The Crown Prince had not exchanged letters with the Xie family for more than a year.
In fact, none of the Crown Prince’s attendants had appeared even once during that time.
And that silence had probably begun the moment Xie Yuan decided to sit for the imperial examinations.
Xie Yuan was twenty-three this year. Like Meng Xi’ang, he had been known as a child prodigy since the age of three or four.
But unlike Meng Xi’ang, his talent was even greater. And as he grew older, instead of fading, it expanded—like a sponge constantly absorbing new knowledge.
Yet fate treated different people differently.
When he was very young, people had lavished praise and admiration upon him. But only a few years later, it was as if he had vanished from the world.
Even though he still studied at the academy and still occasionally visited relatives and acquaintances, his reputation slowly disappeared. Compared with Meng Xi’ang, he was not even worth a single strand of hair.
At twenty-three, men of this era were often already fathers.
Yet Xie Yuan did not even have a maidservant by his side. Every day he simply read and wrote, never arguing with anyone. If he had not suddenly decided to take the spring examinations, people might have assumed he had no ambition at all—that he was nothing more than a wooden figure.
The most senior member of the Xie family was Xie Chuan, the titled Duke of Fangling.
He had not accomplished much in life. When he served as an official, the highest rank he reached was fourth rank, serving as prefect of Daming Prefecture. The ducal title had only been granted after his daughter entered the palace.
The current emperor’s claim to the throne had been completely undisputed.
The Benevolent Emperor had six sons. The eldest died of smallpox at age three. The second son became Emperor Tianshou.
With the Benevolent Emperor’s famously mild temperament, the ministers worried he might also die early and urged him to establish a crown prince. He agreed immediately—without hesitation, and without even carefully choosing.
He simply followed the ancient Zhou rites: if there was no legitimate eldest son, then appoint the eldest son regardless.
Thus Emperor Tianshou became Crown Prince without any obstacles. Even if his brothers wanted to challenge him, their father would never allow it.
The Benevolent Emperor had once openly declared his contempt for Emperor Taizong of Tang for killing his brother to seize the throne, saying such behavior showed no sense of propriety at all.
After he said something like that, no matter how unwilling the other princes might have felt, they had no choice but to keep their heads down.
After all, a “benevolent emperor” was still an emperor—someone who could decide the course of their entire lives.
And the daughter of the Xie family had been chosen by the Benevolent Emperor himself to become the Crown Princess.
In his view, when choosing a wife one should choose virtue. One should not follow the example of the Tang dynasty, stuffing the palace full of women from powerful aristocratic families—former princesses, widows of other men, all thrown into the harem without distinction. Such behavior, he felt, was utterly uncultured.
A crown princess, after all, would one day become the mother of the nation. Better to choose someone with a gentle personality and modest family background—someone unlikely to stir up trouble.
Emperor Tianshou himself had been unhappy with this arrangement. He did not like such a woman.
But his father insisted on controlling his marriage.
Thus Xie Ningxun entered the Eastern Palace as Crown Princess. Her father was granted the title Duke of Fangling, and her elder brother—only twenty at the time—was appointed Zhengfeng Grand Master, allowing him to enter the palace freely.
At the time, people said the Xie family’s ancestral graves must have been smoking with good fortune. To have produced such a daughter—truly one person ascending to heaven while the chickens and dogs followed along.
Yet only eight years later, the Duke of Fangling resigned his post and returned home. Xie You was demoted again and again, even thrown into prison several times.
All those who had once praised the empress suddenly sealed their lips tightly, not daring to utter another word.
When the Crown Prince was very young, the Xie family could not even catch a glimpse of him. Xie You once considered using money to grease the right palms—doing it quietly if necessary—just to see him once and confirm whether the Crown Prince was safe. But the moment he even hinted at the idea, his father, the old Duke, scolded him harshly and forced him to abandon the thought.
Later, when the Crown Prince grew older, he was no longer as tightly constrained as he had been in childhood. He also had people around him whom he could trust. So he took the initiative to reach out to the Xie family. At that time Xie Yuan was only around ten years old. He watched as his father held the greeting letter sent by His Highness the Crown Prince and silently shed tears. Although he could not understand the contents, he remembered that scene clearly.
Grandfather Xie Chuan, however, acted as though the letter did not exist. Even when Xie You held it right under his nose, he did not so much as glance at it.
From that letter onward, the Eastern Palace would send something out every few months. Sometimes it was a letter, though it contained nothing sensitive—only greetings. The Crown Prince would write about what he had been studying lately and say that he was doing well in the Eastern Palace, telling them not to worry. Other times it was food. In short, everything he sent was something that would not keep long. Once it arrived, they could not even keep it around to look at for a while; they had to eat it that very day, or it would spoil.
