On the day before the Beginning of Summer, the capital had another rain.
It was not heavy, just a soft patter that drummed against the roof tiles through the night. By morning, it had stopped. Gu Jinzhao pushed open the window. The leaves of the old locust tree in the courtyard had been washed into a glossy deep green. In the corner, the pomegranate tree had sprouted its first batch of buds of the year; a few had been knocked down by the rain and lay bright red in the gaps between blue bricks, like broken coral beads. The air carried the sweet, earthy scent of freshly turned soil, mixed with the fragrance of boiled zongye leaves drifting from the neighboring kitchen. With the Beginning of Summer approaching, the household kitchen had been busy since before dawn—preparing tea eggs and steamed rice cakes.
She took a deep breath of the morning air and called out, “Qing Pu, we’re going to Floating Light Temple today.”
Qing Pu was tidying the combs on the dressing table. She looked up at the words. “Miss, didn’t you just go a few days ago?”
“Today is the Beginning of Summer. The temple is distributing porridge.” Gu Jinzhao sat down at the dressing table and twirled a brow pencil between her fingers. “Grandmother wrote saying she wants me to offer a lamp in front of the Buddha today. The porridge distribution will make it crowded and lively anyway, perfect timing.” She glanced at her maid’s reflection in the bronze mirror. “Pick the bamboo-green jacket. The plainer, the better. No need to stand out at the temple.”
Qing Pu did not ask further. She took out the bamboo-green patterned jacket from the cabinet and placed it beside her, then went to prepare the carriage.
Floating Light Temple was halfway up the mountain, backed by bamboo forest and facing a stream. On this day, the number of pilgrims had more than doubled. Three large iron pots had been set up at the entrance, boiling porridge; steam rose in thick clouds, and the scent of rice mixed with smoke drifted across the valley on the wind. Young novice monks hurried to add firewood, while the reception monk stood at the gate greeting visitors, too busy to even turn his prayer beads.
Gu Jinzhao offered a lamp in the Mahavira Hall, added oil in the Hall of Avalokitesvara, then led Qing Pu through the Arhat Hall toward the back mountain. Last time she had come to Floating Light Temple, she had overheard Ji Minzhong and a steward talking in the corridor outside the Arhat Hall. After that, she had planted a source inside the temple.
The incense monk had reported a few days ago that the man came every few days—sometimes delivering items, sometimes only burning incense. Afterward, he would go to the bamboo forest at the back mountain and stand there for a while, as if waiting for someone. Two days ago, he had come again and stood in the bamboo forest for the duration of an incense stick before leaving. That report had confirmed her suspicions. With the Beginning of Summer crowds, she could blend in easily and move toward the back mountain without drawing attention.
The bamboo forest was much cooler than outside. Rainwater still clung to the bamboo leaves; when the wind passed through, droplets fell in scattered patters onto the stone path. The tall bamboo stalks stood densely on both sides, filtering the sunlight into thin shards of gold. The air carried the bitter, clean scent of bamboo leaves mixed with post-rain moisture, cool as it entered the lungs.
She had not walked far along the stone path when she suddenly heard faint sounds from deeper within the forest.
Along with the rustling water sounds, there were voices—two people talking.
“Was it delivered?”
This voice was low and quiet, yet Gu Jinzhao recognized it instantly.
Ji Minzhong.
“It was delivered. As instructed, it was passed in through the side entrance without a name card. The gatekeeper accepted it without suspicion,” another voice replied, slightly sharp and deferential.
“Good that there was no suspicion,” Ji Minzhong said slowly, his tone still unhurried but lowered further until it was almost swallowed by the wind. “This letter has been accumulated for some time. It will reach the Heir Apparent’s hands.”
Gu Jinzhao’s heart turned cold.
Ji Minzhong was sending something to Ye Xian’s residence?
She instinctively stepped forward to hear more clearly—but suddenly there was a crisp snap. A dry bamboo branch had broken underfoot.
She immediately froze and retreated behind an old bamboo stalk. The rough texture pressed against her back, the chill seeping through her clothes. She held her breath, her heartbeat pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.
Footsteps sounded once, then stopped.
A moment later, bamboo shadows shifted slightly. A figure passed through the path beyond her hiding place. Through the gaps in the bamboo, she caught a distant glimpse of a steady silhouette. At the far end of the stone path, someone emerged from the bamboo grove near a meditation room—an edge of pale cyan clothing visible.
Ji Minzhong seemed to have adjusted his sleeves and walked forward calmly to meet him.
“Lord Heir Apparent,” Ji Minzhong’s voice carried, warm and courteous, still perfectly composed. “To think we would meet here during today’s Beginning of Summer ritual—what a coincidence.”
Gu Jinzhao’s heart tightened again.
Ye Xian was also at Floating Light Temple?
But Ji Minzhong’s earlier words—“it will reach the Heir Apparent”—clearly did not sound like coincidence. She pressed herself closer against the bamboo, peering through the gaps.
At the end of the bamboo path, the cyan figure approached.
