By midnight, the fire at the Imperial City Guard was finally extinguished, revealing the charred, blackened beams of the roof.

Word had it the fire started at dusk, beginning in the firewood storeroom before spreading to engulf the entire row of offices along the left side of the corridor.

Now that the flames were out, the guards waiting outside the corridor filed in one after another, carrying out charred body after charred body.

Among the dead were minor clerks who worked at the Imperial City Guard, officials who had come with Lord Chai of the Censorate, guards of the Imperial City Guard itself, and one man who had always stayed close to Wei Jie—the guard he trusted most.

His body was burned black. After the coroner examined it, he reported that the man hadn’t died from the fire at all, but from a single stab wound that had run clean through his abdomen.

As each body was carried out, Wei Jie rushed forward anxiously to identify it, until the last one—nearly reduced to charcoal—was brought out, and a guard shook his head. “That’s all of them, my lord. We’ve searched every inch three times over. This is the last body.”

Wei Jie looked up, stunned. “Then where is he?”

The third young master of Prince Cong’s household had vanished in the fire.

No sign of him alive, no body found dead.

According to everyone at the yamen who’d seen him, the third young master had last been seen in the corridor connecting the inner and outer offices, right as the fire broke out at dusk.

One guard ventured hesitantly, “Perhaps… the third young master saw the fire and left before the rest of us noticed.”

But the Imperial City Guard wasn’t that large a place, and every exit had been guarded. If Cheng Chang had left, how could there be absolutely no trace of him?

Wei Jie snapped angrily, “Search again!”

Earlier, Emperor Zhaoyuan had summoned him to Wende Hall for questioning. Though the emperor knew Wei Jie had traced things back to Consort Wan, and had been shocked by it, he hadn’t actually flown into a rage. In the end, he’d only said, “Since you’ve traced the clues this far, follow them and find my son Xu’er properly.”

Perhaps this once-formidable emperor had truly grown old—the grudges of the past had blurred and faded with the passing years, and all he wanted now, in what time he had left, was to be reunited with his own flesh and blood.

The moment Wei Jie left Wende Hall, he’d received word that the Imperial City Guard was on fire. By the time he rushed back to the yamen, the flames in the offices had already grown into an inferno.

Now, outside the Imperial City Guard’s compound, besides the rows of guards, there were also officials who had rushed over from various ministries to help.

One investigator from the Court of Judicial Review, known for his skill in examining cases, finished collecting testimonies and came forward to bow to Wei Jie. “My lord, based on my preliminary assessment, tonight’s fire at the Imperial City Guard was caused by this guard from the west side gate”—he pointed to the last body carried out of the storeroom—”who attempted to assassinate the third young master. Your guard and the outer office clerk fought him to protect the third young master, but were unfortunately killed by him.”

“Afterward, according to Lord Chai’s testimony, this guard drove the third young master into the storeroom at the far end of the corridor’s left side, in his attempt to kill him. Lord Chai brought men to rescue him, but the guard not only barred the door but also set the fire, apparently intending to die together with the third young master. When the fire grew too large, Lord Chai was forced to withdraw with his men and join the guards who’d arrived to fight the blaze. Throughout this time, every exit of the Imperial City Guard was heavily guarded, and the third young master was never seen leaving.”

“Lord Chai, does this account have any inaccuracies?” the investigator asked, turning to bow toward Chai Ping, who was off to the side having his wounds tended by the Imperial Physician.

Chai Ping shook his head. “Lord Li’s account is entirely accurate. There are no inaccuracies.”

A large patch of skin on his left arm had been burned raw and bloody by the fire, and in his panicked flight he’d also twisted his right ankle. He now sat outside the Imperial City Guard as the physician applied medicine to his rolled-up sleeve.

“As for the pursuit of the third young master,” Investigator Li continued, turning to look at Zhou Caiying, who crouched outside the yamen, “Young Master Zhou is certain that as soon as the third young master left the inner office, he sensed something was wrong?”

Zhou Caiying hugged his knees, nodding shakily.

“But as I understand it, Young Master Zhou was with the third young master at the time. Why did you alone manage to flee back to the inner office, while the third young master was trapped in the corridor?”

“I—I don’t know either. At the time, Mingying meant to go back to the inner office too, but he seemed unwell. I—I wanted to help support him, but I… I didn’t dare.”

“Why didn’t you dare?” Wei Jie demanded, grabbing Zhou Caiying by the collar and yanking him up. “Didn’t you grow up together? And you ran off alone when something like this happened? Are you even human?”

“I—I had no choice. He wanted to settle the score over his brother with me right then, and I was terrified. Besides, something was wrong with him—he couldn’t even walk steadily. If I’d tried to help him, we might both have failed to get away.” Zhou Caiying looked at Wei Jie in terror, his voice cracking. “I don’t know anything, I really don’t know anything…”

He truly didn’t know anything.

