Xie Jing stood in Xie Jun’s study and surveyed the four walls. Though the Wang family servants had kept it immaculate, it still felt desolate; there was nothing left.
In the latter half of the night, when Wuyi Lane was raided and seized, a fire had broken out in the Xie’s Mansion. Amid the wailing and screams, someone had accidentally knocked over a candle stand, and the fire had burned uncontrollably through a large section of the courtyards and buildings in the northeast courtyards, including Xie Jun’s bedroom and study.
After his father and brother were executed, the mansion had been sealed and temporarily confiscated. Xie Jing had heard from Lu Lingcong that the imperial court had ordered the ruins cleared and repairs carried out. There were constant rumors that the property would be repurposed, yet nothing happened until Xie Jing returned to the capital at the start of the year and the property was finally restored to its original owner.
Looking back, the order to repair the Xie’s Mansion had most likely come from Lu Lingzhang.
The rare treasures and curios that had once filled every corner of the home had likely been either confiscated or whisked away by soldiers taking advantage of the chaos. Xie Jing had not, and dared not, entered the rooms of his parents or his elder brother and sister-in-law. Seeing old belongings and longing for the departed is the surest way to break one’s heart, and he still did not know how many of their personal effects had survived.
The steward reported to him: “Normally, except for the South Courtyard, all the other courtyards are kept locked. We only open and close them each morning when we go to clean, and otherwise we don’t touch the keys. We gathered everyone and checked their hands one by one; none of them matched.”
Xie Jing slowly placed his own hand over the mark to compare them. He found the handprint was slightly larger than his own, with prominent knuckles; it likely belonged to a man. The bloodstain was still fresh, estimated to have been left shortly before the maid unlocked the door this morning.
He turned back and asked, “Was anything stolen? Either from this room or from any of your own quarters?”
The steward was an experienced man; if he weren’t, Wang Chu likely wouldn’t have sent him to the Xie’s Mansion. He had already ordered everyone to check their private belongings and replied, “When we moved in, although My Lord were grieving and did not wish to manage affairs, we followed protocol and registered every piece of furniture in the courtyards into a ledger. I had them check just now; nothing is missing.”
In truth, Xie Jing’s question was merely perfunctory. An intruder leaving a bloody handprint was clearly intended more as a threat, and the target of that intimidation did not seem to be himself, but these servants—otherwise, why not leave the handprint in his South Courtyard?
His heart stirred as he slightly lifted his eyes to scan the dense crowd in the courtyard. Seizing the moment, he assumed a solemn expression and said, “In that case, everyone should stay vigilant at night. Whether it’s a man or a ghost, if there’s a first and second time, there will also be a third and fourth. There’s no telling when they might strike again, so we must be ready.”
Originally, the maids and attendants had incredibly sharp eyes, dutifully watching Xie Jing’s door and following him closely whenever he stepped out. Xie Jing had always felt that Lu Lingcong’s choice to place the secret passage entrance in his room was a stroke of genius; at the very least, those spies wouldn’t stand by his bed and watch him sleep.
However, once this incident occurred, and coupled with Xie Jing’s ominous warning, the servants grew uneasy. Most who had no duties at night kept their doors tightly shut, and those on night watch huddled together to bolster their courage, which inadvertently loosened the restrictions on Xie Jing’s movements.
Yet, before the owner of the handprint could make another move, Xie Jing received an unexpected imperial edict: Lu Lingzhang ordered him to set out immediately, cross the Huai River, and proceed to Xuzhou to oversee the relief efforts in Huaiyang, Jiyin, Xiapi, and the other prefectures on the emperor’s behalf.
With the edict in hand, Xie Jing understood everything instantly—Lu Lingzhang was aware of their plan to rise up next spring. Regardless of whether he had ever doubted Zhao Prince’s Mansion before, the fact that he was sending Xie Jing on this mission proved that, at this moment, he placed his trust in them.
