Sui Yuanhuai sized up the child who had suddenly barged in. He did not look much like him, but when Aunt Lan first saw this child she said he was carved out of the same mold as him when he was young.

Sui Yuanhuai did not remember what he looked like as a child; the only memory left was the searing pain after the great fire and the disfigurement of the face from the burns.

He propped his temple with one hand, coldly sneering at the child standing shyly in the doorway: “Father? Who permitted you to call me that?”

Yu Bao’er tightened his grip on the copybook, clearly at a loss. His pupils, starkly black and white, looked at the man wrapped in a great cloak seated in the high place and, not knowing what else to call him, chose to stay silent. He pressed his lips together lightly, appearing obedient and pitiable.

He had gone down to Jiangnan with his mother, but unfortunately the convoy was intercepted midway by a squad of black-armored guards.

That day was also the first time he saw this man. Snow fell like cotton; he leaned weakly in the carriage surrounded by black-armored guards, his hand, overly pale from prolonged illness, tapping the carriage curtain. A pair of sullen eyes stared at the mother and son, the look even carrying a trace of cruelty and the delight of impending revenge.

He was very afraid of this person; his mother seemed even more afraid—she trembled slightly whenever she held him.

It was also from that day that he never saw his mother again.

He had been brought here without punishment; someone still took care of his three meals and daily needs. But whenever he asked about his mother, the servants were evasive. Only one nanny who liked him dared to reveal a little about his mother.

That nanny said this man was his father; as long as he behaved and pleased him, he would be allowed to see his mother.

After Yu Bao’er arrived here he had always been obedient, yet they still never mentioned letting him see his mother. Two days ago Yu Bao’er could not help but cry loudly and refused to eat, trying to protest in that way.

In the end only a stranger came; he said that if Yu Bao’er studied diligently and learned to recognize characters, and his schoolwork was good, then he might be able to see his mother.

He obeyed. Today he was indeed brought out of the courtyard — the first time in all these days that he had left the courtyard where he lived.

Sui Yuanhuai looked at Yu Bao’er’s timid manner with derision. His gaze fell on the copybook clenched in the child’s hand. “I heard someone taught you to practice calligraphy. Bring it here for me to see.”

Merely sitting there, he seemed soaked in boundless gloom, causing people’s hearts to grow fearful.

Yu Bao’er was afraid as well, but still took steady small steps and walked toward him.

Of all his features, the most like Yu Qianqian were probably those eyes — black and round, with the corners slightly drooping, looking gentle and harmless, and oddly eliciting pity.

When Sui Yuanhuai saw Yu Bao’er approach, his expression flickered; for a moment, as if through him, he saw that woman who had been pregnant yet had never given up the thought of escape.

Clearly so weak that a single finger could crush them, yet no matter how she was punished she never learned; when the chance came she would still run without hesitation.

Like a deer kept in a pen, with its whole heart only thinking of returning to the mountain forest.

After Yu Bao’er shoved the copybook into his face, he came to his senses. For some reason his expression grew even more sullen. His pale, gaunt fingers pinched and flipped through the copybook one by one, making Yu Bao’er nervously clutch his clothes.

After a moment, he flung the large stack of big characters Yu Bao’er had practiced away like waste paper, sneering coldly: “What are these things you’ve written? The characters are soft as if without bones. Rewrite them.”

Yu Bao’er looked at the large characters he had carefully written one by one in order to see his mother. His eyes reddened, but he did not speak.

Soon an attendant came in on tiptoe and arranged a small table with ink, brush, paper, and inkstone; the whole process made almost no sound.

Everyone serving in the courtyard knew Sui Yuanhuai’s moods were capricious. They always tucked their heads into their waistbands when coming to serve; who would dare not be on the utmost alert.

Yu Bao’er looked at all this still somewhat at a loss. Sui Yuanhuai, seated behind the desk, half lifted his eyelids and cast a glance at him, speaking coldly: “Practice right here.”

Yu Bao’er mustered his courage and asked, “If I write well, will I be able to see my mother?”

Sui Yuanhuai’s smile grew more mocking: “Who taught you to say things like that to me?”

Tears welled in Yu Bao’er’s eyes, but he stubbornly held them back and would not cry. He said, “No one taught me. I just miss my mother.”

