In an instant, the resentment dissolved, and the warm memories of their teacher-student bond came flooding back.

The Sixth Imperial Prince suddenly recalled: the Deputy Tutor had once taken him — confined within the palace walls and largely overlooked — out to travel through the countryside, teaching him about farming and sericulture, and praising him for having a compassionate heart for the common people, saying he was worthy of his imperial bloodline…

That had been the first time he had picked himself up with any confidence, feeling he was no less worthy than any of his other imperial brothers.

The tears that had been pressed down by the bitter tea now welled back up like a spring.

The Sixth Imperial Prince suddenly threw his arms around the Deputy Tutor’s legs again, like a lost lamb that had finally found its ewe. He choked out: “For the Deputy Tutor to have treated me this way, and yet I have harbored nothing but disrespect for him all this time — I have truly wronged my teacher…”

Chu Linlang, to avoid any awkwardness, had deliberately moved far away. Yet from Situ Sheng’s room she could still faintly hear the sound of loud, heaving sobs.

The sound grew louder, giving Xia He beside her quite a start. She said in a small voice: “Lord Situ… is he applying torture to the prince in his study?”

Chu Linlang stood up and looked over at the study door. She concluded it was unlikely — after all, the coal brazier in the study had just been taken away by Guanqi. Without it, you couldn’t get up to any real torture!

That evening, another pair of chopsticks was added to the Situ household dinner table. The Sixth Imperial Prince stayed behind to share a simple home-cooked meal with his teacher.

The teacher had said: in the future, in public, there was no need for him to show excessive warmth. A friendship between honorable men was as pure as water — but it ought to be a cup of water capable of saving a life when needed. There was no necessity for anyone to be made aware that the two of them had repaired their teacher-student bond.

Situ Sheng also took the opportunity to analyze the current political situation for the Sixth Imperial Prince, who had been losing sleep for the past several days. The Crown Prince’s faction had already sent a warning to the Sixth Highness, and the Sixth Prince had shown good sense in responding and dealing with the relevant parties — effectively declaring his position. There was no need to bring this matter up again.

Going forward, if anyone asked about the matter of the ships and cargo, the Sixth Imperial Prince was to give no answer whatsoever.

As for his current responsibility — the drought in the northwest — that was a deeply entrenched local problem that could not be resolved quickly. If a lasting solution was truly desired, the correct approach was, as the Sixth Highness had previously proposed to His Majesty, to dig canals for irrigation.

But the national treasury was currently strained, and His Majesty was inclined to flare into a fury over anything that required spending money. The reason the Sixth Prince had been berated before was not that the approach was foolish — only that it had landed directly on His Majesty’s sore spot.

So long as the Sixth Highness could find a way to raise the funds needed to build the water canals without drawing on the national treasury, he should no longer risk angering the imperial presence.

As for how to raise those funds — that was something the Sixth Imperial Prince would need to work out for himself.

In short, the Sixth Imperial Prince arrived as a drooping, limp beansprout, and left under cover of night from the Situ household like a sapling that had just been properly watered — vibrant, animated, brimming with confidence and resolve.

And in return for this gift, the Sixth Highness was only too happy to fulfill his teacher’s modest request with wholehearted effort.

Within just a few days, a detailed account of the newly transferred presiding judge Steward Cheng and his family’s landholdings was retrieved from the Ministry of Finance by the Sixth Imperial Prince and delivered to Situ Sheng’s desk by a close personal attendant.

Situ Sheng had no more patience for those piles of dusty old case files. He pushed them to one side and, sipping his stimulating bitter scorched rice tea, settled in with keen interest to go through his superior Steward Cheng’s financial records.

There was nothing else to be done. This obtuse superior, clearly acting under someone’s instructions to make his life difficult, had to be dealt with by someone who was supposedly a “harsh official” — otherwise, what was the point of carrying that name?

Whenever Chu Linlang came in to report the household accounts to Situ Sheng, she would inadvertently catch the faint smile at the corner of his mouth. It was the kind of smile that gave one a slight chill — and she could only wonder which unfortunate corrupt official had caught his eye.

Steward Cheng had indeed been installed by the Crown Prince at great effort.

