Zhang Xian was a petty, vindictive man. This time, when he went to the capital, he would surely try to ruin her husband. Chu Linlang, sleepless for days, decided to strike first—shake the mountain to startle the tiger, frighten him a little, and avert the immediate crisis.
But the leverage she used could not be too great, lest he lash out like a cornered dog. So she chose Zhang Xian’s brother‑in‑law, a minor grain officer caught in shady dealings, as the perfect target.
Of course, Chu Linlang did all this behind her husband’s back. Such bold, reckless schemes were things the upright gentleman Zhou Sui’an would never dream of.
Before marrying into the Zhou family, she had been the illegitimate daughter of a salt merchant from Jianghuai, raised on boats hauling salt, learning slick tricks from her father and the traders. Yet, as a girl, no matter how capable, she was seen as a burden—unlike her father’s sons, who were valued simply for being male.
At the age of blooming youth, she was nearly ruined by her elder brother’s schemes and was given away by her father as a concubine to an old salt official. When she was trapped in that mire, Zhou Sui’an rescued her, disregarded her lowly birth, defied his mother, and insisted on marrying her as his wife.
Such a debt of gratitude could never be repaid. After marrying into the Zhou family, she devoted herself to managing the household, pulling it out of decline, and supporting her husband’s rise in officialdom.
To match her husband’s stature, she studied diligently, memorized poetry, and cultivated refinement beyond her merchant roots. Yet being an official’s wife was far more exhausting than being a merchant’s daughter. Recently, her husband had quarreled with colleagues. He was too proud to admit fault, but Chu Linlang, versed in worldly affairs, knew he had stirred up grave trouble.
A few days earlier, she had learned of old lawsuits in Lianzhou from acquaintances and boldly devised a plan. Without telling Zhou Sui’an, she approached Madam Lin to mediate. At the very least, she needed Zhang Xian to hesitate, so he would not dare cause trouble in the capital. Her husband had already offended him—better to gamble than to wait helplessly.
Just then, her maid Xia He asked:“Madam, weren’t you going to buy cloth for the master’s official collar? Which shop shall we go to?”
Official collars had strict rules. Chu Linlang pulled out her tortoise shell and shook it devoutly—southeast was auspicious. “Then southeast… we’ll go to Rongsheng Cloth Shop!” she declared.
Xia He was used to her mistress’s superstitions. Even today’s ambush of Madam Lin had been chosen after Chu Linlang shook the tortoise shell eight times.
That shell had history: it was a gift from an old salt trader when she was young. He claimed it was the descendant of the great tortoise used by the goddess Nüwa to mend the heavens, and that its divinations were accurate. Chu Linlang believed it wholeheartedly. After all, it had guided her to Zhou Sui’an, transforming her from a salt merchant’s illegitimate daughter into an official’s wife. Shaking it three times before leaving home was her daily ritual.
But today, the tortoise spirit seemed lazy—the path it pointed to was no broad avenue.
Not long after the carriage set out, the road was blocked. Chu Linlang peered out. The once‑wide street was jammed tight: masked men surrounded a carriage, fighting fiercely. Guards defended it, but they were overwhelmed.
This time, no tortoise shell was needed. Chu Linlang shouted decisively: “Turn the carriage around, quickly!”
The coachman sensed danger and whipped the horses to flee. But just then, a tall man leapt from the besieged carriage, sword in one hand, dragging a frail man in the other. With a bound, both landed on Chu Linlang’s carriage.
The tall man shoved the frail one inside, seized the reins, and lashed them. The horses bolted forward wildly. Behind them, the masked men gave chase, blades flashing.
The maids screamed in terror, but Chu Linlang remained composed, exchanging a glance with the pale, trembling man beside her, listening as he spoke to the tall driver.
The driver did not turn his head, answering curtly. From their accents, they were outsiders, unfamiliar with Lianzhou. Chu Linlang called out:
“Good sir, if you wish to live, turn east ahead—there lies the garrison. Those villains will not dare follow into the barracks!”
She was testing him. If he were a decent man, he would heed her words. If not, avoiding the barracks would reveal his true nature.
Sure enough, at the crossroads, he turned west without hesitation. Chu Linlang sneered inwardly—villains indeed! But she had anticipated this. East led to the prefect’s yamen, west to the barracks. Either way, he was trapped.
As they neared the barracks, she cried out: “Help! Someone is hijacking the magistrate’s carriage!”
Her maid Xia He joined in, their shrill voices piercing the sky. Soldiers recognized the Zhou family carriage and, hearing the magistrate’s wife, sounded the alarm. Armed troops swarmed out, surrounding them.
Chu Linlang had already seized the frail man, pressing her hairpin against his throat. She shouted to the driver: “Stop at once, or I’ll have you hacked to pieces!”
The frail man gasped, shocked that such a delicate woman could nearly strangle him. He cried out: “Master Situ… stop… save me!”
The driver—Situ—halted as soldiers closed in. Only then did Chu Linlang see his face: a young man of twenty, his scholar’s robe stained with blood, handsome yet chilling, his eyes deep and cold as a dark abyss. When he realized his captor was a fragile woman, he paused, then narrowed his eyes, gaze sharpening.
Chu Linlang instinctively lowered hers, but her grip did not loosen.
Finally, Situ spoke calmly: “We meant only to save our master. Forgive us, madam. We are not criminals. Please release him before this ends badly.”
The soldiers pressed their weapons to his throat. Chu Linlang, seeing him subdued, let go and pushed the frail man toward them.
She sneered: “Not criminals? Then why turn west instead of east? Your true nature will be revealed in interrogation!”
Situ raised his brows and replied coolly: “Madam, you were mistaken. The barracks are west, not east. The prefecture was empty today—your husband among those absent. Had we gone east, the few clerks there could not have resisted the assassins.”
Chu Linlang was stunned. How did this blood‑soaked stranger know Lianzhou’s affairs so well?
Before she could ponder, soldiers found a golden token on the frail man—an imperial dragon pass.
What followed was chaos. The prefect rushed back, trembling. Officials knelt in terror. Zhang Xian smirked in schadenfreude. Zhou Sui’an, hearing his wife had held a hairpin to the man’s throat, collapsed to his knees, face dark as iron.
All of Lianzhou’s officials knelt before the frail man—no mere victim, but the Sixth Prince himself.
The Emperor, determined to reform, had sent his son, Liu Ling, incognito as an imperial inspector. He had already executed corrupt officials in neighboring counties. One of the slain men’s brothers, a notorious local tyrant, had rallied bandits to assassinate him in revenge.
Unaware they were attacking a prince, they staged the ambush in Lianzhou. And so, by misfortune, Chu Linlang was dragged into the storm.
The prefect was guilty of negligence, but Chu Linlang’s crime was greater. For she had dared press a hairpin to the throat of a prince of the realm—an offense punishable by death for her entire household.