Xia Zhiheng still remembered what happened that night.
Jade-like snowflakes drifted down thickly through the dark night. A blood-covered figure wearing a mask suddenly appeared in his courtyard.
He had no idea how this person had managed to enter without alerting any of the guards in the residence.
The figure was slender and slight, like a young boy. Blood flowed steadily from the wound on his back, staining a large, shocking patch of the pure white snow in the courtyard red. His body swayed faintly in the wind and snow, as though he had already reached the end of his strength.
Xia Zhiheng’s heart tightened. But seeing the other person’s condition, he ultimately could not bear to ignore him and spoke.
“You are injured. Come inside. I’ll find someone to treat you.”
However, the other person did not move.
He merely raised a hand expressionlessly and pointed in the direction outside the city.
His voice was like a stagnant pool, utterly devoid of emotion.
“Two li away… there’s an abandoned temple. There’s a child there who is about to die. Go save him.”
The voice sounded extremely young.
Xia Zhiheng frowned slightly, his heart filled with confusion.
Why was there a child in an abandoned temple?
And why had this person come to him for help of all people?
“Why me?” Xia Zhiheng asked in a low voice.
The person did not answer immediately.
Those eyes, deep as a cold pool yet utterly lifeless, looked at him for a moment.
Only then did he slowly utter a few words.
“Because… you’re the only one left.”
As his voice fell, a dark red light suddenly appeared.
Realizing that something was definitely wrong, Xia Zhiheng instinctively took a step forward.
“Wait—”
But the person seemed to have already exhausted the last trace of his strength. His figure dissolved into the red light.
Before he completely disappeared, only one final, faint yet unbearably heavy sentence remained in the empty courtyard.
“Don’t let him… go back.”
The red light faded away.
If not for the crimson traces left upon the snow, Xia Zhiheng would almost have thought that what had just happened was nothing more than an absurd dream.
But he did not hesitate for even a moment. He immediately gathered his trusted men and, following the direction the person had indicated, hurried through the night toward the abandoned temple.
Wind and snow seeped through the ruined temple, and the cold was bone-chilling.
Behind the collapsed statue, they found the child.
The child was curled into a tiny ball, covered with a strange piece of fabric. His exposed hands and feet were emaciated, covered in crisscrossing old and new wounds as well as blue-purple frostbite. His lips had already turned purple from the cold, and the faint rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible.
One of the guards accompanying them checked the child’s pulse and breathing. When he looked up, his voice trembled.
“My lord… if we’d arrived even a little later, he wouldn’t have survived.”
Xia Zhiheng immediately brought the child back to the residence and summoned the most trusted physician in the household through the night.
At first, he had no idea who this child actually was.
That was until the physician brought hot water and slowly wiped away the mud and blood covering the child’s body.
“My lord, this…” The physician suddenly stopped.
Xia Zhiheng stepped closer.
Once the matted, mud-caked hair had been washed clean, a section of snow-white roots was revealed.
As the bloodstains were completely washed away, the child’s long silver-white hair spilled down, and his skin was unnaturally pale. The sight stung Xia Zhiheng’s eyes.
Xia Zhiheng froze in place.
White hair, white skin, white eyelashes.
—A white child.
There had been an ancient saying that white belonged to Metal among the Five Elements. When an abnormal whiteness appeared, it was an omen of calamity, signifying an abnormal disturbance in the Metal element.
Thus, white children had always been regarded as calamity stars descending into the world, omens of the nation’s decline and fall.
Children like this were often abandoned by their families the moment they were born, or even suffocated in their cradles.
Xia Zhiheng revealed nothing on his face and still ordered the physician to do everything possible to save him.
Since this life had already been entrusted into his hands, he now had a responsibility.
Because of his frail constitution and severe illness, the child barely managed to survive after several days of administering medicine and fighting desperately to save him from the gates of death.
Several days later, at dusk, the child finally woke.
