"I will surely reflect on my faults and never repeat them…"
"What business does Cousin have with me?" Wen Jiao's molars were nearly ground to dust, yet her face remained curved in a gentle smile.
She had already planned how to twist the truth if this escalated to Madam Wu.
Song Langyu was handsome, with warm, refined features that nonetheless carried a hint of sharpness.
"Apply this ointment twice daily, morning and evening. The wounds on your hands will heal within two days." In his palm lay a small, pale-green porcelain box.
Wen Jiao had mustered all her strength, waiting only for Song Langyu to strike the spark—but instead, he had come bearing medicine.
Like a bowstring drawn taut that suddenly snaps, the arrow vanishing just before release, Wen Jiao's breath lodged in her chest, surging this way and that, yet she could only force herself to swallow it down.
Taking the porcelain box with careful reverence, she cradled it in her hands, wearing an expression of profound gratitude. With reddened eyes, she said, "It was my fault to begin with. Cousin struck me only to teach me a lesson—how could you still come to give me medicine…"
She began to sob, tears falling freely as if they cost nothing: "I lost my father in childhood, living under others' roofs, never with enough to eat or clothes to cover me. No one taught me to read or write, nor did anyone teach me propriety and restraint. It's not that I don't know how to respect myself… Now, now that I have received Cousin's instruction, I will surely reflect on my faults in the days to come and never repeat them."
Wen Jiao presented the image of one who had seen the light and mended her ways, shedding tears of remorse before Song Langyu.
She wept so pitiably that Song Langyu even felt some regret for his harshness the day before. He was about to speak a few words of comfort when officials from the ministry came seeking him, saying that Miaoshan had regained consciousness.
"What's done is done—no need to dwell on it." With that brief remark, he left Wen Jiao behind and hurried to the Ministry of Justice to interrogate Miaoshan.
Wen Jiao ceased her weeping, dried her tears with a handkerchief, and made her way to the kitchen.
Miaoshan had awakened later than she had anticipated. The silver needle in the ring had been coated with poison—not lethal, but in small doses it caused numbness in the limbs, and in larger amounts, confusion of memory and wild speech. So she had no fear of Miaoshan revealing what had happened that day.
And indeed, things unfolded exactly as Wen Jiao had predicted. Song Langyu extracted not a single useful piece of information from Miaoshan's mouth. One moment she wept, the next she laughed; one moment she claimed her innocence, the next she swore she would die before revealing her mastermind.
At first, Song Langyu thought she was putting on an act, but the longer he watched, the stranger it seemed. He summoned a physician, an experienced man who, after a thorough examination, shook his head and said, "Lord Song, this appears to be symptoms of poisoning."
"What poison? Is there an antidote?"
The physician stroked his beard and said, "Do not be alarmed, my lord. This poison is not a lethal toxin like arsenic or red mercury. It resembles… a mushroom toxin, causing paralysis of the body and hallucinations. I have no research on an antidote, but I can attempt a treatment."
Among the letters seized from the secret chamber on Changle Lane, there were many correspondences bearing no signatures, their contents mostly instructing Miaoshan to gather intelligence on court affairs.
Who would need such information? A prince or crown prince? Or ministers harboring treacherous intentions?
Song Langyu's fingertips tapped lightly against the corner of the table as he carefully reviewed the people, events, and objects involved in this case in his mind.
The storm was brewing—who was stirring up trouble in the capital?
By the time Song Langyu returned to the Duke's mansion, it was already the middle of the night. The servants attending him asked whether he wished to have a meal. Since he was not one to indulge in food, and the Courtyard of Calamus had no small kitchen of its own, lighting the stove at this deep and quiet hour would likely disturb Madam Wu. He declined, and went alone into the study to handle a few pieces of official business left unfinished from the previous day.
The Court of Judicial Review had no dining hall; at supper time, only a few pastries and crisp cakes purchased from outside were offered. They were dry and cloying in the mouth, and Song Langyu had barely managed to force down one. Now, after another half day of busy work, that single cake had long since been digested.
Seated before the desk, Song Langyu felt his stomach hollow with hunger. He looked up and noticed a food box resting at the corner of the table.
