After a night of revelry, drinking and carousing to his heart’s content, Xiao Ying successfully managed to give himself a splitting headache by the time he woke up the next morning.
Sunlight slanted through the lattice windows into the room. Rubbing his throbbing temples, he accepted the hangover remedy Lan Ningcheng handed him.
The warm liquid, slightly bitter with a spicy undertone, went down his throat and finally eased the burning turmoil churning in his stomach a little.
“What time is it?” Xiao Ying asked hoarsely, handing back the empty bowl.
Lan Ningcheng accepted it respectfully and reported in a low voice, “Your Highness, it is already past the second quarter of the Chen hour. If you begin washing up and changing now, accounting for the journey by carriage, you should arrive at the Imperial Clan Court just in time for the Si hour.”
Xiao Ying nodded, the gesture rather languid.
Unlike the Six Ministries, the Imperial Clan Court did not hold a daily morning court, but its officials were still required to check in each morning. Ordinary officials generally arrived at their offices around the Chen hour.
Xiao Ying was not a permanent official of the Imperial Clan Court. He had merely been ordered by imperial decree to temporarily assist with organizing the old records of the imperial clan. However, if he slept until the Chen hour and then dawdled until the Si hour before finally wandering over, it would naturally give others another reason to accuse him of being “debauched and dissolute, with no regard for court regulations.”
His good imperial uncle would undoubtedly submit another memorial to his father, denouncing him.
But he had no choice.
If he were too diligent and scrupulous about the rules, he would tear apart the protective disguise he had carefully maintained for years. In this capital, where people devoured one another, his reputation for drinking, womanizing, laziness, and incompetence was his protective talisman.
Just as Lan Ningcheng had calculated, the ornate carriage of Prince Yi’s residence came to a slow stop in front of the Imperial Clan Court’s main gate under the approaching Si-hour sunlight.
The Imperial Clan Court stood on the eastern side outside the Imperial City, facing the offices of the Six Ministries from a distance while remaining secluded in its own solemn, quiet grounds. Its location made it convenient for members of the imperial clan to come and go, while also allowing the emperor to consult the imperial genealogy whenever he wished.
Xiao Ying lifted the carriage curtain and gazed out lazily.
The vermilion gate was stately and dignified. Above it hung a plaque bearing the three characters “Imperial Clan Court,” written in a neat, disciplined hand. After enduring years of wind and weather, however, the gold paint along its edges had begun to peel and fade.
Since the court housed the imperial family’s most important genealogical records and countless secrets that could never be made public, its security was far stricter and more forbidding than that of the ordinary offices of the Six Ministries.
Xiao Ying gave an exaggerated yawn, straightened his brocade robe, and stepped out of the carriage with a slightly unsteady gait.
He instructed his personal guards to wait in the duty room, then entered the heavy vermilion gate alone, his hands clasped behind his back as he swayed along.
The elderly clerk on duty in the gatehouse looked up. Recognizing the prince notorious throughout the capital for his debauchery, he hurriedly straightened his clothes and rushed out to bow.
“This humble servant pays his respects to Your Highness, Prince Yi.”
Xiao Ying waved a hand, his face displaying unmistakable weariness. “No need for formalities. This prince has come to check in.”
The old clerk hurriedly fetched the heavy attendance register and a writing brush, presenting them with both hands.
As Xiao Ying took the brush, he deliberately swayed. His stroke slanted, and the ink dragged heavily across the paper. Only then did he scrawl a limp, sloppy character for “Yi” into the register. At first glance, he looked exactly like a dissolute nobleman still suffering from a hangover, his hands trembling too much to hold a brush properly.
The old clerk secretly shook his head but did not dare say anything. He merely lowered his head respectfully. “Your Highness, please present your waist token.”
Xiao Ying untied the silver token from his waist and casually tossed it to him.
The old clerk caught it with both hands and carefully compared it against the records in the register. After confirming that everything matched, he respectfully returned it.
“Your Highness, please proceed. His Lordship, the Prince Gong, has been waiting for you in the archives for quite some time.”
“Understood.”
Xiao Ying nodded and walked farther inside.
As he passed through the corridor, the corner of his eye caught the regulations plaque hanging on the wall, densely covered with instructions for entering the court. He did not slow down, but the words had already been imprinted in his mind.
The Imperial Clan Court did not occupy particularly extensive grounds, but its architectural layout was exceptionally strict and solemn.
