The Great Chu Chao, the twenty-fourth year of Chong De, the twenty-eighth day of the third lunar month.
In the Huguo Gongfu of the capital’s Jiu Yu Hutong, the eight red lanterns hanging under the corridors of the inner courtyard, Yu Qiong Yuan, had not yet been extinguished. They swayed gently in the morning breeze.
A few days prior, the wife of the heir, Zhang Zhiyan, had accidentally fallen into the water. Following that, she suffered a persistent high fever for three days, which only broke at the hour of Mao. At this moment, six older female servants and several maids stood waiting under the corridor for orders; they were all part of the dowry staff Zhang Zhiyan had brought from her parental home.
Inside the inner chamber, the carved window was opened only a crack, allowing a faint scent of medicine to drift out.
Zhang Zhiyan sat at the head of the bed, find it somewhat hard to believe that she had actually been reborn. Looking at her busy first-rank maid, Lüyin, her eyes couldn’t help but grow moist.
Though worry was etched on Lüyin’s face, she forced a smile. “Mistress, do not worry. It was merely a high fever. Once your body recovers, you will be able to bear an heir for the Shizi.”
Zhang Zhiyan let out a cold laugh. “Whoever wants to bear that scoundrel Liao Chuan an heir can go ahead and do it. I don’t care for it one bit.”
Lüyin thought her mistress was merely delirious from anger. “Ease your mind; the good days are yet to come.”
Zhang Zhiyan no longer cared for anyone in the Liao household. “Good days are earned by oneself, never obtained by begging others. What day is it today?”
“The twenty-fourth year of Chong De, the twenty-eighth day of the third month,” Lüyin replied, her gaze full of concern as she looked at Zhang Zhiyan.
Zhang Zhiyan leaned against the headboard and thought for a while. Her slender fingers massaged her temples. When she closed and then reopened her eyes, they were clear and sharp. Her cherry-red lips parted slightly. “Prepare the carriage for me. I wish to go to Ji Ming Si to offer incense.”
Lüyin tried to dissuade her. “Mistress, your body has not yet fully recovered.”
“I know my limits. Have Lüzhu go and give the order.” Now that Zhang Zhiyan was certain she had been reborn, she felt lucky and grateful. This time, she was determined to escape this fiery pit and forge a path of survival for her younger brother and her concubine mother.
The spring rain began to patter down out of nowhere. The sky, which had been clear and bright a moment ago, was now filled with fine, long threads of rain—not heavy, but very dense.
A luxurious cowhide-sealed carriage traveled through the city streets, arriving at Ji Ming Si in the southern suburbs an hour later.
Under the shroud of misty rain, Ji Ming Shan in the southern suburbs was veiled in mountain fog. The vapors gathered and dispersed, making Ji Ming Si atop the summit look like a celestial realm on earth, appearing and disappearing fitfully in the boundless haze.
Zhang Zhiyan went into the temple to worship the Bodhisattva. She did not seek a fortune stick; instead, she requested an Everburning Lamp. Inside, she wrote the birth characters of the legitimate son she had borne in her previous life on a slip of paper, then asked an eminent monk to enshrine it.
Lüyin and Lüzhu waited outside the side hall, occasionally peeking in at their mistress.
Suddenly, the pilgrims waiting to offer incense or have their fortune slips interpreted fell into a great panic. Everyone scattered in all directions. “Assassins!”
“There’s a murder! Run!”
“Help!”
A group of guards and a group of men in black began to fight. The flash of blades and the clang of clashing weapons were incessant.
Zhang Zhiyan snapped back to her senses, looked around in a daze, and quickly hiked up her skirts to run toward the guest rooms in the rear courtyard.
“Move!” With a loud shout, a man dressed in a black brocade robe rushed over. He swung his sword and slew one of the men in black; the assassin fell to the ground, blood spurting out.
Zhang Zhiyan glanced at the man in the brocade robe. It was Liu Lang, the Zheng Shi of the Tan Shi Jian Cha Si, an agency under the Wu De Si. She had an impression of this man; Liao Chuan often cursed him, saying Liu Lang was narrow-minded and used extremely filthy methods.
In the curtain of rain, the men in black were gradually repelled, falling one by one. Blood mixed with rainwater flowed in winding streams, and the ground was soon washed clean by the downpour.
In the chaos, Zhang Zhiyan noticed a shallow puddle by her feet. A small, exquisite silk pouch was floating on the water’s surface, looking like a woman’s possession. She bent down, picked it up, and tucked it away. If someone with ill intentions found it, it might cause trouble. She would wait until she returned to examine it, then quietly return it to its rightful owner.