The night before, Chai Ping had only told him to tell Wei Jie the truth about what happened at Mingyin Temple back then. Nothing more.

Later, in the corridor, seeing something off about Cheng Chang’s reaction, he’d instinctively sensed danger and fled first.

Now, though he understood there was more to the story, he could hardly expose Chai Ping to his face.

Besides, Wei Jie had already been searching for the missing fifth prince—was there anything wrong with Chai Ping urging him to come tell the truth at the Imperial City Guard?

Zhou Caiying knew just how murky these waters ran—murky enough to swallow even a proper heir apparent whole. So even though he could guess at a sliver of the truth, he dared not say a word of it.

Seeing that Wei Jie wouldn’t let Zhou Caiying go, Chai Ping spoke up gently. “My lord, you may not know this, but the third young master hasn’t been well these past days. Ever since around the time the Marquis Zhongyong case was closed, he’s taken several days of leave—I hear he even fainted once before, and slept for nearly three days without waking. So it’s quite believable that Young Master Zhou says the third young master couldn’t walk steadily due to illness.”

At this, Wei Jie shoved Zhou Caiying away.

In truth, he didn’t harbor much suspicion toward this Zhou fellow. Looking at how spineless he was, even if he’d done something wrong, he’d surely just been used by someone else.

Wei Jie turned to Chai Ping. “By the way, Lord Chai, why did you suddenly come to the Imperial City Guard today?”

Chai Ping said, “I was organizing the closed case file for the Marquis Zhongyong matter and found a testimony missing. I wondered if the third young master might have taken it back to the mansion, but since he’d been on leave for illness these past days, I didn’t want to intrude on him. Hearing today that he’d come to the Imperial City Guard, I hurried over.”

Wei Jie made a noncommittal sound.

Seeing the deep worry etched between his brows, Chai Ping offered comfort. “You mustn’t blame yourself, my lord. I’m sure the third young master, being a man of fortune, will surely come to no harm.”

Chai Ping, past thirty, had a kind, gentle face and spoke in soft, measured tones—the sort of voice that could calm anyone just by listening to it.

But Wei Jie’s suspicions toward him weren’t so easily dispelled. Officials from the Censorate rarely had any dealings with the Imperial City Guard—so why, of all days, had he shown up today?

He was about to press further when a guard suddenly hurried over to report. “My lord, His Majesty has learned that the third young master went missing in the fire at the Imperial City Guard, and has ordered a citywide lockdown. Prince Cong is on his way into the palace, and the Grand Empress Dowager is rushing to the throne hall as well. The entire front palace is in chaos right now. His Majesty summons you to the throne hall at once.”

At this, Wei Jie clenched his fist quietly, then swept his sleeve back. “Let’s go.”

The medicine had already been applied. Chai Ping watched Wei Jie’s retreating figure, slowly rolled his sleeve back down over his injured arm, stood up, and said gently to the physician, “Thank you, doctor.”

The physician bowed with clasped hands. “No need for thanks, my lord. Once you’re home, be sure to keep the wound dry for seven days, and come to the Imperial Medical Institute each morning to have the dressing changed.”

“Understood.” Chai Ping nodded.

He offered another word of thanks, then, supported by a retainer who had already arrived, made his way toward a carriage waiting at the mouth of a nearby alley.

The early spring night was bitterly cold. As Chai Ping approached the carriage, the gentle, kindly expression on his face suddenly turned to ice.

He climbed into the carriage and gave the driver a flat, indifferent order: “Zhuque Street, in the south of the city.”

Half an hour later, the carriage stopped in front of a private residence on Zhuque Street. Chai Ping knocked three times, and shortly after, an old woman answered the door. On closer inspection, she was Physician Xue, who often treated Fang Furan at the Hechuntang clinic.

Seeing Chai Ping, she led him to the back courtyard, saying, “His Highness has been waiting for you since nightfall.”

Chai Ping acknowledged with a sound, straightened his robes, and stepped forward, bowing with clasped hands to the figure seated alone by a small pond. “Your Highness.”

Prince Ling nodded. “Well? Did you find him?”

Hearing this, Chai Ping understood at once that Prince Ling already knew of the third young master’s disappearance, and said, “Reporting to Your Highness, no, we did not find him.”

Prince Ling’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“Your Highness may not know, but this subordinate personally witnessed Tong Qi drive the third young master into the storeroom, and personally watched Tong Qi set the fire. At the time, the third young master seemed to be suffering some ailment, coughing up blood repeatedly. Although the flames hadn’t reached him yet, he was already at death’s door, and that storeroom had sheer walls on all four sides, with only one narrow, high window as a possible escape. This subordinate had our men posted outside that window—once the fire started, no one was seen escaping through it. By all rights, the third young master should have had no possibility of surviving. Yet somehow, he simply vanished into thin air.”

