hands of the matter and simply let it drop.

Yun Xi was full of doubts. If Prince Cong truly knew that Cheng Chang’s fall had actually been an attempted murder, there was no way Jinling City would remain this calm and undisturbed. She had clearly told Cheng Chang the truth that day, yet no one from the mansion had come looking into it. It seemed that Cheng Chang had actually kept the truth buried in his own heart, not breathing a word of it to anyone else.

The Third Young Master had long been known for his arrogance and unruliness—he didn’t seem like someone capable of holding his tongue.

Unable to make sense of it, Yun Xi had Tian Si ask around on the side.

Tian Si didn’t manage to find out anything useful about the actual matter, but he did come back with an amusing piece of gossip instead—

Prince Cong, who had always been hopeless at disciplining his son, confined the Third Young Master for half a month and then promptly doted on him again, handing him a thousand taels in silver notes to squander as he pleased.

The servant boys who usually ran around with Cheng Chang at the mansion hadn’t caused any trouble for a while and were bored out of their minds. Somehow the topic turned to Zuixiang Restaurant, and they’d heard that the steamed buns there had apparently offended their Young Prince’s discerning palate. They’d immediately grabbed their tools, ready to go tear the place down. But when Cheng Chang heard about this, he actually stopped them, insisting the buns tasted fine after all. As if worried no one would believe him, he specifically had someone go buy some to take back, and ate them one by one in front of everyone at the mansion, polishing off a full three steamer-baskets’ worth.

“Took them back?” Yun Xi was momentarily stunned.

“J-just means he bought them, then had them packed into food boxes, sealed up, and brought back to the mansion to eat,” Tian Si explained.

The news that Cheng Chang had taken buns home from Zuixiang Restaurant spread like wildfire. Everyone in Jinling knew that the Third Young Master’s palate was pickier than even his uncle the Emperor’s—whatever he called delicious had to be an exquisite delicacy.

Overnight, Zuixiang Restaurant became the hottest eatery in Jinling. A long line formed outside every single day, everyone wanting a taste of these supposedly unparalleled buns.

One day when Tian Si was off duty, he waited in line for two hours and bought a basket to try for himself. After eating them, he didn’t find anything particularly delicious about them, and told Yun Xi, “The taste was all right, just—just a bit too salty.”

At the end of the third month, several rounds of rain fell, and with late spring’s arrival came an unexpected chill spreading everywhere.

The peach and plum blossoms, which had bloomed to their fullest, now withered and fell in the night rain, their soft petals scattering onto the ground, laying down a bank of pink and white along the Qinhuai River, which the next day’s bright spring breeze swept up into a sky full of falling blossoms.

And it was in this very season that Pei Lan returned to the capital.

On the day of his return, the yamen had specially granted Yun Xi leave, but she didn’t go to welcome him. The next day, out on patrol, she heard all of Jinling talking about Pei Lan.

The young general had returned on horseback, clad in a white robe and silver armor, his clear brows and eyes holding restrained traces of battle and steel, leading a hundred thousand mighty troops along the crabapple-lined avenue. Amid the falling blossoms of the Qinhuai, he gave a faint smile, and a warmth broke through his iron bones and seeped outward.

He was the commander who broke enemies and secured victory, a hero beyond compare; he was also the elegant young gentleman of this turbulent world, the husband-to-be betrothed to Yun Xi before either of them was even born.

But a betrothal made before birth was, in truth, nothing more than empty words—even with a written pledge on paper, who could say what lay in another’s heart? How could such things be bound by mere ink on paper?

In her youth, Yun Xi had spent time in the army following the Marquis of Loyalty and Valor. Life and death, partings and separations, were the most ordinary things in an army camp, and because of this she had come to see fate and predestined bonds with a very clear eye.

People of the Jiangnan region carried romantic sentiments in their hearts even on the battlefield. Whenever someone departed, her father would always sing a few lines of a folk tune to ease the sorrow.

How did it go again?

Watch him raise his vermillion towers, watch him host his honored guests, watch his towers come crashing down—amid this pile of moss and emerald tiles, old scenes are hard to shake off. Compose a lament for this sorrowful south, and let the grief pour forth in song, sung until one grows old.

With Pei Lan’s return to the capital, everyone said their marriage bond was drawing near.

Yet Yun Xi thought to herself that the bond between her and Pei Lan was, in the end, likely just another tower raised only to come crashing down.