The front courtyard housed the offices where officials worked. The central courtyard stored ordinary imperial clan records. At its innermost end stood an inner archive containing the core records of past emperors, empresses, princes, and other members of the imperial clan. Beyond that lay sealed documents secured behind layer upon layer of locks. The rear courtyard contained the Prince of the Imperial Clan Court’s office.
Xiao Ying crossed the front courtyard. The clerks patrolling the grounds or organizing documents along either side turned aside, lowered their heads, and bowed as he passed.
He merely inclined his head faintly, his gaze appearing somewhat unfocused, and headed straight toward the archive in the central courtyard, a room that perpetually smelled of aged ink and camphorwood.
The archive’s heavy doors stood open. A figure in a dark, muted purple robe stood at the entrance, holding a yellowed register and examining it carefully against the sunlight.
This was the current head of the Imperial Clan Court—Prince Gong, Xiao Yi.
Judging by his face alone, probably no one in the entire capital would have believed that this elderly man was one of the late emperor’s sons.
There was no trace of the sharp majesty associated with the imperial family on his face, nor the oppressive dignity one might expect from a man whose years had granted him authority.
Most of his hair had turned white, the remaining black strands mixed among the silver and tied up beneath his crown. He resembled an old ink painting, weathered by years of wind and frost until its colors had faded.
His eyes held no sharpness, no scrutiny, and scarcely any emotional fluctuation one might associate with the living. They were like an ancient well sealed for a hundred years, its surface utterly still, revealing nothing but unfathomable depths when one looked into it.
Xiao Ying was not particularly familiar with this imperial uncle. On one hand, he deliberately avoided becoming too close to members of the imperial family or court officials. On the other, this uncle of his was also extremely low-key, seemingly avoiding the same entanglements.
Although they crossed paths occasionally throughout the year, they rarely exchanged more than a few words, usually just a brief greeting when they happened to meet.
“You’re here.”
Prince Gong did not even turn his head. He merely flipped to another page of the yellowed register, his voice as flat as a stagnant pool.
“You’ve arrived half an hour earlier than I expected.”
Xiao Ying acted as though he had not detected the implication behind those words. His trademark lazy smile immediately appeared on his face as he stepped forward and cupped his hands in greeting.
“Your nephew pays his respects to Imperial Uncle. I’m truly sorry. I drank a little too much with friends last night and found it difficult to wake up this morning, which delayed my arrival for the attendance check.”
Only then did Prince Gong slowly turn around.
His well-like eyes settled heavily on Xiao Ying, studying him for several breaths.
That single glance possessed an empty yet incisive penetrating quality.
He had seen too many princes and too many people who had learned to play the fool to stay alive. How much of Xiao Ying’s current appearance was genuine was not something he needed to investigate.
Xiao Ying had worn this false mask for so many years that it had fused with his flesh and blood. Not the slightest flaw showed in his expression. He remained the same frivolous, carefree, grinning wastrel.
Prince Gong withdrew his gaze. He did not reprimand Xiao Ying for arriving late, seemingly unconcerned by the matter. He merely said indifferently, “Since His Majesty has ordered you to organize the old records, you may as well try your hand at it.”
Xiao Ying deliberately let a trace of confusion show in his eyes and asked for guidance. “I would appreciate Imperial Uncle’s advice. Which section should your nephew begin with?”
Prince Gong closed the register in his hands, his tone unchanging. “Begin wherever you wish.”
The corners of Xiao Ying’s lips curved upward, but a chill rose in his heart.
As expected of a ruthless man who had survived the bloody purge of those years and emerged unscathed.
His father had said nothing explicitly. He had merely ordered Xiao Ying to come and organize the old records. Yet Prince Gong understood perfectly well without needing anything explained.
What the emperor wanted to see was which direction Xiao Ying would reach toward first after entering this treasure trove of records.
It was a silent test.
Reviewing this vast sea of documents would take countless days and years, but Xiao Ying did not have that kind of time. He had only two months left.
Since there were eyes belonging to his father everywhere in the Imperial Clan Court, and there was no way to avoid them, he might as well openly examine what he wanted to see.
Xiao Ying smiled faintly, a hint of frivolous impropriety appearing in his eyes.
