Tan Jing’s warning was not only delivered to the empress in the Changqiu Palace, but on the same day, it was also sent to the Tan family’s ancestral residence far away in Wan County.

However, the content was precisely the opposite.

Tan Rong, upon receiving the letter, merely glanced through it briefly, then smiled and set it aside.

“My elder brother truly is as cautious as ever. Now that all the officials of Yiling are resigning one after another, and the censors in the court are submitting memorials in protest, at most in five days, if His Majesty still does not punish Princess Qinghe, I fear the court session won’t even be able to proceed normally.”

While polishing the tip of his spear, he chatted idly with his wife, Madam Guo, who was reading in the study:

“Yet my elder brother still instructs me to keep watch over the movements in Yiling County at all times. I don’t know what he’s being so cautious about… could it be he’s still afraid that a mere little princess might seize control of a region and shake the position of our family’s prince?”

Madam Guo was born into a noble family, well-learned and talented, often discussing external affairs with her husband.

Upon hearing this, she put down the bamboo slip in her hand, thought for a moment, and said:

“It is said that the princess also studied under Grand Preceptor Zheng Ci from a young age, skilled in calligraphy and painting, with the ability to memorize at a glance. His Majesty even granted her half of a bronze tiger tally for protection, showing his deep favor. Now she has remained long in Yiling without returning, so what your elder brother said is not without reason.”

Tan Rong, however, burst out laughing.

He had thick brows and a long beard, looking to be in his early thirties. He inherited the Tan family’s good looks but carried a bit more of a military man’s unruly air compared to the scholars at home.

“You’ve never seen that princess, so you don’t know to what extent she is timid as a mouse.”

Tan Rong flicked the spearhead, disdain flashing in his eyes.

“She clearly knows that I conspired with the empress to kill her, yet she doesn’t dare to reveal a single word of it to His Majesty. Do you know why? Isn’t it just because she fears that when His Majesty dies one day, our family will dominate the court, so she wants to please us now, hoping we’ll spare her later?”

Tan Rong rose to his feet, casually twirling the long spear as he said indifferently:

“Women are just timid and fearful, believing in all that talk of gentleness, humility, thrift, and yielding. When trouble comes, they always think of retreating, never daring to risk everything, nor to gamble. Even if you give her not just one county but an entire province, when the enemy invades, she would only think of surrendering and negotiating peace—what is there to fear?”

As he swung the spear, the sound of air being split was sharp and fierce.

Madam Guo listened quietly, then after a moment said:

“But ironically, the one who ruined your plan to eliminate Hongye Stronghold was this very Princess Qinghe.”

“……”

Tan Rong’s expression darkened.

“What does that have to do with her? It was my elder brother’s plan that failed to account for her bronze tiger tally. And I trusted those river bandits from Jiacao Canal too much. I didn’t expect that even with so many heavy crossbows given to them, they would still be defeated by Hongye Stronghold.”

When this person was mentioned, Tan Rong’s contempt subsided somewhat, and his expression grew solemn.

“That Pei Zhaoye truly possesses some bravery. I heard from Yuhui that this man is entangled with Princess Qinghe. I suppose he intends to use the princess’s influence and the profits of the salt ponds to pursue greater ambitions.”

Madam Guo said, “In that case, does that not suit your wishes perfectly?”

“You know me well, my lady.”

Tan Rong broke into a wide smile. After laughing, he said: “The Tan clan is in need of a battle to establish merit and build achievements. Whether it is Hongye Stronghold rebelling, or the Xue clan of Jiangzhou rising in revolt, the Tan clan can sustain itself through war. By then, surely, the great roc will soar aloft in a single day with the wind…”

It was already the hour when Tan Rong usually practiced martial arts.

The husband and wife each had their own affairs. Madam Guo left from the front courtyard, and as she passed through the garden, she heard singing drifting across the surface of the water.

“This tune is rather new. I don’t recall hearing it before.”

The maid replied, “I heard it is a song recently in vogue, called ‘Ode to Golden Orchid.’ The singing girls are rehearsing it in haste.”

