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Chapter Text

Their first meeting took place late at night. But… was it truly their first meeting?
They stood on opposite sides of the courtyard, and on opposite sides of a conflict neither of them knew enough about.

Dou Zhao had wanted to reach him earlier. She had hoped to use the knowledge she carried from the future to help him. She felt obligated to protect him. Yet, she couldn’t do it openly. She didn’t even know what she could say. She couldn’t simply warn him that his uncle—Diang Meisun, Duke of Ding—should tread carefully. She couldn’t tell him that the man would soon die, a tragedy that would destabilize the entire empire. To reveal this would be to risk her own life. And she couldn’t take that risk.

There were too many things she needed to change. Too many people she had to protect. No matter how deeply she felt her duty to Song Mo, she couldn’t waste the opportunity she had been given.

Now, they stood face to face.

They weren’t enemies, but there was nothing she could say now that would stop him from what he was about to do. She knew it the moment she saw the men with crossbows aimed in her direction. She knew he had already made his decision.

He valued the life of the child he was trying to protect far more than the lives of random servants or a few unfamiliar women. She understood that. Even if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. She knew everyone had their priorities. And this Song Mo hadn’t yet lost everything he held dear—things that, in another lifetime, might have driven him to risk his life to save her, a stranger he had only recently met on the road.

She understood. And she would protect him. She couldn’t let him become the man she had known in her previous life.

“Fourth Young Lady, you’re heading out on this rainy night. Where are you going in such a hurry?”
He asked, standing before her. Dou Zhao couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked so young, at least ten years younger than during their first meeting on another timeline. He looked almost innocent.

Even the oversized hood he wore to obscure his features couldn’t fool her. Song Mo, in this timeline, was still just a boy, barely an adult. Raised in the army, where he sought refuge from the dangers lurking for him at home, under the care of an uncle he loved as though he were his own father.

She knew of the countless battles he had fought. She knew of the ferocity with which he had dealt with pirates in recent years. And yet, this Song Mo seemed, in her eyes, like an innocent child. Like a blank slate. He was untouched by the treacheries of aristocratic families.

Raised in the military, he had grown up in a perilous environment that paradoxically offered him the safest shelter he could have had.

She couldn’t look away. He was like a beacon in the darkness of the night, drawing her gaze and captivating her.

“It’s such stormy weather. I can escort you all the way,” he offered.

His voice was calm and resolute. In the stillness of the night surrounding them, it echoed like a thunderclap.

Her servants stepped back, drawing their swords. She raised her hand, stopping them.
"Fighting them is futile," she said, forcing her tone to remain calm. She couldn’t let him see the emotions this meeting stirred within her.
"No one within a hundred steps can escape from the military crossbows," she added, her voice steady.

"Forgive me," he apologized.

His gaze was fixed on her. He didn’t look away, not even as he raised a whistle to his lips. She knew what would happen if its sound pierced the stillness of the night—it would be their death sentence.

"I cannot fight against you, Young Deputy General of Ding Army, but I can assure you that if you make this decision now, you will regret it in the near future," she interrupted him.

His arm wavered slightly. She noticed every faint emotion that flickered across his face—every twitch of his lips, every subtle quiver of his brow.

"I know how to save the Duke of Ding and his heir."

Song Mo lowered his hand, moving the whistle away from his mouth. Dou Zhao felt a faint spark of hope. Perhaps she wouldn’t need to play any of the… riskier cards she had prepared for this night.

"What do you mean?" Song Mo asked, stepping toward her. One step, then another, and another. The distance between them shrank quickly. Yet, she didn’t feel threatened. She had never felt threatened by him—not even when she learned that her home had been surrounded by unknown men under his command. Even then, she had felt certain that no harm would come to them. She had hoped for the best.

"The Duke of Ding was taken by the Imperial Shadow Guard two weeks ago. He’s aboard the imperial ship, traveling to the capital, where he’s to be interrogated and judged by the emperor."

Their eyes met again, this time from a much shorter distance. She could now see the intricate play of light reflected in his pupils, every subtle shift of his lenses. And she knew he could observe her with the same precision.

"I know how to save him," she said with unwavering confidence. "Will you listen to me?"

"Who are you?" he asked.

Dou Zhao bowed, as befitted a well-mannered young lady.

"Fourth Lady of the Dou family, Dou Zhao," she introduced herself. 

"Your Lordship, you don’t know me. However, you shouldn’t refuse a helping hand. You don’t have many people around you whom you can trust, and even fewer who are willing to help you."

Song Mo turned his gaze toward his subordinate and advisor, Yan Chaoqing, seeking counsel.

"I meant no harm. Whether it’s a massacre or making a deal, it’s up to you to decide."

Song Mo nodded, looking thoughtful and uncertain. She didn’t want to put him in such a situation. She didn’t want to see him worried or afraid. She wanted to help him, but to make him accept her help, she had to force his hand—at least for now, at least until he trusted her.

She heard footsteps approaching from behind and closed her eyes briefly. She had hoped they could reach an agreement without involving the child. Unfortunately, it was too late.

Zhao Zhangru approached her, carrying a bundle of warm blankets in her arms. Within them, peacefully asleep, was the only son and heir of the Duke of Ding.

"You’re here to distract me, to buy time. You tricked me," he said, stepping away from her.

She couldn’t bear to look at him. In the fleeting moment their eyes met again, after Zhao Zhangru handed her the child, she could see a mix of emotions in his gaze—emotions she never wanted to see again. She could almost feel the betrayal he must have experienced.

"As I said, I meant no harm," she repeated, instinctively rocking the child in her arms. Her hands tightened on the bundle, ensuring the boy was safely and securely wrapped. She knew they had traveled with him for days. The boy had been exposed to harsh weather and the discomforts of the journey for far too long. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had already fallen ill. They needed to protect him. The boy was the future she intended to fight for.

She didn’t know what had happened to the child in her first life. She hoped Song Mo had managed to hide him without her intervention. But looking at his actions in the years that followed… she doubted the boy had lived long enough for him to see him again.

"This was just a contingency plan—to get you to sit down and have a proper conversation with me. If we had come to an agreement earlier, the child wouldn’t have had to be out in the wind again," she said.

She draped her coat over the boy, shielding him from the cold night as best as she could in the current circumstances.

"Very well. Let’s talk," Song Mo finally agreed.

Dou Zhao turned and led the way toward the hall, where a table had already been prepared for them to sit and discuss. 

+++

Dou Zhao handed the child to her cousin, who began pacing the room with the baby in her arms, gently rocking him to sleep. Song Mo and Dou Zhao sat across from each other at the table.

"The Duke of Ding is still under escort, his fate undecided. Yet here you are, risking exposure to the yamen, the Ministry of Justice, or even the Court of Judicial Review, prepared to slaughter everyone here to silence them. That can only mean the person you wish to entrust the child to is nearby, correct?"

She spoke as soon as they sat down. She didn’t want to delay any further. She had already wasted enough time convincing him to listen to her. She wasn’t about to lie—she needed to make him trust her. They had to be ready to act before sunrise. If they spent too much time on idle discussions, no one would survive.

As she spoke, she watched Song Mo and his men carefully, studying their reactions. She knew this was information no one else should have had, but she wasn’t just anyone. She knew things and cared for her people. She intended to prove to Song Mo that she could be a valuable ally in the future. She had to demonstrate her worth before she could ask for his trust.

Her first task was to save the Duke of Ding’s heir.
Earning Song Mo’s trust was essential for her next goal: rescuing the Duke of Ding himself.

"Tan’s Manor is far from the imperial court, and they have a reputation for loyalty and righteousness. It’s said that the Tan Family is indebted to the Duke of Ding. They would indeed be an ideal choice," she continued in a calm voice.

Her gaze remained fixed on Song Mo, scrutinizing his every reaction. She was determined to understand him, to know him, and to learn how to work with him. If she wanted to help him, she knew she would have to spend a great deal of time in his presence. She needed his cooperation, and her observations now would help her understand him faster and better.

Today, Song Mo found himself in an unprecedented situation. Dou Zhao had a unique opportunity to gather insights about him that she wouldn’t have been able to obtain otherwise.

"This woman is calculating and full of schemes," an older man said, leaning toward Song Mo in an attempt to warn him against Dou Zhao.

She felt the corners of her lips twitch upward in amusement. Here she was, sitting across from Song Mo—the man who, in the future, could become the most fearsome of demons, the one mothers used to frighten their children. And his advisor was warning him about her.

The thought amused her, and, oddly enough, she felt flattered. Yes, she could scheme and plan. She could manage information and people effectively.

But he didn’t need to fear her. Because Dou Zhao saw him as one of her own. She intended to protect and defend him. He didn’t have to do anything to earn her trust; he already had it.

"Your Lordship, don’t waste time with her."

"There’s no need to see me as your enemy, Your Lordship," she interrupted the advisor’s whispers with a voice brimming with confidence.

"I have always held great respect for the Duke of Ding and the Jiang Clan," she assured him.

"If the Duke of Ding can be freed from danger, the child will naturally be safe. Then, Your Lordship won’t have to resort to such dishonorable actions."

They fell silent for a moment.

"The Duke of Ding's loyalty and bravery are known to all. Those in the court who can see clearly will petition on his behalf. You don’t have to worry about this, miss," Song Mo’s advisor reassured her.

Dou Zhao offered him a condescending smile.

"I’m sure Duchess Ying is already rushing to gather old acquaintances to submit joint petitions, pleading for justice. Is that correct?" she asked, her attention fixed solely on Song Mo. It was his response she sought.

"Under normal circumstances, that would be the proper approach," she continued when Song Mo failed to reply to her earlier statement.

"But the Duke of Ding is no ordinary person. Such good intentions might only end up as a death sentence for him."

"How dare a country girl speak such nonsense!" the advisor exclaimed, his irritation evident.

Song Mo silenced him swiftly, refusing to allow any insult to Dou Zhao. She smiled at this, offering him a slight nod of gratitude.

"Fourth Young Lady, please continue," he requested, his eyes filled with genuine interest and a desire to learn more.

Dou Zhao was tempted to remind him that she had a way to save the Duke of Ding, but she decided to honor his request and proceed.

"Back in the day, when Wang Jian asked for land, Emperor Qin Shi Huang brushed it off with a laugh. Xiao He defamed himself, yet Emperor Gaozu of Han never doubted him. Zhou Yafu had great achievements in conquering the seven kingdoms, but he died unjustly due to a few slanderous words."

She recounted these historical examples to educate him, guiding his thoughts in the direction she desired.

"Why?" she asked.

"When one’s success overshadows the ruler, there will always be envious people who spread lies with the intention of misleading the ruler," he replied after a moment.

She felt the urge to nod in approval at his insight. Song Mo was an excellent student, and she knew she wanted to continue such discussions with him in the future—on power, laws, and the principles governing their world. But for now, they had to focus on the most pressing issue: saving the Duke of Ding.

"As Su Ziyun once said, 'First there is doubt, and then slander takes root.' If His Majesty hadn’t already harbored suspicions, those lies wouldn’t have succeeded," Chen Qushui added. 

"A mass petition will only be seen as a challenge to imperial authority, a faction pressuring the throne. Do you think His Majesty would feel more assured or more threatened by that?"

Dou Zhao’s advisor continued. After his words, silence filled the room. Dou Zhao observed the shifting emotions on their faces—anger and fear slowly giving way to resignation and weariness.

"What do you think we should do?" Song Mo asked her openly, a note of sadness creeping into his voice.

"In my opinion, it would be better to take the opposite approach. Let the officials turn against the Duke of Ding and push him further into isolation," she said calmly.

"When the Duke of Ding appears to stand alone without any support, His Majesty’s suspicion will naturally ease. Out of consideration for their friendship, the emperor would likely settle for a small punishment," she suggested.

"In the interest of political stability, the emperor might even rely on the Duke of Ding more in the future."

"But who can truly understand the emperor’s thoughts? Isn’t this approach too risky?" Song Mo’s advisor asked, directing the question to no one in particular. Dou Zhao chose to ignore him, waiting instead for Song Mo’s reaction.

"You live far away from the imperial court, but you certainly know how to read the situation and understand people’s minds," he said.

For a moment, the emotions Dou Zhao had easily read on his face disappeared entirely. His expression smoothed into a perfect mask, and his eyes darkened dangerously.

Song Mo’s hand tightened around the sword resting on the table before him.

"How do you know so much about the Duke of Ding’s case? Who exactly are you, and why are you living here in hiding?"

The tension in the room escalated. Hands instinctively moved toward swords or hidden weapons.

Dou Zhao took a deep breath, thinking carefully about how to defuse this volatile situation. She knew she couldn’t reveal too much at once. He wouldn’t understand. It wouldn’t make him trust her the way she needed him to. If anything, it would make him even more wary of her—a risk she couldn’t afford if she wanted to work with him in the future.

She couldn’t allow every action she took to be called into question.

She was about to speak. 

The sorrowful, painful cry of a child broke the silence of the room.

Everyone’s attention turned to the precious bundle cradled in Zhao Zhangru’s arms. Dou Zhao shifted her gaze toward her cousin. The woman was rocking the child, trying to soothe him, but her efforts brought no visible improvement to the baby’s condition.

"Madam!"

Song Mo’s voice called out sharply, summoning the nursemaid he had hired to care for the child. Her footsteps could soon be heard approaching the room.

"Sulan, put down your weapon. Do not act rashly," Dou Zhao instructed calmly, knowing her loyal servant would not let the nursemaid enter the room unless she was certain there was no threat.

She had to place her trust in Song Mo. If he used this moment to take the child away and break off negotiations, she would have no defense to shield her from Song Mo’s blade.

She took the risk. Dou Zhao knew trust was a matter of giving and taking. At this moment, she had to trust Song Mo, hoping it would encourage him to trust her in the future.

"Lu Ming, tell the wet nurse to come in," Song Mo commanded.

Moments later, the woman entered the room.

Dou Zhao extended her arms toward her cousin, silently asking her to hand over the child. Zhao Zhangru had been trying to calm the boy for some time, but to no avail. She pulled back the blanket, revealing the baby’s tiny face. His mouth was open in a wail, his glassy eyes brimming with tears. She placed her hand gently on his forehead. Thankfully, he wasn’t dangerously warm—hotter than he should be, but nothing that posed an immediate threat to his life.

The nursemaid stepped closer, leaning over Dou Zhao’s shoulder to observe the child.

"The hiccup isn’t stopping," she said, turning toward Song Mo.

"Has it always been like this since birth? Cold and sweating excessively?" Dou Zhao asked. The nursemaid nodded quickly in confirmation.

"Suxin, warm up the goat milk I usually prepare and bring it over," Dou Zhao instructed her servant, who rushed off to carry out the task.

Holding the baby close, Dou Zhao rocked him gently, syncing her movements with the rhythm of her breathing. The boy began to calm down slightly.

"You’re an unmarried young lady, and yet you know how to care for a baby?"

The question came from Song Mo’s advisor, whom Dou Zhao had already internally classified as existing solely to irritate her. She had to resist the urge to sigh.

It was as if an ignorant, unmarried man believed that knowledge of how to care for a child magically appeared in a woman the moment she gave birth. From time immemorial, every woman had to learn—some through trial and error, others with the guidance of their mothers or grandmothers. The knowledge didn’t come out of thin air.

"I’ve cared for many babies in the manor. Naturally, I know more about this than men like you," she replied curtly. 

She replied, unable to resist adding a hint of a jab to her words. The mere fact that Song Mo’s advisor addressed her in such a pompous manner was irritating. However, she couldn’t get rid of the man—at least not yet. Song Mo trusted him, and she knew that in the near future, he would need people by his side whom he could rely on. She had no intention of revealing just yet that even a village healer could come up with such a solution.

She felt Song Mo’s gaze on her when Suxin returned with a bowl of milk. Taking the bowl, she adjusted the child more comfortably on her lap. Locking eyes with Song Mo, she tilted the bowl and drank a small sip of the liquid. The man shifted uneasily at her actions.

She almost smiled inwardly. He was far too easy to read, especially now, in a situation so unnatural for him. She had to remind herself that Song Mo was still just a young man.

Looking up again, she met his eyes. They were slightly widened, watching her intently. When she noticed a barely perceptible nod from him, she picked up the spoon and began feeding the baby slowly.

She could feel their gazes on her. Everyone was watching her actions, judging her, waiting either for the results of her efforts or for her to make a mistake. The child obediently drank the milk she offered.

"He’s drinking now! He’s drinking now!"

The nursemaid exclaimed joyfully.

Song Mo smiled upon hearing the news. It was the first genuine smile she had seen on his lips, and it drew her in like a moth to a flame.

"He was born prematurely, so he’s weak. He can’t digest breast milk very well, so he needs to be fed with goat’s milk," she explained.

"My manor is the only one within a hundred ji that raises goats. I’ll ensure it’s delivered to the Tan Manor on time after this," she offered, presenting her final gesture of peace between them.

Song Mo inclined his head slightly, stepping back and giving her space, withdrawing from his intense scrutiny of her every move. She hoped he finally trusted her, even if only a little. By taking the life and health of the Duke of Ding’s heir as her wild card, she hoped she had managed to secure victory this time.

The silence that settled between them once more was abruptly broken by the sound of Song Mo’s assistant’s stomach grumbling. She chuckled softly at the noise. Nothing else could have confirmed better that the men had endured a lot while trying to protect the boy. They hadn’t had the time or opportunity to rest. They had been on the run for a long time. Now, stopping at her home, their bodies were demanding what they had long denied themselves.

The young man flushed with embarrassment. He bowed to Song Mo in an apologetic gesture, mumbling, "Sir." Song Mo’s advisor also clutched his stomach, shrugging his shoulders. 

They were just tired and hungry people.

She smiled at them.
"Since everyone’s hungry, how about putting down the weapons and having a meal?"
She suggested.

"That’s a great idea," Yan Chaoqing, the Deputy General, was the first to agree, not waiting for his lord’s reaction. If he wasn’t doing this to her advantage, giving her a chance to meet Song Mo on more neutral ground, she would have pointed out how he had just been dismissing her every idea, condemning her actions, and finding hidden agendas in everything she did.

Her gaze met Song Mo’s again. Now that the tension in the room had eased and the issue with the child had been resolved, he seemed much more at ease. The stiffness that had gripped his shoulders, making him appear larger than he actually was, had loosened. His shoulders now hung naturally, making him seem much smaller, almost harmless. Although she knew the strength hidden in those arms, at that moment, she could only think of him as a boy trying to act like an adult among adults. She gave him a wide, reassuring smile. She wanted to praise him, to tell him he had done well, that he had given his all. He had acted mature enough.

She was drinking tea with Song Mo at the same table while everyone around them busied themselves preparing food. Watching him over the rim of her cup, she noticed how his face softened, his features smoothing out, and his eyes reflecting contentment when the nurse approached him with the baby in her arms. Like a man who had probably never held a child before, he only looked at the boy’s peacefully sleeping face.

Rising from her seat, she walked around the table and gently took the child from the nurse’s arms. The woman let her do so without hesitation. It was remarkable how quickly she had earned her trust.

Dou Zhao circled Song Mo, standing behind him before placing the child on his lap. The man flinched at the unexpected move. Once the baby was settled on his knees, Dou Zhao reached for one of his arms, which he obediently allowed her to maneuver. She placed it under the child’s head. Guiding his other arm toward the middle of the bundle, she positioned it over the boy’s stomach.

"Now you know how to hold him. Don’t worry; he’s small, but he won’t fall apart under your touch," she said before returning to her seat.

"Now you’re already involved in this mess. If the Shadow Guards find out that your manor is implicated, do you understand the gravity of the crime for failing to report this? Won’t you regret it?" he asked, his attention mostly on the child, though his gaze briefly lifted to her.

"You have people you’re willing to risk your life for. So do I. If I don’t take this risk, I won’t be able to protect everyone in the manor. Besides, the Duke of Ding is someone I respect deeply," she answered honestly.

Her memories conjured the image of Song Mo from her past—a dying man, focused solely on clearing his uncle’s name. She couldn’t let him become that person again. 

"I don’t want to see someone being pushed onto a path they can’t return from because of fate."

His gaze turned somber as he shifted his attention back to the child. He neither confirmed nor denied hearing or understanding her words. He didn’t need to. She was there to keep him safe, whether he realized it or not. At some point, he had become her person—her responsibility. She wanted to take care of him.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears. Everyone shot up from their seats. Song Mo almost followed their example, but the weight of the child on his lap kept him rooted in place. The nurse quickly rushed to him, taking the child and retreating to the corner of the room.

"Sulan," Dou Zhao said calmly, addressing her loyal servant and signaling for her to open the door, from which the sound of knocking had begun to echo.

Sulan obediently grabbed a parasol, adjusted her hair to make it look slightly disheveled, as if she had been sleeping on duty, and headed for the door.

As the door opened, men wearing rain hats stormed into the courtyard. Before anyone could draw their swords, Sulan’s voice rang out above the sound of footsteps and the pouring rain.

"Tan Manor’s master is here!"

Song Mo stepped out from his place of concealment, moving toward the men. He stayed under the shelter of the roof, avoiding the rain.

"I owe my current position to the help of the Duke of Ding in the past. Please rest assured, Your Lordship, I will protect his young son with my life!" the Master of Tan Manor promised.

"Your righteousness is admirable. But today, things are different."

"During the flood, Fourth Young Lady helped with disaster relief and provided food, offering kindness and aid. If it weren’t for her, Tan Manor wouldn’t have survived this crisis," said an older man before falling to his knees.

The men he had brought with him followed his lead.

"I, Tan, boldly ask for a favor. We are willing to stake our lives to vouch that Fourth Young Lady is a person of great righteousness and honor. She would never leak this secret to anyone! Please spare her life, Your Lordship!" the man pleaded.

Dou Zhao stepped out of the hall, standing behind Song Mo. She observed him. His back was tense again. He watched the kneeling men with solemnity and calm.

"Please spare her life, Your Lordship!" the men from Tan Manor cried in unison, repeating their plea until Song Mo turned to face her.

His profile was as if carved from marble, his expression betraying no emotion.

"Fourth Young Lady, your manor is safe."

She exhaled in relief.

She knew the negotiations weren’t over yet. However, at that moment, she was certain that no blood would be spilled in her home that night. She could finally breathe.

She truly didn’t want to fight against Song Mo. She much preferred having him by her side as a friend rather than as an enemy. 

+++

When Song Mo and his companions left her home, escorted by the rising sun, Dou Zhao watched their procession from the guard tower on the wall. Chen Qushui, her advisor, stood beside her, silent, waiting for her instructions or questions.

"Report from our people?" she asked without taking her eyes off the diminishing figures.

"The boat remains within hearing range, so far nothing unusual has happened. Our spy reports that the shadow guards are torturing the Duke of Ding, trying to force a confession from him."

She nodded, taking the information in. She had expected this. That’s why she had waited for Song Mo to disappear before addressing this matter.

"Ports?"

"Our people have observed several imperial eunuchs with guards appearing in the port city. They are keeping an eye on them."

She nodded again.

"Good. Have them keep watch. If the eunuch makes a move or the ship heads toward a port other than the capital, they should capture Jiang Meisun and monitor the situation."

"What are you afraid of, Miss?"

"I’m afraid the shadow guards want to extract a confession from the Duke of Ding, but the eunuch will try to secure his silence. Eternal silence..."

She knew that this could happen. In her previous life, the Duke of Ding never appeared before the emperor. The ruler sentenced him and his family, deeming that he had ignored his orders. It wasn’t until much later, much later, that anyone learned that the Jiang clan had been destroyed without cause. Only Song Mo spent most of his life trying to clear the Duke of Ding’s name, his beloved uncle. She knew that he would never succeed.

Even on the day of their deaths, too many unknowns remained. Too many hidden truths that no one could or wanted to uncover.

Dou Zhao hoped that if the main player remained on the board, the game could be played in a completely different way.

When Song Mo’s procession disappeared from their sight, she turned on her heel.

"It’s time to return to the capital. The situation at court will soon become very interesting and dangerous," she said, heading toward her room. She needed to prepare for her journey.

"Pass word to our friends to keep an eye on Song Mo. Have them protect him," she instructed.

The pieces had been placed on the board. She knew how the rules worked, but the second hand remained a mystery. She didn’t know what tactics to employ if she didn’t know who her opponent was.

She had no other choice. She had to take the risk.

Chapter Text

When the sun rose, Song Mo and his men departed from the manor of the Fourth Young Lady. Once the house’s walls became small in his view, he sent his two trusted companions back to inquire about the mysterious estate and the even more enigmatic young lady residing within it. They were on their way to the Tan manor. There was no time to waste, but the thought of leaving behind an unknown variable that could turn against them gnawed at his mind.

As they rested by the riverbank, giving the nanny time to feed the child once more with the milk provided by the Fourth Young Lady, Song Mo kept watch for the return of Lu Ming and Lu Zheng.

"So, what did you find out?"
he asked as soon as they stopped before him.

"Your Lordship, we managed to find something,"
reported one of the identical brothers.

"She’s the legitimate eldest daughter of the Dou family in the capital. Her name is, as she said, Dou Zhao. Her grandmother hails from the prestigious Cui Clan. They say she’s been ruthless and scheming since childhood, trying to seize her family’s wealth. That’s why her family abandoned her here at the manor,"
Lu Ming relayed quickly.

"Abandoned?"
Song Mo asked, pondering the credibility of the information.

"Mmh,"
Lu Ming confirmed.

"Didn’t my father also cast me aside and drive me away? What good can come out of a woman’s household quarrels? She’s sharp, quick-witted, and highly adaptable. Her way of handling things is nothing like the average sheltered woman,"
Song Mo replied.

"Also, the farmers in her manor are actually trained warriors. Even her two maids are skilled in martial arts,"
Lu Ming continued.

"Her father works in the Ministry of Revenue, and her uncle, Dou Shishu, was promoted to an official in the Ministry of Rites. Last night’s events weren’t as simple as they seemed,"
added Lu Zheng, drawing Song Mo’s attention to other aspects of the recent events.

"She looked at me in a strange way, as if we had met before. I can’t see through her for now. I’ve been away for too long, so I’m not up to date on court affairs,"
Song Mo responded.

His heart wavered. Should he treat Dou Zhao as a foe or an ally? None of her words or actions bore malice or ill intent. And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling that something eluded him, that he was missing a piece of the puzzle. It was as though he had once solved it, only to find that a single, vexing fragment now rendered it impossible.

His heartbeat quickened at the thought of her gaze directed at him.

"We need to investigate the Dou family thoroughly, just to be safe."
He wanted to know more about her. He needed to know everything. For some reason, he wanted her by his side. He wanted her to accompany him on this journey. He needed more time to understand her. He knew that with time and resources, he could determine whether she was his ally or his enemy.

"Yes, sir,"
the twins agreed to his order. 

+++

Dou Zhao was packing her belongings into a trunk. She turned to look at her advisor once again.

"When you become his hostage, don’t hold back on your advice. Song Mo has been away from the capital for too long; the intrigues and relationships between families could overwhelm him. His advisor, Deputy General Yan Chaoqing, will be of little help to him."
She repeated herself, her eyes wandering around the room, searching for any items she might have forgotten to pack.

"Also, keep your eyes wide open. Observe and report anything that might be significant. Some of our people are already in his household, but they occupy positions too low to gather any truly useful information. Be my eyes there."

Chen Qushui nodded once more, agreeing with his mistress’s orders. He had heard these words many times before. He’d noticed that when the young lady was both excited and anxious, she tended to repeat herself. He had long since stopped paying attention to her repetitions, merely nodding at appropriate intervals.

He knew the Fourth Young Lady could hardly wait for her next meeting with the young lord. No one spoke it aloud, but everyone could see how she tried to care for and assist him. No one commented on the wagons filled with essential goods she sent each season to the Army of Ding. No one thought it proper to ask the young lady about her motives.

But seeing her standing there, holding a child in her arms, facing the Deputy General of the Ding Army, he finally understood.

His mistress, for all her intelligence, foresight, and strength, was ultimately a woman. And women, no matter how capable, always had one weakness—the man they chose as their own.

Chen Qushui knew he would have to protect Song Mo, whether he liked it or not, for as long as his mistress willed it. Well, it wasn’t his place to comment on the matter, but he believed that if the Fourth Young Lady had to choose someone, then the future Duke of Ying wasn’t the worst choice. At least he was handsome.

His thoughts drifted so far from Dou Zhao’s words that Su Lan jabbed him in the side with her elbow, forcing him back to reality.

When he caught sight of the mechanical bird landing in its nest out of the corner of his eye, he knew that, at the very least, they wouldn’t be bored amidst the romance his mistress seemed to be orchestrating. The pieces were set on the board. It was time to make their move.

+++

"One of the advisors raised accusations against the Duke of Ding, pointing to his abuse of power and leniency towards officials, which had led to corruption in Futing. As a result, floods had occurred, bringing suffering to the people.
Purse's Shadow reminded the court that it was thanks to the Duke of Ding's influence that maritime trade in Futing had run smoothly for ten years.
Emperor's Feather questioned the Duke's merits, suggesting they were not solely the result of his actions.
Stool Distributor accused the Duke of lazy and tyrannical rule, proposing his exile to the distant frontier to avoid further troubles.
Personal matters were also brought up—the Duke was accused of neglecting his family and failing to produce an heir, behavior deemed unworthy and unfilial.
Leech Deputy pointed to a serious allegation involving the Ding Army—embezzlement of soldiers' pay—and called for severe punishment to protect the state's interests.

"Contradicting each other. Utterly nonsense."
The Emperor remarked after listening to his advisors’ accusations. The court session ended there. The Emperor made no decision, postponing it until the Duke of Ding arrived and could be questioned."

"Did he really say that?"
Dou Zhao asked as she sat at the table, listening to Su Lan read a summary of the recent court proceedings.

"He did. It seems the Young Lord of Ying took your advice and convinced the ministers to speak out against the Duke of Ding."

Dou Zhao smiled. She hoped Song Mo had indeed reached out to the ministers, though she was hesitant to assume he had followed her guidance exactly. The man was young and inexperienced, unfamiliar with the laws and customs of the imperial court. She also hoped her friends had influenced the choice of words spoken during the session.

"And what about the situation on the other side?" she asked after a moment.

"Everything is going according to plan. He will soon be intercepted and secured."

She nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. Good. I’ve delayed long enough. It’s time to set out for the capital. Summon my reason for returning."

She requested. Su Lan bowed and promptly delivered the message.

Not long after, a messenger arrived with a letter from the Dou household, summoning the Fourth Young Lady back to the capital due to her impending marriage. As always, Old Madame Cui opposed the young lady’s uncle’s attempts to marry her off, but seeing Dou Zhao’s reaction, she ultimately relented, allowing her to do as she pleased.

Dou Zhao loved no one in this life more than her grandmother. 

+++

Silence enveloped the ship. Shadow guards stood at their usual posts, and a faint sense of nervous anticipation hung in the air. The ship had changed its course, no longer heading directly to the capital as originally planned. Instead, it was turning back to pick up another official who was also traveling to the capital.

Unnoticed by anyone on board, a small boat approached the ship's side. Two men dressed entirely in black lurked in the shadows cast by the ship's hull. As a large wave hit the side of the ship, they secured ropes to it, which they then used to climb aboard. Moving silently, they slipped through the shadows of the ship and the darkness of the night, heading toward a room below deck.

Inside, an elderly man knelt, bound like a criminal. His head hung low. One of the men quickly approached him, checking his pulse. Fortunately, the Duke of Ding was still breathing.

Sensing the presence of strangers nearby, the old man stirred. He jerked against his bound arms, attempting to pull away from the intruders.

"Stay calm. We’re here to rescue you, Duke of Ding," one of the men said. He began working on the ropes binding the Duke’s arms. Using a blunt knife, he frayed the ropes until they gave way. He repeated the process with the bindings securing the Duke to his position.

"Who are you?" the Duke asked, remaining motionless despite being freed. Using his own strength, he held himself still, unwilling to let the weakness caused by weeks of torture strip him of his dignity and honor.

"Duke, the Fourth Young Lady sent us to save you. You may not trust us, and we understand that. But if you stay here, you will lose your life within the next three hours."

The Duke flinched at these words. One of the strangers reached out to steady him, preventing him from falling.

"Why would the shadow guards kill me? I was supposed to be brought before the Emperor," the Duke said.

"The shadow guards will torture you, but they won’t kill you. They would never defy the Emperor’s orders," the man explained. "But someone else is coming to the ship. Someone who doesn’t need your testimony—someone who, according to the lady, stands to gain more from your eternal silence. Your Lordship, permanent silence."

The Duke remained still, his mind racing. The men tasked with rescuing him began to sense the growing danger of delaying their mission. Every passing second reduced their chances of success.

"Your Lordship," one of them added, "the lady asked me to tell you this: If you’re unsure whether you can trust us, know that Song Mo was willing to risk his life to secure something important for you."

The Duke finally looked at them, scrutinizing their simple yet professional attire, their movements, and the words they had spoken. Slowly, he rose from the floor, his legs trembling under the weight of his own body. The men supported him.

"If you’re leading me to my death, I’ll curse your lady straight from hell," he warned.

They agreed without hesitation.

Once again, they moved silently, avoiding detection as they left the ship. Lowering the Duke into the small boat, they rowed away, staying close to the ship until they reached the port. They used another vessel as cover to conceal their presence on the water.

Upon reaching the shore, they helped the Duke into a waiting carriage and set off toward a house far from the city.

"What now?" the Duke asked, sitting on a simple bed and watching the strangers.

"Now, we wait for information," they replied.

They boiled water, prepared tea, and sat quietly at the table. Hours passed before another carriage approached the house. 

+++

The Lord lifted his gaze. He was tired, but the unfamiliar surroundings and the strangers around him prevented him from succumbing to exhaustion. When an older man entered the building, his rescuers bowed and invited him to the table. The man bowed before the Duke of Ding.

“Sir, allow me to explain the situation to you. These boys have certainly kept their mouths shut to avoid overwhelming you with too much information.”

The man gestured toward the boys, who then stood and left the small house. He invited the Duke of Ding to the table, poured him a cup of tea, and handed it to him.

“I’ll start from the beginning. The Emperor summoned you to the capital, and Fourth Young Lady has been observing the situation. Thanks to your sacrifices in the fight against the pirates, business has remained stable. When we learned that your journey would be by boat, the Young Lady predicted that the shadow guards would take the longer route, giving them time to extract a confession from you. She ordered our people to follow your ship and observe from a distance. When we noticed the ship changing course, heading toward a city where, just days earlier, the Emperor’s eunuchs arrived accompanied by highly trained assassins—bodyguards, the Young Lady ordered us to steal you away before the eunuchs could set foot on the ship. Good thing we listened to her. I’m returning now after receiving a report that the eunuch did indeed board the ship. Eight shadow guards were found dead on board. The technique and swords appear to be those used by pirates. It was a set-up assassination.”

He spoke, feeling as though he was reporting to his commander again, as he had before meeting Fourth Young Lady. His life had been quieter before, though far duller.

“What now? Should I hide? Flee?” the Duke asked.

Chen Qushui shook his head.

“No, Duke of Ding, now you will go to the capital. We will smuggle you through various channels. The most important thing now is time. The ship left port before sunrise. The sailors were forbidden from going below deck; they don’t even know the bodies are down there. We must move quickly to the capital, arriving shortly after the ship docks, but late enough that you’ll appear to have survived an attack in which the shadow guards were killed. Despite your injuries, you must present yourself as having followed the Emperor’s decree and made your way to the palace. You must answer the Emperor’s summons, but it will work in your favor if he first believes you were killed or severely injured by pirates, only to later see you in an unexpected state.”

The Duke growled upon hearing the plan they had prepared for him.

“Duke of Ding, I know how much respect and decorum mean to you. I understand that you don’t want to deceive the Emperor. But at this moment, we’re not just fighting for your life, Sir; we’re fighting for the life of the entire Jing family and for balance. What do you think will happen if the Jing family ceases to exist? What will happen to Madame of Yang? What about Young Master Song? You must understand, Sir, that he won’t relent. If anything happens to you, he will fight. He will even rebel against the Emperor just to clear your name and bring you justice.”

The Duke of Ding knew this to be true. He fell silent, lost in thought.

“So, what do we do now?” he asked finally, swallowing his pride and forcing himself to obey the words of the unknown man.

“Rest, you’ve been through much. You’ll leave at sunset. I’ll prepare a meal,” the man replied, leaving the Duke of Ding alone.

Chen Qushui headed toward the capital to be arranged as a hostage for Song Mo. He didn’t mind the company on the journey. Young Lord had not set a specific time for Chen Qushui to arrive under his care. This showed how inexperienced he was in such negotiations. At the same time, it gave hope for future cooperation between him and the Fourth Young Lady of the Dou family. After all, he trusted her enough not to demand him immediately. 

+++

"Minister Wu said that His Majesty read the officials' memorials against the Duke, then he asked about Meisun's health instead. But Dou Shishu went on to say that bringing the Duke of Ding back under arrest could destabilize the southeast, like accusing Meisun of building up an army to start a rebellion..."

Song Mo said, seeking support and advice from his two subordinates, who, due to the years they had spent together, had become his friends.

"If that’s the case, then it must be Fourth Young Lady Dou who tipped off her uncle. That wicked woman," Lu Ming said, clearly upset.

"Earlier, you praised her for being sharp, loyal, and kind," his older twin brother replied.

Song Mo watched the exchange between the two boys, lost in thought.

"I... I’m terrible at judging people."

"If she’s really targeting the Duke of Ding, the Shadow Guard would have wiped out Tan’s Manor. But everything’s fine over there, and the child is well taken care of. Also, General Yan is keeping an eye on things," Song Mo interrupted, halting the developing argument.

"That just makes it even stranger. Fourth Young Lady Dou has been living in seclusion. How would she know all the court affairs?"

"There’s also another possibility. It’s not just Dou Shishu. The entire Dou Family may be her pawns. She could be plotting and manipulating people from afar. Then Young Lord has become her leverage to control us," suggested the always more alert and observant Lu Zheng.

"If that’s true, it’s hard to believe someone as beautiful as Fourth Young Lady Dou could be so ruthless," Lu Ming said sadly.

"Uncle hasn’t even arrived here yet, and we’ve already crossed paths with the Dou Family twice. There’s bound to be more conflict ahead. We have to figure out what they’re really after," Song Mo mused, considering their past encounters with the Dou Family. The first had been unprecedented, the second unwanted. Dou Zhao was an unknown he couldn’t understand.

"Well, perhaps I’ve learned something interesting about her family. It turns out her father took ten years to pass the imperial exam to become an official. During that time, his wife, Zhao Guqiu, the Dou Family's Mistress, took care of the family and their daughter. When he finally passed the exam, he returned home. Not long after, his wife died, and he quickly remarried. Five months later, he had another daughter."

Song Mo pondered his words.

"So, you’re saying that Dou Family’s Seventh Master had a lover during the years he was away studying for exams, then brought her home as a concubine, which led to his wife’s death?"

Lu Zheng confirmed, "Soon after, of course, Fourth Young Lady was taken into the care of her grandmother, Old Madame Cui, and Dou Shiying’s concubine was sent away to a temple for three years after giving birth. It was only after her return that rumors began circulating that Fourth Young Lady was banished from the family for attempting to seize wealth for herself. Supposedly, she only tried to reclaim her mother’s dowry, which her father’s new concubine wanted to take for herself."