“Since Imperial Uncle puts it that way, your nephew will simply choose as he pleases. Looking at records of noble titles and peerages within the imperial clan would put me to sleep after just a couple of pages. But the romantic anecdotes and scandals from the inner quarters of the imperial harem throughout the dynasties… Those sound much more interesting. Perhaps I should start there. At least I won’t fall asleep while reading them.”
Not a single muscle on Prince Gong’s face twitched. He did not rebuke Xiao Ying, either.
Only at the very bottom of those deep, unfathomable eyes did a glimmer of light pass, so subtle that it was almost impossible to detect.
Then he gave a slight nod. “Very well. I’ll have someone take you there. Take your time organizing the records. If you don’t understand any of the regulations or cannot locate a document, you may come to me at any time.”
“Thank you, Imperial Uncle. I’ll be off, then.”
Xiao Ying cupped his hands again, then turned and walked away at a leisurely pace, following the archive clerk who had come to escort him deeper into the archives.
Prince Gong remained silently at the entrance, watching Xiao Ying’s seemingly frivolous figure disappear into the shadows cast by row upon row of towering bookshelves. His expression gradually grew grave.
He knew perfectly well that Xiao Ying had not truly come to organize old records, and the emperor certainly had not sent him here merely to punish a wayward son.
Suddenly, Prince Gong felt a chilling premonition.
The court, which had remained dormant for so many years, was about to see bloodshed once again.
In the early years of the current emperor’s reign, the purge of the imperial clan had been carried out with ruthless intensity, leaving rivers of blood in its wake. Many of the princes left behind by the late emperor had either been accused of treason and poisoned to death or executed by waist-cutting. Others had been stripped of their titles and exiled to the remote frontier.
The reason he, Xiao Yi, had survived was not that he possessed peerless martial arts or extraordinary strategic brilliance. Rather, while everyone else was still watching and fighting over their interests, he had made a ruthless decision.
He had voluntarily submitted a memorial confessing his own shortcomings and asking to relinquish every official post and all authority, withdrawing completely from the political center of the capital. Of the dozen or so princes of that era, he was one of only two survivors who had managed to preserve their lives.
He had been only nineteen that year.
He had been in the prime of youth, full of vigor and ambition, yet he had chosen to put chains on himself and resolutely withdraw from the bloody game.
Every word of the memorial he submitted to the emperor had been humble to the extreme:
“This subject is untalented and poorly learned, unfit for any important responsibility. From this day forward, I am willing to take no further part in state affairs, asking only for a small corner in which to live out the remainder of my years.”
The emperor had studied the memorial for a long time before finally granting his request.
Twenty years after the purge, the emperor needed someone to oversee the imperial clan and manage its genealogical records.
This person had to pose no threat whatsoever to the throne, obey the emperor absolutely, understand the affairs of the imperial clan inside and out, and possess a sufficiently distinguished seniority within the family.
Xiao Yi had become the ideal candidate.
Because years ago, he had personally severed every political connection he possessed.
He had no maternal clan to support him, no military power in his hands, and no fiefdom to rely on. He had no enemies within the imperial clan because he never made enemies of anyone. Toward the elder brother seated upon the dragon throne, he had always maintained an attitude of reverence and distance.
And he continued to do so to this day.
The emperor had never chosen him because he trusted him, but because he felt at ease with him.
A man whose teeth had long been pulled and whose backbone had been removed could not bite. Even if he did, it would not hurt. If necessary, he could simply be cut down.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the camphorwood shelves, falling across Prince Gong’s faded face.
In Xiao Ying’s retreating figure, he could faintly see an echo of his own younger self.
He did not know what Xiao Ying was trying to investigate, nor what the emperor wanted to obtain from this son of his.
Yet that seemingly careless expression and those measured steps, each one fraught with danger, reminded him of himself many years ago.
When a person stood at the edge of an abyss, the first thing they learned was never how to move forward.
It was how to make everyone believe they had no desire to move forward at all.
But Xiao Ying now seemed to be walking along a slender wire stretched across a bottomless abyss.
◇◆◇◆◇
Late at night, the Ziji Hall was so silent that even a pin dropping could be heard.
Only one enormous bronze candleholder with three branches remained lit inside the hall. Its dim yellow glow spread across the room, stretching Emperor Xiao Che’s figure into a long, heavy, lonely shadow.
Tonight, Liu Changzhong, the eunuch who had served at the emperor’s side for decades, was not present.
