Li Huai’s tears streamed, his face bruised purple and red, utterly wretched.
Meng Xizhao crouched beside him, silently observing. He wanted to comfort him but hesitated, then asked earnestly, “Really? You didn’t pocket the money for the forage?”
Li Huai froze.
Looking up, he met Meng Xizhao’s serious gaze, and they stared quietly at each other.
Gradually, his lips quivered in extreme grievance.
Meng Xizhao felt a twinge of unease—and, as expected, Li Huai’s earth-shattering sobs resumed.
“No!!! Ever since I was promoted to the Ministry of Horsekeeping, Grandfather has treated me kindly, Mother made soup for me, even my eldest brother stopped scolding me. I poured my heart and soul into caring for those horses! I didn’t pocket anything! I even used my own savings! Others may doubt me, but cousin—you cannot doubt me!!!!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Li Huai had countless flaws, but he cared deeply for his family and had always treated Meng Xizhao sincerely. Even after a year of neglect, he bore no resentment, greeting him each time with pure joy and warmth.
He would not lie to Meng Xizhao—especially now, when Meng Xizhao was the only one who could save him.
Rarely, Meng Xizhao felt a pang of guilt. His suspicions had been confirmed. He lowered his head, unable to meet Li Huai’s eyes.
Softly, he said, “It’s my fault.”
Li Huai’s wails quieted. He sniffled and looked at Meng Xizhao in confusion, not understanding why he said that.
Having crouched too long, Meng Xizhao’s legs went numb. He rose, exhaling softly. “Once I leave, I will inform Official Wan. Rest assured, stay here and heal properly. I will investigate this matter thoroughly and restore your innocence.”
With that, he offered Li Huai a reassuring expression. “Cousin, I’m leaving now.”
Li Huai stared blankly at him. Even long after Meng Xizhao’s figure had disappeared, he hadn’t fully recovered from the shock.
Time passed. Eventually, he mechanically turned his head, lowering the neck he had kept craned upward.
Prisoners in the Imperial City Bureau were no different from those in other jails in terms of treatment: they slept on straw, sat on dirt. The Mid-Autumn Festival had just passed, and small insects hadn’t died off yet. Two particularly ugly ones scuttled past Li Huai’s feet.
Unafraid of humans, these insects had long been accustomed to the various temperaments of the prisoners in this cramped, sunless cell.
Generally, anyone confined here wouldn’t bother cleaning up such pests.
Li Huai watched as the insects crawled farther away. Just as they neared the straw pile, he suddenly snatched up a blackened wooden tray—worn smooth by years of use—and smashed it down with a clatter.
The insects, of course, could not survive such sudden misfortune.
The commotion drew no reaction from the others; disturbances were daily occurrences in the cell. Breaking a tray, or even someone accidentally dying from a head injury, was nothing unusual.
The eunuch guard merely rubbed his ears. He knew the cell contained a young lord of the Duke’s household. Such prisoners might never leave, but one never knew—if the family were powerful, they might come to rescue him. Better to observe quietly for a few days than risk unnecessary trouble, he thought.
＊
Meng Xizhao emerged from the Imperial City Bureau, whereupon Qingfu immediately approached, concern written across his face. Meng Xizhao shook his head. “Li Huai is fine, I’m fine. Let’s go back to the Council.”
Qingfu hesitated, then silently gestured for him to look aside.
By the distant wall, a shadowy figure stood. From the silhouette, it was hard to tell who it was—but a sword hung at the person’s side.
Only officials or guards in Ying Tian Prefecture were permitted to carry swords. Even soldiers were forbidden to carry one outside the barracks, unless they held a high enough rank to ignore the rule.
Meng Xizhao studied the figure silently, then nodded to Qingfu. Understanding immediately, Qingfu drove the carriage away after Meng Xizhao climbed in.
By the time Meng Xizhao returned to his new residence, it was already the first quarter of Chou hour.
He walked straight to his bedroom. Inside, the lights blazed brightly. Cui Ye, dressed in moon-white formal attire, still had his cloak fastened behind him, waiting intently. Hearing Meng Xizhao’s footsteps, he rose to greet him—only to be met with Meng Xizhao’s unyielding pace. He reached him in one stride, colliding into his arms.
