Later, after eating and drinking their fill, Young Master Fu went off to meet his courtesan companion. Meng Xizhao stayed behind, had the dishes cleared, and ordered a pot of light tea.
Qingfu lifted the curtain and, seeing Young Master Fu gone, beckoned someone from outside. Yinliu, who had been waiting next door, entered.
Meng Xizhao rinsed his mouth with tea and looked at her. “Finished?”
Yinliu smiled. “It wasn’t anything major. I slipped the land office steward a bit of silver, and the house transfer went through.”
Meng Xizhao chuckled. “Not a big matter, perhaps—but doing it quietly isn’t easy. And in this heat, too. Sit, have some warm tea.”
Yinliu agreed. Qingfu, without needing instruction, sat beside her and eagerly poured tea for both of them.
Seeing this, Meng Xizhao laughed.
Ever since witnessing Yinliu collapse in a pool of blood, Qingfu had become the most attentive of them all—so much so that it sometimes embarrassed her.
The rain came suddenly that night, thunder crashing through the second watch. Meng Xizhao was briefly awakened, grumbled, pulled the covers over his head, and turned over to sleep again.
By morning, the rain had stopped. Hearing of it, the Emperor waved his hand, clearly uninterested in holding court.
And everything proceeded exactly as Meng Xizhao had planned.
From the carefully staged encounter at the bridge, to Su Ruocun’s flawless performance, to her eventual entry into the palace—every step unfolded seamlessly.
Even the follow-up scheme progressed without a hitch. Rumors spread, the house was “discovered,” the attack was staged, and the officials arrived just in time to witness the chaos.
By the time the yamen runners stood there, staring at the aftermath in stunned silence, one thought echoed in all their minds—
What… exactly is going on here?
What kind of household is this?! The ones breaking in are bandits—but you supposed victims act like hooligans!
Damn it—take them all away!
The enraged yamen runners quickly dragged both sides off. The little maid struggled desperately, crying as she turned back and called for Madam Guan. One of the officers glanced inside and saw only a group of women—young and old—gathered around an unconscious lady. Since they had not laid a hand on anyone, and according to the maid, the woman had suffered a heart attack, they decided not to take them in. If she died in custody, it would only bring trouble.
With a wave of his hand, the officer made the call. In no time, the entrance was cleared of people.
Once the remaining maid shut the gate, the curious neighbors also returned to their homes.
Yinliu stood quietly, watching the direction in which the officers had left, inwardly marveling at Jinzhu’s eye for talent.
Just look at that performance—another step or two, and they would rival their young master.
……
Yinliu went downstairs, instructed the others to carry Madam Guan back to her room, and arranged for someone to fetch a physician.
Only when no outsiders remained did she pat Madam Guan’s hand.
Madam Guan immediately sat up, looking at Yinliu with unease. “Miss… do you think anyone will see through it?”
Yinliu smiled reassuringly. “How could they? A heart condition can be serious or mild—physicians can’t easily determine it. And even without one, being frightened is reason enough. After everything you’ve been through, your temperament is like a startled bird. The slightest disturbance can frighten you, let alone intruders breaking into your home in the middle of the night.”
Madam Guan relaxed somewhat, but her gaze remained unsettled. “I just feel… with my status, I can’t stir up much of a storm.”
At best, she was Su Ruocun’s wet nurse. At worst, just an old servant.
How could someone like her shake a figure of such stature?
Yinliu understood—she herself was no better, merely a maid. Taking Madam Guan’s hand, she warmed her cold, tense fingers and said gently, “The scale of the storm isn’t decided by our status, but by Miss Su and my young master. Don’t think too much. For now, just rest well and leave the rest to them.”
Madam Guan nodded and lay back down.
……
It was nearly midnight when Yinliu returned to the Meng residence. She had assumed Meng Xizhao would already be asleep—but he wasn’t. He had not even gone back to his own courtyard.
Instead, he sat in the main courtyard, talking with Meng Jiuyu, who had thrown on an outer robe.
