Chapter 74

The night was deep, the sky drenched in a wash of ink. Before dawn, two men in the city patrol’s coarse armor slipped once more through the gates of the Duke’s manor. Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai had sent men to urge them again, and these two were unyielding. “It’s almost the fourth watch!”

Xie Ci, dressed in snowy white sleepwear and a black cloak, face dark and unreadable, met their gaze for a moment before stating coolly, “Send word to Qin Guan and Chen Luo—assemble the troops at once.”

Neither of the two had slept all night; they exhaled in relief. One remained, the other turned on his heel and raced back to deliver the message. At Xie Ci’s command, the entire front court of the Duke’s manor was roused. Couriers on swift horses galloped off to the temporary camp and official station a mile away.

Officials and clerks from the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review, ordered to search and seize the estates of the Crown Prince’s faction, had requisitioned a government office in the Inner City as temporary quarters. The government office, part of the Horse Inspectorate, naturally stabled horses. For half the night, the commotion from neighing, hoofbeats, and the stench of manure was unbearable. The common bunk mats were so hard they left bones aching. Many drifted through sleep, only to be jolted awake, scrambling to wash and dress, not daring to dawdle.

Some, of course, had waited patiently for this moment—a jolt of energy, throwing back their bedding to spring up. Among them were members of Feng Kun and the Lin Duke’s factions.

The three or four large bunkrooms were fraught with complex relationships and tense atmosphere, like a spring lake’s surface—seemingly calm but rife with hidden currents and wary standoffs. The others feigned ignorance, moving quietly, dreading to be drawn in.

Gu Wan tore a small corner from the edge of an old window’s paper and peered inside. At the far end, several of the better bunks had three or four middle-aged and young men up, washing their faces and donning crimson official robes. They glanced at each other but quickly looked away, not exchanging a word. The men below finished tidying up and gradually joined them.

Gu Wan had followed them the day before and knew their names. The eldest was Deputy Minister Yuan Tiao, and another was Vice Minister Jiang Zuofan; the others were their close aides.

After watching them for a while, Gu Wan shifted her gaze to the other end of the room, where seven or eight junior clerks in green robes pretended to be busy. She studied them, finally settling on one young clerk about her build, with a round face and large eyes. She signaled to Xie Yun, motioning inside. Xie Yun glanced over, nodded.

The deep of night was broken by the clamor of hoofbeats. Guards with torches rushed out the manor gates, and the flickering firelight illuminated the mass of troops and the long, blue-stone street.

Clad in black armor and an indigo cloak, Xie Ci strode forward into the cold wind. He emerged from the central black gates, his great black horse already led to the mounting stone worn by countless uses. With a glance, he swung into the saddle, gripped the reins, and spurred the horse forward.

Behind him, Qin Guan, Chen Luo, Xie Yun, and others followed suit. Officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review mounted up as well; those unable to ride either doubled up or took sedan chairs, hurrying to keep pace. With the Emperor’s golden order in hand, the curfew was lifted for their party as they pressed on toward the Eastern City.

Late autumn edging into winter, the pre-dawn cold was biting. Man and horse exhaled clouds of white breath. Before long, Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai quietly merged into Xie Ci’s side—one a civil official in heavy black armor, the other in soft armor, both faces grim and displeased. “Master Xie, you’ve rested enough, haven’t you? Hurry, to the Capital Garrison!” Their tension was palpable, eyes darting back, casting warning glances at Xie Ci. “His Majesty commands—at once, move!”

Even the Emperor’s name was invoked to pressure Xie Ci. The two flanked him, their intent to supervise and urge unmistakable. Xie Ci’s lips curled with cold disdain. “Order: head for the west gate of the Capital Garrison, full speed!” Instantly, the drumbeat of boots and hooves quickened, pounding like war drums on the heart.

The Crown Prince’s faction was not small; among them, the original Flying Swift Army of the Capital Garrison—now the Eighth and Ninth Regiments—was most crucial, left to the Crown Prince by the Empress Dowager’s Jin clan, with the Emperor’s tacit approval.

Everyone’s eyes turned first to the Second Regiment. And it was precisely through Yu Miaofeng that Xie Ci sought to break open their ranks. Over a thousand imperial soldiers marched swiftly along Tongtian Avenue, opened the Eastern City gate, and headed straight for the west gate of the Capital Garrison.

At the darkest hour before dawn, the sound of armor scraping and iron-shod boots striking the ground was like metal grating against the heart.

