Inside the hall, Chen Liehu was thinking of barging into the rear chamber. Prince Wu would be angry, but what could he really do?
After all, the Prince had been angry with him more than once.
Remembering the Prince’s past coveting of Chen Danyan, he could not sit still. Just as he was about to rise, Chen Danzhu returned—the Prince did not.
The eunuch who escorted her back smiled. “The Prince listened to Miss Chen and grew a little tired. He has gone to rest.”
Tired? What kind of tired? Inspector Zhang glared at Chen Danzhu in irritation. Her clothes and hair were slightly disheveled, but that was nothing—she had come straight from the army camp, without time to change. As for her face, she kept her head lowered, looking timid and delicate, showing no expression.
Feigning timidity? In the past, Inspector Zhang would not have cared. But now, knowing this girl had killed her own brother‑in‑law, he did not believe she was truly timid. What exactly had she said to the Prince? He would not leave without finding out. But before he could ask, Chen Liehu spoke first: “Eunuch, what of this old minister’s case—”
The eunuch smiled. “Grand Tutor, Second Miss explained everything. The Prince knows he wronged you. Li Liang’s matter was handled well. As for what comes next, you may decide yourself.”
Chen Liehu glanced at Chen Danzhu, unwilling to leave. He asked: “The military situation is urgent. Has the Prince given the order to fight? The most effective plan is to divide forces and cut off the river routes—”
The Prince grew weary at such talk, and the eunuch even more so. He sighed: “Grand Tutor, the Prince already has his own ideas. He must think further. For now, return home and deal with Li Liang’s matter.” With that, he turned and left.
Chen Liehu called after him: “What is there to deal with? I will hang Li Liang’s corpse for all to see—”
But the eunuch was gone, and there was no point in saying more.
Inspector Zhang thought of asking his daughter for news, ignoring Chen Liehu.
Wen Zhong sneered coldly: “Not wise, is it? If the people learn that even the Grand Tutor’s son‑in‑law betrayed the Prince, their morale will collapse.”
Chen Liehu’s face darkened. “Let the people know that even my son‑in‑law, who dared betray the Prince, met death. That will steady both army and people.” His gaze fixed on Wen Zhong and Inspector Zhang. “It will strike fear into those petty men with wavering hearts.”
Wen Zhong’s face turned ashen. He scoffed, “Only the Grand Tutor is loyal,” and swept out.
The others followed, leaving the hall empty save Chen Liehu. He turned and saw Chen Danzhu watching him.
“What is it?” he asked quickly. Seeing her strange expression, he feared something bad, his heart flaring. “The Prince—”
Chen Danzhu was thinking of her father’s words, calling Inspector Zhang and the others petty men with wavering hearts. Was she not the same? Ah… Seeing her father’s concern, she lowered her head to avoid it. But then she thought such care might not last. She lifted her head again, lips trembling in grievance. “He did not harm me. I only explained about brother‑in‑law. I was just afraid… that he would despise us.”
Chen Liehu sighed in relief. “Do not fear. The Prince has despised me for many years already.” He laughed as he spoke, thinking it a good joke.
Chen Danzhu did not laugh. Tears fell.
Chen Liehu cried out in alarm, his large hand fumbling to wipe her tears. “That’s not what I meant. I meant—the Prince dislikes the way I act, but he knows I am loyal. Nothing will happen. As long as we hold Wu, this matter will pass.”
But if Wu could not be held, then nothing would pass. Chen Danzhu let her father wipe away her tears, nodded, and held his arm. “With Father here, I am not afraid. Let’s go home. Sister is still waiting.”
Chen Liehu disliked being supported, but looking at his daughter’s tender face, her long lashes trembling with tears—his daughter was close to him. So he allowed her to support him, murmuring assent. Thinking of his elder daughter, then of the son‑in‑law he had carefully nurtured, then of his dead son, his heart grew heavy, his mouth full of bitterness. His life was nearly at its end—perhaps his suffering too.
“Father,” Chen Danzhu whispered, not daring to look at his face, gazing outside instead. “It’s raining.”
Chen Liehu turned to see. From the dark sky, fine rain fell, spattering the polished palace road with shimmering patterns. He patted her hand. “Let’s hurry home.”
By the time they returned, the rain was pouring. Chen Liehu first went to see Chen Danyan. The physicians said the child was safe. He sat silently by her bed for a while, then summoned troops and went out into the rain.
Chen Danzhu stood under the corridor, watching her father in armor, sword in hand, depart. She knew he was going to the city gate to await Li Liang’s corpse, to hang it there himself for all to see. She stared blankly at the downpour. From the corner of her eye, she saw someone slip past in a fluster.