After hearing his intentions, Meng Jiuyu’s face turned numb.
A thousand words condensed into just two: “…why?”
He truly could not understand. “Why must you provoke him?!”
Meng Xizhao took a sip of tea from his parents’ table, lounging carelessly with one leg crossed over the other. “I don’t like the look of him.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…How many times have you even met Qiu Sumin? What exactly about him do you dislike?!”
With a sharp thud, Meng Xizhao set down his teacup, looking even more domineering. “His left ear looks bigger than his right. It bothers me. I don’t like it!”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
Listen to that—does that sound like anything a human would say?
He opened his mouth several times but found himself utterly speechless. In the end, he could only sigh. “Forget it. I can’t stop you. But understand this—if you move against Qiu Sumin, Grand Preceptor Gan will never agree. The Gan family may have many officials, but none of them—combined—hold more favor with the emperor than Qiu Sumin. If you want to deal with him, you must first deal with Grand Preceptor Gan.”
Meng Xizhao chuckled. “Father, you always worry too much.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
Say that again, you little brat?!
Meng Xizhao leisurely continued, “I never said I was going to deal with him. I just… don’t plan to be polite. That’s not the same thing. It’s just personal preference—nothing to do with Grand Preceptor Gan. He’s lived this long; surely he understands that much. Don’t worry—he’s more clear-headed than you. He won’t do anything to me.”
The supposedly unclear-headed Meng Jiuyu: “……”
Three times a day I reflect upon myself—why did I have a son? Why did I have a son? Why did I have a son?
……
At this point, Meng Jiuyu had no desire to continue the conversation and simply drove him out.
Meng Xizhao knew his father was all bark and no bite. No matter how much he complained at home, once outside, he would still protect his son.
Since he had already laid the groundwork, there was no need to stay longer. Just as he was about to leave, Meng Jiuyu suddenly turned and said, “Tell your elder brother as well. He is now a censor—if you truly intend to make a move, he would be more suitable than you.”
Startled, Meng Xizhao broke into a grin. “Yes. Thank you for your advice, Father.”
……
Though he agreed readily, he had no intention of pushing his elder brother to the forefront—that would be far too obvious.
No, he already had someone better in mind.
Back in his own courtyard, Yinliu had already gone to rest. At this point, their master-servant understanding was tacit—if she had stayed up waiting for him, that would have worried him.
After returning, Meng Xizhao quickly tidied up and prepared for bed. Early the next morning, he would officially take over at the prefectural office.
He went to sleep late—but in a city like Yingtian Prefecture, a place that never truly slept, there were always others awake even later.
For instance, Su Ruocun and the emperor—neither of them slept.
Whether it was because they had napped too much during the day or were still riding the excitement, the Emperor showed no sign of fatigue. Holding soft warmth in his arms, he greatly enjoyed listening to Su Ruocun talk about Nanzhao. After all, she had lived there for a year—she knew far more than Meng Xizhao.
Of course, staying true to her persona, she prefaced everything by saying she had only heard it from others, not seen it herself.
The Emperor did not care in the slightest.
As long as the stories were fresh, that was enough.
Just as he began to feel drowsy, Su Ruocun immediately and thoughtfully said, “Your Majesty, I too am feeling sleepy. Allow me to attend to Your Majesty’s rest.”
The Tianshou Emperor gave her an approving glance, then spread his arms, waiting for her to serve him.
As Su Ruocun helped him loosen his robes and remove his belt, she revealed a somewhat troubled expression.
Naturally, the Tianshou Emperor was not so considerate—he would never take the initiative to care about others. Su Ruocun knew this well, so after deliberately hesitating for a moment, she spoke up herself: “Your Majesty…”
Hearing her soft and melodious tone, half of the emperor’s body seemed to melt. He asked, “What is it?”
Su Ruocun looked conflicted. “Your Majesty, I was so overjoyed today that I nearly forgot—before I encountered Your Majesty, I was standing on Zhuangyuan Bridge, waiting for the aunt in charge of my household errands to return. If she does not see me, she will surely be anxious. May I, tomorrow, bring her into the palace?”
