In the early spring air along the Qinhuai, the breeze was light and mild. Fang Furan, dressed in a plain, unadorned gauze robe, bathed in the gentle wind, looked like a magnolia blossom that had just opened.

Glancing down and seeing Snowball, she couldn’t help but smile, bending down to pick the cat up and stroking its head.

Snowball nestled into Fang Furan’s arms, letting out a couple of coquettish little meows.

Fang Furan looked up and around, and upon spotting Cheng Chang not far off, walked over slowly and bowed slightly. “Your Highness, Third Young Master.”

Cheng Chang nodded and asked, “Have you come out to see the physician, my lady?”

“Yes,” Fang Furan said with a nod. “An old ailment.”

As she spoke, she handed Snowball back to Sun Haiping, who stood beside Cheng Chang.

Watching how reluctant Snowball seemed to leave Fang Furan, Cheng Chang asked, “Does my lady know this cat?”

The cat had originally belonged to Yao Susu, only coming to him afterward. He had almost never taken Snowball out with him before, and Yao Susu had only had a passing acquaintance with Fang Furan at best—so how would Fang Furan know this cat?

Fang Furan said, “Early last year, after my period of mourning ended, I accompanied the noble ladies into the palace, and saw Snowball a few times in the Imperial Noble Consort’s palace. On the day Susu passed away, when the Jingzhao Prefecture came to take testimony, Snowball was waiting outside the hall for her, and I happened to stop and see it. At the time, seeing how clever it seemed, and hearing that no one at the Yao household wanted it, I felt sorry for it and thought about bringing it back to the manor. But after I finished giving my testimony and came out, A’Ting told me you had taken the cat in, Your Highness.”

She spoke in a calm, unhurried tone that put one at ease, like a spring breeze.

Cheng Chang said, “I see. That was very thoughtful of you, my lady.”

Fang Furan smiled and shook her head.

Both of them were people of remarkable appearance, and although it was already past noon, with few passersby along the Qinhuai at this hour, anyone who did happen by couldn’t help but stop and stare. The woman possessed a beauty that could topple nations, and the man standing composedly opposite her was breathtaking as well—though it was a pity that both of them looked rather unwell, their faces unusually pale.

Though the Great Sui’s customs were relatively open-minded, Fang Furan was, after all, a married woman, and it wasn’t proper for her to linger long in conversation with Cheng Chang. After a moment, she bowed to him and said, “The Marquis Zhongyong’s former troops will arrive in Jinling the day after tomorrow, and there’s still much to prepare at the manor. Please excuse me, Your Highness, I must take my leave.”

Cheng Chang had already heard about this—apparently Emperor Zhaoyuan had granted Yun Xi a special decree, allowing her to lead a thousand troops out of the city the morning after next to welcome her father’s former soldiers.

Cheng Chang nodded. “Of course. Safe travels, my lady.”

Once Fang Furan had walked off into the distance, Sun Haiping asked, “Young Prince, where to now? Still headed to that little pavilion?”

Cheng Chang thought for a moment. “No. Back to the residence.”

Snowball didn’t take to Sun Haiping, squirming restlessly in his arms, seizing every opportunity to try to climb back onto Cheng Chang instead. Disliked by the cat, Sun Haiping wasn’t too pleased either, muttering under his breath, “Good, back to the residence it is. This cat’s a menace—darting off after every pretty face it sees, doesn’t matter if it even knows them. One of these days it’s going to trip right over and eat dirt!”

With that, before Snowball could act up again, he quickly set it down on the ground and trotted off ahead to fetch the carriage.

Having served Cheng Chang for a year now, Sun Haiping had grown considerably more tactful in his speech compared to before—even when he indulged in the occasional complaint, he usually knew where to draw the line.

But what he’d just said gave Cheng Chang pause, his brow furrowing.

A cat was just a cat—no matter how perceptive it might be, it could at most recognize a person by scent or by appearance. How could it possibly tell the difference between beautiful and plain?

The reason Snowball was so attached to Cheng Chang was that, even before the Imperial Noble Consort had gifted the cat to Yao Susu, Cheng Chang had once gone to play with it in the Consort’s palace—except that the person who’d played with it back then hadn’t truly been him, but the Young Prince who had since passed away.

So the fact that Snowball recognized Fang Furan couldn’t be because of her beauty either.

Even though Fang Furan’s explanation had seemed seamless, Cheng Chang couldn’t help but grow suspicious of her.

Judging by how Snowball had behaved, it seemed remarkably close to Fang Furan—not like something born of just a few passing encounters. And what was more, on the very night Yao Susu was killed, Fang Furan had been at the nearby apothecary. After Yao Susu quarreled with Luo Shu and went after the missing cat, it would make perfect sense for her to have crossed paths with Fang Furan along the way.

But if that really were the case, then was Yao Susu’s death somehow connected to Fang Furan?

Or worse still—had it been Fang Furan herself who killed Yao Susu?

But Fang Furan was nothing more than a frail, delicate woman, who rarely left the house—what reason could she possibly have to harm Yao Susu?