When Xia Zhiheng pushed open the door and entered, the child was leaning against the bed.
Hearing footsteps, the child slowly turned his head, withdrawing his gaze from the sunset outside the window. It was the curve of that turn, the slight furrowing of his brows, and the cold, desolate expression in his eyes that was completely incongruous with his age.
Xia Zhiheng’s heart jolted violently.
Those features and that expression… they looked extraordinarily like someone he had once known.
But Xia Zhiheng did not dare think in that direction, nor was he willing to think any further.
Because it was impossible.
His cousin’s daughter from another branch of the Xia family, Xia Wanlian, had died of a sudden illness ten years ago. She had been only sixteen when she died and had not yet married. How could she possibly have left behind a child this old?
Suppressing the turmoil in his heart, he sat beside the bed and softened his voice.
“Child, what’s your name?”
The white-haired child merely looked at him and repeated hoarsely,
“What’s your name.”
For a moment, Xia Zhiheng thought the child had become mentally impaired from his illness.
But the clear red eyes were lucid, fixed intently upon him. He did not look like a fool.
So Xia Zhiheng pointed to himself and patiently guided him.
“My name is Xia Zhiheng.”
Then he pointed at the child and asked again.
“You. Name?”
The child did not answer.
He looked at Xia Zhiheng’s finger, as though struggling to understand what the words meant.
Or perhaps he was remembering.
For a very long time.
Finally, he spoke.
“Bai Sheng.”
Xia Zhiheng was slightly stunned, forcibly suppressing the shock in his heart.
“What else?”
The child lowered his head and thought for a while longer.
It was as though he were reciting rules that someone else had taught him over many years.
“Calamity star.”
“Abomination.”
“Monster.”
“Unlucky.”
“No one wants me.”
Then he fell silent for a long time.
Finally, he raised that emaciated hand and pointed at himself, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
“The Xia family’s useless trash.”
Xia Zhiheng froze where he stood, as though he had fallen into an icy abyss.
He understood immediately.
Those were not a name.
They were the words this child had heard people call him every day, every moment, ever since he was born.
No one had ever taught him what a name was. He only knew that whenever people called out these words, they were calling him.
A chill shot straight from the soles of his feet into his heart.
And those words, “the Xia family’s useless trash,” left him even more horrified.
This child… was actually connected to the Xia family?
That night, Xia Zhiheng locked himself in his study and did not sleep.
He went through the family genealogy again and again.
The Xia family’s secondary branch. Nothing.
The Xia family’s main branch. Nothing.
He checked the official household registry. Nothing.
Even the record of Xia Wanlian’s death from illness all those years ago contained only a few scant lines.
It was clean to an extent that defied reason.
This white-haired child was as though he had never been born at all, leaving not the slightest trace of his existence in this world.
This was not an ordinary omission.
Xia Zhiheng abruptly shut the register, a rage that he could barely suppress surging into his eyes.
Someone had deliberately erased all of this.
Someone… simply did not allow this child to exist.
And yet, when that child looked out the window, that expression almost identical to the person from his memories could not lie.
Sitting in his chair, Xia Zhiheng once again heard in his mind the final words of the person who had disappeared into the red light.
—”Don’t let him… go back.”
Only at this moment did Xia Zhiheng finally understand.
That person had not been asking him to take in a pitiful abandoned child.
He had been using his life to warn him: as long as this child returned to the Xia family’s secondary branch, he would certainly die.
The only person who could save this child was himself.
He absolutely could not send the child back.
◇◆◇◆◇
The following afternoon, Xia Zhiheng traveled by carriage to the Xia family’s secondary branch under the pretext of paying a visit. He played chess and drank tea with Xia Zhongqian in the study.
The fragrance of tea drifted through the air, and the room was peaceful.
Yet Xia Zhongqian’s heart was as restless as though it were being roasted over an open fire.
…The white child was missing.
He had been taken away by someone of unknown origin.
