The carriage rolled off into the distance.

Yun Xi returned to the mansion, closed the door behind her, and headed toward her own small courtyard.

Halfway there, she stopped, leaning against the pillar at the end of the corridor and slowly crouching down.

Her mind was blank. Even now, she couldn’t sort out what she truly felt.

There had been a soft patch of moonlight in the sky. He had plucked it down and brought it right to her fingertips — she plainly hadn’t dared to take it, yet he had told her all she needed to do was open her palm.

Moonlight flowed across the lines of her hand, cool and gentle, as though it had substance.

She should have felt happy. But in the next moment, she found herself gripped by uncertainty instead.

Perhaps anything too beautiful in this world inevitably brings its own worry — the fear of not being able to keep it, of not being able to hold onto it, the fear that it was all just an empty dream.

So much so that she didn’t even dare ask another question, afraid that too much stirring would make the dream dissolve.

The night had grown very deep. A crow swept past the corridor, landed at the corner of the eaves, gave a couple of listless caws, and then flapped away again.

By the moonlight, Yun Xi watched the fading shadow of the crow. Her thoughts, now somewhat settled, drifted unbidden to Fang Furan.

She had, in truth, once carefully considered who among them might be the “noble one’s” informant, and had even suspected and tested nearly everyone in the Marquis’s household — everyone except Fang Furan.

Since Yun Luo’s death, Fang Furan had been the person closest to her in all the world. She could not bear the thought that it might be her.

Earlier, in the main hall, the moment she’d realized Fang Furan might have overheard Cheng Chang and Luo Shu’s conversation while bringing in refreshments, she’d felt an unbearable pang of distress.

Fortunately, she had since calmed down and reasoned it through. Cheng Chang was right — until things were made clear, there was no need to rush into grief.

Perhaps it was only a misunderstanding.

Yun Xi let out a breath and stood up, returning to the courtyard. Zangzang had already gone to sleep, but lifted its eyelids at her approach and shuffled over, reluctantly rubbing against her calf.

Yun Xi bent down and stroked its head, then heard snoring from inside the room. Glancing through the window, she saw A’Jiu sprawled out on her bed, fast asleep.

Yun Xi washed up outside with water before pushing the door open and entering.

A’Jiu, accustomed to army camp life, could fall asleep instantly but also woke at the slightest sound. She sat up, glanced at the time of night, and asked, “Why are you back so late?”

Yun Xi didn’t answer right away, sitting down at the edge of the bed instead.

A’Jiu didn’t really wait for an answer, lying back down with her arms folded behind her head. “That Luo Shu — I remember her as a scrawny little thing who used to chase after Pei Lan calling him ‘Brother Pei.’ Now that she’s grown up, she’s changed so much I almost didn’t recognize her.”

Still preoccupied with the matter of Fang Furan, Yun Xi said after a long moment, “A’Jiu, I have something to take care of tomorrow morning. I’ll probably be away from Jinling for a day or two. My sister-in-law isn’t in good health — could you keep her company these next couple of days?”

A’Jiu was startled. “Huh? Tomorrow?”

“What, do you have plans?”

“I do,” A’Jiu said. “I need to go see a friend of mine.”

“Didn’t you just arrive in Jinling?” Yun Xi asked. “Where’d you find a friend?”

“Made him on the road,” A’Jiu said. “The trip from the northern frontier to Jinling is so long — traveling alone would’ve been unbearably dull otherwise.”

She thought about it for a moment, then changed her mind. “Fine, fine, I’ll keep your sister-in-law company these next two days.”

“You don’t even need to keep her company exactly,” Yun Xi said, thinking it over and finding an excuse. “A while back I went to suppress some unrest outside the capital and broke up a few bandit dens. Those men swore revenge against me, against the Marquis’s household. My sister-in-law needs to visit the pharmacy these next few days — just follow her discreetly and keep her safe.”

A’Jiu readily agreed. “Done!”

Remembering she needed to leave early the next morning to go to Mingyin Temple with Cheng Chang, Yun Xi ended the conversation, kicked off her boots, climbed onto the bed, and closed her eyes to sleep.

But A’Jiu couldn’t quite settle down. She rolled over, propping her chin up. “Hey, A’Ting, how did Yun Luo end up falling for your sister-in-law? So many girls on the northern grasslands liked him back then, and I never once saw him take a shine to anyone.”

“I can’t really say,” Yun Xi said, thinking back. “Sister’s actually had a rather pitiful life. Her father used to be a Vice Minister at the Ministry of Rites, but he got into trouble and was sentenced to death by His Majesty, and the whole family was punished along with him. Her mother hanged herself at the time. The former Empress had just passed away not long before and her coffin was still lying in state, so my sister-in-law had no choice but to go into the palace to beg the Imperial Noble Consort for mercy. The Imperial Noble Consort must have refused to help, because my sister-in-law, in despair, decided to drown herself in the lake. I happened to pass by and saw her, pulled her out, and brought her back to the mansion.”