Song Mo shook his head.

"It’s not worth looking behind the closed doors of any family in the capital. There’s never anything good hidden there."

His thoughts turned to his own home. To his increasingly ill mother and his continuously absent father, who had cast him out when he was just a child. He thought of his uncle, where he had found true familial love, and of his son, who might never have the fortune of experiencing fatherly love.

He shook his head.

He really shouldn’t look behind the closed doors of the Dou family. 

+++

Their next meeting was just as unusual as the first. Song Mo, along with his people, decided to try the Dou Family's rice dumplings, as recommended by Minister Wu. As he had expected, the filling was truly unusual.

However, before he had a chance to catch Dou Shishu handing out bribes, he heard a commotion from outside.
"Mr. Wu Shan is unconscious!"
called a servant, rushing into the room.
"Fourth Young Lady has ordered someone to carry him to the backyard," he quickly reported, paying no attention to the presence of uninvited guests.

"Quiet! Do not speak recklessly!"
ordered the Fifth Master of the Dou Family.

"Great! You dare harm Official Wu’s only grandson!"
Song Mo shouted angrily and headed for the backyard. His people followed without a command. They were loyal to him. They always followed him and were ready to insult any minister or stand against any threat that came their way.
They ran through the household, ignoring everything and everyone in their path.

When they arrived, Dou Zhao was kneeling behind Wu Shan, who was being supported by her maids to stay seated. The Fourth Young Lady was removing layers of his clothing. She didn’t even stop at the inner layer. She undressed Wu Shan, revealing his body in public.

Dou Zhao placed her ear to his back as though listening for something, then stepped back and reached for a set of acupuncture needles. Song Mo didn’t hesitate for a second, heading straight for her.

"Fourth Young Lady, what are you doing?"
he asked, frustrated, giving her one last chance to stop what she was doing. Instead of stepping away from the man, Dou Zhao ordered her maids to block his way, which only infuriated Song Mo more. He moved toward her.

Whether the maids knew martial arts or not, they weren’t able to stop him. He grabbed Dou Zhao by the arm, preventing her from harming Wu Shan.

"What are you trying to do to Dezhen?"
he asked. Behind him, his guards were fighting with Dou Zhao’s maids. He didn’t turn around. At that moment, he cared about nothing but the safety of his friend.

If he had focused on Dou Zhao for just a moment, he would have realized she wasn’t there to harm Wu Shan. Her eyes were determined, though fear lingered deep within them. Dou Zhao was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to save Wu Shan, that she wouldn’t be able to change his fate. She feared that if the future she knew must come to pass, she wouldn’t be able to protect Wu Shan from death, and that would confirm... that she wouldn’t be able to save Song Mo either.

"He has tuberculosis and lung abscesses. His breathing is getting weaker."
she said, stepping back slightly, allowing Song Mo to redress Wu Shan. She wasn’t intending to fight him. She knew she couldn’t win. She could only try to convince him with her words. Song Mo was young, but he was loyal. She knew he would protect his friend, even at the risk of his own life. She knew that if he didn’t trust her enough to entrust Wu Shan’s life to her care, there would be nothing she could do except leave him in the hands of the gods.

"His lungs must be filled with pus now. He’s on the verge of death, fighting for his life. I need to perform acupuncture on his Dazhui and Xuanji acupoints to save him."
She explained. She forced him to look into her eyes, waiting for his reaction. She knew he was studying her, checking her intentions, searching for lies. She wasn’t lying—she truly wanted to save Wu Shan’s life.

Their brief silence was interrupted by the arrival of Dou Ming, Dou Zhao’s mother.

"Dou Zhao!"
she shouted as soon as she came into view.

"How dare you! In broad daylight, you and Mr. Wu are pulling at each other with your clothes in disarray. What are you trying to do? Get up now!"
the woman commanded. Dou Zhao ignored her.

"Mr. Wu Shan’s illness flared up strangely. Zhao is about to perform acupuncture on him,"
Dou Zhao defended herself. Her mother, however, didn’t truly listen to her words. She approached her daughter, grabbed her by the arm, and forcefully pulled her away from Dou Zhao, Wu Shan, and Song Mo.

"If acupuncture is needed, it should be done by a physician. There are rules between men and women. You have acted in such disgraceful and improper behavior. If this gets out, what will happen to the Dou Family’s reputation?"
continued Dou Shiying, the concubine.

"Someone, quickly help Mr. Wu Shan up!"
she ordered. 

She called out to the servants surrounding them from the Dou family. Dou Zhao’s servants, Su Lan and Su Xin, along with Lu Ming and Lu Zheng, blocked their way. Song Mo was focused on the situation, missing the genuine surprise that appeared on Dou Zhao’s face. She hadn’t expected that trying to save someone’s life could cause such a commotion. What she hadn’t expected even more was that her people and Song Mo’s people would so quickly and instinctively work together. She was truly proud of them.

"He should be quickly sent to the physician," said Dou Shishu, who was approaching them.

"Someone, take him away!" the man ordered.

"We’ve already sent someone to bring the physician here. But the rearrest medical hall is ten li away. By the time the physician arrives, Mr. Wu Shan will be dead," Dou Zhao defended her reasoning.

"You’ve grown up on the battlefield, so you must know that some injuries and illnesses cannot be delayed," she turned to Song Mo, trying to persuade him. She watched him carefully, observing every subtle change in his expression. She tried to read his body language, to understand him and anticipate his next move.

She grabbed his robe, pulling him closer, forcing him to focus only on her. Their eyes met at a distance of less than her outstretched hand. She pressed him even closer, staring directly into his eyes.

"Please look into my eyes."

His gaze couldn’t pull away from hers. Her eyes were beautiful, wide open, so sincere that he was afraid to look into them. He feared they would swallow him whole.

"Since you’re skilled in reading facial expressions, you will know I’m not lying," she urged.

Song Mo could feel her breath on his face, sensing a delicate floral scent that accompanied her, but there was something more in it—something familiar. He had the impression he had smelled it in a dream. He stared at her, and the longer he tried to find a lie or any malicious intent in the woman before him, the deeper he fell into her gaze, and the more he found himself unable to look away from her beauty. She seemed entirely unreal.

"I can save him," she promised.

And he surrendered. Song Mo had to admit to himself that he had lost. The sincerity in her eyes, or the strength in her voice—it was as if Dou Zhao had forced him to trust her. When Wu Shan, leaning on him, took another labored breath, Song Mo made his final decision. 

"You can let go of me," he said, which for a moment saddened and confused Dou Zhao. However, he didn't have time to interpret her emotions. If he trusted her words, which he had decided to do, he knew they didn't have much time to save Wu Shan's life.

"Hold onto Dezhen," he instructed, pushing the limp body of the man into her arms. Her sadness quickly turned into determination. She quickly grabbed him with steady hands. He tried not to watch, but he had the feeling that this wasn't the first time the Fourth Young Lady of Dou had fought for someone’s life. He wanted to ask her about it. He wanted to know everything.

However, they had to focus on the most important thing now—saving Wu Shan’s life. He couldn't do anything except provide him with as much privacy as the courtyard of an aristocratic home could offer, where everyone present had gathered to observe the commotion.

"Lu Zheng!" he called, summoning his trusted companion.

"Bring out all the folding screens and set them up tightly," he ordered.

"Yes, Your Lordship," the man quickly agreed, and along with others, they began to set up privacy screens to shield Wu Shan from unwanted eyes.

Song Mo stepped back from her, leaving the man in her care.

"Everyone, turn around! If anyone dares to look, you’ll lose your eyes!" he threatened. Stepping away from Dou Zhao and Wu Shan, he stood before them with his twin swords in hand, also facing away, preventing anyone from coming closer.

The privacy screens were quickly set up around them, allowing Dou Zhao to begin her work.

"Su Lan, Su Xin!" Dou Zhao called to her maids, who quickly removed Wu Shan’s robes, helping Dou Zhao keep his barely conscious body seated.

"Fourth Young Lady, proceed with the acupuncture now," Song Mo instructed, which she did promptly. Inserting the needles at the right pressure points took her only a few minutes.

"Your Lordship, you openly pointed your blade at an official of the court. Do you intend to rebel?" someone asked.

"Anyone who stands in my way today will die."

"You’ve repeatedly tried to stop me from saving him. What are your true intentions? Why do you believe that girl can save him?"

"I trust my judgment."

Once the needles were in place, Dou Zhao used force to make the blood accumulated in Wu Shan’s lungs leave his body. The easiest and quickest way would be for him to spit it out.

The privacy screen, decorated with bare branches, suddenly bloomed with red flowers as Wu Shan coughed up blood. Dou Zhao placed her ear against his back, listening to his breath.

"Dou Zhao, are you trying to get the entire family killed?" asked Dou Ming's mother. Dou Zhao ignored her.

"What a clever plan, Lord Song. If something happens to Mr. Wu, the emperor will think the Dou Family is ambitious and power-hungry, willing to harm others because of political differences."

"Don’t worry, Yuanji. As the Governor of Shengtian, I’ll testify to this. Song Mo broke into private property, threatened a court official with a blade, and obstructed efforts to save a life. Even if this matter reaches the emperor, the truth will remain the same!" The two men argued.

Dou Zhao didn’t have time to focus on their words; it sounded like a children’s quarrel in a sandbox. She didn’t have the time or energy for them. She focused entirely on saving Wu Shan’s life.

"What a lively scene," came the voice of Old Madame Cui. Dou Zhao smiled, knowing her grandmother was by her side. There was no conflict the older woman couldn’t resolve with just a few words.

"Judging by the atmosphere, are you planning to perform a sword dance?" Old Madame Cui continued.

Dou Zhao was very lucky that, at the moment when a soft laugh escaped her lips due to her grandmother’s words, Wu Shan happened to cough, masking the sound of her amusement.

Everyone involved, as if on cue, laid down their swords.

"Greetings, Madam Cui," Song Mo greeted politely.

Dou Zhao nodded, satisfied. He was well-mannered, as expected of a well-educated young lord. She couldn't help but look forward to the moment when he realized that Madame Cui, whose judgment was feared by all the judges in the empire, was actually her grandmother.

"I was just chatting with my mother. What’s going on here?" asked Dou Shiying, the seventh lord of the Dou family.

"It’s all because of Dou Zhao. She refused to let Mr. Wu be taken for medical treatment and insisted on treating him herself." 

The man's concubine spoke, the first ready to shift the blame onto someone else. Old Madame Cui sighed heavily, stepping forward, ready to end yet another dispute in her long life.

"Prince Song,"
she addressed Song Mo first.
"Haste makes waste, calmness brings resolution. The Duke of Ding has always been a loyal and upright man. By overstepping your authority to search his residence just to silence a political opponent, you will only end up harming your uncle,"
she admonished him, using the calmest tone of voice. Dou Zhao wanted a chance to see Song Mo now. She wondered what emotions were written on his face when her grandmother gently scolded him. The woman had a power that even the emperor could not match.

"Please weigh the consequences of your actions and be careful in your judgment,"
she concluded.

"Madam Cui, while today’s events cannot be taken to court, I know what I’ve seen,"
he warned, his voice cold.
"We've disrupted your peace today. I sincerely apologize,"
he added, bowing before Old Madame Cui with solemnity.

"Everyone, withdraw,"
he commanded his men, who executed the order without protest. Madam Cui nodded in acknowledgment of his words. She smiled at him before turning toward her next adversary, another man who was acting beyond his means.

"Master Dai, you’ve come all the way here. Sorry I did not welcome you properly,"
she greeted the second man, completely ignoring the presence of her elder son. The man bowed respectfully before her in greeting.

"But if you could spare me from further conflict, I would be most grateful,"
she finished.

"Since you put it that way, Madam Cui, I will not pursue today’s matter any further,"
he agreed to her request.
"Everyone, leave,"
he also ordered his men.

Wu Shan coughed up blood again, drawing the attention of everyone around them. Despite the privacy screens, the weight of the gazes focused on them was something Dou Zhao could feel. She didn’t let it bother her.

"It’s working,"
Su Lan said happily, wiping Wu Shan’s mouth of blood.

"Danzhen!"
Song Mo called, quickly heading toward them. Su Lan and Su Xin lifted Wu Shan's robes, covering his naked body from sight. Song Mo knelt beside them, supporting Wu Shan with one arm. The man's eyes opened. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his vision.

"The doctor is here!"
called out a servant, approaching with the healer.
"Doctor, quickly!"
came the same voice. The healer ran after her, breathing heavily. He passed through the privacy screens and knelt by Wu Shan, quickly examining his health. He looked into his eyes, touched his forehead to check his temperature, and then reached for his wrist to check his pulse.

Everyone waited in silence for the healer's words.

"Lung abscesses are most dangerous when they rupture internally. Thankfully, this Young Lady released the clotted blood with acupuncture,"
he informed them, making most of the gathered people breathe a sigh of relief.
"Otherwise, he could have suffocated to death before I could get here,"
he finished.

Song Mo focused his gaze on Dou Zhao, watching her reaction to the healer’s words. He saw the tension in her slowly begin to dissipate as she seemed to relax under the healer's report. He almost saw Dou Zhao let out a sigh of relief. He barely managed to suppress the smile that almost appeared on his lips as he saw her reaction.

She was beautiful, he had to admit.
Strong, capable, wise, brave, and resilient—she didn’t follow social rules. She used her skills to do good, caring and stubborn. She was amazing. Song Mo couldn’t take his eyes off her.

As Song Mo was lost in his admiring thoughts, Dou Zhao stepped back. She called her two maids, who quickly and skillfully helped her straighten her robes and arrange her hair. A few seconds later, she looked nothing like the person who had just been fighting to save Wu Shan’s life, who was still leaning heavily against Song Mo.

"Madam, the young master is out of danger now,"
the healer informed Old Madame Cui, leaving the patient behind the privacy screens.
"I’ll go prepare a decoction for him immediately,"
he offered.
"Follow me."

The maid instructed, leading him to the estate. She took him to a room where the Fourth Young Lady had asked preparations to be made for the herbs she had brought with her to the capital.

"Thank you, Fourth Young Lady, for saving my life," Wu Shan said, bowing before Dou Zhao as Song Mo helped him rise. Dou Zhao returned the bow.

"Mr. Wu, there’s no need to thank me. We’ll make sure to send tonics to your residence later," she offered.

"Lung abscesses are dangerous. You mustn’t take them lightly. Take good care of your health in the future," she advised him. Song Mo observed her, unable to take his eyes off her. She glowed like a fairy or an enchanted goddess who had descended to earth to make his life more interesting.

He shook his head, trying to shake off these uncomfortable thoughts. He needed to focus.

"Dezhen, it’s true she saved you, but your illness today may not have been accidental," he warned his friend sincerely.

Wu Shan ignored Song Mo's words.

"I will never be able to repay you for what you've done for me today, Fourth Young Lady Dou," he bowed to her once more.

"We can’t hide this from your grandfather. I’ll escort you back to the capital," Song Mo offered.

"Su Xin, Su Lan," Dou Zhao said, and her two maids quickly approached Wu Shan and Song Mo.

"Lu Zheng, Lu Ming, come with us," she added. The servants surrounded Wu Shan, helping escort him from the Dou family estate. Song Mo looked back once more, focusing his gaze on Dou Zhao. She hadn’t moved from her spot, watching him, her eyes following him. Their eyes met again, only for a brief moment, perhaps just a second or two. Yet, they both felt as if they were drawn to each other by some unseen force.

When Song Mo disappeared from sight, Dou Zhao moved, walking towards her grandmother. Her posture changed, becoming less submissive. Everyone who had thought of her as prey realized that, in reality, she was the predator in the room. Everyone, except for Dou Ming’s rather unintelligent mother.

"I’ve heard many unpleasant words that I couldn’t respond to because I was too busy saving Mr. Wu Shan’s life. Perhaps you’d like to repeat them?" she asked with a gentle smile.

The men lowered their gazes, and after a few seconds of silence, each one found an excuse to disappear from her sight.

"Thank you for today, Grandmother," Dou Zhao said, taking the older woman's arm in hers, supporting her as they walked back to the more pleasant surroundings. They deserved a cup of good tea after what they had just been through.

"You did wonderfully, my little one," praised Old Madame Cui. Dou Zhao smiled brightly, her face lighting up in a pure, innocent grin.

"One thing still puzzles me, little bird," Old Madame Cui began. Dou Zhao focused her gaze on her, her eyes gleaming with innocent curiosity.

"If you truly cared about saving Wu Shan, why didn’t you call the guards?" she asked. The older lady looked around. To an untrained eye, the courtyard around them might have seemed empty, but she knew otherwise. Since she had handed over the Cui clan’s seal to her beloved granddaughter, she knew that there were always many guards around her, whose duty was to ensure her safety.

Dou Zhao laughed lightly.

"That would have ruined the fun. Just imagine the surprise Song Mo will have if, in the future, we find ourselves in a hopeless situation and then, out of nowhere, my guards appear," she laughed joyfully. 

Madam Cui shook her head in amusement. Her dear Dou Zhao sometimes acted like a judge, ready to ruthlessly assess the actions of others, and at other times, she gave the impression of speaking with a puppet master who had planned every event ten steps ahead and was simply waiting for her plans to unfold… But sometimes, in those rare moments when Dou Zhao felt safe and happy, she had the chance to see her like this again. Smiling, carefree, and free. Just like she had been before her mother's death. Madam Cui longed to see her that way all the time.

She smiled at her, gently patting her hair with her other hand.

"My child, my good child," she said, receiving another radiant smile from Dou Zhao in return.

Old Madame Cui hoped that the future would bring her granddaughter many more reasons to smile. She feared a future in which she would be deprived of that smile.

For now, she had noticed that someone named Song Mo was a good way to bring a smile to her granddaughter’s lips… 

Chapter Text

Song Mo and Wu Shan left the Dou residence without any issues. Along the way, they stopped to give Wu Shan a chance to rest after his recent brush with death.

"Are you feeling better?" Song Mo asked as he approached his friend.

"The Fourth Young Lady saved my life. You shouldn’t doubt her," Wu Shan replied, casting a reproachful look at his companion.

Song Mo averted his gaze. "Did I ever say I doubted her?"

"If you don’t doubt her, why did you make such a fuss earlier?" Wu Shan argued, his tone defensive.

Song Mo glanced around, as if searching for eavesdroppers. He needed a moment to carefully frame what he wanted to convey.

"Dou Shishu is ambitious and scheming. Dou Shiying has no interest in power, but he’s easily influenced. Wang Yingxue, on the other hand, hides malice behind her smile. Your illness was most likely her doing. But judging by her reaction, even she doesn’t want such a contentious matter to escalate between you and the Fourth Young Lady. As for the Fourth Young Lady…"

"What about her?" Wu Shan interrupted, irritation flashing across his face, as if he already anticipated harsh words from Song Mo.

"It’s clear she doesn’t align with the rest of the Dou family. But somehow, she inadvertently caused you harm. Her efforts to save you were genuine, but for the sake of her family, she chose to conceal the truth," Song Mo replied solemnly.

"She makes you want to like her. She makes you want to trust her. That’s dangerous—more dangerous than the rest of the Dou family combined."

"Are you suggesting that the Fourth Young Lady has feelings for me?" Wu Shan asked, his tone half-serious.

Song Mo let out a heavy sigh, clearly frustrated that no meaningful warning could penetrate Wu Shan’s stubborn optimism.

"If that were true, I’d be a lucky man," Wu Shan continued, his expression one of naive trust—dangerously so for someone raised in the imperial court’s web of ulterior motives and deceit.

"What I’m saying is that the Dou family is full of scheming minds, and someone as simple as you can’t handle them," Song Mo reiterated, trying once more to steer Wu Shan away from his idealistic thoughts about the Fourth Young Lady. 

"I’m well aware of the darker side of noble families. But I’m not like you. I think being on the battlefield has made you paranoid. The Fourth Young Lady is intelligent and capable—a perfect match."

"You need to get it into your thick skull," Song Mo growled, his anger rising. He felt like he was talking to a wall. It was as if only he could see the deeper shadows lurking in Dou Zhao’s beautiful eyes. Wu Shan seemed to focus solely on her delicate face, convinced she was an innocent and sincere young lady.

But Song Mo knew—though he had no proof yet—that Dou Zhao was far more than she let on. She was definitely more than they could see. And while part of him was curious about what she was hiding, another part dreaded discovering the truth. He feared it might be something dark and repulsive.

"You speak as if you know the Fourth Young Lady better than I do. Have you secretly investigated her?"

"You could say that," Song Mo admitted, slightly embarrassed that Wu Shan had caught him.

"You need to understand—the Fourth Young Lady is more than she appears, much more. Have you noticed who her grandmother is?"

"When you pulled me away and stopped me from speaking earlier, I hadn’t even started…" Wu Shan broke into a fit of coughing, doubling over as his chest heaved. His breath came in loud, wheezing gasps as he struggled to fill his lungs.

"Still coughing? You shouldn’t talk so much when you have lung abscesses. I think the Fourth Young Lady’s medical skills are lacking. I’ll arrange for a court physician to examine you," Song Mo said, steering Wu Shan toward the carriage and silencing his friend’s further attempts to speak.

+++

Dou Zhao sat with her grandmother, peacefully sipping tea. In the distance, they heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but neither woman paid it any mind.

"Mother."

Dou Shishu and Dou Shiying bowed in unison as they entered the pavilion. Old Madame Cui acknowledged them with a nod, allowing them to rise from their bows.

"What happened today…" Fifth Master Dou began, but Old Madame Cui cut him off.

"Nothing happened today, isn’t that right, Dou Shiying? Were you witness to anything today, my son?" she asked calmly, reaching for the teacup that Dou Zhao had just filled for her with a smile.

Dou Shiying flinched slightly at his mother’s pointed question but quickly shook his head.

"Nothing happened today. It was… it was a peaceful day, nothing out of the ordinary." 

He quickly agreed with his mother. Madame Cui looked at her elder son with sadness. Dou Shishu had always been stubborn, pursuing power through inappropriate tactics. She feared the day she might be summoned to judge her own son in court. Yet she knew her judgment would be fair, regardless of the blood that ran in his veins. Even if he was her son, should it be proven that he was a criminal, she would no longer regard their shared bloodline.

Truly, for many years of her life, she had hoped her boys would grow into good and responsible men. She had hoped they would become valuable members of society.

She looked at them now. One was an ingrate who had caused the death of his wife, then mistreated his daughter while elevating his concubine above her. The other was a madman, so hungry for power, influence, and gold that his heart had turned to stone.

She had truly failed to raise these boys. But the blame, she knew, lay with their brutal father, Dou Dou, whose actions had forced her to distance herself from the Dou household and focus on her own life. She had left her two sons in his care. Now, she saw the consequences.

There was nothing more she could do. She could no longer save them. She couldn’t turn back time to redirect their paths. Madame Cui’s gaze shifted to the young girl sitting beside her. In her, she saw hope for the future. She might not be able to save her sons, but she could guide and shape her granddaughter.

She already saw that Dou Zhao, her little Shogu, would grow into a wonderful person—a future she would watch with hope and joy. 

+++

The next day, as Dou Zhao sat with her friend and cousin, breaking etiquette by soaking their feet in the stream, she received a message. Everything was going according to plan.

Chen Qushui was almost at the Song family estate, per the agreement between Song Mo and Dou Zhao. The man was to reach the capital within a week and surrender himself to Song Mo as a hostage until their cooperation uncertainties were resolved. Chen Qushui didn’t mind the temporary leave at the Song estate, especially since it allowed him to help his lady gather information about the household’s situation.

Before Dou Zhao could focus on the information received, she noticed a figure approaching. Her guards did not react, so she paid no attention to the person either, assuming it was another servant delivering a message from a friend in the capital.

They joyfully splashed water, sipping sweet soup from their bowls. They laughed and played. Moments like these, free and unrestrained, were rare. Society and its expectations shackled them with chains they couldn’t break, especially if they wished to maintain their dignity. They had no choice but to adapt to the life the world had prepared for them.

However, Dou Zhao had no intention of ever becoming the kind, quiet, and obedient young lady she had been in her first life. She also knew that openly rebelling would bring her no benefit. She needed to work in the shadows, moving slowly and gathering support, biding her time until she could change the rules and conventions. She understood it would be a long battle and an even longer journey.

But she was in no rush. 

When Wu Shan approached close enough to see the state of the Fourth Young Lady, whom he had come to visit, he quickly turned his back, trying to prevent his cheeks from flushing with an embarrassing shade of red. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking.

"Apologies for my sudden visit," he said through a tight throat. A sudden dryness overtook his mouth, and the stress weighed heavily in his stomach.

"Pardon my rudeness."
He bowed, though he still lacked the courage to face the young ladies.

"Not at all," Zhao Zhangru quickly replied. Before anyone could stop her, she leaped from the rock, adjusted her dress, and grabbed Miao Ansu’s hands.

"Su, let’s go."
"Come on!"
They laughed lightly as they dashed away, leaving Wu Shan’s line of sight—and leaving Dou Zhao alone by the riverbank, with Wu Shan.

"Cousin!" Dou Zhao exclaimed in irritation, noticing that Zhao Zhangru had stolen her shoes. The girl only laughed, waving them in the air before sticking out her tongue at Dou Zhao and vanishing from view.

Dou Zhao sighed heavily. Sometimes her cousin’s antics were amusing. At times, she even appreciated Zhangru’s lighthearted and radiant personality, one that nothing could dim. But on occasions like this, her behavior was simply infuriating. Zhao Zhangru didn’t understand that Dou Zhao was constantly under the watchful eyes of her guards. She couldn’t know that actions like this could threaten Dou Zhao’s honor.

Being left alone with an unmarried young master—one who was to be engaged to her younger sister, no less—was undeniably improper and inappropriate. Most importantly, Dou Zhao didn’t want to see him.

Even Wu Shan seemed bewildered by the actions of the other two young ladies, who had left Dou Zhao by the riverbank.

"I’ll wait for you back at the manor," he said respectfully, bowing again to Dou Zhao.

She sighed inwardly. Since she had been abandoned and left in this predicament, she might as well make the most of the situation.

"It’s fine," she said, stopping him as he made to retreat. "You’ve come from afar; you must have an urgent matter. You can tell me right now."

Her tone was more commanding than polite, though her words carried the veneer of a request.

"I won’t mind." 

The man hesitated for a moment before taking the box held by his servant.

"You may leave," he said, dismissing the servant and leaving Dou Zhao and Wu Shan completely alone—at least from his perspective. Finally, he stepped closer, carrying the box in his hands as though it were a precious treasure.

"In order to save me at the Dragon Boat Festival, you… you removed my clothes," Wu Shan said, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

"It was a matter of life and death," Dou Zhao interrupted firmly.

"Even if it had been an old farmer, I would have done the same. You needn’t dwell on it," she explained, hoping to clarify her stance.

"You are magnanimous and open-minded, but as a man, how can I let your reputation be tainted?" Wu Shan persisted, his expression resolute.

"I should take responsibility. And I am willing to do so," he offered earnestly.

Dou Zhao shook her head slightly, sighing inwardly at his stubbornness. Wu Shan was pleasant, handsome, and gentle. She knew many young ladies would be overjoyed to receive a marriage proposal from him. But she was not like others.

Dou Zhao had already chosen her husband, the man she would support and care for. The time simply hadn’t come yet. Song Mo didn’t trust her enough—not yet. He still didn’t see her as a partner, a companion he could rely on. He didn’t see her as someone who could fight alongside him on two fronts at once.

She knew he wasn’t ready to turn his back on her and trust that she wouldn’t stab him with a sword in a moment of distraction. He wasn’t yet prepared to place himself under her care.

Fortunately, Dou Zhao had time. She could wait. She was ready to earn his trust and faith, little by little. Day by day, she was willing to work tirelessly until she was no longer a threat in his eyes, no longer just a scheming woman.

She was prepared to wait for the day when Song Mo would stand before her and see her as his equal. Only then would they make a good pair. Only when she achieved that would she agree to become his wife. Not a day sooner.

"I will ask the Wei family to annul their engagement, then proceed with the proper betrothal rites, and formally marry you," Wu Shan vowed, sealing his promise with another bow.

"Mr. Wu, you and I have only met three times before," Dou Zhao began, carefully choosing her words to reject him without completely wounding his confidence. Wu Shan was a good man, she couldn’t deny that, and he was a close friend of Song Mo. She didn’t want to turn him into an enemy.

But neither could she lead him on by agreeing to his plan. This marriage—just like the one her uncle had arranged with the Marquis of Ji Ning—was never going to happen. 

+++

"How can we base a lifetime commitment on just three meetings?"

Dou Zhao thought about her encounters with Song Mo—they too could be counted on one hand. They had met at her countryside home, weapons pointed at one another. They had met at her family’s estate, with a dying man between them. And they had met once before, in her previous life, when Song Mo had placed himself between her and an arrow.

It felt as though that one meeting alone had been enough for her to decide who she wanted to follow in this life. No other encounter had ever left such an impression. After a life filled with coldness and abandonment, after losing her child, and living with the knowledge that her husband awaited her death just to marry her sister… one meeting with Song Mo had changed everything.

Even without knowing her, without knowing whether she was a good person or someone who would bring him misfortune, Song Mo had taken her with him. He had shared his shelter and food, and then stood between her and danger, giving up his life to protect her.

That single encounter had reshaped her understanding of devotion. She suspected that if she hadn’t died that day, her entire life would have taken a different course. She would not have been able to return to who she was before. She could no longer remain silent and obedient, devoted and considerate.

After experiencing the kind of devotion she had tasted in that one meeting with Song Mo, Dou Zhao understood what true desire was.

She wanted him, and she knew she would make him hers—if only to experience that kind of devotion again. Song Mo was a deeply affectionate man. Though his heart seemed to have turned to stone by the time they met, it was a cornerstone that warmed and ignited quickly. She wanted to bask in that warmth.

"You treat me sincerely, so I must speak honestly. I don’t wish to marry you or Wei Tingyu," she admitted.

Wu Shan fell silent for a moment, carefully considering her words.

"Is there… someone else who holds your heart, Fourth Young Lady?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Dou Zhao smiled softly, her gaze drifting into the distance, toward the reflection in the water. To Wu Shan, she appeared otherworldly at that moment, like a fairy who graced the mortal world only to toy with the hearts of foolish men who fell hopelessly in love with her.

"Yes, there is someone," she answered after a pause.

Wu Shan nodded in understanding. If her heart already belonged to another, there was no way he could win her for himself.

He stepped back, accepting his defeat with as much composure as he could muster. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his steps uneven, yet he did not turn back to face Dou Zhao. He resisted the urge to take one last look at her bright, unrestrained figure.

He knew he would miss her, even though she had never been his. 

Song Mo went to visit his mother before heading to the port to welcome his uncle to the capital.

"Mother."
"Yan Tang."
"Uncle’s ship has docked today. I’m heading there with Gu Yu to meet him."
"Since you’re receiving your uncle, remember—the Jiang family’s reputation cannot be tarnished."
"Rest assured, I’ve made all the arrangements in court. Uncle will be fine. Perhaps he’ll meet the Emperor during the day, and by night, we’ll reunite."
"The impeachment memorials have been submitted. This is the perfect time for the Emperor and your uncle to have a proper conversation. It’s a good thing." 

+++

"Given the Dou family’s questionable behavior, do you still trust the Fourth Young Lady’s words? You might as well hand yourself over to the Emperor."
"We’re all players in this game. Even if she sees me as a chess piece, who’s to say I’m not the one moving the pieces? When I meet the Emperor, I’ll explain everything myself. Traveling by water must have taken a toll on Uncle. Prepare to change his dressing."

"Gu Yu, isn’t that Uncle’s sedan chair?"

Song Mo pointed to the sedan chair being carried toward them by imperial guards.

"Stop!"
Gu Yu called out, and the guards obeyed, halting to let them inspect the chair.

"It’s empty," Song Mo observed.
"Where is he?" he asked the imperial guards. They lowered their heads, unable to meet his gaze.

Without waiting for a response, Song Mo headed toward the Duke of Ding’s ship.

"Move aside!"
He commanded the guards blocking his path.

"Sir, you cannot enter."
"You dare stop me? Move aside!" Gu Yu shouted.

The men didn’t prevent him from boarding the ship, but another figure stepped in to block Song Mo’s way.

"You mustn’t enter, Sir," said the minister.

"Earl Yunyang," a voice greeted with a quick bow. Song Mo’s attention shifted to an imperial eunuch.

"We are handling a case. Do not obstruct official duties," said the man in formal attire.

"Magistrate Dai. Eunuch Wang. What are you both doing here?" Gu Yu asked, ignoring their expectation of a bow.

"Fulfilling our duties," the eunuch replied.

"Who’s up there? I’ll go see."
"Earl Yunyang, you mustn’t go up."
"But I insist."

Gu Yu pressed against the minister’s shoulder, attempting to push past him.

"Please."
The eunuch pleaded.

"Move aside."
Gu Yu demanded firmly.

"Please, don’t."

Despite their attempts to hold him back, Song Mo used the distraction created by his friend to board the ship. He dodged the guards and ran below deck.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Bodies lay scattered around the lower deck. His eyes searched desperately for his uncle’s face, but he didn’t find him among the dead.

Eight shadow guards lay lifeless. In the center of the room, torn ropes hung loosely, as though someone had once been bound there. 

"General! The Shadow Guard operates under imperial orders. Anyone interfering is guilty of treason."

"Young Master Song! You cannot be here!"
The palace eunuch called out, appearing behind him.

"General, please disembark the boat with Earl Yunyang."

"It was the Emperor’s order to bring the Duke of Ding safely to the capital. So where is he?!"
He growled.

"General, you mustn’t speculate about the Emperor’s intentions. The Duke of Ding’s ship was attacked by sea bandits last night. The Shadow Guards responsible for his escort failed in their duty and perished."

Song Mo grabbed the eunuch by the robe.
"The sea bandits of Dongyu always slash upwards. The wounds should be wider at the top, but this is the opposite. So tell me, Eunuch Wang, where is the Duke of Ding?"

"General, please, return to your residence and await the Emperor’s decree. The Ministry of Imperial Ceremony will investigate thoroughly and provide you with an explanation."

Without receiving an answer, Song Mo yanked the eunuch forward, pressing a knife to his neck—a blade he always kept with him. He needed to reach the palace and inform the Emperor of what he had witnessed. He couldn’t allow the eunuchs time to fabricate a reason for his uncle’s disappearance. He wouldn’t give them the chance to spin a story where his uncle was the aggressor, attacking the Shadow Guards and escaping. He wouldn’t let them pin false accusations on the Duke of Ding.

"You want me to wait?"

"General!"

He noticed a bloodstain on the floor, right in the center of the room, near two limp, torn ropes. He knew the methods of the Shadow Guards and guessed they must have tortured his uncle on the way. What he couldn’t understand was what had happened afterward.

"Wait while you fabricate false charges against my uncle or issue an imperial decree to exterminate my family?"

"General, let’s not be rash," the eunuch pleaded, his hands trembling.

Step by step, Song Mo forced the eunuch toward the exit of the ship.
"Get out!"

"Song Mo, what are you doing?"
The Earl of Yunyang asked, clearly distressed by his actions. Song Mo glanced at his friend and saw only genuine worry and fear on his face.

"Since the Emperor doesn’t know, I will take Eunuch Wang to report directly to him," Song Mo declared, shaking his head.

"Song Mo, calm down."
Gu Yu tried one last time to reason with him. But seeing that his words would have no effect, he stepped back, moving out of Song Mo’s way, allowing him to leave.

Gu Yu followed closely behind, staying by Song Mo’s side. He protected him, forcing anyone who raised their swords in his direction to lower their weapons.

The guards might have tolerated the death of a palace eunuch—he was merely a servant, after all—but they lacked the courage to threaten Gu Yu. As a relative of the Empress, who had personally raised and openly cared for him, no one dared to point a blade at him.

Gu Yu decided to use this to ensure Song Mo’s safety. For now, it was the only thing he could do. 

+++

The road to the palace was slow and uncomfortable, yet Song Mo never let his arm weaken. His sword remained pressed against the eunuch’s neck, forcing him to move. Step by step, he commanded him to walk closer to the palace. They were accompanied by guards who surrounded Song Mo in a tight formation.

"Song Mo, this is a capital offense. Please, think carefully,"
Gu Yu pleaded, trying to dissuade him from breaking into the palace. But Song Mo seemed deaf to his words.

"If my life can preserve my uncle’s honor and the lives of the Jiang family, it’ll be worth it,"
he called out as they approached the temple where the Emperor was praying for his empire, his subjects, and the peace they had fought so hard to achieve.

"Stand back! Don’t come closer! I must see the Emperor!"
Song Mo shouted, forcing the imperial guards to back away. His sword remained firmly pressed against the eunuch’s neck. He didn’t wish harm upon the man, but at this moment, he was ready to sacrifice not one but a hundred innocent lives if it meant reaching the Emperor and presenting his uncle’s case truthfully.

He couldn’t let them accuse the Duke of Ding of treason or disobedience to an imperial decree. He couldn’t let them tell the Emperor that the Duke had escaped after killing eight Shadow Guards. Song Mo knew that wasn’t true.

"Stand back,"
Gu Yu echoed Song Mo’s command.

"We’re on the same side! The same side!"
He tried to convince the surrounding guards.

"Gu Yu, breaking into the palace is a capital offense. Why didn’t you stop him?"
the Empress asked, her voice sharp with irritation.

"Aunt, this is urgent,"
Gu Yu replied, stepping in front of Song Mo and forcing the guards to part, clearing a path straight to the Emperor.

"Move aside."

When Song Mo finally stood before the Emperor, he shoved the eunuch aside, pulled out his sword, and threw it to the ground. He then strode forward quickly until he was just two steps away from the ruler. Dropping to his knees, he bowed low before him.

Dozens of swords were aimed at him, but Song Mo didn’t care. His gaze was fixed solely on the Emperor.

"A ruler may kill his minister if he doubts him,"
he said, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the turmoil inside. He felt only fear and anger. His heart was racing far too fast. 

"If Your Majesty wanted Duke Ding dead, a cup of poisoned wine would have sufficed,"
he said, his voice trembling.

"A man should maintain his dignity even after death. Please, return his body to me, Your Majesty. Your loyal subject served you faithfully for decades. Allow him at least a proper burial, in recognition of his service."

His voice hardened, filled with grief as all his emotions turned into sorrow. He could no longer summon the loyalty or love he once felt for the Emperor. Now, only anguish remained.

"I, Song Mo, demand an answer so that I may die without regrets,"
he vowed, bowing low before the Emperor, his forehead touching the floor. He remained in that position, awaiting the Emperor’s response.

"No matter how great the issue, it does not justify such insubordination,"
the Empress said disapprovingly, clearly displeased with Song Mo’s behavior.

The Emperor, however, brushed the woman aside. With a wave of his hand, he signaled the guards to step back and sheath their swords.

"Who? Who has died? Whose body has been taken?"
he asked, his voice filled with genuine confusion.

"Your Majesty, Duke Ding, Jiang Meisun, disappeared from the ship that was transporting him to the capital. All the Shadow Guards assigned to protect him were found dead,"
Gu Yu said gravely, kneeling before the Emperor and speaking on behalf of his friend.

"The evidence suggests that Duke Ding... his body is missing."