Looking around, Zhang Zhiyan caught sight of Lüzhu and Lüyin, who had been pushed toward a row of houses diagonally opposite. They were shouting her name loudly.
Zhang Zhiyan was about to respond when her vision suddenly went black, and she fainted, falling into a firm, warm chest.
When she woke up again, she found herself lying in a prison cell. Her head throbbed with a splitting pain, and her throat was so sore that the voice she produced was raspy and unpleasant.
“Lüyin? Lüzhu?”
“Mistress, we are in the cell next door. Are you feeling better?” Lüzhu was clutching the vertical bars of the cell.
Lüyin comforted her with reddened eyes. “Mistress, do not worry. We have already declared your identity and asked the guards to find an imperial physician. Are you in much pain now?”
“I’m not in pain. I likely fainted because my cold hadn’t fully recovered. Why are we here?”
“Mistress, the people from the Wu De Si arrested many of the pilgrims who were watching the fight between the assassins and the guards. They ‘invited’ us in for questioning as well.”
Zhang Zhiyan recalled her previous life. This treason case had indeed implicated many people. The group of men in black who had come to the temple today to stage a chaotic assassination was definitely arranged by someone on purpose. They seemed to be looking for something, and as it happened, the Wu De Si was also looking for it.
A set of footsteps gradually approached, and the cell door was opened. A guard in black official robes stood at the entrance, his expression cold and stern. “Will the wife of the Heir of Huguo Gongfu, Lady Liao-Zhang, please come with me? The Lord Zheng Shi has questions for you.”
Zhang Zhiyan rose and followed him. Behind her came the voices of Lüzhu and Lüyin, telling her to be at ease and not to be afraid.
This was not her first time in the Wu De Si dungeons. She had been here twice in her previous life, both times for matters concerning her parental home.
They wound their way up the stairs, finally seeing a glint of light. The rain had passed and the sky had cleared; it was now midday.
Exiting the dungeon, they passed through three main gates, wound around three corridors, and crossed a large passageway to arrive at a quiet courtyard planted with dark bamboo. The guards under the eaves kept their eyes forward, wearing felt hats and solemn expressions.
“Reporting to the Zheng Shi: The wife of the Heir of Huguo Gongfu, Lady Liao-Zhang, has been brought.”
“Mm.” A lazy voice drifted from within.
The guard at the door lifted the curtain. Zhang Zhiyan walked in, her heart filled with trepidation. This was the first time she had entered the office of a Wu De Si official.
“Zhang Zhiyan greets your lordship.” Zhang Zhiyan performed a partial bow, her eyes meeting Liu Lang’s gaze.
When he was fighting the assassins at Ji Ming Si earlier, he had already noticed the Lady Zhang’s stunning beauty. Coincidentally, when she fainted, he had been the one to catch her. Looking closely now, he saw the lady had elegant features, a straight and slightly upturned nose, and a pair of dark eyes as shimmering as water. Her lips were naturally red without makeup. Her dark hair was draped behind her, though the hair at her temples and forehead was still slightly damp. Dressed in moon-white robes, she appeared even more refined and ethereal.
Zhang Zhiyan also swiftly observed this legendary “deadly treacherous official,” Liu Lang. He wore the specific official robe of the Zheng Shi of the Tan Shi Jian Cha Si—a black satin brocade robe. The embroidery on the chest and shoulders featured Teng She outlined in gold thread; they were lifelike and looked terrifying. He wore black soap-boots without complex patterns, also embroidered with the Teng She motif.
He sat with his back to the light, the brim of his black hat shadowing his forehead, revealing a pair of peach blossom eyes, a high-bridged nose, and thin lips curved into a slight smile. “Please sit, Lady Liao. You fainted in the temple earlier, so I took the liberty of bringing you back to rest. The imperial physician is already on his way.”
“Many thanks, My Lord.” Zhang Zhiyan did not believe he was being so kind. “Whatever your lordship wishes to ask, please proceed.” Thinking of how she had been poisoned in her past life, and how her concubine mother and brother were silenced shortly after, a wave of unstoppable hatred rose within her—hatred for the person who framed them, and hatred for this unjust world.
Zhang Zhiyan never wanted to be a fish on someone else’s chopping block again. Now, she had to plot her own path. She had come today hoping to try her luck, and she truly had run into this much-rumored deadly official.
“While pursuing the assassins at Ji Ming Si earlier, this official accidentally dropped a silk pouch. Has My Lady seen it? Or perhaps My Lady saw some suspicious person pick it up?” As Liu Lang spoke, he looked at her with a half-smile.