The people Xia Zhongqian had sent out had searched for countless days, but there was neither a trace of the child alive nor a corpse to be found.
Then, news came from the capital.
The Grand Tutor’s residence had recently taken in a child of unknown origin.
A white child.
Xia Zhongqian’s first thought was: Could it be that child?
Had Xia Zhiheng noticed something?
But he did not dare ask. He did not dare mention it even once.
Because the moment he asked, it would be equivalent to personally admitting that the Xia family had once had such a child who could not be allowed to see the light of day.
He could only pretend to know nothing and remain silent.
Xia Zhiheng picked up his teacup, gently skimming away the foam. His tone was mild.
“Zhongqian, I recently took in a child.”
Xia Zhongqian’s hand holding the chess piece did not move, and his expression remained calm.
“Oh?”
Yet his heart suddenly sank.
Xia Zhiheng lowered his eyes and blew lightly on his tea.
“A white child.”
Xia Zhongqian’s gaze contracted ever so slightly for an instant, but after one extremely quick blink, he returned to normal. He placed his chess piece on the board and spoke with a trace of an elder’s pity.
“White children have difficult lives.”
He did not ask, “Where did the white child come from?”
Nor did he ask, “Why did you take him in?”
With one sentence—”He has a difficult life”—he completely removed himself from the matter.
Xia Zhiheng quietly looked at the chessboard, as though considering the situation. Slowly, he said,
“I can’t help feeling that child looks remarkably like someone I once knew.”
Xia Zhongqian remained silent and did not respond.
Of course, he knew who.
Xia Zhiheng raised his head, his gaze landing directly on his face.
“Like Wanlian.”
The moment those words fell, Xia Zhongqian’s hand, which was about to lift his teacup, paused for an almost imperceptible instant in midair.
An ordinary person would never have noticed that momentary stiffness.
But Grand Tutor Xia Zhiheng saw it.
Xia Zhongqian smoothly lifted his teacup and took a sip.
“Wanlian died young. The world is vast. There are plenty of people who look alike.”
His tone was utterly calm, as though he were not talking about his own deceased daughter.
“That’s true.” Xia Zhiheng smiled faintly. “It’s just that the child is covered in scars. New wounds layered over old ones. He doesn’t look like an ordinary child from a refugee family.”
Xia Zhongqian replied unhurriedly,
“We’re living through chaotic times. What kind of pitiful child hasn’t been seen?”
Xia Zhiheng put down his teacup.
His hands folded inside his sleeves as he looked at Xia Zhongqian across from him. Finally, he asked the question that was his true probe.
“Zhongqian, what if that child is actually a member of the Xia family?”
The entire study instantly fell silent.
Only the occasional crackle of the charcoal fire could be heard.
Xia Zhongqian did not answer.
He silently finished the hot tea in his cup, gently set the teacup down on the table, and only then raised his eyes to meet Xia Zhiheng’s gaze.
“Cousin, you’re joking. If he truly were a member of the Xia family, his name would naturally be in the genealogy.” He paused, his tone so certain that there was not a single flaw in it. “Since it isn’t, then he isn’t.”
The answer was extraordinarily clever.
The child truly was not in the genealogy.
And that white child was not originally surnamed Xia.
He had not spoken a single lie.
Xia Zhiheng looked at him, then suddenly smiled.
Although he had not obtained a definite answer, he had already learned everything he wanted to know.
Xia Zhongqian knew that this child existed.
Xia Zhongqian absolutely did not want to discuss the matter.
And when faced with such an obvious probe, Xia Zhongqian had not asked a single question in return from beginning to end.
“The tea was good today. I’ll be leaving first.”
Xia Zhiheng stood, brushed his sleeves, and turned to walk out.
Just as he was about to cross the doorway, Xia Zhiheng suddenly stopped.
He did not turn around. As though casually tossing out a piece of idle conversation, he said,
“Zhongqian. If there is a child who, for ten years, has called himself the Xia family’s useless trash…”
“What do you think… who taught him that?”