Trusted insiders, secretly observing city movements, galloped back to report to Yu Miaofeng!

Now, the Director of the Imperial Secretariat and Grand Academician Chen Bing, Secretariat Attendant Yan Shidao, and Eagle General Zhu Shouchun had all been executed or investigated the day before.

The day before, Xie Ci had intercepted Zhu Shouchun’s message to his confidants, including Captain Yu Miaofeng. Yu Miaofeng hadn’t slept a wink, terrified. When the news arrived, it was like ice water in the depths of winter poured over his head, leaving him trembling from head to toe.

But soon, the approaching thunder of hooves and boots reached them. The Capital Garrison had already received news of the Eastern Palace’s trouble the previous day. It was silent; the gate captain, after verifying the gold order, opened the gates at once.

Xie Ci led his troops in, followed by the Ministry of Justice and the Court officials. As their horses thundered through the gates, visible and invisible tensions tightened.

Yin Luo, in full Capital Garrison uniform, gave a silent wave and charged in with his men.

Meanwhile, Zhao Xi, the secret guard captain for the Lin Duke, upon hearing the commotion, pushed open a narrow window and watched on high alert. The undercurrents surged—crisis hung by a thread!

Xie Ci’s troops stormed in; he kept silent. Yu Miaofeng, ashen-faced, came out to meet them.

Black-armored soldiers of the Eighth and Ninth Regiments swiftly encircled the barracks. Orders rang out—no one was to leave their quarters without command; violators would be treated as traitors!

Yu Miaofeng’s eyes nearly burst, his limbs shaking. Even if the Crown Prince’s men were to be purged for treason, there still needed to be actual evidence to convict!

Officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Court, with guards, rushed into the main compound. In crimson robes, Jiang Zuofan and Yuan Tiao led the way. Yet, once inside Yu Miaofeng’s quarters, Yuan Tiao headed straight for the side hall.

Jiang Zuofan’s brow twitched. “What are you doing?!”

The Lin Duke had not known Feng Kun’s plan in advance; there was no time to forge evidence now. But Yu Miaofeng and his men had to die. The Eastern Palace’s power must be smashed, its supporters wiped out, and the spoils divided.

Jiang Zuofan rushed over, grabbing Yuan Tiao’s shoulder. Both were somewhat skilled, and soon five or six men were wrestling. Jiang Zuofan pinned Yuan Tiao, grabbed a brush washer and struck him hard, knocking him out. He quickly searched, found a loose floor tile in the corner, pried it up, but—to his shock—nothing.

The fainted Jiang Zuofan gave a cold laugh, clutching his bleeding brow as he rose. “You think you can stop me? Dream on!” While they fought, two unremarkable clerks in blue quietly slipped into Yu Miaofeng’s study.

Outside, the sounds of struggle and chaos; inside the study, silence. Dawn finally broke through, a shaft of morning light touching the window lattice. The two clerks, working together, moved the large bookcase, pried up the reddish floorboards, and retrieved a bundle wrapped in oil paper.

They exchanged a smile, but just then, the window lattice clicked and flipped open. Startled, they looked back—only to meet a round-eyed, smiling face. Gu Wan, arms crossed, grinned, “What are you up to? Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Her voice was crisp—not at all that of the round-faced clerk.

Gu Wan kicked over a high stool—crash! The noise was so close to the corridor that Yu Miaofeng and company were instantly alarmed. His deputy turned and charged over, kicked in the window, and leaped inside, just in time to see the two clerks trying to flee with the oil paper bundle.

The deputy blocked them, snatched the package, ripped it open—his heart nearly stopped, sweat pouring cold and hot all at once.

A hand chop rendered both clerks unconscious. Gu Wan, at the moment the window was kicked, had already slipped out the other side; the deputy, disregarding her, raced back the way he came.

His heart pounded as if about to burst. “Sir, look—”

Yu Miaofeng took the package, his eyes wide with terror. He and his men turned pale, drenched in cold sweat, dizzy under the winter sun.

At that very moment, chaos erupted outside—two muffled thuds, arrows striking flesh. Turning, Yu Miaofeng saw Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai both collapse, man and horse, to the ground!

A spray of blood—an arrow pierced one’s neck, killing them instantly and leaving their eyes open in death.

Feng Kun’s plan was ruthless: first, use evidence to force submission; regardless of the result, then kill Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai on the spot—to prevent any further interference.