Held tightly, Cui Ye’s questions about the earlier events dissipated.
Zhang Shuogong swiftly closed the door, blocking Qingfu, who had hurried along behind, from entering.
Inside, Cui Ye gently patted Meng Xizhao’s back, like comforting a child who had been wronged.
Though he wasn’t familiar with Li Huai—having only met him two or three times—Cui Ye understood Meng Xizhao’s concern. Er Lang’s cousin might show a hint of disdain in speech, but he was family, a childhood playmate. Seeing him taken and used as a pawn, how could he not feel anxious?
Cui Ye was cold and detached toward strangers’ suffering, yet Meng Xizhao’s emotions sometimes affected him too deeply. At that moment, part of his mind inevitably drifted to thoughts of his own cousin.
Cui Ye had spent most of his life in the palace. Only before he was four could he see Xie Yuan regularly; afterwards, meetings became rare.
When Consort Gan entered the palace, sparking conflict with the emperor, he never saw Xie Yuan again.
When communication with the Xie family was finally restored, Cui Ye was moved. Memories from before age four, and stories recounted by Yu Fulan’s father and Yu Fulan herself, had given him a natural longing for the Xie family. Even after years of separation, he hoped to feel the warmth of kinship again.
But later…
His maternal grandfather, the Marquis of Fangling, ignored him; his uncles were overly cautious, never speaking beyond bounds; Xie Yuan and Xie Yun’s tone was distant. The playful companion he had known was no longer familiar.
At barely fifteen, alone and poisoned, facing daily peril, Cui Ye became perceptive and sensitive. Hurt once, he recoiled, deciding to maintain only as much contact with the Xie family as was safe—close enough to maintain relations, distant enough to avoid mutual harm.
Now, fully grown, he understood why the Xie family had been so polite and awkward. They had cared, genuinely, but even with that understanding, he felt disheartened.
No longer the child of fifteen, he no longer required the comfort of his maternal family.
As Meng Xizhao’s intense emotions settled, he noticed the Crown Prince was merely mechanically smoothing his hair, lost in thought elsewhere.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He suddenly asked, “Your Highness, what are you thinking about?”
Cui Ye immediately came back to himself. Seeing Meng Xizhao’s puzzled expression, he recalled the consequences of answering vaguely last time.
Swallowing, he said, “I was thinking of Xie Yuan and Xie Yun. If they were the ones imprisoned today, I—”
Meng Xizhao, now much calmer, allowed it. Li Huai would have to spend the night in the Imperial City Bureau regardless; there was no rush. Better to sit and talk, to shift his mood a little.
He waited calmly for the Crown Prince’s next words. It was rare for him to bring up the Xie family on his own—could it be that, because of Li Huai’s predicament, the Prince felt a pang of sympathy, and perhaps a thaw between him and the Xie family was possible?
Yet, seeing Meng Xizhao’s slightly curious eyes, Cui Ye fell silent for a moment. Between speaking the truth and saying what Meng Xizhao wanted to hear, he chose honesty: “I suppose I wouldn’t be as frantic as you. I’ve never been as close to them as you are to the Li family.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Fair enough.
Ice three feet thick doesn’t form in a single day. He had hoped for a reconciliation between Cui Ye and the Xie family, but everything had to follow Cui Ye’s own will. If he was unwilling, then so be it—after all, they weren’t enemies.
Satisfied with that answer, Meng Xizhao let it drop. He released Cui Ye, walked to the side, and sat on a round stool, sighing wearily. “My frantic worry isn’t entirely because I’m close to Li Huai.”
Indeed, Li Huai had always treated him well. Even knowing his flaws, even recalling how Li Huai had almost caused him to become crippled, Meng Xizhao couldn’t help but feel concerned once Li Huai’s life was suddenly at risk.
Moreover, this threat to life had come about because of Meng Xizhao himself.
Exhaling deeply, he said, “I didn’t kill Bo Ren, yet he died because of me. If I hadn’t orchestrated Qiu Suming’s downfall, Grand Tutor Gan wouldn’t have held a grudge against our family. My father couldn’t act, I was at the prefectural office—he couldn’t touch me there either—and my eldest brother was at the Censorate, hard to implicate. By chance, this time, Jintuozhe arrived on a diplomatic mission, and Li Huai just happened to be unlucky enough to catch his attention.”
