Emperor Zhaoyuan said, “Grandmother did say not to prepare a birthday gift, but after much thought, your grandson still had one made. Grandmother dislikes extravagance, and a birthday like this isn’t celebrated every year — should you think of this day in years to come, at least there ought to be something to remember it by.”

With that, he clapped his hands, and several palace servants carried in together a blood-red coral piece, five chi tall and three chi wide.

Coral of such size was exceedingly rare, and everyone at the banquet marveled at the sight.

The Imperial Noble Consort raised her silk handkerchief to her lips in mock astonishment. “Your Majesty’s gift to Grandmother — this coral resembles the shape of deer antlers, a most auspicious sign. Grandmother is already blessed with the longevity of pines and cranes, and now with this coral besides, surely she’ll live a hundred years and outlive even the Bodhisattva herself.”

The Grand Empress Dowager laughed and playfully tapped the Imperial Noble Consort. “Such a sweet tongue you have.”

Still smiling, she glanced around at everyone seated, and for some reason grew a little wistful. “The people in this palace have grown fewer and more scattered over the years. The Empress, may she rest in peace, was kind-hearted, but she passed too early. Then there was Yang’er — what a fine Crown Prince he was, refined, benevolent, caring for the common people, truly a Bodhisattva reborn — and yet Heaven took him too. You are all filial, celebrating my birthday, preparing gifts for me, and I know your hearts are sincere. But I am old now, and I have only one wish left — that this palace might flourish with descendants once more.”

It was, after all, her birthday, and such words risked being ill-omened.

Hearing the Grand Empress Dowager mention the late Crown Prince Cheng Yang, Emperor Zhaoyuan felt a familiar ache touch his heart, and slowly set down his wine cup.

Prince Cong said, “Grandmother, there’s no need to rush. You’ll live a long and blessed life yet, and your great-grandchildren are still young — the days of flourishing are still ahead.”

Hearing this, the Grand Empress Dowager nodded and said with a smile, “Yes, listen to me going on — on such a joyous day, spoiling everyone’s mood and upsetting the Emperor besides.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan said, “Grandmother jests. Today is your birthday, and your grandson feels nothing but joy.”

“Great-Grandmother.” At this moment, Prince Yun suddenly rose from his seat and bowed. “Though Great-Grandmother repeatedly insisted no gift was necessary, your great-grandson, like Father, couldn’t help but prepare one as well.”

The Grand Empress Dowager was momentarily taken aback, then frowned with a smile and teased, “Couldn’t help it? Do tell — how exactly could you not help it?”

“Because this great gift came on its own,” Prince Yun said with a smile.

He was a handsome man, with long brows over phoenix eyes and a small mole at the corner of his lips — when he smiled like this, he looked rather striking.

He beckoned to his consort beside him. “A’Fu, come here.”

The Princess Consort of Prince Yun nodded and stepped over beside him. Together, they bowed first to the Grand Empress Dowager, then to Emperor Zhaoyuan. “Reporting to Great-Grandmother, reporting to Father — A’Fu is nearly three months pregnant.”

At this announcement, everyone present was astonished.

For the imperial family to gain an heir — what joyous news this was!

Yun Xi was just glancing at the Princess Consort’s belly when she heard a sharp clatter beside her.

She turned to look and saw Fang Furan, brows slightly knit, staring intently toward the Grand Empress Dowager’s seat, the soup spoon having somehow slipped from her hand into the soup bowl. Her expression was unlike everyone else’s joy.

Yun Xi asked, “Sister, are you feeling unwell?”

Fang Furan withdrew her gaze, shook her head slightly, and said with a smile, “No, I’m just a little surprised.”

Her surprise wasn’t without reason — it was common knowledge throughout Jinling that Prince Yun and his consort had been estranged for years. Prince Yun’s household kept more than a dozen concubines with or without formal status, and it was said that unless the two happened to attend court affairs together, they might not see each other for ten or fifteen days at a stretch.

Emperor Zhaoyuan too was taken aback. “When did this happen? Why didn’t I know of it?”

“Reporting to Father, A’Fu has been feeling unwell for some time now, but it’s only recently that we realized what it was. The mansion physician examined her and has been carefully nursing her these past weeks. This pregnancy has come with some difficulty, so your son only dared to report it once the signs had stabilized. Please forgive me, Father.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan smiled faintly. “No matter.”