Lu Lingcong had already left the capital half a month ago under the guise of inspecting his fief. While his destination was indeed Luoyi, the trip served a more critical purpose: while passing through the prefectures north of the Huai River, Lu Lingcong would confirm that the intricate web of connections he had secretly developed three years ago, back when he stationed the Tiger Division there, was still functioning smoothly. This was to ensure that when the capital faced upheaval next spring, the local garrisons would not “proactively” or “enthusiastically” come to the emperor’s rescue.
The subordinate officials traveling with him had branched off just outside Jinling, continuing north as planned. Lu Lingcong entered the Huai region alone; once his work was finished, he would return to the official roads to rejoin the main group. This way, he would not draw attention and could still account for his movements to the imperial court.
This imperial edict had been sent directly to Xie Jing by Lu Lingzhang more than half a month after Lu Lingcong left the capital. At the same time, various imperial commissioners were setting out one after another to inspect the disaster areas. Therefore, Xie Jing’s departure went unnoticed, and no one would link his journey to the Zhao Prince in any way.
When Xie Jing brought the news back to the Prime Minister’s Mansion for Wang Chu, Cui Shushi was also present, looking as composed as ever. Xie Jing couldn’t tell whether she had known about this beforehand, but by his understanding, Cui Shushi maintained private contacts and agreements with Shenlong Hall. The fact that Lu Lingzhang knew of their plans might have been because Cui Shushi dropped a subtle hint while “pledging loyalty” on their behalf.
Sending him to Huaibei under the pretense of testing his loyalty on behalf of the Prime Minister’s Mansion, while in reality assessing whether these prefectures would genuinely fall under Lu Lingcong’s control; might very well have been a strategy Cui Shushi suggested to Lu Lingzhang.
After Wang Chu finished reading the edict, he cast a glance at his second daughter-in-law, presumably trying to fathom Lu Lingzhang’s motives.
Cui Shushi understood immediately and said smoothly, “By sending Lord Xie out of the capital and silencing our voice in court, Father and Eldest Brother will be forced to step forward and speak for yourself. His Majesty clearly does not want our family to stay out of this.”
She turned and pointed to the map hanging on the wall: “During the Yongjia years, the Wang family of Langya followed the Jin court in its southern migration. Guo Pu once divined the fortunes of Wang Dao, and the hexagram read: ‘Auspicious, nothing unfavorable. When the Huai River is severed, the Wang family shall perish’. In my humble opinion, this is a rare opportunity for us. Langya Prefecture lies within the borders of Xuzhou; though Lord Xie’s journey won’t take him that far, the bond of shared interests remains close. If we can provide help in their time of need, the people of the Huaibei prefectures will surely be grateful.”
Wang Chu did not respond, but observing his expression, Xie Jing could tell that Cui Shushi had hit the mark. The imperial court had allocated the largest portion of relief funds to eastern Zhejiang, where the disaster was relatively light. While the commoners were currently too burdened by survival to protest this injustice, if things improved slightly next year and someone with an agenda decided to settle old scores, the reputation and public support the Wang clan of Langya had meticulously maintained for years would be in jeopardy.
Wasn’t bleeding a little wealth to leave a path of survival for irrelevant people exactly what the Wu and Li families were doing in the capital right now? When the time came for the final accounting, people would say the Wang clan hadn’t merely used Xie Jing as a figurehead and scapegoat; hadn’t they also entrusted him with distributing merit and carrying out acts of charity?
After a long silence, Wang Chu finally said to Xie Jing, “The Huai River is the gateway to Jinling and is of paramount importance. You might as well go and scout the situation.”
Xie Jing departed in haste, leaving Jinling before the end of the lunar year. To be safe, he specifically selected a few men from the old Tiger Division units at Mufu Mountain to accompany him, including Xu Jia and Xu Yi. These men, together with the servants provided by the Wang family, formed two distinct, mutually wary groups; giving Xie Jing the chance to finally breathe a sigh of relief.