The Court of Judicial Review was a pivotal institution for trying important cases. If the heir apparent could not place his own trusted people within it, how could he rest easy?

As for Situ Sheng — the Crown Prince had some appreciation for talented people, but since this man refused to play along, there was nothing for it but to make his life uncomfortable, while simultaneously letting others see what became of those who crossed him.

Very soon, everyone in the entire Court of Judicial Review knew that the newly arrived presiding judge had taken a dislike to the Deputy Minister.

Tedious and pointless tasks rained down like a collapsing mountain, all piled onto Situ Sheng.

Some idled by and watched the spectacle with amusement, quietly placing private bets on when exactly this Deputy Minister would snap and go complain to His Majesty.

If that were to happen, Steward Cheng probably had his counterarguments ready. But then, going over a superior’s head to make a complaint was generally frowned upon by the Emperor as well. And given that Steward Cheng had the backing of the Crown Prince — the nation’s heir apparent — if this Deputy Minister went to complain about the Crown Prince, that would truly be laughable.

Yet the good show they had been anticipating kept not materializing. Lord Deputy Minister had made a complete reversal from the decisive, thundering ferocity he had displayed in purging the Prince of Tai’s faction — no longer knowing how to adapt and instead turning meek and compliant. No matter how unreasonable Steward Cheng’s demands were, Situ Sheng accepted every one of them and never pushed back.

Chu Linlang, however, was very aware of how hard Situ Sheng had been working these days.

She had once watched Zhou Sui’an grumble endlessly when he had to compile a few volumes of account records from the counties and prefectures at year’s end, thinking that was the height of exhausting labor.

But watching Situ Sheng work himself to the bone without the slightest regard for his own welfare, she finally understood what it meant to work oneself to death over a desk.

It was alarming to watch as a bystander, and one couldn’t help but hold one’s breath with worry on his behalf.

Chu Linlang also noticed that Situ Sheng seemed to have a naturally light sleep, sometimes accompanied by headaches. But when she was in the study practicing calligraphy, he could manage a muddled doze and relieve some of his fatigue.

Even Guanqi teased: “Chu Niangzi, is it that your calligraphy is so atrocious that our master gets sleepy just looking at it?”

Chu Linlang paid no attention to his ribbing. While boiling a restorative broth for Situ Sheng, she began bringing her needlework basket into his study.

Sometimes, even when she wasn’t practicing calligraphy, she would slip into the study and sit quietly — not disturbing the master at all — simply leaning by the study window, keeping warm a cup of soothing dried tangerine peel and longan blossom tea, while embroidering flowers.

And when Situ Sheng looked up from his writing, he could see a beautiful woman sitting by the open window, her billowing dark hair pinned elegantly, her pale neck bowed, slender wrists turning, fingertips gliding through, leisurely embroidering — like a lady from a master painter’s brushwork.

Accompanied by the faint, delicate fragrance from her person, and the rising steam carrying the scent of dried tangerine peel, drowsiness came with unusual ease.

He would write official documents for a while, then settle comfortably into the reclining chair for a nap.

Sometimes, when his sleep was light, he could hear her quiet, light footsteps approaching, and feel the warmth of a soft blanket being laid over him.

Situ Sheng had grown accustomed by now to having someone accompany him in the study. He no longer jolted awake so sharply that she stumbled onto the coal brazier.

Yet in that half-dreaming, half-waking state, he still had to restrain himself from reaching out to touch the woman nearby…

Each time this happened, Situ Sheng would silently hold his breath, clench his fist, and then slowly let his breathing return to its steady rhythm.

He kept reminding himself: without enough strength, one should not reach for what one had no right to touch. But this kind of willpower, when confronted with a temptation he had never before encountered, was like a dam eaten through by termites — it was growing increasingly difficult to hold.

Before, he had never wanted anything. But now he had discovered that it was not that he had never wanted — he simply had never known what it felt like to have these things.

Once tasted, one came to crave the marrow — and out of nowhere, desires one ought not to have took root and grew. Knowing it could not be, it was still like wild grass springing up in the heart, making it impossible to return to the barren emptiness of before…

The small charcoal brazier bubbled softly. Only when the woman beside him quietly laid the blanket over him and slipped out the door did he slowly open his eyes, and gaze at the half-closed door.

