An imperial edict arrived, and Yan Hongchang was nearly scared out of his wits. He never imagined that a mere sixth-rank salt transport judge could receive the Emperor’s protection.
But upon second thought, it made perfect sense.
Wei Qin was the court official dispatched to investigate Yangzhou’s salt affairs accounts, so he should have had the status of an imperial envoy to begin with… This move was perhaps a killing blow from the person behind Wei Qin after a feint, aimed at lulling him into dropping his guard and underestimating this newly appointed salt transport judge.
Was the person behind it that old fox Tao Qian?
Or… Wei Qin’s father-in-law, Jiang Song?
Oppressed by the edict to the point he could hardly breathe, Yan Hongchang thudded to his knees on the ground.
As he knelt, the attendants of Yan Mansion knelt one after another.
Dark clouds gathered above the imposing mansion, rain hovering on the verge of falling, suspended in the clouds, just like the uneasy hearts of the people inside.
Lin Yu, holding the Imperial Token, stood even straighter than usual. Ever since Yan Hongchang took office at the Salt Transport Office, whether in rank or prestige, he had overshadowed Lin Yu. Now, Lin Yu finally vented a pent-up grievance.
“Men, take down Yan Hongchang and his entire family! Await…”
“Hold on!”
A crisp female voice interrupted Lin Yu’s order.
Yan Zhuyu stepped out from the drooping flower gate. Her delicate face was drained of blood, pale as death. Even with silk robes and expensive rouge adorning her, they could not conceal her haggard features. Yet facing the dense crowd of men, she slightly raised her chin, exuding an air of authority honed from three years of luxury.
“This Consort wishes to see His Highness the Crown Prince.”
Jiang Yinyue, standing within the wall of people, looked at Yan Zhuyu, who had suddenly become isolated and vulnerable. Recalling her own past as the target of all arrows—from being surrounded by stars to scorned by everyone—she knew Yan Zhuyu was tasting the same bitterness now.
That phrase “Didn’t see it,” just four simple words, had changed both their destinies. Now, the boomerang had finally struck the culprit.
No.
Jiang Yinyue denied her own thought. The culprit should not be the black and white pieces on the board, but the hand holding them.
It was Wei Xichen.
Lixia brought fine scenery: loquats ripening, green shade thick, oily rain nourishing, fragrant breezes wafting.
Qi Bao, temporarily away from the post station, was delivered to Jiang Yinyue’s side by Fu Zhongcai.
Seeing Jiang Yinyue again, Qi Bao happily bared its mouth in a grin, bouncing and jumping around the woman, its round eyes shining brightly.
But amid the anticipation and joy, there was a hint of caution.
Jiang Yinyue fondly rubbed its dog head. Unfortunately, Wei Xichen was unwilling to let others have their way.
She sat with Qi Bao under the locust tree in front of Yan Mansion, waiting for Wei Qin.
Yan Mansion Garden might be hiding vast amounts of gold, silver, jade, and silks.
Fu Zhongcai stood by the locust tree, holding a whisk broom, his expression grave.
His Highness the Crown Prince had dismissed even his trusted attendants including Fu Zhongcai himself, leaving Yan Liangdi in the small chamber. The entire post station was empty except for the guards on the first floor and two bailiffs—no station workers remained.
His Highness, who rarely held private talks, must have made some decision.
Fine rain threaded down the lattice patterns of the post station, wetting the window paper.
Wei Xichen stood before the half-open window lattice, gazing at the sparse pedestrians on the bluestone path. His pale eyes were veiled in misty rain, cool and detached.
The evidence in his hand was enough to take Yan Hongchang’s old life, but he had not exposed it immediately. Instead, he wanted to play a long game, rooting out that ragtag bunch entirely.
Wei Qin shared the same mind, so even with ironclad proof, he held back, continuing to gather clues in secret while playing along with the salt merchants.
It was Yan Hongchang, desperate like a cornered rat, who tried to silence and destroy evidence, only to underestimate the court-sent salt transport judge. He hoisted himself with his own petard, a bird flying into a cage.
“So, you were unaware.”
Yan Zhuyu, kneeling in the small chamber, said weakly and powerlessly, “This consort was completely unaware.”