Sui Yuanhuai picked up a roll of bamboo slips from the table and said icily, “Go practice your characters. Cry again, and you’ll never see her in this lifetime.”

When Yu Bao’er obediently went to the low table to practice, his small body turned slightly to the side. He struggled to hold the brush that was thicker than his finger; tears plopped onto the paper, spreading a small watery stain. Afraid of being discovered, he did not dare reach to wipe his tears or make a sobbing sound; he only slowed his breathing and cried quietly.

He thought he had hidden it well. The man sitting in the high seat, however, observed all his little movements. He half-lowered his eyes; a shadow lay deep within them.

He did not like this child, not only because that woman had not shown proper respect, but because the child’s existence seriously threatened his position.

Compared with a cripple who could not do without tonics and could not learn martial arts, a healthy, younger child who was easy to control was plainly the first choice.

The more the Zhao mother and son grew close to this child, the more he felt alarmed.

Back then, to survive, he had endured the pain of the fire and been left with chronic ailments.

Later, in order to be presentable to others, he endured countless inhuman tortures, gradually replacing the burned skin on his body piece by piece. The pain of flaying — a torture the dead alone can understand — he had suffered while still alive.

He had survived with such difficulty; if anyone dared to block his way, then let them all die!

Thinking so, his expression grew more ferocious. The hand clutching the bamboo slips tightened so forcefully that the pale knuckles looked as if they might snap the next moment.

A maid came in to serve tea and, caught off guard by his look, let out a short cry. The tea in her hand was knocked over, the cup shattered on the floor; her face went deathly pale, and she fell to her knees, trembling as she begged, “Young Master… Young Master, have mercy…”

Sui Yuanhuai loathed seeing the servants react to him as if they had seen a ghost. He lifted the thin corner of his mouth, but the words he spat were blood-chillingly cold: “Drag her out, cane her to death!”

Soon attendants came in; the maid barely got another cry out before she was gagged and taken away. The whole process was quiet and swift, like a silent shadow play.

Yu Bao’er sat on the low table practicing, staring blankly at the scene. Ink droplets fell from his brush onto the paper, smudging the large character he had nearly finished.

The man behind the desk looked coldly at his pale little face, then cruelly said, “If you don’t behave, your mother will meet the same fate as her.”

Yu Bao’er was obviously terrified. After that day practicing in Sui Yuanhuai’s study and returning, he fell ill for several days, crying out for his mother in his nightmares.

After Aunt Lan escaped from the Eastern Palace years ago, she married a wealthy merchant and helped develop Sui Yuanhuai’s external influence. During the period when Sui Yuanhuai was most severely burned, she had not been at his side. Seeing Yu Bao’er, she felt as if she had glimpsed the little imperial grandson she once cared for; pity overwhelmed her, and she begged before Sui Yuanhuai, wanting Yu Bao’er to see his mother once — only to receive Sui Yuanhuai’s mockery: “Beating a maid to death and he’s sick from it? Aunt Lan, have you forgotten that when I was about his age I had just endured the Eastern Palace fire?”

Seeing the faint, cold smile unfurl in Sui Yuanhuai’s jet-black eyes, Aunt Lan ultimately did not dare plead for Yu Bao’er again.

Three days later Yu Bao’er slowly recovered, but his temperament grew sullen. He spoke little, barely responded to others, and every day without fail he insisted on practicing calligraphy.

Aunt Lan feared the child would be frightened badly, so she ordered servants to find several lively children to be companions for Yu Bao’er.

But Yu Bao’er still ignored those children, keeping his head down and doing his own things.

When Zhao Xun was in Qingping County, he had been ordered to monitor Yu Qianqian’s every move. Knowing that Yu Qianqian and her son had dealings with the Fan family, he boldly suggested to Aunt Lan, “Why not bring that little daughter of the Fan family over, see if she can get Yu Bao’er to speak?”

Aunt Lan hesitated: “That child now publicly claims to be the daughter of the Marquis of Wu’an, and is strictly guarded by the prince’s household—how could she be brought here to be the little young master’s playmate?”

Zhao Xun said, “The heir is close with His Highness, and thereby likes the little young master as well. If Mother does not try, how will we know whether the heir over there agrees?”

Aunt Lan and her son exchanged a glance for a moment. “Xun’er, even if it is for the little young master’s good, you must first ask His Highness.”