Behind him, Xia Zhongqian’s entire body suddenly stiffened.
This time, that flawless mask finally cracked open, revealing an extremely brief yet unmistakable moment of distraction.
Only afterward did Xia Zhongqian’s forcedly composed voice come from behind him.
“…Children say nonsense. It isn’t worthy of belief. Cousin, don’t take it to heart.”
Xia Zhiheng said nothing more and walked into the afternoon sunlight.
Inside the study, Xia Zhongqian sat alone before the empty chessboard, unmoving for a long time.
He did not summon his trusted aides as he usually did, nor did he send anyone to the Grand Tutor’s residence to investigate.
He merely raised his hand and slowly closed the white chess piece on the board into his palm.
Only after the tea had gone completely cold did he speak softly toward the empty study.
“Withdraw.”
The hidden guard outside silently retreated.
Only after there was not the slightest trace of another person’s presence around him did Xia Zhongqian gently close his eyes.
The hand holding the white chess piece had knuckles that had turned slightly white.
“…He’s still alive.”
He murmured softly, his voice filled with profound exhaustion and helplessness.
The next moment, he closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
◆◇◆◇◆
The carriage stopped in front of the Grand Tutor’s residence.
When Xia Zhiheng entered the warm chamber, his mind was continuously echoing Xia Zhongqian’s final reaction, as well as the warning that someone had exchanged their life to deliver.
He finally saw clearly the murderous intent hidden behind this silence.
—This entire matter was not simple.
If it were merely an illegitimate child, or simply a white child, Xia Zhongqian would not need to conceal things to this extent.
He could have simply dealt with the child.
Or demanded the child back from him directly.
But he had done neither.
Just what was the child’s background?
Who was his father?
Had Xia Wanlian really died from a sudden illness?
He vaguely sensed that if he continued investigating this matter, he might uncover a secret that should never have been revealed.
Perhaps, for this child, the truth did not necessarily mean something good.
Therefore, he decided to remain still for the time being.
Then he went to the child’s bedside and looked into those clear red eyes that held a trace of confusion. His expression was solemn yet gentle.
“Child, from now on, you will live here.”
“From today onward, you are no longer Bai Sheng, nor are you the Xia family’s useless trash.”
The child looked at him, some confusion in his eyes.
Xia Zhiheng gently touched his white hair, his voice steady and warm.
“Your name is Xia Lanshi.”
“Orchids grow in secluded valleys; they do not withhold their fragrance simply because no one is there to appreciate them. You are not an omen of misfortune, nor are you without a season that belongs to you.”
“Your season has simply come a little later than other people’s.”
“So your name shall be Lanshi. You will take the surname Xia. You are my grandson.”
The child stared at him, seemingly chewing over the meaning of those words, or perhaps trying his best to memorize this warmth that had come to him with such difficulty.
Then he pointed at himself and tentatively spoke.
“Xia… Lanshi?”
Xia Zhiheng nodded with a smile.
“Yes. From now on, whenever someone asks your name, answer them that way.”
The child nodded lightly.
He repeated it once more in a low voice.
“Xia, Lanshi.”
The child seemed to have obtained a priceless treasure. A faint light shimmered in his pale red eyes, and at last, the slightest smile appeared on his face.
Xia Zhiheng would never forget it.
He kept Xia Lanshi in the residence and personally taught him.
At first, he only hoped that Xia Lanshi would eventually be able to read and write normally. That alone would have been enough.
Xia Lanshi had never been taught or raised by anyone before. At the beginning, he did not even know basic table manners.
But very soon, Xia Zhiheng discovered that this was actually a hidden piece of precious jade.
Anything he taught Xia Lanshi once, Xia Lanshi remembered.
Any character he wrote just once, Xia Lanshi could understand its meaning.
Like paper absorbing ink, everything penetrated at the slightest touch.