Madam Guo nodded. “Once they’ve finished rehearsing, summon them to perform it for me.”

The sound of stone chimes echoed gently, floating from noble mansions of caps and tassels to the alleys of the common folk. Within only a few days, it spread everywhere together with the story of ‘Lady Zheng Saving Her Elder Sister.’

Within Yiling County, it became known to everyone—each waiting for the outcome of this case.

The official in charge of the case, Lin Zhang, was only twenty-six years old. In the past, suppressed by his superiors, he had only known to act by observing others’ expressions and had never made decisions of his own.

Now, suddenly thrust into the center of public attention, he truly could not sleep at night nor eat in peace.

Even on his way to the government office, people would call out and ask:

“Chief Adjudicator Lin, how will the Zheng sisters’ case be judged? Don’t you wrong good people and chill the hearts of us all!”

Lin Zhang could only force a smile and deflect with vague words, scurrying every day like a rat crossing the street between the office and his home.

He was well-versed in the law and naturally knew there was only one possible outcome to this case.

Zhao Ji was certainly doomed to die.

Zheng Danzhu, who killed in violence, also had ironclad evidence against her, and by law she too ought to be executed.

However, Lin Zhang knew that if he dared to pass such a verdict, the moment he stepped out of the yamen gates, he would be beaten to death on the spot by these simple, honest townsfolk.

Those colleagues who had already resigned from office and were idle at home, upon seeing him, could not help but tease him:

“Dinggui, why heed the Princess Qinghe’s words and take on such a thankless task?”

“Think about it, she has long had close dealings with Hongye Stronghold. How could she just stand by and watch Zheng Danzhu be executed? She just wants to push you forward, to investigate Zhao’s case and those of his faction—to kill you, the chicken, in order to warn us, the monkeys.”

“Dinggui, you’re still too young, not yet understanding the ways of an official.”

“Better to resign together with us, leave these cases for her to trouble herself over.”

Sure enough, Lin Zhang began to feel the urge to withdraw.

But at just that time, that princess—so beautiful she seemed not of the mortal world—would frequently come to press him about the progress of the case.

“Chief Adjudicator Lin, busy again today?”

“The murder case of the Mei residence, the corruption case of Zhao’s faction—with so many cases proceeding side by side, yet handled in such orderliness—Chief Adjudicator Lin is truly sharp-eyed and discerning, a pillar of Nanyong indeed.”

“If every official could handle cases as swiftly as Chief Adjudicator Lin, what need would there be to fear for corrupt governance? One day, when I write to my imperial father, I must give you a fine commendation.”

The princess not only personally came to offer her concern, but when he worked too late into the night, she would even have night meals prepared and sent to him as a gesture of care.

For minor local officials like them, when had they ever imagined being treated with such regard by a princess of the realm?

Lin Zhang and the few assistants he had requested—all young men newly entered into officialdom—were deeply moved, and for a time, nearly wished to exhaust themselves in service to repay such favor.

“…Chief Adjudicator Lin, do you resent me?”

In the inner chamber, Pei Zhaoye was having medicine applied by the imperial physician, while Lizhu, in the outer room, accepted the official document Lin Zhang presented.

Lin Zhang looked up in astonishment, seeing that face as radiant as morning sunlight and spring dew, smiling lightly at him.

“The several cases in your hands—if all judged truthfully—you would offend both the common people and the powerful alike. There would not be the slightest benefit to you. Even if you were to resign now, I actually could not do anything to stop you.”

The candlelight flickered. Lin Zhang was silent for quite a while before bowing deeply to Lizhu and saying:

“To speak honestly, Your Highness, at first I was indeed troubled. I also know well that if I truly pursue these cases, my future in officialdom will surely be difficult.”

Lizhu quietly gazed at him.

“However, does Your Highness know, during the days since you appointed me to investigate the Zhao family father and son, how many commoners have come to me, weeping to complain of their grievances?”

He slowly lifted his head.

