Chapter 89

Proofreader: Mim

“This is not a question you should be asking, Director Li,” Gao Shan said, his voice cold and emotionless.

In the deep night, his expression remained impassive, the cold wind tugging at his sleeves. The sound of the wind through the empty palace pathways was hollow, like air rushing through a dark and empty cavern.

“In the imperial palace,” he continued, “knowing too much can shorten one’s life.”

Li Zhi stepped forward, closing the distance between them until they stood face to face.

The faint scent of orchid lingered in the air.

Standing this close, Gao Shan reminded her of a hastily made coffin lid: cracked on the surface, dull in color, thin and narrow, cold to the touch. His temples were still black with youth, but his eyes no longer held the spark of a living soul.

“Chief Eunuch Gao, have you ever met my twin sister?”

Gao Shan didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze flickered for a moment, betraying something.

“If you’ve met her,” Li Zhi continued, “then you should understand—we are both outcasts, survivors in this desolate world.”

Gao Shan’s face remained expressionless, as if carved from stone.

“You’re mistaken,” he said flatly. “You and I are not the same.”

“If we weren’t,” Li Zhi replied calmly, her gaze dropping briefly to the absent sash weight missing from his eunuch’s uniform, “then you wouldn’t be here tonight.”

She continued, “We are both haunted, both bound by the past. That makes us alike.”

Gao Shan remained silent.

“I know you hold power, Eunuch Gao, surrounded by followers and authority. But the palace is full of watchful eyes, and there will inevitably be times when you cannot leave or act freely. Given the temperament of the person inside,” Li Zhi tilted her head in the direction of the Cold Palace courtyard, “it’s unlikely she will always remain so compliant. The Palace Administration Bureau can offer protection in those moments when you cannot.”

After a long, tense silence, Gao Shan finally spoke, “What do you want?”

“Nothing at all,” Li Zhi answered.

Her response caught Gao Shan off guard. For the first time, a faint hint of surprise broke through his otherwise stoic expression.

“You… want nothing?”

“Seeking repayment for a favor doesn’t work on someone like you, Eunuch,” Li Zhi said, her tone steady and self-assured. “Even if you agreed to a promise, there’s no guarantee you’d honor it. One hundred of me wouldn’t stand a chance against one of you. Rather than waste your energy and mine, it’s better that I abandon the notion entirely.”

Facing the man known as the most fearsome figure in the imperial harem, Li Zhi remained composed, her smile calm and unyielding.

“I only ask that, should you ever find yourself making a difficult choice, you don’t forget tonight,” she added.

With that, Li Zhi offered him one last faint smile, then turned and walked away from the shadowed paths outside the Cold Palace.

Behind her, there was only silence—a long, lingering gaze that followed her retreating figure.

Back at Changqiu Hall, Li Zhi met with Lu Yao to inform her of the discovery. “The one causing the disturbances was an unstable consort from the Cold Palace,” Li Zhi explained.

The Cold Palace was filled with such pitiable souls. Lu Yao, uninterested in the details, merely nodded. Once Li Zhi assured her that there would be no more disturbances at Changqiu Hall, she dismissed her.

The following morning, Li Zhi returned to the Cold Palace, this time accompanied by two female officials.

The two eunuchs guarding the gates stared at her in surprise.

“Open the gates. The Palace Administration Bureau is here to inspect Cold Palace affairs,” Li Zhi ordered.

After entering, she instructed the two officials to search in different directions while she walked alone toward the innermost courtyard, the dilapidated one she had seen the night before.

Even in daylight, the Cold Palace was steeped in an atmosphere of desolation and sorrow.

As Director Li, Li Zhi had memorized the background of every consort and palace servant.

Shi Yingyue.
Title: Cainu (a low-ranking concubine).The birth mother of the Sixth Prince.

Pushing open the rickety wooden door, Li Zhi found Shi Yingyue seated at a small table. Sunlight streaming through the window illuminated her as she stitched a pair of small huxie (tiger-head shoes). Startled by the creak of the door, Shi Yingyue looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and hesitation.

At first glance, she seemed like nothing more than a simple, devoted mother.

Shi Yingyue looked at Li Zhi, taking in her high-ranking female official’s robes, then hesitated before speaking. “Are you here to see Consort Shu? She’s in the main hall next door—you must have the wrong place.”