Assuming it had been prepared by the household servants, he opened the box and saw inside a small dish of jujube-paste yam cakes shaped like plum blossoms. The cake skins were lustrous and translucent white, like congealed snow, with hints of the jujube paste showing through at the flower's heart—exquisite and lovely to behold.
He took a bite. The outer layer of yam skin melted on the tongue, fragrant, soft, and fine, while the jujube paste within was mixed with fine bits of chestnut, lightly sweet and not at all cloying.
In the past, the cakes made by the mansion's cooks, though delicate and pretty, were so sweet they made one's teeth ache and required strong tea to wash down. Today's dish of cakes was different, and he assumed the mansion had changed cooks.
All five jujube-paste yam cakes went into his stomach. Song Langyu set the dish back into the food box and continued with his official work.
The next day, as he was leaving, Song Langyu instructed a servant: "Have the kitchen prepare another portion of yesterday's pastries."
The maidservant Yingliu was bewildered, not knowing which pastries he meant, but Song Langyu had already left the courtyard. A young attendant beside her reminded her: "It's the food box Miss Wen sent over yesterday. Go ask what pastries were inside, and have the kitchen make a batch."
That night, when Song Langyu returned, another food box was set on the table, containing the same jujube-paste yam cakes as the day before.
In the days that followed, every time Song Langyu came back, a food box was always placed on his desk.
Sometimes it was double-ninth cakes, sometimes hundred-flower cakes, sometimes peony pastries—all of them suited his taste well. One day, he asked whether the mansion had changed cooks, and only when the maidservant told him the truth did he learn that all those pastries had been made by Wen Jiao.
He was silent for a moment, then said: "She is Mother's guest; it would not be proper to trouble her so often."
Yet when he returned that night, a food box still sat on the table. He summoned a maidservant of the courtyard to ask.
The maidservant said: "Miss Wen said that the lady has had little appetite these past few days, but she does enjoy the pastries Miss Wen makes. Miss Wen said she makes a bit extra along the way, and it is no trouble at all."
Since that was the case, Song Langyu said no more.
On this day, because Duke Song Heng had returned, a family banquet was to be held in the flower hall.
Aside from a few distant relatives, Song Heng's generation had no brothers—only an elder sister who had married the Grand General Who Pacifies the Far Frontiers and now lived in Pingnan Prefecture, eight hundred li from the capital.
The household of the Duke Who Pacifies the State was also simple. Besides Madam Wu, there was also Concubine Zhao. This Concubine Zhao had originally been the Duke's maidservant and was meant to be released from service, but because she later fell gravely ill and required ginseng year-round to keep her alive, and because she shared a bond of childhood with the Duke, she was taken into the household as a concubine.
Concubine Zhao rarely left her quarters, being a quiet and proper woman, but today she came as well.
She never caused Madam Wu any vexation, and Madam Wu in turn treated her with consideration and kindness. Smiling, Madam Wu teased her: "On ordinary days, it's hard even to catch a glimpse of you. Now, thanks to him, you've come out for a stroll—it seems your childhood bond runs deep indeed."
Concubine Zhao was perpetually unwell. Though she had applied some rouge today, her complexion remained pale. Knowing that Madam Wu was teasing her, she smiled and said, "If I were to go out often, I fear the household's ginseng supply would run short by half a catty. Better to save it and keep it for Xuan'er's future bride."
Concubine Zhao's son was named Song Langxuan, who was currently studying at the Suibei Academy.
Amidst the banter, Song Heng and Song Langyu entered the flower hall one after the other. Song Heng said, "Today is a family gathering. Everyone, take your seats. Don't stand on ceremony."
The family was merry at the table, drinking wine and partaking of the dishes. Song Heng spoke of his travels, and all listened, utterly captivated.
Since the time Song Langyu had delivered medicine to Wen Jiao, the two had not seen each other again. Wen Jiao had no pretext to seek him out. When she later learned of his fondness for those pastries, she made every kind of pastry she knew, exhausting her wrists with pain each day.
She had thought that since he had eaten her food, he would be beholden to her—if he could send her a gift in return, she would have a reason to visit Changpu Court. Yet, to her dismay, Song Langyu had eaten every last crumb of the pastries without so much as a word of thanks!
Wen Jiao was both angry and anxious, her heart gnawing at her day and night. Today, she had hoped to find an opportunity to exchange a few words with Song Langyu, but he kept his gaze straight ahead, never giving her a chance to speak.