Half an hour earlier, the emperor had sent Liu Changzhong away on the pretext of personally inspecting this year’s tribute of restorative medicines at the Imperial Pharmacy.
It was not that he distrusted Liu Changzhong. Rather, ever since the previous incident in which a secret imperial decree had been leaked, Xiao Che had begun to see everyone in this vast Ziji Hall as though they wore a false mask.
A faint sound of footsteps suddenly came from outside the door, followed by the duty guard’s lowered announcement.
“Your Majesty, Prince Gong requests an audience.”
Xiao Che slowly raised his eyelids, his eyes as cold and deep as a bottomless pool.
“Let him in.”
The palace doors opened a crack. Prince Gong Xiao Yi, dressed in a dark purple python robe, stepped inside with his head lowered, then gently closed the door behind him. He had brought no attendants. Entering the palace in the dead of night, he moved so quietly that his footsteps were almost inaudible.
“This subject pays his respects to Your Majesty.”
Xiao Yi stepped forward and bowed, his manner respectful.
“It’s so late. Why have you come in person?”
Xiao Che leaned back against the dragon throne, his voice slightly hoarse.
He knew Xiao Yi would come tonight, but pretended otherwise.
“Your Majesty, Prince Yi entered the Imperial Clan Court today to organize the old records.” Xiao Yi raised his head slightly and drew a neatly folded sheet of rice paper from his sleeve with both hands. “As for what he did while consulting the records in the court, this subject thought… it would be most appropriate to report it to Your Majesty in person.”
Xiao Che looked at him deeply.
Xiao Yi was meticulous and observant. He never involved himself with any faction at court and understood what the emperor truly wanted, yet he never asked questions or said more than necessary.
“Present it.”
Xiao Yi raised the sheet of white paper above his head with both hands and offered it to the emperor.
Xiao Che rose and personally took the paper from him.
The handwriting was neat and plain, without any subjective judgments. It was a meticulously formatted work log that Xiao Yi had recorded in his capacity as head of the Imperial Clan Court.
Si hour: Prince Yi entered the Imperial Clan Court. First examined the imperial clan registers and records of honors and peerages from the reign of Emperor Taizu.
Noon: Consulted records concerning the birth mothers of princes from successive reigns, their maternal relatives, and old cases within the palace.
Wei hour: Inquired about the dates of death of several consorts from the late emperor’s reign and the current dynasty, then ordered the relevant records to be rearranged chronologically.
Shen hour: Consulted records concerning the maternal relatives of princes of the current dynasty and the misfortunes that had befallen them.
Additional note:
Prince Yi casually asked this subject: “Over the past thirty-five years, the birth mothers of various princes and their maternal clans have suffered numerous misfortunes. Why has the empress’s maternal clan remained as stable as ever?”
Further note:
Throughout the day, Prince Yi never consulted the detailed records concerning the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince’s birth mother, or the empress’s maternal clan.
Xiao Che’s gaze settled on the words “thirty-five years” and the final two lines.
The hall fell completely silent, with only the candle flame flickering gently in the draft.
Xiao Che pressed his fingertips lightly against the paper, then slowly raised his eyes to look at Xiao Yi, who stood solemnly before him.
His voice was so calm that it was unnerving.
“He asked that question?”
“Yes,” Xiao Yi answered with his head bowed.
“Did he say anything else?”
Xiao Yi reported everything exactly as it had happened, recounting his conversation with Xiao Ying in front of the archive that day. He neither offered any explanation on Xiao Ying’s behalf nor attempted to conceal anything. Even Xiao Ying’s faintly amused, seemingly casual tone had been faithfully recorded.
Xiao Che remained silent for a long time after hearing the report.
Then, without warning, he asked, “He didn’t touch the Eastern Palace records?”
“Your Majesty, he did not touch a single page.” Xiao Yi’s answer was firm. “The detailed records concerning the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince’s birth mother, and the past affairs of the empress’s maternal clan were not touched by Prince Yi at all.”
Xiao Che narrowed his eyes, his gaze suddenly growing profound.
If Xiao Ying had gone straight to the Eastern Palace records upon entering the Imperial Clan Court, it would have been easy to understand.
It would have been nothing more than a struggle for the succession. He would have been eager to find the Crown Prince’s weaknesses and seize upon some compromising evidence.