She could only ask whether she could bring Guan-niangzi into the palace—she absolutely could not ask whether she could leave to find her.
Although she did not yet hold a formal rank, in all matters she had to align herself with the conduct of a true imperial consort. If the emperor were to develop the impression that she still possessed freedom, he might very well treat their encounter as nothing more than a fleeting dalliance.
So, leave the palace? Impossible. It is easy to invite a deity in, but hard to send one away. Now that she had entered, there was no chance she would allow herself to be sent out again.
Originally, this was no great matter. The Tianshou Emperor felt there was no harm in agreeing. But because he was sleepy, he responded a bit slowly. Su Ruocun, thinking he was reluctant, hurriedly explained Guan-niangzi’s identity.
It turned out she was the same woman who had once been trapped in the Nanzhao palace. During that year, if not for Guan-niangzi’s constant care, Su Ruocun might have died long ago.
As she spoke, she once again recounted her own past, and incidentally mentioned Guan-niangzi’s story: she had witnessed the slaughter of her husband and children, was later forced to submit to a Nanzhao man, and bore his child. Yet after Nanzhao fell, she resolutely chose to return to the State of Qi. To her, Su Ruocun mattered more than that mixed-blood child.
Upon hearing this, the Tianshou Emperor thought: a woman so loyal to Great Qi posed no issue at all. Bring her in, bring her in—tomorrow he would have a eunuch personally escort her into the palace.
Su Ruocun immediately revealed a grateful smile. After extinguishing the lamp, the two lay down together. The emperor closed his eyes in satisfaction, while Su Ruocun nestled in his arms, also smiling faintly in contentment.
＊
Because the steward had acted on his own the previous night, and he and several thugs had been brutally knocked unconscious, not a single one of them was able to clearly state their identities.
Thus, they were treated as ordinary prisoners and detained in two adjacent cells alongside the young maid and the others.
As for Qiu Suming’s residence, the steward’s failure to return overnight was indeed somewhat strange—but it was not the first time. As the master’s right-hand man, he often went out on errands, and occasionally stayed away overnight if matters arose.
Only, in the past, he would always send word back. This time, he had not.
The people in the household found it suspicious, yet feared they might be overthinking, so they decided to wait until morning.
In this back-and-forth hesitation, quite a bit of time was wasted.
The steward had been badly beaten. Fearing he might die, the constables even summoned a physician to examine them. After confirming there was no serious danger, the constables felt reassured and left. Meanwhile, the young maid in the neighboring cell behaved uncharacteristically quietly, sitting as far from the group as possible, appearing calm and composed.
By the time dawn approached, finally, one of them awoke.
It was not the steward, but an ordinary thug. The moment he regained consciousness and saw his surroundings, he immediately began cursing loudly: “Who the hell locked your grandfathers in here?! Do you know who we are? We’re all servants of Lord Qiu Suming! Release us at once!”
Summer nights gave way to dawn early. It was not yet the mao hour. The jailer, rudely awakened, was already in a foul mood. Grabbing a stick, he came over intending to vent his anger. The thug shrank back instinctively, but being used to throwing his weight around, he quickly regained his arrogance and repeated his words.
At once, the jailer snapped fully awake. His eyes widened as he confirmed the claim, then slapped his thigh and hurried off to find someone.
This was bad—how had they locked up people from the Commissioner of the Three Departments?!
By the time Meng Xizhao arrived, the Judicial Intendant of the prefectural office was practically worrying himself bald.
What to do? Release them? The Commissioner would not spare him. Keep them locked up? Then the Commissioner would be even less likely to spare him!
When the steward finally woke and it became known that not only servants but also Qiu Suming’s steward was imprisoned, the Judicial Intendant nearly considered hanging himself.
Thus, when word came that Meng Xizhao had arrived and summoned all officials to hear his instructions, he was the fastest to respond. While his colleagues still hesitated, he was already kneeling before Meng Xizhao.