Success was highly probable.

But the Lin Duke’s side got word ahead of time, forcing the Duke to abandon his original plan and send his top bodyguard, Zhao Xi, that very night.

Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai were not unprepared. Upon leaving the Duke’s street, they retreated into the cavalry, all in black iron helmets and armor, indistinguishable in the dark.

Upon reaching the Garrison, they immediately sought out the Garrison’s commander, General Gao Minggong, who arrived with several officers, exerting both favor and threat.

Xue Rong’an, a battlefield veteran, anticipated desperate moves. He wore a thick helmet, heavy armor over chain and scale, a mirror plate at chest and back, always guarding his vitals as he conversed with General Gao, never exposing a weakness.

But he was up against Zhao Xi, the Lin Duke’s personal guard—a first-time emergency mission. Zhao Xi’s wrist crossbow had a range of over eighty paces, capable of piercing steel.

From a hundred paces, he nudged open the window, well beyond optimal range, but remained motionless, eyes narrowed, coolly gauging Xue Rong’an’s neck and the ground.

Step by step, he closed in—then fired!

The first iron bolt flew at the horse’s head, striking its eye and exiting through the skull in a spray of blood.

The horse screamed, flinging Xue Rong’an to the ground. Before he could struggle, his leg was trampled and broken. In agony, he jerked his head up—and a second bolt slashed his throat, severing his windpipe with surgical precision.

Xue Rong’an was not dead at once; writhing in pain, he exposed Liao Kai, a civil official meant to rally the bureaucrats. Zhao Xi’s next arrow killed him instantly.

Cries and blood erupted—chaos reigned.

Zhao Xi, mission accomplished, slipped out the back.

Yin Luo and his men, adjusting their positions, had been waiting for the right moment, but someone else had struck first.

Yin Luo shot to his feet. “Who did this? What’s going on?!”

He was alarmed, mind racing. “Go! Send Wei Wei into the main compound—now!”

The factions fought, bloodily, their intent to destroy rivals plain as day.

Pandemonium broke out—shouts, running, uproar. Yu Miaofeng, clutching the “evidence,” burst from the gates, the ground slick with blood from struggling men and horses.

Terror spiked to its peak. Yu Miaofeng, trembling, realized as never before: Feng Kun wanted him dead, the Lin Duke sought his destruction, the Eastern Palace had rebelled, the Emperor’s fury was thunderous.

He had no way out.

He was doomed.

But Yu Miaofeng did not want to die. The more desperate, the stronger his will to survive.

Shaking all over, panic-stricken, he looked around and suddenly saw Xie Ci, the great cavalry general, frowning under the eaves. Xie Ci, in black armor on a black horse, expression cool and distant, had entered and simply watched from the side.

In a flash, Yu Miaofeng dashed over, all but crawling. He grabbed Xie Ci and fell to his knees. “General! Young General! Please, save me—save me!”

Yu Miaofeng recognized Xie Ci. Many officers had trained under Xie Xinchong, and Xie Ci’s transfer back to the Capital Garrison had been for that purpose. The older emperor and Xie Ci’s family had complex ties; but Xie Ci, not truly loyal to the old emperor, offered hope.

Yu Miaofeng wept, snot and tears streaming.

In the morning’s shadow, the young black-armored general straightened, frowning. After a moment, he said quietly, “…If I save you, it means breaking with the Emperor.”

Yu Miaofeng sobbed, “The Emperor is no good! He has always both indulged and strangled the Crown Prince; that’s why the Eastern Palace ended up like this! He will slaughter the hounds once the rabbits are gone! Feng Kun and the Lin Duke are no better!”

Under the black helmet, Xie Ci’s sharp eyes bore into him.

Seeing Xie Ci hesitate, Yu Miaofeng raised his hand, voice hoarse, “I, Yu Miaofeng, pledge eternal loyalty to the Young General and the Xie family! If I break this oath, let my body be shattered!”

He drew a dagger from his boot and severed his left pinky. Blood spurted as he swore, weeping bitterly, “Even in these hard years, I never thought of betrayal. I am willing to send my family to Shuofang! Sir—!”

At last, Xie Ci grabbed him by the ribs and lifted him up. Yu Miaofeng was overjoyed!

He clung to Xie Ci, pushed open the barracks, knelt, kowtowed thrice, and handed over the evidence. Xie Ci pondered, then called Zhao Yun to write a letter. “Send this to Feng Kun at once.” The letter explained everything.