Today, Ye Xian was not in his usual dao robe. He wore a moon-white patterned official garment, sleeves narrowed and neat, a white jade belt at his waist, and a jade pendant hanging from it. His hair was bound more formally than usual with a bamboo-patterned jade hairpin. Compared to his usual lazy, half-reclining demeanor in the residence, he now looked as though he had come to meet someone important—or had just left someone important.
His steps were unhurried, as usual.
But Gu Jinzhao noticed that after he stopped, his left heel tapped the ground once lightly. A subtle defensive habit—she had seen it once before during the apricot blossom grove incident.
“Lord Ji,” Ye Xian said flatly, his tone calm and cool. “I accompanied my mother to offer lamps. Instead of staying in the Ministry to review the annual performance records, Lord Ji has come all the way to the mountain to burn incense?”
It sounded like a joke, but it was actually a test.
Ji Minzhong’s smile remained unchanged. “Today is a rest day. The offices are sealed. My mother is devout; I come every festival to offer a lamp for her. The Heir Apparent is also a filial son—you understand this well.”
Not a single flaw in his answer.
His footsteps gradually faded into the bamboo grove until they disappeared.
Gu Jinzhao stayed pressed against the bamboo for a long time until the last echo of footsteps was swallowed by the stream. Only then did she slowly exhale. Her hands had clenched so tightly that her knuckles were stiff. Yet her expression was not fear—it was excitement, a sharp, restrained excitement born of discovery.
In her previous life, before Ji Minzhong fell from power, there had been rumors in court circles. It was said that his greatest opponent was indeed Ye Xian—but before that, the two families had once had secret dealings. No one knew when those dealings ended, or how cooperation turned into a deadly struggle.
That struggle had lasted for years.
Ji Minzhong had nearly brought down the Changxing Marquis Residence multiple times, and Ye Xian had nearly died under his schemes more than once. Before the final reversal, Ye Xian had been isolated in court for nearly a year, his authority hollowed out—at least a third of it due to Ji Minzhong’s efforts.
No one knew the details.
She had not known in her previous life either. Back then, her world had been no larger than a courtyard, and court affairs were just things she overheard in passing during holidays. But now, everything had changed.
From the moment she sent that protective talisman to Ye Xian, she had already stepped into this bamboo forest.
“Miss.” Qing Pu’s voice came softly from behind her, alert. She had approached silently, one hand already near the concealed dagger at her sleeve.
Gu Jinzhao shook her head slightly to signal she was fine.
Her gaze fell on a bamboo leaf resting on a stone lantern—left behind by Ji Minzhong. Water droplets still clung to its surface, glinting faintly in the sunlight.
“Let’s go back,” she said quietly.
They withdrew from the bamboo forest without a sound.
By afternoon, the temple’s main courtyard was already warmed by sunlight. Long lines formed for the porridge distribution; young monks stirred giant pots of porridge, sweat dripping from their foreheads. The air was thick with rice fragrance and incense smoke.
Just as Gu Jinzhao was about to leave through the gate, she suddenly saw a familiar figure by the stone lions outside.
A dark blue high-collared jacket, a deep stone-green patterned outer robe, hair neatly arranged, and a white jade hairpin glowing softly in the sunlight.
Lady Gao.
Several guards stood at a distance.
“Miss Gu?”
Lady Gao turned and smiled when she saw her, reaching out to steady her arm.
“Miss Gu? What a coincidence. Are you here to offer a lamp as well?”
Gu Jinzhao nodded and smiled. “My grandmother in Jiangnan asks me to offer one each festival. Are you also here for that, Madam?”
Before Lady Gao could answer, another voice cut in.
“She is not here to offer a lamp. She is here to keep an eye on me.”
Ye Xian stood by the stone steps, leaning casually against a stone lion. His posture was relaxed, but Gu Jinzhao noticed his weight remained slightly off-center—ready to move at any moment.
He was still on guard.
Yet his expression was lazy as always, eyes drifting toward the distant temple roof.
“A-Xian.” Lady Gao frowned. “What nonsense are you saying.”
“Truth,” he replied flatly. “She did not come to enjoy the incense. Miss Gu never comes to Floating Light Temple just for worship.”
Gu Jinzhao feigned confusion. “Heir Apparent, are you joking? If not for worship, what else would one come to a temple for?”
He did not answer.
Instead, he looked at her directly for the first time. Not as a glance, not as an inspection, but as if he were verifying something—whether she truly did not know, or was pretending not to know. His eyes were pale under the sunlight, almost amber, reflecting the bamboo forest behind her.
Then he looked away.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Mother, the carriage is ready. She can stand here as long as she likes.”
“Since we’ve met,” Lady Gao said warmly, taking Gu Jinzhao’s hand, “come back in our carriage. It is inconvenient for a young lady to travel with only a maid.”
Ye Xian had already begun walking toward the carriage.
Then he paused.
Without turning back, he said, “Miss Gu should keep some distance from me. I have a heart condition—you know that. The carriage won’t be fast enough to bother you.” Then he left.
Lady Gao watched him go, then smiled faintly at Gu Jinzhao as if she understood everything.
The carriage descended the mountain.