“My lord! My lord, please save me!”
Meng Xizhao had slept too little the night before and had nearly overslept that morning. Even now, his official hat sat crooked on his head. Startled by the man’s outburst, the hat wobbled, and he quickly raised a hand to steady it.
Clearing his throat, he finally adopted the bearing of a prefect. “Do not panic. Who are you?”
The man kowtowed repeatedly, tears streaming down his face. “This humble official is Cheng Kuo, Judicial Intendant of the prefectural office.”
Ah—equivalent to the chief of the city’s public security bureau.
Meng Xizhao fell silent.
“This is disgraceful! I have only just arrived, and you are already wailing—what kind of behavior is this? And you are the prefecture’s judicial officer!”
He ordered the constables beside him, “Why are you still standing there? Help Intendant Cheng to his feet at once!”
Meng Xizhao was already beginning to regret ever saying that the prefectural office was full of capable talent. To be frightened into trembling by a mere steward—what kind of conduct was that? A judicial intendant was a fourth-rank official!
What he did not know, however, was that there were underlying reasons.
Cheng Kuo’s father was an assistant prefect of Jizhou. The prefect of Jizhou happened to be the fourth son of Grand Tutor Gan. Normally, assistant prefects and prefects would have some friction, but since his father had encountered a member of the Gan family, he had suffered greatly. At an age close to retirement, after offending the Gan family, he had nearly been exiled to a remote and desolate region. Only after Cheng Kuo received the news did he scramble—hosting banquets, offering apologies, and emptying two-thirds of the family’s wealth—before finally sparing his father from hardship.
Now that his elderly father had returned home to enjoy his remaining years in peace, Judicial Intendant Cheng, being both tactful and especially adept at reading the Gan family’s temper, had been appointed by Grand Tutor Gan to serve as the Judicial Intendant of Yingtian Prefecture.
With such a person in place, any future missteps by the Gan family descendants could easily be overlooked or pardoned.
Today, however, someone else had been captured. Even if it were a prince who had been mistakenly imprisoned, Cheng would not have been so alarmed. But the fact that those taken were Qiu Suming’s people made the matter far more delicate. Everyone knew that offending Qiu Suming was tantamount to offending Grand Tutor Gan. On top of that, the steward had already been locked up all night. Whatever happened, this created a serious grievance.
Meng Xizhao furrowed his brow as he listened to the full explanation. At that moment, other officials arrived. Upon learning that the constables had imprisoned the Commissioner of the Three Departments’ steward, they were all shocked.
The prefectural office had four secretaries in total. Lord Jian had taken three away, leaving only one behind. That remaining secretary saw an opportunity to show his worth and immediately approached Meng Xizhao with advice: “My lord, I believe we must act quickly. First, release Lord Qiu’s steward. Then, punish the constables who captured them—two hundred lashes each. After that, you, my lord, should personally deliver a formal apology to Lord Qiu’s residence and explain the matter. Lord Qiu is wise; he will not hold it against you.”
Meng Xizhao turned to listen, then smiled faintly at the secretary. “Not bad. And your name is?”
The secretary beamed and bowed deeply. “I am Yin Luhai, a juren of the eighth year of Tianshou.”
Meng Xizhao nodded approvingly, then glanced at the constables beside him. “Men, take this Yin Luhai down and give him two hundred lashes!”
Yin Luhai was stunned. “My lord, why punish me?”
Meng Xizhao sprang up, pointing at him. “Punish you, of course! What nonsense advice is this, telling me to personally go to their residence? How could you think of such a thing? Didn’t you bother to check first? In Yingtian Prefecture, aside from His Majesty and the Crown Prince, who deserves an apology from me? Was it I who locked up the steward? Or beat him? I only assumed office this morning; I haven’t even warmed my seat! And you call yourself a juren? Do you think I don’t have juren in my family? My eldest brother passed the imperial exam at sixteen; my father was a tanhua at twenty-two! And look at you—a juren of the eighth year of Tianshou? You must have been forty by then! Ah, the audacity to lecture me! And you dare suggest this? Are you mocking me, saying I was illiterate before office and unfit to serve as prefect?”