The Emperor, stunned, took a few steps back.

"How is this possible?"
he asked, searching the faces of those around him for answers.

"I was waiting for him, waiting to question him,"
the Emperor coughed, his voice shaking.

"Who? Who dared to kill him? Who dared to steal his body? Who?"

Song Mo raised his head, searching the Emperor’s face for deceit. But all he saw was sincere fear and pain. Song Mo struggled to accept this. Tears welled up in his eyes, though they would never fall.

"If there is any suspicion surrounding what happened to Duke Ding, I ask Your Majesty to investigate thoroughly,"
he pleaded, bowing low before the Emperor again.

The Emperor coughed once more, this time longer and more painfully.

"Uncle always said his greatest wish in life was to pacify the pirates and return to the capital to have a proper chat with Your Majesty,"
Song Mo said softly, as the Emperor’s coughing subsided. 

"He’s been saying that for fifteen years, His feelings remained the same. But when did Your Majesty’s heart start to change? Or is it that the heart of an emperor can’t trust anyone?"
Song Mo's words cut sharper than a sharpened sword. They caused more pain than any torture. The Emperor’s eyes widened in shock, embarrassed and surprised by the words coming from Song Mo, whom he had always considered a member of his family deep in his heart.

Jiang Meisun had been like a brother to him. They shared everything except blood. They shared common goals and dreams. They divided responsibility and tasks between them. However, the Emperor could not remember the last time he spoke to his only true friend. He tried to recall the sound of his voice in his memories… But he couldn’t hear it. All he could hear were the cruel words of Song Mo.

Words that were the truth. The boy, Jiang Meisun, spoke the truth. He knew his uncle, and he knew that the Duke of Ding would remain loyal to the Emperor and the crown even if someone pressed a sword to his heart. Jiang Meisun cared less about his life than his respect. He cared more about maintaining peace in the court and in the empire than about preserving his own honor.

The Emperor staggered back, crushed by the truth in Song Mo’s words.

"Your Majesty..."
the Empress said, noticing the Emperor’s weakness. She stepped forward, catching him by the shoulder and supporting him to keep him upright.

"Find out what happened to Meisun,"
the Emperor commanded.

"Do not spare anyone who hurt him!"
he shouted. The effort it took to say those words drained him, and suddenly the Emperor lost all his strength. He swayed once more on his feet, then leaned forward and lost consciousness.

Everyone rushed to his side to catch him before he hit the ground, including Song Mo, who was quickly pulled away by the palace guards. The Emperor was carried off by palace eunuchs to his chambers, with the imperial medic only two steps behind.

Song Mo was subdued and dragged to the palace prison by the guards. He didn’t resist. He didn’t struggle. He surrendered to them, walking obediently. He was ready to lose his life today. For now, he had not died...

+++

Dou Zhao sat at the table, going over the account books while listening to the report of the events at the palace.

"Inform the Duke of Ding that four days should suffice,"
she said, making corrections in the book she was reviewing.

"Also, send a message to Earl Yunyang. Inform him that getting involved in a conflict with the law might be the best way to stay by his friend's side and ensure his safety."

Su Lan bowed quickly and got to work. 

Chapter Text

The night reminded them of their first encounter with Fourth Young Lady. The sky was once again shrouded in heavy clouds, unleashing a relentless rain. Everything was covered in a thin layer of water, stirred by the unyielding downpour.

"Those in Futing have heard about the Marshal’s disappearance. If anything happens to Lord Song, the army’s morale will collapse," Yan Chaoqing said, breaking the silence of the night.

"Dou Shishu and his students have been impeaching him nonstop. If something happens to Lord Song, I’ll have the entire Dou Family wiped out!" Lu Ming declared angrily, slamming his palm against the wooden wall. His heart had been uneasy ever since Song Mo disappeared from his sight. His young master was in danger, and he wasn’t there to protect him. He couldn’t save him.

"General Yan, don’t stay at this manor anymore. Come with me to the capital. With our brothers from the Ding Army, it might still be possible to save Lord Song if we try to break him out," Lu Zheng proposed, sharing his brother’s uncertainty. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been separated from his master for so long. Ever since they had been under his care, there hadn’t been a single day when they hadn’t seen him.

"Lord Song has yet to be convicted. If you do this, it will be real treason. Even if the prison break succeeds, what about the lives of hundreds of people from the Jiang and Song Clans?" Dou Zishou’s voice emerged from the darkness. She and her two inseparable maids had followed the sound of the argument until they reached Song Mo’s trusted men, discussing in the shadows.

Fourth Young Lady had anticipated the men’s uncertainty but hadn’t expected them to start running around like headless chickens so soon, resorting to the worst ideas.

"Lord Song is in this situation because you tricked him with your words! If you dare to interfere again..." Lu Ming growled, unsheathing his sword.

Dou Zhao couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly the boy’s attitude toward her had shifted. Not even a few days ago, he had praised her brilliant ideas and strategies, snacking on her homemade cookies while perched on a tree in her courtyard, joyfully watching the sky and catching butterflies. He had seemed so innocent and defenseless back then.

The same could be said about Song Mo. When he wasn’t holding a sword in his hands, he seemed like a completely different person.

"Rebelling against the emperor and damaging the ruler’s dignity. According to the law, that’s punishable by death. His Majesty hasn’t dealt with it yet. The Grand Secretariat has been debating the punishment for days with no result. Why do you think that is, General Yan?" Dou Zhao asked calmly.

General Yan placed a firm hand on the boys’ shoulders, forcing them to lower their weapons. After a brief silence, he finally answered her question.

"His Majesty doesn’t know what happened to the Marshal and is testing the court’s loyalty by questioning Lord Song’s case," he said at last. 

"That’s the first reason. As long as the emperor feels guilty, the power struggles in the court will be handled by Grand Secretary Wu and Wang Xingyi," Dou Zhao agreed. Her stance relaxed slightly, and her maids lowered their weapons as well.

"What about the second reason?" the man asked.

"No matter how much His Majesty values the Duke of Ding, no one knows what happened to him or if he’s even still alive. Song Mo, the living one, is the valuable one. If you break him out of prison, it will turn His Majesty’s loyal and filial Young General into a hated rebel," she replied.

She observed the shifting emotions on their faces, uncertainty replacing determination, doubt spreading across them like a mask.

"His Majesty has already sent the Ministry of Imperial Ceremony to Futing to investigate the Duke of Ding’s case," she added after a pause, hoping this information would finally deter them from their reckless plan. She couldn’t allow them to break into the prison and extract Song Mo. Not only would it cost countless lives, but it would also ruin the plans she had already set into motion.

"Even the Earl of Yuntang couldn’t obtain any information from the Ministry of Imperial Ceremony. How did you know about it?" Yan Chaoqing asked, clearly puzzled.

"General Yan, you have been staying at my residence for several days. You should know—I do not conduct business only in Futing. I have long-standing clients among high officials in the capital. There are plenty of ways to gather information," she explained, withholding further details. She had no intention of revealing all her secrets, especially since she knew she couldn’t fully trust them. Despite Yan Chaoqing’s time in her home, he had failed to learn anything substantial about her. If he couldn’t uncover her secrets, she wouldn’t hand them over willingly.

"Of course, I hope that you’re on our side. If so, here’s the deal: you’ll follow us and rescue Lord Song. Once he’s safely out of prison, you can have Mr. Chen back. Otherwise, Mr. Chen and I will die together. I won’t be alone too," the man threatened clumsily, attempting to use her friend and advisor as leverage.

"No. This is too dangerous," Su Lan interrupted.

"It’s precisely because it’s dangerous. I know you value loyalty and wouldn’t let Mr. Chen die with us, right?"

"We’re allies. It’s our obligation to save Lord Song. But you threatened me in such a manner. That changes things," Dou Zhao replied calmly, demonstrating how true influence in negotiations should be wielded.

The man hesitated, reevaluating his position and options. After an extended silence, he finally spoke.

"I’m only a soldier, so my actions and words are far from elegant. Fourth Young Lady, as an ally, please save Lord Song." He bowed his head and knelt before her.

"Please come with us and save Lord Song," he pleaded again, this time with desperation lacing his voice. Dou Zhao knew they had no other allies to turn to for help in this dire situation. She was their last hope.

"I will accept your request," she agreed, looking down at them.

"Let’s go," she commanded, turning away.

Su Lan and Su Xin quickly followed her, casting sharp glares at the kneeling men. They could never comprehend the near-divine patience their mistress exhibited toward these men, who barked like sick dogs, bared saliva-dripping teeth, and snatched food from her hands without a shred of gratitude. Yet, when they needed her help, they came groveling, heads lowered and tails tucked, whimpering for her mercy. And each time, inexplicably, she granted it.

"You’re thinking too loudly," Dou Zhao said with a laugh.

"But, my lady, they were—" Su Lan began, only to be interrupted.

"Irritating, entitled, ungrateful, egotistical..." Dou Zhao listed, her voice tinged with boredom. Su Xin chuckled at her mistress’s tone.

"Think of them as shadows that never turn toward the light," Dou Zhao instructed. She turned back, noting that the men had already risen and departed.

"They’re of no consequence," she remarked.

"What’s the situation with the Duke of Ding? And Song Mo—any news from the prison?" she finally asked, her genuine interest showing.

Su Lan pulled a small piece of paper from her sleeve and handed it to her mistress, holding a lantern closer to illuminate the writing. Dou Zhao quickly read the message and smiled.

"Everything is going according to plan," she said with satisfaction. 

+++

Song Mo stood in the dark cell, tied to a torture rack. His face was marked with freshly inflicted wounds, harbingers of painful bruises soon to bloom.

"What you did is a capital offense. To the court officials, it seems like you and your uncle are colluding, and suspicion of treason is unavoidable. If you write a confession, admit your guilt, and beg His Majesty for forgiveness, you might stand a chance to plead for mercy. Don’t you agree?"
The imperial eunuch approached him with a self-satisfied smile, clearly reveling in Song Mo’s current state. Watching the proud young lord at his mercy brought him great joy.

"There are 720 pressure points in the human body and 78 joints. He doesn’t even know where it hurts the most. Eunuch Wang, do you need my help to educate your subordinate?"
Song Mo’s voice, though weary, retained its unyielding confidence. He didn’t raise his head, steadfastly ignoring the eunuch’s presence. Pain coursed through his battered body—his ribs throbbed with the promise of swelling into one massive purple bruise, just like his face. Yet, the physical pain was the least of his concerns. His real worry was about what was happening outside this prison.

"I see. It seems there’s no point in saying more. It’s time for things to get serious now,"
the eunuch said, reaching for another torture device. He disregarded the younger eunuch who had been working on Song Mo earlier, ready to personally escalate the session.

"Is it really necessary to imprison someone for such a petty crime?"
A voice called out as Gu Yu entered the adjacent cell, his tone calm but sharp.

"Eunuch Wang, are you using torture? Sorry to disturb you. Really, don’t mind me. Go on. I’ll just watch from here,"
Gu Yu said, leaning casually against the cell bars and observing the scene unfold.

"Earl of Yunyang, why are you…"
The eunuch stammered, clearly startled. He had never expected to see the Earl of Yunyang—known to be a protégé of the Empress—in a prison cell.

"Look what I have here. The official paper issued by the Court of Judicial Review. There’s nothing I can do if they decide to lock me up,"
Gu Yu said, pulling a document from his sleeve and holding it up nonchalantly.

"Song Mo’s treason is clear, and his death is inevitable. Are you planning to die along with him?"
The eunuch suggested, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

Song Mo’s eyes widened as he observed the exchange. Confusion mixed with disbelief. He had never anticipated such a reckless move from Gu Yu. Yet, he couldn’t help but admire the man’s loyalty and dedication.

"What’s wrong with me wanting to? You won’t let me into the prison? Are there no laws anymore? Let’s go to my aunt’s place and reason this out,"
Gu Yu retorted, his voice steady and filled with confidence. 

"As long as you want this."

The insincere smile vanished from Eunuch Wang's face the moment he turned away from the Earl of Yunyang. The palace eunuch exited the cell, leaving Song Mo still bound to the torture device.

"Open the door," Gu Yu called out as the eunuch's footsteps began to fade. He paid no attention to maintaining the pretense of being a prisoner. He knew that no one in the entire prison, or even in the entire empire, would dare stand in his way. No one would stop him if he simply rose and walked out of the prison. They couldn’t do anything to him—not with the protection his aunt, the Empress, offered him.

He quickly made his way into Song Mo’s cell, untying the ropes that held him upright.

"These servants dared to go this far," he remarked while helping Song Mo sit down on the floor.

"Luckily, I brought the medicine," he added, then turned toward the cell door, shouting loudly at the guards.

"Where’s the medicine box? Bring it in!"

A guard quickly obeyed, placing the medicine box beside him without a word. The guard bowed respectfully as always, disregarding Gu Yu’s official status as a convict.

"How is His Majesty?" Song Mo asked worriedly.

"He woke up, but he still needs to rest. I tried to see him, but my aunt sent me away," Gu Yu replied solemnly.

"Mr. Wu and the others didn’t get to see him. Even the Crown Prince was scolded when he tried to tend to him," he continued, recounting the events of the past day to provide Song Mo with crucial updates.

"How did you manage to get in?" Song Mo asked after a moment of silence, curious about what had transpired while he was imprisoned.

"Easy," the Earl of Yunyang answered with a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.

"I picked on someone I didn’t like and beat him up."

Song Mo shook his head at the revelation. He should have expected something so utterly reckless from his friend. He truly should have anticipated that Gu Yu would use some absurd method to get to him. Yet, he couldn’t deny that he was glad to see him and finally have the chance to gather some useful information about the outside world. No one here had bothered to keep him informed.

"You’re too caught up in the situation. Even your female teacher sees things more clearly than you do," Gu Yu commented.

"Female teacher?" Song Mo asked, confused.

"You mean Fourth Young Lady Dou?"

Gu Yu nodded in confirmation.

"She sent you here?"

"Yes!" Gu Yu finally admitted.

"Or else I wouldn’t have come. I’ve been running around Qianqing Palace like a headless chicken. Aunt keeps avoiding me and refusing to see me—all thanks to a eunuch from the Paper Office, who delivered me a message. He said a lady from a bookstore gave it to him."

Gu Yu pulled an embroidered sachet from his sleeve.

"I can tell that only your female teacher could come up with this idea," he remarked as Song Mo took the sachet and removed a folded note from it.

Song Mo fell silent, momentarily more captivated by the delicate handwriting of Fourth Young Lady Dou than the actual contents of the letter.

"She told you to remain in prison," he said after a while.

"After requesting an official paper from the Court of Judicial Review?" he asked as he finally read the message.

"Yes. As long as I’m here, no one would dare to harm you," Gu Yu replied, puffing out his chest slightly, pleased that his mere presence could ensure his friend’s safety. He had no intention of admitting that he never would have thought of such a plan himself. It didn’t matter to him who had come up with the idea; what mattered was that he could execute it.

"At a time when half the court wants you dead, she had the eunuch from the Paper Office deliver things. That’s a task that puts lives at risk. Anyone who helps you like this is truly a person of chivalry," Gu Yu commented.

He kept part of his thoughts to himself. He didn’t intend to tell Song Mo how dangerous it had been to employ a eunuch to deliver the message. Nor did he plan to bring up the fact that Fourth Young Lady Dou apparently had people willing to risk their lives for her. He knew he would need to discuss this with his friend eventually—ideally while also addressing Song Mo’s relationship with such a dangerous woman—but now was not the time. 

+++

"By the will of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: the auspicious signs are here. The era name is changed to 'Fengming.'"

The eunuch announced, reading the imperial decree to the subjects. Meanwhile, in the imperial prison, another eunuch was delivering a different decree to a much more significant audience in the Emperor's eyes.

"Today, a special pardon is granted to Song Mo, the legitimate son of the Duke of Ying, and Gu Yu, the Earl of Yunyang. Song Mo is relieved of his military duties and expected to reflect on his actions. This is the Emperor's will."

He continued in a calm tone, conveying the Emperor's words and will. Song Mo and Gu Yu knelt before the eunuch, listening to the decree with bated breath. When the eunuch finished, both men bowed deeply, expressing their gratitude for the Emperor's grace.

"Eunuch Wang, why a special pardon?" Gu Yu asked curiously, rising from his knees and helping his friend to do the same. Song Mo winced as a sharp pain radiated from his ribs. Despite Gu Yu's medicine, his torso had turned into one large bruise—not life-threatening but making movement difficult and breathing painful.

"Do you not know? Today, His Majesty held a grand ceremony to announce the change in era and grant amnesty to all. Thus, a special pardon," the eunuch explained.

"But what about the Duke of Ding's case? What about the Jiang Clan's fate?" Song Mo pressed, unsatisfied with the omission of the Duke of Ding's situation.

"The Jiang Family is spared from death. The Duke of Ding's case is still under investigation. His Majesty cannot pass judgment without understanding all the facts. The priority now is discovering the Duke of Ding's whereabouts. Lord Song, go home and recuperate," Eunuch Wang instructed.

When neither Song Mo nor Gu Yu had further questions, the eunuch bowed and left them in the care of guards, who escorted them to a room where their belongings, including the clothes they had been wearing three days earlier when Song Mo had stormed the ship transporting his uncle, were returned.

With Gu Yu's help, Song Mo changed back into his attire. Finally, they were released from prison.

"Since you've been pardoned, I'm sure your parents will come to pick you up," Gu Yu said in a light, self-satisfied tone.

"Your Lordship," came the voice of Lyu Zheng, the butler of the Duke of Ying's residence, as soon as they stepped outside the prison gates.

"The Duke cannot come in person. Please return quickly." The man bowed before Song Mo.

"Tell my parents that I'll return on my own," Song Mo replied, averting his gaze. Truly, he should have expected nothing different. Yet, despite the countless disappointments and the pain his father, the Duke of Ying, had caused him in the past, Song Mo couldn't help but feel wounded once again. Even now, after telling himself that nothing could hurt him anymore, he felt a familiar ache of sadness because of his father.

"Yes, Your Lordship." The servant bowed, obeying his orders without objection.

"I've become a disgrace to the Duke of Ying's family. I should keep a low profile for now," Song Mo muttered. 

He turned his gaze toward Gu Yu. On his friend's face, he saw emotions he didn’t want to confront. He knew Gu Yu was his friend, knew he could always rely on him for help… but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about what happened behind the closed doors of his home. He couldn’t speak about it to anyone. He never wanted to.

Before he could say anything else to change the subject, the night sky above them lit up with a burst of fireworks. Gu Yu smiled brightly, for a moment resembling a carefree child whose worries vanished at the sight of something beautiful.

Song Mo studied the bright bursts closely, a sense of familiarity dawning on him.

"This is General Yan’s signal," he said after a moment, taking a deep breath.

"This very signal almost cost you your life. Once the fireworks are set off, it marks the right time for action," a woman’s voice spoke, emerging from the night’s shadows with a lantern in her hand.

Song Mo recognized her as one of Dou Zhao’s attendants and nodded in her direction.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Lord Song, come this way," she replied, gesturing with her hand before turning to light the path ahead.

Without hesitation, Song Mo followed her into the unknown direction. 

+++

"How did you know I would be pardoned and released from prison?"

Those were the first words Song Mo spoke upon seeing Dou Zhao waiting for him by the side of a quiet street.

"You know who my grandmother is. Should that even be a question?" she replied, her attention lingering on his disheveled hair and the marks on his face. She noticed the state of his robes—returned to him upon his release—bearing clear signs of neglect and wear. Three days might as well have been an eternity for such delicate and luxurious fabric.

"His Majesty summoned Old Madame Cui as soon as he regained consciousness. She was the only one allowed into the palace to meet with him," Dou Zhao explained calmly, her sharp eyes still studying Song Mo. She was already contemplating which medicines to send him to hasten his recovery. She could see the discomfort etched on his face every time he moved or took a deep breath.

"His thoughts remain preoccupied with Duke of Ding’s fate. He’s troubled. Old Madame Cui guided him toward a dream they once shared as young boys," she continued, feeling the weight of Song Mo’s watchful gaze on her. Yet, she showed no embarrassment or fear under his scrutiny.

"It proves his remorse for Duke of Ding’s fate outweighs his suspicions. I was confident he wouldn’t kill you," she concluded with a steady tone.

"Dou Shishu and his followers have been impeaching me every day. You used an embroidered pouch to compel Gu Yu to protect me. What exactly are you trying to achieve here?" Song Mo’s voice carried a bitter edge, full of sorrow and resentment.

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to protect you?"

Song Mo raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. Dou Zhao sighed inwardly.

"Fine, then. Let’s say this is a business deal between me and General Yan. Since you’re safe now, I hope we can settle our affairs soon."

With a small gesture, she signaled to her attendant, who approached with a box. Dou Zhao opened it, pulling out a warm, dark coat. Stepping closer, she draped it over Song Mo’s shoulders.

"I’ve already instructed my men to release General Yan and his followers. I ask that you keep your promise and return Mr. Chen to me."

"Release?" Song Mo asked, clearly confused.

"Mhm. General Yan had the brilliant idea of breaking into the prison to free you by force," Dou Zhao said with a tone of gravity.

"His plan was so reckless that I had to… extend him a more formal invitation to stay in the basement of my shop for a while."

"You went against your uncle only for this reason?" 

He asked, completely ignoring the misery of his companions. Dou Zhao let out a short laugh.

"That’s not the only reason, but it might be too early for you to know the others," she said, adjusting the coat on his shoulders.

"Even fireworks come in different colors. My uncle and I are different. My uncle is trying to take advantage of the situation to strengthen his position at the imperial court.""

"Thank you," Song Mo said softly.

"What did you say?" Dou Zhao asked.

"I didn’t hear that clearly," she added.

"I said, thank you," Song Mo repeated obediently.

"The fireworks are too loud. I still can’t hear it clearly. Can you repeat that, Lord Song?" Dou Zhao teased, making Gu Yu burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"I heard it loud and clear," Gu Yu said, pulling Song Mo closer.

"He said he likes you," the Earl of Yunyang declared, clearly amused.

"Shut up!" Song Mo growled at his friend.

"He didn’t hear it clearly."

"Ah, right. I must have misheard. He said he wants to marry you!" Gu Yu exclaimed with a grin.

Dou Zhao laughed, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. She exchanged a knowing glance with Gu Yu, already deciding to use Song Mo’s cheerful friend to her advantage.

Song Mo grabbed Gu Yu by the arm and pulled him away from Dou Zhao.

"Stop spouting nonsense," he hissed at his friend.

Dou Zhao waved goodbye to Gu Yu as Song Mo kicked him in the rear, forcing him to leave.

"I’ll wait for your good news at home!" the Earl of Yunyang called out as he walked away.

"No words can express how thankful I am for all you’ve done for me. I’ll return Mr. Chen to you," Song Mo said.

Dou Zhao bowed slightly, preparing to leave. Song Mo stopped her with another question.

"What happens now?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Now, the court’s chess game begins," she replied curtly.

"What should I do?"

She observed him for a moment, then nodded decisively.

"Now, you can do whatever you want. Investigate, dig deeper, anger some influential people. Make a few enemies and get under the skin of the ones you already have. Don’t hold back. Don’t worry about the consequences. The more attention you draw and the more genuine your desperation to uncover the truth, the safer you and Duke of Ding will be," she assured him.

Song Mo studied her intently.

"What happened to Duke of Ding?" he asked after a moment.

"Conduct an investigation," was all she said.

With that, she bowed and walked away. Just before stepping into the waiting carriage, she turned back. Their eyes met again in a tense silence.

"On your way back, buy some honeyed fruits for your mother." 

She spoke, stepping into the carriage. The curtain fell behind her, obscuring her from view. Suddenly, he felt utterly alone—abandoned and isolated.

He didn’t remain by himself on the pavement for long. Moments later, his men gathered around him, ready to escort him home. Yet Song Mo couldn’t tear his gaze away from the retreating carriage of the Fourth Young Lady.

"Your Lordship," they greeted him with a collective bow.

"You’re…"

Song Mo noticed dark streaks of ink on their faces and remnants of glue on their cheeks.

"What happened?"

"The boys were worried about your safety and wanted to break into the prison. But the Fourth Young Lady managed to talk them out of it," Yan Chaoqing admitted, avoiding his commander’s gaze.

"She talked you out of it?" Lu Ming asked, visibly frustrated.

"Quiet!" his twin brother quickly silenced him.

"Breaking into the prison was a form of self-sacrifice," Song Mo confessed. "I was betting that His Majesty feels guilty about Duke of Ding’s fate, so he would show mercy to the Jiang family."

"She figured it out. But you didn’t see it?" Lu Ming asked, irritation evident in his tone.

"I admit we were reckless," General Yan said, his tone subdued. "I’ll go and receive twenty lashes as punishment."

"I’ll go too," declared Lu Zheng.

"Me as well," added Lu Ming.

All three men bowed to Song Mo before turning, prepared to leave and accept their promised punishment.

"It happened because you were worried. So forget about the punishment," Song Mo tried to stop them.

"No, thanks. I’ll go and receive my punishment now," General Yan insisted, and the younger men followed his lead.

Once again, Song Mo was left alone. Shaking his head, he knew there was no stopping his subordinates now. He glanced up at the sky, Dou Zhao’s final words echoing in his mind.

Walking slowly toward home, he paused at a dried fruit stall. He bought a bit of every flavor of honeyed fruit available. With a shrug, he reasoned that the fruits wouldn’t make his mother’s already fragile condition any worse. 

+++

Song Mo returned home without being disturbed by anyone. The servants bowed as he passed, but he could feel their cold, judgmental stares on his back. He had the strange sensation that he was seeing fewer and fewer familiar faces, as if all the servants he remembered from his childhood had suddenly disappeared from the estate.

He stopped in front of his mother’s room. He was about to enter when raised voices reached his ears from inside.

"You don’t want to get involved. But don’t forget, I’m also a Jiang," his mother said, her tone both irritated and weary.

"I’m not looking down on you. Yuantang is lucky to have survived. Now, many eyes are on this matter. Would you put the Jiang Family’s safety above the Song Family’s?" his father replied, clearly agitated. It sounded as though this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.

"Do you want me to sever ties with the Jiang Family?" his mother asked again, her voice firm.

Song Mo leaned closer, straining to hear. He needed to know. It was not an easy topic, especially now, with the Jiang Family’s uncertain situation and the disappearance of the Duke of Ding. They might be their only hope and support in the days to come.

"That’s not my intention. It’s just that the situation is still unstable. We must be cautious with our words and actions," his father said, his tone softening slightly.

As Song Mo shifted closer, the door let out a faint creak. To cover up his eavesdropping, he knocked on the wooden frame.

"Come in," his father called.

"Father. Mother," Song Mo greeted them as he stepped into the room. "I’ve acted recklessly and made you worry."

He bowed his head, bracing himself for the reprimand he knew was coming. He didn’t have to wait long.

"You really need to change your arrogant and reckless nature. Look at what you’ve done to your mother. She hasn’t had a full night’s rest since you were thrown into prison," his father scolded, his voice sharp.

Brushing off the sleeves of his robe, his father turned and left the room without looking back.

Left alone on the bed, his mother coughed, leaning slightly forward. Song Mo quickly moved to her side, steadying her.

"Mother," he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Mo…" she replied, her eyes studying him closely.

"You look so worn out," he said, noting the shadows under her eyes. Her face was pale, as white as a sheet of paper, as though all the color had been drained from it. Her lips were ashen, and her eyes, once a vibrant brown, were now veiled by a faint mist, dulling their intensity.

She seemed almost unreal, as if she no longer belonged to the world of the living, and yet here she was, still lingering within it. 

"Your… This… Let me see," she said as she noticed the wound on Song Mo’s cheek. Her pale, cool hands grasped his, then she rolled up the sleeve of his robe, revealing the marks left by the rope that had been used to bind him to the torture device, and the bruises inflicted by the eunuch who had tortured him on his first day in prison.

"The Shadow Guard’s methods are lethal," she said in a sad, weary voice.

"It’s just for show. No one would truly dare to make things hard for me. Forgive me for worrying you. But knowing what may happen to Uncle, I can only do this to clear his name," he tried to reassure her.

She watched him, her eyes not as focused as before, but still able to see the lie hidden behind his words. She was about to speak again, but another coughing fit took the breath from her lungs.

"Mother," Song Mo said, gently patting her back. He reached for the blanket that had slipped off her shoulders and wrapped it tightly around her.

"I know you’ve just returned home, and it’s not the right time to talk about this. But I think it’s time for you to settle down," she said.

Their gazes met for a brief moment. Song Mo was genuinely confused by her words. His thoughts, uncontrollably, wandered to the one woman he seemed to see regularly. Although they had met only a few times, Fourth Young Lady had left an unforgettable impression and marked his life.

"Do you have someone you like?" she asked.

Song Mo thought of Dou Zhao. She was a beautiful woman with an incredible mind and abilities that overshadowed many men. Yet he didn’t know if she was the type to settle down. He couldn’t picture her as a wife or a mother. When he saw her, she seemed more suited to be a general, someone commanding hundreds of thousands of men who obeyed her every word. He wasn’t sure if he could ever become one of them and follow her orders obediently. No matter how much trust he had in her… it seemed that he still didn’t truly know her, that he had never seen her true face.

Noticing his distraction, the woman smiled faintly.

"My only wish now is to see you happy. I wish I could see you in red, beside a good woman who will care for you and make you happy…"

She coughed again. Song Mo reached for the tray of fruits, but his hand hesitated halfway. Instead of the fruits the servants had prepared for his mother, he took out the package he had bought on his way back. He handed her the honeyed fruit.

"Eat one, Mother."

She took the fruit without hesitation.

"Be honest with me. Is she Fourth Young Lady Dou?" she asked, surprising Song Mo. He watched her closely, trying to understand how she knew his thoughts had turned to that woman.

"Where are you getting these ideas from? It must be Lu Zheng and Lu Ming who have been exaggerating and stirring up trouble here," he said, trying to downplay his mother’s question.

"They’re right, though. Fourth Young Lady Dou is willing to help you. So she must be a wise and principled young woman," she replied with the wisdom only women who have had the misfortune of living in a world where they must always be careful with their steps and words possess.

"It’s just a pity she was born into the Dou Family…" she added after a moment.

"We can’t be sure she won’t be used by her Fifth Uncle," she said.

She coughed once more. Song Mo supported her as she swayed on the bed. He gently brushed her hair from her face. He hated seeing her like this. If he could do anything about it, he would be willing to give his life to heal her. Yet, no matter how many healers visited their home, how often they examined her, and how many medicines she took, nothing helped.

Song Mo could only stand by and watch as life slowly left the woman who had brought him into this world…

He could do nothing. 

+++

Su Lan leaned over the desk where Dou Zhao had spread out the latest reports from her friends in the capital.

"What do we do now, Miss?"

The servant asked, observing the dozens of small papers containing information from their secret spies who used mechanical sparrows to send messages. She also noticed large, official letters from the wives and daughters of important officials. Beneath the stack of papers, which would surely be turned into dozens of new sheets after being processed, she could spot the material of a letter from the imperial palace.

"Give Gu Yu the information about the ninth Shadow Guard…"

Dou Zhao said, drawing symbols on a list she was preparing for another recipient.

"Song Mo should have something to do before he has too much time to think."

She lifted her gaze from the paper, her eyes meeting the servant's.

"Men who have too much time to think never come up with anything good," she said with a smile.

Su Lan laughed at her mistress’s words, then obediently prepared a note for the Earl of Yunyang. The man was a useful link between her mistress and her future master. Furthermore, he was on their side and would help make them a couple as soon as it became socially acceptable.

Su Lan smiled, imagining her mistress in a red robe.

She only wondered one thing… Who would wear the veil? 

Chapter Text

"The Shadow Guards have found the travel records," said Gu Yu, slumping heavily into a chair by the table. Song Mo quickly reached for the document his friend had obtained for him.

"As expected, one person slipped through," he remarked after reviewing the document. Just as he had predicted, the official records of the Shadow Guards indicated that the Duke of Ding had been escorted by eight guards—the same ones whose bodies had been found on the ship. But Song Mo clearly remembered the guards who had arrived to collect his uncle. There had been nine.

He was determined to track down the missing guard.

As Dou Zhao had advised him, he intended to investigate. And just as she had told him, he had no intention of adhering to any rules or laws. He would get to the heart of this matter and uncover the truth behind his uncle’s icy disappearance. He needed to find out what had happened to him and where he was now, before the imperial court could convince the emperor that the events were an act of rebellion by the Duke of Ding.

"Let’s go," he commanded, and his loyal companions followed without question.

+++

"The fourth young lady?.." he asked, though he didn’t form a complete question.

"She has a good reputation in the region. I’ve sent people to gather information about her. They say she distributes warm clothes and porridge to the poor and needy every winter. She takes in orphans and trains them as servants without forcing them into servitude contracts," Lu Ming explained, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

"They also say she’s an excellent physician, offering medical help and advice whenever needed, without seeking recognition for it. Apparently, she sends supplies to the troops every year as an anonymous benefactor. Many at court have tried to exploit her actions. I can’t tell whether these were calculated moves or genuine acts of kindness."

"She seems like an intriguing person. Let’s do as she suggested and investigate," Song Mo said, his eyes gleaming with determination.

What Song Mo didn’t know was that as he bathed, changed clothes, and prepared to investigate the murder of the eight Shadow Guards, the Duke of Ding was, in fact, only a few hours away from the capital.

+++

The man hung from the ceiling, suspended by his arms. His body moved in rhythm with the blows of a wooden rod that repeatedly struck his bare abdomen.

"Owing 300 taels and still daring to cheat?" snarled the man holding the rod as he paused to catch his breath.

"Addicted. And bold as well," he muttered, irritated and exasperated.

"I told you..." the tortured man gasped. "Someone will settle my debt."

"Do you think I’m a fool?" the enforcer asked, raising the rod once more, ready to land another blow on the already battered body. But before he could strike, the door opened, and a man entered, stopping the enforcer mid-swing.

"If you kill him, you’ll get nothing," Song Mo said, halting the man attempting to collect the gambler’s debt.

"Our young master has questions," added Lu Ming, handing the enforcer a banknote.

"Please, clear the place for us," he said as the enforcer eagerly accepted the money.

"There’s the person who will settle my debt," the gambler said, a smug expression spreading across his face. It was as though he had anticipated Song Mo’s arrival, as though he had merely been waiting for this moment. His lips curved in a satisfied smile, but fear flickered in his eyes.

He knew the legend of the young heir of the Duke of Ding. He had heard of his loyalty and his skill in interrogation. He knew this day would come. He had waited for it, biding his time, amusing himself, and squeezing every ounce of pleasure he could from the remnants of a life he knew would end the moment Song Mo found him.

Lu Ming and Lu Zheng untied the man and threw him onto the gambling table, where Song Mo sat waiting.

"You used to be a junior officer in the Shadow Guards," Song Mo said calmly, watching as the man struggled under the firm grip of his subordinates.

"Given your former rank, your annual stipend was no more than ten taels," he continued as the man finally stopped resisting, slumping limply onto the table. Song Mo studied him with unwavering focus.

"In just a few days, you’ve incurred a debt of 300 taels. No wonder you were dismissed."

"Compared to the information you seek, a 300-tael debt is insignificant," the former Shadow Guard replied, lifting his head from the table and feigning confidence as he met Song Mo’s gaze.

"Cheat the house, and you lose your finger," Song Mo said, observing the man’s reaction.

"Cheat me, and you lose your life," he warned, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Of course," the gambler agreed, squirming under the weakening grip of Song Mo’s guards. They shoved him into a chair that had been placed behind him.

The man slumped into it, pretending to exude confidence. He acted as though he weren’t teetering on the edge of disaster but instead sat as a king on his throne, atop the world. He carried himself as though nothing could harm him, as if no one could touch him—as though he were the master of this place. 

But Song Mo saw the truth behind the man’s act. The gambler was tough, unbroken even after prolonged torture at the hands of the gambling house owner. He wasn’t grateful or frightened by Song Mo’s presence, nor by his men. Instead, he seemed resigned to his fate, as if he had anticipated their arrival. As if he had been waiting for them.

"Surely, you’ve looked into my background," the man said, tilting his head slightly.

"According to the records of the Pacification Bureau, there were eight Shadow Guards assigned to escort the Duke of Ding southward," Song Mo replied calmly, recounting the steps he had taken. His goal was to unnerve the man and strip away his lies, which were ultimately pointless. Song Mo wanted to make it clear that he already knew everything.

"But the travel records show there was a ninth person," he added, standing from his chair and leaning over the table that separated him from the man he was interrogating.

"And you are that ninth person," he concluded in a menacing voice, his gaze fixed on the man. Song Mo didn’t miss the moment the man’s pupils dilated in shock. He noticed the bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, the faint gulp as the former Shadow Guard swallowed nervously. Song Mo’s eyes cataloged every minute detail, observing and memorizing them all.

"But on that ship, there were only eight Shadow Guard corpses," the man responded, trying to mask his unease.

"I remember every single face among them," Song Mo cut off his lie before it could take root.

"Except for you, Chen Jia. You weren’t on that ship."

"Your memory is truly eidetic, just as everyone says," Chen Jia finally admitted.

"Enough chatter! Tell us the truth!" Lu Ming barked from the side, cutting through the drawn-out exchange between Song Mo and Chen Jia. The interrogated man raised an eyebrow at Lu Ming’s outburst, but seeing no reprimand from the future Duke of Ying, he began to recount the events they had come to hear.

"Chen Zuxun, the commander responsible for escorting the Duke of Ding, was my adoptive father," he confessed at last.

"My name wasn’t listed in the official roster. He wanted me to redeem myself through merit and took me along," Chen Jia explained. Song Mo studied him, finally noticing the absence of the arrogance the man had displayed earlier. Now, he was speaking the truth. Song Mo leaned in, his ears attuned to every word, trying to piece together what had truly happened during that journey and what fate had befallen his uncle.

"That night, as we traveled through the Canghou Canal, we docked briefly to rest and take on another official heading to the capital. A group of people boarded the ship," Chen Jia said evenly.

"I was at the stern, getting some fresh air, when I suddenly heard a clash in the cabin. They wielded the swords of Dongyu bandits, but their techniques were different," he continued, his eyes becoming unfocused, as if reliving memories he wished he could forget.

"Their skills were extraordinary. Even the Shadow Guards couldn’t match them. They… they killed my adoptive father," he admitted, his voice lower and tinged with sorrow.

"I was no match for them. I escaped by jumping into the water during the chaos," he added after a moment, his tone subdued. 

After hearing those words, Song Mo remained silent for a moment, paying due respect to the fallen Shadow Guards who had given their lives in service.

"Who were those people?" he asked after a while, his thoughts racing.

"If you want to know more, a thousand taels may not be enough," the gambler said, returning the banknote Song Mo had previously offered him.

"You clearly don’t know, yet you dare bargain with me," Young Lord Song scolded him, pointing a knife at the man’s outstretched hand. Lu Zheng held the gambler’s hand in place, preventing him from pulling away.

"Ring finger or little finger?" the young guard asked in an irritated voice.

"I’m a gambler by nature," Chen Jia admitted honestly. He didn’t resist Lu Zheng’s grip nor did he try to shield his hand from Song Mo’s blade.

