Four days before Grain Rain, the capital experienced the first heavy rain of spring.
It began falling at the fourth watch of the night, tapping against the roof tiles in a steady, ringing rhythm that lasted until dawn. Gu Jinzhao lay in her carved canopy bed, drifting in and out of sleep as she listened to the rain. In her half-dreaming state, she seemed to have returned to Jiangnan—where in her maternal grandmother’s courtyard, an old banana plant had been battered by rain all night. The next morning, when she pushed open the window, its leaves were so green they seemed ready to drip water.
By morning, the rain had weakened into a fine mist, like cow-hair threads drifting through the air. The atmosphere was saturated with moisture, mixed with the scent of wet earth and the faint fragrance of newly planted orchids in the courtyard. The stone paving had turned a deep, glossy gray, so wet it could reflect a person’s silhouette.
After breakfast, Gu Jinzhao changed into her traveling clothes—a lotus-purple high-collared long jacket paired with a moon-white horse-face skirt, and a stone-blue cloud-patterned cloak on top. Today was the nineteenth day of the third lunar month, the Guanyin Festival, and she was going to Floating Light Temple in the east of the city to burn incense. Before returning to the capital, her maternal grandmother had specifically instructed her that the incense offered on this day was especially efficacious, and she must light a lamp on her behalf.
Qing Pu was already waiting under the corridor. She too had changed into a more proper indigo long jacket, her hair neatly smoothed without a single stray strand. She carried a bamboo basket containing incense, candles, and offerings. As soon as she saw Gu Jinzhao come out, she stepped forward to adjust the tie at her cloak collar, her fingers brushing past the fabric with a faint scent of soap.
“The carriage is ready,” Qing Pu said. “The roads are slippery today. Miss, please walk slowly when you get down.”
“Got it,” Gu Jinzhao replied, already heading toward the gate.
Floating Light Temple was not a large or particularly famous temple in the capital, nor did it enjoy the bustling incense of the Great Ci’en Temple in the west. Its advantage, however, was tranquility.
It sat halfway up a hill, backed by a bamboo forest and facing a winding stream. In the rain, the temple felt even more serene, almost otherworldly. The moss along the stone paths had soaked up water and turned soft, like stepping on cotton. Rainwater dripped from the eaves onto the steps in an unhurried rhythm, like an old monk tapping a wooden fish.
Gu Jinzhao offered incense in the Main Hall, added oil in the Guanyin Hall, and finally went to the Arhat Hall in the back courtyard, intending to count the arhats. Every time she entered a temple, she liked to count them to see what fortune awaited her in the coming year.
The Arhat Hall was dim, lit only by a few flickering eternal lamps. The air carried the mixed scent of old incense oil and dust—stuffy, but not unpleasant. She closed her eyes and randomly pointed, beginning from the arhat her finger landed on. When she reached the sixteenth, she opened her eyes: it was an arhat holding a scripture scroll, head lowered, smiling faintly, its expression unreadable.
As she studied it, footsteps suddenly sounded outside the hall.
Not monk-like footsteps—monks walked lightly, their cloth shoes making only faint sounds. These were multiple people moving together, leather boots striking wet stone with heavy, damp thuds.
Then came voices.
“Sir, the item has been delivered. Official Chen said to review it and proceed according to the old rules.” A sharp, fawning voice—likely a steward or attendant.
Another voice followed, slow and deep, as though each word had been carefully chewed before being spoken:
“Understood. Go back and tell your master I have received it. He should conduct himself accordingly. Reciprocity is a good thing, but one must choose the right time to give gifts. Some things are too heavy—hands become difficult to wash clean.”
Gu Jinzhao had not intended to listen, but the last sentence made her heart give a sudden jolt. She did not know why, only that the voice sounded calm and refined, even polite—but somehow made the back of her neck feel cold.
She instinctively stepped back half a pace, hiding in the shadow behind the Arhat statues. Qing Pu also retreated silently beside her, right hand lowering to her side with fingers slightly curled—her sign of alertness.
Footsteps grew closer. Through a crack in the doorway, Gu Jinzhao saw a group passing through the corridor outside the Arhat Hall toward the side exit of the temple. The leader was a steward carrying an oilcloth bundle. Behind him were two strong men with simple but sharp swords at their waists, eyes fixed ahead.
And at the very end—
A man appeared.
He was around forty, average build, neither fat nor thin, wearing a plain dark-blue daoist robe with no ornamentation whatsoever. No jade pendant, no gold accessories—nothing that suggested wealth or status.
As he walked under the corridor, the rain briefly paused. A shaft of light broke through the clouds and fell across his face.
He looked gentle, even refined—well-shaped features, calm brows, and a faint, polite smile. In his hand was a string of polished sandalwood prayer beads, each bead glossy from years of handling.
But when Gu Jinzhao saw his eyes, a chill rose again in her chest.
Those eyes were smiling, the corners slightly curved like his mouth. Fine lines made him appear kind. But the smile only stayed on the surface—like oil floating on water. Beneath it was something cold and suffocating.
She recognized him.
In her previous life, she had seen him at a banquet held by the Chen family. Young Master Chen had once pointed to a man seated at the end of the main table and said: “That is Vice Minister of Personnel Ji Minzhong. He looks unremarkable, but he is one of the least people you should ever offend.”
Later, she understood what that meant. In her past life, Ji Minzhong had risen from Vice Minister of Personnel to Grand Secretary of the Inner Cabinet. He was smooth, meticulous, and without obvious enemies—because those who stood in his way either ended up exiled far away or vanished quietly from the capital.
