Inside the Prefect’s Mansion in Yongzhou City.
When the Eldest Princess and her Hewei Guard arrived in the city, Governor He Gao was just as flabbergasted as he had been this time last year upon hearing that Prince Zhao was bringing the Tiger Division. His “small temple” in Yongzhou was modest, so why did these “great Buddhas” keep showing up one after another?
Yet the Princess’s reception was in no way inferior to her brother’s. Her thousand-strong Hewei Guard, relying on their unmatched speed, swept like a hurricane through the scattered Northern Desert tribes along the banks of the Wuding River. They left devastation in their wake, capable of cutting a path of blood and leaving a string of enemy heads amidst the opposing ranks, only to vanish like clouds driven by a gale, disappearing without a trace in the blink of an eye. In terms of numbers, they did not win by annihilating more enemies, but rather by striking the enemy’s vitals with ease and ghostly unpredictability.
Lu Lingzhen also set up her command headquarters within the Governor’s Mansion. Once settled, she took her vice-general to exchange greetings with He Gao. After so many years in the palace, she had not deliberately studied the art of scheming, yet the skill of winning people over came to her effortlessly. Should the throne ever change hands, He Gao would be a formidable asset she could not afford to lose.
Even though Lu Lingcong and Xie Jing had undoubtedly already courted He Gao, one could never have too much influence of that sort. There was no harm in her providing another dose of reassurance, so she said:
“Lord He, your sincerity is constantly appreciated by my brother and sister-in-law. They even sent me to say that they hope you will take care of your health; once everything is settled, they wish to personally see you back in the capital for a peaceful retirement, with titles granted to your wife and protection ensured for your children. Your good days are far from over.”
He Gao froze for a moment, then returned the gesture with extreme humility: “Your Highness truly thinks too highly of this old official. My wife and I only seek to grow old in our homeland; we have no children or future prospects to worry about, so how could we dare crave titles or inherited honors?”
Lu Lingzhen was slightly surprised. “Oh? Does Lord He have no children? I had originally intended to ask where your son is employed or if your daughter is betrothed so that I might make proper arrangements for your household upon our return to Jinling.”
He Gao paused, then simply shook his head repeatedly. “Your Highness is benevolent, but even if we were to have children, we would never again dare to aim for a prominent official position or a noble marriage. After being abandoned in Yongzhou for over twenty years, if we still couldn’t recognize the hardships of that path, then our lives would have been utterly wasted.”
Lu Lingzhen shared a few more courteous words before taking her leave of He Gao. However, she felt a slight sense of doubt in her heart, she sensed he was unusually conservative and overly disheartened about his career and future prospects. Although pessimistic disappointment was normal for an exiled official in a frontier prefecture, it contradicted his diligence and hard work in his post.
Lu Lingcong had not mentioned He Gao to her often; the few scattered remarks only described him as an extremely honest and simple man with an old-fashioned way of doing things, utterly devoid of any trace of cunning.
Since it wasn’t convenient to write or inquire directly at that moment, Lu Lingzhen resolved to investigate He Gao’s background when she had time back in the capital.
As she walked out with her lieutenant, she reviewed their final battle before entering Yongzhou City: “Did you notice that the barbarian commander, Ding something; has something unusual about his right arm?”
“Ding Jian,” the lieutenant filled in for her. “What did Your Majesty find strange? Was it that his moves were unpredictable? Or…”
“No,” Lu Lingzhen quickly recalled in her mind. “Once or twice, for just a brief, almost imperceptible moment, he failed to place his hand-halberd with perfect precision. His right arm might be injured, or perhaps it was an old wound resurfacing.”
The lieutenant had also traded blows with Ding Jian but had not noticed anything unusual about the opponent’s right arm, so he was somewhat hesitant.
Lu Lingzhen advanced with the swiftness of the wind with one hand loosely grasping empty air as if wielding an invisible longsword, while silently reconstructing the back-and-forth of her duel with Ding Jian.
Ding Jian used a halberd, a weapon that relied on strength and was slightly cumbersome; however, if used properly, it would leave the opponent no openings to attack. Perhaps it was exactly this that masked the slight stagnation in his technique.
Lu Lingcong had encountered Ding Jian multiple times; if there were any weakness in his right arm, there was no reason he wouldn’t have mentioned it to her. That meant Lu Lingcong hadn’t noticed it either.