Cui Ye fell silent after hearing this. He studied Meng Xizhao’s expression, then asked cautiously, “Er Lang, do you regret it?”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “I regret it.”
Then his fist slammed onto the table with a clatter, making him wince.
Cui Ye: “…………”
He hurriedly took Meng Xizhao’s hand, noticing the side already reddening. Cui Ye sighed inwardly and began massaging it with both hands.
Even like this, Meng Xizhao’s spirit remained undiminished, still full of vigor. “I regret not sending him and Qiu Suming straight to the underworld! Grand Tutor Gan… detestable to the extreme! You weren’t there today—you wouldn’t know what that old dog said. He knew killing the Akhal-Teke would provoke conflict between Daqi and the Xiongnu, yet he did it anyway. For his petty vengeance, he risked the nation’s safety! I struggled tooth and nail to convince His Majesty not to inform the Xiongnu. Yet he fought it, as if itching to tell them immediately.”
Meng Xizhao’s chest rose and fell with anger. “I’ve never seen someone so utterly shameless!”
Cui Ye: “……”
He kept massaging, finding a trace of amusement. He asked, “Er Lang, in your view, which is worse—Grand Tutor Gan secretly harming your kin, or him disregarding the welfare of the people?”
Meng Xizhao answered without hesitation: “Of course, disregarding the people is worse!”
Cui Ye wasn’t surprised, but he felt an even deeper sympathy for Li Huai.
After a pause, he said, “As long as this matter stays hidden, Li Huai’s life should be safe. But once Jintuozhe and the others leave, His Majesty will still settle scores. The priority is twofold: one, secure Jintuozhe and keep this matter completely secret; two, investigate the death of the Akhal-Teke. This isn’t difficult—there are plenty of veterinarians in the Ministry of Imperial Stables. I’ve heard the report says the horse ate duanchang grass by mistake?”
Meng Xizhao replied listlessly: “Yes. They say Li Huai, tempted by the fodder money, swapped the finest hay for the poorest, which mixed with the duanchang grass. Others didn’t notice.”
Cui Ye blinked. Then, suddenly: “Did your cousin truly not take the money?”
Meng Xizhao let out a wry laugh. Of course, whenever Li Huai’s name comes up, the first reaction is always to suspect him of greed.
He replied weakly, “He said he didn’t. I saw it for myself—he spoke the truth, probably…”
Mid-sentence, he realized and yanked his hand back with a flick, glaring at Cui Ye. “That’s my cousin! Why are you saying that?”
Cui Ye, expression calm, corrected himself: “A slip of the tongue, Er Lang. No offense. If he didn’t take it, then there’s no leverage against him. Helping Second Young Master Li would be no trouble at all.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He looked at Cui Ye’s solemn, self-important posture. He knew it was intentional, yet Cui Ye carried it off so naturally that Meng Xizhao didn’t even want to argue.
With a scoff, he said, “Naturally, Jintuozhe arrived in Ying Tian Prefecture only this morning. His visit was sudden—no prior notice. Even the Honglu Temple hadn’t received word. Grand Tutor Gan’s ears and eyes are sharp, but he couldn’t have foreseen this. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, taking advantage of the opportunity.”
Cui Ye nodded. Case closed—this was now one of Meng Xizhao’s duties. Though he realized he couldn’t be of much help, he still asked, “Do you need me for anything?”
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “Thanks, Your Highness, but I can handle it myself. As long as His Majesty isn’t dead-set on killing Li Huai, I can rescue him alone.”
Cui Ye encouraged him with a smile, though it faded slightly. “I always feel powerless to help you, Er Lang.”
Not only powerless—if he intervened, it could worsen things. For example tonight: anyone else could plead mercy, but if he did, even a single “Please show leniency” would push His Majesty to execute Li Huai immediately. Grand Tutor Gan, seeing him plead, would certainly make no exceptions. Even if the intent to kill was only seventy percent, it would spike to one hundred.