The Xie family also tried sending fine things to the Eastern Palace. But the guard who came to deliver the letters refused to accept anything. He said that aside from family letters, His Highness the Crown Prince wanted nothing.
The words “family letter” immediately silenced Xie You. That night, Xie Yuan saw his father sitting beneath the moon, his expression indescribably desolate.
By then Xie Yuan was already quite grown, yet he had never arranged a marriage. Not just him—even his father remained single. And that was not all: his grandfather had been widowed at forty-three and had never remarried either.
Among official families, which man waited even half a year after his wife died before seeking a new bride through a matchmaker? It had nothing to do with deep affection and everything to do with appearances. In these times, if a man grew older without a proper wife, people would look at him as though asking, “Is something wrong with you?”
Yet in their family there were four unmarried men in a row. It was not that they did not want to marry—they simply did not dare.
Given the circumstances of the Xie family, even if someone were foolish enough to push their daughter toward such a fire pit, the Xies could not in good conscience stand at the bottom and catch her.
That night, Xie Yuan sat in the pavilion with Xie You. His temperament resembled his father’s—quiet. If no one spoke to him, he might go an entire day without saying a single word. After sitting silently on the stone bench for a while, Xie You finally spoke in a low voice.
“His Highness treats the Xie family, who have nothing left, as his own family. One can only imagine what kind of dragon’s pool and tiger’s den the palace must be…”
“I can still rely on you all and support each other. But he is alone…”
Xie Yuan sat beside him and listened for a moment. Then he asked softly, “Father, if I take the metropolitan examination, do you think I could pass?”
Xie You looked up in shock.
…
Xie Yuan’s learning could hardly be described merely as “well-read.” Even the great scholars might not match the breadth of knowledge he carried in his mind. When he asked that question, it was not modesty—he truly was uncertain. If he went to take the exam and someone saw his name and remembered that he belonged to the maternal family of the late Empress, would they simply fail him outright?
His name had once carried little recognition. But two years earlier he had taken the provincial examination. At that time no one remembered who he was, and he had placed first—becoming the top scholar of the province. His reputation rose instantly, and people in Yingtian Prefecture took note of him. This time, things might be different.
Under the moonlight, father and son stared at each other in silence. Neither could give an answer.
Yet the next day, Xie Yuan still told his family that he intended to try.
When his younger brother heard the news, he immediately burst into laughter and clapped in approval, saying it should have happened long ago.
Xie You lowered his eyes and said nothing. Their grandfather, however, flew into a rage. Pointing at Xie Yuan’s nose, he cursed him as an unfilial descendant and immediately called for the family disciplinary rod, intending to break his legs on the spot so he would never sit for the examination.
The last time Xie Yuan had taken the provincial examination, his grandfather had also opposed it fiercely. Xie Yuan had been mentally prepared. He believed that his aunt’s fate had frightened the old man; now the grandfather would rather the entire family do nothing than allow the Xie name to draw attention again.
But if they avoided attention entirely, there would be no way forward. Serving the court was not Xie Yuan’s ambition, and as for rescuing the Crown Prince, he dared not claim such grand intentions. He simply wanted to do something—anything was better than remaining at home day after day, rereading the Confucian classics he had nearly memorized.
His grandfather’s violent reaction was expected. What Xie Yuan had not expected was that when word of this decision was delivered into the palace, the Crown Prince responded with a message: from now on, do not send him any more letters.
That single sentence left Xie Yuan stunned on the spot.
More than a year had passed since then. Xie Yuan tried writing letters. Xie You tried to arrange a chance encounter within the inner city. His younger brother Xie Yun even dared to go to Jiming Temple hoping to meet the Crown Prince in secret. But none of their attempts succeeded. Xie Yun was even struck away by Captain Yu, one of the Crown Prince’s guards, with the sheath of his blade. When he returned home, he limped for several days.
It could be said that the Xie family had spent the past year in quiet discouragement.
Xie Yuan took the examination for himself, for the Xie family—and also for the Crown Prince. Yet the Crown Prince had been so cold and unfeeling, cutting off contact entirely the moment he said he would.
Fortunately, that gloom finally lifted today.
Holding the paper Meng Xizhao had given him, Xie Yuan stepped through the gate of his home. Even someone like him, who rarely showed emotion, could not conceal a hint of excitement.
There were no women in the household. Aside from Xie Yun occasionally sneaking out at night to drink at the pleasure houses, everyone else stayed quietly at home—either reading books or practicing calligraphy.