He waved his hand at once, signaling the nearby palace attendant to summon the imperial physicians.

Emperor Zhaoyuan was rarely one to show much emotion, so this expression of his suggested he was quite pleased indeed.

This was hardly surprising — the imperial line had been thin on descendants ever since Emperor Zhaoyuan’s own reign began. After the Crown Prince’s death, only Prince Ling and Prince Yun remained as adult sons, and with Prince Yun estranged from his consort and Prince Ling’s consort frail and often ill, aside from an illegitimate daughter Prince Yun had fathered years ago, there had been no grandchildren at all. Now, at last, the imperial family would have an heir.

After examining the Princess Consort’s pulse, the imperial physician knelt and offered congratulations. “Reporting to Your Majesty, to the Grand Empress Dowager — the Princess Consort’s pregnancy has stabilized. The pulse is deep and strong, suggesting it may well be a boy.”

Emperor Zhaoyuan’s brow relaxed, and he laughed heartily. “Rewards, all around!”

The Grand Empress Dowager called the Princess Consort of Prince Yun to her side, patting her hand earnestly. “Now that you carry an imperial heir, you should resign your post at the Ministry of Justice. This old grandmother knows you’re proud and unwilling to let your talents go to waste, but now isn’t the time for such exertions. Nurture this pregnancy well and see it safely through — that matters more than anything else, even for the sake of the realm.” She then glared at Prince Yun. “If he ever dares neglect you again, tell this old grandmother, and I’ll see to his punishment myself!”

The Princess Consort hesitated slightly, then nodded. “Yes, Grandmother.”

With the imperial family finally gaining a legitimate heir, the whole gathering, high and low, filled with warmth and joy. Everyone understood full well — with neither Prince Ling nor Prince Yun having had an heir before, the two had been evenly matched, with Prince Ling holding a slight edge only due to his seniority. Now that Prince Yun had an heir on the way, the meaning was profound — after all, for whoever might eventually claim the long-vacant throne, Prince Yun would now stand first in line.

At once, music and song rose up, and the palace attendants, seizing the joyous mood, brought out more wine and dishes, calling out loudly, “Let the feast continue! Bring the dancers, strike up the music—”

To the beat of the drums, dozens of Western Region dancers entered Kunyu Garden from the west side. They wore felt hats and half-length veils covering their faces, yet their clothing was scant. The women’s tops and skirts were separate pieces, revealing a strip of smooth bare midriff; the men wore single-sleeved garments, one arm hidden within a wide sleeve, the other bare — an exotic and alluring sight.

But the Grand Empress Dowager, having enjoyed a lifetime of grandeur, had seen everything there was to see. Though these dancers had been specially summoned from the Western Regions by Emperor Zhaoyuan’s decree, her good mood at that moment stemmed not from them, but from the “great gift” Prince Yun had just presented.

As everyone exchanged toasts amid the music, Yun Xi found herself somewhat distracted. Watching the wild, ecstatic dance of the Western Region performers in the garden, she suddenly recalled something without reason — after returning to Jinling, Ke Yong’s informants had reported that, over a month ago, they’d spotted signs of the scar-handed man in Jinling, but had unfortunately lost track of him just as the Western Region dancers were entering the capital.

She wondered where that scar-handed man might be now. If she could find him, she thought, it would lead to clues about the “noble one” who had tried to harm the Third Young Master.

As one dance ended, the Western Region dancers bowed deeply, then rose again, and from beneath their thin veils produced handfuls of longevity candy, drawing an immediate burst of applause from the crowd.

The music struck up again, and the dancers, moving to the beat of the drums, began distributing the longevity candy, starting from the Grand Empress Dowager at the head of the gathering, then to Emperor Zhaoyuan, Prince Cong, the Third Young Master, and on through the seated guests.

A single-sleeved dancer approached Yun Xi’s seat and held out a piece of longevity candy. Just as she reached to take it, he withdrew his hand.

He paused for a moment, then dropped to one knee, turned his palm upward, and offered the candy to her again.

Every dancer added some flourish when handing out the candy, so Yun Xi thought nothing of it — until she took the candy and suddenly froze.

There, plainly visible on the Western Region dancer’s palm, was a long, deep scar.

She looked up, and their eyes met. It was the very scar-handed man she had searched for so long without success!