“The piles of case scrolls on my desk grow higher each day. Every time I look at those scrolls, I think—if I do not act, who else dares to act? If I do not dare to investigate, who else dares to seek justice for them? Must we wait until another Zheng Danzhu is driven to kill before I come to judge her guilt?”

Lin Zhang paused, as though countless thoughts surged in his heart, finally distilled into a single sentence:

“I do not seek to be some upright official praised as a clear-sky magistrate. After serving these few years, I only wish to judge one case without being controlled by anyone. Even if this is the last case I ever adjudicate, I would feel content!”

Once he had resolved that this would be his final case, Lin Zhang felt as though a great weight had lifted; he even began to feel hopeful each day.

At worst, he would merely lose this post—but his superiors would lose their lives.

“…It will not be your last.”

Lizhu smiled, patting his shoulder gently in reassurance:

“Do as I say, and I guarantee you will become a clear-sky magistrate beloved by the people.”

Lin Zhang’s eyes widened slightly.

—–٠✤٠—–

After Lin Zhang left, Lizhu looked in the direction he had gone and could not help but sigh:

“I knew it, surely not everyone is corrupt. There are still good officials with a loyal heart.”

In the inner chamber, Pei Zhaoye let out a cold, derisive laugh.

“That’s not what you call a loyal heart, it’s what you call a green sprout that hasn’t yet been beaten down by the old foxes. Give him another three to five years—if he can still say such things then, I might actually look at him with some respect.”

“You’re truly pessimistic.”

“You’re the one who’s too optimistic.”

Lizhu lifted the bamboo curtain and entered, only to find that the imperial physician had already left at some unknown time—but Pei Zhaoye’s wound still hadn’t been properly treated.

“Why didn’t you let the physician apply the medicine?”

He faced the mirror, awkwardly applying the ointment himself.

Pei Zhaoye said expressionlessly, “A man’s hands moving all over my body feels rather disgusting.”

“…Do you want me to help you, then?”

“How would I dare trouble the princess?”

Yet the ointment had already been swiftly pushed into her hand.

Lizhu suspected that this was his intention all along.

Under the dim yellow light of the nine-branched lamp, she looked at the sword wound cutting across his back. The slash was too deep—even when healed, it would leave an uneven scar.

Pei Zhaoye, seeing her stare at the wound without moving for a long while, turned his head slightly and said, “What? Do you find the scar ugly?”

Lizhu glanced at him.

“Of course not.”

In truth, he had far more scars than this in her previous life.

Back then, he had spoken of them lightly, as if they were mere small cuts from chopping vegetables.

It wasn’t until Lizhu lived a second life that she saw with her own eyes how his flesh had been split open, how he had been struck down and gravely injured, and how it all healed slowly, bit by bit.

But in that previous life, no one knew where his wounds came from.

She scooped a bit of ointment and carefully applied it to his back.

Pei Zhaoye had intentionally dismissed the physician—not because he truly found the man distasteful, but simply to use his injury as a pretext to earn a bit of the princess’s sympathy.

Yet when her cool fingertips, slick with ointment, brushed lightly across his back, Pei Zhaoye’s waist and abdomen tensed, and he suddenly began to regret it.

“…Princess, my skin is thick and flesh coarse—you can use a bit more strength.”

Lizhu said earnestly, “That won’t do. I won’t give you the chance to call me clumsy.”

Her hand slid from his upper back down toward his waist.

Her touch was too light, her fingers cool and soft, gliding over his lower back like feathers.

“…If not more forceful, then at least faster, can’t you?”

“It’s already very fast,” Lizhu said, entirely focused as her fingers moved along his spine. “You’re the one covered in wounds everywhere, I haven’t even complained of being tired yet.”

His breathing grew a little rapid; he closed his eyes briefly.

Lizhu heard the sound and grew nervous. “Did I hurt you?”

Pei Zhaoye opened his eyes and answered calmly, “No. It just got hard, that’s all.”

“……”

Lizhu nearly dropped the ointment jar in her hand.