He breathed in silently the faint, elegant fragrance that still lingered in the air, then rose and returned to his desk — though what he was studying now was not the Court of Judicial Review’s dusty old case files, but rather the Ministry of Finance’s land account ledgers that the Sixth Imperial Prince had been having people transcribe for him over these past days…

As for the petty-minded Steward Cheng, having found that no matter how much paperwork he piled on Situ Sheng, it produced no notable effect, he changed his approach and recently stopped assigning him any cases at all.

For a time, Situ Sheng once again became a man of leisure at the Court of Judicial Review. His colleagues all sighed with pity on Lord Deputy Minister’s behalf. Because Steward Cheng’s timing had been perfectly calculated.

It happened to fall right at the midpoint of the year. If Lord Deputy Minister continued at this idle pace for the rest of the year, when the end-of-year performance review arrived and the Ministry of Personnel came to write up each official’s evaluation — when they got to Situ Sheng, the page would be blank. Not a single accomplishment to his name.

With an evaluation like that, how could Situ Sheng possibly pass His Majesty’s performance review?

For a young official, being left to idle away — that was the most lethal move of all.

Once a record of idleness was entered in the ledger, future promotions and advancement in one’s career became essentially hopeless.

But Situ Sheng had brought it on himself, hadn’t he? Of all the people to provoke, he had to go and provoke the Crown Prince!

If only he had used the credit of bringing down the Prince of Tai to pledge his loyalty to the heir apparent, how smooth would his path have been!

To say nothing of the Court of Judicial Review — even the officials at the Ministry of Finance next door, when they occasionally got together over drinks, would sigh and observe that Situ Sheng, who had seemed to possess some measure of depth and shrewdness, had repeatedly made disastrous moves and single-handedly turned a winning game into a loss.

Zhou Sui’an was also among those sighing and shaking their heads — though hearing that his inward point of secret comparison had taken a downward turn, Lord Zhou felt a private, guilty thrill of satisfaction.

His new wife Xie Youran, after a period of depression following her rejection by her parents’ household, had roused herself back up with renewed energy.

Xie Youran had recently been actively attending banquets large and small. Though she could not return to her parents’ home, she could see her mother at these gatherings now that her mother was permitted to go out again.

Xie Youran had eventually pieced together the general picture from her mother — that Aunt An’s household had used her father’s name and the Sixth Prince’s name to stir up serious trouble. In order to avoid implicating her older sister and making her life difficult at the royal residence, they had to keep a low profile and were unable to press the matter against Chu Linlang to its conclusion.

Xie Youran was too lazy to untangle all the threads and implications. She simply concluded that her father had always favored her older sister and her brother-in-law, and had therefore been cold toward her and Zhou Sui’an.

Having decided this, she was determined to compete with her older sister — to see whether the older sister’s supposedly good-for-nothing prince was more reliable, or whether her own pick of a young talent with a bright future had more to offer.

With this in mind, she had recently been keeping close company with relatives of the Ministry of Finance, and had even begun dragging Zhou Sui’an along to attend banquets of all sizes. The prevailing wind at court these days still blew predominantly toward the Crown Prince’s camp.

Though the Fourth Imperial Prince had regained imperial favor, his mother’s family had no power base, and without the Prince of Tai’s support behind him, he could not amount to much for the time being. The Crown Prince was different — though his imperial mother had died young, his mother’s family wielded enormous influence at court.

Anyone with clear eyes could see that the great throne would, in the end, belong to the Crown Prince.

And so Zhou Sui’an, at Xie Youran’s urging, had gradually grown more distant from his brother-in-law the Sixth Highness, and was instead quite actively cultivating relationships with the Crown Prince’s trusted colleagues.

In truth, Zhou Sui’an didn’t particularly want to — but his father-in-law’s family had made it clear they were not going to look after him as a son-in-law. He had to find his own way, and couldn’t very well end up following in Situ Sheng’s footsteps.

That day, Zhou Sui’an was drinking with a group of colleagues at a restaurant in the bustling city. Glancing down through the second-floor window, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette walking along the street below.