A scholarly family… lived just that austerely.
Xie Yuan strode quickly into the main hall. Excitedly he raised the paper in his hand. His hand trembled and trembled, yet after trembling for a long time, he still could not speak.
…When someone rarely speaks in daily life, it is easy to fail at critical moments.
Xie You and Xie Yun were seated across from each other playing chess. Seeing his eldest son like this, Xie You frowned.
“Dalang, did someone at the Qionglin Banquet give you trouble?”
Xie Yun also looked up at his elder brother.
“Even if someone made things difficult for you, you wouldn’t look like this. Big Brother, did some family take a liking to you and want you as their son-in-law? The paper you’re holding—could it be the birth date and horoscope of some young lady?”
Xie Yun grew more confident the more he guessed. Yes—something like this was the only thing that could make his elder brother lose composure like that.
Xie Yuan: “…Nonsense!”
With that interruption, the surge of emotion in his chest gradually settled. Pressing his lips together, he walked to Xie You and handed the paper to him.
“Father, His Highness had someone deliver this to me today.”
The moment those words came out, Xie You’s eyes widened, while Xie Yun raised his brows high.
Xie You hurriedly took the letter. The moment he saw the long bamboo drawn at the top, he could not help letting out a small laugh.
“That’s right. One look and you can tell His Highness drew this.”
Then he saw the poem written beside it.
Xie You: “……”
They had not seen each other for a year. Had His Highness’s handwriting deteriorated this much?
Seeing his father frowning at the poem for so long, Xie Yuan realized he had misunderstood and explained, “This wasn’t written by His Highness the Crown Prince. I suspect His Highness dictated it, and Meng Xizhao copied it down.”
As for why he did not suspect Yu Fulan had written it—
Come on. The Imperial Guard did not recruit illiterates. Anyone serving close to the Crown Prince had to be thoroughly educated.
At the mention of the name Meng Xizhao, both Xie You and Xie Yun reacted instinctively.
“Meng Xizhao?” Xie You said. “Isn’t that Meng Jiuyu’s youngest son? The Meng family caused quite a stir across the city recently, but Minister Jiao seems to hold this young man in very high regard.”
“Meng Xizhao?” Xie Yun said. “I know him. He opened that ‘Qingshui’ brothel not long ago. The man definitely knows how to have fun.”
Hearing that, Xie You shot him a reprimanding look. Xie Yun, however, remained completely unconcerned.
“I’m not wrong. That brothel of his has quite a bit going on. Anyone who isn’t truly talented can’t even get through the door. My reputation isn’t great, so at first they refused to let me in. But once I mentioned your official title, Father, they let me inside right away.”
“And what does that prove? That opening the brothel was secondary—the real goal was currying favor with officials. Hah. That man is just like his father, scheming and ambitious. Still, judging from what he’s done, he’s a bit better than his father. Instead of being used as someone else’s weapon, he’s the one trapping people like fish in a jar.”
Xie Yun normally behaved frivolously, but everyone in the Xie family knew he was actually very clever—perhaps even cleverer than his elder brother Xie Yuan. He simply lacked Xie Yuan’s talent for scholarly study.
When he was young, he had obediently studied alongside his brother. Later, when he realized that no matter how hard he worked he could never surpass him—and that the Xie family only needed one literary prodigy, not two—he threw away the Confucian classics and became the sort of man who spent his days drifting among wine and courtesans.
Oddly enough, it suited him. His sweet tongue, his touch of carefree talent, and his refined, handsome appearance made him very popular among the courtesans—especially the more mature ones.
What impressed the other young dandies most was this: when others went to brothels, they had to pay out of their own pockets. But when he went, he could come back with money instead.
Any girl who spent some time with him would willingly take out her personal savings to buy him gifts.
What kind of logic was that?
…
Originally, the Xie family had been walking on thin ice, barely managing to look after themselves. They rarely concerned themselves with other people’s affairs.
But now the Crown Prince had somehow become connected to someone like Meng Xizhao. That made it impossible for them not to pay attention.
Xie You frowned.
“You mean this man’s character is questionable?”
Before answering, Xie Yun thought for a moment.
“Very likely. I’ve heard he’s very close with Sang Fanyu. People in the streets say the two of them have that sort of relationship, but it’s not actually like that. Recently Sang Fanyu has been entertaining only one guest, yet her residence has become several times more luxurious than before. Antiques and paintings—too many to count.”