"I’ve endured enough cold stares and debts. The only one who ever treated me as a human, my adoptive father, died a wrongful death. Whether it’s my fingers or my life, take whatever you want," he confessed, resigning himself.

Song Mo watched him in silence, waiting. Then, with a nod, he signaled his men, who stepped away from the former Shadow Guard.

"A dog salivates at the sound of a bowl being struck," he said, reaching for a saucer with dice. With a flick of his wrist, the dice rattled against the clay lid, producing a familiar sound.

"A gambler relapses at the sound of dice shaking," he continued, his tone calm and steady. His hand moved rhythmically, the dice clattering in a measured cadence.

"With your skills, you could’ve built a decent future. That’s probably why your adoptive father never gave up on you," he acknowledged.

"It’s a pity he made such a poor choice," he concluded, slamming the dice onto the table.

"You have no right to talk about him like that!" the gambler shouted, rising abruptly from his seat.

"A child’s debt to his parents is immeasurable. The people who killed him are the same people who tried to kill my uncle. Instead of seeking vengeance or repaying his kindness, you squander your days gambling and live without purpose?"

"I saw through the lies a long time ago," Chen Jia replied gravely. "Whether a junior officer or a commander, the Shadow Guards are merely tools at others’ disposal, ants to be crushed at will."

He paused before continuing, his voice quieter. "All I could do was wait, hide in a place no one but the desperate would come to seeking the truth. All I could do was wait for you to arrive, sir."

"And revenge?" Song Mo asked.

"I will never achieve it, even if I risk my life," Chen Jia admitted. "I don’t know who those people were, but the leader wore crimson official robes. He must be at least a fifth-rank official. Even my adoptive father allowed him to pass and addressed him as 'sir.' He must be a high-ranking court official."

The pace of his words quickened, his tone growing more fervent. He wanted to share everything he knew, hoping someone of higher status and greater power could use the information to secure what he could never attain—revenge.

"Why did the Shadow Guards torture my uncle?" Song Mo asked after a moment.

"Secret orders," Chen Jia replied. "The instructions were to force the Duke of Ding to confess to raising a private army."

"Whose secret orders?"

Chen Jia shook his head. "My adoptive father never disclosed it," he admitted.

"Why did the Shadow Guards come to this port?"

Chen Jia lowered his head, remaining silent. 

"Secret orders," he confessed once again.

Song Mo circled the table, ready to leave the room, abandoning any further interrogation of the man. He had already shared all he knew; there was nothing more to extract.

Song Mo's guards and companions followed him without a word.

"My lord," the former Shadow Guard called out, rising from the chair he had occupied for most of the conversation. "I lacked the courage before, but after meeting you today and hearing your words, I no longer wish to live disgracefully. I want revenge. I want to live with dignity and purpose."

"Please grant me this chance," he begged, bowing deeply before Song Mo. "I am willing to stake my life."

"How can I trust the words of a cheating gambler?" Lu Ming asked, his voice sharp with irritation at the man’s actions and pleas.

Chen Jia hesitated for a moment. But when he finally made up his mind, he reached for the knife that Song Mo had earlier pointed at him. He pressed the blade against his own hand, ready to cut off a finger as a pledge of loyalty. He was prepared to shed blood, to offer a piece of himself, to prove his sincerity.

Before the blade could pierce his skin, Song Mo stopped him.

"Ask the Earl of Yunyang to assist. Reinstate him into the Northern Pacification Bureau," Song Mo ordered. Lu Mian and Lu Zheng bowed without question, accepting his words as a command.

"From now on, you are one of my men," Song Mo declared, addressing Chen Jia directly. "Keep your finger. You’ll need it to fight for me."

The former Shadow Guard dropped to his knees again, bowing before Song Mo with all the sincerity and devotion he could muster. He was entrusting his life to this man, binding his fate to his, and offering his unwavering loyalty.

Chen Jia had never imagined living to see this day. Once a gambler doomed to self-destruction, he had never thought he would find someone worth following, someone to whom he could pledge his life and loyalty. And yet, here he was. He had lived to witness the arrival of someone with such strength and determination that it stirred even his hardened heart.

As he looked at the young man before him—barely an adult—he saw the path ahead of him, a path fraught with enemies and danger. He wanted to protect him from it all. He wanted to become this man’s shield and blade.

Chen Jia was overwhelmed by the events of the day.

When he leaped off the ship's deck, his only desire was survival. He hadn’t been sure if he would succeed, even as he poured all his energy into escaping. Later, hiding in dark alleys and disposing of every trace that might reveal his true identity, he destroyed his Shadow Guard armor and sold his sword for a handful of copper coins. His sole wish was to see another sunrise.

When he noticed the watchful eyes following him, he felt his time was running out. So, he surrendered to his darkest vice—gambling.

He placed a bet not only on small or large at the gambling house, wagering silver he didn’t have. He made a far greater gamble: he wagered his life.

He didn’t know who had found him or how they had connected him so quickly to the events on the ship. But he had always felt the gaze on him, never interfering but always there. Someone was watching, but they didn’t approach him or ask questions.

They were waiting.

The observer and Chen Jia waited for something, until that night when the gaze disappeared. That’s when the former Shadow Guard was sure his fate was near. Someone who had been tracking his every move was about to confront him.

Song Mo didn’t seem like someone who would bide his time once aware of his existence. He appeared sincere and passionate in both his actions and words. Chen Jia suspected another party’s involvement—someone operating in the shadows, ensuring his safety until Song Mo’s arrival.

This realization only pushed him closer to Song Mo. He didn’t know who the third party was, but he preferred to stay near Song Mo, ready to protect him from whatever or whoever might emerge from the darkness. 

+++

As Song Mo concluded his nighttime meeting with Chen Jia, the first rays of sunlight began to streak across the sky. At the Imperial Court, ministers and advisors gathered as they did every morning to address pressing matters before the Emperor.

Following the Emperor’s unexpected illness just days prior, the court remained tense and uncertain about which issues could be discussed without risking their ruler's fragile health.

Outside the hall, a commotion broke the usual routine, drawing even the Emperor’s attention. He signaled for his eunuch to investigate. Moments later, the eunuch returned, his voice ringing out:
"The Duke of Ding has arrived at the Emperor’s summons!"

The Emperor rose from his throne, scanning the courtyard beyond the eunuch’s shoulder, searching for his long-time friend. As soon as the order was given to bring the Duke before him, Song Mo was making his way back home, unaware of the events soon to shake the empire to its core.

The Duke of Ding knelt before the Emperor.
"This sinner has come at your command, Your Majesty. May the Emperor live long, be safe, and find happiness. May you reign for a hundred years."
He bowed deeply, his battered body folding until his forehead touched the floor.

The Emperor hurried to him, lifting him from the ground.
"What are you doing!? Stand up—stand up immediately!" he exclaimed, then turned to the eunuch and ordered,
"Fetch the Imperial Physician, quickly!"

The Duke of Ding rose with the Emperor’s assistance.
"There is no need to trouble the physician, Your Majesty," the Duke assured. "I have traveled a long way, and I apologize for my disheveled state. Someone aided me along the way; my wounds are already treated."
He placed a reassuring hand on the Emperor’s arm, but when he attempted to withdraw it, the Emperor grasped his hand firmly.

Pulling the Duke close, the Emperor led him toward the front of the hall, seating him beside him on the golden throne.
"This is improper, Your Majesty. The court session is in progress," the Duke protested.

The Emperor turned to his ministers and advisors, letting out a quiet scoff.
"Disperse. The court session is adjourned."

He wrapped an arm around the Duke of Ding, pulling him closer. The Emperor had missed his friend dearly. The past few days had been filled with worry and sorrow, regret for the uncertain plan that had brought his friend here, and anxiety over the dangers that might still befall him.

The fate of Jiang Meisun remained a mystery, and the possibility of losing him had robbed the Emperor of sleep. Not even the comforting words of Old Madame Cui, who urged patience, could ease his nerves.

The old woman was a figure of great respect at court, famed for her boldness in correcting the Emperor’s father, the previous ruler, in front of the entire court. Her courage during that moment had become a legend, earning her the title “Lady of Justice” and the hereditary rank of "Advisor Supreme." Yet, in hushed conversations, ministers and eunuchs alike often referred to her by another name: "The Sage of the Court." 

He could not ignore her advice, especially in moments when the court and ministers erupted into chaos over any issue. Her mere presence and a few carefully chosen words could calm them and restore stability to the situation.

Tearing himself away from his thoughts, the Emperor turned his gaze toward his trusted eunuch.
"Make sure they remain silent about what they witnessed today," he ordered.

The eunuch bowed deeply and quickly left the hall. At last, the Emperor could focus all his attention on his one true friend.
"What happened to you? What has befallen you?" he asked. Despite the Duke of Ding’s reassurances, the Emperor had already commanded the imperial physician to assess his friend’s injuries.

"I am not entirely certain," the Duke replied, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"I was aboard a ship with the Shadow Guards. Then... I remember we docked at the port, and before we resumed our journey, there was an explosion. The next thing I recall is being pulled from the water," he explained.

"I was taken to a rural cottage, where I remained unconscious for an unknown amount of time. When I awoke, I set out for the capital. Not long after, my wounds reopened while I was on the road. A passing young lady tended to me and urged me to rest at her countryside home, but I couldn’t delay answering the Emperor’s summons. So, I pressed on," he concluded.

"A young lady? What young lady?" the Emperor asked, his brow furrowing.

The Duke shrugged. He didn’t know the name of the girl who had helped him, although it seemed clear that she had instructed him to report this to the Emperor.
"They called her the Fourth Young Miss. She had knowledge of medicine," he said simply.

The Emperor embraced his friend tightly, his heart heavy with worry and guilt. When Song Mo had stormed into the palace accusing him of ordering the Duke of Ding to be tortured, the bitterness of the situation had weighed on him. The Emperor had anticipated such accusations when he sent the Shadow Guards after his friend, but at the time, he had not cared.

However, upon hearing that the Duke had gone missing and that his condition was unknown, the Emperor had been consumed with anxiety. He had worried himself sick, and now, seeing his friend alive before him, relief flooded his heart.

When the physician arrived, the Duke of Ding was taken away for a thorough examination. Through the torn fabric of his robe, the Emperor glimpsed blood-soaked bandages beneath, poorly concealed by the simple cloak that likely had been given to him by the young lady who had saved his life.

The Emperor, though a ruler, was still a man, and he found himself utterly captivated by the tale... 

+++

Song Mo was preparing to set off for Futing to continue his investigation into the Duke of Ding.

"Song Mo."

His mother called out to him, interrupting his adjustment of the packages on his horse's saddle, summoning him to her. Song Mo obediently rushed to her side.

"Mother," he called.

"Why are you out here?" she asked, gently embracing him.

"General Yan said you were going to Futing to retrieve old family belongings. It may fool your father, but not me," she said softly.

"Is it about your uncle? Did you find any clues?" she asked seriously. Song Mo could only respond with a nod. He had no solid evidence—only a trace, like the remnants of morning mist. Yet, he had to follow this lead. He had no other choice.

"This involves someone with high rank and authority. I must leave immediately," he confessed finally.

"If I’m late, I fear all evidence and clues will be lost."

"You’re just like me," she said with a soft voice, squeezing his hands tightly. "Once you’ve made up your mind, no one can stop you."

Song Mo noticed how cold her hands were, but to his great relief, her health had been improving slowly over the past few days. She was now able to get out of bed for longer than just a few minutes. Her cough seemed to be fading, and her cheeks had regained a bit of color. Even her eyes had become brighter and more focused.

He regretted that he had to leave her, but seeing her in such a condition—slowly recovering—quieted the earlier fear in his mind that he might not be by her side in her final moments. His mother was a strong woman. She had been the Guardian of the Glaive, fearless and unyielding, never backing down from an enemy in her youth. He knew... he hoped that death, too, was an enemy she would defeat over and over. He never wanted to have to say goodbye to her.

"The Emperor has put Wang Yuan in charge of this matter. When you go, no matter what you uncover, do not oppose Eunuch Wang directly," she ordered him with a serious tone.

Song Mo saw the sincerity in her eyes. He saw how much she cared for him and how worried she was about his health and safety.

Song Mo had been away from the capital for too long. He didn’t know the court's rules as well as she did, someone who had spent decades maneuvering between obedience and danger. He admired her for that.

He nodded in agreement with her demands.

"General Yan, I leave this to you," she said, turning to her advisor and Song Mo’s oldest companion. The man bowed before her.

"Please don’t worry, Madam," he promised seriously.

"Mother, rest assured," Song Mo said, trying to hide the full weight of his feelings for her in those words. He loved his mother deeply and wanted nothing more than to stay by her side and care for her during her illness. He wished he could train with her when she was healthy, speak with her, and listen to her lessons on things he had never known.

However, time and circumstance were not in their favor.

"Stay safe. Don’t push yourself too hard. I can’t lose you," she commanded him, begging and pleading with him at the same time.

Song Mo wiped away a single tear that had escaped his eye with a hesitant gesture. He knew that, even though they hadn’t spoken much about the Duke of Ding recently, the events of the past few days had left a mark on her. The constant worry about her brother’s fate. The anxiety about Song Mo’s imprisonment. The unrest at the imperial court and rumors about the uncertain situation of the Jiang clan. All of it hit her all at once, on top of her weakened health. Song Mo couldn’t help but admire how strong she was, standing alone against this storm.

He knew that Duke of Ying... the man he should call father, had never been a support to her. He had been a loving father only to Song Han, nearly ignoring his wife and never showing respect to his firstborn son.

"Here, take this cloak," she said, draping a warm, new cloak over his shoulders. She tied it with a simple, practiced motion before pulling him into a final embrace, allowing him to leave.

"Mother, I’ll be back," he said, bidding her farewell as he left the house. He didn’t turn around. The road ahead was long and fraught with dangers, but he could not turn back. His path led only forward. Even without anyone by his side, he knew he would not stop until he uncovered the truth behind the Duke of Ding’s disappearance.

He had the feeling that Dou Zhao had always known the truth, that she was aware of what lay behind this greatest mystery of his life, but had stubbornly refused to give him the answers. She had told him to investigate. She had told him to uncover the truth on his own.

He didn’t understand her actions, but... this one time, just this one time, he decided to trust her. 

Chapter Text

Song Mo had left the capital, riding the fastest horse toward Futing, where he hoped to find answers to the questions tormenting him. He was determined to uncover any trace of his uncle or even the smallest clue that could advance his investigation.

Dou Zhao had told him to conduct the investigation without restraint. That was precisely what he intended to do.

When their horses grew weary after a long gallop, Song Mo ordered a halt. They planned to set up a small camp on a forest clearing, relying on the meager supplies they had hastily packed. As Lu Ming stepped away from the group to gather dry wood for a fire, the others shook out their cloaks and spread them on the grass, preparing makeshift beds for the night.

The young guard returned shortly after, accompanied by another man dressed in light armor. They laughed and patted each other on the shoulders like the best of friends. Song Mo raised an eyebrow silently at the interaction.

He had known his guards for several years, ever since his uncle assigned them to him. After their father, a soldier in the Ding army, died fighting pirates, their ailing mother was unable to care for and feed her many children. Desperate, she sold them to the Duke of Ding as servants. However, the duke took pity on their plight, paying her generously but refusing to bind the boys with slave contracts. Instead, he sent them to the newly training Song Mo to keep him company among the adult soldiers. They quickly bonded, and the brothers became Song Mo's closest friends, protectors, and almost like siblings.

Yet, he had never seen this man before. He assumed they might have known each other prior to being sent to the Ding army or perhaps met during deployments near their camps.

Song Mo gestured silently to General Yan, requesting he handle the matter. Lu Ming approached with the stranger, drawing close enough for their words to be clearly heard.

"And then she told him to kill the chicken! The boy ran off screaming, waving the knife like it was a sword!" the stranger recounted, laughing heartily as he gave Lu Ming a hearty slap on the shoulder—too forceful to be comfortable. The younger guard didn’t flinch at the blow, instead bursting into laughter alongside the stranger.

"Lu Ming?" General Yan inquired with a questioning tone as he approached the two men. Lu Ming quickly forced himself to stifle his laughter, bowing respectfully to Song Mo and the general.

"Sir, this is Lei Yang. He serves in the Earl of Yunyang’s units. Their camp is nearby, and they’ve invited us to share their fire and tents for the night," Lu Ming explained.

Song Mo raised an eyebrow at this unexpected news. He shrugged, picked up his cloak from the ground, took his horse’s reins, and followed Lu Ming and Lei Yang in the direction they indicated. A thin line of trees separated them from the soldiers' camp.

As they crossed the invisible boundary into the camp, a young, harmless-looking boy appeared at Song Mo’s side. The boy took the horse’s reins from his hands and offered to care for the animal. Song Mo agreed, pleased that his horse would be well-fed and rested. With proper care and a peaceful night’s sleep, the animal would regain its strength, allowing them to resume their journey at dawn. 

To Song Mo’s surprise, the soldiers offered him a tent of his own. Slightly bewildered, he accepted the gesture of hospitality. The tent, considering it was part of a hastily assembled temporary camp, was remarkably well-furnished. It included a comfortable bedroll, a chest stocked with spare garments, and even a small vanity with a bronze mirror, which was surprisingly clean and clear. Song Mo couldn’t resist glancing at his reflection. As expected, he looked disheveled and grimy after a long day in the saddle.

Before he could dwell on it, another soldier entered through the tent’s open flap. This one, whom he hadn’t seen earlier, was also dressed in light leather armor designed for freedom of movement. He carried a bronze basin filled with warm, steaming water.

"If you wish to freshen up, Young Lord," the soldier said, setting the basin down near the mirror. He bowed deeply, showing respect.

Song Mo sniffed the water cautiously, searching for any suspicious scent of poison, but detected nothing amiss. He dipped the cloth provided by the soldier into the water, allowing himself a brief moment of indulgence as he wiped the grime of travel from his face. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but a hot bath was precisely what his heart yearned for at that moment. A hot bath and a hearty meal, he added, feeling the gnawing emptiness in his stomach.

Once refreshed, he used the tent's provisions to comb his hair and twist it into a neat topknot. As he stepped outside, the young boy who had taken his horse earlier was already waiting for him.

"Dinner is prepared, Young Lord, if you would follow me," the boy said, bowing low and gesturing toward the direction Song Mo was to take. He led the way, and Song Mo followed, his steps light but his mind cautious.

As they passed soldiers lounging by campfires, each rose and bowed as if he were an emperor. The excessive deference only heightened Song Mo’s suspicion. Yet, he detected no malice or ulterior motive in their expressions or actions.

Eventually, the boy guided him to a larger tent with open walls, where his travel companions were already seated at several tables. The aroma of rich, tempting food wafted through the air.

The boy led him to the head of the tent, where he was seated on par with their commander. The commander bowed his head as Song Mo took his place. Song Mo’s sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, ever watchful. Everything seemed overly courteous, yet he could not sense any ill intent. The soldiers’ eyes were devoid of malice, and their movements betrayed no hidden threats.

"To your health, Young Lord," the commander said, raising his cup toward Song Mo. The words made him flinch slightly. Alcohol was the last thing he needed right now. They had to depart at dawn to reach Futing as quickly as possible. He also couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that this might be a ploy. Perhaps these men weren’t as honorable as they seemed. Could they be hoping to loosen tongues with drink or… something far worse?

"I must decline," Song Mo said, lowering his head respectfully. "Alcohol is dear to my heart, but at this moment, my mind must remain clear to focus on the journey ahead."

He poured tea into his cup instead, lifting it in a silent toast. 

"Instead, please accept this toast as my thanks for the hospitality of your camp, sir."
Song Mo raised the cup to his lips. Before drinking, he sniffed it cautiously, then sipped, testing for any contamination. The commander adjusted himself in his seat upon hearing Song Mo's words. Lifting his own cup, filled with alcohol, he drained it in one go.

"My mistake, my mistake, Young Lord. Please forgive my boldness; I didn't think it through," the man said, his tone apologetic.
"As punishment..." He refilled his cup with wine.
"I’ll drink another toast to the success of your journey, Young Lord."

Song Mo felt someone's gaze on him. Discreetly, he turned to find Yan Chaoging watching him. When their eyes met, the general nodded in approval, seemingly pleased with how Song Mo had managed to refuse their host's invitation to drink together. Song Mo himself wasn’t sure how he had managed it. None of the generals he had encountered in his time as the Deputy General of the Ding Army had ever let go of the chance to force a drinking contest. It often seemed they enjoyed watching others lose their inhibitions under the influence of alcohol.

The dinner passed uneventfully. Song Mo engaged in light conversation with the commander about mundane topics like training and the weather. Neither brought up sensitive subjects or the recent unrest at the imperial court.

After the meal, Song Mo returned to his tent with Lu Ming and Lu Zheng. The guards rested on the floor on either side of his bed. General Yan, meanwhile, was invited to share a tent with several soldiers stationed in this detachment. He decided to use the opportunity to gather information.

At sunrise, they were ready to depart. Their packs had grown, now filled with steamed buns and pancakes prepared by the cook, who had insisted they take provisions for the road. They were also informed that the nearest inn was two days' ride from their current location. The commander reassured them that, with luck, they might encounter another group of their soldier friends heading toward Futing. 

+++

That day, they didn’t push their horses as hard, allowing them to recover from the previous day’s grueling pace. As they traversed a forest along a narrow, animal-trodden path, the sound of a roar reached Song Mo's ears. He had heard it only once before, as a child, when his uncle had taken him on an imperial hunt.

It was the roar of a bear.

Their horses pricked their ears, pawing nervously at the ground. Song Mo glanced at his companions, noting that their mounts were reacting in the same way. He scanned the area, trying to pinpoint the bear's location. Moving blindly might lead them straight into its path.

Before he could locate the source of the roar, another sound reached his ears—a horn, accompanied by jingling bells. Soon, barking dogs joined the cacophony. Song Mo stood in his stirrups, straining to see through the dense foliage surrounding them. Finally, he caught a glimpse of something red, then blue.

Before he could turn to General Yan to report what he’d seen, an unexpected sound shattered the forest's tension: the crackle of fireworks. Song Mo looked up at the darkening sky, but no light burst through the canopy. The explosion echoed loudly, staying low to the ground. 

"One!"
A human voice called out in the distance.

"Two!"
Another voice responded from a different direction.

"They’ve gone to sleep!"
Yet another voice chimed in, this one uncomfortably close to Song Mo and his companions. Moments later, a human face appeared near the narrow path. A man stepped forward, bowing low.

"Please, do not be afraid. There will be no more attacks tonight," he said.

Song Mo turned to General Yan, seeking his advice on how to handle the unexpected situation.

"What is happening here?" the older man asked.

"Ah, nothing but misfortune in this forest," the stranger replied. "Follow me. There’s a hunting lodge nearby. We’ll sit for tea, and I’ll explain. It’s too dangerous to remain in this forest overnight."

Song Mo and his companions urged their horses forward, following the man into the unknown. True to his word, a hunting lodge wasn’t far. Yet, it looked more like a compound, large enough to house a small village.

A young boy sat perched above the wooden gate, keeping a sharp eye on the forest behind them. At the elder’s nod, the gate was opened, and they found refuge within the modest but well-fortified homestead.

"Come on, Eight! Take care of the horses," the man shouted toward a hut near the gate. A moment later, a teenager with hair tied back with a simple cloth emerged. His clothing was plain, devoid of color, but clean and well-maintained. Following the elder’s command, he led the horses deeper into the compound, away from the wooden walls. The boy on the gate continued to watch them with a keen gaze.

"Please don’t worry, Young Lord. We rarely have travelers here. If the sun were still high, you could have left this forsaken place. But now, you’ll have to spend the night. Forgive the conditions; we are simple folk with simple means," the man said, bowing. He led them to a table with two benches in front of one of the huts.

"Helna! Bring tea for our noble guests!" he called, leaning back on the bench to shout into the dwelling. Though the man bore many winters on his shoulders, he wasn’t yet frail with age.

"Explain to us what’s happening here," General Yan asked, sitting across from him.

"Ah, this is a forgotten place," the man began, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. The fabric bore the marks of long use, frayed at the edges and patched in many places with dark hemp thread.

"Four years ago, the emperor forbade hunting in the forest, planning a grand hunt when news of the crown princess’s pregnancy arrived. Time passed, but the promised prince never came. The officials maintained the ban, and now the forest’s beasts have grown wild."

As he spoke, a woman appeared, placing clay bowls and a kettle of hot water before them. The man poured the water into the bowls, which carried only the faintest hint of tea. Song Mo and his companions thanked him politely.

"It’s just us left, my family and me," the man admitted. "We watch over the forest to ensure no one dies here, but that’s all we can do while the hunting ban remains. If we kill a bear, we’ll pay with our lives. If someone dies in the forest under our watch, we’ll pay with our lives. We’re trapped, Young Lord, waiting for the emperor to remember us or for the prince to finally be born."

Song Mo glanced around, noticing several young men in similarly worn clothing, their hair tied with scraps of cloth or braided. They resembled each other so much that the man’s words couldn’t be a lie.

"Pa! Three found another rabbit’s nest!" a young girl called out, running toward them. The elder sighed, rubbing his forehead again.

"Mark it on the map and watch over it. Once the mother raises her young, move them to the back farm," he said, patting the girl’s head. She laughed joyfully and ran off without paying any attention to the guests.

"Rabbits... As if bears and foxes weren’t trouble enough, we also have these cursed creatures. They breed—well, like rabbits. They’ll devour everything and overrun the land if not controlled," he muttered, finishing the water in his bowl.

"Well, these aren’t your problems. Follow me. We don’t have silk bedding or cotton mattresses, but there’s a warm blanket and some space to sleep for everyone. Rest up. I’ll send someone when dinner is ready," he said, walking toward one of the huts.

"We’re simple people, Young Lord, and so is our food. I hope it won’t be too much of an inconvenience," he added, his tone apologetic. 

They reached one of the huts, which had a small hearth in the center, piles of straw covering the floor, and a few clean, albeit worn, blankets folded neatly on a simple stool near the door.

"Here, it’s not much, but it should suffice for one night," the man said before leaving them alone.

Song Mo was puzzled by the day’s events.

"One thing is certain…" he said after a moment of silence, watching Lu Zheng attempt to light a fire in the small, sunken hearth.

"The Crown Princess truly was pregnant four years ago. Although no one was supposed to know, the emperor was so excited he sent a letter to the Duke of Ding, inviting him to a hunt to celebrate the child’s hundredth day..." Song Mo explained.

"But the child was never born. The emperor never mentioned it again, as though the topic ceased to exist," he added after a pause.

General Yan looked around the room, spreading the blankets on the floor around them.

"It’s not much, but it’s certainly more comfortable than sleeping in the forest," he commented.

Song Mo nodded in agreement. The hut was simple but provided shelter from the wind. Their journey seemed to be full of unexpected and strange occurrences. He hoped it was merely coincidence. 

+++

After hours of examinations by the imperial physician, the Duke of Ding was finally left alone in the guest quarters of the imperial palace. His surroundings were elegant and filled with valuable decorations that failed to interest him.

All he wanted was a hot bath and a good meal to fill his stomach. Following the instructions given after his rescue from the ship, he had made his way to the capital using uncertain paths, allowing his legs to become wounded. He ate only enough to keep moving, which had caused his cheeks to sink slightly.

Not enough time had passed for his body to show true signs of neglect, but it didn’t need to.

Chen Qushui had explained during their first meeting that they weren’t trying to deceive the emperor; their sole aim was to present the right impression. It was all about that first impression. That had already been achieved.

Throughout the journey to the capital, Meisun had been accompanied by companions—a group Chen Qushui referred to as the "guards of the Fourth Young Lady." He explained that the Cui family heiress was the one who wanted to help him.

The Duke of Ding had no choice but to trust this person. Everyone in the empire bowed their heads before Old Madame Cui, and he believed that such a woman wouldn’t raise someone unworthy. Even if she had, she would never name an unsuitable person as her heiress.

He entrusted his life to her hands, despite never having met her. He trusted a stranger.

All the way to the capital, he could only hope he wouldn’t regret that trust. 

"Do you know... it’s only thanks to his reckless actions that I knew you hadn’t escaped alone," the Emperor admitted after a moment of silence. "I know how much you care about that boy, and if you had any control over what was happening, you’d never let him put himself in such danger."

Jiang Meisun didn’t want to correct his assumptions. The truth was, he’d had no control over anything since he left the Army of Ding. From the moment he patted Yantang on the shoulder, instructing him to stay safe, he hadn’t seen him once. He had no way to contact him or ease his worries.

His fate, Yantang’s fate, and, as he was beginning to suspect, the fate of the entire empire, rested in the young, uncertain hands of the Fourth Young Lady. He could only hope she wouldn’t disappoint. Somewhere in the depths of his old, battle-weary heart, he dared to hope that a time of peace was approaching. Even if it meant they wouldn’t have the freedom to make their own decisions—when had they ever truly had that? There had always been someone more powerful, someone to fear, whose words had to be obeyed, whose influence had to be avoided.

He hoped that the Fourth Young Lady would bring them all even a brief period of tranquility and prosperity. Not for himself, but for his son... and for his young ward, who deserved a measure of peace after everything he’d endured lately. 

+++

Song Mo sighed in relief as he finally spotted the gates of Futing. His journey had been the strangest experience of his life. Only now, as they waited before the city gates to present their documents, did he hear someone once again call him "Young Lord." He flinched in the saddle. He’d heard that title so many times over the past few days that it was beginning to unnerve him. He no longer suspected; he knew something was off about all these people. They always seemed to be exactly where he needed them. They always had precisely what he required and never asked for anything untoward in return for their help.

Even when they’d arrived at an inn and his horse had begun limping, likely from stumbling earlier after being startled by a fox, there had been a merchant at the inn purely by coincidence. The merchant happened to have four fine, purebred horses—trained and ready for service, even in the military. Naturally, the man had a plausible excuse: he was on his way to Futing to sell the horses, but due to uncertain circumstances, the buyer—who wanted them for his sons to train on before enlisting—had backed out of the purchase. The merchant hadn’t even demanded a high price for such excellent horses, claiming that the cost of feeding and maintaining them while searching for another buyer would be too steep to make it worthwhile.

He took their old horses and a few taels of silver in exchange.
"Thank you, Young Lord," he’d said before they left the inn.

Now, hearing that same title from the guard at the city gate, Song Mo couldn’t stop thinking about all the other people they’d encountered on their journey.

Could it really all be coincidence? Or had someone ensured his journey would go as smoothly as possible?

As that thought crossed his mind, another followed—Dou Zhao. He didn’t know why she came to mind, but… she had been the one to order his investigation. Wouldn’t it make sense if she cared about his journey’s success?

He followed General Yan deeper into the city, searching for a place to spend the night. He could think about his next steps in the morning. Right now, he wouldn’t accomplish anything—not on an empty stomach and with the grime of travel clinging to his skin.

He wanted a bath and food, both hot, and as soon as possible. 

Chapter Text

Dou Zhao sat quietly in her estate outside the borders of the imperial capital. Her grandmother had shown her this place long ago—a location close enough to enjoy the conveniences of a great city but far enough to avoid the unpleasant aspects of living near so many people.

A particular convenience was the road bypassing the entire capital, allowing the residents of the Cui family manor to access the imperial palace through a side gate. This was an honor no other family in the empire possessed. Even distant members of the imperial family were required to pass through the palace's main gate, where guards meticulously recorded their entry and exit times. Nothing escaped the watchful eyes of the imperial staff.

Old Madame Cui, however, had earned great respect at court, and no one could accuse her of dishonesty. For this reason, the side gate was her opportunity to avoid the bustle at the main entrance. Now, as her granddaughter and sole heir, Dou Zhao also enjoyed this privilege.

At present, though, she paid little mind to the happenings in the imperial palace. She knew the coming days would be quiet and tense. Rumors had already reached her ears, whispered by ministers who, of course, had been ordered to remain silent. According to them, the Duke of Ding had returned alive and stood before the emperor without fear.

She knew the spectacle of his trial would soon begin. She also understood that the emperor had no desire to accuse, much less punish, his longtime friend. Yet, the law was the law, and it could not be bent to suit one’s desires. The emperor had accused the Duke of Ding, and now he had to become both judge and executioner. Somehow, he had to pass judgment on his friend.

No one was surprised by the visit of the imperial eunuch who came to fetch Old Madame Cui; the emperor sought her counsel on the matter.

"What do you think would be the best course of action?" her grandmother asked as she prepared to leave.

Dou Zhao pondered the question briefly.
"He should punish him—but not for the crime he himself accused him of. He should punish him for the offenses the ministers charged him with, on Song Mo's orders," she replied with a smile.

Her grandmother returned the smile before following the eunuch.

Not long after, Dou Zhao’s longtime friend and partner in many reckless childhood adventures took her grandmother’s place at the table.
"Ji Yon," she greeted him with a smile.

The former monk responded with a wide grin of his own.

"Less teeth, and squint your eyes a little," Dou Zhao corrected him.

Ji Yon attempted another smile, following her advice. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her verdict.

"Much better," she praised him.

The man nodded before his expression reverted to a mask of porcelain—emotionless and unreadable.

"What brings you here today?" she asked, setting a cup before him and filling it with tea.

The former monk nodded in thanks.
"The Duke of Ding has returned to the capital," he said calmly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Dou Zhao nodded, waiting for the inevitable question she knew would follow. Ji Yon always believed he was the smartest person in the room. She didn’t waste time arguing with him to prove otherwise. He wasn’t like other people—and it wasn’t a compliment.

He had been born without the ability or inclination to understand or express emotions. Her grandmother once told her that even on the day of his birth, he hadn’t cried, which had thrown the entire household into a panic. Healers had feared he might be incapable of making sounds.

As he grew, the adults who observed him closely realized that it wasn’t his speech that was impaired but something far more significant. Something inside him. Ji Yon seemed to lack a soul, a fact that frightened his mother and disgusted his father.

By the time he was only a few years old, he was handed over to the care of a temple, in the hope that Buddhism would provide answers.

It didn’t.

Despite the years he had spent observing people and listening to the teachings of the old monk, Ji Yon was unable to understand emotions. He neither grasped their necessity nor could he express them. He learned to imitate them to ease the old man’s worries, but this only made the elder more concerned.

Ultimately, it was his encounter with Dou Zhao that helped him take a significant step toward understanding—not feeling, but desiring the ability to recognize and express emotions.

"Was this your doing?"
He finally asked, and Dou Zhao chuckled softly, recalling his tiny, pouty face when they first met.

Her grandmother had already told her about a special child they were going to meet. Old Madame Cui took her to the temple where Ji Yon lived. Tired from the journey, Dou Zhao was presented to a boy dressed in simple robes, with eyes black as ink and a face devoid of expression.

They observed each other for a long moment until Dou Zhao approached him and poked his cheek with an outstretched finger. The soft surface sank in, revealing how truly chubby his cheeks were. Ji Yon swatted her hand away, looking at her with the same blank eyes he had now and asking in a high-pitched, childish voice, "Why did you do that?" Dou Zhao could only reply, "Because I wanted to."

After that, they spent weeks together learning the difference between "want" and "need." Dou Zhao helped him grasp the basic distinctions between feelings, teaching him how to show them and how to look for signs of emotion on others' faces. Ji Yon was a quick learner.

Even if he couldn’t feel emotions like other people, after their shared days, Dou Zhao felt he had changed, if only a little. He seemed to care slightly more about understanding emotions rather than merely ignoring them. He began categorizing people based on their behaviors as "friendly" or "unfriendly."

"Yes," she finally answered his question. Ji Yon sighed heavily, shaking his head. Dou Zhao laughed at his expression of disapproval.

She knew she had gotten herself involved in something big, but... ultimately, it could work to her advantage. Things couldn’t get worse. From the beginning to the end, she was only ever a background player, someone who set the stage and occasionally whispered commands. Even if her elaborate plan failed, they wouldn’t be able to punish her or connect her to any of the events of recent weeks.

"Why do you always have to get yourself into danger?"
He asked, and Dou Zhao was almost certain she could hear genuine concern at the edge of his tone. She shrugged.

"You know me..."
She began, reaching into her sleeve to pull out a small embroidered pouch. From it, she took a folded piece of paper, spreading it out on the table between them.

"I never do anything without a plan."
She finished, turning the paper toward her friend. Ji Yon leaned over the table, carefully reading the words and searching for meaning in the tiny arrows and drawings scattered across the surface.

For the first time in her life, Dou Zhao saw genuine emotion on his face. His eyes shone brighter, widening slightly. His nostrils flared as he loudly inhaled, and his ears twitched slightly as his shoulders bounced a few times with suppressed amusement.

"Do you think this will work?"
He finally asked. Dou Zhao saw his lips stretch into a pleased and amused smile. She met his gaze, picking up the paper and setting it alight with the flame of a candle.

"Of course. They’re all just..."
She began, and her childhood friend finished her sentence for her.

"Incredibly stupid."

They laughed together. Dou Zhao cherished the sound—Ji Yon rarely laughed, especially not sincerely. It took something truly remarkable for such an emotion to break through the deep layers of his personality.

As Dou Zhao had discovered years ago, Ji Yon wasn’t born without a soul. He also possessed the ability to feel emotions—he simply did it differently from ordinary people. His emotions were sincere and beautiful, but deeply hidden within him. Sometimes, she caught glimpses of them, but now, for the first time, she saw them so clearly.

She basked in that feeling, hoping that Ji Yon would finally understand and learn that emotions didn’t always have to be a weakness, a weapon, or a means to manipulate others. They could also be beautiful and help him connect with the world around him. 

+++

Another morning in the palace began just like any other, with ministers, generals, government representatives, and advisors making their way toward the main hall. All exchanged polite bows and brief greetings, though the hollow words concealed an underlying pattern. Every minister who had previously accused the Duke of Ding now sought solidarity among the silent majority. Those who could, discreetly shifted their positions, trying to place themselves as far as possible from the emperor's line of sight.

The palace harbored a secret that everyone knew—Duke of Ding had returned alive and was now under the emperor's protection. The court anxiously awaited his trial or the pardon the emperor might grant. As the hall filled, unease rippled through the gathered officials, their eyes darting in search of escape from whatever the future held.

When the emperor joined them, the assembly bowed deeply, their voices echoing in unison as they greeted him. The emperor took his place on the throne and, as he did each day, gestured for them to rise. This time, however, their eyes lifted from the floor far more swiftly than usual, drawn by the sound of his voice. It had been years since the emperor had spoken with such strength. His body, long ravaged by illness, often betrayed him with bouts of coughing that left his throat raw. The ministers knew the imperial physicians did everything in their power to help him, but they could only prolong his life, not improve its quality. Yet now, his voice was firm, steady—almost as if he had been miraculously cured overnight of the affliction that had plagued him for a decade.

"Do you have any matters to report today?" the emperor asked, formally opening the court session.

Minutes passed, yet no minister stepped forward. He spoke again.
"Are there any petitions to present?"

The silence was palpable, as though time itself had frozen, rendering them unable to flee or even utter a word.

"Very well," the emperor said at last. "Today, we shall address a matter I bring before my ministers and advisors."

Rising from his throne, he began pacing slowly across the elevated platform, his movements deliberate. Remaining on the dais, he towered over the officials standing nearest to him.

"Let us consider a man I have unjustly accused. I wish to exonerate him, yet other accusations have arisen—ones not made by me." His tone remained calm as he continued.