Lu Lingcong used a spear, while she used a sword; the difference was that the former was longer and harder to control, suitable for prolonged skirmishes in open terrain, while the latter was better suited to Lu Lingzhen’s consistent “fast-in, fast-out” guerrilla strategy. Even when battle lines collapsed, a sword strike in close-quarters combat remained astonishingly fast and precise, this was the hallmark strength of the Hewei Guards.
Perhaps it was this single distinction that enabled Lu Lingzhen to detect the exceedingly subtle flaw in Ding Jian’s right arm with greater clarity. For a martial artist like Lu Lingzhen, who lived by the creed that “only speed is invincible,” spotting such a flaw to disturb his rhythm and target his “vulnerable spot” would be enough for her to seize the perfect opportunity and drive him to his death.
After a long silence, as they reached the door of the side courtyard, Lu Lingzhen voiced her conclusion: “We’ll know for sure the next time we clash.”
Xie Jing emerged from Wang Chu’s study and brushed past his second son, Wang Xi. The latter was radiating hostility and didn’t even spare Xie Jing a glance. Moments after he entered the room, the sounds of his argument with Wang Chu drifted out. Xie Jing had no interest in eavesdropping, but it was invariably over one word: “funds.”
Familiar with the path, he wound his way to the rear courtyard and found Cui Shushi in the warm pavilion preparing to replace the ” Bone-stripping String ” for him. He remarked, “I just heard the Prime Minister and the Second Young Master arguing.”
Cui Shushi didn’t even look up. “Since the disaster began, the Zhedong estates’ yields have fallen, and tenant rents have dropped. Because the family’s various branches can’t agree on how to divide the spoils and are all scrambling for the relief funds allocated from above, dozens of fights have broken out over the past few months.”
Xie Jing had been coming and going from the Prime Minister’s Mansion with increasing frequency and had earned Wang Chu’s high regard. Over time, the Wang family servants, who had once observed his every move like hawks, had relaxed slightly, allowing him and Cui Shushi a chance for some private conversation.
“Second Wang doesn’t even set foot in my room once a month, yet the other day he had the audacity to come running over, asking how much subsidy the Cui family’s lands in the prefectures and counties received. I gave him a good slap and sent him flying out the door.”
Xie Jing looked at her in astonishment. Cui Shushi sneered, “Princess Consort finds this strange only because you rarely see it. These past few years, since his father has needed my arrangements to get things done, he’s restrained himself somewhat and troubles me less.”
Each time the “Bone-stripping String” string was replaced, Xie Jing had to lean back against the couch and gasping for a long while, letting the sweat drawn out by the pain dry before he could regain his strength. He gestured toward the red mark on Cui Shushi’s wrist and asked, “Does Madam also change it for yourself?”
“It was only by hardening my heart to learn this skill that I earned Wang Chu’s newfound respect.” Cui Shushi packed away the box, caught sight of Xie Jing’s pale face, and poured him a cup of tea.
Xie Jing realized she was right; the subversive rise of Cui Shushi’s status within the Wang family was due to Wang Chu’s high regard. To him, a clever, capable, and perceptive assistant was far more valuable than a daughter-in-law his second son despised. He could only wonder whether Ah Huang’s childhood might have been less harsh had this understanding come a little sooner.
He hesitated for a moment before blurring his phrasing: “Many years ago, perhaps when Ah Huang was seven or eight? She came to the Prince’s Mansion to play and told me…”
Cui Shushi, however, replied evenly, “Did she say I hate her?”
Xie Jing was stunned, not expecting her to be so candid.
“I do indeed hate her,” Cui Shushi stated indifferently. “Who says a mother must love her child? Which law states that if a mother hates her child, she should be thrown into the Decree Prison and face execution?”
Xie Jing shook his head, somewhat dazed.
That a mother could genuinely and utterly loathe her own biological child was something Xie Jing had never even imagined. The emotional fulfillment Lu Shuqing and Lu Shuning gave him was so complete and abundant that, as long as his gaze rested on those two children, there was no room for anything else.
But on second thought, estranged mother-child relationships were not unknown to him—Lady Wang’s feelings toward Lu Lingzhang, in truth, carried no warmth beyond what was required by ritual and social convention.
Cui Shushi said coldly, “The scholars are always spouting about filial piety and fraternal duty; the sages’ books preach sanctimoniously that ‘a compassionate mother loves her child without expecting anything in return.’ Fathers and husbands throughout the world wield these grand theories to lock mothers away in the inner chambers, siphoning their energy for the sake of their children, so that they themselves can live in leisure as hands-off masters.”
