"I'm not worthy of him."
Outside the door, the night was thick, and the candlelight in the study flickered.
That faint scent of fruit and honey lingered, stirring thoughts both tender and wanton.
Song Langyu leaned back slightly before reaching out to take the Gold-Sprinkled Stationery. He sniffed it, then frowned. "There's the smell of face powder on this."
"And the scent of Dew-Stamen Lotus!" Wen Jiao frowned, looking like a teacher disappointed in a wayward student.
"Where did this Gold-Sprinkled Stationery come from?" Song Langyu rose to his feet.
Wen Jiao told him truthfully, and Song Langyu's expression gradually darkened. "I need to leave the estate for a while. Have Yingliu escort you back."
That very night, Song Langyu's men quietly began keeping watch over the Zhong household.
Every person and carriage that came and went from the Zhong residence was to be tracked and traced.
Within just three or four days, all the places the Zhong family frequented had been thoroughly investigated.
Song Langyu took Wen Jiao with him to check each location one by one, but found nothing.
Standing on a bustling street, Wen Jiao said in frustration, "Where on earth did Zhong Hui pick up the scent of Dew-Stamen Lotus?"
When Song Langyu didn't respond for a long while, Wen Jiao looked up and saw him staring across the street.
It was a bookshop, with all sorts of books displayed at the entrance. A slender woman was browsing the selection, but her gaze was wandering—it was Zhong Hui!
A thought struck Wen Jiao, and she suddenly waved at Zhong Hui, calling out warmly, "Sister Zhong!"
"Reckless!" Song Langyu scolded in a low voice, warning her, "Don't startle the snake."
But Zhong Hui had already walked over with her maidservant. Wen Jiao's face was full of smiles as she stepped forward and took her hand. "Sister Zhong, when you delivered that poem to my cousin the other day, I was there too. Do you remember me?"
Zhong Hui seemed a little nervous, her fingers trembling slightly as she spoke softly, "I remember you, little sister."
She then curtsied toward Song Langyu. "Greetings to Young Lord Song."
Song Langyu returned the gesture but said nothing.
"Those two poems you wrote had such beautiful imagery," Wen Jiao continued. "My cousin and I read them over and over. She even said she'd send you an invitation in a couple of days to visit and share more poetry."
Wen Jiao could spin lies at the drop of a hat, but Zhong Hui took them at face value. Her eyes lit up, and she instinctively looked up at Song Langyu.
Unfortunately, Song Langyu showed no reaction at all.
Wen Jiao took in every bit of Zhong Hui's expression.
She was pretty and charming, with a warm smile and an enthusiastic manner, and she quickly grew close to Zhong Hui.
After strolling through the market for a while, Song Langyu said to Wen Jiao, "I still need to go to the government office. I'll take you back to the estate first."
Wen Jiao gave a reluctant assent, then said to Zhong Hui, "Sister Zhong, I really enjoyed talking with you today. When my cousin sends the invitation in a couple of days, you absolutely must come!"
"I… I will." Zhong Hui was not particularly striking in appearance—slim, with a poor complexion—but when she looked at Song Langyu, a mist seemed to gather in her eyes, lending her an extra touch of radiance.
Wen Jiao climbed into the carriage, smiling with crescent-shaped eyes as she waved goodbye, and only sat back down once Zhong Hui had become a tiny speck in the distance.
Song Langyu's sword-like brows furrowed. "You were too rash. If she noticed anything, all our efforts would be wasted."
Wen Jiao felt a pang of displeasure at his words, but she answered dutifully, "You're right, cousin. I won't dare do it again."
Then she clamped her mouth shut and said nothing more.
"Did you find any clues?"
Wen Jiao said nothing.
"Did Zhong Hui have the scent of Dew-Stamen Lotus on her?"
Wen Jiao said nothing.
Song Langyu looked up and saw her sitting stiffly to the side, lips pressed tight and cheeks puffed out—clearly sulking.
Though he found Wen Jiao reckless, he also knew she meant well, and his tone softened despite himself.
"Within one month, three officials' female relatives committed suicide. The Ministry of Justice has investigated thoroughly without finding a single clue, which shows that the person behind this is no ordinary individual. Now that we've finally traced it to Zhong Hui, we must act with even greater caution."
Wen Jiao gave a light snort.
"I know you're doing this for the case, but you must be extremely careful from now on."