“It was the same last time, and now the same thing again. Is this cousin of mine blessed by heaven?” Prince Ling rubbed his temple, recalling the earlier incident of Cheng Chang falling from the cliff, and for a moment couldn’t decide whether to be furious or suspicious—he ended up laughing bitterly instead.

“Enough.” He let out a breath. “Send men to search immediately. If you find him, kill him on the spot.”

“Yes.” Chai Ping accepted the order.

“Was the aftermath handled?”

“Reporting to Your Highness, it’s been handled. The deaths of the guard and the outer office clerk, along with the pursuit of the third young master, have all been pinned on Tong Qi. Everyone who needed to be dealt with, including the young eunuch who passed word to the Imperial City Guard, has been cleanly taken care of. Additionally, to prevent the third young master from escaping the storeroom, this subordinate had him locked inside together with Tong Qi. Afterward, worried someone might notice the bronze lock and grow suspicious, this subordinate waited outside for a while once the fire started, then had the lock removed. It’s only…”

“Only what?”

Chai Ping hesitated, unsure how to put it into words.

He still remembered how Cheng Chang had looked the last time he saw him—his face deathly pale, blood trickling continuously from the corner of his mouth, his features still heaven-sent and beautiful, yet his eyes brimmed with towering hatred, casting a terrifying shadow over his entire being, like some vengeful ghost risen from the underworld.

At the time, Chai Ping had been utterly terrified. Though he’d wanted to flee immediately, he’d forced himself to wait outside the storeroom until the raging fire had thoroughly consumed the two men inside, before finally ordering the bronze lock removed.

But the moment the lock came off, flames had burst forth from the storeroom all at once, instantly engulfing the several men standing outside the door.

And that wasn’t the end of it—the flames, as though alive, had lunged after the remaining men as well.

Chai Ping had gone cold with terror at the time, feeling as though the surging fire was nothing less than the towering hatred he’d seen in Cheng Chang’s eyes just before the storeroom door closed.

He wanted them to pay with their lives.

He wanted every one of them to die badly.

Chai Ping had fled for his life, certain he too would be buried in that sea of flame—fortunate only to have his right arm burned.

He remembered, as he fled the office and cast one last glance behind him, glimpsing—faintly, amid the firelight—a golden butterfly.

The last time Cheng Chang had fallen from the cliff, the man Chai Ping had planted among Prince Yun’s shadow guards had also mentioned that someone at the cliff’s edge had seen a butterfly.

Chai Ping wasn’t sure whether this so-called butterfly counted as some strange omen, or whether he’d simply seen wrong—after all, dusk had already fallen by then, and it might have been nothing more than the last ray of evening light.

Chai Ping shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

He said, “But Your Highness, with matters having grown this serious, will Prince Cong pursue the matter?”

“Do you think Imperial Uncle has done nothing all this while?” Prince Ling sneered. “Where do you think Mingying got all those loyal, capable men serving under him? He used to be nothing but a wastrel young master, with no power or standing at court. Now, not even a year into his first post as Censor, why do you think so many court officials rallied behind him the day he brought down the fourth prince? For the fourth prince to go from crown prince apparent to someone no one even bothers with now—do you think a single mild imperial edict of censure from Father could have accomplished that alone? Changing the course of the times takes decades of quiet cultivation within these palace walls—there’s no other way.”

“Mingying is capable, yes, but every step he’s taken has been laid on a foundation Imperial Uncle built for him beforehand. Imperial Uncle may act in silence, but he’s been working hand in glove with Mingying all along—otherwise, how could the fourth prince have ended up where he is today?”

“This is also why Father was in such a hurry to name Mingying heir apparent to the princedom. Because as long as Mingying still wore the mask of a ‘wastrel young master,’ no matter how he and the fourth prince fought, it could all be dismissed as children’s squabbles. Father knew full well the fourth prince was no match for Mingying, and hoped to bind him with the title of heir apparent, so he’d spare the fourth prince.”

“A pity,” Prince Ling smiled, “it’s too late for that now.”

“By what Your Highness says, if Prince Cong learns that the third young master has vanished in a fire today, he’s bound to investigate—and in time, the suspicion might fall on us.”

“No need to worry,” Prince Ling said. “Father is shielding me.”

Not quite understanding, Chai Ping bowed toward him.

“Father has been emperor for far too long. To him, his reputation as sovereign, his throne, matters far more than his brotherly bond with Imperial Uncle.”

“No matter how much Father may resent me, with the fourth prince unable to ascend the throne, the fifth prince missing, and the sixth too young—until he finds the fifth prince, he has only me, the one son who can inherit his throne. He has to protect me.”