"He has been accused of abusing his authority and showing leniency to corrupt officials. I dismiss this charge for lack of evidence."

He resumed his measured pacing, paying no mind to the shifting discomfort of the ministers.

"He has also been accused of laziness and tyrannical governance. I am confident he is not lazy, and even if his rule is strict, there is always a deeper purpose behind his actions. I shall dismiss this charge as well."

The emperor paused and turned, his gaze sharp.

"However, there is one accusation I cannot overlook. For this, I must mete out punishment."

He stopped, settling back onto his throne.

"Summon the Duke of Ding!"

The eunuchs scrambled to fulfill the order, shouting it repeatedly until they located the injured man.

The Duke of Ding entered the hall, his appearance significantly improved compared to their last meeting. Kneeling before the emperor, he awaited his judgment.

"You stand accused of many grievous deeds, Duke of Ding. Do you admit to these charges?" the emperor asked sternly.

The duke raised a single eyebrow—a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"In light of your years of loyal service and great merit, I clear your name of most accusations. Yet, there is one charge I cannot ignore. You have been accused of neglecting your family and failing in your duty to produce an heir, leaving your household without a successor."

The emperor struck the armrest of his throne for emphasis.

"I cannot forgive this, Duke of Ding! You must fulfill your duty!"

His voice, though harsh, carried an undertone of satisfaction detectable only by the most observant.

"You are hereby relieved of your position as commander of the Ding Army. You may appoint a deputy in your stead. Furthermore, I order you to remain in the capital until you fulfill your familial and national duty by siring an heir."

The court was stunned into silence, watching as the emperor's strength faltered momentarily.

The Duke of Ding bowed low, his forehead touching the floor.
"Thank you, Your Majesty, for assigning me this punishment," he said before rising and leaving the hall.

Outside, Meisun paused to glance back at the emperor seated on the throne.

That man, consumed by illness, tormented by court intrigues, and exploited by his wife, was a shadow of the friend Meisun had once known. Gone was the fiery young man with whom he had dreamed of the future. Now, the emperor's eyes held neither determination nor a flicker of the passion they once shared.

Though the emperor was only forty, his soul had aged far beyond the decades they had been apart.

Meisun sighed deeply, bowing to his emperor one final time. He could no longer see the leader he had once been willing to die for.

Turning his gaze toward the far end of the hall, he noticed the crown prince in his crimson robes. The young man’s frail shoulders and uncertain stance betrayed his lack of experience. Even from a distance, it was clear the prince had never fought, never trained his body, and never known the struggle of survival.

Meisun sighed again. It seemed the emperor had chosen an ideal successor—one as lifeless and devoid of vision as himself.

But Meisun was a man of honor and duty. The emperor had asked him to ensure the prince’s ascension if he should die prematurely. Meisun did not have to admire or even like the crown prince.

He simply had to honor the promise he had made to the man he once called brother. For the sake of peace and the protection of the innocent, Meisun resolved to fulfill his duty, no matter the cost.

Though his hand had always been quick to draw his sword in times of danger, his heart longed for nothing more than silence, safety for his children, and a future for the generations to come.

+++

Chen Qushui poured tea into the cups of the elderly servants sitting with him at the garden table. The day was warm, and everyone enjoyed the moment of rest, savoring the fragrant brew.

"These new maids are utterly useless," scoffed an older woman, setting her cup on the table with a clatter.

"I agree! The male servants are no better, as if they’ve never been trained at all," chimed in another man.

"They behave as if no one ever taught them anything," added the woman, eagerly continuing the trail of gossip.

"The girl serving Madame now has hands so delicate, it’s as if she’s never done laundry in her life! She even scalded herself while handing Madame a bowl of medicine. Her skin is so soft, one might think she’s a young lady from a wealthy family... or perhaps she was bought out of a brothel!" she continued, reaching for a handful of sunflower seeds.

Chen Qushui listened intently. Though he resided in the Duke of Ying's household as a hostage, his work was never truly done. To assist his mistress effectively, he needed to build connections and gather information.

He had noticed the growing number of new faces in the household. The male servants, though struggling with simple tasks like sweeping, seemed far stronger than ordinary workers. He suspected—no, he was almost certain—that they were soldiers planted in disguise by Song Yichun.

Chen had observed the changes unfolding in the household. He had heard the rumors and drawn his own conclusions. He predicted that the Duke of Ying was preparing for something significant.

When the household staff began to change, Chen Qushui didn’t miss the opportunity. He placed a few of their own girls among the new servants, giving him better access to information about Madame Jiang’s health. He knew how displeased the Duke of Ying was when her condition started to improve and how quickly the doses of her medication were adjusted. He had also noted the man’s peculiar movements.

He reported everything to his mistress, waiting for the right moment to act.

To make a change. 

+++

Dou Zhao, Zhao Zhangru, and Miao Ansu sat together at the table, quietly sipping their afternoon tea.

"What will you do now?" asked Miao Ansu, handing Dou Zhao a letter from her hometown, Futing, sent by Mr. Ji. The letter contained information that an official from the Maritime Trade Bureau had detained a ship and imprisoned Miao Ansu’s family. However, it was merely an official letter—one that could easily be intercepted, opened, and read by anyone. For this reason, it held no truly important details. Mr. Ji had written the kind of letter anyone would expect her to receive. The real information, the one that mattered, had long since reached their hands, allowing Dou Zhao to act.

Now, however, with the official letter in hand, many eyes were watching them. Many people were waiting, observing, to see what they would do next.

"Fifth Master sent word to the manor, ordering you to sever ties with my family and end all business dealings," Miao Ansu added after a moment, reaching for the cookies Su Lan had placed before them. She wasn’t upset as others might have expected her to be given the situation. She knew, as did Dou Zhao, that this was all part of a larger plan. Both understood that someone higher up had decided to make the Miao family a scapegoat, punishing them for the chaos that erupted in Futing after the capture of the Duke of Ding.

"Song Mo is already in Futing," Dou Zhao replied, passing the opened letter to Su Xin, who folded it neatly and placed it on Fourth Young Lady's desk, already piled with dozens of other documents.

"We have several options… I’d like to help him with the investigation into the Duke of Ding, but my presence might not yield the desired results," Dou Zhao continued, weighing her options carefully.

"The Duke of Ding has returned to the capital. The emperor will judge him soon... It would be best to ensure his safety and closely monitor the situation so that, when Song Mo returns, we can present him with the results of our efforts," she added, seeking support from her friends. Both nodded in agreement.

"You could also stop whispering and start speaking up," came the voice of Old Madame Cui, who was approaching the girls.

"Grandmother?!" Dou Zhao exclaimed, standing from her seat. She quickly walked over to the elderly woman, supporting her as she guided her to the table. Once the old woman was seated, Dou Zhao knelt on the floor beside her, resting her arms on the older woman’s lap before laying her head on them.

"My child..." the elderly woman said softly, gently patting her head.

Dou Zhao laughed. She enjoyed being treated like a child sometimes—but only by her grandmother. Only Old Madame Cui truly knew and cared for the little Dou Zhao of the past. Only she had the right to see her as an innocent, naive girl, as some still did. With Old Madame Cui, Dou Zhao felt safe and confident enough to expose the deeply hidden, carefully guarded parts of herself. 

"Come on now, don’t sit on the floor, or you’ll catch a cold!"
Grandmother scolded her, but Dou Zhao just laughed and wrapped her arms around the older woman’s waist, pressing her face into her stomach.

"What do you propose, Madame Cui?"
Miao Ansu asked, ignoring her friend’s antics. They were in the company of their closest allies, knowing full well that if they couldn’t trust each other, they couldn’t trust anyone in the world.

"Up until now, my dear, you’ve only whispered into ministers’ ears and asked your 'friends' for favors."
The elder woman spoke without rejecting Dou Zhao’s embrace, her hand gently stroking the girl’s unadorned hair as if soothing a lazy cat napping on her lap on a sunny day.

"Now you have the chance to speak openly."
She added, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out a small booklet, placing it on the table so the girls could see it.

"The Emperor, moved by your actions and intrigued by the rumors, summons you to the palace for a private audience."

Dou Zhao pulled away from her grandmother.
"Already?"
She asked in confusion, reaching for the booklet. Opening it, she quickly read the imperial decree, granting her the right to enter the palace through the side gate—exactly like the one her grandmother had received years ago, issued by the late Emperor.

"Is this good or bad?"
Zhao Zhangru asked, more preoccupied with how many cookies she could eat at once than the topic of the conversation. Her words, however, made Dou Zhao pause in thought.

"It seems good, though... if things don’t go as planned, it could turn out very bad."
She replied.

"Did the Emperor mention when I should come?"
She asked her grandmother, finally getting up from the floor. The sweet, grandmother-loving Dou Zhao disappeared, replaced by the strategist and commander Dou Zhao once again.

"He didn’t specify a day, but he did mention that crabs will be served for dinner at the palace tonight."

Old Madame Cui raised one eyebrow meaningfully. Dou Zhao quickly understood the implied message.

"Su Lan, Su Xin, prepare my attire and accessories! I’ll freshen up quickly. Have the carriage ready. Grandma, may I borrow yours? The guards already recognize it…"
Old Madame Cui, of course, nodded at her request.

"What about Song Mo and Futing?"
Miao Ansu asked before Dou Zhao could dash out of the room.

"Send Ji Yon there! He’ll have a blast with Song Mo!"
She called out.

The women left in the room exchanged knowing glances. They all knew Ji Yon and his personality. They were well aware that the former monk harbored feelings for Dou Zhao—feelings he himself struggled to name. Feelings that were far from simple.

Old Madame Cui had once hoped for a romantic connection between them. Watching them as children, she had observed how the confident and precocious Dou Zhao extended her hand to the shy and withdrawn Ji Yon, how their shared fascination with medicine brought them closer, and how Dou Zhao spent time teaching Ji Yon about emotions and feelings.

For a long time, she had hoped their friendship would grow into something more, but over time, their bond seemed to evolve into something... familial. Ji Yon seemed to look at Dou Zhao the same way Dou Zhao looked at her grandmother—as a parental figure. And there was no doubt that Dou Zhao had played the largest role in shaping the man he had become.

However, Madame Cui had never expected that, once Ji Yon began to understand his own emotions, his feelings would take on such... peculiar dimensions.

Miao Ansu had caught Ji Yon and Dou Zhao in situations that no other pair would ever want to be caught in. Yet the more she observed them, the more confused she became. Ji Yon seemed determined to protect Dou Zhao from every danger, every threat she might face—even though Miao Ansu had to admit that Dou Zhao was the strongest person she had ever known and perfectly capable of handling things on her own. Still, her cheeks flushed at the thought of such devotion from a man.

But at the same time, Ji Yon caused most of the trouble in Dou Zhao’s life. Miao Ansu still remembered the time he started a fight with a random man on the street because, as Ji Yon claimed, "he looked at Dou Zhao the wrong way." Of course, the adult man’s single punch nearly knocked Ji Yon unconscious, and it was Dou Zhao who had to smooth things over, apologizing for her "brother’s" behavior and offering silver as compensation.

Miao Ansu suspected that this was how Dou Zhao had always viewed Ji Yon—as an annoying, loving, exasperating, and fiercely loyal younger brother. The same way she had once viewed her own…

There was no doubt that Ji Yon, with his strange loyalty and dedication to Dou Zhao, would thoroughly enjoy tormenting Song Mo in Futing. There was also no doubt that he was at least somewhat aware of Young Lord Song’s interest in Dou Zhao. And if he was even partially aware, and noticed the slightest sign of interest from Dou Zhao toward Song Mo, he would latch onto it and pull at the thread. He would probe and test until he was satisfied with the results.

The real question was whether Song Mo could endure it. 

Chapter Text

Futing bore little resemblance to the city of Song Mo it had once been. Beggars gathered in groups, waiting for any chance to fill their starving stomachs. The shops stood empty, and it seemed steamed buns had become more valuable than jade.

Not far from the inn where they had found a place to stay for the night, a small stand was set up, where a few weary individuals were distributing porridge to the starving. Song Mo paused by the stand for a moment. He didn’t know who was behind it, but he suspected it must have been someone influential yet uninterested in recognition. In the capital, when a family set up a stand to distribute food for some joyous occasion, they always hung their flags, marked the place with their name, and often lingered nearby to ensure everyone knew to whom they owed the warm meal. Here, there was no sign, no name, and no face to connect to this act of kindness.

“Hungry, Lord Song?”

A voice asked from behind him. Song Mo turned, ready to defend or attack. To his surprise, the person didn’t seem hostile or malicious. The man was dressed in simple scholar’s robes.

“I’m Ji Yong, the Secretary of the Bureau of the Waterways,” the man introduced himself, bowing slightly. Song Mo returned the gesture.

“It’s a dangerous time. What brings you here, Lord Yong?”

“The Miao raised funds to build ships but haven’t repaid the debt. I was sent by the Futing Provincial Administration Commission to investigate this matter,” Ji Yong replied, glancing around.

His attention wasn’t focused on Song Mo. He scanned the people around them, observed Song Mo’s companions, and assessed their reactions to everything. This was a skill he had learned from Dou Zhao. She had taught him never to look too long into the eyes of someone he was discussing trivial matters with. She said it was better to survey the surroundings, gauge others’ reactions to the interaction, and remain alert. This way, he could appear non-threatening. Ji Yong had seen her use this tactic during negotiations with irksome people and followed her example.

Thanks to this, he quickly assessed that Song Mo’s guards, despite their youth, were well-trained warriors. He also noticed that the Young Lord himself remained tense, his eyes narrowed as if expecting an attack at any moment.

Ji Yong ignored them, feigning thoughtlessness. He approached the stand, greeted the woman there, and took two steamed buns, which she wrapped for him in thin paper. As he received the package, he passed her a message for the one who had sent him to Futing: to watch over and assist her man.

Sometimes, Ji Yong marveled at how easily he followed Dou Zhao’s requests. He knew she always had the well-being of those she cared about in mind. He also knew she would never send him into danger or expose him to anything he couldn’t handle. Yet, at times, he couldn’t decipher her plans, especially when he hadn’t been present during their conception and was merely informed of what she wanted him to do. He always agreed—like the fool he clearly was. But he never regretted it, because he was hers.

Dou Zhao, his sister in all but blood, was the one who always looked after those important to her.

Returning to Song Mo, Ji Yong donned the smile Dou Zhao had taught him—a smile delicate enough not to seem malicious but wide enough to appear sincere. He had practiced it for hours under her watchful eye until, at last, she was satisfied. 

"Thinking on an empty stomach is much harder," he said, handing one of the steamed buns to Song Mo. The Heir of the Duke of Ying thanked him and walked forward along the sparsely populated street. Ji Yong quickly caught up, prompting Song Mo’s two companions to unconsciously step aside, making room for him on Song Mo’s right.

"I suspect you’re not here on vacation either?" Ji Yong inquired.

Song Mo clenched his fists, forcing his face to betray no emotion. His heart had been restless for some time now. He had promised himself to trust Dou Zhao one more time, yet here he was, wandering through Futing, searching for any clue, and still finding nothing. It felt as though he was being led through darkness like a child.

"I'm heading to the Futing County Office to gather information. Perhaps you'd care to accompany me?" Song Mo proposed. 

+++

"The Miao family colluded with pirates. The evidence is irrefutable," Lord Ding informed them as soon as they were seated in a side chamber. He offered Ji Yong tea, which the man accepted, feigning an air of casual camaraderie.

"Are you suggesting the Miao family conspired with pirates to kill the Duke of Ding?" Ji Yong asked with interest.

Standing nearby, Song Mo seemed to ignore the ongoing conversation, though both men were keenly aware that he was listening intently.

"Murdering a pillar of our nation is a grave crime. What evidence do you have, Lord Ding?" Ji Yong asked, sipping his tea calmly.

"Bring in the evidence," Lord Ding commanded the guard stationed near the door. The man bowed and left the room, returning minutes later with another guard, both carrying a heavy chest filled with bloodstained swords.

"Take a good look," Lord Ding said, rising from his chair.

"These pirate swords were found aboard the Miao family’s merchant ship," he explained, gesturing at the weapons.

"They're identical to the one that killed the Shadow Guard escorting the Duke of Ding. This is irrefutable proof of their crime."

Ji Yong examined the swords, though they weren’t what truly interested him. What caught his attention was Lord Ding’s earlier statement.

"You didn’t deny it when I asked if you believed the Miao family colluded with pirates to murder the Duke of Ding. Do you know more about this matter, Lord Ding?" Ji Yong inquired, his tone amiable as he noticed the official subtly retreating from the conversation.

Reaching into his sleeve, Ji Yong retrieved a heavy pouch of silver. Stepping closer, he grasped Lord Ding’s hands, placing the pouch in one of them.

"I’m very interested in this story and your speculations. Even if they are merely suppositions, rest assured, no one will ever hear them attributed to you," Ji Yong assured him.

Lord Ding weighed the pouch in his hand before tucking it into his sleeve.

"It’s been a long time since the Duke of Ding’s ship docked in the capital. There’s an old saying: if a child is lost by the water, there’s no sense in searching for more than seven days. Although the Duke was a grown man, the evidence on the ship suggests he wasn’t in the best condition when the attack occurred. His body was likely either taken or discarded by the pirates," Lord Ding stated plainly.

Even Ji Yong felt anger bubbling at his words. It seemed as though the disappearance or death of the Duke of Ding was nothing more than a curious tale to Lord Ding, a story told over wine as if it had happened years ago and now served merely as entertainment.

Ji Yong resisted the urge to glance at the still-silent Song Mo. Instead, he assumed the expression Dou Zhao had dubbed his "reproachful look" and addressed Lord Ding.

"Nothing is certain yet. History is being written before our eyes," Ji Yong said.

Lord Ding merely waved his sleeve dismissively, turning away to sit back in his chair.

"Certain or uncertain, the evidence is right before you, Lord Yong. Please include it in your report," he replied.

Ji Yong and Song Mo took their leave. They had found the loose end of the thread; now, they only needed to follow it to the spool. 

+++

"The night Uncle went missing, someone saw Ding Wei leaving his residence late at night. But that’s not solid proof," said Song Mo, reviewing the documents he had gathered about the events in Futing.

"However, Ding Wei falsely accusing the Miao family of colluding with enemies is just a case of the thief crying thief. It exposes his own crime instead. If we can force a confession, we can take this to the emperor and convict him," he continued, undeterred by Ji Yong's silence. Song Mo wasn’t entirely sure why he had agreed to let the man follow him in the first place.

The tavern was filled with noise and a mix of scents. Some were pleasant, like the aroma of cooked noodles and roasted vegetables, while others—like the unwashed bodies and grime—were less so. Still, this was one of the few places in the city where residents could reliably find food. They had rented rooms as soon as they arrived in Futing, and the establishment had yet to disappoint them. Each day, they received warm and hearty, albeit simple, meals to fill their stomachs.

A faint candlelight flickered above the table, where Ji Yong sat, noisily slurping down a bowl of noodles with the enthusiasm of a child tasting sweets for the first time.

"Ding Wei put those bandits' blades on the Miao family’s ship. The Ministry of Imperial Ceremony is investigating this, so Ding Wei is rushing to find a scapegoat," Ji Yong said between mouthfuls of noodles.

Song Mo observed him for a moment, intrigued by the duality of the man. Ji Yong seemed to wear masks—many masks. Song Mo hadn’t known him long enough to make definitive judgments, but it seemed as though Ji Yong sometimes didn’t even know which mask to wear or experienced brief moments where he forgot how to react altogether. This enigma piqued Song Mo’s interest.

"I’ve looked into him," Song Mo said after a pause. "He’s been selling the relief food for money and exploiting the people."

When Ji Yong finished his meal, Song Mo hoped they could finally have a serious conversation. Instead, Ji Yong jumped to his feet, chuckling as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"I’m getting dessert!" Ji Yong declared, weaving through the tables with his empty bowl.

"Why do I put up with this?" Song Mo muttered under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He truly didn’t know what to do about Ji Yong. The man was only helpful because he had a “reason” to investigate in Futing. No one questioned him, stopped him at the county office, or tried to hinder his actions, which was something Song Mo could take advantage of. But everything came at a price, and it seemed that Ji Yong’s assistance came at the cost of Song Mo’s sanity.

With a heavy sigh, Song Mo watched Ji Yong return to their table, now carrying a plate piled high with rice cakes and a variety of fruits. A pang of frustration hit him. He and his men had only been given plain noodles and tofu buns by the tavern owner. Ji Yong must have known some magical charm to persuade the woman into parting with such delicacies.

"The deeper we dig, the more dirty secrets we’ll uncover," Ji Yong said, as though their conversation hadn’t been interrupted.

"If I can board that ship, I’ll find the answers we need. I have to go," Ji Yong added, his tone suddenly serious despite the lighthearted chaos he had caused moments before. 

Song Mo replied while organizing the documents and handing them to Lu Zheg. Ji Yong nodded in agreement.

"You know, Young Lord Song... It’s interesting how time seems to stand still in Futing, yet in the capital, it flies by so quickly. You might accidentally miss important celebrations because of it," he said suddenly, drawing the attention of Song Mo and his guards. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Celebrations?" Song Mo asked, confused, his brows furrowing.

"You know, those small, personal occasions people usually celebrate," Ji Yong continued, ignoring the puzzled looks from Song Mo and his men.

"Like birthdays," he added casually.

Song Mo sighed, visibly irritated.

"If this is another one of your attempts to distract me—"

"Not at all!" Ji Yong interrupted, quickly donning a mask of feigned anxiety and concern.

"I just thought you might not know, but a certain birthday is coming up. A certain young lady, the fourth daughter in her family, who spent most of her life in the countryside..." Ji Yong said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully several times.

Song Mo froze for a moment.

"Dou Zhao’s birthday?" he asked cautiously.

"Exactly! It’s next week. I should probably start looking for an appropriate gift," Ji Yong replied with a hint of triumph in his voice, as if he’d cast bait and was waiting for Song Mo to take it. He leaned back slightly in his chair, pretending to scan the tavern for a suitable present.

Under the table, Song Mo clenched his fist on his knee, hoping it was out of Ji Yong’s sight. He didn’t know why, but the thought of another man planning to buy a birthday gift for Dou Zhao... irritated him.

"That’s interesting..." Song Mo said through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.

"But what does this have to do with our investigation?" he asked pointedly.

Ji Yong let out a laugh that was decidedly unmanly.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. I just thought it was curious that she’s there... and we’re here. I figured it might be important information... to someone," he said with mock innocence.

The general frowned, unsure whether Ji Yong was trying to suggest something or simply toying with him again. 

"I don't understand what you're trying to say," he finally replied.

"Well, Dou Zhao is a special person," Ji Yong continued, his tone turning lighter and more melancholic. "I think it would be nice to do something kind for her, don’t you? For a friend."

Song Mo felt a growing unease.

"What do you mean by 'something kind'?"

Ji Yong turned to him with a broad smile.

"Young Lord Song, don’t pretend you don’t know! A gift, of course. Maybe some flowers? Or... something more personal?"

"Personal?" Song Mo repeated, increasingly baffled. "Why would I do something like that?"

"Because you’re... you," Ji Yong replied, drawing out the word as though it explained everything.

"Ji Yong, if you know something I don’t, you’d better say it now."

"Know? Oh, no. I’m merely making casual suggestions," Ji Yong replied with an innocent expression. "But if I were you, I might consider what Dou Zhao likes most."

"Like... for example?" Song Mo asked before he could stop himself.

Ji Yong lit up, as though he’d been waiting for that question.

"For example... something that shows you appreciate her. I’m not saying anything grand, but a small token. Perhaps... pearls? Or a hair comb?"

"Why is this important, General? Besides, judging by you and your companions, I’m almost certain you have no idea what to do," Ji Yong added with a triumphant laugh.

Song Mo took a deep breath, silently counting to ten.

"Ji Yong, if you derail the investigation again with something like this, I swear—"

"Swear what?" Ji Yong interrupted with a mischievous grin. "That you’ll forbid me from talking about Dou Zhao? In that case, maybe I should... talk to her directly?"

Song Mo opened his mouth to respond but eventually just sighed in frustration.

"I don’t have time for your games, Ji Yong."

"You’re welcome, Song Mo," Ji Yong muttered under his breath.

Song Mo didn’t reply. But now, his thoughts were as occupied with the mystery of his uncle’s disappearance as they were with an unexpected question: What exactly should he do for Dou Zhao’s birthday? 

+++

Song Mo wandered through the market, glancing at the variety of goods on display. Intricately embroidered fabrics, beautifully crafted bracelets, exotic spices—everything looked impressive, but nothing felt right. He was a general, not someone experienced in buying gifts, especially for someone like Dou Zhao.

He had expected a city suffering from food shortages to lack a thriving market. Yet, he was proven wrong. The people were doing their best to pretend everything was normal, clinging desperately to a fragile semblance of daily life amidst looming collapse. Song Mo saw their sunken cheeks and how some vendors glanced around, searching for stalls offering free food. He could feel the tension in the air—the pervasive fear that this precarious uncertainty might never end.

Of course, Ji Yong followed him step for step like a shadow, offering commentary on the general’s every move in his inescapably cheeky style.

"Embroidered silk?" Ji Yong gestured to the richly decorated fabrics, throwing Song Mo a mocking look. "No, that’s too dull. Dou Zhao probably has so much silk she could cover all the windows in the capital and still have plenty left over."

Song Mo furrowed his brow, trying his best to ignore Ji Yong’s presence.

"Or maybe something more... personal?" Ji Yong grinned broadly, pointing at a lotus-shaped pendant. "Something that shows your feelings."

Song Mo came to an abrupt halt, turning to face Ji Yong.

"My feelings?"

"Exactly!" Ji Yong shrugged, feigning surprise at the question. "That you appreciate her loyalty and intelligence. Her... dedication. Her, shall we say, unique place in your heart?"

"Ji Yong," Song Mo began, striving to keep his composure, "this isn’t some kind of declaration. It’s just... a gift."

Ji Yong burst into laughter, drawing the attention of passersby.

"Of course, Young Lord, of course. But everyone knows gifts say more than a thousand words. Take this, for instance." He gestured toward a stall displaying delicate, hand-painted fans. "If you buy her a fan, it says, 'You’re elegant and full of grace.'"

Song Mo glanced at the fans, unsure.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no!" Ji Yong waved his hand dismissively, as though swatting away a fly. "But it’s also something her... elder brother might buy her. Is that really how you want to be seen, Song Mo?"

Song Mo let out a heavy sigh and walked on.

"Ji Yong, if you’re going to help, stop throwing out these absurd suggestions."

"I am helping!" Ji Yong followed with a wide grin. "For instance, what about this?" He stopped at a stall selling fragrant oils and perfumes. "Giving her perfume sends a very clear message."

"What message?" Song Mo asked, beginning to regret engaging in the conversation at all.

Ji Yong lowered his voice, as if revealing a great secret.

"'Think of me even when I’m not around. I want you to always have something to remind you of me.'"

Song Mo turned on his heel and started walking in the opposite direction.

"Ji Yong, I’m not buying her perfume."

"What about a jewelry box?" Ji Yong pointed to another stall, running to catch up with the general. "It says, 'I want you to have something to keep your treasures. Just as you keep my heart safe!'"

"Ji Yong!" Song Mo stopped, glaring at him. "If you make one more ridiculous suggestion, I swear—"

"You’ll send me to a temple? Trust me, many have tried. They never keep me long—I come back like a plague." Ji Yong said this with a self-satisfied smirk, as though considering it a compliment.

Song Mo narrowed his eyes, striving to maintain his patience.

"I just want to find something Dou Zhao will find appropriate."

"That’s simple!" Ji Yong spread his arms dramatically. "Find something that reflects who you are to her."

"And what if I don’t know who I am to her?" Song Mo blurted out before he could stop himself.

Ji Yong grinned like a fox that had just caught a chicken.

"My, oh my, Young Lord Song... That is the biggest question of all. But don’t worry. You have me to guide you!"

Song Mo sighed and resumed his trek through the market, wondering how Ji Yong always managed to infuriate him while simultaneously forcing him to think about things he would rather avoid.

+++

Ji Yong and Song Mo walked side by side along the narrow path, heading toward the pier guarded by government soldiers.

"You're a good liar," Song Mo remarked.

Ji Yong scoffed. "I wasn’t lying, just pretending to kiss Ding Wei’s boots. The man’s an idiot. He’d believe anything from someone with more power than him."

As they neared the guards, Ji Yong turned to Song Mo with a self-satisfied grin. For some reason, it sent a chill down Lord Song’s spine.

"Play along," Ji Yong said, his tone laced with mischief. "I’ll show you how it’s done."

Ji Yong let out a dramatic, weary sigh as they stopped in front of the guard blocking access to the Miao family’s merchant ship. Nodding to the soldier, Ji Yong then turned theatrically to Song Mo.

"Let’s just get this over with," he said loudly enough for all the guards nearby to hear.

Song Mo felt their eyes on him, watching his every move. He had no idea what kind of game Ji Yong was playing.

"Do you have the document?" Ji Yong asked, extending his hand toward Song Mo.

Song Mo retrieved the permit granting access to the ship and handed it over.

"Excellent," Ji Yong muttered.

Then, addressing the guard with exaggerated politeness, he said, "My friend… I’ve already spoken to Eunuch Ding."

"No one is allowed on the ship," the guard replied curtly but accepted the document from Ji Yong nonetheless.

"This concerns retrieving a piece of jewelry from the ship," Ji Yong insisted, his tone calm but insistent. "Please, just wait here."

The guard handed the document to another man, who began scrutinizing it closely.

"What do you mean?" Song Mo demanded, his expression darkening.

"You dare to stop me?" he added, his voice sharp.

"Please, calm down, Your Lordship," the guard replied, bowing his head apologetically. "Eunuch Ding explicitly ordered that no one was to board the ship."

Song Mo stepped forward, ready to fight for his right to access the ship. Before he could act, Ji Yong placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Ji Yong wore a friendly smile as he approached the guard, pulling a small pouch of silver from his sleeve.

"My friend," Ji Yong began in a conspiratorial tone, "you don’t realize it, but there’s a pearl necklace on that ship. My sister has been waiting for it, and if it doesn’t make it to the capital before her birthday—believe me—you won’t just be seeing my head on a hook. His balls," Ji Yong nodded toward Song Mo, "will be hanging right beside it."

Song Mo’s face flushed with fury at Ji Yong’s crude words. He could hear the muffled laughter of the guards who were eavesdropping on their conversation. Even the guard before them seemed mildly amused.

"Oh? And who’s this fearsome lady that poses such a threat?" the guard asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Ji Yong leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to seem confidential, though not actually trying to keep others from overhearing. He slipped the pouch of silver into the guard’s hand.

"Fourth Young Lady Dou," Ji Yong whispered.

The guard straightened immediately upon hearing the name. He gave Ji Yong and Song Mo a long, calculating look. After a moment, he bowed and stepped aside.

"Please, make it quick." 

"He said, taking back the document, tucking it away, and returning to his post. The guards they passed while walking down the dock to the ship straightened and bowed as they went by. Song Mo was perplexed by their reaction. It wasn’t his name they were reacting to—and he was, after all, the heir to the Duke of Ying. Instead, it was the name of a woman who… yes, he had to admit, was fascinating, but she didn’t seem to command such respect or fear.

'Why do they...?'
He asked as they entered the ship’s cargo hold. Everything around them was coated in mold, and the smell in the air was far from inviting. He glanced around, searching for clues.

'She made this city prosper,' Ji Yong said curtly, touching a package of dried tea covered in a thick layer of mold.

'Fascinating...' Ji Yong murmured to himself, his fingers brushing against another ruined item.

'What do you mean?' Song Mo asked, his question deliberately vague as he focused on examining the ship’s contents. The cargo hold was filled with crates of dried tea, bolts of fabric, and other valuables. One particular crate caught his attention—it was filled with bloodied swords.

'Everything is covered in mold, except for this,' Ji Yong noted, pointing at the crate of swords. The blood on them seemed unnervingly fresh, barely clotted on the blades.

'It’s not even dusty. Someone placed it here recently...' Song Mo concluded, stating the obvious. Ji Yong reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a necklace of precious pearls. They gleamed softly in the dim light of the ship’s hold. The man grabbed a small, random box from one of the shelves, carelessly emptying its contents of hairpins onto the floor. He placed the pearls inside and handed the box to Song Mo.

'Don’t forget—you need to deliver this gift to Dou Zhao in the capital before her birthday,' Ji Yong instructed, turning toward the stairs.

'Pearls? Do they hold some special meaning?' Song Mo asked, following Ji Yong.

"'You are one of a kind. To me,'" Ji Yong replied softly.

Song Mo fell silent for a moment, his grip tightening on the wooden box. He drew in a deep breath.

'Is that all?' Song Mo asked, scanning the surroundings.

Ji Yong shrugged. 'There’s nothing else here. Aside from that crate, this is just an ordinary merchant ship.'

Song Mo couldn’t argue with that. He knew the crate was their only lead at this point.

'What’s the connection between Dou Zhao and Futing?' Song Mo pressed. 

Ji Yong glanced over his shoulder, assessing the expression on his companion's face. He had learned to read emotions from Dou Zhao. Although he wasn’t as skilled as her, he could identify and understand many emotions people displayed. He wasn’t sure what Song Mo was feeling at that moment, but it was undoubtedly something complex.

"She revived this city by investing in it and incorporating it into the trade routes," he said, climbing the wooden stairs slowly.

"Thanks to her investments, half the residents didn’t have to sell their land to pay taxes sixteen years ago. During the great drought, she supported this city by redirecting food supplies here. During the floods, she hired people from Futing to help with the rebuilding, giving them a chance to earn money lost to ruined crops…" he continued, pausing for a moment.

"She supported this city when it was at its worst. And do you know how they repaid her?" he asked, turning toward Song Mo. The moonlight illuminated their faces, revealing all the emotions and changes in their expressions.

"Last year, when the Duke of Ding nearly subdued the pirates, many merchants and investors came to Futing to buy tea. The tea grown here was exquisite, fetching the highest prices. But Dou Zhao established a rule: anyone signing a contract with the Miao family, who worked here for her, could only cultivate tea on 60% of their land, leaving the remaining 40% for food production," Ji Yong explained.

"But the new buyers didn’t follow such rules. They signed contracts, planting tea on the remaining 40% of the land, cutting the city off entirely from its own food production. They only cared about profit. They wanted guaranteed tea from the Miao family’s 60% and earnings from the remaining 40%," he said, turning away from Song Mo and heading toward the gangplank to disembark the ship.

"But the unrest and uncertainty caused by the Duke of Ding's disappearance led the new buyers to withdraw their purchases. The Miao family's ship, filled with goods, was detained at the port." He glanced over his shoulder at Song Mo.

"Do you understand now?"

Song Mo nodded. The situation in Futing… At first, he thought the Miao family was truly responsible. Later, he suspected Dou Zhao of exploiting the situation for her gain. But in the end, as always, it was human greed to blame.

As they left the ship and stepped onto the gangplank, a group of night guards approached, bows in hand.

"Who’s up there?" the squad leader asked.

"Lord Song and Lord Yong, here to retrieve the necklace ordered for the Fourth Young Lady Dou."

The commander struck the guard who had allowed them onto the ship.

"Why did you give them permission?"

"They had Eunuch Ding’s official document and badge."

"Useless fools!" the commander shouted.

Ji Yong, already almost on the pier, raised his hand, waving it lightly toward the guard.

"Please, don’t get worked up," he said in a light tone that didn’t fit the situation at all.

"We didn’t see anything on the ship except for the box we came to collect," he said, stepping closer to the guard and gripping his forearm tightly.

"It’s best for everyone if we were never here tonight, right?" he said, squeezing until a faint grimace of pain appeared on the guard’s face. Only then did Ji Yong release his grip. He pulled a tael of gold from his sleeve and placed it in the guard’s hand, laughing cheerfully.

"Wine. Wine for all the brave guards who needed something to warm themselves on this cold night. Wine that blurred their vision and clouded their memory. Right? You drank a lot of wine tonight, didn’t you?" he asked, turning to the guard who had let them aboard.

The man raised a confused gaze to his superior. The commander weighed the gold in his hand, then nodded.

The guard sat down on the ground, leaning against a crate.

"Wine… Too much wine… I can’t see anything…" he sighed, closing his eyes and feigning sleep.

The rest of the guards quickly followed suit, removing parts of their armor, lying down or sitting on the cold ground. They closed their eyes, and some even began snoring loudly.

Ji Yong took the document they had handed over earlier, burning it over a candle while staring into the eyes of the night guards’ commander.

"No one was here tonight," he said, then turned and walked off the pier without looking back.

He heard Song Mo’s footsteps behind him. They returned to the tavern in silence that night. Ji Yong felt Song Mo’s questioning gaze but ignored it. He wasn’t sure what to tell him—that gold is every man’s best friend, and with enough of it, everyone would want to be his friend?

He could have simply said that keeping their presence on the ship a secret would make it easier to identify suspects in the attack on the Duke of Ding, but at the same time, Dou Zhao could be put in danger. After all, he had used her name to get there.

He knew Song Mo wouldn’t mind risking his own life to uncover the truth about his uncle’s disappearance. But he hoped Song Mo wouldn’t want to risk Dou Zhao’s safety.

They parted in the corridor leading to their rooms. Ji Yong nodded silently at Song Mo, bidding him goodnight. 

+++

The sunrise found Ji Yong lounging peacefully in his bed, ignoring the rest of the world. He had fulfilled his task, in a way, and had helped Song Mo.

At the same time, the young lord was preoccupied with other matters. He had returned to the Miao family’s ship, bringing along Eunuch Ding Wei to... discuss certain topics of interest.

"The Duke’s case is a massive affair," the eunuch shouted, trying to compel Song Mo with his words to release him and abandon his pursuit of the truth.
"From the Maritime Trade Bureau to the Provincial Judicial Office, and the Grand Coordinator’s yamen—who isn’t under pressure?" he asked, seeking a thread of understanding in Song Mo.
"Everyone wants this case closed!"

"Where are your men now?" Song Mo asked calmly, suppressing his emotions.
"They were flaunting their power here that day. Why haven’t they come to rescue you? Don’t they care about your life?"

"I was too anxious and got deceived by their lies! But the Miao family members are already in custody. If they’re released now, how will the authorities face anyone? Should the people of Futing revolt or not?"

"Eunuch Ding, you’re truly a slippery eel in the officialdom. Even in a stagnant pond, you can still find a way to wriggle out and escape."

"But my life is ultimately in the hands of His Majesty and Eunuch Wang. Lord Song, your thirst for revenge has clouded your judgment. Eunuch Wang will see to it that justice is served."

"At this point, continuing your act is pointless, don’t you think? Tell me. Who is the mastermind behind all this?"

"This matter has nothing to do with me! What mastermind are you talking about?"

Song Mo stabbed the man’s shoulder with his sword, watching as his face twisted in pain. He shifted the blade slightly, causing it to grind against the bone, which sent an uncontrollable tremor through the eunuch’s entire arm.

"Have you heard about my skills with the blade?"

Song Mo released his grip on the sword, letting it remain embedded in the wound, and stood back, observing. 