Yet Xiao Ying had deliberately avoided the Eastern Palace.
Instead, he had investigated every consort who had died, every maternal clan that had been weakened, and every prince’s birth mother who had suffered some “accident” over the past thirty-five years of the current dynasty.
He was not investigating any one individual.
He was looking for a pattern.
He was weaving together the countless bloody cases and misfortunes that had occurred in the court and harem over the past three decades, each seemingly unrelated to the others, trying to piece together the complete truth hidden beneath the dust of time.
Xiao Che lowered his head and read those few lines again.
As emperor, he was not entirely unaware of these matters.
When consorts had died of illness, imperial physicians had conducted detailed examinations. When consorts had fallen out of favor, records had been kept within the palace. When maternal clans had been convicted and dismissed from power, the Ministry of Justice and the Three Judicial Offices had conducted joint hearings and preserved the case files. When a prince’s birth mother had died prematurely in childbirth, complete medical records had also been left behind.
Examined individually, every incident had a legitimate explanation, a reasonable set of records, and a clear outcome supported by evidence. Some were even matters he himself had reviewed and issued decrees on at the time.
Xiao Che slowly closed his eyes.
But what if all the events of the past thirty-five years were no longer examined as “independent cases within the palace,” but instead rearranged according to the category of “princes’ birth mothers”?
For thirty-five years, the birth mothers of various princes had suffered one misfortune after another, while their maternal clans had declined in succession…
Could there really have been such a consistent series of coincidences in this world?
Xiao Che opened his eyes.
His voice was very low. “He asked… why the empress’s maternal clan has never suffered any misfortune?”
“Yes.”
Xiao Che asked nothing further.
Because that one question was already sharp enough to cut to the bone.
Xiao Ying was not asking who had killed a particular consort, nor what crime a particular maternal clan had committed.
He was asking—why had the results of the past thirty-five years always pointed in the same direction?
And why had the empress’s maternal clan, the Duke Dingguo household, always remained untouched by those results?
Xiao Che looked at Xiao Yi, knowing that Xiao Yi would not dare to deceive him.
Precisely because of that, this report seemed so clean and genuine.
“I understand.” Xiao Che nodded, his tone growing indifferent. “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble coming here tonight. The palace gates will soon be locked. Imperial younger brother, return to your residence early. As for the contents of this paper tonight… no third person needs to know.”
“This subject obeys Your Majesty’s decree. I take my leave.”
Xiao Yi bowed deeply, then silently withdrew from the Ziji Hall.
The heavy palace doors closed once more, shutting out the vast darkness and cold of the night.
Inside the Ziji Hall, Xiao Che was alone again.
He stood before the candlelight, looking down at the thin sheet of paper in his hand. The glow illuminated the ink clearly.
“Over the past thirty-five years, the birth mothers of the princes… the misfortunes of their maternal clans…”
Xiao Che let out a cold laugh. The sound was especially desolate in the vast, empty hall.
He folded the paper once and slowly brought it toward the candle flame.
The fire leaped onto the corner of the paper and quickly spread.
The flames illuminated Xiao Che’s increasingly aged face, still stern and ruthless. Black ashes flaked off his fingertips and fell into the bronze brazier below.
“I told you to investigate the ancestors…”
The paper curled and blackened, the writing gradually disappearing into the flames.
Xiao Che watched the words “thirty-five years” as they remained unburned for a moment longer. There was no fury in his expression, only a chilling coldness that made one’s blood run cold.
“But what you’re investigating… is me.”
The final unburned corner of the paper fell into the brazier. Xiao Che picked up the bronze fire tongs from the desk and pressed down hard, crushing the last remaining fragment into the settled incense ash until it was completely reduced to nothing.
He stood motionless, watching the last spark die out and turn into a wisp of drifting smoke.
A moment later, he turned and slowly walked into the deepest shadows at the rear of the Ziji Hall.
There stood a massive imperial bookcase made of rosewood.
Xiao Che extended his thin, bony fingers and gently pressed an inconspicuous carved pin on the side of the bookcase.
With a soft click, a hidden compartment sprang open.
Deep inside lay several yellowed scrolls made of parchment and hemp paper. A few days earlier, he had ordered them retrieved from the Imperial Archives of Royal Secrets. They were classified as the highest level of royal secrets.