Only now did Yu Miaofeng realize Xie Ci and Feng Kun had been in secret contact; his hope soared. Before Xie Ci could even speak, he volunteered, “Sir! I’ll send my most trusted men to Chen Huaixin and Cui Yanming!”

He knew his evidence was not the only set; the more defectors, the greater the impact. He wanted to help his old colleagues, and himself. Now that he’d chosen Xie Ci, he felt at peace, more than he ever had with the Eastern Palace.

Excellent.

Xie Ci summoned Xie Ping. “Arrange for Yu Miaofeng’s people to slip out of the garrison.” Xie Ping knelt with a slap, exchanged a look with Xie Ci, and replied with a ringing, “Yes!”

The next days were chaotic, but the turmoil barely touched Gu Wan and her companions. Xie Ci’s plan had succeeded.

Gu Wan removed the green clerk’s robe, dressed the round-faced clerk back up, splashed his face, and slipped out before he woke. The two who’d seen “him”—Feng Kun’s men—had already been killed by the deputy, so the innocent clerk was unharmed.

Afterward, Gu Wan and Xie Ping split up, traveling light to the other nine sites, retrieving evidence and helping rally more followers. It was a tense but exhilarating journey.

Gu Wan’s assignment was furthest, to Lin’an Prefecture, a secondary capital about four hundred miles from the city. When she returned, snowflakes were drifting in mid-October. After rapid communication, Yin Luo and the Lin Duke made their move; Feng Kun and Xie Ci, with Li Yi, managed to save Yu Miaofeng and his associates.

In the light snow of early winter, Gu Wan rode a modest horse, leading Xie Zi and the others, leisurely making her way home. Xie Ci, content in mind and spirit, slipped out in plain clothes that day to meet her in the outskirts.

The afternoon sun broke through, a ribbon of blue sky above, with flurries of snow swirling in the breeze. From a distance, he saw her—tall and easy in gait, using a slender bamboo stick as a whip, tapping snow from the roadside shrubs, a lopsided felt hat on her head, turning to laugh with Xie Zi and the others.

Xie Ci reined in his horse, heart warming at the sight of her bright smile—yet jealousy flickered. He’d counted every day since she’d left, missing her as though a day apart was three autumns, but she seemed not to miss him at all!

She’d called him her sweetheart, but only said it to please him.

He called out, “Wanwan—!”

In the half-sunny, snow-dusted landscape at the road’s end, beneath black trees, yellow grass, and white snow, he stood out: black clothes, black horse, posture straight as a pine, sword-browed and star-eyed, gazing at her.

Gu Wan turned and broke into a smile. “Xie Ci!”

With a flick of the bamboo whip, her horse trotted over. Xie Ci was swifter than anyone—he spurred his horse forward like an arrow.

He shot a glance at Xie Zi and the others.

What’s with the look in the master’s eyes? It was baffling, but he knew enough to disappear. Xie Zi and Xie Yun exchanged a look and, with a shared understanding, turned their horses and slipped away.

Xie Ci nodded—wise move. He’d let them off this time.

His eyes, backlit by the sun, shone like a sky full of stars. Whatever grudge he’d harbored vanished the instant he saw Gu Wan, as snow melts in water.

Still, he asked, “Why did you take so long to come back?”

How aggrieved he sounded! Where was the decisive Xie Ci? News these days had been nothing but dramatic. Gu Wan, smiling, wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I? Just walked a little slow.” A day or two hardly mattered.

At this, Xie Ci’s heart softened. She’d had a rough time, but not for much longer.

As for how, he kept it to himself, a little shy and expectant. He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed: “…You said, when things were done, you’d reward me!”

He’d finally been able to sleep soundly the past few nights, but lying in bed, he could only think of this, anticipation clawing at him. By then, they’d dismounted, leading their horses along the brook.

Winter’s grass was already yellow, but the stream was clear, tinkling past.

Gu Wan smiled, stopped, beckoned him with a crooked finger. “Come here.”

They stood, one higher, one lower, by the stream and the slope. Gu Wan, a step above, could meet his gaze. If she leaned forward and hooked his neck, their lips would touch.

Xie Ci’s heart thudded, fists clenched, breath held as he leaned in.

Just as their lips were about two palms apart, an interruption crashed in!

“Master! Mistress!”