Yin Luhai: “…………”
Unfair! He never intended any of that!
The others: “…………”
Yin Luhai had been the most scheming among the secretaries, unscrupulous and opportunistic, using smooth words to undermine colleagues and accept bribes from the populace. The former prefect had turned a blind eye, earning widespread complaints.
Now, seeing him scolded by the new prefect and about to be punished, everyone felt a mix of satisfaction and despair.
From Meng Xizhao’s tone, it wasn’t that he was angry because Yin Luhai had suggested crooked methods—it was that, in his eyes, apart from the emperor and the crown prince, he was the highest authority in Yingtian Prefecture. He believed Yin Luhai had insulted his status, hence the fury.
And when he mentioned illiteracy before office…
Official, had you not said it, we would never have known such an embarrassing truth.
Enraged, Meng Xizhao immediately signaled the constables to drag Yin Luhai away. Seeing that Meng was serious, the secretary begged for mercy, but Meng Xizhao paid no heed, acting according to his own will.
One colleague could not bear to watch and said, “My lord, perhaps fewer lashes… two hundred might be fatal.”
Two hundred lashes could indeed kill a weak person. Yin Luhai’s suggestion had never intended mercy for the constables.
Hearing the plea, Yin Luhai nodded hastily. “Yes, my lord, spare my life!”
Meng Xizhao made a sound of acknowledgment and asked the other officials in the hall, “Well then, what do you think? Shall I spare him?”
The others exchanged glances, conflicted.
They were unsure how to respond—should they save Yin Luhai or follow their conscience? Their hesitation lasted no more than half a second. Meng Xizhao suddenly sneered, cutting off their thoughts: “See? Not a soul is pleading for you—this proves how poorly regarded you are! Enough talk. Drag him out and punish him!”
This time, no objections worked. Yin Luhai, who had threatened the constables, had already angered them, and they immediately dragged him out. The new prefect had just lit his first fire.
No one thought Meng Xizhao punished him because he deserved it—they only saw him as arrogant and tyrannical. He was nothing like Lord Jian. In the days ahead, Yingtian Prefecture would likely be difficult to manage.
With Yin Luhai gone, the others dared not speak. Others were fine, but Judicial Intendant Cheng could not remain silent—the steward was still locked up in the cell.
He quickly lowered his voice and approached Meng Xizhao. “My lord, about the steward…”
Meng Xizhao still looked vexed. “He was only mistakenly imprisoned. Besides, what was he doing at someone else’s house, bringing along thugs? Clearly something was amiss. Being beaten isn’t unjust. Ugh, how troublesome! I just arrived and already face such a case—seems like someone is deliberately opposing me. Fine, fine. In my opinion, you personally go back soon and release him.”
Cheng Kuo: “…………”
Release him?!
When he came out, the first person the steward would see would be me—wouldn’t all his anger be directed at me?!
He had sought Meng Xizhao precisely to have him take the blame. After all, Meng was his superior, and his father was Minister Meng. Offending the Commissioner of the Three Departments would be no threat if Meng bore the responsibility.
Who knew Meng Xizhao had no intention of helping? Cheng’s mind raced; the longer he waited, the more anxious he became. Since there was no hope, he wished he could fly back immediately to release the steward. Yet Meng Xizhao now said he would hold a meeting, get to know them, and at the same time give advice and admonishment, so that they could handle affairs properly in the future.
Then he decided to go in order, starting with the first assistant magistrate.
Judicial Intendant Cheng: “…………”
Yingtian Prefecture’s office had far too many responsibilities. There were over twenty officials with ranks and more than sixty without. By the time Meng Xizhao finished speaking to each one individually, the entire morning had passed.
Cheng felt an overwhelming urge to find a tofu block and bang his head against it.