He adopted a strategy of riding hard to reach the farthest point, which is Xiapi Prefecture, before returning toward the capital. Being further north, Xiapi had been hit harder by the disaster, and the situation there was more urgent. Secondly, Lu Lingcong had likely just left; even if the Prefect harbored ulterior motives, he would not have had much time to scheme either, making it easier for any flaws to show.
They were forced to halt outside the city on New Year’s Eve by a blizzard, leaving them with no choice but to take shelter at a post station along the official road. Xie Jing declined, saying his clothes were thick enough and he didn’t need it, allowing the Xu brothers to take the only charcoal brazier down to the lower rooms for the others; he even persuaded the night watchmen to return. In his room, at least the doors and windows were intact, and bundling himself in his clothes and bedding was enough to keep warm; however, the rooms downstairs where the attendants slept were bound to be drafty, and without charcoal for heat, the night would be difficult to endure.
Xie Jing lay down early, mulling over which step of the investigation to start with upon entering the city tomorrow. He was just drifting into a daze, curled up in the corner of the bed with the wind as his pillow, when he suddenly heard a sharp “click.”
He thought it was the wind rattling the window lattice, but before he could turn to get out of bed, he felt a rustle of the curtains behind him. The next moment, a warm hand was pressed against his icy cheek.
Xie Jing almost cried out, but the newcomer, having anticipated his reaction, moved in tandem to cover his mouth. The instant their skin touched, Xie Jing settled down; he immediately recognized the scent that belonged solely to Lu Lingcong.
Startled, he turned around before lifting the quilt to pull Lu Lingcong inside and tightly embracing his waist. Lu Lingcong’s clothes carried the chill of the outdoors, but his body was much warmer; Xie Jing instinctively tucked his feet between the other party’s calves, rubbing them to soothe the chill in his soles.
“I thought you had already left.”
Lu Lingcong gently massaged the back of Xie Jing’s neck to stimulate his circulation, “I was supposed to leave last night, but I was delayed by the snow. If I had truly left, I wouldn’t have been able to see you.”
“That handprint… it wasn’t you, was it?” Xie Jing’s thoughts suddenly shifted as he asked almost subconsciously.
Lu Lingcong asked doubtfully, “What handprint?”
Xie Jing had indeed speculated that the bloody handprint might be Lu Lingcong’s doing. However, Lu Lingcong didn’t have a key; to enter Xie Jun’s room, he would have had to break the lock. Yet the steward had reported no damage to the door. Moreover, if it had truly been Lu Lingcong, there would have been no reason to keep it from him.
Perhaps the intruder had their own key? But amidst the chaos of those years, with so many people coming and going, it was impossible for Xie Jing to track down who might still possess a key to the Xie’s Mansion.
In the end, he simply shook his head and said, “It’s nothing, I’m just muddled from sleep.” With such weightier matters at hand, he didn’t want to burden Lu Lingcong with these concerns.
“How did you end up here?” Lu Lingcong asked, naturally burying his face in the crook of Xie Jing’s neck to kiss him while pressing a warm palm against Xie Jing’s soft abdomen.
Xie Jing briefly recounted the sequence of events. Lu Lingcong replied, “I came here incognito. When I saw the official carriages outside this evening, I thought the Prefect of Xiapi was playing some kind of trick. I never expected that, when the curtain lifted, you would be the one to step out.”
“I was just about to ask you,” Xie Jing continued, “now that you’ve made these rounds, have all the key connections been settled? Is there anyone else I need to sway, perhaps by using the Xie family name? Or am I simply here to test their loyalty?”
Lu Lingcong paused for a moment at these words, a hesitation that Xie Jing noticed immediately. He warned, “We’ve reached this point; it’s a matter of life and death of kings or outcasts. There’s no longer ‘yours’ or ‘mine,’ and no more talk of debts. Whatever you need me to do, just say the word.”
“Just focus on the tasks Wang Chu assigned you,” Lu Lingcong said while gazing at him in the darkness for a long while before firmly kissing both of his cheeks. “I have already handled all the connections that needed smoothing and the matters requiring the Xie family name.”