Zhao Xun suddenly bowed his head. “Your son is only afraid the little young master might suffer some mishap, and was anxious.”

Aunt Lan said, “Now the entire Zhao family’s foundation rests in your hands. Your choice concerns the survival of the whole Zhao family—do not be careless.”

Zhao Xun respectfully said, “Your son will carefully remember Mother’s teachings.”

When Aunt Lan again requested to appear before Sui Yuanhuai, the man who usually had a poor appetite was, unusually, rather keen on eating. The attendant standing beside him tasted each dish before he would touch his chopsticks.

Aunt Lan glanced at the strange foods on the table and knew they must have been made by Concubine Yu. That person, who looked like dough, had an unexpectedly stubborn temperament; Aunt Lan had beaten her before but had never managed to soften her temper.

Now that Concubine Yu suddenly showed goodwill toward Sui Yuanhuai, it was likely because she had learned of Yu Bao’er’s illness and wanted to see the child.

As for how news had been passed into Concubine Yu’s courtyard, which was surrounded so tightly one could not slip a drop through, it was plainly done deliberately by the person present.

Aunt Lan could not help frowning; to this day she still did not understand exactly what Sui Yuanhuai felt toward Concubine Yu. Back when his health was deteriorating, she feared an accident, so she selected several concubine maids for him.

Sui Yuanhuai understood what that meant; he felt disgust. For the sake of leaving behind a bloodline, however, he was still forced to choose one to bear offspring.

Aunt Lan sometimes thought that it was probably from that time Sui Yuanhuai began to not entirely trust her.

But if it happened again, she would still do the same. She was the Crown Princess’s confidante; if the imperial grandson failed to survive, she would by all means ensure the imperial grandson left at least some bloodline to continue the great revenge. Only then would she be worthy of the Crown Princess’s spirit in heaven.

Among that batch of concubine maids, Sui Yuanhuai scorned the bright, coquettish ones and chose only Concubine Yu, who was timid as a rabbit and obedient.

But likely frightened by his capricious temper, Concubine Yu—timid by nature—remained muddled after bedding him. Later she fell gravely ill, and the household people secretly whispered that she had been frightened into that state by Sui Yuanhuai.

Sui Yuanhuai dealt with those who gossiped and meant to deal with Concubine Yu as well; when the physician took Concubine Yu’s pulse, however, he detected a pregnancy pulse.

Only then was Concubine Yu allowed to keep her life. But after she recovered her temperament seemed to have altered: outwardly compliant, yet privately scheming. When she saw a chance she ran off; when caught and brought back, no matter how furious Sui Yuanhuai became, she ensured she lived as comfortably as possible.

If her morning sickness was severe she would fuss in the small kitchen with food herself. Even when confined, she would eat and drink as needed, nourishing her body and sparing herself no care. Once she spotted an opportunity, she would vanish again like a rabbit.

A few years earlier, when Concubine Yu had successfully escaped at seven months’ pregnancy, she had coaxed Sui Yuanhuai to go stay at a manor for a while to relax. She personally prepared the food but drugged the dishes; after the manor people collapsed, she took her gold and silver jewelry and fled with her confidant maid and a guard.

When Sui Yuanhuai awoke, he nearly smashed the entire manor, cursing that it was but a lowly maid, yet he nearly mobilized all his forces to search. That search lasted five or six years, until finally, in a small place like Lin’an Town, they found her.

Aunt Lan had thought that after he brought Concubine Yu and her child back, with his temper he would most likely punish the mother and keep the child, but he merely separated the mother and child and kept them locked up. He did not mistreat them, nor did he ask after them; apart from the occasional cold sneer, it seemed there was nothing more. For a time Aunt Lan could not fathom what he was truly thinking.

Sui Yuanhuai noticed Aunt Lan standing beside him, hesitating and about to speak for a long while, and asked, “Aunt Lan, do you have something to tell me?”

Aunt Lan did not know whether now was a wise moment to speak to him of Yu Bao’er, but she steeled herself and said, “The little young master’s condition still shows no improvement. Your servant heard Xun’er say that Concubine Yu and the Fan family were on good terms when they were in Qingping County. Your servant—dared to think—that the Fan family’s youngest daughter happens to be in the mansion. If—might we temporarily let her serve as a playmate for the little young master, to see whether his condition might improve?”