"That's true enough, but Cousin's words were too hurtful. If you speak like that again, I won't have anything more to do with this matter!" Wen Jiao snorted. "The scent of Dew-Stamen Lotus on Zhong Hui is very strong—even stronger than the scent on Madam Wang's clothing."
"And what else?"
"She likes you, Cousin. When she went to deliver poems to Cousin a few days ago, she was probably just trying to see you. And today she seemed to have come deliberately to 'coincidentally' run into you."
Song Langyu frowned. "Don't talk nonsense."
"I'm not talking nonsense. Just now I watched carefully—she kept stealing glances at you."
A young lady's reputation was of utmost importance. Whether the matter was true or false, if it got out, it would always damage her standing.
"You must not speak of this to a third person."
Wen Jiao pressed her lips into a smile and teased, "Actually, if you want to solve the case, I have a quick and effective method. You only need to sacrifice your charm, and I guarantee Miss Zhong will tell you everything she knows without holding back."
"Nonsense."
Song Langyu naturally would not sacrifice his charm. He added more guards around the Zhong residence, and soon gained a new lead—Zhong Hui had gone to Que Du Temple on South Mountain.
Twenty years ago, a female Taoist had wandered to the capital and built Que Du Temple on South Mountain at the city's outskirts. It was a temple dedicated to matters of romance, and only women were permitted inside.
Dawn was just breaking. Wen Jiao sat in the carriage, dozing.
She wore a bright red cloak and two plain silver hairpins in her hair.
Just as she was about to drift into sleep, the carriage swayed. Wen Jiao opened her drowsy eyes and saw that two more people had joined her in the carriage—
Song Langyu, and a woman.
The woman appeared to be around twenty years old, with slender, elongated eyes and a tall, willowy figure, dressed as a maidservant.
Song Langyu said, "This is Xue Tang. She'll pose as your maidservant for close protection."
Xue Tang was a wanderer of the martial world. Two years ago, she had been falsely accused and imprisoned, and it was fortunate that Song Langyu had uncovered the truth and cleared her name. Now she was repaying that debt.
Wen Jiao's eyes curved into crescents as she smiled sweetly. "Thank you for your trouble, Sister Xue."
Xue Tang clasped her hands in a crisp salute. "Don't worry. Even if that Que Du Temple were a dragon's pool or a tiger's den, I'll keep you safe."
She looked nothing like a maidservant—she was clearly a female warrior wearing the wrong clothes.
Before leaving, Song Langyu reminded Wen Jiao once more: "Don't take reckless risks, and don't act on your own initiative. Just find out whether there's Dew-Stamen Lotus in the temple."
"Jiao Jiao understands." Wen Jiao agreed readily.
It was still early, and there were no worshippers in Que Du Temple, only an elderly Taoist nun sweeping the courtyard. Seeing visitors arrive, she hurried over to guide them, first leading them to the front hall to offer incense and draw fortune sticks.
Wen Jiao wore a look of deep sorrow. She shook the stick container, and a slip fell out—
A very inauspicious fortune.
Wen Jiao picked it up and stared at it blankly, tears dripping down one after another. Xue Tang was stunned for a moment before she reacted, hurrying to console her: "Don't be sad, miss. What the fortune says isn't necessarily accurate."
"How could it not be accurate? He never had any feelings for me to begin with—now it's come true, hasn't it…" With that, Wen Jiao began to sob, collapsing weakly into Xue Tang's arms in a picture of utter heartbreak.
"Green mountains winding round, I feared no road ahead; suddenly a thousand sails appear, hidden then revealed."①
A clear, resonant female voice emerged from behind the beaded curtain.
Wen Jiao looked up through tearful eyes and saw a female Daoist in a silver-red gold-threaded robe push aside the curtain and step out. Her features were cool and ethereal, and she lightly swept her jade-handled whisk before pressing her fingers together in greeting. "Why is the lady benefactor so distressed?"
"I admire my eldest cousin, but he… has no interest in me." Wen Jiao sobbed out her fabricated tale.
"Might I ask who your eldest cousin is?"
"He… he is the heir of the Zhenguo Duke's manor, of noble status. I truly am unworthy of him…" Wen Jiao covered her face and wept bitterly.
Xue Tang watched, dumbfounded. This wasn't part of the script they'd agreed on…
The female Daoist's pupils contracted slightly, but her expression grew even more kind as she invited Wen Jiao into the rear courtyard lodgings for a detailed talk.