“By coincidence, less than half a month later, my brother came home. I remember he’d just put down the rebellion in Lingnan and won great merit for it. After he got back, he helped me care for her for a few days, and once he heard about the Fang family’s situation, he used his military merit to petition His Majesty to pardon her, and married her into the household.”

“So by what you’re saying,” A’Jiu said, “that Yun Luo fell for your sister-in-law at first sight?”

“That’s probably how it was,” Yun Xi said.

A’Jiu smacked her lips, saying blandly, “Well, she is beautiful.”

Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it — she was breathtaking enough to topple kingdoms.

A’Jiu lay quietly on the bed for a while, rubbed her nose, then suddenly sighed. “Ah, I really am a little envious of her.”

She didn’t say what exactly she envied, and Yun Xi didn’t think much of it — it was only natural for any young woman to feel some envy toward Fang Furan.

In those years, Jinling had no shortage of daughters from noble households, but for both talent and beauty combined, Fang Furan stood utterly alone.

In her heart, Yun Xi held deep respect for her sister-in-law.

She herself had grown up a wild girl on the northern frontier, while Fang Furan seemed to have been born of the misty waters of the Qinhuai itself.

Fang Furan was gentle, even-tempered, and understanding.

To the world, her delicate appearance might seem too fragile to weather hardship, but that wasn’t true at all — Yun Xi knew that beneath her soft exterior, her sister-in-law was, in truth, strong-willed.

In the years they had relied on each other, Yun Xi had gone out to seek a post in the government offices, shouldering the livelihood of the Marquis’s household, while Fang Furan, widowed and living at home, managed all household affairs, ensuring the elderly were cared for and the young provided for — carrying the weight of everyone’s hearts within the Marquis’s household.

After Yun Luo’s death, Fang Furan had once told Yun Xi, “A’Ting, your brother is gone, but I’m still here. From now on, you and I, sister and sister, are the closest family either of us has left in this world.”

It was that single sentence that had carried Yun Xi through the depths of despair and out the other side.

Beside her, A’Jiu’s breathing had grown long and even, snores gradually rising.

Yun Xi, lost in memory, stared up at the beams overhead and murmured, “A’Jiu, sometimes I feel our household really let sister down. You know, she married in and never had a single easy day.”

As she spoke, thinking of tonight’s events, an inexplicable sadness crept over her, and she added, “A’Jiu, my sister-in-law has always been so good to me. Those years, I was so grateful to have her by my side. I’ve always… loved her dearly.”

Beside her, the snoring abruptly stopped.

A’Jiu sat bolt upright and shoved Yun Xi. “Yun Luo loved her, and you love her too! Am I not good to you? I’m plenty good to you!”

Yun Xi stared at her for a long moment, then said, “You’re so fierce — how is that good?”

A’Jiu brought her hand down like a blade. “Say that again?”

Yun Xi raised her arm to block and, with the motion, dismantled the strike, laughing. “Fine, fine, you’re good to me too. My brother and I are both fond of you!”

…

Since they had to leave for Mingyin Temple the next day, Yun Xi managed barely two hours of sleep before rising well before dawn.

Mingyin Temple wasn’t too far from Jinling — about half a day’s ride by horse. But after the bloody incident thirteen years earlier, Pingnan Mountain, where the temple stood, had been entirely sealed off. Riders could only go as far as the foot of the mountain; getting up the mountain itself required other means.

Though Cheng Chang had mentioned going to Mingyin Temple together the day before, he hadn’t specified where to meet. Yun Xi had planned to head to the city gate early to wait, but not long after leaving the mansion, she ran into one of Prince Cong’s household servants, who told her, “The Young Prince set out an hour ago already. Colonel Yun should head to Mingyin Temple on your own — the Young Prince will wait for you at Seven Direction Pavilion, halfway up the back slope of Pingnan Mountain.”

Hearing this, Yun Xi grew anxious.

Luo Shu had said the late Crown Prince had been poisoned to death by the “noble one,” and that the witness who could prove his cause of death was being held at Mingyin Temple.

If this was true, once the “noble one” learned that the Third Young Master had gone to gather evidence, they surely wouldn’t sit idly by — they would certainly set an ambush along the way.

Yun Xi had planned to accompany Cheng Chang to Mingyin Temple in order to protect him along the road, but he had set out ahead of her without warning.

Worried for his safety, she urged her horse into a hard gallop the whole way, hoping to catch up with him. But even as Pingnan Mountain came into view, there was still no sign of him.

In truth, Cheng Chang had only arrived about a quarter hour before her.

He had sent word to Wei Jie through a messenger the night before and set out for Mingyin Temple before dawn.

The carriage moved slowly, and he’d slept a while on the road. Not long after waking, someone knocked on the carriage window from outside — Wei Jie’s voice came through. “You really outdid yourself. If you’re going to Mingyin Temple, you should give me at least three days’ notice. Sending word so suddenly and having me post guards along the road to prevent an ambush — I nearly didn’t manage it in time.”