Yet it took Xia Zhiheng two full years to truly understand how dangerous this child was.
At first, he merely thought the child possessed extraordinary talent.
A three-year-old recognizing characters was not particularly strange; there were even children in the world who could master the classics at five.
But Xia Lanshi was different.
He had only begun at the age of ten, far behind ordinary people.
It was not that he learned quickly, nor was he simply gifted with a good memory.
He could deduce things on his own.
Once, Xia Zhiheng taught him the Analects.
For an ordinary student to remember the words and understand their explanations was already considered excellent aptitude.
But after listening, Xia Lanshi merely raised his head calmly and asked,
“Grandfather, if Confucius had been born today and saw the state of the court today, would he still say those things?”
Xia Zhiheng was stunned.
This was not a prodigy.
This was a natural thinker.
Xia Zhiheng slowly discovered that the problem with Xia Lanshi was not that he had no answers.
It was that he had too many answers, and they were too sharp.
Once, Xia Zhiheng asked him, “What is loyalty?”
Xia Lanshi answered immediately.
“A minister is loyal to the ruler.”
But then he paused. Those clear red eyes looked at Xia Zhiheng, and he calmly added,
“What if the ruler isn’t loyal to the realm?”
“Does the minister… still need to uphold righteousness?”
Xia Zhiheng fell into a long silence on the spot.
Because he knew the answer to this question could be spoken in the study, but could not be discussed in court.
Yet a twelve-year-old child should not have begun thinking about such things at such a young age.
Another time, while reading a history book, Xia Lanshi came across a record of a certain minister being executed for speaking frankly and remonstrating with the ruler.
He did not ask, “Why did that minister do this?”
Instead, he asked, “Why wasn’t the emperor willing to listen?”
Xia Zhiheng’s fingertips stopped at the edge of the page.
He realized that Xia Lanshi’s questions had never been, “What is this?”
They were always, “Why is it like this?” and “What if it weren’t like this?”
He was like someone learning how to dismantle the rules of the world, except he did not yet know how to put everything back together after taking it apart.
Xia Zhiheng suddenly realized.
What he had saved might not be an ordinary child.
It was someone who was born to question the rules of the realm.
This child was destined not to be an obedient person in the future.
If he allowed such thoughts to continue growing unchecked, they would inevitably stir up trouble in the future.
Because this child was naturally capable of seeing the cracks within a structure.
And those who saw cracks would sooner or later want to reach out and touch them.
Xia Zhiheng closed the book without answering the question.
He merely said, “Some things can wait until you’re older before you think about them.”
But he knew in his heart—it was already too late.
From the day he was rescued, Xia Lanshi had been thinking constantly.
Perhaps even… before that, he had already begun questioning the world.
Later, Xia Lanshi studied history.
He never asked, “Which of these two people was right and which was wrong?”
He looked at the bloody history of victors becoming kings and losers becoming outcasts, pointed at one passage, and said,
“If I were him, I would have had a third option. I wouldn’t have needed to die, and I could still have forced the other side into a dead end.”
Xia Zhiheng’s feelings toward Xia Lanshi gradually changed from his initial astonishment to unease.
And finally, they became profound fear.
What truly frightened Xia Zhiheng was Xia Lanshi’s eyes when he looked at people.
Xia Lanshi’s greatest ability was neither an unfailing memory nor unfathomable schemes.
It was that he could easily see straight through people’s hearts.
One day, Xia Zhiheng was playing chess with an important court official in his study.
As soon as that man left, Xia Lanshi, who had quietly been grinding ink nearby the entire time, spoke.
“Grandfather, he told three lies today.”
Xia Zhiheng was slightly stunned.
“Which three?”
Xia Lanshi repeated them word for word.
Later, Xia Zhiheng secretly sent someone to investigate, and that man had indeed concealed three important matters.
Another time, after Xia Zhiheng finished a game of chess, Xia Lanshi gathered up the pieces and casually said,
“Grandfather deliberately lost to him today.”