This female Daoist was named Miaoshan, the very founder of Queshe Temple. She was intent on probing Wen Jiao's background.
She first asked about Wen Jiao's identity and family, her age and experiences, then inquired about certain matters concerning Song Langyu. What Wen Jiao knew, she answered truthfully; what she didn't know, she said she didn't know.
At noon, Miaoshan kept her for a meal, and in the afternoon expounded many profound and abstruse doctrines. Wen Jiao only half understood, but her eyes were full of trust.
As dusk gathered, Wen Jiao finally took her leave.
"Reverend, shall we help her succeed?" asked the young female Daoist who had been attending at the side.
Miaoshan took a sip of tea. "It's not impossible."
"But that one from the Zhong family…"
"I don't think she'll succeed. Her looks are ordinary and her temperament dull. Now that there's a more suitable candidate, why wouldn't we use her?"
The young female Daoist said, "This one is indeed exceptionally beautiful, and she resides in the Zhenguo Duke's manor. Her chances are far better than the previous one's."
"Not only are her chances better, but she's also an orphan with no parents—no one behind her to rely on."
Miaoshan closed her eyes and rubbed the white jade prayer beads in her hand, musing, "If we could hold some shameful secret of hers, that would be even more secure."
In the Changpu Courtyard, inside the study.
Song Langyu's face was as dark as the bottom of a pot. "Are you afraid Miaoshan wouldn't be wary, so you claimed to admire me?"
Wen Jiao silently curled her lip in curses, then raised her head with a look of regret. "Eldest cousin's scolding is right. Jiao Jiao was truly reckless today…"
She pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve and presented it before Song Langyu like a treasure. "The scent of Dew-Stamen Lotus in Miaoshan's room is extremely strong. I also found half a medicinal incense pellet in the ashes of the incense burner. Besides Dew-Stamen Lotus, it contains a good amount of datura powder."
Beside them, Xue Tang exclaimed in surprise, "When did you dig through the incense burner?"
"During the meal…"
When Wen Jiao was young, she had been forced to learn the art of thievery—retrieving copper coins from boiling water, pulling stones from burning coals, practicing repeatedly every day. If she failed, she went without food for the entire day. Though she hadn't practiced this skill in a long time, lifting a single incense pellet right under Miaoshan's nose was hardly difficult.
Instead of the praise she'd expected, Song Langyu's face was frost-covered, his voice already laced with anger. "Utterly reckless."
Wen Jiao had anticipated his fury, but she didn't care.
The only thing she cared about was that secret letter.
Song Langyu rose and turned his back to Wen Jiao, projecting an air of keeping her at arm's length.
"Having you help investigate the case was a lapse in my judgment. I won't trouble you again in the future."
Wen Jiao looked up in astonishment, her clear eyes full of grievance, her voice trembling slightly. "Is eldest cousin going to burn the bridge after crossing the river?"
Seeing that the two were about to quarrel, Xue Tang quickly tugged at Wen Jiao and urged, "Lord Song is worried about your safety. Don't misunderstand."
"Worried about my safety? Now that I'm no longer useful, he's killing the donkey after it's done grinding!"
Ignoring Xue Tang's attempts to stop her, Wen Jiao covered her face and ran out crying.
After leaving the Iris Courtyard, Wen Jiao's steps slowed, and there was no trace of sadness left on her face.
Now that she had found Miaoshan, Song Langyu was of no further use. It wasn't Song Langyu who was discarding her like a spent tool—it was she who was abandoning Song Langyu.
The next day, just as Wen Jiao stepped out, a brocade pouch was tossed into her carriage.
Inside was a note that read: If you seek a good match, come alone to Changle Lane for a meeting.
Beneath it was stamped Miaoshan's personal seal.
Wen Jiao had the driver stop the carriage, saying she wanted to buy some face powder, and got off with her maidservant. Once inside the powder shop, she gave the maidservant a piece of silver and told her to browse on her own, then slipped out through the shop's back door.
She hired a new carriage and arrived at Changle Lane.
The alley was completely empty, eerily silent.
"Temple Master?"
Wen Jiao called out, mustering her courage.
The next moment, her mouth and nose were covered, and a thick, drowsy incense flooded her airways. Her vision went dark, and she lost consciousness entirely.