“A friend of mine visited her place and recognized a tea set displayed in her room. It was an imperial gift. Meng Xizhao might currently enjoy the emperor’s favor, but no matter how bold he is, he wouldn’t dare give away an imperial gift to a courtesan.”
“So I think Meng Xizhao played the role of a procurer and sent Sang Fanyu straight to His Majesty’s dragon bed.”
As someone who neither studied much nor served in office, Xie Yun felt absolutely no pressure gossiping about the emperor. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself.
Xie You and Xie Yuan, however, felt somewhat uncomfortable listening.
They held many grievances against the emperor. Yet years of habit had trained them not to speak recklessly. Even their complaints were swallowed and buried deep inside.
The Meng Xizhao described by Xie Yun seemed completely different from the Meng Xizhao that Jiao Liguang had praised so highly.
Xie You felt deeply troubled.
“How could His Highness become entangled with someone like this? And even entrust him to deliver a letter to us… This letter—”
Wait.
Only then did Xie You realize he had not actually read the poem on the letter yet. Earlier he had been too focused on the handwriting.
Lowering his head, he carefully read the poem through once.
Immediately, he froze.
Looking up again, the way he looked at his son carried a hint of suspicion.
“You’re saying… this was written by His Highness?”
Xie Yuan replied, “No. I believe His Highness dictated it, and Meng Xizhao copied it down.”
Xie You: “……”
Wasn’t that basically the same as saying the Crown Prince wrote it?
He lowered his head and read the poem again.
Then Xie You shook his head firmly.
“No. This poem cannot have been composed by His Highness.”
Xie Yuan looked puzzled. Xie Yun took the paper from him and began reading it himself.
Xie You offered no explanation.
His eldest son might possess extraordinary learning, but when it came to understanding people, he was not as perceptive as the younger one.
What kind of person was the Crown Prince? What kind of temperament did he have?
Over the years, the emperor’s suppression had pushed him nearly to the ground. Although the Crown Prince’s letters to them never mentioned his situation directly, after years of correspondence it was possible to sense that he was not truly as calm or secure as he made himself appear.
There was something Xie You had kept buried in his heart, something he dared not say to his father or his sons.
In truth… he felt the Crown Prince’s temperament had become somewhat twisted. Even dangerous.
But he had no proof. Every letter from the Crown Prince was warm and affectionate. His two sons had never noticed anything wrong. And no matter how worried he felt, he could not voice such suspicions without evidence.
Sometimes he wondered whether he was simply imagining things.
But today—this time—he was certain it was not imagination.
Even if the Crown Prince had not turned out crooked, he absolutely could not have written a poem this carefree, spirited, resolute, and bold. A poem reflects the character of the person who writes it— even if the Crown Prince were stuffed back into his mother’s womb and reforged from scratch, it would still be impossible.
His inner thoughts were simple: Our Crown Prince is the quietly vicious type. How could he possibly write something like this?
…
Xie Yun stroked his chin. “It really doesn’t sound like His Highness’s style.”
Xie Yuan looked utterly baffled. “If he didn’t write it, then who did?”
Thinking of Meng Xizhao’s ever-smiling face, he asked uncertainly, “Could it be Meng Xizhao?”
Xie You said nothing, but Xie Yun burst out laughing first. “If this poem were to spread, it could easily be recited for a thousand years. If Meng Xizhao had that kind of ability, do you really think he would keep it hidden? Come on, let’s stop guessing. As they say, the one who tied the bell must be the one to untie it. Why don’t we just ask Meng Xizhao directly?”
Xie You had still been pondering, but upon hearing this, he immediately rebuked him. “No! Setting aside what that man’s intentions might be, even if we take the most generous assumption—if he happens to be one of the Crown Prince’s people—then we absolutely cannot have too much contact with him.”
Xie Yun spread his hands. “Just because you two can’t go doesn’t mean I can’t. Meng Xizhao and I are, at the very least, fellow men of the same path. If I go meet him once, what problem could there be?”
With that, he tossed the sheet of paper aside and returned to his room to sleep. Xie You frowned as he watched his back, but he did not call him back.
Forget it. It might be good to test the waters.
If there really was a problem, they could always report it to the Crown Prince and let His Highness see the man’s true face.
＊
Meng Xizhao had been having quite a pleasant time lately.
At the Court of State Ceremonial, Han Daozhen had probably figured it out by now: Meng Xizhao had background, ability, and imperial favor. Someone like Han—who had been stuck here for years after being effectively exiled—was simply no match for him.
He had made several moves against Meng Xizhao, and every time he lost.
