On the third day after Yuanbao’s arrival, Shen Jin made a discovery. She was being followed. Not the cautious, distant kind of tailing that Xiao Heng favored, but something else entirely—brazen, malicious, and impossible to ignore.
It happened like this: Shen Jin was on her way to the house in Sweetwater Alley with Chun Tao, intending to practice her cooking again. Halfway there, she noticed two shadows trailing behind them.
Two men, dressed like ordinary townsfolk—but their posture was too straight, their steps too steady, their eyes too sharp. One glance told her they were trained fighters.
“Chun Tao,” Shen Jin lowered her voice, “don’t turn around. We’re being followed.”
Chun Tao’s face went pale. “What? By who?”
“I don’t know. Don’t panic. Just keep walking.”
They turned into a narrow lane. The two men turned in after them.
Shen Jin quickened her pace. The men quickened theirs. She stopped. They stopped. Finally, she spun around to face them. “Gentlemen,” she said coolly, “you’ve been trailing me all this way. Aren’t you tired? Care to stop for a cup of tea?”
The two exchanged a glance, said nothing, and walked off.
Shen Jin watched their backs disappear at the mouth of the alley, her brows knitting together. Not Xiao Heng’s men. She’d never seen his people, but she knew his style. He would never send such clumsy stalkers. These two were too obvious—so obvious it felt deliberate, as if they wanted her to notice.
“Miss… they’re gone?” Chun Tao’s voice trembled.
“They’re gone.” Shen Jin thought for a moment. “Come on. We’re heading back.”
“Not to Tianshui Lane?”
“No. First, we find out who’s behind this.”
All the way home, Shen Jin turned the question over in her mind. Who would send men to tail her? Madam Zhou? Possible. Zhou wanted to know her every move, waiting for a chance to strike. Shen Zhao? Also possible. He coveted her position as the legitimate daughter, eager for her to stumble. The Crown Prince? Unlikely. He had no interest in her, not enough to waste spies. Xiao Heng? Definitely not. This wasn’t his way.
After much thought, Shen Jin decided on the simplest approach—test them. That afternoon, she sent Chun Tao to pay respects to Madam Zhou in the main courtyard, with a casual message: “Tell Madam that tomorrow I’ll be going outside the city to burn incense, to pray for my mother’s blessing.”
Chun Tao blinked. “Miss, when did you decide to do that?”
“Just now.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Chun Tao went.
Shen Jin sat by the window, waiting for the results. If Madam Zhou was behind the tail, she would surely react to the news of tomorrow’s temple visit.
When Chun Tao returned, she reported: “Madam was delighted. She said, ‘Jinshu is thoughtful. Offer a stick of incense for me as well, to Lady Shen.’”
Shen Jin smiled. Too normal. Normal enough to be suspicious. If Madam Zhou were truly pleased, she would have asked which temple, what time, how many attendants—and arranged her own people to follow. But she asked nothing. Why? Because she already knew. She already knew which temple, what time—because she had spies on Shen Jin’s every move.
Shen Jin lifted her teacup and took a slow sip. Madam Zhou. It’s you.
She decided to turn the tables. The next morning, she left with Chun Tao. But not for the temple. She went straight to Marquis Dingyuan’s residence.
Chun Tao stood dumbfounded at the gate. “Miss… what are we doing here?”
“Looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“Xiao Heng.”
Chun Tao’s mouth fell open in shock.
Shen Jin asked the gatekeeper to announce her arrival. Before long, Steward Chen himself came out to greet her. “Miss Shen,” he said warmly, “the heir is in his study. Please, this way.”
Shen Jin followed Steward Chen into Marquis Dingyuan’s residence. This was her second time here. The first had been the night she crossed over—dazed and disoriented, she hadn’t seen anything clearly. This time, she took in every detail.
The Marquis’s estate was larger than the General’s, yet more understated. No gaudy decorations, just a quiet elegance—every tree and stone radiated a restrained kind of luxury. The study lay in the eastern wing, a separate courtyard of its own.
At the gate, Steward Chen stopped. “Miss Shen, the heir is inside.”
Shen Jin pushed the door open.
Xiao Heng sat at his desk, a book in hand. When he saw her enter, he set it down. Today he wore a robe of dark crow-blue, his hair half tied, half loose—more casual than usual. “Miss Shen,” he said, “a rare guest.”
Shen Jin sat opposite him, direct and unhesitating. “My lord, I’d like to ask a favor.”
His brow lifted. “What kind of favor?”
“Someone is following me.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. “Who?”
“My stepmother.”
“You’re certain?”
“Certain. She’s had people tailing me, trying to learn my every move. Yesterday I told Chun Tao I’d go outside the city today to burn incense. She didn’t ask a single question—because she already knew.”
Xiao Heng was silent for a moment. “What do you want me to do?”
“Help me counter-track.”
“Counter-track?”
“Yes.” Shen Jin’s tone was firm. “She wants to know what I’m doing? Then let her know. But let her know only what I want her to know.”
Xiao Heng studied her, the corners of his mouth curving slowly. “So you want me to help you put on a play?”