“Official Ji, this way please,” the steward said warmly, guiding him forward.
As Ji Minzhong passed the Arhat Hall, his steps suddenly paused.
Gu Jinzhao held her breath.
His gaze swept casually over the hall entrance—just a glance, as though sensing something or merely acting on instinct. From her hiding place, she knew he should not have seen her. Her lotus-colored clothing blended into the dim shadows.
Yet in that brief instant, a cold sensation still slid across her spine, like an ice-cold fingertip tracing the back of her neck.
Then Ji Minzhong withdrew his gaze and continued walking. The sandalwood beads rolled once more between his fingers.
The footsteps faded and disappeared through the temple’s rear gate.
Only then did Gu Jinzhao realize her palm was damp with sweat.
After confirming no one remained, she stepped out slowly.
“Miss?” Qing Pu called softly.
“Don’t speak yet,” Gu Jinzhao said quietly.
She walked to the entrance of the Arhat Hall and looked toward the direction where Ji Minzhong had disappeared. Beyond the rear gate was only a bamboo forest washed clean by rain. No footprints remained.
“Ji Minzhong,” she murmured.
In her previous life, she had been confined to inner courtyards and knew too little. Now that she had returned to this age, she realized how many critical threads she had missed—the undercurrents of the court, the hidden movements in officialdom, and secrets no one would ever tell a woman trapped in the inner residence.
But she remembered many endings. She remembered his.
In her past life, this seemingly gentle Official Ji had been implicated in a shocking case—illegal salt and iron trade, collusion with border generals, even suspected treason. The case had been personally handled by Ye Xian, with irrefutable evidence. Three entire clans were implicated. On the day of the execution, heavy snow fell across the capital.
At the time, she had only thought it was a satisfying conclusion. But now, she wondered: how had Ji Minzhong, who had operated so flawlessly for over a decade, been caught by Ye Xian? And what had it cost him to bring him down?
A wind passed through the corridor, lifting the hem of her cloak. The rain intensified again, rustling against bamboo leaves like whispered words.
She decided she could not act rashly—but she also could not ignore what she had seen.
“Qing Pu,” she said as they turned back, her tone light again, “let’s go offer incense to Guanyin once more.”
They walked past the Arhat Hall. The wet stone floor had already been washed clean by rain. Only a single bamboo leaf remained, trembling at the edge of the steps.
She remembered a drunken guest at a Chen family banquet once saying: “Official Ji is a smiling Buddha. But behind a smiling Buddha—there are knives everywhere.”
Now she understood.
Outside the temple, the bamboo forest behind Floating Light Temple had been washed into a vivid green. In the distance stood a row of meditation rooms for resting pilgrims.
As Gu Jinzhao passed through the courtyard, she noticed a man standing outside one of the rooms.
He wore a dark patterned robe, a sword at his waist, standing straight in the rain without moving. A soldier at a glance.
She recognized him as one of Ye Xian’s guards.
She hesitated.
“Miss,” Qing Pu reminded her softly.
She did not move.
At that moment, the bamboo curtain was lifted slightly from inside. Xu Jingting peeked out and smiled in surprise: “Miss Gu? Why are you here?”
“I came to offer incense for Guanyin’s birthday,” she replied, bowing slightly. “Young Master Xu is here as well.”
“I’m just accompanying Ye Xian,” he said, pointing inside.
She looked into the room.
Inside, Ye Xian lay lazily on a bamboo couch, holding a book he was not really reading. His expression was indifferent as he stared out at the rainy bamboo forest. A faint medicinal scent mixed with incense drifted in the room.
“You may come in if you are not in a hurry,” Xu Jingting said.
From inside, a voice came:
“Xu Jingting, whose room is this?”
It was calm and lazy.
He still said, “Come in.”
Gu Jinzhao entered.
Warmth enveloped her immediately—charcoal burning in a corner, incense smoke curling upward, and the faint scent of medicine mixed with ink.
She sat down across from him.
After a moment of silence, he finally asked about her fall at the horse grounds. She answered lightly that she had already seen a doctor. He said he had only asked casually, not out of concern, though his ears turned faintly red as he denied it.
Then she casually mentioned Ji Minzhong.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
He asked how she knew the name.
She deflected, saying she overheard it in the Arhat Hall.
He did not press further.
After a while, she stood to leave. At the doorway, she turned back and teased him lightly about drinking cold tea.
Behind her, he told Xu Jingting to replace her cup with cold water next time.
As she left, the rain had already thinned to a mist. A faint smile remained on her lips.
Inside the room, he turned another page, though his attention was elsewhere.
Outside, the rain washed over the bamboo forest, as if slowly cleansing something unseen.
And far away, he suddenly thought—without reason—that in seven days it would be Qingming Festival. She would likely go out to the outskirts of the city.
He frowned slightly, irritated by his own stray thoughts.
The rain stopped.
The carriage carried Gu Jinzhao down the mountain road toward the capital. Birds returned to the wet trees, and streams of water dripped rhythmically from leaves.
Inside the carriage, she leaned against Qing Pu with a faint smile still lingering at the corner of her lips.
She took out a small talisman she had received at the temple. It was meant for her mother—but a thought crossed her mind.
Qingming was coming. Xu Jingting had said the court would be on holiday for three days.
That man would finally be free.
She slipped the talisman back into her sleeve without telling anyone.
And quietly, she looked forward to their next meeting.