The night was deep, the veil obscuring his features, and the flickering lantern light had kept her from recognizing him earlier while he danced in the garden.

Once the Western Region dancers had finished distributing the candy, they gathered again in the center of the garden and bowed together toward the Grand Empress Dowager, saying in accented court speech, “We wish the Grand Empress Dowager blessings as vast as the Eastern Sea, and boundless longevity.”

The Grand Empress Dowager nodded with a smile. “Reward them—”

Palace servants brought out trays, and the dancers each received their rewards before retreating along the small path on the west side of Kunyu Garden.

The moment they left, Cheng Chang rose as well. The music was too loud for Yun Xi to hear what he said, but she saw him cup his hands toward the Grand Empress Dowager before heading toward the same western path.

They were going after the scar-handed man — the “noble one” would surely want to silence him for good. Remembering what had happened at the Mid-Autumn Festival, Yun Xi didn’t dare delay a moment. Glancing around, she saw plenty of people wandering about, offering toasts here and there, and said to Fang Furan, “Sister, I’m going to take a walk around.”

Fang Furan, who had seemed distracted all evening, nodded and said, “All right,” upon hearing this.

Since Yanfu Palace was a separate complex outside the main palace grounds, Emperor Zhaoyuan rarely visited it except for banquets. Thus, on an occasion like tonight, the Palace Guard and Imperial Guard Bureau had only stationed sentries within Kunyu Garden itself, while the rest of the grounds were guarded by men from the Capital Garrison Office under the Privy Council — relatively lax security.

Yun Xi followed the western path out of Kunyu Garden. At first she still encountered scattered groups of palace attendants, but the further she went, the more deserted it became.

Her heart raced with urgency — first, fearing the “noble one” might silence the scar-handed man before they could reach him, and second, fearing even more that the Third Young Master, going alone, might run into danger.

Rounding a cluster of ornamental rockery, she heard the faint sounds of a fight up ahead. Her heart tightened, and she peered forward, but a dense grove of camphor trees blocked her view entirely.

She quickened her pace and hurried out of the grove, only to see Cheng Chang standing with his hands clasped behind his back by the lakeside. Not far off, several guards were locked in combat with a number of black-clad, masked figures — and the scar-handed man was plainly among them.

“Third Young Master!” The moment Yun Xi saw this, she understood — Cheng Chang hadn’t come alone; he had already hidden guards within Yanfu Palace beforehand.

“Did the Third Young Master already know the scar-handed man was hiding within Yanfu Palace?”

“I only guessed,” Cheng Chang said.

The “noble one” wielded immense power, with informants scattered throughout Jinling — silencing one man permanently shouldn’t have been difficult. The scar-handed man had been dodging about Jinling recently, occasionally showing signs of himself — so why had he vanished without a trace the very day the Western Region dancers entered the capital?

Thinking it over now, the most likely explanation was that he had slipped in among the Western Region dancers’ troupe.

The most dangerous place was often the safest — and the place least likely for anyone to think of.

For the scar-handed man, hiding within the palace was almost akin to choosing a “path of death,” since the very “noble one” seeking to kill him was someone within the palace itself.

Once Cheng Chang had worked this out, he’d originally intended to come straight to Yanfu Palace to search for the scar-handed man. But on further thought, the palace grounds were vast, and there was no guarantee the man would still be with the dancers’ troupe by the time they entered. With the birthday banquet imminent, if he went to great lengths to search and stirred up commotion, he might alert the “noble one” first, doing the enemy’s work for them.

In any case, if the scar-handed man wanted to survive, he would find some way to reach Cheng Chang eventually — better to hide some guards within the palace beforehand, ready to respond if anything unexpected occurred.

The black-clad figures were clearly the “noble one’s” men. Ignoring the guards blocking their way, they struck directly for the black-clad figures’ lives with ruthless precision — their martial skill was formidable and their strikes vicious. Even outnumbering the enemy, the guards struggled to keep the scar-handed man from being overwhelmed.

Seeing that Cheng Chang still had guards protecting him, Yun Xi called out, “I’ll go help him!” and rushed over as well.

The black-clad men seemed rather wary of Yun Xi. The moment they saw her approaching, they silently signaled to attack, shifting their formation and abandoning their defenses simultaneously. Before Yun Xi could reach them, two of them turned sideways to block the guards’ incoming swords with their own bodies, while the rest thrust their daggers at the scar-handed man all at once.