“Not a play,” Shen Jin corrected seriously. “A strategic deception. Make her believe I’m still the same old Shen Jinshu. Make her relax her guard. Make her—”
“Make her slip up,” Xiao Heng finished.
“Exactly.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on her. This woman was sharper than he’d imagined. No—more than sharp. Clear-sighted. She didn’t see things from the narrow view of a fifteen-year-old girl in the inner chambers, but from a higher, broader vantage—the kind he’d only seen in the seasoned foxes of the court.
“Very well,” Xiao Heng said. “But on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“Tell me why you’ve changed.”
Shen Jin froze for a heartbeat. “I haven’t changed.”
“You have.” His voice was calm. “The old Shen Jinshu wouldn’t crack melon seeds, wouldn’t cook fried rice, wouldn’t befriend Su Qingyin, wouldn’t come to me for help. The old Shen Jinshu only knew how to cry, throw tantrums, smash things, and curse.”
Shen Jin said nothing.
“So,” Xiao Heng pressed, “who are you?”
The study fell into silence.
Shen Jin looked at him. He looked at her. Their gazes locked, neither yielding.
At last, Shen Jin spoke first. “I am Shen Jinshu,” she said. “But not the old Shen Jinshu.”
“Then which Shen Jinshu are you?”
“The one who’s finally thought things through.”
Xiao Heng held her gaze for a long time. Then he smiled. “Fine,” he said. “I won’t ask again. I’ll help you.”
Shen Jin let out a quiet breath of relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Xiao Heng rose and walked to the window. “I’ll have your stalkers dealt with. Whatever you want her to know, tell me—I’ll arrange it.”
“Good.” Shen Jin stood as well, ready to leave.
“Miss Shen,” Xiao Heng called after her.
Shen Jin turned back.
“Just now, you said ‘strategic deception.’ Where did you learn that phrase?”
Shen Jin: “…” She’d forgotten—this era didn’t have such a term.
“From a book,” she said evenly, without a flicker of change in her expression.
“What book?”
“A miscellany.”
“Which one?”
“I forgot.” With that, Shen Jin turned and walked out.
At the doorway, she heard Xiao Heng’s voice behind her: “Shen Jinshu, when you lie, your left eye twitches.” Her steps faltered for an instant—then she sped up and ran.
Xiao Heng stood at the window, watching her figure vanish beyond the courtyard gate. A smile spread from his lips to his eyes. Her left eye hadn’t twitched at all. He’d made it up. But she believed him. Which meant she really was lying. Which meant she was hiding something—a very big secret.
His smile slowly faded, replaced by thought. Who was she? If not Shen Jinshu, then who? Why did she have Shen Jinshu’s body but another soul?
A possibility came to him—something out of strange tales and ghost stories. Borrowing a corpse to return a soul. No, her body hadn’t died. It was alive. Then it was… soul transmigration. A spirit from elsewhere, inhabiting Shen Jinshu’s body. The thought startled him, but he calmed quickly. No matter who she was. She was herself.
The woman who said “lie flat.”
The woman who cooked fried rice.
The woman who cracked melon seeds in the Crown Prince’s palace.
The woman who came to him for help.
Wherever her soul came from, she was Shen Jinshu. His Shen Jinshu.
Xiao Heng paused at that thought. His? When had he started calling her that in his heart? He gave a wry smile and returned to his desk.
Enough. No more thinking. First, deal with the tailing.
“Steward Chen.”
Steward Chen entered. “My lord.”
“Miss Shen’s stepmother has sent people to follow her. Send men to handle it. Don’t alarm them, but make sure they find nothing.”
“Yes.”
“And,” Xiao Heng added after a pause, “look into her stepmother’s background. Did she have any enmity with Miss Shen’s mother back then?”
“My lord suspects…?”
“That she may have had a hand in Lady Shen’s death.”
Steward Chen’s face changed. “At once.”
When Steward Chen withdrew, Xiao Heng sat alone, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. Shen Jinshu was the General’s legitimate daughter. Her mother, Lady Shen, the first wife, was said to have died of illness. But if it was truly an illness, why did her stepmother, Madam Zhou, treat her with such wariness?
A stepmother either curries favor or suppresses. Madam Zhou chose suppression. But her method was peculiar—not direct bullying, but indulgence to ruin. Spoiling Shen Jinshu into arrogance, letting her offend others, making everyone despise her. That wasn’t ordinary malice. That was the kind of hatred born of deep grievance.
Xiao Heng’s eyes darkened. If Madam Zhou really had a hand in Lady Shen’s death, then Shen Jinshu was in danger. Someone who had killed once would not hesitate to kill again.
He rose and opened the window. Outside, sunlight poured down. The locust tree in the courtyard had just sprouted tender green leaves.
“Shen Jinshu,” he murmured, “you owe me more and more.”
“First a night, then a cat, now a favor.”
“How do you plan to repay me?”
The breeze stirred the branches, the fresh leaves swaying as if answering him.
Xiao Heng looked at them and smiled. “Forget it,” he said softly. “You don’t need to repay me.”
“As long as you’re safe, that’s enough.”