Seeing Cui Ye so downcast, Meng Xizhao felt a pang of compassion. He reached up to pat his head, like he would Meng Jiaojiao. Being taller, he could only reach the side of Cui Ye’s ear—but even that gentle gesture carried a subtle shift, tinged with a different warmth.
Cui Ye: “……”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He silently withdrew his hand. Meng Xizhao gave a soft cough. Cui Ye knew he had been exhausted from working late into the night and was already very tired, so he thoughtfully refrained from teasing him and simply pretended nothing had happened, continuing to sit there obediently.
After a moment, Meng Xizhao spoke first: “There’s actually something I need Your Highness’s help with.”
Cui Ye blinked a few times and straightened his posture: “Please speak, Second Young Master.”
Meng Xizhao turned to look at him and smiled slightly. “Your Highness practices calligraphy often, and not just one style. While observing you, I noticed that no matter whose handwriting you imitate, you can reproduce it almost perfectly. So if I were to bring you another copybook—how long would it take you to copy it so closely that even the original writer couldn’t tell the difference?”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He looked at Meng Xizhao in surprise, his expression turning strange. Meng Xizhao let him examine him freely, simply gazing at him expectantly while waiting for an answer.
After a pause, Cui Ye swallowed all his guesses and thought it over carefully before replying, “It depends on what Second Young Master wants me to write. If it’s only a few characters, one day is enough. If it’s a poem, three days. If it’s a full article, half a month.”
Upon hearing this, Meng Xizhao considered it as well. After a long moment, he cautiously said, “Mm… it should be about the length of a lyric poem.”
Cui Ye replied, “Then seven days would suffice.”
He spoke with great confidence. Meng Xizhao immediately brightened. “Good. I’ll find a way tomorrow to steal that person’s handwriting!”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Fine. I’ll be waiting.
＊
Though he said he would think of a way the next day, when the next morning arrived, Meng Xizhao had no time to think of anything at all.
Early in the morning, he entered the palace again and reiterated last night’s discussion to Emperor Tianshou once more, firmly ensuring that the matter of the blood-sweating horses would not be mentioned. After that, he took the initiative to present himself, saying that even though he was no longer serving at the Honglu Temple, he was still willing to serve the Great Qi with all his strength. He would help with the grain purchase negotiations and would not allow Jin Tujue to take even a single advantage from the state.
Emperor Tianshou knew how sharp-tongued he was—after all, that written memorial had been what tricked its way back from the Xiongnu. Without hesitation, the Emperor agreed. Since Meng Xizhao was about to begin verbally sparring with the Xiongnu envoy, Emperor Tianshou also did not bring up Li Huai’s matter again.
After all, he could not have Meng Xizhao risking his life and achievements on one side while he executed his cousin on the other.
Moreover, at a time like this, it was best not to create complications. If Jin Tujue discovered that they had killed an official of the Imperial Stables and then deduced that the blood-sweating horses had already been “silenced,” that would be disastrous.
So if anyone was going to be executed, it would be after Jin Tujue left.
This time, Jin Tujue’s visit was different from their previous trip to the Xiongnu. Jin Tujue came for his own future and for the situation back home, and he was far more anxious than the Great Qi officials. Because of this, he was not so easily deceived. This negotiation was a proper negotiation—whoever held more bargaining chips would win.
Great Qi was currently strong, wealthy, and did not absolutely need the deal. They already held the advantage. Meng Xizhao barely needed to exert himself; Lu Fengqiu alone could complete the task. Yet Meng Xizhao still put on a performance every day as though he were fiercely arguing with all the scholars of the realm, just so Emperor Tianshou would believe he was truly working hard.
…
Within a year, Jin Tujue’s temperament had changed significantly. Driven by profit, even the Left Wise King could be abandoned with a simple “time waits for no one,” let alone Meng Xizhao, a fleeting friend. Still, the dagger from the previous year had left a mark in Jin Tujue’s heart. So while he could argue and mock Lu Fengqiu without restraint, when facing Meng Xizhao, he would subconsciously avoid open conflict.
To Emperor Tianshou, this reaction was not evidence of any personal entanglement between the two, but proof that Meng Xizhao was formidable—so formidable that he had genuinely intimidated Jin Tujue.