"General Song, Duke of Ding—isn’t he already dead? Are you really willing to risk your career and life for this?"
"The human body has over a hundred pressure points and dozens of joints. Do you know which one hurts the most? This is just the first cut."
"Fine! I’ll tell. I’ll tell you," the eunuch finally agreed, which stopped the next blow that Song Mo had planned to deliver.

"I’m castrated. My nephew was the only one left to carry the bloodline. A few years ago, he was foolish enough to smuggle salt and was caught by the Duke of Ding. I begged and pleaded with the Duke to spare his life. I would have been fine even if he was exiled as punishment. But he showed no mercy. My family line ended because of him. So, when he was being escorted to the capital, I seized the chance for revenge."

He confessed, which only angered Song Mo further. The man lunged at the eunuch, clutching his throat and choking him.

"Stop trying to fool me with half-truths. The Duke’s ship was guarded by skilled Shadow Guards. How could your useless lackeys have succeeded? I’ll ask one more time. Who is the mastermind? Who lent you the assassins?"

"It was revenge for ending my family line. No one ordered me," the eunuch managed to croak through the tightening grip on his throat.

"Is it the Chief Military Commission or the Ministry of Imperial Ceremony? Even if you say nothing, as long as your heart is beating, your muscles are moving, and your face shows any expression, I can guess most of it. You received help from both, but they aren’t the masterminds. Am I right? Someone from the Grand Secretariat? Or maybe a member of the imperial family? You’d rather sever your tongue than talk. Then let’s trade your life for the truth." 

+++

Dusk had fallen before Song Mo realized it. The interrogation he had subjected Eunuch Ding to had taken much longer than he expected. Now, he was only waiting for the arrival of someone who would try to silence or free the man.
He placed the lit candle on the table and reached for his bow as he heard footsteps on the stairs. The first thing he saw was Ji Yong's face, frozen in displeasure. The man was being led by an assassin, using him as a shield, a knife pressed to Ji Yong’s throat.

"Finally, you’ve shown up," Song Mo greeted calmly.

"Drop your bow," the man ordered.
"Or your friend will pay the price," he threatened.

Ji Yong laughed, but his laughter was not a pleasant sound—it was spiteful and, in some way, it seemed dark to Song Mo.

"If you wanted to bring someone here that you could use as a shield against Song Mo, you should have caught a random beggar. You’d have had a better chance of succeeding with your very intelligent plan," he said quietly, turning the ring on one of his fingers and using the hidden blade to cut the rope binding his hands.

"You see, he doesn’t even like me," he continued.

"Stop pretending," the man threatened, pressing the sword closer to Ji Yong’s skin. Ji Yong took advantage of the fact that he was mostly facing the man. He raised his right eyebrow, then quickly dropped it. The left corner of his mouth lifted slightly before his face returned to its natural, emotionless expression. For the first time since Song Mo had met him, he had the impression that Ji Yong wasn't wearing his mask. It was as if he didn’t care about the situation at that moment. It seemed… to bore him.

"Song, I know he’s your friend. What do you think about trading his life for Ding Wei’s life?"

The man suggested. Song Mo snorted softly.

"He wasn’t lying. He’s just a pawn to me. His death means nothing. Maybe I’ll even thank you if you finally make him shut up," he replied, not lowering the bow by a millimeter. His shoulders trembled slightly from the force he had to exert, but he gave nothing away. He stood firm, his legs spread wide, observing the assassin’s reaction.

"You’re lying!"

"Do you want to bet?" Song Mo asked, to which Ji Yong rolled his eyes.

"Just kill me, I’ve had enough of this situation," Ji Yong said. Their gazes met for a second before Song Mo released an arrow. It flew past the assassin’s right ear, slightly wounding him. Ji Yong quickly jumped to the left, attacking the man with a short knife hidden in his sleeve.

He blocked two quick strikes that the assassin aimed at him, unable to counterattack due to the long sword. His opponent had the distinct advantage of reach. However, Song Mo was already running toward him, taking another blow and blocking it with his twin blades. He glanced at Ji Yong for a second, then threw one of his blades in his direction.

Ji Yong swung it once, then again, weighing the blade in his hand, shifting the knife to his left hand while holding Song Mo's blade firmly in his right. They attacked simultaneously. 

The man was able to dodge several of their strikes, landing as many of his own. There was no doubt that he had undergone professional training. He was no novice. They were fighting against an experienced assassin who knew what he was doing. The man struck Song Mo, throwing him into the air until his limp body hit the floor. Ji Yong seized the moment of distraction, using his knife to sever the tendons in the man's wrist. When the man attempted to switch the sword to his other hand and continue the fight, Song Mo attacked from behind, cutting deeply beneath his knee. The man lost his balance and fell.

Song Mo leaned over him, binding his hands behind his back.

Ji Yong leaned tiredly against the ship's wall, taking deep breaths. He calmed his breath before walking over to Song Mo, handing him the sword.

"What happened in Futing stays in Futing," he said, pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiping the bloodstains that had splattered on his cheek. Song Mo noticed the strange expression on his face as he removed the reddened cloth from his face, but he didn’t have time to analyze it. 

+++

They attempted to disembark from the ship with the two bound prisoners when the companions of their captured assassin tried to set the ship on fire with flaming arrows. Ji Yong sighed loudly.

"I’m never coming back to Futing," he said, hiding behind a stack of crates with an unknown contents. Song Mo suppressed a laugh.

"Those men are stalling you," Song Mo said as Ji Yong reached into his sleeve again, pulling out a pipe which he lit with a flaming arrow that had landed next to his head.

"Their real plan was to set the ship on fire and silence everyone," he continued, sitting comfortably and observing Song Mo move across the ship. Ji Yong shrugged. He had done his part; he shouldn’t even be here.

"You didn’t think I might be waiting for them to do just that?" Song Mo asked, stopping beside Ji Yong. He reached beneath his robes and removed a miniature whistle from his neck, blowing into it to play a simple but pleasant melody. Ji Yong lifted his head, watching soldiers appear behind the men who had been attacking them. They quickly surrounded and disarmed them. Ji Yong nodded in acknowledgment of Song Mo’s plan. He stood up from the floor, brushed off his ashen robes, then stepped off the ship, taking advantage of the fact that the dock for some reason had not been set on fire.

"Drop your weapons," ordered General Yan.

"Then I’ll spare your lives," he offered seriously. 

+++

"I know you didn’t plan on making it out alive," said Song Mo, pressing the sword to the neck of the man who had tried to kill him.

"But living beats dying a slow, miserable death."

The man laughed unnaturally.

"A thousand cuts can’t match the gratitude I owe my master."

"Fine!" agreed Song Mo, leaning in closer to the man. "Then don’t betray your master's name. Tell me where the Duke of Ding is!"

He demanded, watching the man closely. He saw a slight twitch in his eyes, the dilation of his pupils, and a drop of sweat trickling down his forehead. The man remained silent.

"You’re all brave, loyal men," Song Mo said, studying them all, searching for the weak link in their chain, pressing and pressing until one of them broke under the pressure. It only took one uncertain, undecided, or frightened man to reveal the truth.

"If we can’t find your master or the Duke of Ding, do you think we can’t find your family?" he asked.

"Our Deputy Marshal is fair and just. You were just following orders," Lu Zheng spoke up, trying to sway their opinions.

"Give up the mastermind or any information about the Duke of Ding, and I’ll protect your loved ones," Song Mo promised.

"My daughter is only four..." said one of the men, bowing his head before Song Mo.

"I’ll talk," he offered. Song Mo approached him, kneeling beside the man's bowed form and moving the sword away from his neck.

"Tell us," Song Mo urged.

"There was no Duke of Ding on the ship..." the man managed to say before the sound of an approaching carriage reached the ears of the gathered. The clatter of hooves on the dry road and the crunch of armor from the guards running alongside the carriage caught Song Mo’s attention. However, his mind was still revolving around the information he had just received. He didn’t know what to make of it. How could the Duke of Ding not have been on the ship? He had seen clear signs of torture, heard the testimony of the Shadow Guard who had seen and guarded the Duke of Ding. Something was missing. He knew that in the investigation he had conducted, something was still lacking. He hadn’t examined all the evidence. He hadn’t followed all the leads. 

When he meets the person behind the assassination attempt, he will be able to resume the investigation. Where... when did the Duke of Ding disappear? Where is he now?

Song Mo rose from the ground, seeing the carriage stop in front of them.

Eunuch Wang, the loyal companion of the emperor, quickly exited the carriage.

"Eunuch Wang," Song Mo greeted him respectfully, as he deserved.

"These men are the assassins who boarded the ship to kill. They’re about to speak. After a thorough interrogation overnight, the truth will come out," he informed him. The eunuch avoided Song Mo’s gaze, which caused him slight concern.

"Lord Song, you’re truly brilliant and resourceful. Thank you for your efforts," he praised in a quiet, calm voice.

The man then turned toward Ji Yong, who was standing somewhat aside, greeting him officially.

"Old Madame Cui is waiting for your return, Young Lord," he informed him, pointing to the second empty carriage with the Cui clan symbols, following behind his guards. Ji Yong bowed in thanks, approached Song Mo, and squeezed his arm.

"What happened in Futing stays in Futing," he said softly, turning to walk toward the waiting carriage.

"Your Lordship, come to the Provincial Judicial Office for an interrogation and to officially record your testimony."

"Of course," Song Mo quickly agreed to his request. He turned to his trusted friend and guard.

"Lu Ming, hand them over."

He ordered, to which Lu Ming, as always, agreed without objection, following his orders.

"Sheathe your weapons!" he commanded his men. The imperial guards quickly took over from Song Mo’s guards, now standing in place of the assassins. Song Mo headed toward the city, trusting that the emperor’s trusted eunuch would handle the matter better than anyone. He trusted his judgment.

Song Mo only turned when he heard the sound of dead bodies hitting the ground. One after another, the dull thuds of men falling under the emperor’s swords pierced his heart. His blood boiled in his veins.

"Wang Yuan, how dare you!" he growled, drawing his own sword from its sheath. It was the one the emperor had called "Loyalty" for him— a name that now seemed like a mockery. 

Lu Ming and Lu Zheng followed his lead, standing on either side of their master, protecting him from any attack, even though the imperial guards had sheathed their swords after executing the assassins.

"What are you doing?" asked Song Mo in despair. His clue. All the information he could extract from them. His only hope of finding his uncle, alive or dead. The dead Duke of Ding had the right to rest in his ancestors' crypt, to have a place where his memorial tablet should be displayed, and for his descendants to honor him. The living Jiang Meisun deserved to be saved, wherever he was and whatever had happened to him. He did not deserve to be forgotten.

Eunuch Wang reached for the wooden container that the servant standing next to him had been carrying. He took out a scroll bearing the imperial decree.

"It has been determined that the Duke of Ding is a loyal subject who, despite the difficulties on his way, came before the emperor to submit to his will. The Duke of Ding is suspended from his duties as Commander of the Ding Army and will be placed under house arrest in his assigned household near the imperial court until he fulfills his filial duty and produces a Jiang clan heir."

Song Mo lowered his sword, listening to the eunuch’s words. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t blink. He froze, unable to process the information that had just been presented to him.

"He’s alive..." he finally said, when relief washed over him, causing uncontrollable tears to fall from his eyes.

"Song Mo, heir to the Duke of Ying, you are hereby ordered to return to the capital immediately," Eunuch Wang continued, not lifting his gaze from the imperial decree he was reading.

"This is the imperial decree," he concluded.

"When? When did the Duke of Ding arrive in the capital? What is happening? Why? Why have you silenced the witnesses? Why are you hiding the truth?" Song Mo asked, his hands trembling from uncontrolled emotion. Lu Ming and Lu Zheng tried to calm Song Mo, but their hands were quickly brushed away. The boys didn't know what else they could do to help him.

Ji Yong approached Song Mo, placing his arm around his neck from behind, pulling him away from the eunuch, whom Song Mo was attempting to grab and force into confessing the truth. Lu Ming and Lu Zheng's swords turned toward Ji Yong, but he merely raised an eyebrow, irritated. He pulled Song Mo toward his carriage. Once there was more distance between them and the imperial eunuch, Ji Yong spoke over his shoulder.

"Thank you for the information, Eunuch Wang. I will take him and deliver him to the capital as per the imperial decree. On his behalf, please forgive him, but he will not accept the imperial decree. May I request that someone deliver it later to the Duke of Ying’s estate? Or let it disappear in the archives?" he said, to which Eunuch Wang merely nodded. Ji Yong then pulled the unconscious Song Mo into the carriage, continuously muttering under his breath, "He’s alive," which he could interpret as a sign of joy. However, he knew that the emotions fighting within Song Mo were not that simple. Looking at his face, he could not read any of them. He ordered to be taken to the tavern where they had been staying since arriving in Futing.

Before they arrived, Song Mo fell asleep, his head resting on Ji Yong’s shoulder. The man sighed loudly, then lifted General Song, joining in the quiet murmuring under his breath, repeating over and over, "What happened in Futing stays in Futing..." 

Chapter Text

Ji Yong left the tavern before sunrise, leaving Song Mo, still restless in his sleep, under the care of Lu Ming and Lu Zheng. General Yan escorted him to the city gates, seizing the opportunity to engage in a brief conversation.

'Were you aware of this, Lord Yong?'
The elder man asked, his face drawn and expressionless, frozen in a stern stillness. Ji Yong had to admit that the old general possessed an air of authority that could compel some to obedience and honesty. Ji Yong, however, was not one of those people.

'The imperial court is not an easy place to predict. Missing even a single day can mean losing track of dozens of changes,' he replied evasively.

'Young Lord Song still has much to learn about the imperial court,' Ji Yong added, gazing out the window.

'He should not act recklessly. Every step he takes is being watched.'
Ji Yong continued, and Yan Chaoging listened attentively. Both men were aware that Song Mo lacked a proper advisor. The people surrounding him were all military men, raised far from the treacherous grounds of the capital. They knew how to extract the truth from criminals or spies through torture but lacked the finesse to lower their heads and ask the right questions. They didn’t know when to reach for their coin purses or when to offer help to gain favors.

Song Mo was like an unfeathered chick trying to blend in with swans. His inexperience and lack of refinement were glaringly obvious, especially to those with a trained eye, who could see the Duke of Ying’s visible disapproval of him. His closeness to the Duke of Ding could also become a thorn in the side of many.

Ji Yong sighed quietly, only now realizing that, perhaps due to Song Mo’s connection with Dou Zhao, he felt a certain obligation to look after him. Even if he didn’t want to dirty his own hands with the mess Song Mo would undoubtedly bring to the capital, he felt compelled to intervene—if only for Dou Zhao’s sake.

'The situation in the capital is precarious; he should keep a low profile for now,' Ji Yong said in parting. General Yan inclined his head, accepting his advice with solemnity and respect. 

+++

Ji Yong reached the capital just in time to meet Dou Zhao on her birthday. She had decided against hosting a party, not wanting to draw too much attention, especially given her recent summons to the palace by the Emperor.

They sat at a table in a small, elegant restaurant.

'Didn’t you say that ice cream is cold and bad for the stomach and spleen?' Dou Zhao asked with a smile. She seemed far less burdened than during their last meeting. Her eyes glimmered softly, and her lips curved into a smile each time their gazes met.

If Ji Yong wasn’t fully aware of who Dou Zhao’s heart had long belonged to, he might have questioned whether his characterization of their relationship as 'familial' was mistaken. But he knew. He was acutely aware of what Dou Zhao did and for whom.

'Didn’t you say it’s easy to get giddy after having it?' she teased, her laughter light and untroubled. 

"Didn’t you say that ice cream is cold and bad for the stomach and spleen?"

Dou Zhao asked again, not having received an answer to her first question.

"Your thinking is too rigid," he gently scolded her, tapping her nose with his finger. She let out a soft snort.

"I can seek treatment if I fall sick from consuming it," he assured her lightly. "I know an incredible healer who, I hope, wouldn’t mind taking care of me."

He winked at her, prompting Dou Zhao to laugh. She cherished these moments, the rare times Ji Yong seemed more human. In those moments, something in him softened, and she could catch a glimpse of the person he was meant to be—a kind, loving, caring, and devoted man. A beautiful young man whose broad, genuine smile and bright, sparkling eyes could capture anyone’s heart.

She saw this side of him more often than anyone else did. It seemed as though he gravitated toward her, drawing some of his humanity from her presence. Dou Zhao would have been happy to give him half her soul if it meant he could be like this all the time. She wanted to see him this way every day.

But she knew it was impossible. No matter how much time they spent together, learning and training in the art of emotions, Ji Yong couldn’t heal and become like others. His ailment wasn’t in his body, and Dou Zhao couldn’t mend his soul.

"Eat up," Ji Yong said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She shouldn’t retreat into her mind now. She needed to give him as much of her attention as he needed.

"Men should consume liquor and meat," a man at a nearby table commented.

"Look at him. He’s a man, yet he likes sweet desserts preferred by women," his companion replied.

Dou Zhao smiled slightly, noting the shift in Ji Yong’s expression. His emotions were still genuine. She could see the honest irritation darkening his eyes and curving his lips into a faint smirk.

"Huh, since when were food preferences categorized by gender? So childish," Ji Yong replied. "I see that you two are consuming liquor and meat. So, can you conquer a battlefield? Or rule a nation?"

Dou Zhao picked up her spoon, hiding her smile behind a bite of ice cream. She knew Ji Yong noticed—he always did.

The men laughed awkwardly, their mirth forced.

"He’s arrogant beyond belief," one of them muttered.

"Miss," the other addressed Dou Zhao, attempting to draw her attention.

"He doesn’t suit you," he added, clearly satisfied with his assessment.

Dou Zhao couldn’t hold back her laughter.

"Yeah. Unlike you two. You suit each other," Ji Yong retorted without missing a beat, gesturing toward the men.

Dou Zhao openly laughed at the random argument unfolding before her. She knew Ji Yong would never let an opportunity pass to reply to someone who provoked him first. She was all too familiar with his sharp tongue, having sparred with him in words many times herself.

"You!" one of the men growled, his temper flaring.

"Calm down…" the other attempted to placate him. "Let’s drink."

The men turned away from Dou Zhao and Ji Yong, ignoring their presence entirely. To Dou Zhao, they looked like sulking children who had been scolded for running into traffic. Everyone knew they had done something foolish, but they refused to admit it, pretending they were in the right.

"Oh, right!" Dou Zhao said suddenly, reaching into her sleeve to pull out a small box.

"This is for you," she said, handing the gift to Ji Yong.

He set his spoon aside and pushed his bowl slightly away, giving her his full attention. In moments like this, Dou Zhao once again saw the little boy she had met over a decade ago. With chubby cheeks and emotionless eyes.

She smiled at him, encouraging him to open the gift.

"I always see you squinting your eyes. I suppose your vision is poor," she said as Ji Yong carefully unwrapped the box.

"I found this after searching through the shops in the capital."

Inside, Ji Yong discovered a small lens affixed to a slender handle. It looked delicate, though the intricate craftsmanship suggested it was sturdier than it appeared at first glance.

"It’s your birthday…" 

He spoke softly, tracing the intricate details of the craftsmanship.
"And yet, I am the one receiving gifts," he concluded, shifting his gaze from the object to Dou Zhao. She smiled, clearly pleased.

"It's my birthday, so I can do whatever I want. Maybe I'll start a new tradition—giving gifts instead of receiving them," she said confidently, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

Ji Yong raised the lens to his eye and leaned closer to Dou Zhao's face.
"Upon closer inspection, I realize you're not ugly," he said in a mock-serious tone.

Dou Zhao lightly smacked him on the head, and Ji Yong burst into laughter—bright and carefree, like a child thrilled by their own clever joke.
"I hope you have a second one of these because Song Mo definitely needs help with his eyesight. He doesn't see the way you look at him. He doesn't see everything you've done for him," Ji Yong remarked with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Why did you have to choose a fool?" he asked after a moment. Dou Zhao regarded him seriously.
"He's handsome," she replied simply.

Ji Yong scoffed.
"There are plenty of handsome men. Even I'm handsome, right? I'm handsome, Dou Zhao, aren't I?" he asked, fluttering his eyes dramatically.

Dou Zhao couldn't help but laugh at her brother's antics.
"You're very handsome," she agreed with a grin.
"And very silly," she added.

Ji Yong pouted, his expression briefly resembling a scolded child—adorable and innocent.
"You can still find someone who's less trouble," he suggested, his tone suddenly devoid of humor.

Dou Zhao took his hand, clasping it tightly between her fingers.
"But I've chosen him," she said firmly.

They finished their dessert without revisiting the topic. Ji Yong launched into a tale about his adventures in Futing, naturally placing the spotlight on himself and only briefly mentioning Song Mo in passing. Dou Zhao didn’t correct him or criticize his narrative. She simply sat in silence, listening intently, her face alight with a soft, proud smile. Her eyes sparkled, as if she were hearing a story from her child about their day at school. 

+++

No matter how much Song Mo longed for a moment to reflect on the past few days and come to terms with the events unfolding around him, the world refused to wait. He departed for the capital as soon as he met with the generals of the Ding Army—disarmed and awaiting the appointment of a new commander by the Duke of Ding. Joy swept through the group when Song Mo relayed the news of the duke's safe arrival before the emperor.

As it turned out, this information was not yet public. Someone was controlling the flow of news, preventing it from becoming mere gossip. Song Mo had to admit that whoever was behind it held power and knew how to wield it effectively.

The return journey to the capital was much faster and free of unexpected incidents, as they chose the trade route—a significantly safer option—rather than the official route, which, despite being supposedly quicker, had proven otherwise during their trip to Futing. 

+++

Ji Yong sat with Dou Zhao at a comfortable table in the garden of her residence. They sipped tea and watched the clouds drift lazily overhead. With Song Mo far away and Ji Yong awaiting his next move in the political chess game, they took solace in the peaceful interlude they could share together.

"What did the emperor ultimately want from you?" Ji Yong asked, taking a slow sip of his tea. Recently, he and Dou Zhao had begun experimenting with their own blends of herbs and teas, trying to create a new calming mixture to aid sleep without the addictive effects of currently available remedies.

"The residence of Concubine Cui," Dou Zhao replied briefly. Seeing her friend's raised eyebrow, she elaborated.

"The Duke of Ding needs a place to stay. The Jiang clan doesn’t own any properties in the capital where the emperor could house him. Since he’s to be placed under house arrest, the emperor needs someone trustworthy nearby to monitor him. So, he requested access to Concubine Cui’s residence."

She shrugged lightly and poured another round of tea into their cups.

"He could have settled the matter with Grandmother during their conversation, but he wanted to see me instead," she continued, catching Ji Yong's attention. Anything involving the emperor had piqued his interest far more than it should lately. Dou Zhao noticed this with an internal sigh.

She knew Ji Yong would make a powerful ally—or an unstoppable enemy—if he became involved at the imperial court. She wanted to see him grow and carve out a bright future for himself, yet she also wanted to keep him far from that den of vipers. She was acutely aware of how dangerous the imperial court could be—a single misstep or poorly chosen word could ruin a life.

She hoped to keep Ji Yong away from that place forever, but she knew she couldn’t. All she could do now was protect him from afar. 

"He's aware that you're the heir of the Cui clan," Ji Yong said seriously.

Dou Zhao tilted her head slightly, scoffing at his words in disbelief.
"You know just as well as I do that it wasn’t about that. But fine, let’s assume he wanted to show respect to the next head of the Cui clan. He asked for access to Concubine Cui’s residence, claiming I wouldn’t need it in the future… Now I feel like bringing in a few male concubines just to spite the emperor. What do you think about that?" she asked mischievously.

Ji Yong gave her a knowing smile.
"Maybe you should first catch yourself a decent man before thinking about bringing in concubines?" he suggested.

Dou Zhao chuckled and nodded in agreement but then returned to their earlier topic.
"He wants me, as the supposed 'voice of reason,' to handle the hot potato that Duke of Ding has become."

"Does that bother you?" Ji Yong asked curiously. At times, he was incredibly astute, but occasionally, he lacked basic understanding of simple matters.

"I know he summoned me because I’m the 'Fourth Young Lady' who helped Duke of Ding on the road. He wanted to see my reaction, to gauge whether I knew whom I was aiding," she explained patiently, as though to a child, which Ji Yong occasionally still was in her eyes.

"He left him under my care to justify the presence of Shadow Guards in my home. It’s simultaneously a duty, a punishment, and a reward. The emperor played this cleverly, but he isn’t yet aware…"

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly, as though she had caught herself saying too much.

"Hmm? Now you have to tell me," Ji Yong said, intrigued by her hesitation.

Dou Zhao shrugged lightly.
"He’s not yet aware of the events happening out of sight," she concluded, yielding to Ji Yong’s curiosity without revealing the full truth. She wouldn’t be herself if she gave too much away.

She still remembered their meeting in her previous life. At times, it felt like a distant dream—a nightmare that fades with the morning light, never to return. Yet, sometimes, when she looked into his eyes and saw the tiny seed of emptiness that seemed to have sprouted in that past life, consuming him entirely, she was reminded of the toll it took. His human emotions, once vivid, had dulled and vanished.

In this life, she made sure the seed remained a seed. She nurtured his human emotions, helping him grow into someone more beautiful, responsible, and capable. She ensured he wouldn’t lose himself.

She didn’t know why she felt this way—whether it was the book he gave her in their previous life or the sight of his chubby cheeks and shy words when he greeted her in this one. Either way, Dou Zhao considered Ji Yong her responsibility.

"How’s the situation with Song Mo?" she asked after a moment, changing the subject.

Ji Yong snorted like an annoyed cat, leaning his head back against the chair’s support and gazing at the clouds. He didn’t respond, though they both knew the tea wasn’t yet strong enough to help him sleep.

Dou Zhao didn’t press him. She let him pretend to sleep until the sky lost its brilliant blue hue, forcing them to retreat inside the house to escape the cold.

They still had time. They both knew that everything would come in its own time. 

+++

A week had passed since Ji Yong's return to the capital. It had been a peaceful time, like the calm before a storm that was fast approaching. The capital was on the verge of experiencing a tempest that no one would forget for many years to come.

The Duke of Ding had been placed in a comfortable side estate belonging to the Cui clan, previously known as the Concubine Cui Residence. Now it had been renamed Xiǎo Wángtíng*.

During their first formal meeting, the Duke of Ding expressed his concern about her being dragged into court affairs.
"The Emperor won't be pleased to learn that even a young girl like you is capable of meddling in his matters," he said as Dou Zhao showed him around his new, temporary home.

Dou Zhao merely smiled at his words.
"The Emperor knows that anything said within the walls of the Cui estate will remain within these walls. That’s why he placed you under my care, Duke of Ding. Because he knows that there is no threat to you here, and no danger from outside can breach these grounds."

She showed him the three elegant pavilions, the gardens, a small pond, and a stream flowing through the Xiǎo Wángtíng* property. Jiang Meisun was impressed by the beauty and scale of the estate he had been offered. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had expected the Emperor to confine him to some side palace in the imperial court or a small, cramped house in the capital. He hadn’t anticipated having so much freedom, even as a technical prisoner.

"Soon, a carriage will be sent from the capital to your family estate on the border to bring your wife here," Dou Zhao said as they sat together in the shade cast by blooming trees.

"Talks will soon begin at court about bringing in concubines to ensure you have an heir, Duke of Ding," she continued, paying no mind to the displeased look on his face.

"Perhaps... we’ll resolve that issue soon," she added, winking at him with a smile.

"For now, rest and enjoy the amenities the capital has to offer. If you need anything, inform one of my maids. They’ll provide whatever is within our means."

The Duke of Ding thanked her for her care.
"What about my..." he began, struggling to phrase the question about someone—something—that no one was supposed to know about, or at least acknowledge.

"The Young Lord is safe and will remain under the care of the Tan family for now. He is well-protected there," she promised.

The Duke of Ding had already entrusted her with his life twice. Now, he had to swallow his pride and entrust her with his son’s life as well.

Dou Zhao didn’t spend much time personally attending to the Duke of Ding. He spent more hours in conversation and strategy games with Ji Yong. She knew Ji Yong often visited to mock Song Mo and extract information that he later used to tease her chosen man. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry about it.

It was his way of showing affection, and she appreciated it as much as she could. After all, Ji Yong was hers—just as the Duke of Ding seemed to be on the verge of becoming hers... just as she wanted Song Mo to become hers as well. 

+++

News arrived both too quickly and too late. Too late for Dou Zhao to properly prepare; they had to rush around, battling against time—delaying some people while urging others forward. At the same time, it was too soon. Song Mo had not yet returned to the capital, had not yet met with his uncle, when yet another monumental event began to unfold.

The Duke of Ying had sent his fastest messenger from their estate to deliver a message to Song Mo: his mother was dying, and her final wish was to see her son.

By the time they learned of it, it was already too late to intercept or stop the messenger. Dou Zhao had no choice but to put into action other plans that had been quietly waiting for the right moment.

"Young Lady, things are critical at the Duke of Ying’s Residence. How can you still focus on copying scriptures?" asked Su Lan, grinding ink for Dou Zhao, who continued her task with steady movements. She was calmly transcribing the words onto the paper scroll once again. Her handwriting was flawless—precise and serene. Every stroke of the brush had a purpose, every symbol, every character she wrote exuded calm and focus.

"Rushing won’t help," she replied without pausing her work.
"What we need most is a calm and steady mind."

Their perfect tranquility was broken by the arrival of Su Xin.
"Manager Zhao has sent word that Lord Song has left the palace after submitting the official report," said the maid, bowing before her mistress.

"But… what if Manager Zhao can’t stop him?" she asked anxiously.

Everyone close enough to Dou Zhao, and observant of her actions over time, knew how much she cared for Song Mo—more than she should have. Su Lan and Su Xin had seen what awaited Song Mo at the Duke of Ying’s residence.

"If Zhao Liangbi can’t stop Song Mo, we’ll have no choice but to go all in," Dou Zhao said, setting the brush down.

"Deliver my instructions to the guards. Song Mo must not cross the gates of the Duke of Ying’s estate—not until I say so."

The maids bowed and hurried off to relay her orders.

Dou Zhao leaned back slightly in her seat and gazed at the sky, watching the white clouds drifting peacefully across the blue expanse. Nothing in the heavens foretold the storm that was coming. No one was prepared for the gale that would soon sweep away several important figures.

She sighed.

Well, at least Song Mo was back in the capital.

* Xiǎo Wángtíng – Little Prince's Court

Chapter Text

Song Mo urged his horse, forcing it to run even faster. His heart beat in rhythm with the animal's pounding hooves. Over the past week, he had experienced an emotional rollercoaster. He had received so much information, pulling him in all directions. Things kept happening, one after another. He had neither the time nor the chance to process one revelation before the next one struck him.

The emotionally charged investigation he had conducted in Futing, with Ji Yong’s help, had left his heart racing and his soul bleeding, especially when Eunuch Wang had simply decided to kill the witnesses Song Mo had worked so hard to find. He couldn’t accept it. Even the news of the Duke of Ding’s safe return to the capital couldn’t fully heal the wound inflicted by his shaken trust in the Emperor.

Of course, he was happy—ecstatic even—that his uncle had reached the capital safe and sound. He wanted nothing more than to know his uncle was secure. But Song Mo craved the truth. He wanted to understand who had sought to harm his uncle and who had become entangled in this matter by saving him. The entire ordeal was riddled with mysteries, and he lacked answers. It felt as if he were trying to read a book whose pages had been gnawed by mice. Huge sections were missing. Though he could piece together the beginning and the end, the essence of the story was lost. The mystery written in history’s pages was gone. The truth behind what the Duke of Ding had endured—without witnesses—was lost.

Just as his heart neared a resolution, ready to fight for the truth, his almost-calm mind was struck by yet another revelation. The Duke of Ying had summoned him home. His mother was on her deathbed and wished to see her son one last time.

No horse could run fast enough to match the pace of his thoughts. Nothing could carry him home as swiftly as he yearned to be there.

Finally, after a long journey and an unavoidable visit to the Emperor, he was nearing the city gates. He could almost see the gates of his home. He could almost feel the delicate touch of his mother’s hand.

“Pull!”

A man shouted from beyond the gate, and suddenly, a rope shot up from the ground in front of Song Mo’s horse. Held taut by four men, it aimed to stop his advance. He yanked the reins, forcing the galloping horse to lift its hooves and leap over the obstacle.

“Your Lordship, please wait!”

A man appeared in front of his horse, shouting. Song Mo pulled hard on the reins, halting the horse abruptly, not wanting to trample the man. The stranger quickly approached, grabbing the horse and preventing Song Mo from moving forward until he had delivered his message.

“Are you Fourth Young Lady’s man?”

“That’s right,” the man confirmed, gripping the horse firmly. “She told me to stop you, no matter what.”

“She also said things won’t end well if Your Lordship returns home now.”

He relayed the message from his mistress succinctly, watching Song Mo’s expression with hope, searching for even the slightest hint of doubt. 

"My mother is critically ill at home. As her son, I must return," said Song Mo, tugging hard at the reins to free his horse from the man’s grasp.

"Move aside!"

"Your Lordship!"

The man tried once more to convince him to stop and reconsider. But Song Mo drew his sword, pressing the blade against the man’s neck.

"Express my thanks to her," he said before urging his horse forward.

The man cursed loudly, drawing the attention of a few bystanders. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a small device. After winding it up, the contraption whirred to life, rising into the air.

He had done all he could. The rest was now in his mistress’s hands.

+++

Su Lan rushed into the study where Dou Zhao sat, working on the account books. She was trying to distract herself from the events unfolding just a few hundred meters from her home.

The servant bowed quickly.

"He got away," she reported.

Dou Zhao let out a heavy sigh, setting her brush aside. She leaned back in her chair, a faint smile on her lips—a smile devoid of any cheer.

"As I said. Go all in," she commanded.

Su Lan dashed outside to relay the order.

+++

"You did what?" asked the Duke of Ding, his voice tinged with surprise.

Dou Zhao smiled at him innocently—so much so that he almost believed her.

"Tell me, in detail, how this happened," he said, casting a brief glance toward the woodshed. Through the slightly ajar door, he could see Song Mo lying on the floor, bound and gagged.

He knew he should defend his nephew and rush to free him, but first, he needed the full story. Details he could later use to torment the boy.

Dou Zhao shrugged lightly. The Duke of Ding noted that this was a familiar gesture of hers, one she often used to suggest her actions were far less complicated than people assumed.

"Song Mo fell for the false message from the Duke of Ying, claiming that his mother was dying and wished to see him one last time." 

She began her story from the beginning, her hands calm and steady as she poured tea into two cups, placing one in front of the man.

"I instructed my friends to stop him on the road, but he ignored them," she continued. "He didn’t even have the sense to listen, so I asked them to bring him here—not as a guest, but as cargo. That’s how he ended up in the woodshed. He’ll stay there until he calms down."

As if in response to her words, a muffled shout came from the woodshed, a sound that might have been a plea for help. The Duke of Ding didn’t even glance in that direction. His eyes stayed on Dou Zhao, observing her reaction to Song Mo’s suffering or frustration. Thanks to years spent watching his own wife, he caught the subtle twitch in Dou Zhao’s face, saw how her expression tightened for a fleeting moment.

"How can you be so sure you haven’t taken away his last chance to see his mother?" he asked. While he knew nothing about his sister’s supposed death, he suspected that his own house arrest might have been the reason for such rumors.

"Because Madame Jiang isn’t dead," Dou Zhao replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "In fact, her condition has improved. I’d say she’ll be fully recovered before the wedding."

The Duke of Ding let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, I can’t say I’m not pleased to hear that. But does Song Mo know about it?" he asked.

"About her condition or the wedding?" she replied. Seeing the Duke raise a brow, she merely shrugged.

"When he stops thrashing about and starts listening, he’ll find out," she concluded.

The Duke laughed heartily.

"Good, good! It’s reassuring to know my nephew takes after me and not his father. He’s hopelessly stubborn, but in the end, he’ll succumb to your charm," he said with amusement.

"If you placed a princess and a beggar before him, he’d still marry the one he loved," he added.

"Good," Dou Zhao said with a sly smile, "because I have no intention of sharing him with any other woman."

The Duke clapped his hands together in delight.

"Exactly! That’s the fate of men in the Jing family. Have you had the chance to meet my wife?" he asked, clearly entertained by the conversation.

Dou Zhao shook her head.

"She’s like a tiger! You’ll like her; I think you’ll get along easily. When we met, she decided I was hers and paid no attention to any other suitors or offers. Did you know she could’ve been an empress? But she threatened her own father, saying that if he sent her to the palace, her first decree would be to summon me as her consort!"

He laughed loudly, clearly relishing the memory. 

"He terrified that prudish man so much that he agreed to her every demand. It was amusing to watch from a distance, but once she became my wife, I must admit that the tiger’s lair stopped being dangerous for me,' he said, and Dou Zhao listened intently.

'My wife is a tiger, and I am her prey, but what’s wrong with that? I think it’s good to have a wife who can take care of her husband and ensure the family’s safety. Even without raising a sword against our enemies, she can eliminate any threat before I even notice it. Thanks to her, our home is the only place where I can breathe and set my sword aside. I’d like—and would be happy—if Song Mo could find a home like that as well.'

Dou Zhao nodded in agreement.

'I will take care of him. I promise,' she said earnestly, bowing her head slightly.

The Duke of Ding smiled gently at her words. He could see her sincerity, and even if her methods of caring for Song Mo were… unconventional, he couldn’t deny that his stubborn nephew sometimes needed more than just words to get through to him." 

+++

The air in the temple was crisp, cleansing the lungs of the city’s grime that had accumulated over the years. Ji Yong carefully poured the medicine, which had been simmering for hours over a small flame under his watchful eye. He had been given a task, and as a responsible man, he intended to complete it perfectly. He never wanted to fail Dou Zhao’s trust in him.

Even though he knew that she knew about his failure in Futing. Even though he was aware that he had let his inner demon reach for blood—the very thing that had always fascinated him. Even though he had picked up a sword and pointed it at another person with the intention to kill, even in self-defense. Dou Zhao still trusted him. She hadn’t scolded him; she had comforted him. She gave him another task, far from the action, far from the likelihood of shedding blood again.

Ji Yong knew that if there was one person in the world who protected him with her whole heart, it was Dou Zhao. That’s why he followed her orders without complaint. That’s why he now breathed the temple’s fresh air, allowing his inner demon to calm and sink back into a peaceful slumber deep within his soul as the sacred scriptures’ words were recited softly in the background. He could focus on weighing herbs and brewing remedies. He could devote himself to his true passion: medicine.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he had started studying medicine solely because of Dou Zhao’s fascination with it. As children, he was willing to do anything to stay by her side. Now, as an adult, seeing that his knowledge could help others, he eagerly used it—especially if it meant helping Dou Zhao. He always approached any task she gave him with greater focus and dedication.

This time was no different.

He had a patient he needed to care for. He had to restore her health using every method he knew. There wasn’t much time.

'Please drink,' he said, handing her a steaming bowl of medicine.

Without protest, she drank the bitter liquid, then reached for honeyed fruits. The sweetness quickly soothed the bitterness of the medicine. She smiled at him before returning to the book that had captivated her earlier. Ji Yong didn’t interrupt her. He had more important things to do than be curious about her interests. He needed to keep her alive. 

+++

Madame Jiang’s funeral took place later that same day. Dou Zhao read a report about the Duke of Ying’s clear dissatisfaction with Song Mo’s absence, but she merely scoffed at it. She knew what the man’s plans were and how displeased he was at their failure.