Inside, Lady Gao and Gu Jinzhao sat facing each other with a small inlaid table between them. Ye Xian sat at the outermost side, half-reclined against a cushion, one leg bent, the other stretched casually, effectively blocking the space between her and the door.
He held a folded gilded fan but never opened it, lightly tapping his knee with it. Then he began fanning—without opening it—sending faint traces of cool, woody ink scent toward her.
“I am not hot,” he said.
After a pause, he added, “The carriage is just stuffy.”
Gu Jinzhao lowered her gaze to hide her smile.
Later, Lady Gao asked about her grandmother and her younger brother. Then, the conversation shifted.
“Jinzhao,” Lady Gao said softly, leaning forward, “I must ask you something. When you came out of the bamboo forest earlier, you did not look well. Did you meet someone?”
The carriage fell silent.
Only the wheels over gravel and distant mountain water could be heard.
Then Gu Jinzhao looked up.
“Madam,” she said softly but clearly, “there is someone I have been observing for some time. May I ask—does the Heir Apparent have some conflict with Vice Minister Ji Minzhong?”
Silence.
Lady Gao did not answer. She turned to look at her son.
Ye Xian’s posture had not changed. But the fan on his knee had stopped moving. He looked at Gu Jinzhao for a long time.
Then he spoke.
“It does no harm to tell you,” he said evenly. “My father served alongside him. During a campaign in the southwest, my father led the troops while he oversaw supplies. The battle was won, but two shipments of grain were lost en route to Xuzhou. They were said to be intercepted—but he returned unharmed, while all three hundred escorts died without a single survivor to testify.”
He paused.
“My father suspected him. Before it could be investigated, my father died in service.”
There was no hatred in his voice. No anger.
Only stillness.
Gu Jinzhao tightened her grip on the teacup. The warmth seeped into her palm, yet her fingers felt cold. She remembered his silence in the temple that day—not caution, but old resentment disturbed.
“I can tell he is lying,” Ye Xian said flatly when asked about Ji Minzhong’s claim of coincidence.
He then leaned back and, after a brief pause, asked, “What did he say to you?”
Gu Jinzhao explained everything she had seen and heard in the bamboo forest.
Ye Xian frowned slightly.
“You are bold. That steward has served him for many years. You did well not to alert him. But next time, retreat immediately. Do not wait.”
There was a faint approval in his gaze—hidden, restrained—and something deeper she could not read.
Lady Gao finally sighed.
“Jinzhao,” she said gently, holding her hand, “I thought you were only a clever and proper young lady. Today I see you are far bolder than I imagined.”
She paused.
“When you were in the bamboo forest—how long did you stay?”
“A little less than the time it takes to burn half an incense stick,” Gu Jinzhao answered truthfully.
Lady Gao’s brows lifted slightly, then she smiled again and offered her a piece of lotus seed cake.
“Then have some. Our pastries may not compare to yours, but this we do well.”
Gu Jinzhao accepted it and thanked her.
By the time the carriage returned to the city, it was already dusk. The setting sun painted the walls a warm red, and flags at the city gate fluttered in the wind.
The carriage did not return directly to the Changxing Marquis Residence but instead headed toward the Gu Family Residence.
Inside, Lady Gao closed her eyes to rest. Ye Xian remained in his half-reclined posture, his fan untouched.
Gu Jinzhao thought he had fallen asleep.
Then he spoke.
Softly—so softly only she could hear.
“Next time you go to burn incense, report it to the marquis residence first.”
She turned to him.
“What do you mean?”
“Literally,” he said without opening his eyes. “If you like doing things on a whim, then at least come by my residence first. Report in. Let the gatekeeper know.”
She lowered her head, hiding her smile.
“Smile less while you’re at it,” he added without looking at her.
“I’m not smiling,” she replied solemnly, though her eyes curved anyway.
When the carriage stopped at the Gu Family Residence, the last red glow of sunset had already slipped behind the western ridge. She stepped down and bowed formally.
Qing Pu was already waiting at the gate.
“Qing Pu.”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Go check the Records of Gentry,” she said as she walked up the steps. Then she paused and looked back toward the direction the carriage had gone. “Look into the purple bamboo forest near the back of Qingfeng Academy in the north of the city. See who lives around there.”
The Records of Gentry listed the residences of officials and nobles. If Ji family properties were truly near Qingfeng Academy, she could trace them.
Qing Pu did not ask questions, only nodded. “Where did Miss get this lead?”
Gu Jinzhao did not answer.
She looked up at the sky. The sunset had turned the entire alley a deep crimson.
Somewhere in the capital, purple bamboo only grew behind Qingfeng Academy. Years ago, a scandalous court case had shaken the capital, and carved inscriptions had been left on the west wall of the academy. Rubbings of those inscriptions had once circulated in secret.
Why had Ji Minzhong sent that bamboo leaf to Ye Xian?
Was it a test? Or a provocation meant to probe how many cards he held?
She suddenly remembered what Ye Xian had said under the sea of crabapple blossoms:
“Don’t be late.”
Perhaps he had not been talking about the flowers at all.