Looking more carefully, he recognized that tall figure as none other than Situ Sheng, the very person they had just been discussing. And walking beside him was a slender, graceful figure — his former wife, Chu Linlang.

Catching sight of Chu Linlang, Zhou Sui’an’s eyes lit up involuntarily, and he leaned forward slightly for a better look — only to wrinkle his brow.

That Chu Linlang had no sense of propriety — why was she standing so close to Lord Situ?

The two of them seemed to be in a jewelry and jade shop, and Chu Linlang was helping Situ Sheng select a jade pendant to match his belt. She held two pieces in her hand, comparing them one by one against the tall man’s waist, undecided. At some point the man lowered his head and said something, and she tilted her face up and flashed him a sweet, uninhibited smile, not even trying to conceal it!

Zhou Sui’an watched with a rising heat in his chest, thinking — did Chu Linlang never look at herself in a mirror? Did she not know how old she was? Did she think she was still some unmarried young woman, smiling at a man like that — what was she trying to do?

Even if she was living as a servant in the Deputy Minister’s household, she shouldn’t be this familiar with the master of the house!

Although he and Chu Linlang had parted ways, in the deepest part of Zhou Sui’an’s heart, he still considered her his wife. He even felt that the two of them had simply had a falling-out, a bad quarrel between them.

Eventually, when Chu Linlang came to understand the hardships a woman alone faced in the world, there would still be room for them to reconcile. A divorced woman who couldn’t have children — who would want her? It was just a matter of waiting until Chu Linlang came to her senses and came back to find him!

Watching Chu Linlang being so close with Situ Sheng, the emotion rising in Zhou Sui’an was a fury that felt almost like betrayal.

He didn’t even finish his drink, but went charging downstairs to go after them — only to find that the pair he had just seen had disappeared without a trace, nowhere to be found.

Chu Linlang had originally gone out with Xia He to buy some things. But since the anniversary of Situ Sheng’s mother’s death was approaching, he also needed to buy paper offerings for the memorial — so they had gone together.

Passing a jewelry shop, she had pulled Situ Sheng inside on a whim to help him choose some accessories to go with his belt and clothing.

Though Situ Sheng had been largely idle lately, there were still social drinking engagements to attend.

And somehow, though Situ Sheng and Qi Gong clashed with words every single time they met, the frequency of their meetings had been increasing. Every few days, he would go and play chess with the Director Qi Gong.

This meant the master couldn’t wear the same outfit two days in a row, and his accessories in particular needed some variety.

She had so many choices she had confused herself, and so she asked Lord Situ which he preferred. Situ Sheng’s answer was direct: “Just get both.”

Chu Linlang felt that was far too extravagant. She had also heard from managers of other households that his official fortunes had not been going well lately.

Though she didn’t want to curse the master, what if he got demoted and sent home? Opening up income and cutting expenses — saving more silver — was the practical thing to do.

Situ Sheng was far too perceptive. Hearing the drift of her words, he guessed her meaning and said directly: “Don’t bother trying to save money on my behalf. No matter how down on my luck I get, I’m not about to have my household’s female estate manager eating chaff and drinking dishwater.”

Chu Linlang couldn’t help a burst of laughter. She looked up at him and said: “In that case, I had better grow my business into something bigger. If you ever tire of being an official, perhaps you’d consider coming to work for me as an accountant? What do you think?”

Having said this, Chu Linlang felt the words had been rather too outrageous even by her own standards, and couldn’t help sticking out her tongue and quickly lowering her head.

Saying something so utterly impertinent — she would never have dared say this when she first came to the Deputy Minister’s residence. But now, without realizing it, she had been spoiled by this Deputy Minister just like Guanqi had been.

Fortunately, Situ Sheng responded as he always did — not scolding her lack of decorum — and simply gave a light laugh: “Keep me? I’m afraid you couldn’t afford my salary requirements…”

The two came out of the jewelry shop and left the city together, though they parted ways halfway.

Chu Linlang took the carriage to make a circuit of the official farmland and pick up some fresh eggs along the way. Situ Sheng, with Guanqi in tow, carried the spirit paper and other memorial offerings they had purchased, and headed for Canglong Mountain on the outskirts of the city.