Li Zhi smoothly went along with the pretense. “Good day, Cainu. I’m here accompanying my superior. She’s speaking with Consort Shu right now and asked me to look around while I wait.”

“Ah, I see,” Shi Yingyue said with a smile. The lines at the corners of her eyes deepened, worn by time and hardship.

“You’re very skilled,” Li Zhi commented, her gaze falling on the tiger-head shoes Shi Yingyue was sewing.

“Oh, I’m just a lowly Cainu,” Shi Yingyue replied humbly, her tone self-effacing. “I doubt I hold a rank higher than yours, Madam Official. Please, just call me Cainu.”

Her attention returned to the shoes in her hands, her expression softening with maternal warmth.
“These are for the Sixth Prince. Children grow so quickly—month by month, they’re always changing and growing. Ah—how rude of me! I haven’t even offered you a seat yet. Please, sit down, and let me pour you some tea—”

Shi Yingyue abruptly stood, glancing around the empty, dilapidated room as though searching for something.

“My tea… where’s my tea…”

A pang of sorrow struck Li Zhi’s heart. She gently placed a hand on Shi Yingyue’s arm, stopping her.
“No need to trouble yourself, Cainu. I just had tea with Consort Shu and am not thirsty. Please, let me sit quietly here for a moment.”

Shi Yingyue forced a somewhat embarrassed smile. “You’re right… Consort Shu always has the best tea…”

She picked up the almost-completed tiger-head shoes from the table and resumed her meticulous stitching.

“Please don’t laugh at me, Madam,” she said cautiously, her voice humble, “I just want to finish this pair quickly so I can send them to Consort Shu.”

Li Zhi smiled kindly, hoping to put her at ease. “There’s no need to mind me, Cainu. Your embroidery skills are remarkable. I can only envy them.”

Reaching into her robes, Li Zhi pulled out the embroidered pouch she had spent days crafting and handed it to Shi Yingyue.

“This is my work,” she said, feigning sheepishness. “It’s not very good, is it?”

Shi Yingyue examined the pouch and couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, a sound so carefree it was almost girlish.

“Whoever receives this pouch from you will surely be overjoyed,” she said with warmth.

“Why is that?” Li Zhi asked.

“This pouch clearly wasn’t made by someone skilled in needlework,” Shi Yingyue said gently, her voice softening as if recalling a cherished memory. “But that only makes it more special. When someone puts effort into something they’re not good at, it shows how much they care.”

“Did you think of someone just now?” Li Zhi asked.

Shi Yingyue lowered her head, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Just a stubborn fool.”

Li Zhi sat quietly for a while longer before taking her leave. Shi Yingyue, busy with her sewing, escorted her to the door before hurrying back to her small table to finish the shoes.

As Li Zhi stepped out into the courtyard, she paused to take in her surroundings, noting the missing essentials in Shi Yingyue’s sparsely furnished living quarters. She made a mental note to send the items she needed.

When she turned to leave, she saw Gao Shan standing a short distance away, his tall figure nearly blending into the shadows.

Gao Shan’s gaze flicked briefly toward her before settling on the cracked wooden door behind which Shi Yingyue sat. Inside, Shi Yingyue’s world was silent save for the rhythmic sound of her needle and thread. She worked with singular focus, pouring all her maternal love into the tiny tiger-head shoes that came to life under her hands.

“She’s never finished a pair,” Gao Shan said, breaking the silence. “Every time she’s close to completing them, I take them away. When she can’t find the shoes, she assumes Consort Shu has taken them and quietly starts over.”

He paused, his voice steady but distant. “Her memory is frozen in time, before the Sixth Prince’s death. If it’s his childhood, she embroiders tiger-head shoes. If it’s his adolescence, she sews inner garments.

“She doesn’t cry, doesn’t complain. She just accepts it. In her mind, Consort Shu doesn’t want her to be close to the prince, so she doesn’t resist. She simply keeps stitching.”

There was a heaviness in the air, one Li Zhi didn’t immediately respond to.

After a long silence, she finally said, “She’s a pitiable person. Even if not for you, I’d still do everything in my power to care for her.”

