“Miss Mingfang is unwilling to go to the court to testify. Now that the young master and I still wish to save people, we can only make something of the host of that day’s poetry gathering.”

In the courtyard where the rain had not yet dried, Cen Zhao untied his cloak and handed it to the maid at the side, inviting the youth in green robes to walk into the main hall:

“But how is the young master so certain that Hu Linsong truly witnessed Qian Xiyuan killing Zhang Xian with his own eyes? When those people gather together, drinking is unavoidable. Among them, there are many testimonies, and quite a few take Hanshi San [a stimulant powder] under the influence of alcohol. I fear the young master does not know what kind of state one falls into when Hanshi San takes effect. In such a frenzied and unrestrained condition, even if Qian Xiyuan killed someone right in front of them, they likely would not remember.”

When Cen Zhao mentioned “Hanshi San,” the expression on his face darkened somewhat. He gave a cold snort: “In vain did I previously think that Hu Linsong and Tan Jiezhi were prized disciples of the mountain chief of Yeshan Academy, and even agreed to attend the bamboo grove poetry gathering in Taoxi Village. Who would have thought that each and every one of them is mud that cannot be plastered onto a wall!”

Hu Linsong and Tan Jiezhi were precisely the two middle-aged men who had earlier tried to forcibly rent the bamboo grove courtyard.

Zhezhu clearly sensed from Cen Zhao’s expression and words that his feelings toward Hanshi San were far more than simple disgust. Without drawing attention, he glanced at the hand Cen Zhao had pressed against the corner of the desk, clenched tightly, and said calmly:

“As sir has said, many at the poetry gathering that day took Hanshi San. I have heard that those who regularly use this substance often have flushed faces, feel their minds clear, and their bodies light as swallows. But if the dosage is misjudged, ulcers will break out.”

“That Tan Jiezhi is hot-tempered. Even in winter he often holds a fan in his hand. Though he firmly denies it in his testimony, he cannot conceal the fact that he regularly uses Hanshi San. He and Qian Xiyuan are close friends, and aside from him, Hu Linsong is the one closest to Qian Xiyuan. Sir also knows—how could Qian Xiyuan alone have pried up so many heavy wooden planks and hidden Zhang Xian among them?”

Cen Zhao paused at this. He looked toward the youth seated nearby. A trace of a smile clearly leaked into his eyes, yet he deliberately said, “That still cannot prove that the one who helped Qian Xiyuan hide the corpse was Hu Linsong.”

“If one speaks of Hu Linsong being on good terms with Qian Xiyuan, it is indeed not to the same extent as Tan Jiezhi. But it is true that Hu Linsong invited you to the poetry gathering, and it is also true that he feared I, a temporary resident, would discover Zhang Xian’s body.”

The maid promptly served hot tea. Zhezhu lifted the teacup, speaking casually, “Sir, why do you think they hid the corpse for half a month before hastily moving it?”

“Five days ago, the Yeshan Academy courtyard examination was held. At the mountain chief’s invitation, I went to serve as chief examiner. They are all students of the academy and spent half a month preparing for the examination within the academy, unable to leave.”

Cen Zhao’s reputation was too great. Previously, he had served in court as Minister of Personnel. Even after resigning, he still had several students holding high positions in court. The mountain chief of Yeshan Academy was a friend of Cen Zhao’s and had also once served in the imperial court of Yujing in earlier years. With such two towering figures in their eyes, for people like Hu Linsong and Tan Jiezhi, this was an excellent opportunity to rise smoothly through the ranks beyond the triennial imperial examinations.

How could they miss it?

“Hu Linsong must have some leverage in Qian Xiyuan’s hands. But time is pressing, we may not be able to find it in such a short period.”

This was what worried Cen Zhao most at the moment.

“Then ask Hu Linsong directly.”

Zhezhu slowly took a sip of tea. “My uncle in prison is also a clever man. If sir can have someone go into the prison and give him a few hints, he will know what to do.”

Cen Zhao pondered slightly, then nodded. “The matter of the young master breaking into the Qian residence at night to rescue Tian Mingfang—Qian Xiyuan in prison must already know. He should be unable to sit still at this moment. If we can use this to provoke mutual suspicion between him and Hu Linsong, that would be best.”

Night descended, silently enveloping the entire Cen residence. In the starless sky, only a full moon hung in the distant heavens, its clear radiance spreading everywhere.

Inside her room, Shang Rong recited scriptures by lamplight, but her mind was unsettled. After only a few pages, she set down her brush. Hearing Tian Mingfang crying again next door, she went over to check on her.

When she returned to her room and looked up, she saw the youth in green robes sitting in a chair, eating an apple.

“What did you go to do just now?”

The youth lifted his eyes to look at her.

“Miss Mingfang refused to take her medicine. I gave her some sugar pills and spoke with her for a while,” Shang Rong said, walking over to sit beside him. Then she asked, “Zhezhu, the magistrate’s office will hear the case tomorrow. Have you found a way?”

“That depends on Daoist Mengshi.”

Zhezhu spoke unhurriedly. “If news is sent out from the prison tonight, then tomorrow in court he and Madam Yu and her husband may be saved. If not—”

He took a bite of the apple.

“Then I can only break them out of prison.”

Mengshi would naturally not bear a capital crime like Madam Yu and her husband, but imprisonment would be unavoidable for him. And the authorities would certainly investigate thoroughly the background of anyone who was jailed. If so, it would be hard to guarantee that Prefect Qi Yusong of Rongzhou and the Jinyuan Transport Commissioner would not trace Mengshi’s whereabouts.