Sui Yuanhuai did not think Changning had any chance of returning alive. Perhaps having eaten a meal to his liking, his mood was somewhat better; not wanting to so quickly grant that woman her wish to see her son, he propped his jaw and pondered for a moment, then suddenly smiled: “Aunt Lan already has an idea. Go ask Brother Qing.”

When she stepped out of the room, Aunt Lan still found it hard to believe—today’s Sui Yuanhuai seemed noticeably easier to speak with than usual?

Sui Yuanqing brought Changning back to the Changxin Prince Mansion, simply tossing her to the servants and telling them to watch her well—just don’t let the child starve or freeze to death. Aunt Lan, invoking Sui Yuanhuai’s name in saying she wanted a playmate for Yu Bao’er, received Sui Yuanqing’s approval without further question.

Guided by a housemaid, Aunt Lan went to fetch Changning and opened the wood shed door, only to find a little girl curled up in the haystack. She looked as if she had not been washed for many days; her hair on top stuck up messy, her face dirty, her cheeks slightly reddened from the cold. Yet her eyes were startlingly bright and black, clear and wary like a fawn’s, intently sizing them up.

Aunt Lan had come out of the palace and had seen countless beauties in her life; upon seeing this little girl she was briefly surprised—this girl, when she grew, would be a rare beauty.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

Jizhou.

Fan Changyu kicked open the dungeon door where bandits stood guard. With one swing of the black iron bone-cleaver in her hand, sparks flew and the lock on the dungeon door clattered to the ground.

The soldiers behind her panted as they chased up: “Miss, don’t run so fast—there are many bandits up ahead…”

Seeing the bandits sprawled on the ground, groaning and moaning, the soldiers’ words trailed off.

Fan Changyu ignored the belated soldiers and entered the dim dungeon. She hoisted up the children inside who had been drugged into stupor and called Changning’s name as she searched.

Recently several cases of children being abducted and stolen had occurred in Jizhou City; the investigating soldiers said a gang of traffickers was taking advantage of the chaos to seize children.

Fan Changyu feared Changning had been taken by traffickers and clung to a thread of hope, so she had been following the soldiers to destroy trafficker dens these past days.

She had not found Changning, but her reputation for wielding the butcher’s cleaver and slaughtering enemies had spread: every time she destroyed a trafficking or abduction den she earned the credit for bravery. Yet she was not an official, so the government could only reward her with large sums of silver.

Fan Changyu watched the silver notes in her pouch thicken day by day, but still had no news of Changning; her anxiety was unbearable.

After the officials interrogated the traffickers, she learned that some children had been sold to different prefectures. Any girl matching Changning’s description, Fan Changyu recorded. She left half the silver with Aunt Zhao and carried the other half with several butcher’s cleavers on her back, planning to cross several prefectures in search of Changning.

To make finding the child easier, the officials suggested she have a portrait painted of Changning.

Fan Changyu then remembered the ready-made portrait the scholar had painted during the New Year at home; she had even framed it and hung it in the room she shared with Changning.

When she returned home to fetch it, she turned the house upside down but still could not find that portrait.

Previously Fan Changyu had been swamped with matters and had not thought of the portrait; now that it had gone missing, she became suddenly alert.

That painting wasn’t done by a famous hand—who would make a special trip to steal it?

Moreover, after Lin’an Town suffered the massacre by Qingfeng Stockade, it had basically become a dead town; almost no one would come to this town. Even if there were petty thieves hoping to make a quick profit, they would go pick through wealthy households, not bother with the poor families on the west side of the city.

Fan Changyu thought it over and realized the only one who might possibly have taken that portrait was the runt who had been seized by her that night and very likely returned later to ambush those hiding in the dried-up well!

There were herself, Changning, and Yan Zheng in the painting—outsiders could easily mistake them for a family.

After the people of Qingfeng Stockade were all captured, only that runt and a female bandit escaped. Could it be they saw the painting and abducted Changning to take revenge on her?

Fan Changyu thought that the runt would no longer have a place to hide in Jizhou; he had originally been a soldier from Chongzhou and might have returned to Chongzhou.

With a direction for her search, she bought a horse that very day and set off toward Chongzhou asking around.