Xia Zhiheng smiled and deliberately tested him.
“How do you know?”
Xia Lanshi did not look up. He dropped a white piece into the chess box with a crisp sound.
“Because the move you really wanted to make was another one. You had already laid out the killing trap on your fifth move, yet you yielded on the tenth. You were wary of the people behind him.”
The smile at the corner of Xia Zhiheng’s lips instantly froze.
At that moment, Xia Zhiheng experienced a shuddering premonition for the first time.
In the future, this child would be capable of treating people’s hearts as chess pieces.
If he became a court official one day, he would probably manipulate the entire court and realm as though they were a chessboard.
Xia Zhiheng locked himself in his study and could not sleep throughout the night.
He thought about it: If a sharp sword had no scabbard, sooner or later it would wound someone.
But Xia Lanshi was not a sword at all.
He was the “person wielding the sword.”
He began contemplating an extremely grave question.
It was no longer about how he should teach him.
But rather—
Who would be able to control him in the future?
No… no one in this world could control him.
What he needed was not a master who could restrain him, but someone worthy of having him draw his sword.
Thus, Xia Zhiheng, as Grand Tutor, began secretly observing the various princes.
He looked not at their abilities, not at their literary accomplishments, and certainly not at the power of their maternal clans.
Crown Prince Xiao Sheng was suspicious by nature and of average ability, yet arrogant and contemptuous of the people, regarding commoners as no more than ants.
Second Prince Xiao Chang cared deeply about maintaining his reputation and bestowed favors upon everyone he met, but the compassion he displayed upon seeing refugees was merely deliberate acting.
Third Prince Xiao Yan was ambitious and genuinely talented to some degree, but narrow-minded and unable to tolerate anyone outshining him.
Fourth Prince Xiao Cheng was kind-hearted, but indecisive and unable to accomplish great things.
Fifth Prince Xiao Jin was deeply versed in political tactics and ruthless in his methods. For the sake of his goals, he could abandon any bottom line.
Sixth Prince Xiao Zhuo was timid and submissive, afraid of trouble and incapable of accomplishing anything.
After looking over all of them, Xia Zhiheng’s heart sank further and further.
Finally, his gaze fell upon the Seventh Prince, Xiao Yuan.
His initial impression of this prince was: intelligent, silent.
He was quiet like a shadow, as though deliberately concealing his sharpness.
It was not some earth-shattering event, merely an insignificant little incident.
It was an extremely cold winter day, when the sky and earth were frozen solid.
The princes were resting in the warm chamber when a young eunuch entered carrying hot tea. Because his hands were stiff from the cold, he accidentally spilled the entire pot of hot tea onto the floor. He himself fell onto the shattered porcelain and was cut, blood dripping all over the ground.
For a moment, the warm chamber fell completely silent.
Some princes laughed. Some cursed him for bringing bad luck. Others turned away in disgust.
Only Xiao Yuan.
He walked over without saying a word. He neither scolded the eunuch nor looked back at the expressions of the others.
He simply silently removed the cloak from his own body and draped it over the little eunuch, who was trembling all over and believed he was surely going to die.
“Go to the Imperial Medical Bureau.”
Leaving behind those four words, Xiao Yuan turned around and walked back to his seat.
Xia Zhiheng, who had been holding a book, raised his head for the first time and looked deeply at this unfavored prince.
His gaze tightened slightly.
This child understood—people were more important than rules.
On another occasion, the emperor suddenly came to the academy to test the princes’ learning.
Several princes were eager to show themselves off, scrambling to answer first, and the scene became somewhat chaotic.
Only Xiao Yuan quietly retreated to the very back.
At first, Xia Zhiheng thought he was shrinking back.
But after looking carefully, he realized that Xiao Yuan had noticed that the strap of another young prince’s shoe had come undone. Afraid that the boy would be stepped on and fall, he had quietly crouched down and tied his younger brother’s shoe strap for him before standing back up.