Cheng Chang lifted the curtain to glance at Wei Jie, then asked Zhang Dahu, who was driving, “Did anyone block the road earlier?”

“No,” Zhang Dahu said. “Young Prince, the whole journey’s been perfectly calm!”

Wei Jie shrugged. “See? All that trouble for nothing.”

Cheng Chang lowered the curtain thoughtfully, wiped his face and rinsed his mouth with the water already prepared in the carriage, then stepped down and said to Wei Jie, “Let’s go to Seven Direction Pavilion first. We’re waiting for someone.”

Wei Jie was dressed neatly today, in his commander’s regular uniform, though the stubble on his face still hadn’t been properly tended to. He squinted as he spoke, looking as if he hadn’t fully woken up.

Once they reached the pavilion, he asked, “Waiting for who?”

“Yun Xi,” Cheng Chang said.

Hearing this, Wei Jie wasn’t particularly surprised. Given what Mao Jiu had said before, Cheng Chang’s persecution likely had something to do with the Marquis’s household — it made perfect sense he’d want to bring Yun Xi along to help uncover the “noble one” behind the attacks.

Thinking of the Marquis’s household reminded Wei Jie of something, and he asked, “Didn’t I give you a lead last time — to look into whether the Marquis’s old ‘reckless pursuit of glory’ had anything to do with Prince Yun’s disaster relief merit? How’s that coming along?”

“I’ve got some leads,” Cheng Chang said.

“So is there a connection or not?” Wei Jie asked.

Just as Cheng Chang was about to answer, the neigh of a galloping horse rang out from the foot of the mountain.

It was exactly noon. Yun Xi arrived at a full gallop, calling out “Whoa!” and pulling hard on the reins.

The horse reared its front legs high, neighing repeatedly. Yun Xi wasn’t dressed in her colonel’s uniform today, but in a vivid vermillion riding outfit, sitting tall in the saddle, bathed in the bright sunlight — utterly striking and full of spirit.

Wei Jie let out a “heh,” saying, “Now that’s a spirited little thing!”

Yun Xi’s gaze swept across and landed on Cheng Chang. She immediately dismounted and hurried toward the pavilion in a few quick strides. Reaching him, she asked, “When did the Third Young Master arrive?”

“Just a quarter hour before you,” Wei Jie said.

Yun Xi had meant to ask whether the journey had been safe, but seeing him unharmed, she let the question go, and instead cupped her hands toward Wei Jie. “Lord Wei.”

Wei Jie looked her over, then pointed at her and said to Cheng Chang, “Look at her, arriving without a speck of dust on her — clearly skilled in martial arts. You were worried about danger on the road, so you brought her along to Mingyin Temple with you, yet deliberately staggered your departures so you’d arrive one after the other. What’s that about? Afraid something might happen to her if she traveled with you? Do you fancy her?”

At this, Yun Xi’s foot slipped, and she nearly stumbled.

Cheng Chang didn’t respond to Wei Jie, simply reaching out to steady her instead. “Careful.”

Fortunately, Wei Jie’s remark had been an offhand one. Once Yun Xi had arrived, he led the two of them toward Mingyin Temple.

Though Mingyin Temple was sealed off, the guards posted there came from both the Imperial Guard Bureau and the Palace Guard.

With Wei Jie leading the way, the three of them passed through without trouble. At the temple gate, Wei Jie tore off the freshly applied seal and said, “Once we’re inside, be careful. If any Palace Guard men spot you, the old fox will know for certain that you’ve broken into Mingyin Temple.”

Cheng Chang said nothing. Yun Xi nodded. “Please lead the way, Lord Wei.”

In truth, even Wei Jie didn’t know who the witness who could prove the late Crown Prince’s cause of death actually was, but Mingyin Temple did indeed secretly hold several maidservants who had once served the Eastern Palace.

This was a century-old temple with countless halls and winding, labyrinthine paths.

Fortunately, Wei Jie had already stationed his own men throughout the temple beforehand, and led Yun Xi and Cheng Chang past the Palace Guard’s watchful eyes without much trouble.

Reaching a certain quiet chamber, Wei Jie stopped and said earnestly, “Chambers like this, holding prisoners, are normally guarded jointly by eight men from the Imperial Guard Bureau and eight from the Palace Guard. Since my Imperial Guard Bureau and their Palace Guard don’t get along, this arrangement serves as mutual oversight — no one would dare break in with others watching.”

Cheng Chang glanced around. “Where are the Palace Guard men?”

“You have to ask?” Wei Jie said. “I already told you — coming to Mingyin Temple requires at least three days’ notice. You gave me word overnight — what was I supposed to do?”

He raised a foot and kicked the door open. On the floor inside lay several Palace Guard sentries, sprawled unconscious.

Wei Jie continued, “I had no choice but to play drunk and knock them all out with my wine jug.”

Cheng Chang: “…”

Yun Xi: “…”

Wei Jie urged them on. “The witnesses you want to see are locked in the inner chamber. Go on and question them quickly, before these fellows on the floor wake up — I don’t want to have to knock them out one by one again.”