Xie Jing could vaguely sense the source of Cui Shushi’s “hatred.” She did not hate Ah Huang for not being a legitimate son, nor did she hold the girl responsible for the years of suffering she had endured in the Prime Minister’s Mansion. Ah Huang was a victim of the burdens imposed by her father and ancestors, a casualty of a parental relationship that had been hostile from beginning to end, and of the hidden feud between the Cui and Wang clans.
Cui Shushi simply loathed everything and everyone within these high-walled estates with equal intensity—perhaps even including herself.
Xie Jing froze for a moment. Seeing his expression, Cui Shushi waved it off casually and said, “Princess Consort needn’t dwell on it. You’ve lived in that peach blossom spring of Prince Zhao’s Mansion for ten years; why would you need to understand such things?”
Their vastly different fates meant they could never reach a consensus on the identity of a “mother.” Xie Jing did not dare say more and turned to official business instead:
“In a few days, Prince Zhao will leave the capital and head north under the pretext of pacifying his fief in Heluo. He will secretly communicate with the forces he cultivated in former years to consolidate those relationships for use in the coming year when passing through Huaisi. As for Your Highness’s military achievements in Yongzhou, Madam surely knows them better than I do; barring any unforeseen events, she should be able to return to the capital in triumph next spring as planned.”
Cui Shushi understood that Xie Jing was sharing the progress of their plans to show a collaborative attitude, so she said, “I have also passed the message you all wanted me to deliver to His Majesty to show your loyalty along.”
Xie Jing was somewhat curious, “What did His Majesty say?”
“His Majesty said they are overthinking it,” Cui Shushi explained further. “His exact words were: ‘Imperial Brother and Imperial Sister-in-law are overthinking it.'”
This marked Lu Lingzhang’s position, showing he had received their signal that they “had no interest in the throne.” It was easy for Xie Jing to picture his expression and tone when speaking those words; a calm that revealed neither joy nor anger, betraying a mind that had already calculated everything. From those few words, he couldn’t tell whether Lu Lingzhang had ever truly doubted the Zhao Prince’s Mansion—in truth, Xie Jing was inclined to believe that Lu Lingzhang distrusted everyone around him in that position.
He turned his face toward Cui Shushi, “So, what has Madam decided? Do you doubt the sincerity of Prince Zhao’s Mansion?”
Cui Shushi remained silent for a moment, only offering a self-deprecating smile: “In my current situation, there is no room for doubt. If I hadn’t intended to borrow the strength of Prince Zhao’s Mansion from the start, I wouldn’t have helped you cover things up at Mount Tang that day.”
She took a private seal from her sleeve and handed it to Xie Jing: “There are too many eyes in the Prime Minister’s Mansion; no matter how far I reach, my influence is limited. Whatever you need the Cui family to do, just use this to give the orders.”
On the way back to the Xie’s Mansion from the Prime Minister’s Mansion, he passed through Nanshi Street, which is usually the busiest and most crowded area, only to find that more than half of the street vendors and shops had withdrawn. Many refugees who had drifted into the capital were huddled under the eaves of the storefronts along the street, crowding together to scrape by.
Xie Jing was not close enough to hear their accents, so he had no way of judging where they had come from. However, according to what Cui Shushi had just said, even the harvests from the Wang family’s own properties were poor; one could only imagine how bad the year’s harvest was in Jiangbei.
Large stretches of porridge sheds had been set up under the decorative archways. The favor Xie Jing had asked of Grand Tutor Zhang that day was now showing its initial results: word was spreading among the literati that the Wu family, the maternal clan of His Highness Prince Zhao, had donated generously to help the masses overcome these difficult times. As their reputation grew, the contrast with certain merchant families who seized the opportunity to hoard goods and profit from the national disaster became stark, and for a time, they were hailed as the epitome of “Confucian Merchants.”
Although merchants naturally pursue profit and this action was simply a way for the Zhao Prince’s Mansion to win public favor, the common people only saw the funds. Whoever the funds came from was their benefactor; they did not care whether your original intention was truly to save the world or something else.
Xie Jing ordered his attendant to “stop the carriage.” He lifted the curtain and observed the porridge sheds carefully for a while, then suddenly pointed and asked, “Who is that?”
The attendant looked closely and replied, “The Wu and Li families, who are closely associated with Prince Zhao’s Mansion, are distributing porridge to build momentum. The older one is the eldest daughter of the Li family; as for the younger one, this humble one is afraid that I don’t recognize her.”
Of course you don’t recognize her, Xie Jing thought to himself, that is Lu Shuning.