He had even secretly complained about Meng Xizhao to the Emperor, but five days later the Emperor sent the remark back, telling him to focus on doing his job instead of constantly targeting his young subordinate. If it happened again, he would be kicked out of Yingtian Prefecture and sent to the Xiongnu as a permanent envoy.
Han Daozhen: “…”
Is that really necessary?!
On this court, when was there ever a day without officials clawing at one another? Why had the Emperor never cared before? And now, when it came to Meng Xizhao, he rushed to defend him as if his life depended on it. It was not as though he were the man’s father!
Yet just as Han Daozhen thought of that—
At the next court session, Meng Jiuyu stroked his beard and stepped forward. Instead of impeaching the scholars he usually disliked the most, he suddenly turned his fire on Han Daozhen.
He accused Han of occupying the position of Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial for eight years while accomplishing absolutely nothing. He claimed that envoys from the four states had many complaints about him.
As he spoke, Meng Jiuyu began listing Han Daozhen’s entire black history.
For example: he had only barely passed the imperial examination at age thirty, scraping into the third tier. He had served as a judicial evaluator in the Court of Judicial Review for two years before issuing a wrongful judgment in a case. The victim had beaten the Drum of Grievance and petitioned the throne. The late emperor had shown mercy and spared him prison, merely docking his salary.
Then, after lying low for two years, he somehow found an opportunity to enter the Ministry of Rites as a clerk. He stayed there for five years. The position prevented him from judging cases incorrectly again—but he still achieved absolutely nothing.
Meng Jiuyu’s mouth never stopped moving. He practically recited Han Daozhen’s entire life story before finally reaching his conclusion: the man was mediocre and useless. He enjoyed the ruler’s salary but failed to serve the ruler’s cause. Incompetence was a crime. Mediocrity itself was a waste.
Han Daozhen stood at the end of the officials’ ranks, listening until he nearly fainted.
Although the Emperor did not immediately dismiss him from office on the spot, it was obvious that His Majesty was far from satisfied with him.
After court was dismissed, Han Daozhen went looking for Prime Minister Yan to ask what he should do. But Prime Minister Yan refused to see him. When Han Daozhen asked why, he learned that the prime minister had been angered by his earlier decision to complain to the Emperor about Meng Xizhao without consulting anyone first.
In the end, Han Daozhen could only return to the Court of State Ceremonial in tears. From that day on, he stopped targeting Meng Xizhao. Every day he simply sat there like a meditating statue.
Meng Xizhao was not the type to be polite about that. If Han Daozhen did not want to handle affairs, then all the better—Meng Xizhao would handle them himself.
He had already gotten along well with the other officials. He had money and powerful backing, and he often handed out small favors. The Court of State Ceremonial was a “clear water” office with no profits to skim, so even the smallest benefit was enough to win over the people there.
Now Meng Xizhao, as Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial, was flourishing. Big matters or small, everything in the office came to him for resolution. It had practically become his personal domain.
Of course… the reason he could manage it so easily was also because the Court of State Ceremonial was not highly regarded by those above.
If this had been the Court of Judicial Review or the Court of the Imperial Clan, things would not have been so simple. Even if he wanted to intervene everywhere, one glance from Prime Minister Yan or Prime Minister Situ would force him to withdraw his hand and proceed more cautiously.
So Meng Xizhao truly liked this position.
It was simply too convenient. If everything went smoothly, he would not just save ten years of struggle—he could easily shave off four or five.
Among the envoys of the four states, the envoy from Yuezhi had the best relationship with Meng Xizhao. The Xiongnu envoy held himself above everyone else and looked down on all the people of Great Qi. Naturally, Meng Xizhao had no intention of flattering him—he simply handled matters in an official manner, making sure no fault could be found.
The State of Xia had a special geographic position. It bordered both Yuezhi and the Xiongnu but did not share a direct border with Great Qi. Their envoy here was almost like a transparent person and rarely appeared.
The Jurchens were different from the other states. Their nation had existed for only a little more than a decade. Many things were not yet fully established—even their language posed problems. Their envoy did not even speak the court language of Great Qi. When Meng Xizhao first learned this, he was stunned.
The envoy did not know the court language, and Meng Xizhao did not know the Jurchen language. But the other man clearly had more experience with such situations. Realizing they could not communicate, he simply nodded coldly, swung onto his horse, and rode away.
That was the only time they met. After that, Meng Xizhao never heard anything about the Jurchens again.
It was as if they did not even have a diplomatic residence here.
After observing the relationships among the various embassies for a while, Meng Xizhao found them rather interesting.
The relationships between the embassies mirrored the relationships between their respective states.