The Duke of Ding and Dou Zhao remained in the estate, waiting and analyzing the rapidly arriving reports from spies and 'friends' scattered throughout the city… and the empire.

"Does it really have to be such a big fuss?" the man asked, observing Dou Zhao's plans. He knew she had an incredible mind and that she never made decisions lightly, always considering every consequence and possible outcome. Yet, he couldn’t understand why she needed such a complicated plan and so many people to deal with the matter of a single individual.

"You are able to lift a stone, aren't you, Duke of Ding?" she asked calmly, not lifting her gaze from the next report appearing before her. She unfolded a tiny piece of paper, then set it aside. Su Lan quickly took it from her, ensuring it wouldn’t get lost in the pile of other documents stacking up before her.

"Yes, I can do that," he agreed quickly, his voice confident.

"And what about the mountain, Duke?" she asked again, briefly lifting her gaze. He noticed how her eyes sparkled with excitement, as though she had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Meisun shrugged his shoulders.

"I don’t think I could lift a mountain, Fourth Young Lady," he replied after a moment.

"Exactly. And he’s like a mountain in my way. I need to get rid of him," she informed him. As she set down the final report, she stretched her arms upward, relieving the ache in her neck from bending over the table for too long.

"How do you plan to get rid of the mountain? How can one get rid of a mountain?" the man asked, intrigued. Dou Zhao smiled sweetly at him.

"There’s always a way," she replied. She stood from her seat, adjusting her dress. She gave him a gentle bow, then left him alone. The Duke of Ding pondered her words in silence. He already knew that Dou Zhao wouldn’t risk doing something foolish without being certain her plans would succeed. He shrugged, ignoring the noise coming from the woodpile, and decided to wait and observe. He hadn’t had the chance to enjoy chaos in quite some time. 

+++

The funeral procession left the Duke of Ying’s estate. Servants, dressed in simple white dresses, scattered paper cutouts around them, attracting the gaze of passersby. White banners were carried by attendants.

At the head of the procession, Song Han held a wooden memorial plaque with the name Jiang Huisun, Jiang’s Late Wife.

"She was so young..."

One of the passersby said, watching the procession.

"She didn’t even live to see her sons’ weddings, such a tragedy, such a tragedy,"

Another said, shaking his head.

Gu Yu moved around with his people at his side. They were guarding the funeral procession, as Dou Zhao had asked him. He observed the event attentively. The woman, the future wife of his best friend, had promised him he wouldn’t regret focusing on the event. Since their first meeting, after his time in prison at her request, Gu Yu had grown fond of her. He saw strength and intelligence in Dou Zhao, and... well, he was just waiting for the moment when he could remind Song Mo of when he had said he wasn’t in love with her. Gu Yu already knew better.

"The funeral is always officiated by the head of the family. Why is the second son taking over for the Duke?"
One of the men standing by the road asked. Gu Yu glanced in his direction but only shrugged. The things that happened within families didn’t need to make sense to ordinary passersby. He understood that this was the Duke of Ying’s way of showing who would take over as head of the family. He knew the Duke wanted to use even the funeral of Song Mo’s mother to distance him from the family.

"They are from a family of officials with meritorious records. The standard of the funeral for Mrs. Jiang is so shabby."
Gu Yu clenched his fists and signaled to his men, who dragged the gossiping men into a side street, where they were painfully beaten. He could forgive many things, but he wasn’t about to let a bad word about Madame Jiang go unpunished.

When he turned back to look at the procession, one of the men carrying the coffin tripped over something in the road. The coffin swayed dangerously. Gu Yu didn’t even have time to think about what he could do when the coffin slid off, hitting the road. The lid slid off, revealing the empty interior.

The silence that hung in the air for a few minutes was so thick that Gu Yu felt as if he could cut it with a knife. The steady, slow clatter of horse hooves echoed against the stone road, drawing some people out of their stupor. Gu Yu inhaled deeply, focusing his gaze on Song Han’s face. The young man hadn’t yet learned the art of hiding his emotions, or perhaps, despite his attempts, he hadn’t been able to master it at such a young age. His face twisted in an anxious grimace. His eyes focused on his father, the Duke of Ying, walking two steps behind him. He was seeking support from him. Gu Yu saw how the boy waited for instructions. He himself didn’t know what he should do, even though, theoretically, he was the one leading the funeral. 

The Earl of Yunyang looked around, searching for the source of the sound that had caught his attention. In the middle of the road, a simple carriage was approaching, drawn by a single horse.

The driver, a man whom Gu Yu recognized, was guiding the carriage. He had never had the chance to sit down and share tea with him, but he had seen him before. He knew the face and understood who was behind him. He was one of Dou Zhao's people.

The carriage halted, naturally, because of the funeral procession blocking the road. The driver pulled back the curtain and addressed the person inside, speaking loud enough for everyone in the surrounding silence to hear clearly.

"Madame, we must turn back. The funeral procession is blocking the road."

A soft, weary sigh could be heard from inside the carriage. The woman extended her hand to the driver, who quickly helped her out. As she stepped down, everyone around them froze, eyes widening in shock. Before them stood the very person whose funeral procession had just been interrupted.

Madame Jiang, very much alive, stepped out of the carriage, surveying her surroundings.

"Why is the Song family crest on the banners? Has something happened? Has someone died?"

She asked quickly, looking at the people around her, her face showing genuine concern. Ji Yong shook his head, expressing his own confusion about the situation. Gu Yu moved, heading in her direction before he could consciously decide to do so. His men followed him obediently. They positioned themselves between the funeral procession and Madame Jiang. Gu Yu bowed respectfully.

"Madame Jiang..."

He began, unsure of what to say next.

"Gu Yu?"

She asked, her lips curling into a gentle smile. Her hands reached up to touch his cheeks softly, as she always did when he came to visit her, bringing news from Song Mo that he had gathered.

"What's going on? Don't tell me Yantang..."

"No, no. No!"

He quickly denied, taking her hands in his.

"He's fine,"

He reassured her quickly, or at least he hoped so.

"So, what's happening?"

She asked, looking over his shoulder at the funeral procession behind him. The people surrounding them had been silent for too long, and suddenly the crowd erupted in gossip. Everyone was commenting on the event, speculating on its meaning. They wondered how it could be that the Duke of Ying had tried to bury his living wife. They couldn't understand how the family could be so disloyal to their Madame that they didn't even realize she was alive and well.

"This is..."

Gu Yu started, but he didn't know what words to use.

Luckily, he didn't need to say anything. Someone else was approaching. Eunuch Wang stopped in front of the gathering and bowed.

"Duke of Ying, Young Lord Song, the Emperor calls for you to the palace."

He turned to Gu Yu and Madame Jiang, bowing again to the woman.

"Madame Jiang, the Emperor invites you to the palace."

He said, stepping back slightly. Ji Yong helped the woman back into the carriage. Eunuch Wang moved ahead, accompanied by his guard.

Gu Yu could only stand in the middle of the street, surrounded by onlookers commenting loudly on the scene, watching the carriage as it moved away.

He clenched his fist. Something was happening, but he didn't know what, and it was clear he wasn't part of whatever was about to unfold. 

+++

The court buzzed with gossip.

Every high-ranking man knew of the Duke of Ying’s great sorrow, as barely a day earlier, his estate had been decorated with white ribbons, announcing the death of his wife. Moved by the news, the Emperor had canceled the morning court meeting, allowing everyone to attend the funeral procession for Jiang Huisun. The Emperor even sent an eunuch with an imperial decree granting Jiang Meisun permission to attend the funeral, temporarily releasing him from house arrest.

Now, however, rumors spread like wildfire, causing the entire court to hold its breath. Everyone knew about the empty coffin and the living Madame Jiang returning to the capital.
Everyone knew about Song Yichun’s lie.

The Emperor knew much more.

He could turn a blind eye, pretend not to know about the attempt to symbolically bury a living woman. He could choose not to get involved. But he couldn’t. Not with Li Yi Gui sitting in the side chamber. Not after seeing her face, after looking into her eyes, recognizing in them the living image of Madame Jiang. He couldn’t turn away after hearing the monk’s sincere confession. He couldn’t hide the truth...

He was the Emperor, holding power over life and death. He stood as the guardian of peace and administered a position that required him to deliver justice to those whom the law usually barely touched.

This was one such case.

The Emperor ordered Duke of Ding to be summoned as a witness for the case. He called for Old Madame Cui to speak on the matter. When Eunuch Wang returned, leading the miraculously alive Madame Jiang, the Emperor knew this case would be much more interesting than he had originally suspected.

“Madame Jiang, it’s good to see you in good health,” the Emperor greeted, first addressing her, ignoring the Duke of Ying walking a step ahead of her and the boy beside him. Song Han, barely fifteen, didn’t resemble his mother at all, unlike Song Mo, who was the perfect mix of Madame Jiang’s and Jiang Meisun’s traits, looking nothing like his father.
“Thank you for your concern, Your Imperial Majesty,” she responded, bowing.

The Emperor’s gaze focused on the one he had hoped to see today. Song Yichun appeared suspiciously pale, though he forced his face to maintain composure. Anyone would be nervous seeing their wife, whose death they had already commemorated with a visit to their mistress. The Duke of Ying, however, forced himself to remain calm.

“I’ve heard an interesting rumor, Duke of Ying. Would you care to tell me about it?” the Emperor asked, adopting a light, conversational tone, which sparked a murmur of gossip among the ministers lurking in the corners of the room and by the doors. No one dared to approach the Song family at this moment, especially since Old Madame Cui, who might have helped manage the situation, had not yet arrived at court.

“Your Majesty...” the man said, bowing and touching his forehead to the floor. Zhu Siyuan only furrowed his brow. His attention quickly returned to Jiang Huisun.

“Come here, Huisun,” he called her. The woman obediently rose from her knees, leaving behind her husband and son. She bowed again, standing just a step away from the raised platform where the Emperor’s throne stood.

“You see, I had an unexpected guest visit me recently…” Zhu Siyuan began, speaking as if addressing only her, ignoring all the ears listening in the throne room.
“He told me a fascinating story from fourteen years ago. Would you like to hear it, Huisun?” he asked.

“I would be honored, Your Imperial Majesty.” 

She replied, lowering her gaze, behaving as expected of her as a woman and a Madame from a respectable family. It didn’t matter that she had grown up alongside this man. No one cared that she had tended to his wounds more often than her own brother, before he learned to properly defend and fight. Being who she was and standing before the societal expectations placed on her shoulders by her surname, she could not behave any other way than correctly.

“You see, it’s a very fascinating story… It took place fourteen years ago, in a temple near the capital,” the emperor began, reclining on his throne. His words were directed at Jiang Huisun, but his gaze remained fixed on Song Yichun. He observed every twitch of his muscles, his lowered head. Even from such a distance, he could spot the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“A woman gave birth prematurely there, to a daughter. A beautiful little girl, but her husband was unhappy with his marriage to this woman, and for a long time had an openly kept mistress, who was also pregnant. You wouldn’t believe what this man did. He had the audacity to switch his wife’s child with his mistress's child, forcing the loyal woman to raise his bastard. What do you think, Huisun, what should this woman have done when she discovered her husband’s lie?” the emperor asked, looking at her for a brief moment. Quickly, though, he turned his gaze back to Duke of Ying. Jiang Huisun paused for a moment.

“This... is a serious violation of both law and moral principles, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, bowing her head. “I have no right to pass judgment in such a matter, Your Majesty. This is a matter that should be assessed by the elders of the family, the court, and by you, Your Majesty.”

The emperor laughed. “You are right, Jiang Huisun,” he agreed after a moment. “You see, this very daughter has found her way before me.”

Duke of Ding, accompanied by Old Madame Cui, entered the throne room amidst a murmuring of rumors that were passed from mouth to mouth among the observing men.

They bowed before the emperor.

“Old Madame Cui, I summoned you because I need your wisdom to judge this matter,” he said, beckoning her to him. Without hesitation, Madame Cui moved toward him, sitting in the comfortable chair already prepared for her beside the throne.

“I listen to your concerns, Your Majesty, and have given you counsel for years. I am always at your command. Please, tell me, Your Majesty, what troubles you today?” she asked.

Everyone watched this casual exchange, marveling at the ease with which the older woman adapted to the events. Asking for information without revealing anything. Not judging, waiting. The emperor motioned for the eunuch, who stepped forward, summarizing the events thus far for the woman. 

“Madame Jiang is right, Your Majesty. This is a serious violation of both the law and moral principles. The man has committed numerous crimes against social order. Having a concubine, especially if he was unable to father a male heir with his legal wife, is understandable and tolerated in our society. However, a man who keeps a mistress is a blow to the honor of his family and wife. He committed an even worse crime by swapping the children, which led to the violation of their status. Did the daughter receive an adequate education, was her life good and safe? The man had the audacity to take from the child what was legally hers by birth, giving it instead to the illegitimate child,” she shook her head.

“Is the girl here? Let us call her, I wish to see her,” she said. The emperor agreed to her request, ordering the eunuch to bring the girl and the monk who had traveled with her to the capital.

The sound of steady, long footsteps and quieter, smaller steps following behind soon reached the ears of the men waiting in the throne room. When the pair appeared in the doorway, led by the eunuch, all eyes turned toward them, following their every step. The monk stopped halfway to the emperor's throne, falling to his knees to greet the emperor.

“Rise,” the emperor commanded. The gazes were not on the monk but on the smaller figure trailing behind him. When Duke of Ding saw her face, his eyes widened. He turned his head toward Jiang Huisun and then returned his gaze to the girl. She was… exactly like his sister had been when she was young. She had the same eyes, wide and curious, absorbing every detail of the world around her. Her lips were the same as Madame Jiang's, beautifully flushed and full. Her cheekbones, even her forehead—everything was a living replica of his sister.

The girl’s hand was clenched around the monk's sleeve, holding onto him tightly, seeking safety in the only man she knew in this unfamiliar environment.

“As you can see, Old Madame Cui, the matter is not simple, is it?” the emperor asked. His tone was far too self-satisfied given the circumstances. Madame Jiang approached the girl, stopping just half a step before her. She touched her cheek with her hand, lifting the girl’s small head upward, encouraging her to look into her eyes. Her breath caught when she gazed into the girl’s eyes—so familiar yet so foreign. It felt as though she was looking into a magical mirror that reflected a younger version of herself. One untouched by time, untainted by life…

“What is your name, little one?” she asked in a soft voice, her throat tight, forcing the words out.

“Li Yi Gui,” the girl answered. Jiang Huisun stared into her eyes for what felt like an eternity. Finally, when she found what she was looking for—a spark of recognition—she turned her gaze away from the girl. Her posture changed completely. In an instant, she ceased to be Madame Jiang, ceased to be the mother and wife who had to bow her head to protect herself and her family. In that single moment, her entire stance shifted. Her back straightened, revealing her true height. Her head lifted, her gaze hardened. Her eyelids no longer concealed her eyes, and finally, after so many years, she could once again look at the world as she did before her marriage. She was once again the general on the battlefield. 

The Duke of Ding could almost see the golden cloak, fluttering in the wind, of his younger sister, worn after her victorious battle. He could almost picture her hand gripping her weapon. He remembered her as less resolute when heading to the battle. He knew it was his sister. His pride and joy. He knew that whatever happened next would change the course of history. Something that would be written into the annals of time.

"As I said, keeping a mistress and swapping children is a serious violation of both law and moral codes. Standing before you, Emperor, I would also like to add charges of poisoning and attempted murder of the lawful wife. How will you judge this case, Your Majesty?"

She asked. The Duke of Ding clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He stepped toward Jiang Huisun, standing by her side as her quiet support.

"These are serious charges, Jiang Huisun. Of course, this matter cannot be dealt with by the family elders, as these accusations go beyond family matters."

He said, focusing on them. His eyes sparkled with excitement, as though he were enjoying the situation, as if he had been waiting for something like this. He no longer resembled the man who had recently been dying from a prolonged illness. His hands were calm, no longer trembling or rubbing his chest as he had done before. He wasn't coughing, nor was he shaking. He suddenly appeared at least twenty years younger, like a man in the prime of his life, like the Duke of Ding.

"How should I judge this case, Old Madame Cui?"

He asked, turning to the older woman at his side, who had been observing the exchange with keen interest. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"This is indeed a complicated matter, Your Imperial Majesty. The custom in such cases is to look at the status of the husband and wife. However, in this situation... Duke of Ying, as we all know, earned his title from the Old Duke of Ding, who married his daughter to him when he was still of common birth. Through this marriage, he gained the title of Duke, so... should we judge him as a Duke or as a Duke consort?"

She asked, turning her gaze to the emperor, who slowly scratched his chin.

"Indeed, this is an important issue in this case…"

He agreed gravely.

"The title of Duke of Ying was granted to Song Yichun by the Old Duke of Ding… Duke of Ding, Jiang Meisun, should be the one who has the final say in this matter."

The emperor finally declared, turning his attention to his childhood friend. Meisun stood upright beside his sister, hiding the girl and the monk behind his back.

At that moment, no one paid attention to Song Yichun, who was kneeling halfway across the throne room with his son by his side. Song Han trembled with fear. He knew what was happening around him. His father had introduced him to his biological mother, claiming that she would now take care of him.

"Song Yichun dishonored my sister. As Duke of Ding, I demand satisfaction."

He said. The emperor nodded calmly, accepting his statement.

"So, how should I judge this case, Old Madame Cui?"

He asked once again, turning to the older woman.

"The Duke consort should be judged according to family customs. In such situations, the wife receives divorce papers from her husband. Song Yichun should return to his family home and his previous status. Along with his bastard child."

She said finally.

"Let it be so!"

The emperor commanded, clearly satisfied with the outcome. The Duke of Ding stopped Jiang Huisun, who was about to speak again.

"I request permission to take my sister and her children back home, please allow them to return to the Jiang family."

He requested. The emperor paused for a moment.

"Granted!"

Song Yichun fainted, overwhelmed by the realization that his fate was in the hands of others, and he had not even been granted the right to rise after bowing to the emperor. No one, however, paid attention to him as two guards grabbed him by the arms and legs, carrying him out of the hall. Song Han ran after him, not even turning to look at the woman he had called mother for fourteen years.

For a moment, silence filled the throne room.

"Your Imperial Majesty…"

Meisun began slowly, weighing his words more carefully.

"Song Mo, my sister's son, will now become part of the Jiang clan. I ask for permission to grant him my surname and title. I have raised the boy for most of his life, and now that he officially becomes part of my family, I wish to have the right, as his legal guardian, to bestow upon him the title of my successor. Please grant me this favor, Emperor."

He said, kneeling before the emperor. The man rose from his throne and quickly approached his friend.

"There is no need for that, rise, rise quickly."

He ordered him.

"I grant you that right. I grant it to you, everyone knows that Song… no, Jiang Mo, is more your son than that unfaithful dog’s." 

He said, lightly patting the Duke of Ding on the shoulder. He glanced at Jiang Huisun and the little girl hiding behind their backs.

"Go home and rest. I will deliver the decree once it is written."

He said, turning and sitting back on his throne.

"Everyone, leave."

He commanded. Suddenly, the hall rustled with the movement of men quickly arranging themselves in proper rows. They bowed simultaneously, bidding the emperor farewell with respect. However, the man paid them no attention. His gaze was fixed on Old Madame Cui.

"As you said, your granddaughter is handling the legal matters?"

He asked, a slight smile on his lips. The events of the day brought him satisfaction. The knowledge that he had been able to remove a weed from his court without causing the downfall of ten other heads, dragged down by his actions, made his heart briefly lighter. The fact that his health had significantly improved, thanks to the mysterious throat lozenges from the Fourth Young Lady that the Duke of Ding had given him, also gave him hope for a better future.

With a proud smile, Old Madame Cui told him how Dou Zhao had been reading old legal cases, in which she had participated in her youth, offering advice to the previous emperor. They spent a pleasant afternoon discussing the children in their lives, about whom they had cared for their education and future. They didn’t concern themselves with what was happening outside the palace. They didn’t pay attention to the ripples caused on the calm sea by the stripping of the Duke of Ying’s title. They didn’t care. The sea had its way: after the great waves, peace would follow, and the water's surface would always ultimately clear and calm. They knew, seasoned by life, that some waves simply had to wash up the trash that had gathered in the water, making it even clearer and calmer. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Jiang Hoiusun raised her teacup, gazing at her son with an expression that had always combined pride with a slight touch of indulgence. She had watched him grow. She was there when he took his first steps and spoke his first words. He had been her pride and joy for many years, and even after he left the family home, she remained with him in spirit, following his progress and celebrating even his smallest victories.

Li Yi Gui, glowing with happiness after a day spent with her mother and her newly discovered brother, twirled a silver hairpin in her fingers. It was a simple silver pin adorned with delicate flowers, a masterpiece crafted by a true artisan.

Jiang Hoiusun looked at the girl, her living reflection, the child whose first steps she had been unable to witness, whose first words she did not know. Her heart brimmed with sorrow and anger. She was furious at her treacherous husband for depriving her of what was rightfully hers. Her child should have grown up under her care. Only she, and no one else, had the right to witness her small and great achievements, her significant and mundane milestones. Her heart ached with the loss of what had been taken from her.

She could do nothing but vow in her heart, taking heaven and earth as her witnesses, that she would protect her daughter from this moment until her last breath. She would never allow anyone to take her away again.

"Brother, yesterday I saw another pin, with a golden phoenix!"

The girl exclaimed, leaning over the table. Her hands traced the delicate flowers on the hairpin, too fascinated by its intricate design to let anyone simply place it in her hair, where it belonged. Her voice was joyful and full of innocent curiosity.

"Is it for me?"

She asked. Yantang glanced at his sister, his eyes widening slightly in shock before shifting toward the Duke of Ding, who raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, as if preparing for something amusing.

"No... not for you," Yantang replied slowly, avoiding his mother’s gaze. Li Yi Gui leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Then who is it for?" she asked with childlike straightforwardness. Yantang averted his gaze, pretending not to hear the question.

"If not a phoenix-shaped pin, then perhaps an emerald comb?" Jiang Hoiusun interjected, feigning deep thought.

"I’ve heard it’s a very popular gift when... someone wishes to express their intentions."

Yantang felt his cheeks flush.

"There are no intentions behind it," he muttered quietly, lifting his teacup to hide his embarrassment.

"Truly?" 

The Duke of Ding interjected with feigned surprise.
"Such a pity, because Dou Zhao would surely look stunning with a phoenix-shaped hairpin."

Li Yi Gui clapped her hands in excitement, oblivious to the sharp clink of the hairpin slipping from her fingers and striking the stone table.
"It's for Sister Dou Zhao! Brother, may I see it?" she asked, leaning forward so eagerly that she nearly toppled her teacup.

"It’s not like that," Yantang cleared his throat, straightening his posture.
"It’s... just a gift. I wanted to... thank her for everything she’s done for my family."

He added with growing confidence, having conjured up the perfect excuse. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure why he had bought the hairpin. While strolling through the marketplace, searching for a few lovely gifts for Li Yi Gui, he had passed a stall displaying hairpins. Ji Yong’s words from Futing suddenly came to mind, and without much thought, he purchased two hairpins—one for his younger sister, who deserved every fine thing he could provide, and another... for Dou Zhao, who also deserved some form of gratitude from him.

Yet, upon returning to the estate, he couldn’t bring himself to give the hairpin to Dou Zhao. And so, it ended up in the same box, lying beside the pearls he had brought back for her from Futing.

"I don’t need to give anyone hairpins or combs," he said after a moment.

"Oh, but you must," Jiang Hoiusun replied with a gentle smile as she rose from her seat to refill Yantang’s teacup.
"When a lady gifts you a handkerchief, it’s a matter of etiquette to reciprocate with a beautiful gift."

"And good manners," added the Duke of Ding, striving to keep a straight face.

Yantang looked from his uncle to his mother.
"What handkerchief?" he asked, confused.

The Duke of Ding burst into uncontrollable laughter, while Jiang Hoiusun merely shook her head.
"I’ll never become a grandmother," she said, turning her gaze toward her daughter. She raised her hand to stroke the girl’s hair, and the little girl leaned into her touch, beaming with happiness.

"My only hope lies with my one and only daughter." 

"I truly don’t understand why everyone is so interested in my affairs," Yantang finally said with a resigned tone that elicited laughter from all three.

"Oh, my son, it’s not about your affairs," replied Jiang Housun, looking at him with affection.
"It’s just that we’re family. And family ensures you don’t squander the best—and perhaps the only—golden opportunity in your life."

Li Yi Gui straightened up, her solemnity oddly mature for her fourteen years.
"Brother, if Mother and Uncle say so, maybe you really should do something. Sister Dou Zhao always looks like she’s waiting for you to act. She almost always glances in your direction."

Yantang looked at the young girl who had only recently entered his life. He still hadn’t figured out how to be an older brother, yet Dou Zhao had seamlessly stepped in as the best possible older sister for Li Yi Gui. Then, he raised his gaze to his mother and uncle, who pretended to be too engrossed in their teacups to pay him any attention.

"Maybe…" he began, but the right words to express his feelings eluded him. At that moment, he wasn’t sure whether he felt more mischievously teased or blessed by the family he had missed for so long.

+++

Zhu Siyuan lounged comfortably on an ornately decorated chaise in his private pavilion, a cup of wine in hand. Beside him, Jiang Meisun sat upright on a lower stool, maintaining a semblance of respect toward the emperor, even though their conversation had long since adopted an informal tone unbefitting of an emperor and his subordinate.

"I must admit, Meisun, you never cease to amaze me," said the emperor with a broad smile.
"When I punished you with house arrest, I thought I’d force you to focus more on your family. But to take it this seriously?"

Jiang Meisun raised an eyebrow, ignoring the jab, though the corners of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile.
"When it comes to family, Your Majesty, I’m not sure whether I was too lazy or fate was too kind. But here I am: with a seventeen-year-old heir who arrived sooner than anyone could have expected. As the saying goes, 'other people’s children grow up faster,' don’t they?"

The emperor chuckled, setting his cup down on the table beside him.
"Fate? Or perhaps your unparalleled powers of persuasion? I heard young Yantang didn’t hesitate for a moment when you offered him the Jiang name."

"I didn’t have to persuade him at all," Meisun replied with mock seriousness. 

"I simply did what was necessary to ensure the Jiang family had a proper line of succession. As for Yantang… well, perhaps it’s for the best that he’s young and knows little of my past escapades. Otherwise, he might have refused," Jiang Meisun remarked.

The emperor let out a hearty laugh, recalling their shared youth—a time when the wind was their only companion and freedom their ultimate goal. It felt like only days ago that he’d sneaked out of the palace to ride alongside his best friend, galloping across the fields.

"Are you afraid that if you hadn’t acted quickly, your dear Yantang might have taken his wife’s surname?" the emperor teased.

Jiang Meisun elbowed him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs with a loud gasp.

"Spit that out! Never!" Meisun swore, his indignation clear.

The emperor wasn’t fazed by his friend’s irritation. He knew Yantang was a charming and handsome young man who would undoubtedly capture the attention of many young ladies in the capital if he attended a few social gatherings. Meisun, he was sure, would have no trouble finding him a good match.

"Even if he does end up living in his wife’s household, I’ll never allow him to take her surname!" Meisun declared, still staunchly defending his nephew’s honor.

"Living in his wife’s household, you say? Do you already have someone specific in mind?" the emperor asked, intrigued.

Meisun raised an eyebrow at his friend before replying through gritted teeth, "The Cui clan has only one heir."

The emperor burst into laughter. Of course, he should have guessed.

"Indeed. Dou Zhao, the Cui clan’s heiress, is an exceptional young lady. She would certainly be a good match for your boy," he praised, refilling their wine cups. Lifting his cup, he proposed a toast.

"To their pleasant future."

"To their future," Meisun agreed. They drank.

"How are you handling the years Song spent as his father?" the emperor asked, shifting the topic.

Jiang Meisun shrugged nonchalantly.

The emperor studied him closely, his smile softening.

"Meisun, perhaps it’s not my place, but I think you know what a good father looks like. You have no reason to doubt that." 

Meisun paused for a moment, lost in thought, but quickly shook off the fleeting reflection and raised his cup.
"Speaking of fathers, may I propose a toast? To our esteemed emperor, who is like a father to the entire empire!"

Zhu Siyuan laughed heartily, lifting his wine cup.
"And to you, Meisun! I can’t wait to see how your 'son' inherits your talent for getting into trouble."

They both drank, their laughter echoing through the pavilion, a nostalgic reminder of the days when Zhu Siyuan wore no crown and Jiang Meisun was not yet a general. In that fleeting moment, they were neither emperor nor subject but simply two friends, reveling in the absurdities of life, secure in the knowledge that their bond would endure anything.

Meisun had no need to measure his words, and the emperor was unburdened by the fear of treacherous whispers. Not now. Not when it was just the two of them. Here, they were merely friends—nothing more. They were like children again, dreaming of a vast world and grand achievements. Just two teenagers who believed they could accomplish anything.

They were not the adults who had come to understand their insignificance, whose lives and actions were shaped by forces beyond their control. They were not who they were now. They were simply children, trapped in adult bodies.

Only now, only for this fleeting moment.

Both of them knew this moment was as fragile as a soap bubble—doomed to burst and vanish, impossible to recreate. So they savored it, holding onto the memory of who they once were. They didn’t want to see who they had become. 

+++

Empress Wan sat on the throne in her private pavilion, draped in crimson and gold. Her nails drummed against the armrest, and her gaze, sharp as a dagger, bore into the figure kneeling before her.

Wang Ge, the Court Eunuch of the Ministry of Imperial Ceremony, trembled faintly, though his face remained composed. His hands were clasped before him, his head bowed low in deference.

"How did this happen?"
The empress’s voice was icy, almost hissing.

"How did Jiang Meisun not only escape death but return to the capital in glory, poised to take everything I’ve worked so hard to build?"

Wang Ge lifted his head, his expression a flawless blend of humility and submission.
"Your Imperial Majesty, it was an unfortunate series of circumstances..."

"An unfortunate series of circumstances?"
She cut him off, her voice rising an octave. She stood abruptly, the wide sleeves of her robe flaring like the wings of a great bird. 

"You were supposed to ensure that the Duke of Ding never reached the capital. You promised me his case would be closed. And now... now the emperor plans to clear his name! He’ll become a pillar of support for that cursed crown prince!"

Wang Ge bowed even lower, his forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Your Imperial Majesty, everything can still be remedied."

"Remedied?"
The empress laughed, but there was something unsettling in her tone.
"How do you plan to remedy this when Jiang Meisun stands before the emperor, alive, unscathed, and with a new heir at his back?"

Wang Ge swallowed hard, striving to maintain his composure.
"Your Imperial Majesty, Jiang Meisun may have returned, but he is not untouchable. His position is fragile, his reputation tarnished, and the emperor... well, the emperor is fickle. All it takes is the right spark to ignite a blaze."

"A spark?"
The empress repeated slowly, her thoughts seemingly taking shape. Her gaze grew unfocused for a moment before she fixed her sharp eyes on the kneeling man. Raising her brows, she spoke with a chilling edge.
"Wang Ge, if that spark becomes a flame that scorches my hands once more, I will personally ensure you regret the day you were born."

The eunuch lifted his head, his eyes glistening with fear, though his voice remained steady.
"Your Imperial Majesty, grant me time. Jiang Meisun may be alive, but his return to the capital need not signify triumph. If we can undermine his credibility before the court, his position will falter. We just need to find... the right moment. Especially with the emperor’s fragile health. All we require now is patience and time."

His words were measured. The empress studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of weakness or deceit. Finding none, she turned her back on him.
"If you fail me again, I will ensure your family line ends with you, Eunuch Wang," she said in a voice as cold as ice.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I swear Jiang Meisun will not remain an obstacle for long."

The empress regarded him with a look that resembled a wolf scenting vulnerability.
"See to it that you keep your word. Now get out before I decide your time has already run out."

Eunuch Wang retreated slowly, backing toward the doors without ever turning his back to her. When he finally left the pavilion, Empress Wan sank back onto her throne. Her hands trembled as they gripped the armrests. 

She knew her plan was falling apart like a house of cards, but she couldn't let others see it. She had to find a way to turn fate to her advantage. And if Wang Ge wouldn't help her... she would find someone who would.

She had to ensure her son's future was secured. The only position good enough for him was the throne. Her son, Prince Qing, deserved nothing but the best... 

+++

The small sitting room in Dou Zhao’s residence was cozy, with discreet decorations and comfortable seating. Sunlight streamed through the ornate windows, casting a warm glow over the room where Ji Yong, Gu Yu, and Dou Zhao were seated.
Dou Zhao’s gaze shifted from Ji Yong to Gu Yu. Although she was ready to call both of them her friends, she had never had the chance to meet with them both at the same time. She was unsure how the meeting would unfold. She knew Gu Yu’s character well enough and had an idea of what to expect from Ji Yong. But together... they could be an explosive combination, one even she might not be able to control.

"So?"
Ji Yong began, staring at Dou Zhao with an intensity that could have frightened most people. His gaze seemed to pierce through her.
"Has Song Mo given you the pearl necklace he was supposed to bring from Futing?"

Dou Zhao, who had just raised her tea cup to her lips, hesitated for a moment before carefully setting it back on the table.
"The pearl necklace?"
She asked, raising an eyebrow, slightly surprised by her friend’s words.

Ji Yong nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"He was supposed to give it to you for your birthday."

Gu Yu, who was lounging lazily on a nearby chaise longue, chuckled, breaking the silence that followed Ji Yong’s words.
"Of course, he was supposed to bring pearls,"
he said with mock seriousness.
"It’s the classic confession of feelings: 'I can’t talk about my emotions, so here, have some jewelry.'"

Dou Zhao sighed, placing her hands on the table.
"Can you both stop? I don’t care whether he brings me pearls or anything else."

Gu Yu raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin appearing on his face, one that always spelled trouble.
"Oh, I’m sure you don’t care? Is that why you’re looking at him as if you're waiting for the moment when he finally opens his mouth and says something smart?"

Ji Yong snorted at his words. 

"She’s waiting for him to say something smart, and if he doesn’t do it soon, you can be sure she’ll do it herself,"

Ji Yong said, turning towards Gu Yu.

"I’ll bet one hundred silver coins that it will be Yantang who says it."
Gu Yu suggested with a smirk.

"Two hundred that it will be Dou Zhao,"

Ji Yong accepted the bet.

Dou Zhao narrowed her eyes, looking at both men with a mix of irritation and amusement.

"Did you come here just to discuss my supposed feelings for Song Mo?"

Gu Yu sat up straight, adjusting his silk robes.
"Well, I wouldn’t say that was the main attraction, but we do have other reasons."

"Let me guess..."

Dou Zhao interrupted him.

"The Empress kindly asked you to check if the Duke of Ding needs anything in my little residence, which is unfit for a man of his status?"

Gu Yu smiled widely.

"You always know what’s going on. But maybe we’ll discuss that later. Let’s get back to the pearls. You really should demand them."

Ji Yong nodded in agreement.

"They were beautiful and expensive. He should have given them to you since he got them... got them for you,"

Ji Yong quickly corrected himself.

Dou Zhao rolled her eyes, raising her tea cup and glancing out the window.

"I really don’t understand why I still tolerate you two."

Gu Yu laughed, leaning forward.

"Because without us, your life would be boring."

+++

The sun shone gently, warming the air and giving the expansive garden almost a fairy-tale-like, delicate quality. The trees were covered with beautiful blossoms, making the air smell like spring. Jiang Hoisun and Yantang sat at a table in the center of the garden, enjoying the peaceful afternoon. A fresh breeze gently moved the surrounding flowers, creating a soothing rustle and bringing another wave of fresh, beautiful fragrance they could indulge in.

"It’s been so long since we’ve had the chance to just be together, just the two of us." 

She began gently, her voice soft. Jiang Huisun's lips stretched into a delicate smile, and her gaze carefully studied her son.

Yantang lifted his head, his eyes distant. He remembered the last time he had the chance to meet with his mother, just the two of them, peacefully drinking tea and enjoying the calm. It was before everything. Before the Duke of Ding was accused of treason, before he set off to Futing seeking the truth, before they discovered the truth about Song Yichun's betrayal... before all of it began.

"It has indeed been a long time, Mother,"

he agreed.

"You know, Yantang, all my life, I thought I understood what gratitude was."

"Gratitude?"

He asked, his tone expressing mild surprise.

"Yes. Gratitude..."

She repeated, her eyes following every tiny wrinkle on her son's face. In recent months, it seemed as though he had aged years. He had to grow up so quickly, becoming someone responsible, someone who fought for the safety of his family.

Her face was calm, and in her eyes, there was a tenderness she rarely used in conversations.
"All my life, I thought that simply saying 'thank you' or returning a favor was enough. But now I know that sometimes, gratitude is something more."

Yantang furrowed his brows, surprised by the direction of the conversation.
"Some favors can’t be repaid. You can’t thank someone enough for them,"
she said seriously.

"Are you talking about Dou Zhao?"

Yantang finally asked, after a long moment of silence. Jiang Huisun smiled at him and nodded, agreeing with his guess.

"Who else deserves to be thought of in this way? It was her actions that saved your uncle, me... and you. Shouldn’t we consider how much we owe to this woman?"

Yantang looked away, staring at the blooming trees.

"Dou Zhao acted in her own interest and for her family. She didn’t do it just for us."

"Maybe so…"

She agreed with him. She raised the cup to her lips, but before drinking, she spoke again.
"But not everyone in her position would have done that. And you know better than anyone how much she actually risked for us. Playing games with the emperor is not something anyone would undertake."

She said. She paused, drinking the tea. Since they had moved into Dou Zhao’s residence, Jiang Huisun felt that in every room of the house, teapots were waiting, usually filled with health blends, whose taste she could almost always recognize. However, the tea at Dou Zhao’s house always tasted different. It was always pleasant, not like the medicinal blends she had been forced to drink for years. 

Yantang was silent for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"She... is brave,"

he finally said, turning his gaze away from his mother.

"That's true."

The woman agreed with a gentle smile.

"Do you know who else should be brave?"

She asked, a playful smile on her lips.

"Mother..."

Yantang groaned, already knowing the direction this conversation was headed.

"It’s remarkable that despite all her extraordinary qualities, you still stand still instead of taking a step forward."

The man shook his head, dismissing her words. Before he could gather his thoughts to respond, the woman spoke again.

"No, Yantang. I’m not trying to force you into anything,"

she gently interrupted him.

"I’m not saying you should run to her right now or, heaven forbid, confess your feelings in the middle of the street. But don’t you think it might be worth considering what you feel?"

Yantang lowered his head, his hands clenched tightly on his knees.

"Not every relationship ends well. You... you know that better than anyone."

Jiang Huisun sighed softly and set her cup down on the stone table.

"You’re right. Not every relationship,"

her voice was calm, but beneath it lay a hint of sadness.

"My marriage to your father was... far from ideal."

"Far from ideal is an understatement..."

Yantang interjected bitterly.

"But that doesn’t mean all relationships are like that. Listen, son. Not every love is like my marriage to your father. Not every love ends in betrayal and disappointment."

Yantang looked at her in surprise.

"Mother, you don’t have to talk about this..."

"But I want to,"

she interrupted him, and in her eyes, there was a warm determination. 