“Ah‑Tian,” she called.
The maid, already hiding in the corner, timidly stepped out, then fell to her knees. “This servant was brewing medicine for the elder miss. I did not mean to bump into Second Miss.” She bowed her head, not daring to lift it.
The steward had said Second Miss did not want to see her. Ah Tian bit her lip, tears spilling despite herself, though she stifled her sobs.
Chen Danzhu sighed and pulled her up.
“Ah‑Tian, I only said that to the steward for convenience. I could not bring you, and I feared you might leak word. I did not despise you. I only frightened you.” She spoke again, solemnly: “I am sorry.”
When had Second Miss ever apologized to anyone? Ah‑Tian was so startled that her tears stopped. Suddenly, she did not know what to say, stammering: “Second Miss, if there is anything in the future, let Ah‑Tian help you.”
Chen Danzhu looked at her face. Back then, when she was spared execution and sent to Tao Temple, all the surviving servants were dismissed. There was no Grand Tutor, no Second Miss of the Chen family, no maids or attendants. Ah‑Tian refused to leave, kneeling and begging: if there were no servants, then she would take vows and remain at Tao Temple. And so she stayed, quietly accompanying her for ten years—and surely would accompany her to death.
Chen Danzhu nodded. “Good.”
Ah‑Tian broke into a smile through her tears.
“Leave the medicine‑boiling to others,” Chen Danzhu said. “I must bathe and change.”
Ah‑Tian answered happily.
Chen Danzhu washed simply, changed clothes, and took up an umbrella to find the steward. “Where are the men who came back with me?”
When Chang‑Shan was knocked unconscious and dragged away, the dozen men who had followed Chen Danzhu in were also imprisoned—assumed to be Li Liang’s soldiers.
Once the Chen residence gates were shut, those dozen men could not escape. They did not resist.
The steward led Chen Danzhu to a room in the rear courtyard. “They are all here, stripped of weapons and armor, bound.”
Chen Danzhu said to him: “I must question them. You may go about your business.”
Was Second Miss truly refusing to let him listen? The steward was taken aback. “Second Miss, they are dangerous soldiers. If they go mad, they might harm you—or use you as a hostage—”
Chen Danzhu said calmly: “It’s fine. They won’t dare harm me.” With that, she pushed the door open and went in.
The steward tried to follow, but Ah‑Tian, holding her umbrella, blocked him. “Grandpa Steward, our lady isn’t afraid. Why should you be?”
The steward shook his head helplessly. Very well—he had been rude. Second Miss was now a decisive person. He thought back to that rainy night when she returned, still feeling as if it had been a dream. He had thought her a spoiled girl, prone to tantrums. Who would have guessed she carried murder in her heart?
Chen Danzhu closed the door behind her. The room had once stored weapons, but now the racks were empty, replaced by a row of bound men. When they saw her enter, their expressions were calm—neither fearful nor angry.
“Second Miss,” Master Wang greeted her with a smile. “Finished with your business?”
Chen Danzhu asked: “Master Wang, are you not afraid?”
He smiled. “What is there to fear? At worst, death.”
Death could be terrifying, but sometimes it was nothing at all. Chen Danzhu remembered that in her past life, when she had resolved to die, she had felt only joy. “Good, if you are not afraid,” she said. “I just met the Prince, and promised something on the General’s behalf.”
Master Wang asked: “What promise?”
Chen Danzhu replied: “Prince Wu agreed to let the imperial court investigate the matter of the assassins. Then the imperial army will withdraw. Can the General make this decision?”
It was sudden—especially now, when the court held the advantage and could win with a single battle. This was a loss for the court.
Master Wang’s face shifted several times. What he thought of was meeting the Prince. Once he met the Prince, there would be more room to maneuver. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes.”
In her past life, Li Liang had simply cut off the Prince’s head. She did not know if it was his own idea or the Emperor’s order.
The Iron‑faced General was trusted by the Emperor and entrusted with the army. But could a general truly decide on peace talks between the court and Prince Wu? Whether true or false, she had no choice. At this point, she could only press forward.
Chen Danzhu said: “Soon the Prince will bestow something upon me. I will write down this matter. You, as my servant, will accompany the eunuch into the palace to present it. Then you can speak with him.”
Master Wang agreed.
Chen Danzhu added frankly: “To be honest, I forced him to agree to meet you. Whether he truly intends to or is only deceiving me, I do not know. Perhaps you will be killed as soon as you enter.”
Master Wang laughed. “Then please prepare a proper set of clothes for me.”