Wei Xichen turned his gaze, coldness gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Would someone unaware help Yan Hongchang frame a court official?”
“Your Highness, be discerning. Wei Qin was drunk last night and insulted this consort—that much is true.”
She lowered her brows and eyes, hollow and numb, clinging to a story even she found lame and absurd. She was gambling that this stolen life was not a mirage, gambling that the Crown Prince had feelings for her and would give her a dignified way out.
But hope was minuscule. If there were feelings, why had he not touched her in three years?
Then what was she hoping for?
Wei Qin’s words had become prophecy. Without solid foundations, one blow shattered everything she had schemed for.
If it were Jiang Song arrested, Jiang Yinyue would still have her brother to rely on, and the court would consider the feelings of Jiang Song’s eldest son, Jiang Taolue.
Moreover, the Jiang Clan’s foundations were not built by father and son alone. It was a renowned aristocratic house, brimming with talents.
“Your Highness, be discerning!”
She pressed her forehead to the ground, grief-stricken.
Wei Xichen rubbed the Jade Thumb Ring behind his back, rubbing harder and harder. “How is this Prince to be discerning? Call a deer a horse and convict Wei Qin?”
“It is not impossible.”
“What?”
Yan Zhuyu’s eyes reddened as she shuffled forward on her knees, tilting her head up to meet Wei Xichen’s sidelong glance.
In this moment, she realized that looking up at him was forever out of reach, no wonder the helplessness of being close yet unable to claim the prize.
But Jiang Yinyue was different. She could touch him—or rather, the Crown Prince was willing to bend for her.
“If Wei Qin’s crime of molesting this consort is confirmed, it’s a dead end for him. Jiang Yinyue would become a widow, and Your Highness could rightfully…”
“Silence.”
Wei Xichen cut off Yan Zhuyu’s bold hypothesis with two light words.
How could a person be this shameless?
Wei Xichen felt no pang of disappointment—he had never seen her as upright. But her shamelessness exceeded his expectations.
“You want this Prince to seize a minister’s wife?”
“Doesn’t Your Highness want to?” Yan Zhuyu was nearly swallowed by bitterness. Perhaps lingering too long on the edge of hysteria led to a day of reckless venting. A woman with no path ahead showed sorrow, eyes red, gritting her teeth in gentle tones. “Onlookers see clearly. Your Highness has been deceiving yourself, unable to let go of Jiang Yinyue or your own pride—unwilling to bow, unable to turn back. Why? Because Your Highness has been the Heir Apparent since childhood, no one dares defy you, everything comes easily. But Jiang Yinyue became the exception, leaving Your Highness loving yet unfulfilled, tempted, knowing it’s impossible yet unwilling!”
She laughed as she spoke, “warm” tears dripping from her eyes, smudging her exquisite makeup.
“As long as Wei Qin is executed, Your Highness can make up for the regret.”
Meeting Wei Xichen’s increasingly cold gaze, her smile did not fade. A deal between evils suited best, didn’t it? With dignity torn away, what was left to prettify?
If she couldn’t see it now, she was hopelessly stupid.
The Crown Prince had never trusted her. He trusted only himself, what he saw. Jiang Yinyue fleeing alone was what he saw, and her “Didn’t see it” merely corroborated, confirming his judgment.
The common conclusion of “using his childhood sweetheart to pave the way for his beloved” was also what people saw.
Often, people believed only what they saw, preferring surface “truths” over risking trust in each other.
In plain terms, suspicion at work.
Hearts are separated by flesh; trust between people is hard. A ruler amid swirling undercurrents was even more habitually distrustful.
That was how she had exploited gaps to rise, but after three years, she saw clearly: she was just a chess piece the Crown Prince casually picked up to spite the woman he truly loved.
From love to hate.
A sea of hatred, endless.
“Your Highness used this consort as a chess piece to spite Jiang Yinyue, without a shred of affection for this consort…”
Though she knew it in her heart, she still couldn’t help sobbing for her lost three years. She had once harbored illusions, thinking one day she would soar.
Tears fell in large drops, her tearful eyes brimming with disappointment.
Wei Xichen looked at her, his heart numb for three years without a stir. Perhaps he overestimated his own nature; he was born aloof and indifferent. “When have you ever been sincere with this Prince? You wanted wealth and glory, not this Prince.”