…
Meanwhile, as Meng Xizhao slowly delivered his lecture, the Commissioner of the Three Departments finally realized that his dear steward had gone missing.
After a thorough search, he discovered that the steward had been locked up in Yingtian Prefecture’s prison and was presumably now eating prison rations.
The Commissioner had no idea why his steward had been imprisoned. His first reaction was one of outrage: how dare the prefectural office defy him and detain one of his people?
Lord Jian was a seasoned schemer who offended no one. How could he dare cross him today?!
The Commissioner wanted to confront him immediately, but his second steward stopped him. The second steward explained that the prefect had changed—the office was now under Meng Xizhao, the youngest son of Meng Jiuyu.
Commissioner Qiu: “…………”
Actually, he hadn’t paid much attention to Meng Xizhao, but his father was a different matter.
If a subordinate was beaten, it would be reported to the senior. The Commissioner’s influence in Yingtian Prefecture wasn’t strong; he frequently dealt with matters outside the city and was unfamiliar with local officials. Meng Xizhao, for example, might not even know him.
Still, he could not swallow this affront. After careful consideration, he rose, preparing to settle the score with Meng Xizhao.
However, he was not reckless. He ordered his second steward to first go to Grand Tutor Gan’s residence and brief him on the matter. If things escalated, he would rely on Grand Tutor Gan to intervene and deal with Meng Jiuyu, the old matriarch.
The Commissioner knew he could never out-argue Meng Jiuyu, but Grand Tutor Gan’s authority was overwhelming for any official; if he intervened, there would be nothing to worry about.
Confident, Qiu Suming set out to provoke trouble, and his second steward immediately went to the Tutor’s residence. Yet upon arrival, he was stunned to see a carriage with a golden dragon emblem parked at the gate.
Second Steward: “…………”
The Crown Prince? Here???
…
This puzzled everyone at the Gan residence.
Grand Tutor Gan was the maternal grandfather of the Sixth Prince. He had virtually no connection to the Crown Prince.
Upon learning the Crown Prince had come, Grand Tutor Gan was startled. He immediately sensed that the visitor might have ill intentions. Lately, the Crown Prince had been demonstrating his abilities; perhaps he intended to use Gan to act against the Sixth Prince.
Unable to guess, Grand Tutor Gan feigned illness and refused to see him.
The Crown Prince, sitting in the front hall, expressed regret: “If the Tutor is unwell, I shall return tomorrow.”
Gan’s steward replied: “…The Tutor’s illness is rather serious. Tomorrow will not be possible either, Your Highness.”
The Crown Prince asked, puzzled: “Then the day after tomorrow?”
Steward: “…Still not. The imperial physician advises at least three days of rest.”
The Crown Prince pondered for a moment: “Very well, I shall return in three days.”
Steward: “…………”
I’ve hinted this clearly, and you still don’t understand!
He maintained a stern face and added: “Forgive me, Your Highness. The Tutor has caught a cold. Given his age, the imperial physician insists on ample rest. Even once recovered, he must recuperate for at least seven days before receiving visitors.”
The Crown Prince was astonished: “So severe? He can’t even leave his room?”
Steward nodded: “Yes, he cannot even get out of bed.”
Hearing this, the Crown Prince pressed his lips together, and the corner of his mouth trembled slightly.
Sighing, he set down his teacup, speaking gravely: “In that case, I shall return. Later, I will send some restorative supplies, hoping the Tutor recovers swiftly. Alas, I had intended to speak with him casually, to resolve past misunderstandings, but never mind… another time.”
The steward watched the Crown Prince leave, without escorting him out.
Once he departed, the steward immediately reported his words to Grand Tutor Gan. Gan found it even more peculiar.
“Casually chat?”
Had they ever had anything like that between them?
It seemed far-fetched, yet he could not think of another explanation.
The more he pondered, the more muddled his mind became. Old age made even thinking difficult.
He decided to let it go and rest at home, which conveniently also avoided the Crown Prince for a while.