Yuezhi disliked the Xiongnu but would not say so to their faces. The Xiongnu looked down equally on every other country; in their minds they were still the mighty Xiongnu who could one day conquer the Central Plains. All the other nations were beneath them, though Yuezhi barely qualified as a “younger brother.”
Xia was a harsh and barren land with very few resources, so its merchants were everywhere, buying low and selling high. They never fell out with anyone. As long as there was money to be made, they were willing to do anything.
As for the Jurchens, because there were so few of them here, Meng Xizhao only knew one thing: tensions between the Jurchens and the Xiongnu were growing more serious. The ceasefire agreement signed years ago now showed signs of being torn apart.
Moreover, it was the Jurchens who were tearing things apart. It was said that their riders often galloped over to harass the Xiongnu pastures—charging in, stirring up trouble, then fleeing. The frightened cattle and sheep stopped producing milk, and many calves and lambs died.
Meng Xizhao sat in a tavern, propping his head on one hand, feeling rather pleased.
Cattle and sheep…
The very foundation of the Xiongnu’s livelihood lay in their herds. For people who seemed so taciturn, the Jurchens actually had quite flexible minds.
Meng Xizhao tapped his fingers lightly, a mysterious smile spreading across his face.
Standing to the side, Qingfu watched him and instinctively thought to himself—
Young master is brewing something wicked again.
…
After his elder brother had been poisoned, that particular restaurant had been sealed for investigation. Later it was discovered that the shopkeeper had nothing to do with the incident, so he was released. The man thanked heaven and earth, resigned from his employer on the spot, and prepared to leave Yingtian Prefecture—this troublesome place—to seek a living somewhere else.
The owner of the restaurant could not keep the business going either. After such an incident, who would dare come here to eat again? He had no choice but to try to sell it off. It was said that even now, no one had taken it over.
Meng Xizhao felt not the slightest worry for the owner.
The restaurant had powerful backing—it belonged to the chief steward of the Three Financial Commissions of the dynasty. The Commissioner himself was quite a character. In modern jokes people tease Indian men, saying that even mosquitoes flying past them would have to cover their backsides—but in front of the Commissioner of the Three Financial Commissions, even a bald man walking by would have to cover his head.
This commissioner was the number one master of squeezing every last drop out of people in Great Qi. Anyone he set his sights on would be combed through with a fine-toothed rake—every inch of their household inspected until not a single coin remained.
Common people described corrupt officials exploiting the populace as “scraping the ground clean.” But when the Commissioner made a move, forget the ground—he would even open his mouth wide and take a couple of deep breaths of the fresh air in your house.
…
Still, closing down a single restaurant was nothing more than a drop in the ocean for him. Meng Xizhao knew that for such a man, it probably did not even count as a scratch.
Besides, Meng Xizhao had never intended to target the Commissioner. At the time he had simply needed a convenient place to set a trap.
Now that the restaurant had fulfilled its purpose, Meng Xizhao still went out to eat lunch every day at the same time. Of course, this time it was no longer to lure the Third Prince into making a move. Rather, if one was going to put on a performance, one had to carry it through to the end. If he suddenly changed his habits, it might not attract attention once or twice—but after a while, someone would surely notice.
That said, he no longer went to the same place every day. Today one restaurant, tomorrow another.
When Xie Yun arrived, Meng Xizhao was halfway through his meal.
The private room door was left open. Passing by, Xie Yun caught sight of Meng Xizhao inside. He stepped back, smiled, and walked in.
“Well, if it isn’t Vice Minister Meng. Why are you drinking alone here?”
Holding his chopsticks, Meng Xizhao blinked. “And you are?”
Xie Yun shook his head. “Vice Minister Meng truly has the memory of a great nobleman. No wonder several sisters I know have been saying that now that you’ve become an official, you’ve forgotten all your old acquaintances. You never go see them anymore.”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him and gave an ambiguous smile.
He continued picking up food, chewing slowly. When he saw that Xie Yun showed no irritation—on the contrary, he watched him patiently—Meng Xizhao finally set down his chopsticks.
“Which sister are you talking about?”
Xie Yun gave a name. “Nian Xian’er.”
Meng Xizhao fell silent.
He realized he had never heard the name before. Turning his head, he looked at Qingfu.
Qingfu leaned close and whispered, “Last year you tried several times to meet this Nian Xian’er, but she refused to see you. You even smashed the stone lion outside her door in anger. Don’t you remember?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Feeling a little awkward, he turned back to the visitor. “Didn’t she refuse to see me before? What, changed her mind?”