“For someone like this consort who crawled up from below, true feelings are too luxurious!”
“Then what are you aggrieved about?” Wei Xichen turned, leaning against the window, blending into the gloomy rainy sky. He blinked faintly, unprecedentedly voicing a true thought. “This Prince can betray a childhood sweetheart out of suspicion—how could he care for someone met midway like you?”
The jade-like warmth clouded over, no longer clear, making Yan Zhuyu fully realize some jades were cold, impossible to warm no matter how held.
She was scheming, but she had tried to warm this exquisite jade before her.
Imperial houses were the most heartless, even colder than she realized.
Her hiccuping sobs blended with the pattering fine rain outside, sticky and damp. Wei Xichen couldn’t help recalling that year when Jiang Yinyue turned and left without complaint or tears, resolutely withdrawing, clean and traceless.
A twinge of old pain in his heart.
“Stop crying. What is your request?”
Yan Zhuyu stifled her sobs. Having worn the facade so long, she nearly forgot she was self-serving.
“This consort has no feelings for my father’s clan. I beg Your Highness’s mercy, spare this consort’s life.”
“Not considering your mother?”
Yan Zhuyu’s trembling hand clutched Wei Xichen’s sleeve hem, her tear-streaked face somewhat wooden.
On the way back to Yan Mansion escorted by bailiffs, Yan Zhuyu shivered uncontrollably in the post-rain breeze. Her glamour shattered, weighing on her like an inch of spine at her nape, forcing her head down.
Yan Mansion was sealed; she would be confined awaiting the Crown Prince’s decision.
Life or death rested in the Crown Prince’s fingertips.
“Woof! Woof woof!”
Qi Bao’s barks rang at Yan Mansion’s gate. She looked toward Jiang Yinyue beside Qi Bao.
Their chance mountain encounter: the woman in plain clothes. Now in flowing red skirts, peerlessly radiant, glamour intact.
She lowered her head, not daring to look straight, fearing jealousy would consume her.
“You still owe me my innocence…” Jiang Yinyue rose and walked before her.
“Even if you shatter my teeth, I won’t change my story.”
Yan Zhuyu cut off Jiang Yinyue, coldly brushing past, only to hear, “I don’t care that much anymore.”
“What?”
“If not for your meddling, I would have married the Crown Prince, shared his bed, seen each other day and night, seen through one another—I would surely regret it.”
Yan Zhuyu’s swollen, drooping eyes lowered. “Then you should thank me.”
“How could I? I just want to tell you, these three years you stole from me, I lived very well.”
Yan Zhuyu laughed, utterly ashamed. She quickened her steps toward the mansion gate. Before she could compose herself, she saw officers carrying out box after box of gold, silver, jade, and silks.
All evidence of crime.
A graceful figure strolled leisurely behind, beautiful and arrogant, slowly approaching Yan Zhuyu.
Prefect’s daughter Lin Xiuer sized up the Eastern Palace Side Consort who had bossed her around days ago, then raised her hand for a slap.
Slap!
The bailiffs hurriedly stopped her. “Miss, you can’t!”
Lin Xiuer ignored them, raising her hand for another slap on Yan Zhuyu’s other cheek.
From childhood to now, no one dared give her attitude; Yan Zhuyu was the first.
A villain triumphant.
But as she raised her hand again, her wrist was gripped hard.
Han Jian, not yet confined, flung off Lin Xiuer’s hand, eyes warning.
Lin Xiuer scoffed. “If the Yan clan is implicated to the nine degrees of kinship, you servants might escape disaster. If it were me, I’d stay far from the Yan family, preserve myself wisely.”
Han Jian ignored her, watching the bailiffs escort Yan Zhuyu into the mansion.
Yan Zhuyu turned back as she walked. In this moment, she felt guilt; she shouldn’t have been harsh to him before.
Only in the depths could one see true from false.
In the dead of night, the brightly lit Yan Mansion lost its bustle. Family members huddled in groups of three or two, trembling, afraid to sleep.
Yan Zhuyu curled alone on the bed, disheartened but still wanting to live. Her only hope lay in the Crown Prince’s hands.