On a earthen mound at the foot of the mountain, there was a solitary grave mound.

This was where his “mother,” Li Shi, was buried.

Long ago, when his birth mother “passed away,” Li Shi had taken him in at the request of an old acquaintance. Under the cover story that her own son had died young and she had charitably taken in a wayside orphan, she had formally adopted him, giving him a proper place in the Situ family’s clan records under the name “Sheng.” His adoptive mother Li Shi had pinched every coin, hired him into a private school to study, and supported him through the provincial examinations.

Sadly, he had been able to show his filial devotion for only a few years before his adoptive mother died from the flare-up of a chronic illness.

He remembered that on her deathbed, she had taken his hand and said: “When I breathe my last, delay the announcement of my death by five days. By that time, it will also happen to be his death anniversary. You need not observe any restriction — use my name as cover, and burn a handful of paper offerings for him too, and shed a proper, unrestrained cry of tears.”

Not long after saying these words, she breathed her last. Situ Sheng followed her dying wishes and postponed the official announcement of his adoptive mother’s death anniversary.

Every year on this day, he prepared two sets of memorial offerings.

One set was for the adoptive mother whose kindness to him had been as weighty as a mountain. The other — for that ancestor whose name could never be spoken.

Situ Sheng stood with his gaze lowered, burning the paper offerings. Behind him came the sound of footsteps — from a side path along the mountain came a woodcutter wearing a wide-brimmed bamboo hat.

The woodcutter appeared exhausted, and set down his load to rest on a nearby earthen slope. After glancing around to confirm no one was nearby, he watched Situ Sheng slowly burn the offerings, then said in a low voice: “The letter from the master was sent to you — did you receive it? Why have there been no movements from you up to now?”

Hearing that familiar voice, Situ Sheng didn’t need to turn around to know who had come.

He continued burning the paper offerings, and said evenly: “I am nothing more than a small fifth-rank capital official. What makes your people so confident that I can sway the court and immediately open the border markets? Whatever needed to be said, I have already said. Whether anyone listens depends on those above me.”

The visitor also had ears inside the court, and naturally knew that Situ Sheng’s words were accurate.

But the woodcutter still gave a cold snort: “The master sent me with a message for you. Though you did not grow up at his side, never forget the true surname of the blood that runs in your veins. A blood debt and a deep vendetta — do not forget it. Do not think that by entering the Situ family’s clan records, you can huddle away and live a comfortable life, greedily clinging to a little wealth and status… The master can arrange a glorious future for you, and just as easily reduce you to nothing overnight!”

By the end of his speech, it was undisguised and open-faced threatening.

Situ Sheng slowly rose, patted the ash from his lapels, and replied with a question rather than an answer: “Is she doing well lately?”

The man beneath the bamboo hat narrowed his eyes coldly and gave a short laugh: “Whether she is well or not — does that not entirely depend on how you perform, Lord Situ?”

Situ Sheng asked no more. He simply said: “The Crown Prince has been suppressing me quite harshly of late, and there is little I can do for the moment. However, the Crown Prince and the Jing Kingdom appear to have been in close contact, and he is keenly invested in this matter. His Majesty’s priorities remain focused on domestic affairs, and he avoids the pressure of border defense — so the border market should have a resolution by the end of this month. There is truly no need for you to come to me and threaten me with words.”

The man gave a cold laugh and said: “The master has been biding his time and kept you as a hidden piece on the board. You must also dedicate yourself to climbing higher — do not harbor thoughts of slacking or just getting by. The sooner you accomplish what is needed, the sooner you can go back and see those you want to see. Is that not so?”

Having said this, without waiting for Situ Sheng to respond, he stood up, shouldered his carrying pole, and strode away in large steps.

This hidden piece didn’t amount to much in the end. But it was the master’s instruction to keep him in check at all times, to tighten the leash on his rebellious streak. The words that needed to be said had been said, and now he could report back and be on his way.

He completed his errand, intending to turn and go — but in an instant there was a flash before his eyes, and the tall man had appeared directly in front of him. Then a heavy punch sent him flying through the air, and he landed hard on the ground.

The woodcutter was utterly shocked and said in startled fear: “You… what are you doing?”