On the scroll covers, faint, ancient characters could still be made out, including “Northern Frontier” and “Four Hundred Years…”
Xiao Che’s fingers rested for a long time on the uppermost scroll, an old record dating back four hundred years.
He did not open it. Over the past several days, he had already read its contents countless times, every word deeply imprinted in his mind.
Before tonight, he had examined these old records in an attempt to discover what exactly had happened four hundred years ago.
But after tonight, a question suddenly surfaced in his mind, sending a chill down his spine.
If that royal mystery from four hundred years ago, forcibly buried and concealed, had never truly been resolved, then… how many things had happened during the thirty-five years of his own reign that he had witnessed with his own eyes and personally issued decrees about, yet never truly understood?
Xiao Che’s fingers tightened slightly, then slowly relaxed.
He did not take out the scrolls. He simply pushed the hidden compartment closed again.
Outside the Ziji Hall, the long night continued. And deep within the emperor’s heart, an abyss had already begun to take root and sprout, though it had yet to be spoken aloud. It quietly spread.
◇◆◇◆◇
Inside the dimly lit pavilion, the cold, sharp scents of camphorwood and agarwood could not suppress the cloying sweetness of cosmetics that had permeated the air over the years.
Jun Yuexi sat silently on the bed with his bare feet tucked beneath him.
He had shed the otherworldly, immortal-like disguise he wore before outsiders. Now he wore only a simple moon-white robe, and his excessively long black hair was braided and draped over his side.
His gaze lowered toward a row of hidden compartments in the desk.
The compartments were open. Inside lay three palm-sized booklets, stitched together from extremely thin cotton paper.
Their pages had yellowed slightly, and their corners had grown rough from repeated handling.
There were no names written on them, nor any coherent passages of text. They were records pieced together from coded phrases, symbols, and scattered names that only he could understand.
These three thin booklets had been painstakingly compiled over the course of three years, with every stroke written in the blood, tears, humiliation, and fragments of dignity he had been forced to surrender.
The day the Wu household had been raided three years ago still haunted his dreams, jolting him awake even now.
That day, the Imperial Guards and officers from the Ministry of Justice had burst through the doors like demons. The once elegant and welcoming Wu residence had collapsed amid the uproar and screams. His parents and the elder brother he had always respected were taken to the execution grounds, while his young sister disappeared without a trace.
Because he had not yet come of age, he had been lucky enough to escape execution. But he was sentenced to servitude, transferred from one owner to another, and eventually sold into this hellish place that devoured people alive: Shuyu Pavilion.
The dignity of the scholarly Wu family, once renowned for its refined traditions in Jiangnan, had been ground into mud beneath beatings and the contemptuous gazes of its customers.
Whenever he was beaten until he was covered in wounds late at night, or forced to serve wine and smile for customers, the image of his father burning account books over a brazier would flare up in his mind once more.
That image was what had sustained him until this day.
“The figures in the accounts can lie, but grain never does.”
He firmly believed that the Wu family had done nothing wrong.
His father had been incorruptible throughout his life. He could never have been the enormous embezzler the court accused him of being, colluding with the grain transport system and stealing disaster relief supplies.
If the world was wrong, if those in power could arbitrarily pin crimes on innocent people, then…
Even if he was trapped in a gutter, he would drag that injustice into the light and restore his father and the Wu family’s good name.
For the first six months or so at Shuyu Pavilion, he had lived like a walking corpse.
More than once, he had wanted to end his own life to preserve his dignity.
But gradually, he discovered that this famous pleasure house in the capital was also the largest, most chaotic, and least guarded conduit for information throughout the entire Great Sheng dynasty.
He began using every means available to him.
He had no money, so he used his ornaments and jewelry, even secretly saving the silver given to him by customers. He had no power, so he relied on favors and protection.
The male courtesans at Shuyu Pavilion were treated as expendable as grass. Young courtesans often offended powerful nobles and found themselves facing brutal beatings or even the threat of losing limbs.
Despite the risk of being punished and whipped himself, Jun Yuexi had repeatedly stepped forward to shield those helpless young men.
He used his own worth as a bargaining chip to protect several lives that others considered worthless.
In the first year, he only wanted to investigate the Wu family case. In the second year, he began investigating the grain transport system. By the third year, he finally realized that what had happened to the Wu family might not have been a problem confined to the Wu family alone.
