Pei Tan looked at the woman’s darkened expression. Clearly, that painful past she wished to forget still lingered deep in her heart. He said to her: “Lingnan is a harsh land. Nowadays, no one from Chang’an would willingly live there. If someone claims to be from Lingnan, one thing is certain—no one will truly investigate whether they are or not.”
Just as the Jing clan had been exiled to Hanta, Lingnan was also a place of exile for countless criminals. Few common folk were willing to endure life in such a hostile land.
The woman fixed her gaze on Pei Tan, her eyes no longer soft as before, “What does it matter to you, my lord, whether I am truly from Lingnan?”
Checking household registers was not the Court of Judicial Review’s duty. Even if someone forged their origins to remain in Chang’an, what of it? Chang’an was the most prosperous city of the Tang dynasty. Every year, countless people tried every means to survive there. To search them all out would be impossible.
Thus, suspicion clouded her eyes.
Pei Tan looked at her: “You are right. I do not care whether you are truly from Lingnan. I ask only one thing—before you assumed the false identity of Zichan’er, who were you really?”
The longer he held her gaze, the more he could see that flicker of unease in her eyes.
Pei Xian, standing nearby, still had no idea what his master intended, his expression even more bewildered than the woman’s.
But the woman said nothing. She only stared at Pei Tan, refusing to utter a single word.
Pei Tan seemed to have expected this. Slowly clasping his hands behind his back, he said quietly: “From the moment you entered this hall, from your bearing alone, I knew you were no ordinary commoner. Your manners show you were trained. In this world, only women from one place carry such ingrained discipline—so deep that even five years of ordinary life cannot erase it. That place is the palace, under the strict rules of court.”
At the mention of palace rules, everyone noticed the sudden flicker in the woman’s expression. Her lips moved, but then pressed shut tighter than before. She seemed to grit her teeth, unwilling to admit a word of what Pei Tan said.
Yet sometimes silence is the greatest flaw.
Pei Tan’s gaze held a trace of understanding. Self-control—and secrets that would never be spoken, even unto death. She was a woman who had once lived in the palace and somehow escaped alive.
After a long moment, the woman unclenched her hands and smiled faintly: “Forgive me, my lord, but I truly do not understand what you mean.”
Pei Tan looked at her. Even now, he could see in her face the chill of years spent under servitude. For that reason, he had no intention of forcing her.
He said softly: “You may go.”
The woman’s expression shifted, clearly in disbelief, as she raised her eyes to him.
Pei Tan had ordered Registrar Xing to find this woman and bring her to the Court only to confirm a suspicion. From the moment he saw her, he had already determined she had once been a palace maid—just like the one who had appeared at the Su family wedding banquet.
And such women all bore the indelible mark of the palace upon them.
The woman’s expression finally softened: “My lord…”
Pei Tan looked at her and asked his final question: “If I were to ask who helped you accomplish all of this, you surely would not say.”
The one who had given this woman a second life, even enabling her to become the wife of a tavern owner, was someone who had reshaped her fate entirely. Such a benefactor’s name, of course, she could never reveal.
As expected, her lips moved slightly, but she lowered her head without speaking a word.
Pei Tan did not press further. True to his word, he summoned Registrar Xing and ordered him to escort the woman back the way she had come.
Pei Xian could no longer hold back: “My lord, why is it that suddenly so many palace maids have appeared in Chang’an, wandering outside in secret?”
Palace maids were the lowest-ranking and least noticed figures in the palace. Yet once they appeared openly on the streets of Chang’an, it was shocking and baffling.
Before prisoners were locked in the cells of the Court of Judicial Review, the clerks had to lead them through the inner grounds. It was then that Zichan’er memorized the layout of the Court, and later used carrier pigeons to pass that knowledge to the palace maiden.
Pei Tan now understood the connection. He knew that the palace maids hidden in Chang’an were far more than just these two.
Thinking of how Jing Wan’er had managed to spirit these maids out of the palace without anyone noticing, Pei Tan felt a chill. Five years ago, Jing Wan’er had still been a mere young girl, yet even then she was already orchestrating such schemes. She must have struck bargains with each maid she rescued; otherwise, they would not still remain in contact with her to this day.
Pei Tan had once said that even a grown man at that age would not possess such cunning foresight, able to plan for years ahead. Yet Jing Wan’er had done it—meticulously, flawlessly. Not a single maid would betray her. That was the most terrifying part.
A lowly corpse-collecting palace maid from the servants’ quarters, silently holding sway over nearly all the intelligence in Chang’an.