Since Lu Shuqing’s birthday, the siblings had returned home to live together. Afterwards, as the disaster worsened and the Grand Empress Dowager Xiao, who had spent decades performing Buddhist rites at Jiming Temple, grew increasingly frail, rumors even suggested she might not survive the winter; Madam Wang, busy with prayers and blessings, no longer had the time to make things difficult for them.
Xie Jing was not surprised to see Lu Shuning here; she had seen and done similar things in Yongzhou. Since the Li family was taking care of her, she allowed the girl to act as she wished if she wanted to help. Lu Lingcong probably felt the same way.
What actually caught his attention was Li Qi’s niece. Xie Jing remembered her name was Ye, and her courtesy name was Fangchen. Among the young ladies of the capital, she had long been known for both her beauty and her wit. The last time Xie Jing saw her was four years ago in Wuyi Lane, where she stood poised and composed at Xie Jun’s side. Whenever the elders at the table brought her up, she would reply with a few gracious words, and for the rest of the time, she remained a gentle, smiling listener.
After Xie Jun’s passing, Xie Jing lost all news of Li Ye and felt it inappropriate to ask Li Qi about her directly. It was only upon this chance meeting today, seeing her hairstyle and attire, that he realized she had yet to marry.
Li Ye showed no particular expression, simply leaning forward to repeating the motions while taking a bowl, lifting the ladle, and serving porridge. Occasionally, when Lu Shuning spoke, she would glance at her with soft, smiling eyes.
A moment of unspeakable bitterness filled Xie Jing’s heart. They had once stood just half a step from becoming family, yet in the end, the threshold of the bridal chamber was cruelly turned into a Bridge of Helplessness, dividing the living from the dead. Four years was long enough to forget and long enough to let go; Li Qi’s sister was a strict matriarch and would not allow her daughter to continue mourning a sweetheart who had no formal marriage contract and had long since perished.
As Xie Jing stared fixedly at the porridge shed, Lu Shuning seemed to sense something and looked up. Her eyes widened slightly as her gaze accurately locked onto Xie Jing’s direction.
Yet she said nothing, neither waving nor calling out “Mother,” leaving the attendants no cause for suspicion. She simply stood there with her gaze fixed on the small window of Xie Jing’s carriage for a long time. When Li Ye turned to ask her, “What’s wrong?” she shook her head slowly but firmly.
Xie Jing let out a silent breath and lowered the curtain, knowing full well that Lu Shuning had seen him and was using that quiet gesture to convey her greeting.
Caught in a tangle of complicated thoughts all the way back to Wuyi Lane, Xie Jing was still distracted when he stepped out of the carriage. He entered the main gates of the Xie’s Mansion in a daze, only to unexpectedly find the usually unflappable Wang family servants gathered in the front hall. They were talking in groups of twos and threes, looking quite panicked.
“What is all this noise about?” Xie Jing asked offhandedly. Though he and the servants lived under the same roof, they kept strictly to their own spheres, and he rarely bothered to involve himself.
Someone said timidly, “…Replying to My Lord, the sweeper said that he saw a ghost in the East Courtyard this morning!”
Xie Jing froze for a moment upon hearing this, then almost laughed. The words “To think there could be such a wonderful thing” nearly escaped his lips. Some people were deeply terrified of ghost stories, but there were others like him who, in their dreams and drunken states, hoped the world truly had spirits and souls; so that he, Xie Zhiwu, might catch even a single glimpse of his departed kin from the underworld.
It wasn’t that the Wang family servants were particularly devout believers in the supernatural; rather, the Xie’s Mansion was thick with an eerie chill and lingering grievances. Dark brownish-red stains still remained in the crevices between the bricks. On the night of the raid and seizure, two female members of the family were struck down by a hail of arrows, another was beheaded by the Imperial Guard’s blades, and a young boy was consumed by the fire. Furthermore, dozens of servants and maids had lost their lives in a single night with no survivors. How could they not be terrified?
“Take me there.”
Xie Jing changed his direction and ordered someone to lead the way. The East Courtyard occupied a vast area, and since moving back to the Xie’s Mansion, he had never set foot there. The servant led him through various twists and turns, finally stopping outside Xie Jun’s study.
“My Lord, see for yourself… We clean this room inside and out every day. Even though no one lives here, we wouldn’t dare be negligent. Who knew that as soon as we came in this morning, we would see this on the table inside…”
Xie Jing stopped paying attention to the rambling and stepped inside. He made his way around the bookshelves and came directly before Xie Jun’s desk.
There, starkly imprinted on the desk, was a handprint still dripping with blood.