Beneath the pavilion’s polished surface of entertainment and smiling performances, a small intelligence network composed of male courtesans, servants, kitchen workers, and laundry women had quietly taken shape.
Now, with Prince Yi Xiao Ying’s financial support, he no longer had to be constrained by a lack of money.
Xiao Ying had paid a hefty sum to secure his privilege of refusing customers, and had also sent in fine brocades and jewelry. This made it much easier for him to maintain and expand his intelligence network, allowing it to reach farther than before.
Jun Yuexi reached out and touched the three cotton-paper booklets, his eyes utterly cold.
He never allowed his subordinates to ask about the “Wu family case,” nor did he let them touch any politically sensitive topics.
Instead, he had the male courtesans who served merchants listen for information about grain prices. He asked the kitchen servants to pay attention to boatmen’s complaints and the young men who poured wine to remember fragments of officials’ drunken conversations.
Over the course of three years, he had pieced together these seemingly unrelated fragments and gradually uncovered an outline that sent chills down his spine.
The first booklet: Grain and water transport.
It contained scattered pieces of information.
A grain merchant had complained that rice prices had risen during a year of disaster instead of falling.
An old boatman had boasted drunkenly that a particular job had been easy, because the fleet’s ships had never been fully loaded.
A laborer at a local granary had no recollection of a “large shipment received into storage” during a certain month.
An official, drunk, had let slip, “That shipment mustn’t go through the original dock.”
These scattered remarks could not serve as evidence on their own. But when they converged, Jun Yuexi reached a conclusion: the figures in the accounts did not match the grain that had actually traveled along the waterways.
The second booklet: People and cargo.
He had recorded a jumble of numbers: one hundred and twenty-seven shi, eighty-nine shi, three hundred and fourteen shi, four hundred and twenty-one shi, one hundred and seventy-six shi.
They were spread across three years, with a wide variety of excuses: dampness, leaks in the hull, warehouse damage, rats, and capsizing.
Each individual entry looked perfectly reasonable, and the quantities were so small that the prefectural authorities would not even open an investigation.
But when Jun Yuexi marked these fragments from the three years onto a map, he discovered a horrifying fact: all the so-called “losses” ultimately converged along the same few fixed transportation routes.
This was not the work of a single official who had suddenly decided to embezzle funds. It was a hidden channel that had been operating for a long time, quietly draining the lifeblood from the state treasury.
The third booklet: People and traces.
This booklet was filled with names.
A minor Ministry of Revenue clerk responsible for weighing grain had suddenly “retired due to old age and illness” and returned to his hometown.
A manager from the Grain Transport Administration had drowned after drinking.
A clerk who had once been responsible for copying account books had suddenly changed occupations.
A warehouse clerk had been transferred to a distant region.
A grain merchant had abruptly stopped showing up.
Jun Yuexi did not dare conclude that these were deliberate silencing operations, but whenever he looked at those names, a chill ran down his spine.
The people connected to the same chain had disappeared far too thoroughly over the course of three years. Someone was patiently erasing every footprint along this trail, one by one.
And the game of chess Xiao Ying had initiated aboard the pleasure boat on the Xinghan River that night had been like a massive stone thrown directly into this stagnant pool.
Xiao Ying had deliberately spread false information that Wu Junqing had handed over a secret ledger on the night before his downfall, driving the sharp point of suspicion straight into the hearts of those powerful young nobles.
Jun Yuexi closed his eyes, recalling the expressions on everyone’s faces the previous night.
Xu Haoyang, son of the junior minister of the Court of Judicial Review, had looked utterly disdainful and shown no reaction whatsoever. This suggested he knew nothing about the inside story. The Court of Judicial Review had most likely done nothing more than go through the motions on orders back then.
Yan Bingwen, son of a director in the Ministry of Justice, had trembled so badly that he knocked over his wine cup, his face turning pale. He must have heard something from his elders. The Yan family might know part of the truth.
Xue Yan, son of an investigating censor, had looked startled and suspicious before quickly withdrawing into the shadows. His reaction had been the most dangerous. The Xue family might be holding something that must never see the light of day.
But the most crucial information had come after the gathering ended that night, when a servant assigned to meet the guests at the dock brought back a message.
“When the pleasure boat docked, this humble servant kept watch from the shadows. Young Master Xu and Young Master Yan had barely left when a dark figure slipped along the riverbank into a teahouse beside the dock and met with someone inside.”