When night wind assailed the window, a black-clad figure slipped in, unhindered.
Yan Zhuyu’s heart leaped to her throat, yet faint hope stirred—it must be someone the Crown Prince sent to aid her escape.
“Milady.”
It was Han Jian.
The man approached the bed, a bundle on his shoulder. “This servant is ordered to escort milady out of the city.”
Yan Zhuyu’s nose soured. This was the Crown Prince giving her his final courtesy. From this point on, they parted ways to the ends of the earth, never to meet again.
Since it was the Crown Prince’s secret order, the guarding officers did not dare to stop them. They stood like wooden carvings, allowing the pair of man and woman to leave the Yan Mansion.
The same went for the city gate.
Han Jian took Yan Zhuyu on horseback out of the city and galloped through the night to thirty li away.
Yan Zhuyu sat on the horse’s back, clutching Han Jian’s belt like grasping the last lifeline.
Her lofty pride had its edges ground smooth after the heavy blow, in an instant.
“Rest a bit.”
Han Jian heard her and pulled the reins. He helped her down from the horse and handed her a paper bag.
It was her favorite shaomai.
“Thoughtful of you.”
Han Jian hung the bundle from his shoulder on the horse’s back. Then he went to a nearby stream to fill the waterskin. His shuttling figure fell into Yan Zhuyu’s eyes.
“Han Jian, you rest too.”
The swordsman, for the first time shown concern by his own lady, stopped in his tracks. He walked up to the woman, slowly squatted down, and handed her a bag of silver fragments. Plump and full, it was all his savings.
Yan Zhuyu did not take it right away. The upheaval had come too suddenly. Even without her finery and edges, she could not immediately accept Han Jian’s intentions, partner with him for days ahead, much less manage his petty accounts.
“Keep it with you. We’ll need it on the road.”
Han Jian handed over a terrain map and pointed in one direction. “This road leads to a county town. Lady, settle there from now on.”
He pointed again to the grazing horse. “This horse was sent to the Lady by His Highness the Crown Prince. It can cover a thousand li a day. Once you reach the county town, Lady, sell it for some silver—enough to buy several shops and do business.”
Hearing Han Jian make his farewell arrangements, Yan Zhuyu’s heart chilled by half. “You… aren’t coming with me?”
Han Jian rose and stepped back. His burly frame stood tall in the night, blending into the darkness and blurring his outline.
“This little slave hereby bids the Lady farewell. In past years, sheltered by the Yan family—gratitude unbounded. From here, the debt is cleared. Our paths shall not cross.”
Han Jian turned and strode away. It was not ingratitude or fleeing disaster alone. Some people simply were not worth it. He had seen through them, let go. In the future, he would free his two sisters from slavery and start anew.
Yan Zhuyu chased after him. “Han Jian!”
Han Jian did not turn back. He strode away like a bird escaping its cage, spreading its wings.
The indenture contract bound far less tightly than the cage of the heart. He had freed himself and would no longer linger for unworthy people.
Exhausted, Yan Zhuyu stumbled onto the stony path. She watched Han Jian walk into the distance, clutched the paper bag, and sobbed uncontrollably, enveloped by loneliness and the terror of the unknown.
On a drooping willow nearby, a middle-aged hunchbacked man sat on a branch, swinging his legs as he chuckled. “Someone has finally seen through it. Someone reaps what they sowed.”
Another youth carrying a knife jumped down from the branch and headed straight for Yan Zhuyu.
The hunchback man reminded him, “Go easy.”
The youth snorted. “Young Master only ordered to capture her alive. How hard I go is up to yours truly’s mood.”
The hunchback man said no more. They only needed to imprison this woman. Once the Crown Prince sent the memorial closing the Yangzhou salt affairs case to the Capital City, they would secretly deliver Yan Zhuyu there as well.
One right after the other.
By then, the fact that the Crown Prince had let Yan Zhuyu go would contradict the memorial’s report of her suicide by hanging. One wondered what the Supreme Ninth-Five, upon reading it, would think.
Would he have any words for the Heir Apparent he had personally groomed?
For the Heir Apparent, one must cut decisively when needed and not act on personal feelings. This was the Shunren Emperor’s teaching to the Crown Prince.