Pei Tan recalled what Emperor Zhongzong had said when he secretly reported the case: “Even if Zong Chuke deceived me, the act of the Jing girl cutting human skin is itself a capital crime.”
Merely cutting the skin from corpses was already treason. If the matter of the palace maids in Chang’an were exposed, Jing Wan’er would be condemned without burial.
Meanwhile, at the Ministry of State Affairs, the ritual master had finished his rites, received a heavy reward of silver, and left contentedly.
The aide who had remained in Zong Chuke’s study reappeared: “My lord, please look at this.”
It was a pass document prepared in advance, stamped with the seal of the Office of the Commandant of Carriages.
The Commandant of Carriages was a minor fifth-rank official, with no ties to the Seven Clans or Five Families.
Zong Chuke stared at his aide, then slowly took the pass into his hand.
“My lord, once night falls, the young master can be sent away—lest delay bring trouble.” The aide’s eyes gleamed with shrewdness.
Zong Chuke examined every word on the pass. A Commandant of Carriages was so insignificant that the gate guards of Chang’an would hardly notice him.
Yet the passes they issued were just sufficient to allow the lowest-ranking Hu merchants to enter and leave.
Zong Chuke slowly crumpled the pass document in his hand until it was crushed into a ball.
The aide’s eyes flickered: “My lord?”
Zong Chuke said nothing. Clearly, in his heart, he could not bring himself to decide whether to send Zong Huo away at this time.
But Zong Huo could wait no longer.
“The men chosen… are they reliable?” Zong Chuke asked, his face expressionless.
The aide’s lips curled into a sly smile: “Rest assured, my lord. I am willing to stake my head on it—the young master will leave Chang’an safely.”
Zong Chuke gazed at the darkening sky outside the window, while the pass in his hand grew more and more misshapen under his grip.
If Zong Huo did not leave the underground chamber within three days, he would reach the brink of collapse.
Even now, Zong Huo’s mind was already unraveling. The secret chamber had been wrecked by him—cups and dishes smashed to pieces. The vegetarian meals sent by Zong Chuke had long since been overturned onto the floor, trampled in rage.
At last, the hidden door slowly opened again, and Zong Huo saw the aide’s smiling face appear through the dust.
Zong Huo almost instantly ceased his destruction, his eyes flashing with desperate hope as he stared at the man.
“I come by order of the Minister to escort the young master out.”
Hearing these words, Zong Huo collapsed completely onto the ground. Amidst the scraps of food, he let out a twisted smile of relief.
At the hour of Xu, just after nightfall, a carriage slipped out from the rear gate of the Minister’s residence, entering the streets of Chang’an under cover of darkness. To leave during curfew would be too conspicuous—even if successful, the Qian Niu Guard would investigate afterward.
But at this time, six different groups of Hu merchants were already hurrying toward the city gates before curfew fell.
Though Chang’an enforced curfew, the night market before curfew was the most bustling and lively scene. No Hu merchant wished to miss such a gathering. Thus, in the half-hour before the night market closed, the four city gates were always at their busiest.
The Office of the Commandant of Carriages had scheduled a shipment three days earlier, and only today were the Hu merchants carrying that cargo permitted to leave Chang’an.
The Hu merchants chose the north gate, driving carts loaded with more than a dozen empty chests, arriving in a cloud of dust.
By then, many Hu merchants had already gathered at the gate.
Aside from those carrying passes of second rank or above, all carts and horses of the Hu merchants had to be inspected before being allowed through.
The pass issued by the Commandant of Carriages—concealing Zong Huo—would also have to be inspected.
The leading merchants squinted at the crowded line ahead.
One of the Qian Niu Guards spat harshly on the ground: “Damn it, every day they rush at this hour.”
All the merchants’ faces showed fearful unease.
The guard’s eyes gleamed suddenly. He seized one merchant by the collar and hurled him against the wall. “Smuggling contraband out of the city—death!”
The merchant’s chest was overturned, and from the pile of straw spilled a luminous cup.
“Seize him. Execute.” The guard’s voice was cold.
The merchant had no chance to plead before a spray of blood filled the air. His neck twisted, and he fell lifeless.
The guard who had struck him down held his bloodied blade, glaring coldly at the line of merchants. His ruthless expression was stark in the night.
This was the fate of those who gambled on luck—execution on the spot.
Hidden inside one of the chests, Zong Huo dug his five fingers deep into his flesh.
Every merchant being inspected had their chests kicked open, their goods examined one by one.