Song Xiangyu placed a piece of crispy fish on her plate and said, "This crispy fish is the chef's signature dish—quite laborious to prepare. Do try it."
Wen Jiao took a bite and praised its flavor. After a moment's thought, she asked in a voice neither too loud nor too soft, "The thousand-layer cake I sent you yesterday—did you eat it?"
"I did. It was moist, soft, and sweet—truly delicious!" Madam Wu replied with a smile, then said to Song Heng, "Jiaojiao knew my appetite had been poor lately, so she made pastries and sent them over every day. It's a wonder she has such filial devotion."
"She's a good child," Song Heng said.
Wen Jiao stole a glance at Song Langyu, only to meet his gaze directly. She quickly averted her eyes, lowering her head in shyness.
When the family banquet ended, Wen Jiao deliberately lingered at the back, thinking that if Song Langyu had anything to say to her, he would come to her on his own. Yet she waited for a long while, and Song Langyu never came.
"To eat a person's food and not even come to say thanks! Better to have fed it to the dogs!" she muttered indignantly.
Dejected, she made her way back toward Liuli Pavilion, silently plotting her next move, when she saw from afar a figure standing at the entrance of Liuli Pavilion—it was none other than Yingliu, Song Langyu's maidservant.
Yingliu came forward with a smile and said, "Today, when my master passed by the Treasure Pavilion, he saw a new shipment of jewelry and bought two hairpins for the eldest young lady, and two for Miss Wen as well."
Wen Jiao took the brocade box and opened it, finding one gold and one jade hairpin inside. Though their designs were not extravagant, the craftsmanship was exquisite.
The day was still young, and one should strike while the iron is hot. Under the pretext of offering her thanks in person, Wen Jiao followed Yingliu to Changpu Court.
Song Langyu was in his study. Wen Jiao knocked on the door and only entered after receiving permission.
"It's so late—why is Cousin still busy?" Wen Jiao, fearing that Song Langyu might come out to greet her, walked straight past the screen and into the inner chamber the moment she stepped through the door.
Song Langyu closed the case file he had been reading, rose to his feet, shut the door of the carved bookcase, and locked it before turning around to say, "These are cases that have been sentenced to immediate execution. Though they have already been approved, I must still verify them again and again, lest any wrongful judgment slip through."
In the instant before the bookcase door closed, Wen Jiao distinctly caught a glimpse of the camphorwood chest inside—the very one brought back from the Ministry of Justice!
Only a single lock stood between her and it!
But for now, she had to keep her composure and deal with Song Langyu.
She smiled sweetly, revealing two deep dimples. "Everyone says Cousin is infallible in solving cases and has never wronged a soul, but they don't know how diligently you work night after night, how hard you toil."
"When lives are at stake, one must be cautious beyond measure. Even so, I dare not claim that not a single case in my hands has been mishandled."
The items removed from Miaoshan's secret chamber had all been inventoried and catalogued. Most were private matters of the inner household, but it was Madam Wang's secret letter that unsettled Song Langyu.
The letter concerned the late Minister of Works, Chen Wenyuan. Years ago, he had been convicted in the Lanjiang Dike case and took his own life in prison the night before his sentencing, after which the entire Chen family was exiled.
Yet if the contents of that secret letter were true, they would prove Chen Wenyuan had been innocent.
This was a case from ten years past. With only a single secret letter, the Emperor would never permit a retrial.
Moreover, the Chen family had been killed by bandits during their exile—even if the case were overturned, it would change nothing.
"Who among men can claim to never err?" Wen Jiao stepped forward and gave a graceful bow. "Thank you, Cousin, for the hairpin you sent me. I like it very much."
Song Langyu was forthright, his expression calm. "Consider it a gift in return for your pastries, Cousin."
"I've been thinking about Miaoshan's matter these past few days, and an idea has occurred to me. I'm not sure whether I should voice it…"
"Go ahead, speak your mind."
Wen Jiao mused, "Madam Wang, Lady Feng, and Lady Bai—though their stations differ, they share something in common."
"What do they share?"
Wen Jiao covered her lips with a sweet smile. "It's so obvious—how did Cousin fail to see it?"