Xie Zi, on the verge of tears—no one else would come, so he had to. Gu Wan had told him to keep an eye on Kou Chong and report any news immediately.

Under Xie Ci’s murderous glare, Xie Zi hurried over, “Master, Mistress, Kou Chong has fled. At dawn, he left the west gate, heading for the dependent’s village!”

Xie Ci, now certain Gu Wan’s “reward” was a kiss, was nearly bursting with anticipation. He was just about to close his eyes when—Kou Chong? Who dared interrupt him now! If looks were daggers, Xie Zi would be full of holes.

Gu Wan couldn’t help laughing—his look of shock and murderous annoyance was too funny. She laughed out loud, her bright voice echoing by the stream.

“Don’t scare off my sweetheart,” she chided, knocking Xie Ci on the head and pulling him along. “Come on, let’s catch this Kou Chong.”

Leaning close to his ear: “After we catch him, we’ll continue.”

Her teasing whisper sent a shiver down his spine, heat and tickle swirling to his heart. Xie Ci’s anger turned to joy; he glanced at her, eyes bright. “Mm!” he nodded vigorously.

Gu Wan laughed, swung herself into the saddle, “Let’s go!” With a crack of the whip, the two of them sped off.

Kou Chong—Gu Wan remembered him well. In the original book, he was in Li Yi’s faction, an adviser of middling rank, who no matter the turnover, always kept his position. Others in his circle had all been targeted—injured, assassinated—yet he was never touched, his luck unscathed.

Reading the novel, Gu Wan had thought him a clever fellow. Who’d have guessed he’d started out in Feng Kun’s camp?

He was shrewd. After leaving the Eastern Palace, he never went near Feng Kun again. His sources were mysterious, but even if suspicion fell, he wouldn’t be among the first suspects.

When he sent a message, Xie Ci, thinking the man might be useful, took care not to leave traces. Kou Chong could have feigned normalcy and gone undetected.

Instead, he acted decisively—playing along for over ten days, then suddenly bolted, not even packing a bundle. He slipped into Feng Kun’s estate, shook off the watchers, and fled with nothing.

Xie Feng and his men chased hard, but Kou Chong eluded them again. The man could run! No one knew where he’d gone.

Xie Feng, breathless, reported that they’d searched the dependent’s village and its surroundings—mountain paths, riverbanks, even the shrine—for miles around. “He can’t have outrun us.”

Xie Ci, scowling, disliked even hearing Kou Chong’s name, his eyes sweeping the windswept fields and villages. “No rush. If he can’t run far, he must still be here.”

Gu Wan, intrigued, enjoyed such games. Unhurried, she strolled the area, finally focusing on the small village.

The dependent’s village, once home to servants of disgraced officials, was now insular, wary of outsiders. Gu Wan, unfazed, knocked on doors, asking for a bowl of water.

She reasoned that if Xie Feng had searched every house, what might they have missed?

Sure enough, at the third house, an old woman answered reluctantly, but dared not offend her, opening the door and fetching water. As she lifted the lid of the water jar, she gasped in fright, dropping the wooden lid with a clatter.

Gu Wan, smiling, brushed her hair aside and stepped forward. Inside, squatting like a toad, was a man in his thirties with broom-like brows, droopy mustache, and comic despair—a mop of wet hair, shivering, staring at Gu Wan.

Patting his shoulder, she asked, “Aren’t you cold, hiding here in winter?”

Kou Chong: …

Gu Wan cheerfully waved, “Take him back to the manor.” And so, Kou Chong was hauled out by the eager Xie Feng and his brothers.

“Hey—wait!…” Kou Chong protested, but Xie Feng quickly muffled him, and off they went.

Gu Wan handed the old woman some coins, thanked her with a smile, then took Xie Ci by the hand and left.

Outside the gate, she leaned in. “Let’s continue.”

Her voice was light and sweet, as if she might float. Xie Ci turned, his beautiful eyes widening, nervous and expectant—he nodded hard.

The snow had stopped, revealing a vast blue sky. The winter sun glowed gold in the afternoon, the wind clean and cold, the river water clear and rushing.

In the wilds, snow and dry grass, mosses and lichens clung to stones by the spring, patches of blue-green against the winter earth.

Behind a slope, Gu Wan and Xie Ci found a spring, water bubbling over white stones.

Hand in hand, they sat together. Xie Ci glanced at the spring, then at her. Gu Wan laughed, and, after a moment, sat astride his lap.