“Did you see who it was?” Jun Yuexi had asked coldly at the time.
“This humble servant was afraid of alerting them, so I didn’t dare get too close. I only vaguely heard the figure speaking in a hurried voice, asking, ‘…Prince Yi mentioned the ledger tonight… the Wu family… is that thing still around or not?’”
Jun Yuexi’s fingers tightened slightly, turning stark white from the pressure.
Someone was afraid.
Xiao Ying had merely tossed out a piece of bait, yet the ghosts lurking in the shadows had already grown too restless to contain themselves. They were desperate to confirm whether the Wu family had left behind a fatal vulnerability that had escaped their grasp back then.
This meant that the bloody case from those years had never truly ended. Someone was still circling in the darkness, watching.
And he—the last remnant of the Wu family, barely clinging to life—might never have escaped their surveillance, either.
Returning to the present, he carefully put away the three cotton-paper booklets that carried three years of blood and tears, slid them back into the hidden compartment beneath the desk, and secured the mechanism.
He slowly raised his head and looked toward the pale light of dawn spreading across the sky outside the window.
Where had all that grain, secretly siphoned away without anyone noticing, ultimately gone?
At the end of that hidden route, was the answer he had spent three years desperately searching for buried?
For three years, he had been like a venomous spider lurking in a dark corner, licking its wounds and weaving a web out of humiliation and tears.
He had thought that his broken life could only rot away in this filthy mire, until Xiao Ying had barged into his world without warning.
Xiao Ying sat high above, before the gleaming chessboard of the imperial court, placing his pieces calmly and forcing those powerful nobles to reveal their flaws.
Meanwhile, Jun Yuexi remained beneath the chessboard, down in the muddy ditches, following the stench of corruption and feeling out the poisonous roots hidden from view, one by one.
“Father…”
Jun Yuexi murmured softly. His cool voice echoed through the empty room, steeped in three years of frozen sorrow.
“Your grain did not lie.”
He lowered his eyelids slightly, his long lashes concealing the icy glint surging in his eyes.
“It’s just that your son has only now come to understand… the catastrophe back then was never merely a matter concerning the Wu family.”
At first, he had barely clung to life because he wanted to understand one thing: why?
But three years of humiliation and suffering had long since crushed the innocence and naivety he once possessed as the young master of a distinguished family.
Now, he was utterly clearheaded.
What he truly wanted was no longer merely the truth.
His fingers gently brushed the handkerchief Xiao Ying had given him. The once-bright red bloodstains had long since dried, congealing into dark brown patches.
Sometimes, when he awoke from dreams in the dead of night, he could not help wondering: if the supreme ruler sitting upon the dragon throne back then had shown even a little more discernment, might the Wu family have been spared annihilation?
And that lofty emperor, who had signed away the lives of the entire Wu family with a single stroke, was Xiao Ying’s biological father.
Reason told him that Xiao Ying knew nothing about the bloody case back then and was not his enemy.
But one thing could not be changed: Xiao Ying truly carried that man’s blood in his veins.
How absurd and ironic was fate?
The person now pulling him out of the mire and doing everything in his power to pave the way for him to solve the case was the son of the very man who had given the final approval for his entire family’s execution.
But he did not care.
Jun Yuexi’s fingers suddenly tightened around the bloodstained handkerchief. His eyes were filled with cold, unyielding determination.
As long as he could clear his family’s name and send the mastermind behind the scenes to the execution grounds, he would use even his enemy’s son without hesitation.
And yet…
Whenever the image of Xiao Ying’s focused, gentle eyes as he looked at him surfaced in his mind, whenever he recalled the small but genuine moments they had shared lately, an uncontrollable pang would pass through the heart that had long since become as cold as ancient ice.
He could only keep repeating to himself that for the sake of the Wu family, for his dead parents and elder brother, and for his younger sister, who might still be alive, he had to keep “acting.”
Xiao Ying had made him think about the future.
But Wu Jiuling had died alongside his family that day. All that remained was an ugly demon hiding beneath the skin of “Jun Yuexi”…
When he had seen Xiao Ying fall into the water that day, none of those noble young men who called themselves Prince Yi’s friends had shown him any genuine concern.
But so what?
Wasn’t Jun Yuexi himself using Xiao Ying, too?
The kinder Xiao Ying treated him, the more deeply Jun Yuexi despised himself.