Zong Chuke shut himself away in his study, appearing to all the world as a grieving father.
“My lord, the young master could be smuggled out among the Hu merchants. Hide him in a crate of goods, and he could slip past the gates unseen.”
In Chang’an, only merchants could move freely. With a transit pass, the gate guards would not interfere.
Zong Chuke paced with his hands behind his back. His adviser’s eyes gleamed shrewdly: “A single pass—surely either the Empress or Chancellor Wei would be willing to issue it.”
Zong Chuke’s face was shadowed, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights, making him more forbidding than ever.
His original plan had been to keep Zong Huo hidden in the underground passage for a year or two, until the city forgot the scandal. Then, sending him away would be easy. He could even change his son’s name and let him live quietly in Chang’an. But this rebellious son threatened his own life, demanding to leave at once.
Outside, the hired priest chanted and spat fire, startling the household.
Zong Chuke said coldly: “After the seven days of rites are complete, take my letter into the palace.”
The key was not the pass itself, but the Hu merchant’s identity.
The adviser narrowed his eyes: “The finest merchant houses in Chang’an all rely on the Five Surnames and Seven Clans. If the young master is hidden among them, they would never dare speak out.”
Without backing, no foreign merchant could survive in Chang’an. Though Emperor Zhongzong promoted trade with the Hu, in truth, every merchant was closely watched. Any suspicious move would bring swift imperial action.
And among the clans, the Wei family—foremost of the Seven—controlled the Hu merchants, holding the lifeblood of Chang’an’s economy. With a pass issued by Empress Wei, Zong Huo could come and go as if through an empty gate.
The plan seemed flawless. Yet Zong Chuke’s eyes remained dark. If there was any flaw, it would not be his son alone who died—the entire Minister’s household, even Empress Wei herself, could be implicated.
Meanwhile, Pei Xian escorted his master back to the Ministry. As he pushed open the door, he felt eyes watching from the shadows.
A warrior’s instincts were sharp. Before he moved, a dart flew from his hand, striking a stone near the gate. Behind it, a figure fled in panic, vanishing around the corner. Even so, Pei Tan glimpsed the hem of a skirt.
“My lord, someone dares spy on us!” Pei Xian said grimly.
Pei Tan’s gaze was deep. He stepped out, sensing the figure was familiar. He was not blessed with perfect memory, but certain faces left indelible impressions.
“At the Su family wedding…” Pei Tan murmured.
Though the figure now wore a woman’s dress, he recognized her instantly.
Pei Xian gasped. “That palace maid!?”
The same maid who had slipped the tattooed skin into Pei Tan’s robe was now lurking outside the Ministry. Suspicion thickened.
“She must be acting under someone’s orders,” Pei Xian said. “Whether at the wedding or here, her purpose is unclear. Perhaps she and her master are the ones who swapped Zong Huo’s body.”
Perhaps she even knew where the real Zong Huo was.
“The one who revealed the false corpse cannot be the one who hid Zong Huo,” Pei Tan said calmly. “They must be on opposite sides.”
The one who handled the corpse was the Jing daughter. Pei Tan had told no one but the emperor. Was this maid acting under Jing Wan’er’s command? She had vanished from the palace, yet no search was made for her. That meant her identity within the palace was already erased—she was officially dead. Only the dead could leave the palace walls. Such was the fate of all palace women. Did this not mean that when Jing Wan’er cut away the tattooed skin, she had already embraced death?
Pei Tan’s thoughts stirred. Why did the palace maids outside obey Jing Wan’er? Was her only ally the one who had once disguised herself as a man?
That night, Jing Wan’er lay on her bed. In the darkness, she removed the damp cloth from her nose—the reason she was immune to the drugged incense.
By midnight, the noisy service quarters fell into silence.
As always, she received a secret message from a maid outside the palace. This time, only one line: The Minister’s household has summoned a priest to drive out evil.