These inconspicuous details pieced together the truest foundation of a person.
That night, in his study, Xia Zhiheng reached his final conclusion.
Not because Xiao Yuan was the smartest, nor because Xiao Yuan was especially powerful.
But because Xiao Yuan would never use Xia Lanshi.
Xia Zhiheng quietly looked out at the deep darkness of the night and thought of the white-haired youth quietly reading beneath the lamplight.
Xia Lanshi was too intelligent, but also too cold.
If he encountered an incompetent ruler, he would never submit.
If he encountered a tyrannical ruler, one day he would rebel against the entire realm.
If he encountered a selfish ruler, he would certainly seize that person’s authority and toy with him in the palm of his hand.
Xia Zhiheng sighed and said softly,
“Only this person… will regard him as a ‘person.'”
Therefore, under pressure from all sides, he quietly pushed the situation forward.
Under the pretext of making him a companion student, he sent Xia Lanshi to Xiao Yuan’s side.
Then he arranged for Xia Lanshi to enter Yunlu Academy.
His mind once again returned to that snowy night years ago.
That night, what the blood-covered person had entrusted to him with his life had never merely been a child.
It was a future that could never turn back.
To this day, he still did not know who that person truly was.
But he had never failed the trust placed in him that night.
Ten years had passed, and a smile appeared at the corner of Xia Zhiheng’s lips.
He had made countless plans in his life.
But what he was proudest of was not having taught several powerful ministers.
He knew that back then, he had not been choosing a chief secretary for Xiao Yuan.
He had been choosing, for Xia Lanshi, a ruler worthy of his lifelong loyalty.
Now, the two of them were in the northern frontier, facing immense pressure and threats, yet still doing their best to survive.
Not only that, news of their efforts to control the epidemic and reorganize Linbei City had gradually reached his ears.
It filled him with relief.
“Huaiyu…”
Xia Zhiheng slowly closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. His voice sounded unbearably desolate in the empty study.
“Are you asking this old man… whether that person is still worthy of trust?”
Only now did Grand Tutor Xia finally piece together the true meaning of the two letters.
Xia Lanshi had not been asking about the system.
Nor had he been asking about the old case.
Instead, through those two letters, he had been telling him step by step:
Don’t investigate the records.
Go find the living people who know the truth.
What Xia Lanshi was truly worried about was not the old case.
It was that the people who knew about the old case would die before the truth could be uncovered.
And those pieces of evidence might be destroyed.
And the final sentence of the letter:
“If Grandfather is willing to reconnect that line…”
If someone else intercepted this letter, they would only think it referred to a bloodline, or perhaps a clue in the investigation.
But Xia Zhiheng understood.
It was a secret line within the Xia family that had been severed for twenty years.
Xia Lanshi was asking for his permission—whether he would allow him to touch Xia Zhongqian.
Xia Zhiheng sat quietly before his writing desk, looking at the two letters lying side by side, remaining silent.
For a long time.
Slowly, Xia Zhiheng opened his eyes.
The old, clouded look in his eyes had vanished completely. At this moment, he had once again regained the composure and sharpness he had possessed when he stood at the imperial court in his younger years.
He refolded the secret letter delivered through Listening Snow Pavilion.
His fingertip gently brushed over the cool surface of the paper.
Then he held it toward the candle flame.
The flame slowly climbed up the corner of the paper, swallowing every line of writing bit by bit, until it finally became a handful of ashes falling into the bronze basin.
Then his gaze fell upon the official dispatch marked for eight-hundred-li emergency delivery.
He knew that by now, the emperor, the Crown Prince, and certain others should already have read this letter.
What they saw was household registration, military settlements, institutions, or something else.
But what he saw was a line that had been severed for twenty years.
Since Xia Lanshi had already made his move,
the remaining step would be taken by him, his grandfather.
He was old, after all.
But he was not yet so old that he could not even shield his student and grandson from the final storm.