Having fled for days on end with old wounds still unhealed, the scar-handed man’s strength had long since given out from the fighting. Despite the guards’ best efforts to protect him, one of the black-clad men found an opening and drove a short dagger into his abdomen.

The dagger plunged in and was yanked back out, dragging an inch of intestine with it.

Blood surged out in torrents, and the scar-handed man, unable to hold on any longer, collapsed to the ground.

Seeing that they had succeeded, the black-clad men, with lightning speed, drew their blades across their own throats — every one of them had taken their own lives.

Yun Xi stared at the scene before her in a daze. She had moved as fast as she could, and still, she’d been a step too late.

Cheng Chang had also rushed over. He crouched down and, seeing the scar-handed man still breathing, pressed his hand against the wound on his abdomen, urging sharply, “Hold on, I’ll send for a doctor!”

“No need,” the scar-handed man said weakly. “I won’t make it.”

“That… ‘noble one.’ The reason he wants to kill you, Third Young Master, is because you know that matter. So he… wants to silence you.”

“What matter?” Cheng Chang asked.

“What matter…” The scar-handed man coughed several times, blood welling up at the corner of his mouth. “Third Young Master, don’t you remember yourself?”

“I don’t remember,” Cheng Chang said.

He paused, then suddenly added, “Hold on, and tell me what it is. I don’t remember anything. All this time, I’ve — known nothing!”

At these words, Yun Xi couldn’t help but freeze.

She looked up at Cheng Chang.

In the flickering firelight and moonlight, his eyes were full of desperate urgency and helplessness.

Ever since falling into the water, the Third Young Master had always carried himself with calm detachment — when had he ever looked this lost?

And there was more —

That he said he didn’t remember anything, she could understand well enough.

But when he said he knew nothing — what did that mean?

The scar-handed man looked at Cheng Chang with a complicated expression, but there was no time left to ask him what he meant. He drew a labored breath and said, “What it actually is, I don’t know either… After you fell into the water, Third Young Master, that ‘noble one’ had me… capture the boat girls who had been with you that day on the pleasure boat, for questioning, and then… silenced every one of them.”

“There’s one thing I never told anyone, to save my own life.”

“One of the boat girls told me that you, Third Young Master… before you fell into the water, boasted to her that you knew a tremendous secret.”

“A tremendous secret?” Cheng Chang asked.

“Yes. Said it was a secret… that could throw the whole realm into chaos.”

“She thought at the time you were only joking, and asked what the secret was. But you were terribly drunk, and only swayed unsteadily, pointing toward a place.”

“You pointed toward… Jiangyun Tower by the Qinhuai River.”

At these words, Yun Xi’s whole body went rigid.

She asked urgently, “What did you say? Say that again!”

But the scar-handed man could hold on no longer. As if he hadn’t heard her at all, he used the last of his strength to say, “My name… is Mao Jiu. Third Young Master, if you ever manage to kill the ‘noble one’ with your own hands, remember to… tell me.”

With that, he closed his eyes, and his body went limp.

Cheng Chang looked at the now lifeless body on the ground, then turned to Yun Xi and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Yun Xi seemed dazed for a moment. After a while, she pressed her lips together and said, with great difficulty, “He said that before you fell into the water, Third Young Master, the last place you pointed to was Jiangyun Tower by the Qinhuai River.”

“Does the Third Young Master know that I was at Jiangyun Tower that very night?”

It had been the night of the Flower Dawn Festival. Common folk had stayed out late celebrating, but Jiangyun Tower had closed on schedule as always. After the hour of hai, only a small side gate remained open for Yun Xi to come and go — Jiangyun Tower stood tall, and she used its top floor as a vantage point to keep watch over the Young Prince drinking on his pleasure boat, guarding against any trouble he might cause.

The Young Prince himself should have known this well, since eight times out of ten when he caused trouble while drinking, it was Yun Xi who came with the constables to clean up after him.

He had even once seen her coming down from Jiangyun Tower.

According to the scar-handed man, before Cheng Chang fell into the river by the Qinhuai, he had told a boat girl he knew “a secret that could throw the whole realm into chaos,” then pointed toward Jiangyun Tower.

Which meant — what he’d pointed to back then was… her?