At this point, Cheng Chang’s thoughts spiraled into a maze of twisting alleys, paths branching in every direction, none of them leading anywhere he could see clearly as an exit.

He had, in fact, once suspected that Fang Furan might be the informant within the Marquis Zhongyong’s manor, but had later dismissed the idea—on the day Luo Shu had come to the manor and revealed the truth behind the late Crown Prince’s death, Fang Furan had been standing right outside the main hall and had overheard everything. If she truly were working for the “Noble One,” why hadn’t she tried to stop him and Yun Xi from going to Mingyin Temple, or at least warned Prince Yun beforehand?

Or was it possible that the “Noble One” wasn’t Prince Yun at all, but someone else entirely?

But if the “Noble One” wasn’t Prince Yun, then how could it be explained that every attempt made on his life had come from Prince Yun’s own covert guards?

Doubts multiplied in Cheng Chang’s mind. By the time he returned to the princely residence and sat down in the main hall of Fufeng Studio, he still hadn’t managed to untangle any of it.

The household staff brought him his meal, and he finished it quickly. Seeing his complexion still looked poor, Sun Haiping couldn’t help but ask, “Young Prince, are you not feeling well? Perhaps you should rest a while. No need to go to the office these next couple of days.”

Cheng Chang did feel somewhat unwell, but with his mind so tangled with thoughts, he couldn’t settle down regardless. He shook his head and said to Zhang Dahu, “Go fetch Su Tai for me.”

Su Tai was one of the covert guards under his command. Having previously served Prince Cong, he was thoroughly familiar with all the major and minor happenings in Jinling over the years, and now, serving under Cheng Chang, his duties included both protecting him and gathering information on his behalf.

Before long, Su Tai arrived and cupped his hands in a bow to Cheng Chang. “Your Highness has instructions?”

Cheng Chang gave a soft “Mm” and asked, “Do you know anything about the Fang family?”

Su Tai paused for a moment. “Which Fang family does Your Highness mean?”

Before Cheng Chang could answer, he quickly caught on himself. “The Fang household in the south of the city—the one belonging to the former Vice Minister of Rites, Fang, who was executed?”

Cheng Chang nodded.

Su Tai thought back for a moment. “I know of it.”

“This Vice Minister Fang—his given name was Fang Yuanshan. In his early years he placed second in the imperial examinations and had quite a reputation in Jinling for his talent. But he had a rather sharp-edged personality, and made a fair number of enemies early in his career. Later, while his peers were all rising steadily through the ranks, he remained stuck at a mere seventh-rank post at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, with no real power to speak of. It wasn’t until a little over a decade ago that he caught the eye of the Minister of Rites, who transferred him to the Ministry of Rites. He was quickly promoted to Bureau Director, and within another three years, rose all the way to the third-rank position of Vice Minister.”

“At the time, the Fang household, if not the very top tier of Jinling society, certainly ranked among the foremost. Fang Yuanshan wasn’t even particularly old when he reached the rank of Vice Minister—with his talent and ability, it’s likely that within a few more years he might have risen to Minister, and even a seat as Chancellor of the Secretariat wouldn’t have been out of the question. But then he committed a crime.”

Cheng Chang asked, “What crime?”

“Several charges all came out at once. The two most serious were: first, while overseeing the imperial ancestral rites, he wrote two strokes of the late Emperor Taizong’s personal name incorrectly; and second—the one that truly sealed his fate—he embezzled two hundred thousand taels of silver that the Ministry of Finance had allocated to the Ministry of Rites for the heaven-worship ceremonies. His Majesty was furious at the time, and immediately sentenced Fang Yuanshan to beheading and public display, with the entire Fang household punished severely as well. Upon hearing the news, Lady Fang hanged herself the very next day. The rest of the family met various fates—some died, some were sent to the frontier as conscripts. The only one spared was the young lady of the household—I hear that when she tried to drown herself in a palace pond, she happened to be rescued by the Garrison Commander passing by at the time—none other than Yun Xi of the Marquis Zhongyong’s household. Later, when General Xuanwei returned from the front, he used his military merits to petition His Majesty to pardon the young Fang lady of any implication in the family’s crimes.”

“I hear His Majesty was initially unwilling to grant General Xuanwei’s request, but at the time, the Marquis Zhongyong had just been recommended by the late Crown Prince to lead the campaign to the northern frontier, and General Xuanwei himself had just won a great victory in Lingnan. The Marquis Zhongyong’s household carried considerable weight at court back then, and with General Xuanwei clearly intent on marrying the young Fang lady, His Majesty found it difficult to refuse, and ultimately granted his request.”

Cheng Chang had heard bits and pieces from Yun Xi before about how Fang Furan had come to marry into the Marquis Zhongyong’s household, and had a general sense of the story. But hearing Su Tai lay it all out in careful detail now, he suddenly felt something didn’t quite add up.