Xie Yun smiled. “Times are different now. Sister Xian’er heard that you’ve completely transformed yourself, and that you’ve become the honored guest of Madam Sang, the leading courtesan. She’s rather unconvinced. So she asked me to invite you, Vice Minister Meng. For the sake of old affection, perhaps you could show her a little face and allow her to express how much she has missed you.”
While he spoke, Meng Xizhao had not been idle. He discreetly examined Xie Yun from head to toe.
And quickly realized—this fellow had come prepared.
He wore nothing that could prove his identity. His clothes were plain and ordinary; it was impossible to tell whether he was a scholar or a playboy. Moreover, the man had clearly done his homework beforehand—he even knew about Meng Xizhao’s poor memory.
Though Meng Xizhao had no idea who he really was, that Nian Xian’er was probably genuine. The leading courtesans of Yingtian Prefecture were clever people. They did not meddle in state affairs or invite trouble. Even if foreign states sent spies, they would have to cultivate new agents themselves—turning an established courtesan was nearly impossible.
Thinking this through, Meng Xizhao actually stood up with an expression of delighted honor.
“Very well. I’ll go see Madam Nian at once.”
Xie Yun followed him, looking quite pleased.
Meng Xizhao had no idea where this Madam Nian lived. It was Qingfu who reminded him that Nian Xian’er had moved. She no longer lived in the alley behind Hundred Flowers Street but now stayed aboard a painted pleasure boat on the Qinhuai River.
Meng Xizhao found the situation rather… delicate.
Listening to gossip was one thing, but how did you even know where the courtesan lived? Kid, don’t tell me you’re planning to mix business with pleasure!
But with Xie Yun still following behind, Meng Xizhao did not say any of this aloud.
When he first heard the words painted boat, he did not think much of it. Only after arriving did he realize what it meant.
It was a luxurious pleasure vessel moored permanently by the shore—four stories tall, with carved beams, painted rafters, and lanterns hanging everywhere.
A boat… a boat…
Meng Xizhao stared at the gently rocking water and felt his scalp go numb.
Xie Yun looked at him, puzzled that he had not boarded yet. “Vice Minister Meng?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Forget it. Living in Yingtian Prefecture, sooner or later he would have to get on a boat. This small psychological fear was something he had to overcome.
However, once he stepped aboard, he realized he had underestimated the problem.
Originally, he had thought that this man had clearly come to pry information from him. In that case, he would simply turn the tables—play along and probe back to find out what this fellow’s background was.
But as he walked along the deck, his gaze seemed to pierce straight through the floorboards, revealing the deep river beneath. Even after he sat down, his heart remained tightly wound, unable to relax for a moment.
Forget prying information out of anyone—right now he felt like he was the one being nested inside layers of trouble.
…
With a stiff expression, Meng Xizhao said nothing. The more Xie Yun watched him, the stranger it felt.
Originally, Xie Yun had planned to bring him up to the fourth floor, where it was more comfortable. But Meng Xizhao refused. He planted himself firmly at an Eight Immortals table on the first-floor deck and would not move.
Completely baffled, Xie Yun had no choice but to send someone to invite Nian Xian’er.
The moment she heard Meng Xizhao had arrived, Nian Xian’er dressed herself up elaborately and came down to the first floor. She was a very beautiful woman, but Meng Xizhao still sat rigidly upright, hands resting on his knees. He cast her a light glance and then immediately withdrew his gaze.
Nian Xian’er: “……”
This is the Second Young Master Meng? Since when did he become Liu Xiahui?
While Meng Xizhao, Xie Yun, and Nian Xian’er were sitting together, a young man dressed like a soldier happened to pass by along the riverbank.
Zhan Buxiu had already reported to the army. For the moment, no one had discovered his connection to General Zhan. After knocking ten men flat, the soldiers had acknowledged his strength and were willing to listen to him.
Training had just ended for the day. He had not gone home in several days, so today he came out to buy some food to take back and visit his younger sister and grandfather.
From more than ten meters away, Zhan Buxiu immediately recognized Meng Xizhao sitting on the painted pleasure boat.
Beside him, a courtesan was attentively fawning over him.
Meng Xizhao had chosen a seat close to the riverbank because it gave him the greatest sense of security. All his attention was fixed on the boat beneath him; his entire body was strung tight with tension.
Xie Yun tried to draw him into conversation, but Meng Xizhao ignored him. Instead, he stared anxiously at a group of young dandies laughing and joking ahead.
Xie Yun shot Nian Xian’er a glance.
She tried to attract Meng Xizhao’s attention as well, but her methods were even less effective than Xie Yun’s. At least when Xie Yun spoke, Meng Xizhao would look at him once. When Nian Xian’er spoke, he did not even move his eyes.