Because of this, Emperor Tianshou increasingly relied on Meng Xizhao. His brilliance made the Emperor’s earlier indifference quietly disappear.
However, Meng Xizhao did not grow complacent. He understood well that this favor only existed while he was useful. Once the contract was signed and Jin Tujue left, all of this preferential treatment would vanish.
Thus, during these days, he spent his mornings negotiating and his afternoons returning to the government office to have his subordinates investigate further. While he was busy, Grand Tutor Gan was not idle either. Rather than acting as an intermediary himself, he sent others to do it, using Li Huai as a starting point to dig into the entire Duke’s household to see whether there were other corrupt dealings.
To be honest… the Duke’s household was absolutely unable to withstand scrutiny.
The entire court had become corrupt to the core. Everyone had money; and as for where the money came from—it was naturally all embezzled. Even if a certain Grand Councillor did not personally take bribes, people would still send him gifts, though far fewer than those given to true officials.
Even someone like Zhan Shanyou, who had spent his entire career on the battlefield and had virtually no opportunity to embezzle anything, when investigated, could still have more than ten fabricated charges pinned on him. These charges were not entirely baseless either—someone, somewhere, at some time had indeed given him gifts. Even if it was merely social courtesy, it could be dragged out, magnified, and recorded in detail.
And a noble household like the Duke’s residence, which had been established and passed down through several generations of aristocracy, had received even more gifts.
It could be said that in the civil and military bureaucracy of the Great Qi dynasty, if you investigated one official, you could bring one down. It all depended on the Emperor’s mood.
Once Grand Tutor Gan set his sights on the Duke’s household, it immediately fell into turmoil. Everyone now understood what was happening, yet no one dared to be the first to speak out.
The Meng family, along with several noble clans close to the Duke of Wu, all tried to plead on their behalf, but whether it would succeed remained uncertain.
After all, this was not the first time Grand Tutor Gan had used this method.
His political enemies—anyone who stood in his way—were typically removed in exactly this fashion.
What made it even more formidable was that he knew exactly who to target. Since Emperor Tianshou currently needed the Meng family and favored Meng Jiuyu, he did not use this tactic against Meng Jiuyu. Instead, he went after the Meng Madam’s maternal family. After all, the Duke of Wu’s household no longer had anyone in court, and the Emperor felt no attachment to this old meritorious clan member from generations past.
Emperor Tianshou himself knew that Grand Tutor Gan was targeting the Duke of Wu’s household out of personal dislike, so he had not agreed. But given his temperament, one day, out of sheer irritation and after being worn down by Grand Tutor Gan, he might very well give in.
The young heir grew increasingly frustrated, but his elder sister and brother-in-law kept telling him to remain calm and be patient. After enduring five days, Li Huai also spent five days in the Imperial City Bureau. Finally, the negotiations concluded. Both Great Qi and the Xiongnu found the final outcome only moderately satisfactory, and they prepared to sign the formal treaty the next day. After that, the Ministry of Revenue would release the grain, escorted by soldiers, and delivered to the border of Youzhou. From there, the exchange between the two states would be completed.
The contract could actually have been written on the spot, but Meng Xizhao proposed that this time was different from before—they were not in such a rush. Therefore, let the Ministry of Rites draft it carefully, word by word, producing a polished and elegant treaty. This was Great Qi’s custom, and he hoped the Xiongnu would respect it.
…There was no such “custom,” but Emperor Tianshou felt it gave him face, so he nodded in agreement.
Jin Tujue was completely baffled, but since he had already verbally agreed, and the people of Great Qi were not like the Xiongnu who would suddenly go back on their word, he decided that waiting one more night was fine. So he also took his leave.
And the moment he left, Meng Xizhao immediately turned around and said solemnly to the laughing Emperor Tianshou above him: “Your Majesty, this official has already uncovered the truth behind the death of the blood-sweating horse. There are witnesses and physical evidence, and I request that Your Majesty review them!”
Emperor Tianshou’s laughter froze instantly: “…………”
Why must you bring up the one thing that ruins the mood when I am in such a good mood!
And keep your voice down! The Xiongnu envoy only just left—what if he hears you!