He asked, “By your account, then, the late Empress’s death, the Fang household’s downfall, and the late Crown Prince’s recommendation of the Marquis Zhongyong for the northern campaign—did all of this happen in the same year?”

It had been quite some time now, and Su Tai couldn’t quite recall the details clearly either.

He thought hard for a while before answering, “Reporting to Your Highness, not quite the same year. If I recall correctly, the late Empress passed away first. About one or two months after her death, the Fang household’s crime came to light. Then, some three or four months after that, the Crown Prince recommended the Marquis Zhongyong for the campaign. The Marquis departed just after the New Year holidays, so the timeline did cross over into the following year. But it’s true these three events did happen in close succession, one after another.”

Hearing this from Su Tai, Cheng Chang fell into deep thought.

The late Crown Prince Cheng Yang had been born of a concubine, later raised under the late Empress’s care. Known for his benevolence and refinement, he had been highly regarded by Emperor Zhaoyuan.

While the Empress had been alive, Emperor Zhaoyuan had treated her with respectful courtesy. But in the years since her passing, there had been little sign that he particularly grieved or missed her.

The witness held at Mingyin Temple had once said that after the late Empress’s death, the late Crown Prince had been searching for someone—and that person was very likely the missing Fifth Prince.

The late Empress had died only one or two months before Fang Yuanshan’s crime came to light—was there some connection between the two?

As Cheng Chang turned this over in his mind, he suddenly recalled that Fang Yuanshan had originally served at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices—an office responsible specifically for matters of ancestral temple rites and ceremony.

A sudden flash of insight struck him. He asked, “Fang Yuanshan originally served at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices before being transferred to the Ministry of Rites as Vice Minister—did he, during that earlier period, frequently visit Mingyin Temple?”

Su Tai cupped his hands toward Cheng Chang. “Your Highness may not be aware, but Fang Yuanshan’s very first post, as a seventh-rank Ritual Attendant at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, required him to be stationed for extended periods at the imperial temples, presiding over matters such as the imperial family’s heaven-and-ancestor worship and Buddhist ceremonies. Mingyin Temple, being an imperial temple at the time, was naturally a place where Fang Yuanshan was stationed for long stretches. Oh, and now that Your Highness mentions it—Fang Yuanshan’s transfer to the Ministry of Rites came not long after Mingyin Temple was sealed off. Back then, there was even a joke going around court that Mingyin Temple was Master Fang’s ‘fortune-cleansing ground’—that the temple had washed away all his good luck, since the moment he left it, his career took off.”

Hearing all this, certain thoughts began gradually taking shape in Cheng Chang’s mind.

Just as he was about to work through it further, his heartbeat suddenly began tightening in fits and starts, without warning.

He reached up to clutch his chest, not pausing to consider whether he was simply overthinking things, and using the faint spark of insight that had just flashed through his mind, tried to trace out a single thread from the tangled mess of his thoughts.

—Wei Jie had said that the Fifth Prince had gone missing after a bloody incident at Mingyin Temple years ago.

And at the time that bloody incident occurred, Fang Yuanshan had been serving as Ritual Attendant at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, stationed at Mingyin Temple.

After the bloody incident, Mingyin Temple had been sealed off, and Fang Yuanshan had risen swiftly in rank.

Did that mean Fang Yuanshan’s rapid rise was somehow connected to the missing Fifth Prince?

The moment this thought struck him, Cheng Chang shot up to his feet.

He instructed Su Tai, “Go to the Imperial City Bureau at once, and find—”

Before he could finish, his chest tightened again, sharply.

It felt as though some unseen hand had seized hold of his heart. Cheng Chang doubled over in pain, nearly unable to stay standing.

He suddenly began coughing violently. Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu rushed forward to support him, asking urgently, “Young Prince, what’s wrong?”

Cheng Chang shook his head.

A mist gradually began rising before his eyes, his chest still tight with pain. Only now did he realize that the tightness in his chest wasn’t simply from tension and worry—there was real, physical pain behind it too.

The pain was so intense he could barely draw breath.

And yet his mind kept working.

In his head, he recalled the words Wei Jie had once said to him, half in jest—

“Here I thought you were being hunted because of that missing child from Mingyin Temple all those years ago—that would’ve at least given me a lead to go on. Turns out it’s actually about the Marquis Zhongyong’s household after all.”

“You’re the son of a prince, after all, set to inherit the title one day. Short of some matter of life and death concerning the succession, who would bother going after you?”

Wei Jie hadn’t been wrong.

Perhaps the “Noble One’s” true reason for hunting him down had nothing to do with the Marquis Zhongyong’s case at all.

Perhaps the reason the “Noble One” had been so intent on killing him all along was tied to the missing Fifth Prince.

Amid the tangled threads of his thoughts, he had finally found the right one to pull, and knew now where he needed to start.

Cheng Chang kept coughing violently, struggling to force out his final instruction: “Go to the Imperial City Bureau… find Wei Jie, tell him, investigate, invest—”

The mist before his eyes suddenly billowed outward, like a great net unfurling, and surged toward him all at once.