Situ Sheng’s eyes slowly filled with a surging, billowing killing intent. His voice was as cold as ice: “On a day like today, someone like you has absolutely no business being here!”

The man spat out a mouthful of blood and scrambled backward in terror, continuing his threats in a panic: “If you dare to kill me, you won’t…”

Before he could finish, Situ Sheng gave a sudden smile: “She is nothing but a living corpse regardless — this filthy, rotten world has long ceased to hold any meaning for her. You tell your master to know his limits. Do not push me too hard and corner me too tight. He should understand better than anyone whose blood flows through my veins — I am born heartless and cold by nature! If you drive me into a corner, you had better watch out for this born madman losing his mind entirely!”

Having said this, he kicked the man hard again with full force, his voice glacially cold: “Get out! Do not appear before this grave again!”

The man felt as though several of his ribs had been kicked in. All the swagger with which he had threatened others just moments ago had completely fled him. He could only scramble to his feet and lurch away.

A cold wind swept through. Situ Sheng stood motionless before the grave for a long stretch of time. Only after quite a while did he unclench the fist he had been gripping tight.

Here on the outskirts, the landscape was vast and open all around. The solitary grave cast a long shadow in the moonlight, and only the howling cold wind spiraled and keened — like a wild beast crying out in grief.

He remembered — twelve… no, thirteen years ago, it had been just like this. The cold wind cutting to the bone, snow blanketing the weapons and bows.

He had been hidden inside a military supply barrel reeking of salted cured fish. All around him was the roar of battle, shouts and screams of men fighting to the death.

The heavy stench of blood mingled with the foul smell of cured fish flooded into his nostrils without mercy, making him want to retch — yet he could only press his hand over his mouth and hold onto the last words spoken to him: “Good boy, hide inside the barrel and don’t move. I’ll come back for you soon…”

He had listened. He had curled up motionless inside the barrel, and yet that person had broken the promise. He never came back.

The familiar voices all around him fell silent one by one, replaced by unintelligible, crude laughter in a foreign tongue he couldn’t understand.

Someone was clearing the battlefield, hauling away the grain and military supplies. But the barrel he was hiding in stank too badly and was passed over in disgust.

This kind of cured salted fish that only the poor of Jin ate — the Jing Kingdom soldiers who didn’t eat fish at all avoided it as though it were spoiled dried fish. After the barrel was kicked off the cart, no one came to look inside it carefully.

When the world around him had gone completely quiet, the small child finally crawled out of the fish barrel — only to look upon a field of corpses and pools of blood stretching to the horizon.

That person was easy to find. He was lying not far away, as though in his last moments he had been desperately fighting his way toward this spot. The armor carved with the beast-lion patterns that the young boy had always envied and begged to wear was now so caked with blood it was unrecognizable. And that great, powerful body — was without a head.

Because the heads of that man and countless other brave Jin soldiers had been severed by the enemy and taken away as trophies of war along with the grain and supplies.

The small child had been like a lost young animal — clutching tightly that cold, headless body, gazing blankly around at the vast field of corpses, utterly motionless…

That woodcutter just now had dredged up every dark emotion buried within him.

The surging, flooding dark memories closed in, and even the revolting smell of the cured fish flooded his nostrils with vivid reality.

Situ Sheng slowly crouched down, making a determined effort to rein in his nearly uncontrollable emotions. Then he rose, and walked to stand before the gravestone.

The gravestone bore his adoptive mother’s birthplace and name. But on the ground beneath the gravestone — where he had written with his own hand before burning the paper offerings — was another name: the tomb of his grandfather, General Yang Xun, Pillar of the Nation.

No one knew that inside his adoptive mother’s coffin, there was also a rusted suit of armor.

This was both his adoptive mother’s grave, and a secret cenotaph for a general whose name could never be spoken.

He finished burning the remaining paper offerings, then smoothed away the written characters on the ground with his hand. Only then did he rise and walk slowly down toward the foot of the mountain.

And yet at this moment, he seemed once again to have become a soul-less walking corpse — drifting through the vast world without aim, thinking nothing, daring to think nothing…

Guanqi followed at a short distance behind him, his face full of anxiety, as though afraid the master would fall back into that painful, self-tormenting place.