"Your father was not a man I could love, nor one who could appreciate love. But you... you have something he never had."

"What do you mean?"

He asked, drawn in by her words.

"You have courage."

Jiang Huisun leaned slightly toward him, her voice lowering.

"Dou Zhao is exceptional. I know you admire her. But I also know you are afraid."

Yantang didn’t respond, but a shadow of understanding appeared in his eyes.

"Son, love is a risk. Always. But sometimes it’s worth taking that risk, because some things are more important than fear."

"And what if I’m wrong?"

He asked softly.

"What if it’s not what I think?"

Jiang Huisun smiled gently and placed her hand on his.

"Love is not what you think, Yantang. It’s what you feel. And if you feel that Dou Zhao is someone who brings light into your life, then don’t let fear hold you back."

Yantang looked at his mother, his tense shoulders slowly beginning to relax.

"Do you think... she..."

"I think she is a wise woman who can see your heart. But you must show her that you are ready to give her yours."

Yantang nodded, though a hint of doubt still lingered in his eyes.

"I’ll think about it, Mother."

Jiang Huisun smiled and leaned back, allowing him to once again gaze out at the garden.
"Don’t rush. Sometimes the heart needs a moment to find its way."

She said, filling her cup with tea once more. They sat together in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence, the warmth of the sun, the scent of the flowers, and the peace of the moment. They embraced the things they had lacked in life before. 

+++

The sun gave way to the darkness, servants hung lanterns in the garden, and Dou Zhao’s maid brought Jiang Huisun a warm coat, which she draped over her shoulders before mother and son finally parted ways, heading toward their respective bedrooms. They had spent as much time together as they could that day, savoring the tranquility and each other’s company, making up for lost time by sharing the events of their lives that had occurred while they had been apart. 

Yantang finally hid himself in his room as the moonlight began to softly fill the space. For a brief moment, the strands of light seemed almost magical to him.
They would have been even more beautiful if their color didn’t remind him of the box he had brought back from Futing and the pale white pearls lying inside, waiting for his decision. Waiting for him to have the courage to give them to the one they were meant for. He reached for the box.

On the table in front of Yantang lay an open box. Inside, on soft silk lining, rested a pearl necklace and a delicate hairpin in the shape of a phoenix, intricately decorated with tiny jewels.
Yantang stared at them as if expecting them to provide answers to the questions swirling in his mind.
He touched the pearls, running his fingers over their cool, smooth surface. He remembered the first time he saw Dou Zhao. He had been filled with doubts and fear, needing to ensure the safety of his uncle’s only son, knowing that his safety rested in his hands. At the same time, his heart had ached, knowing that he would have to take the lives of innocent people who had opened the doors of their home, inviting them in and offering them shelter. He remembered the night he met her. He remembered how one word from him could have meant her death, but she wasn’t frightened, she wasn’t afraid of him. She waited calmly. Instead of hating him for what he intended to do, she offered him help…
They worked together, fought side by side, and over time, he began to notice that he was looking at her not just as an ally, but as someone he wanted to protect. He trusted her over and over again, even when he thought she had betrayed him and everything seemed to suggest that she was using him only to gain more power for her family. Still, like a fool, he trusted her and followed her suggestions.

Yantang picked up the hairpin, turning it slowly in his hand. He remembered how Dou Zhao had appeared in the most difficult moments. How, not with her own hands, but by directing the actions of others, she had protected him when he was thrown into prison.
Many times, he had wanted to ask her, "Why are you doing this?" but he never had the courage, not then, and probably never would. He was afraid of the answer that might come from her lips.
"Why her?"
He muttered quietly, as if the question were meant for the moon outside the window.

He tried to recall other moments. Her smile, which appeared rarely but lit up her face in a way that took his breath away. The way she could anticipate his moves, as if she was always two steps ahead of him and everyone else. He thought about how she was always there when he needed her most, even though he never asked for it.
He thought about how she protected him, directing her people to always stay close, guarding him and assisting him on the way to Futing. He thought about how she had sent Ji Yong to lead the investigation, using him as her official excuse, which allowed him to actually look into the disappearance of the Duke of Ding.

Finally, he leaned back in the chair, staring at the hairpin and the pearls.
"Is this what love is?" 

He said quietly, as if speaking those words might bring him an answer.
He never thought he could fall in love with someone like Dou Zhao. She was strong, unapproachable, sometimes even cold. But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized that it was precisely those traits that made her so unique.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Everything was starting to fall into place. The memories, the emotions, and now these pearls he had brought for her, which he had kept for such a long time, and the hairpin he had bought almost instinctively, without considering why he was doing it.
"Maybe... maybe I really am in love with her."
His voice trembled.
Though his confession was quiet and directed only at himself, it hung in the air, as if the room held its breath.
Yantang looked at the box once more, and a new determination appeared in his eyes.

+++

The night was quiet, with only the distant sound of Yantang’s flute filling the garden. The stone table at the center of the pavilion was bathed in pale moonlight, casting shadows on the surrounding blooming shrubs.

Yantang was once again sitting with his back against the tree trunk, focusing his thoughts on his slow, steady breath and running his fingers over the holes of his instrument. He tried not to think about the wooden box he was clutching in his other hand. He knew that what he wanted to do was something that could change everything. However, he had made his decision, and if his fate was to meet Dou Zhao tonight, he decided that he would not back out again.

"It’s a beautiful night and a beautiful melody..."

A woman’s voice spoke, emerging from behind the bushes, her steps light, almost inaudible. She wore a simple robe, and in her gaze was a characteristic blend of calm and alertness.
Yantang quickly averted his eyes from the box, hiding it behind his back, as if it were a secret no one should uncover. He pulled the instrument away from his lips, turning toward her.

"And a beautiful moon."

He added, walking toward the table where Dou Zhao had stopped, exactly the same one where they had met before, also late at night, also because of the melody he had played on his instrument. Dou Zhao seemed drawn to the sound as if it were a magical spell.

"Song Mo?"

she asked, using his old name as if reminding him of the moments they had survived together. Yantang fell silent, trying to find the right words. He stared at her, at her calm, penetrating gaze, and suddenly all the sentences he had prepared flew out of his head.

"I wanted..." 

He began, but his voice faltered.

Dou Zhao raised an eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to find the words.

Yantang took a deep breath and pulled the box from behind his back. He held it in his hands for a moment before carefully placing it on the table in front of her.

"This is for you,"

he said quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Dou Zhao looked at the box, then at Yantang. A mix of surprise and curiosity appeared in her eyes.

"What is it?"

"It's just... something I thought you'd like."

Yantang felt warmth fill his cheeks.

Dou Zhao opened the box and looked at the pearls and the intricate hairpin in the shape of a phoenix. She was silent for a moment, her fingers gently tracing the cool surface of the pearls.

"Xiao Mo..."

she began, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"It's nothing special!"

He interrupted her sharply, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.

"I just thought... you deserve something beautiful."

Dou Zhao closed the box and looked at him with a smile that was almost imperceptible but filled with warmth.

"So, this is your way of thanking me for all the hard times we've shared?"

Yantang froze, unsure of how to respond.

"No, I mean... yes. But also..."

He sighed, finally sitting down at the table across from Dou Zhao. The woman studied him for a moment, then leaned back, gazing at the moon.

"You know, Xiao Mo..."

she began calmly.

"I never expected to hear something direct from you."

Yantang looked at her in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you always circle around your thoughts and feelings, as if you're afraid to speak them."

Yantang lowered his gaze without a word. Dou Zhao chuckled softly, turning toward him. 

"Then let me make it easier for you."

Yantang furrowed his brows, looking at her with uncertainty.

Dou Zhao lifted the box, holding it in her hands, and her expression became more serious.

"Song Mo... what would you say if I proposed marriage to you?"

Yantang opened his mouth, but for a long moment, he couldn't produce any sound.

"You... what?"

"Marriage."

Her tone was calm, but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes.

"We've been through a lot together. Maybe it's time we start planning something together."

Yantang felt his heart beat faster.

"This... this isn't something a woman should propose."

Dou Zhao smiled faintly.

"Well, apparently women have to do it, since some men can't bring themselves to."

Yantang lowered his head, then, to her surprise, burst out laughing.

"You’re impossible, Dou Zhao."

"Possible."

She replied with a smile.

"But the answer is still on you."

Yantang looked at her, and a look of certainty, rarely seen in his eyes, appeared on his face.

"Then... yes."

Dou Zhao raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Their gazes met in silence, and a delicate note of hope hung in the air, as if the garden had become a witness to a new beginning. 

Chapter Text

Finally, after months of preparation and waiting, the day everyone had been anticipating arrived. Some were filled with excitement, others with uncertainty. Yet all thoughts and expectations centered on this one day—the most important event in the lives of two very special people.

The wedding day.

The spring sun gently illuminated the streets, casting a beautiful and joyful glow over everything. It seemed as if the entire world conspired to make this day unforgettable. The sky was a flawless blue without a single cloud, the sun shone brightly, and a light, pleasant breeze danced through the air. Everything came together to create the perfect day.

The Cui family estate had been bustling with life long before sunrise. Servants draped rich red ribbons everywhere and hung crimson lanterns. Intricate paper cutouts adorned every wall, and twisted ribbons wrapped around every column and tree.

As Dou Zhao watched the preparations, excitement for the upcoming event filled her heart, though the sea of red decorating the estate momentarily brought to mind dark memories of flowing blood. She shook off the thought, determined to focus only on the wedding. She knew her guards were nearby and trusted them to protect her and her loved ones, no matter what.

Her resolve was quickly interrupted by Miao Ansu and Zhao Zhangru, who insisted on spending every remaining moment with her as an unmarried woman. They whisked her away to the room prepared for her, filled with the delicate scent of jasmine blossoms.

Dou Zhao sat in front of the mirror, surrounded by her closest friends and maids. Her face radiated peace and happiness, and her eyes sparkled with anticipation for the upcoming ceremony.

Old Madame Cui smiled warmly at her beloved granddaughter. Accepting a comb from Miao Ansu, she began the ritual of combing Dou Zhao’s hair. Each stroke of the comb was deliberate, accompanied by words of blessing.

"First combing, for a long and lasting marriage," she said softly, running the comb through Dou Zhao’s long, dark hair.

"Second combing, for harmony in the household," she continued, meeting her granddaughter's gaze in the reflection of the bronze mirror.

"Third combing, for many descendants," she added, exchanging a smile with the bride.

Miao Ansu and Zhao Zhangru giggled quietly as they listened to the elder’s blessings. Old Madame Cui turned her gaze from the mirror to the mischievous girls.

"Silence, or I’ll wish for you both to marry far away from the capital," she threatened playfully, making the girls laugh even louder. They knew how much the old lady loved them. Though only Dou Zhao was related to her by blood, she had treated them all as her own daughters over the years.

They were certain Old Madame Cui would never send them away, especially if they didn’t wish it.

This hair-combing ritual symbolized Dou Zhao’s transition from youth to maturity and her new life as a wife.

Then came the moment to put on the traditional red wedding dress, called a "qipao." Red, symbolizing happiness and prosperity, was meant to bring the newlyweds good fortune and joy in their marriage. The dress was intricately embroidered with golden and silver threads, depicting phoenixes and dragons—symbols of power and harmony.

"You look beautiful," said Su Lan, adjusting the last folds of Dou Zhao's dress.

"Pretty people look good in everything," Zhao Zhangru chimed in.

When Dou Zhao turned toward her, Zhao Zhangru stuck out her tongue, eliciting a laugh from Dou Zhao at her cousin's childish behavior.

"You’ll see, we’ll find you a good husband yet."

"It’s hard to find a good husband when he’s already taken," Zhao Zhangru muttered under her breath as she approached Dou Zhao, lightly tugging on the sleeve of her dress. "You don’t want to give him to me, do you? Jiang Mo… he seems rather nice." She winked playfully at her cousin, feigning innocence.

"Not a chance!" Su Xin exclaimed, pulling Zhao Zhangru away from Dou Zhao.

"We’ve worked too hard for you to just take him," Su Lan added, backing her sister.

Dou Zhao couldn’t help but laugh at their quarrel. She knew Zhao Zhangru wasn’t serious and was only teasing her, but seeing how fiercely her loyal maids were prepared to protect her marriage moved her deeply.

"Alright, alright, stop fighting," Old Madame Cui called out, drawing the girls’ attention to her. She held a wooden box containing beautiful gold hairpins, while a wooden basket sat on the table beside her.

The next significant part of the preparations was styling Dou Zhao’s hair and adorning it with the exquisite hairpins that had been passed down through generations in the Cui family.

"I remember wearing these for my own wedding… more than fifty years ago," the grandmother said, weaving her granddaughter’s hair into an intricate bun. The maids assisted by handing her the pins, which, despite her age, she skillfully and precisely placed in Dou Zhao’s hair.

To conclude the preparations, as tradition dictated, Dou Zhao was served a sweet soup made with lotus seeds and red dates. This dish symbolized a sweet and harmonious married life and was also believed to ensure fertility.

The final touch was placing the red veil over Dou Zhao’s head. The veil was meant to shield her from evil spirits and symbolize modesty and purity. Her friends and maids, laughing and joking, helped with the finishing touches, infusing the atmosphere with lightness and joy.

Dou Zhao, surrounded by the love and support of her closest companions, felt ready for the upcoming ceremony. Her heart was filled with peace and certainty that the moments ahead would mark the beginning of a happy and love-filled life by her future husband’s side.
+++
Unlike the joyful, laughter-filled room where Dou Zhao prepared, tension hung heavy in Yantang’s chamber. Jiang Mo, dressed in his red wedding attire, paced back and forth, his hands clenched nervously behind his back. His face was tight with worry, and his brows furrowed in an expression of pure anxiety.

“What if Dou Zhao changes her mind at the last moment?” he blurted, breaking the silence that had lingered in the room.
“Maybe she’s realized this is all a mistake. What if it finally hit her that I don’t even have a proper home for her to live in?” he asked, his pacing growing faster with every word.
“What if she decided I’m not fit to be the husband of the Cui family heiress?” He stopped abruptly, turning to face his uncle. His heart was racing, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps like he had just completed hours of training.

“Stop this nonsense, boy!” the Duke of Ding replied sharply. He sat calmly on a low chair by the table, his composed demeanor starkly contrasting with Jiang Mo’s panic.
“Don’t forget—it was her who chose you,” he added firmly, trying to lift his nephew’s spirits.

Jiang Mo’s mother, who had been standing nearby, took advantage of the moment he finally stopped moving. She stepped forward, adjusting the folds of his wedding robe with practiced ease. Her hands were steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion.
“You look wonderful, my son,” she said softly, patting him on the head as if he were once again just a small boy.
“Dou Zhao will be delighted to see you in this outfit.”

“But what if one of the horses gets spooked while we’re passing through the city?” Jiang Mo blurted again, the worry pouring out of him unchecked.
“What if a sudden gust of wind blows out all the lanterns in the courtyard?” he added, spiraling into increasingly absurd scenarios.

The two guards and Jiang Mo’s close friends, Lu Ming and Lu Zheng, stood nearby, exchanging knowing glances. Lu Ming cleared his throat, unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle.
“I think you should be more worried about whether the officiant faints before he finishes declaring you married.”

“Lu Ming!” Jiang Mo exclaimed, his face flushing as laughter erupted from the room.

"Don't add to his worries," scolded Lu Zheng, who, though typically calm, couldn't help but allow a faint smile to appear. "He already looks like he's about to faint or lose his mind."

Song Mo stopped pacing and shot them a pained look. "You're not helping. Go check if everything is ready!" he said, forcing himself to sound calm. "Send... send someone to check on Dou Zhao's preparations!" he finally ordered.

The Duke of Ding sighed, rising from his chair. He approached Jiang Mo, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and pulled him close.
"Listen to me very carefully, boy. Dou Zhao chose you to be her husband because she sees something in you—something you may not even see in yourself yet. If there's one thing you need to do today, it's to trust her."

Yantang's mother smiled gently, stepping closer as well. She brushed aside a stray lock of hair from his forehead, which she hadn't yet managed to tie into a proper knot due to his constant fidgeting.

Song Mo took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Even so, when they finally seated him in front of the mirror, his reflection still bore a hint of disbelief. Was he truly ready? Were they really about to go through with this?

+++

The emperor's study was serene and peaceful, illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns. Beyond the tall windows, the sound of the wind intertwined with the soft song of a nightingale in the royal gardens. The emperor sat alone at a low table, a golden scroll laid out before him.

He held a brush dipped in black ink, staring at the pristine surface of the scroll as if carefully weighing the words he was about to inscribe. His hand hovered above the material, a faint smile gracing his lips.

Then, with decisive strokes, his hand moved swiftly. Characters filled the white surface, forming words of significance. It was a beautiful day, perfect for the event unfolding beyond the palace walls. The thought of the wedding stirred an old memory in his mind.

Setting the brush aside, the emperor leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the high ceiling as his thoughts wandered to the past. Memories began to gently wrap around his mind.

He had been young, perhaps too young, the first time he saw his first wife—the woman who had stolen his heart and whom he had named his empress. Her name was recorded in the annals of history, but in his heart, she remained simply Xi. She had a delicate smile and a voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the court’s bustle. Yet, behind that seeming fragility was a strength that carried him through his hardest days.

He remembered their wedding day—a ceremony of such grandeur that it hadn’t been seen for generations. People gathered from far and wide to pay homage to the new imperial couple. But for him, the most unforgettable moment was when he saw her dressed in gold and red. Her head was bowed in reverence, though her gaze was sharp and unwavering. Even the veil couldn’t shield him from the piercing strength in her eyes.

The emperor’s eyes glimmered as his thoughts drifted back to those days. Many years had passed since her death, but her memory remained alive in his heart.

He carefully rolled up the scroll and handed it to a eunuch, who was to ensure the gift was delivered at the appropriate moment during the ceremony. Once the doors to his study closed behind the servant, the emperor rose and approached the window.

Peace—how he yearned, with all his heart, for a moment of peace in this uncertain and perilous world.

+++

The sound of drums and bells echoed across the surroundings, announcing the arrival of the groom. The wedding procession, led by Song Mo, halted before the majestic gates of the Cui family estate. The vibrant red decorations stood in striking contrast to the intricately adorned doors, now wide open, as if warmly welcoming the future son-in-law into the household.

Wedding guests, dressed in their finest silks and adorned with jewels, gathered behind Jiang Mo, watching as the young man dismounted his horse. He looked dignified in his red-and-gold wedding attire, but those who knew him well could discern a faint trace of unease in his eyes.

"The groom has arrived!"

The ceremonial master’s loud proclamation echoed across the courtyard. The crowd stirred nervously, parting to form a path leading to the main hall of the Cui estate. There, in a lavishly decorated hall adorned with red ribbons and golden ornaments, awaited members of both families.

The Duke of Ding and Madame Jiang sat on one side, while Old Madame Cui and Lord Dou sat on the other, alongside a commemorative tablet honoring Zhao Guqiu, Dou Zhao’s late mother.

"Old Madame Cui," Song Mo greeted, bowing respectfully before her. He shifted slightly and then bowed to Dou Zhao’s father.

"Father, Mother," he said calmly before turning to bow before those seated across from him.

"Uncle, Mother."

Old Madame Cui clapped her hands in delight and rose from her seat, stepping forward to address the groom.

"This is a joyful day for the Cui family! A beautiful day, and an even more beautiful groom knocks at our door!"

Her voice carried through the hall, meant not only for Yantang but also for the gathered guests waiting outside the main hall’s doors. A large crowd had gathered there. Yantang hadn’t expected so many to attend the wedding of the former heir of the Duke of Ying. He suspected they were drawn here because of Dou Zhao and the Cui family’s influence at the imperial court.

"The groom is here, but the bride is nowhere to be seen!"

The master of ceremonies announced loudly.

Old Madame Cui turned Yantang around, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and gently guided him toward the open doors, where the crowd had begun parting to let him pass.

"You must find your bride," she said with a laugh.

"Good luck!" she added, returning to her seat. She sat back calmly, watching the unfolding spectacle. Everyone knew that, in the end, Yantang would manage to bring the bride to the hall in time for the auspicious hour. They had no objections to enjoying the show and joining in the fun as the younger guests created playful challenges to test the groom's devotion to his future wife.

After all, this wedding wasn’t strictly traditional to begin with.

Traditionally, the bride should be brought to the groom’s home, but Yantang currently had no home to invite his wife to. After the Duke of Ying's properties were confiscated and placed under the emperor's control, he was left without a place of his own. He could have married into his wife’s family, but he had already been declared the heir of the Duke of Ding. With Dou Zhao as the sole heiress of the Cui clan, their union was destined to involve complex power dynamics.

Thus, they decided their wedding would reflect their future marriage—rooted in tradition yet unbound by its rigid expectations.

+++

As Yantang, accompanied by the crowd of onlookers and wedding guests, moved away from the main hall, they followed the trail of red decorations deeper into the estate until their steps led them to a side courtyard. There, standing before the doors, were Dou Zhao’s handmaidens, holding long wooden rods in their hands.

Yantang had to persuade Dou Zhao’s bridesmaids to allow him to take his bride. What followed was a series of playful challenges and lighthearted teasing. The bridesmaids presented him with tasks, from singing love songs to solving riddles. At first, Song Mo seemed nervous, but he soon got caught up in the spirit of the games, his antics drawing laughter and applause from the guests.

By the time Yantang had emptied his sleeves of the red envelopes he had prepared as bribes, his throat was dry, and the crowd behind him was laughing heartily. Finally, Su Lan and Si Xin stepped aside, clearing the way for him to proceed.

However, his trials were far from over. The next obstacle standing between him and Dou Zhao was her close friend, Miao Ansu.

The next challenge was for Yantang to find the bride’s hidden red shoes. With a mischievous grin, the bridesmaid informed him that the bride could not step out to marry him without her red shoes.

When Yantang jokingly suggested that he could carry her all the way to the main hall, where the ceremony would take place, the crowd erupted into even louder laughter.

Miao Ansu, however, refused to agree to such a deal. And so, Yantang spent several more minutes—ones that seemed to stretch into an eternity—searching for Dou Zhao's shoes. The guests watched his efforts with amusement, cheering him on with playful shouts. Finally, he found them hidden among red ribbons and red flowers. The little embroidered shoes, nearly invisible against their vibrant surroundings, gleamed in triumph as Yantang knelt down and retrieved one of them.

The bridesmaids clapped, and the crowd erupted into laughter and applause.

When Miao Ansu stepped aside, granting him passage, Yantang noticed several long, silky red ribbons trailing into the room where Dou Zhao was waiting for him. He paused, glancing back in search of guidance on what to do next.

Before he could act, Dou Zhao’s mischievous cousin, Zhao Zhangru, stepped forward with a self-satisfied smirk.

"At the end of one of these ribbons is your bride," she declared.

"You’ll have to guess which one," she added, then turned to the crowd, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear yet cupped her hand around her mouth as if sharing a secret.

"And if he guesses wrong, he’ll have to marry whoever’s at the end of the ribbon he chooses."

The crowd burst into laughter, seeing the mix of nervousness and mild panic that crossed Yantang's face.

"How am I supposed to choose?" he muttered, searching for clues.

"Who knows... maybe try saying something sweet to coax your beloved into revealing herself?" one of the guests teased with a laugh.

Yantang turned, only to find his own friend, Gu Yu, grinning at his expense.

"Even you’re against me?" he asked, exasperation creeping into his voice.

"It’s just a game," Ji Yong chimed in, stepping up beside him to offer some reassurance.

Yantang sighed and approached the ribbons. He tugged gently on the first one, only to find it firmly anchored. The same was true for the second and third ribbons. When he pulled the fourth ribbon, however, it gave way slightly—it wasn’t as securely held as the others.

With a resigned determination, he grasped the fourth ribbon, clutching the bride’s shoes tightly in his other hand, and walked toward the door. He pushed it open, allowing the guests to peer inside to see whom he had chosen.

Stepping over the threshold, Yantang looked around the room. As he had suspected, the first and second ribbons were tied to wooden pillars within the room.

His gaze landed on Dou Zhao, seated gracefully at the round table in the center of the room. She sipped her tea with a calm smile, watching the spectacle unfold.

He followed the ribbon still in his hand, his eyes trailing it to the floor. There, at the ribbon's end, it was tied securely... to the leg of a chicken.

The oblivious bird wandered around the room, pecking lazily at the grains and seeds scattered across the floor.

"Yantang..."

Dou Zhao greeted him, rising from the table before bending down to pick up the chicken from the floor.

"It seems your bride is truly beautiful," she teased, placing the chicken in Yantang’s arms. The man flinched, startled.

Ji Yong and Gu Yu made no attempt to hide their amusement, just like the other wedding guests. Everyone laughed heartily, thoroughly enjoying the string of misfortunes that seemed to plague Yantang that day.

Once the crowd's laughter had settled, Zhao Zhangru stepped forward, gently removing the chicken from Yantang's arms.

"Luckily, the real bride is here, so there’s no need for a stand-in," she said with a smirk.

"And as for you," she added, cradling the chicken, "you’ll make a lovely soup in the morning."

Yantang turned to Dou Zhao.

For the first time, he had the chance to take a proper look at her. Staring at Dou Zhao, he felt the tension and stress that had clung to him all day drain away from his body. The sight of her calm face, partially veiled by red silk, filled him with a relief deeper than he could have imagined. All his worries—whether everything would go as planned, whether he would be a worthy husband—melted away, replaced by a single, overwhelming emotion: joy.

Gently, he took hold of the end of the red silk ribbon, the other end of which was held by Dou Zhao. This symbolic connection was meant to guide them together into the next chapter of their lives.

Led by the bridesmaids and the master of ceremonies, Dou Zhao and Yantang exited the room, heading toward the grand hall of the Cui family estate. However, in accordance with tradition, their path was not straightforward; they faced several symbolic obstacles along the way, each representing challenges they would overcome together.

The first obstacle was a brazier placed in the middle of the corridor. Tradition dictated that the newlyweds must cross over the fire, symbolizing the purification of their past worries and the banishment of evil spirits.

Yantang glanced at Dou Zhao, trying to gauge her emotions, though they were veiled beneath the red silk. When they reached the brazier, Yantang paused. Dou Zhao lifted her foot to step over the fire, but his hands quickly wrapped around her waist, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her over the glowing embers.

The guests gathered in the corridor erupted into applause and laughter, throwing rice grains toward the couple as a gesture of good luck.

The next challenge was a saddle, which symbolized stability and protection in their marriage. According to tradition, the couple had to step onto the saddle together, ensuring a prosperous journey through life.

Still holding the ribbon in one hand, Yantang used his other arm to support Dou Zhao, his hand resting protectively on her waist as he guided her onto the saddle. Once she had stepped onto it, he followed, and together they leaped off in unison. Their synchronized movement drew another round of applause and cheers from the crowd.

At the end of the path, just before the threshold of the grand hall, Old Madame Cui awaited them, holding a long cane in her hands. According to tradition, the young couple was required to "receive punishment," a symbolic gesture meant to teach humility and serve as a reminder of their duties to their elders.

"Grandmother," with feigned sternness, delivered a light tap of the rod to each of Dou Zhao's and Yantang's shoulders, prompting waves of laughter from the guests.
"Let each strike remind you of respect and harmony in marriage!" she declared, then broke into a wide smile, stepping aside to let the couple pass.

After overcoming all the symbolic obstacles, Dou Zhao and Yantang entered the main hall, still holding the ends of the red ribbon. The guests greeted them with joyful cheers as the hall filled with music and laughter.

At that moment, as Yantang looked at Dou Zhao, he felt that all the trials they had faced were insignificant compared to the happiness he now felt by her side. Their journey together was only beginning, and this day marked the hopeful start of a new chapter in their lives.

+++

When Dou Zhao and Song Mo entered the hall, holding the ends of the red ribbon, everyone rose to their feet, welcoming them with applause. The couple stopped before their families, standing in the designated spot according to tradition.

The master of ceremonies raised his hands to quiet the crowd, then turned to the newlyweds.
"The first bow – to heaven and earth, which bless your union."

Dou Zhao and Song Mo knelt before their families, bowing deeply toward the ground. The guests fell silent, observing the symbolic moment that represented harmony with the forces of nature.

"The second bow – to the ancestors, who guard your path."

The couple knelt once more, this time bowing toward the ancestral altar, where name plaques of their forebears were displayed in the main hall. The light of the lanterns flickered on the polished plaques, as though the spirits of the past were watching with approval.

"The third bow – to your spouse, with whom you will share every moment of your life from this day forward."

Yantang and Dou Zhao turned to face each other. Their bow was the deepest yet, filled with respect and gratitude.

Dou Zhao’s grandmother, who had remained seated upright and composed throughout the ceremony, raised her hand as if to bless her granddaughter. Madame Jiang, meanwhile, dabbed at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

When the newlyweds rose from their third bow, the master of ceremonies announced with a smile:
"The ceremony is complete. Here stand the newlyweds, united in love and harmony!"

The guests erupted into applause, and the hall resounded with shouts of joy. Dou Zhao and Yantang exchanged their first genuine, joyful smile of the day. Everything they had been through – all the obstacles and traditional rituals – had led them to this moment: the moment they were officially declared husband and wife.

+++

Not long after they were introduced as husband and wife, Dou Zhao and Yantang were separated once again.

Dou Zhao watched as Song Mo was pulled away by a group of boisterous men, her gaze shifting to her friend Ji Yong, who stood nearby. Ji Yong, tall and reserved, had always been her trusted confidant – someone she could depend on no matter the circumstances.

"Ji Yong..."

She said, calling him over before she, too, was pulled away by her friends.
"Please keep an eye on him. Gu Yu seems... overly enthusiastic."

Ji Yong raised an eyebrow, casting a brief glance toward the group of men who were already pouring Song Mo his first glass of wine.
"Don't worry, Dou Zhao,"
he said calmly, offering her a reassuring smile.
"I'll make sure your husband returns safe and sound."

Dou Zhao returned the smile, knowing that Ji Yong would keep his promise. She was sometimes surprised by how easily he had begun to show emotions in recent months. While she was happy about it, it also concerned her. She had known Ji Yong for years, knew things about him that no one else did, had seen sides of him that no one else had. His ease in blending in with others now seemed slightly alarming. She decided to watch him more closely and invited him to visit her more often. Not because she wanted to distance herself from him, but to ensure he didn’t feel that her marriage to Yantang had changed anything between them. She would never abandon Ji Yong. He was family to her...

Before she could thank Ji Yong, Dou Zhao felt someone gently take her hand. It was her cousin, Zhao Zhangru, whose eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Your turn, bride!"
she exclaimed with a smile.
"The men have their celebration, but we women won’t be left behind!"

Dou Zhao was led to a smaller, separate room where the women from the Cui family and her friends had gathered. The room was just as beautifully decorated, with sweets, tea, and wine on the table. The scent of jasmine filled the air, and the atmosphere was far more intimate than in the main hall.

The women gathered around Dou Zhao, laughing and offering their well wishes. Each one wanted to share something – a few older women told anecdotes about their marriages, Dou Zhao’s cousins joked about the duties of a new wife, and younger girls asked her about her experience during the ceremony.

Miao Ansu poured her a cup of wine and raised it in a toast.
"To our dearest friend, Dou Zhao, and to your new life as a wife! May it be filled with happiness, love, and peace!"

Dou Zhao raised her cup, thanking everyone for their warm words. In this intimate gathering, she felt comfortable and happy, knowing that her marriage was being celebrated by both men and women in a way that highlighted the importance of this new chapter in her life.

+++

While the men in the main hall sang songs and raised toasts, the women celebrated in their own way with less fanfare but in just as joyful an atmosphere. Despite the temporary separation from her husband, Dou Zhao felt surrounded by love and support.

Ji Yong, true to his word, kept an eye on Yantang, discreetly making sure he didn’t overindulge in the wine. Gu Yu, though enthusiastic, proved to be more humorous than troublesome, and the Young Husband, though somewhat lost in the company, quickly relaxed.

Both Dou Zhao and Yantang were in their own worlds, celebrating in a way that allowed them to appreciate the significance and joy of this special day.

As the wine flowed and the joyful atmosphere turned into a mist that covered the drunken minds of all the guests, the Cui family estate slowly emptied of visitors, leaving only the residents and servants, who silently began cleaning the hall, unaware of the disappearance of the most important people of the day.

+++

Night fell over the Cui family estate, and the sun gave way to stars that lit the sky like tiny diamonds. The garden was quiet, soaked in the delicate scent of blooming flowers, and faintly illuminated by lanterns that swayed in the wind.

Yantang, still dressed in his wedding robes, stood leaning against the trunk of a tree. The same tree he had played beneath on a sleepless night. The same tree where he had waited for Dou Zhao, his heart racing, before giving her the gift. Although the spot was modest and almost forgotten by others, it had become their shared refuge, a place where they felt free, away from expectations and duties.

It wasn't long before Dou Zhao appeared. Her red wedding gown gently brushed the ground, and her veil had long been removed, revealing her calm, beautiful face. When their gazes met, they both smiled softly, and Dou Zhao took her place across from him.

For a moment, they said nothing, allowing the silence, broken only by the sound of crickets, to fill the space between them. Song Mo, a little uncertain, glanced at Dou Zhao, who returned his gaze. In her eyes, he saw warmth and something he couldn’t quite describe – perhaps acceptance, perhaps trust.

Dou Zhao tilted her head slightly, as if pondering something important, and then, almost in a whisper, she spoke two words:
"Fu jin."

Song Mo froze for a moment upon hearing those words. "My wife" – that phrase, so simple yet so significant, made his heart race. He looked at Dou Zhao with a mix of surprise and emotion.

A moment later, summoning the courage, he smiled gently and replied just as softly:

"Fu ren."

Now, Dou Zhao felt her cheeks gently blush. Hearing "my wife" from his lips, for the first time, she truly felt how those words reached her – their marriage, despite all the ceremony and tradition, suddenly became something very real and personal.

Song Mo, visibly flustered, averted his gaze for a moment, as if trying to hide his own embarrassment, but quickly returned his eyes to Dou Zhao.

"It... feels strange."
He admitted quietly.

"Hearing it from your lips. But... I like it."

Dou Zhao laughed softly, melodiously, then gently nodded.

"I feel exactly the same, Fu jin."

They sat like that for a while longer, holding each other in their gazes. It was their first meeting as husband and wife – without witnesses, without ceremony, without a crowd. Just the two of them, in their place, which from now on belonged only to them.

+++

The silence of the garden was almost tangible, interrupted only by the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant song of crickets. The moonlight bathed everything in a gentle, silvery glow, and the stars, like tiny lanterns, lit up the sky above them. Song Mo and Yantang sat close to each other, their hands still intertwined, as if fearing that if they let go, this moment would disappear.

Song Mo looked at Dou Zhao. The moonlight illuminated her face, gently outlining her features – the soft line of her jaw, the delicate contour of her lips, the warmth in her eyes. He had never seen anyone so beautiful, but it wasn’t her appearance that moved him. It was something deeper, something that drew him to her like a magnet, as if she were his pole, and he couldn’t stop himself.

"Fu ren…"
He said softly, her name sounding on his lips almost like a prayer, spoken before the face of a god.

Dou Zhao turned her head, her eyes meeting his gaze. There was something in her eyes – certainty, peace, but also a question, reflected in his own heart. In that moment, he felt that the world around them had ceased to exist. It was just the two of them – their breaths, their glances, their presence.

Song Mo slowly leaned toward her, almost holding his breath. Every second, every millimeter separating their faces seemed like eternity. And then their lips met, gently, almost shyly.

In that instant, he felt something he had never experienced before – as if lightning struck his body, spreading warmth from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t just a physical touch; it was something that penetrated his soul. The world seemed to disappear, and time stood still.

Dou Zhao felt the same. Her heart raced, yet at the same time, she felt an unprecedented calm, as if she had finally found the place where she had always belonged. Her lips were soft and warm, and Song Mo’s touch was so delicate it almost seemed like a dream.

Their kiss was like the first touch of a spring breeze, like the warmth of the sun after a long winter, like something both new and familiar.
Song Mo couldn’t stop the thoughts swirling in his mind, forming a single sentence: This is the place. This is the moment. She is my home.
Dou Zhao, on the other hand, felt how all her life, every decision and fate, had led her to this one moment. It was both terrifying and beautiful.

When their lips parted, they stayed close, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. They looked at each other – he with a trembling smile, she with a soft, calm gaze that seemed to encompass the entire world.

"It…"
Yantang began, but couldn’t find the words to describe what had just happened.

"It was…"
He tried again.

"Right."
Dou Zhao finished, her voice soft but certain. Her gaze was gentle but resolute.

"For the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be."
She added after a moment. Song Mo nodded, his hands gently tightening around her fingers.

"Yes, exactly how I felt."

The moon and stars were their only witnesses, but in that moment, they needed nothing more. Their world was full of light, despite the night’s darkness, because what they had found in each other was greater than anything else.

+++

The moonlight still wrapped the garden in a gentle, silvery glow as Dou Zhao and Yantang rose from the stone table, which in their minds they had begun to call their secret, nighttime meeting place. Their hands, which had connected during the kiss, remained intertwined, as if both were afraid to separate them, not wanting to lose the warmth and closeness of the moment.

Dou Zhao glanced at Song Mo with a delicate smile, and in her eyes shone something hard to describe – perhaps calm, perhaps the certainty that she had made the right choice. Yantang returned her gaze, his smile a little shy but full of sincere warmth.

They slowly began walking back along the path leading from the garden toward their bedroom, which awaited them in one of the side wings of the Cui estate. The path was paved with stones, and lanterns hung from bamboo poles, casting warm, flickering light to guide their way.

+++

For most of the journey, they said nothing, but the silence between them was full of meaning, almost tangible. Words were unnecessary – their intertwined hands, the warmth of their touch, and their calm breaths spoke more than words ever could.

Song Mo glanced at Dou Zhao from the corner of his eye. Her red robe fluttered slightly in the wind, and the moonlight created subtle reflections on it. One thought kept circling in his mind: Do I truly deserve to have someone like her by my side?
Dou Zhao, though not looking directly at him, felt every step he took, every movement. Her thoughts were calm, though full of emotion: This is my place. With him.

+++

When they reached the door leading to their bedroom, the servants who had been waiting for their return bowed silently and quickly withdrew, leaving them alone. For a moment, they both stood in the doorway, gazing at each other.

"Fu ren…"
Yantang began, as if he wanted to say something but stopped, searching for the right words.

"Yes, Fu jin?"
She asked softly, looking at him with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Fu ren."
He finally said, his voice just barely louder than a whisper as he stepped toward her, continuing.

"Thank you for agreeing to be my wife."
Dou Zhao looked at him attentively, then gently squeezed his hand.

"I should be the one thanking you, Fu jin. For being a part of my life. Thank you for making me happy."

Slowly, with her hand still intertwined with his, Dou Zhao took the first step, leading them both into the bedroom. Inside, the warm light from the lanterns illuminated the room, whose decorations still reminded them of the ceremony – flowers, red fabrics, and symbolic golden dragons and phoenixes.

Their first evening as husband and wife, despite the bustle of the day, began in silence and peace, filled with the feeling that was gradually taking root between them. When the door closed behind them, Song Mo and Dou Zhao looked at each other once more, both knowing they had just begun something that was meant to last a lifetime.