Xie Jing was somewhat dissatisfied with Lu Lingcong kissing him as if he were a child. He leaned in, nudging with his nose and nipping lightly with his teeth, kissing his way from Lu Lingcong’s adam apple up to his lips.
“If you have the energy, you can test the governors of every prefecture, but my intuition is usually right,” Lu Lingcong paused, lowering his voice. “The problem will be in Huaiyang.”
Xie Jing silently committed this to memory, understanding the implication, but he was unwilling to spend any more time or effort discussing official business.
“Are you leaving early tomorrow morning?” he asked insistently while sliding his arm beneath the clothes to climb up Lu Lingcong’s back, tracing the lines of his scars. “I want you.”
Yet Xie Jing knew himself that the timing and location were inappropriate. It had been a long time since they had been intimate; once they started, they likely wouldn’t be able to restrain themselves.
“Soon,” Lu Lingcong said, kneading his earlobe. “It will be soon. When that time comes, I’ll stay with you every night; even if I have to skip court, I’ll stay with you.”
Xie Jing was actually not sleepy at all, but he forced his breathing to become steady and slow, trying his best not to toss and turn or make a sound. If he were restless, Lu Lingcong would surely stay awake all night to keep him company. While he could travel into the city tomorrow in the relative comfort of a carriage, Lu Lingcong would have to ride through wind and snow; he needed his rest. Only by pretending to be deeply asleep could Xie Jing ensure that Lu Lingcong would sleep peacefully.
The north wind howled throughout the night. By dawn, the snow had already stopped. Though the sun had not yet risen, the world was brightened by the reflection off the snowdrifts. Lu Lingcong awoke, carefully uncurling his arms from around Xie Jing, and rose.
Xie Jing buried half his face in the quilt while watching his back silently. He had spent mornings like this countless times over fourteen years by quietly and nonchalantly watching Lu Lingcong dress and wash. Usually, when everything was ready and he was about to push open the door, Lu Lingcong would habitually glance back at the bed. If he caught Xie Jing watching him with dark, bright eyes, he would sit back down with a laugh and pull him into a lingering embrace.
But not today. Lu Lingcong simply tidied himself in haste, picked up his sword, and strode toward the door with an almost restless air. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then hurried downstairs with great strides as if he knew that staying for even one more moment would make it impossible not to look back.
Xie Jing stared blankly at the door as it opened and shut. He felt a sudden, fleeting absurdity as if Lu Lingcong were a ghost scholar from a folk tale who had shared a tryst with a well-born lady, leaving no trace behind once the sun rose. If not for the lingering warmth beside him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell whether last night had been reality or a dream.
He sat stunned for the time it took to drink half a cup of tea. Then, as if possessed, he leaped up, pulled on his boots, wrapped himself in his heavy cloak, and stumbled down the stairs Lu Lingcong had just descended.
The inn’s main hall was empty except for a single bleary-eyed attendant. Xie Jing didn’t pause; he charged straight out the door, plunging into the biting cold of the ice-and-snow world outside. The gale sliced at his face like a knife.
A voice in his heart wailed, “You should go back.” He shouldn’t chase him; he couldn’t catch him. But he was suddenly unable to control the overwhelming panic that pressed down on him like the heavy snow. In his state of high alert, he treated every departing back as a final glimpse and every farewell as an eternal parting.
He did not call out or shout. He simply pulled his cloak tight and chased after him through the snow with his uneven steps. The path was difficult, and his run was clumsy and disheveled, yet he stubbornly, obstinately pursued the sound of the receding hoofbeats.
He didn’t know how long he ran; it felt like a hundred years, though perhaps it was only a hundred paces. When he finally lowered the sleeve he’d used to shield his brow from the cold, he suddenly noticed that amidst the endless white, a dark shadow was slowly moving toward him. It drew closer, becoming clearer and more real—it was Lu Lingcong.
Lu Lingcong had seen him. He turned his horse around and was galloping straight toward him.