One hand still holding the jar, the other still smeared with ointment, she froze, unsure whether to continue. Then suddenly, he hooked his foot around the low stool beneath her and pulled her from behind to face him.

Pei Zhaoye smiled. “You’ve finished the back. Isn’t it time for the front?”

The candlelight cast stark shadows across his bare upper body, outlining ridges and contours like the peaks she would sketch in her paintings.

His legs encircled her along with the stool beneath her; though he did not touch her, there was a pressure like mountains leaning in—inescapable.

“…You can see the front yourself. You can apply the medicine on your own.”

“Why does the princess stop halfway through?”

Pei Zhaoye caught her wrist, pressing her ointment-smeared fingertip against his chest.

“You’ve fed your new favorite subject every night without fail, but now that you’ve no use for me, you stop halfway through even with the medicine. Isn’t the princess being a bit too fickle?”

He seemed to treat Lizhu’s finger as though it were a small stick for applying ointment.

Lizhu kept her eyes shut and refused to move, but he guided her hand himself—smearing the ointment, spreading it, from left to right, from top to bottom—

Her fingertips, pale as jade, curled weakly and helplessly, yet allowed him to lead; no matter where he placed them, she offered no resistance.

A certain hunger stirred within, restless and rising.

After a long while, Pei Zhaoye finally forced down that parched, feverish thought, took a silk handkerchief from the side, and carefully wiped the ointment from her fingertips.

Only then did Lizhu quietly exhale and open her eyes—meeting his deep, dark gaze.

He smiled. “Many thanks for the princess’s mercy. With the medicine applied personally by Your Highness, I’ll surely be much better tomorrow.”

Lizhu’s heart softened instantly.

She gave a light hum in response.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a shallow blood mark on his neck—though faint, it still hinted at how dangerous it must have been.

He couldn’t see that wound himself and so had never treated it. It had already scabbed into a pale brown line.

Lizhu bent down and gently kissed it.

Pei Zhaoye stared at her, the veins along his neck standing out.

She raised her eyes. “I’ll remember all of these wounds.”

Soundlessly, he hooked his foot around the low stool beneath her, pulling it slightly closer.

“What exactly will you remember?”

“That someone will stop at nothing to take your life, and Hongye Stronghold’s.”

His gaze flickered; his tone was light.

“I am a salt smuggler, Hongye Stronghold are bandits—naturally everyone cries for our blood. Whoever wishes to get rid of us, it’s no surprise. Why make such a fuss?”

This was different.

Cui Shiyong wanted to destroy Hongye Stronghold because he was the governor of Yiling County. Whether out of public duty or private motive, though Lizhu disagreed, she could understand it.

But the one who supplied Jiacao Canal with heavy crossbows was different.

That person’s grudge against Hongye Stronghold—and against Pei Zhaoye—must have been personal, for only out of deep hatred would they seek to annihilate the entire stronghold, leaving not one alive.

Lizhu shook her head. “No. As long as I’m here, no one will be allowed to harm you again.”

…Again?

Pei Zhaoye savored those two words, as though from her mouth there had once been a previous time.

Looking at her face, earnest to the point of obsession, Pei Zhaoye suddenly laughed softly, his voice low, almost like a spell.

“Then you’ve missed one wound.”

Lizhu’s eyelashes trembled—then her lips were caught between his, pressing against the hard silver ring on his tongue, which gently slipped into her mouth, their tongues entwining amid faint, wet sounds.

It was as though he wished to share with her the subtle pain that lingered with him in this moment, yet his kiss was meticulous and patient.

After a long time, their lips parted amidst shallow breaths.

He rested his forehead against hers.

“Do you remember it now?”

Lizhu’s mind was a tangle from his kisses; seeing her like this, he smiled, lowered his head to her neck, and greedily breathed in the comforting fragrance that surrounded her.

“It’s all right,” Pei Zhaoye murmured against her soft neck, kissing it lightly. “Next time, I’ll make you remember another way.”