Jing Wan’er knew Zong Chuke would stage the full ritual, deceiving the world. She could no longer remain passive. She returned to her bed, glanced at her drugged companions, and drew out a hidden bundle. Inside were paper, ink, and a brush.
Palace maids were not meant to read or write. To be caught with such things was to be branded a spy.
But Jing Wan’er was the daughter of the Jing clan. She began to write.
She knew Zong Huo was still hidden in his father’s house. She even guessed Zong Chuke’s plan—to wait until the scandal faded, then send his son away. Yet she also knew Zong Huo would never obey quietly. He longed to flee Chang’an at once.
Jing Wan’er lifted the paper she had written, blew it dry, and whistled into the night sky. The whistle mimicked a bird’s call, arousing no suspicion. A pigeon flew down. She tied the note to its leg, but before releasing it, she paused, staring at its snow‑white body. If the message reached her contacts outside the palace, it would not achieve her purpose.
After a long hesitation, she untied the paper, smeared the name at the bottom with ink until it was illegible, and then released the pigeon.
The next morning, men of the Ministry of Judicial Review noticed a red‑capped pigeon circling endlessly above their compound. No pigeon had ever lingered over the Ministry before. Official documents were never transmitted by such means.
When the bird hovered for half a day, Pei Tan stepped outside and looked up. “It’s a palace pigeon,” he said.
Only palace pigeons bore such a distinctive red mark. And this one seemed intent on drawing attention.
Pei Xian leapt lightly and caught it from a treetop. The pigeon did not resist; it was trained to remain still.
“My lord, look.” He found a letter tied to its leg.
Pei Tan read it first, noting the dew and blurred ink.
The letter said: If Zong Huo is not truly dead, he must be hidden at home. The Minister’s residence has closed its gates under the pretext of mourning—proof enough. Yet Zong Huo, a useless wastrel, cannot remain concealed. Should he stir, he will attempt to flee Chang’an under disguise. If the city gates are strictly inspected now, he will surely be caught.
The lower half of the paper was soaked in ink, blackened entirely. No recipient, no signature—it seemed written to no one.
But Pei Tan knew otherwise. The handwriting was delicate yet forceful, clearly a woman’s. And the pigeon’s red mark was a deliberate sign, ensuring the Ministry recognized it as palace‑born.
A woman in the palace had written to him.
Pei Tan folded the letter and asked his aide: “Pei Xian, if you had to spirit someone out of the city unseen, how would you do it?”
Caught off guard, Pei Xian frowned. “…Without a transit pass, no one can leave.”
The Qian Niu Guards who manned Chang’an’s gates were no trifling force. Hu merchants brought wealth, but Tang glory could not rest on foreigners. Zhongzong’s outward openness masked the strictest controls.
Pei Tan handed him the letter. “Burn it.”
The pigeon, freed of its burden, flew off at once—well‑trained.
Pei Tan reflected: the four gates of Chang’an were guarded by Commander Cui Shi of the Qian Niu Guard. Though the Cui clan had lost its primacy since the Wei family rose, it remained a great house, holding key posts across the city.
The office of the Qian Niu Guard commander seemed minor, but in truth, it controlled the city’s throat.
When Pei Xian returned, Pei Tan looked at the Ministry gates. “I must visit the Qian Niu Guard camp.”
If the letter was from Jing Wan’er, her knowledge of him was far deeper than he had imagined. She knew not only of the Ministry but even of the guarded camps beyond her reach. And another palace maid had infiltrated the Su family wedding as a guest—too extraordinary to dismiss.
Yet for now, his case was urgent: the Zong father and son feigning death to escape justice. Only afterward could he turn to the palace maid whose power threatened the inner court itself.
At the Qian Niu Guard camp, the arrival of the Minister of Judicial Review caused no delay. Commander Cui Shi, a distant branch of the Cui clan, was surprised to see him.
“Lord Pei, what brings you here?”
Pei Tan slipped a hand into his sleeve, studied Cui Shi for a moment, and drew out a scroll. “His Majesty has issued a secret decree. I must show it to you.”