Gao Shan gave no reply.

As he moved to pass her, his voice dropped to a quieter, almost hesitant tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for what happened to your sister.”

Startled, Li Zhi turned sharply to face him, but Gao Shan didn’t stop. He stepped into Shi Yingyue’s room, his back turned to Li Zhi.

Inside, Li Zhi could hear his voice—gentle and soothing—though she couldn’t make out the words. Whatever he said brought a radiant smile to Shi Yingyue’s face, her weathered eyes shining with the innocence and joy of a young girl reunited with someone dear to her.

Li Zhi stood motionless for a moment, weighing whether to press Gao Shan further. But eventually, she let the matter drop.

He had already made his stance clear. Between clever minds, no more needed to be said.

After many long days in the palace, Li Zhi finally returned home.

Her house was lively with her siblings, Jia Sui, Jia He, and to her slight surprise, Xie Lanxu as well.

Everything felt as it should—familiar, warm, and comforting. A much-needed reprieve.

After dinner, Li Zhi and Xie Lanxu sat under the flowered trellis of the eastern courtyard, enjoying the cool evening breeze.

The trellis was thickly draped with wisteria blossoms, their vibrant purple clusters swaying like waves in an ocean of color. The soft wind carried their delicate fragrance, blending with the serene quiet of twilight.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder, their hands gently intertwined, they enjoyed the peaceful moment.

When Li Zhi told Xie Lanxu about Gao Shan and Shi Yingyue’s connection to the ghostly disturbances at Changqiu Hall, he didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

“Do you know why the Emperor trusts Gao Shan so much?” Xie Lanxu asked, plucking a stray wisteria petal from the air. “Gao Shan was once the privileged son of an official family during the previous Cui dynasty. His family was destroyed for defying imperial orders, and Gao Shan, not yet fifteen, was taken to the eunuch chambers and castrated.

“When the Yan dynasty was established, the Emperor, eager to win over the hearts of the people, revisited many cases from the previous dynasty. The Gao family’s case was one of them.”

Xie Lanxu let the petal fall from his fingers.

“It’s precisely because Gao Shan harbors a deep grudge against the Cui dynasty that the Emperor dares to keep him close. And with Shi Yingyue as his weakness, Gao Shan is no threat to us anymore.”

Li Zhi turned her gaze toward the horizon, where a fiery sunset stretched across the sky. The vivid orange clouds crept closer and closer, like they were ready to consume everything—the two of them, the wisteria blossoms, the world itself.

“Gao Shan never intended to oppose us,” she said softly.

Xie Lanxu looked over at her, his eyes questioning.

“Perhaps he’s been waiting for this day for a very long time,” Li Zhi continued.

“…Maybe,” Xie Lanxu murmured, turning back to watch the fiery clouds descend.

Li Zhi pulled out the pouch she had painstakingly embroidered over several nights and handed it to Xie Lanxu, pretending to do so casually.

He took the pouch and studied it silently, his expression unreadable.

When the silence stretched too long, Li Zhi began to feel a twinge of nervousness.

“…It’s not bad,” Xie Lanxu finally said.

Though his face betrayed little, he immediately removed the old pouch from his belt, emptied its contents into the new one, and tied it securely to his waist.

“What do you think?” he asked, standing to show her the pouch hanging at his side.

“It suits you perfectly,” Li Zhi replied with a smile.

“I think so too,” Xie Lanxu agreed, a rare trace of playfulness in his voice. “Except for this butterfly—it’s a bit too delicate.”

“That’s a flying fish!” Li Zhi said, barely restraining her exasperation.

Quickly realizing his mistake, Xie Lanxu offered a conciliatory grin. “Ah… it’s a good balance, then. Two motifs in one design—a skill beyond even the embroidery masters of the Bureau of Attire.”

A sudden gust of wind shook the trellis, sending a flurry of wisteria petals raining down around them.

Unable to resist, Li Zhi stood and stretched out her arms, spinning lightly as the petals fell like raindrops.

“Look!” she called out, her laughter ringing like a bell. “It’s like rain. Are you happy, Ah-Li?”

Xie Lanxu stood watching her, a soft smile gracing his face.

“Happy,” he replied.

But it wasn’t the falling flowers that made him so.