Xie Ci stiffened, stammering, “Wan—Wanwan…”

Gu Wan, confident, looped her arms around his neck. “Haven’t you been wanting this for a long time?”

She teased, but Xie Ci truly had wanted this for ages. From their earliest days in Lingzhou, he’d longed for this moment.

At her words, memories of lonely yearning and the hope that once sustained him returned, calming his nerves and stirring anticipation.

All the secret sweetness of a one-sided love, the pain of thinking it hopeless—now, finally, blossomed into a true, gentle intimacy.

His cheeks and earlobes were crimson, but his eyes—vivid as roses—shone with the brilliance of meteors.

Seeing this, Gu Wan grew earnest, her teasing fading. She smiled, hooked his neck, and leaned in.

Their lips drew closer, breaths mingling, Xie Ci’s lashes fluttered like butterfly wings. He closed his eyes, her pale face so near—and finally, their lips met.

It was not deep, not a French kiss—just their first, slow, gentle kiss. Gu Wan’s lips touched his, warm and soft, a tender caress. Xie Ci trembled, then, learning from her, tilted his chin to brush her lips in return.

In the gentle winter sunlight, on the eve of Xie Ci’s nineteenth birthday, they finally shared their first true kiss.

Sunlight warmed the slopes, a rare, tranquil afternoon.

At first, Xie Ci’s heart pounded, adrenaline surging, but soon he was calm, savoring the pure tenderness of the moment.

When the kiss ended, his eyes still flushed, he rolled on the dry grass, then lay beside Gu Wan, propped on his arm, gazing at her.

—In this life, in love, he had but one wish: that they might, like swallows in the rafters, see each other year after year, for all their days.

He lay, watching Gu Wan, then, copying her, lay back on the slope.

From this angle, he could see a corner of the capital’s black city wall.

Gazing at its steep, familiar silhouette, he was struck by reflection. Some thoughts he’d share only with Gu Wan, never another soul.

After a long silence, he stared at the city and said, “I hate him. He holds the power of life and death, but destroys the loyal out of suspicion.”

For the first time, Xie Ci admitted clearly: he hated the old Emperor. Hate so deep that if Feng Kun killed him, he might even rejoice and drink three cups in celebration.

“So do I.”

Gu Wan, hearing Xie Ci mutter about Feng Kun, thought also of the northern foes. Xun Xiao’s side had been silent—likely encountering trouble.

Xie Ci, after a moment’s thought, nodded. “We must be wary. If the Emperor dies, who will succeed him?” Gu Wan plucked a stalk of foxtail grass, its golden tuft fragrant and dry.

Together, they discussed—openly—what would happen if the old Emperor died. Xie Ci considered, “The Third Prince won’t do—he knows nothing of hardship. He acts as if all is well with everyone. At the longevity festival, he toasted the Emperor, then cheerfully toasted his grandfather and uncle. Either he’s simple, or he doesn’t care—in any case, not suitable.”

“What about the Fourth Prince, or one of the youngest?”

As Xie Ci pondered, Gu Wan thought how Feng Kun had hesitated between these two.

But Xie Ci soon stopped. It was too distant—who knew how long the old Emperor would live?

Gu Wan twisted the foxtail grass into a nimble little locust and handed it to Xie Ci.

He smiled, cradled it in his palm, then tucked it carefully into a sachet.

Afterward, he sat up, glanced at the city walls, and said, “If one day I reach Feng Kun’s position, I’ll exonerate my father and brothers—not with a general pardon, but by forcing the Emperor to issue a public decree, clearing their names for all to see.”

These days, power shifted like clouds and rain, the stakes dizzying.

Xie Ci, at the heart of events, saw it all most clearly.

He’d never moved the two imperial edicts in the long box in his room; he’d even kicked them into a corner, no one daring to pick them up.

In this quiet afternoon, Xie Ci finally found something he truly wanted to do—a desire blazing up like wildfire.

Thinking of the court—full of self-serving, power-hungry, or blindly loyal men—he felt a rare clarity. As he spoke, his gaze deepened, a quiet resolve in his eyes. Gu Wan, after a moment’s thought, patted his shoulder. “That’s how it should be!” Her gentle smile warmed him.

Xie Ci, remembering something, saw that dusk was near—time to return to the city.

He smiled, leapt to his feet, and pulled her up. “Let’s go home,” he said, squeezing the little grass locust. “I have something for you, too.”