As one of the famous leading courtesans of Yingtian, when had Nian Xian’er ever suffered such humiliation?!
She clenched her fists, though her face still wore a charming smile. Sliding closer to Meng Xizhao, she gently placed her hand over his.
To be honest…
Even Meng Xizhao himself did not realize what was happening.
He truly had not noticed Nian Xian’er approaching. But his body reacted faster than his mind.
From the moment her hand rested on his, his heart began racing. His breathing turned rapid, golden sparks flashed before his eyes, and it felt as though in the next moment he might go meet his great-grandmother in the afterlife.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Wh—what’s happening?!
In the blink of an eye, his face flushed red. Horrified, he clutched his chest, instinct screaming that he should run—run immediately. If he ran, everything would be fine.
Qingfu was even more shocked than he was. Having not served Meng Xizhao for very long, he did not yet understand him well, so he could only try to comfort him helplessly.
“Young master! Young master, what’s wrong with you?!”
Xie Yun and Nian Xian’er were also stunned. Nian Xian’er even began doubting her own charm. She had never heard of someone reacting like this just from being touched once—her hands were not poisoned!
And the next moment, Meng Xizhao did something that completely shattered their expectations.
He shoved Qingfu aside, turned, and ran—straight forward.
With a plop, Meng Xizhao stepped onto the water’s surface. With a dull thud, his entire body fell into the river.
It had to be said—he fell with remarkable skill. Hardly a splash appeared.
He also sank with remarkable skill. He went straight down without even flailing once.
Qingfu, Xie Yun, and Nian Xian’er all wore the same expression: staring wide-eyed at the suddenly calm water.
One could only say… Meng Xizhao’s method of falling into the water was so unique that the three of them could not react at all. It even gave them the strange feeling that he had just played a joke on them.
Only when a young man sprinted over from the opposite bank—tearing off his outer robe and decisively jumping into the water—did the spell break. He dragged the already unconscious Meng Xizhao out of the river.
Only then did Qingfu finally react, letting out a shrill wail as he rushed over to check on his young master.
Meanwhile, Xie Yun was panicking. Extremely panicking. Absolutely panicking.
How was he supposed to explain that he had done nothing—that Meng Xizhao had truly jumped in himself?!
Damn it… was this Meng Xizhao’s plan all along? Deliberately falling into the water to frame him?!
He had always heard of such schemes happening among the women of the inner household. Who would have thought that today, as an unmarried gentleman, he would run into the same trick!
…
After a chaotic scramble, Qingfu snatched Meng Xizhao back from Zhan Buxiu’s arms, crying as though he might faint as well. Several people hurriedly carried Meng Xizhao to the nearest medical clinic.
The physician examined him and said that since he had not been in the water long, there was actually nothing wrong. His pulse was extremely healthy—he had not even caught a chill.
As for why he still had not awakened…
The doctor remained silent for a long time and ultimately did not tell the family the conclusion he had reached: he might simply have fainted from fright.
Once Zhan Buxiu learned that Meng Xizhao was fine, he glanced at the growing crowd around them. Pressing his lips together, he chose to leave rather than stay.
It was not until the moon had climbed high into the sky that Meng Xizhao finally woke.
Staring at the unfamiliar bed canopy above him, he blinked in confusion.
A voice sounded beside him. “You’re awake?”
Meng Xizhao turned his head.
Seeing Cui Ye sitting there, he stared at him blankly—without looking away, without speaking.
Cui Ye sat at his bedside. Seeing this, he gave a light laugh.
“You look rather foolish right now.”
Meng Xizhao blinked once but still said nothing.
Cui Ye continued looking at him. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Do you want some water?”
At last Meng Xizhao reacted a little.
He remembered the instant he fell into the water. Then he recalled, dimly, that someone had grabbed his arm—pulling him up to the surface and dragging him toward warmth and light.
Swallowing, Meng Xizhao shook his head and pulled one hand out from beneath the blanket.
He opened his mouth, only then realizing how hoarse his voice had become.
“I don’t want water. I want to hold hands.”
As he spoke, he extended his hand toward Cui Ye. Under Cui Ye’s astonished gaze, he stubbornly pushed it a little closer.
Cui Ye froze for a long moment before slowly reaching out his own hand.
The instant he did, Meng Xizhao grabbed it tightly, then revealed an expression like someone who had narrowly survived a disaster.
Turning onto his side to face Cui Ye, Meng Xizhao closed his eyes and soon fell asleep again, reassured.