“As for Imperial Uncle, however much he may hate it, what can he actually do? Rebel? Rebellion requires resources. Back when he and Father were close as brothers, after Father ascended the throne, he treated Imperial Uncle generously, and Imperial Uncle in turn let Father gather up all the real power, keeping only some useless men under his own command. Given the current situation, as long as Father keeps him in check, he’s powerless to act. And Mingying is far too capable—he’s already stirred Father’s wariness. If Imperial Uncle makes even the slightest move now, wouldn’t that give Father the perfect excuse to charge Prince Cong’s household with treason?”

“I can already guess what Father will do when the time comes. He’ll think of their brotherly bond, punish Imperial Uncle lightly, and let Mingying shoulder most of the blame instead—conveniently removing this thorn in his side.”

“So, Imperial Uncle cannot touch me.”

Hearing Prince Ling’s words, Chai Ping couldn’t help but sigh. “This subordinate is starting to understand why Your Highness wants the throne.”

“They speak of heaven’s cycles, of good and evil bearing their due consequences—but sometimes, that so-called law of heaven rests in only one man’s hands.”

“Indeed.” Prince Ling sighed heavily.

He looked a little weary, rubbing his brow. “There’s only one matter left now. Send men to find Cheng Xu, and kill him.”

“Yes,” Chai Ping said. “This subordinate has learned quite a bit from Zhou Caiying these past two days. Back then at Mingyin Temple, the daily needs of the dowager consorts and concubines were tended to by eunuchs sent from the palace. Though Consort Wan and the fifth prince lived in seclusion halfway up the mountain, they too had an old eunuch and his young apprentice secretly caring for them. When the massacre happened, many eunuchs at the temple died, including the old eunuch who tended to Consort Wan—but that young apprentice vanished along with the fifth prince.”

“This subordinate thinks that while few may have ever seen the fifth prince himself, that young eunuch, in tending to Consort Wan and the fifth prince’s needs, must have had dealings with other people. This subordinate plans to start with that young eunuch, questioning those who served at Mingyin Temple back then—perhaps we can turn up some clue as to the fifth prince’s whereabouts.”

“Very well.” Prince Ling nodded, then sneered. “To think Mingying never realized the child he befriended at Mingyin Temple was his own cousin, going on and on about repaying a debt of gratitude. Repay what, exactly? He’s lost his memory and forgotten the man entirely. Otherwise, I might have been able to pry some information out of him myself.”

“There’s one more matter this subordinate would like Your Highness’s guidance on,” Chai Ping said. “The fifth young master of the Zhou Honggang household now knows a fair amount about what’s happened. Should this subordinate find an opportunity to dispose of him?”

Prince Ling considered this for a moment, then said flatly, “No need. He’s too timid to cause any trouble, and besides, with Mingying gone now, there’s no one left to shelter him. Keeping him alive still has its uses for me.”

With that, he stood, unhurriedly smoothing his sleeves. “You may go now. With such a great commotion in the palace tonight, I should go pay my respects as well.”

“Yes.” Chai Ping bowed with clasped sleeves, stepping back to clear the way.

———*—

The stars above had grown sparse. At dawn, the tightly shut gates of the Sui Palace suddenly swung open, and rows upon rows of guards filed out, heading through the streets and alleys of Jinling to post an imperial proclamation.

The proclamation bore a portrait—the figure in it strikingly handsome, almost otherworldly at first glance.

By full daylight, more and more common folk had gathered before the notice. Someone remarked, “How did he go missing again?”

“No idea.”

“Rivers and mountains may change, but a man’s nature never does, they say. Couldn’t sit still in the palace, went off gallivanting somewhere, probably. Bet it’ll be just like last time—he’ll turn up again in a few months.”

At the back of the crowd stood a man in brown robes and a man in black.

“Who is it?” the man in black asked—his eyes were covered with white cloth, and he could see nothing at all.

“Let me look again.”

Yun Luo gazed silently at the portrait, feeling a flicker of familiarity he couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t spent much time in Jinling before, and had rarely crossed paths with Cheng Chang. It was only from the murmurs of the crowd around them that he pieced together that the missing man was the third young master of Prince Cong’s household.

The two of them slipped away from the crowd without a word, and once they’d reached a quiet spot, the man in black said with a smile, “No wonder you didn’t recognize him from the portrait. I’ve seen the third young master a few times myself, in the palace—I doubt even the finest painter alive could capture a tenth of his actual looks.”

Yun Luo fell silent for a moment, then said, “A’Jiu told me that this past year, A’Ting seems to have grown quite close to this third young master.”

He paused. “Why has he suddenly gone missing?”

“Worried about him?” the man in black asked.

Yun Luo said, “I’m worried about A’Ting.”

“As I recall, the third young master was close with the fifth prince—probably the person in this world who best remembers what the fifth prince looks like,” the man in black said. “Well then, since we’re already looking for the fifth prince, might as well look for him too, while we’re at it.”

(End of Volume Two)