But for now, Zhezhu had not yet unraveled the mystery surrounding Mengshi. For certain conjectures and considerations, he naturally would not let Mengshi fend for himself.

“Perhaps tomorrow you and I will once again be fugitives with no place to go,” Zhezhu looked at her and said faintly, “and then there will no longer be such a good place for you to rest in peace. You should sleep early tonight.”

Shang Rong shook her head and said, “I once lived in a place tens of thousands of times better than this, but I feel it was far inferior to roaming with you, eating in the wind and sleeping in the open.”

Even if she slept like him, leaning against a tree trunk on a branch; even if she rested a night on a stone in the wilderness—though there was not a single tile above her head to shelter her, she had never felt so free.

This clear night was utterly quiet. The youth silently examined the earnest expression on her face. Yet after their gazes met for only a moment, he hurriedly looked away.

For a long time, he even forgot to take another bite of the apple.

As the night deepened, only a single lonely lamp remained in the room. In the dim light, Shang Rong wrapped in her brocade quilt, drowsy with sleep. With half-open eyes, through the screen she vaguely saw the youth wiping his flexible sword.

The flickering silver gleam swayed and swayed, making her eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“Zhezhu.”

Her voice was tinged with hazy drowsiness.

“Mm?”

“Today I painted a picture. I want to give it to Mr. Qingshan.” Her voice was soft and light.

Zhezhu paused in the motion of wiping the blade, then responded coldly, “Oh.”

“Why don’t you ask me why?”

Half her face pressed into the soft pillow, she asked him.

Zhezhu wound the flexible sword back around his waist. “Would you be willing to tell me?”

“I would.”

Shang Rong’s gaze traced his silhouette on the screen. “Zhezhu, Mr. Qingshan was the first person who pitied me.”

“He pitied you, and that makes you happy?”

Zhezhu lifted his eyelids. Through the screen, in the most dim and indistinct light, he met her eyes.

“There are many who think me hateful. Only he pitied me.”

Shang Rong did not know how to explain to him what she had heard, seen, and endured over these past fifteen years.

If Mr. Qingshan had not quarreled with her royal father back then, perhaps he would still be in the imperial court of Yujing. Perhaps he would have entered the palace to become her teacher, teaching her to read and understand reason.

But her fortune always seemed to fall just a little short.

Those she felt close to were all far away from her; those she feared were instead unbearably near.

Shang Rong did not know why the youth behind the screen said nothing. After thinking for a moment, she added, “Zhezhu, you are different too. Although you saved me because of those two volumes of Daoist scriptures, these days I have followed you, eaten meat with you, and drunk wine with you. You have truly been very good to me.”

The room was silent. Shang Rong was almost about to close her eyes, when suddenly the youth’s voice, like the clear patter of rain, sounded:

“Just because of these things, you think I am good?”

“Mm.”

Shang Rong’s eyelids still drooped. Her voice grew lighter and slower: “This is already more than enough… enough for me to remember you for a very, very long time.”

Her breathing gradually steadied. The youth sat behind the screen for a long time without moving at all. His fingers rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist. His lowered lashes, in the dim light, concealed his expression.

“Foolish or not.”

His voice was almost softer than her breathing.

A knock suddenly sounded at the door. The youth’s clear and sharp brows lifted slightly. Outside the door was the bent shadow of a person, and then an aged voice came:

“Is the young master within? News has come out from the prison.”

The youth stood up, but through the screen he sensed that the little girl who had fallen asleep was already awake. He simply walked around the screen.

The shadow fell over her. Half-dazed, Shang Rong lifted her eyes and saw his face.

“Mengshi isn’t that foolish. I need to go out for a while. You cannot appear before the officials—tomorrow, do not follow Cen Zhao to the magistrate’s office,” he said. Seeing her eyelids, heavy with lingering sleepiness, about to close again, he reached out and poked her cheek. As he wished, she opened her eyes again. The curve beneath his eyes deepened slightly. “Wait for me to come back and fetch you. Did you hear?”

“I heard.”

She finally came fully awake and answered obediently.

Zhezhu turned to leave, but suddenly stopped. Lowering his eyes, he looked at the hand that had grasped his sleeve. He turned his face slightly and looked at her.

“Zhezhu, be careful. Don’t get hurt.”

Her fair cheeks, warmed beneath the covers, were faintly flushed. Her dark hair fell before her shoulders.

“Got it.”

He turned his face aside and replied calmly.

The room fell completely silent again. After Zhezhu left, most of Shang Rong’s sleepiness vanished. She could not help but worry, but then she remembered what he had said about fleeing for their lives. Clutching the edge of the quilt, she still closed her eyes.

Half awake and half asleep, she endured the long night just like that. When dawn was only faintly breaking the next day, before she had even opened her eyes, she vaguely heard movement in the corridor outside the door.

“Is Elder Cen still in the residence? Please trouble yourselves—I wish to see him.”

Tian Mingfang’s hoarse voice came through.

“Miss Tian, the master is dressing at this moment. I’m afraid he cannot see you. He is about to go to the magistrate’s office,” a maid answered gently.

Shang Rong suddenly sat up. She got out of bed and reached for the clothes placed on the low stool, but the coarse cloth garments that had originally been there had, at some unknown time, become a neatly folded set of silk and gauze robes.

The pink round-collared outer garment gleamed softly, its embroidery of butterflies chasing white epiphyllum delicate and beautiful. On the snow-white skirt, light as cloud and mist, a diamond-patterned texture appeared and disappeared faintly.

Shang Rong lifted the garments and touched the embroidery upon them.

She could not help but wonder—

When exactly had he placed them here?