Ming Yuhe sent word, asking Luo Xinci to come to the front hall to meet Wang Shu.
Luo Xinci was terribly nervous. Before leaving, she downed a cup of cold water, barely steadying her emotions.
On the way, Lianxing asked in confusion, “Miss, aren’t we going back to Linzhou? Did the young marquis forbid it?”
She knew nothing of what had happened indoors; her question was only to gain some clarity. Yet the words struck like oil on fire, making Luo Xinci—already unsettled—shiver.
After Ming Yuhe left, Luo Xinci washed her face and changed clothes, scrubbing her lips several times. Still, there lingered a faint warmth, as though the touch of his cheek remained. She could not tell if it was her imagination, or if Ming Yuhe’s breath had truly left its trace.
Even now, Luo Xinci could hardly believe she had agreed to his shameless demand—and had leaned in to kiss him. She had kissed him, though perhaps only brushed against his cheek. She herself was unsure. The thought left her vexed.
At the time, she had been consumed by the matter of Wang Shu, yielding in her panic. But now, thinking it over, she realized: with Ming Yuhe’s temperament, once affairs in the capital were settled, if she wished to return to Linzhou, he would not let her go so easily.
Would she ever make it back to Linzhou? And if Ming Yuhe refused to release her, how could she exchange identities with Ming Niansheng again? The more she thought, the heavier her head grew. Distracted, she stumbled on the steps and nearly fell.
Lianxing hurried to steady her. “Forget it, I won’t ask anymore. Miss, gather your spirit and deal with what’s before you—you’re about to meet Wang Shu!”
She deliberately stressed the name “Wang Shu,” reminding Luo Xinci of her true purpose in coming to the capital.
Looking back on the days since her arrival, Luo Xinci felt as though she had been pushed, step by step, into her current predicament. For the sake of finding Wang Yinrao, she had already sacrificed so much—she could not afford to ruin this meeting. She took Lianxing’s hint to heart, reminding herself to weigh matters properly.
When the cart reaches the mountain, there will be a road. For now, she must not fret over other troubles—first she had to confirm whether this man was truly Wang Yinrao.
Yet, when she entered the front hall and saw Ming Yuhe, her heart still fluttered wildly, her vision blurring. She gave him only the quickest glance before hastily turning her eyes to the unfamiliar middle-aged man who had appeared in the hall.
The man wore a long beard, appeared to be around forty, dressed in a dark red official robe, and had an official’s hat upon his head. At first glance, Luo Xinci was reminded of the private tutors she had seen back in Linzhou, though this man carried a certain authority that ordinary teachers lacked. She supposed this must be the dignity people often spoke of when describing high-ranking court officials. She ought to have been afraid. Yet after enduring the false and real faces of Marquis Wuling, the cold indifference of Princess Shao’an, the violent arrogance of Jiang Liyang, and—most terrifying of all—Ming Yuhe, the refined yet imposing Wang Shu before her could not inspire fear.
She only felt a little nervous. After all, this man might very well be her father.
“Niansheng, this is Lord Wang, Supervisor of the Imperial Academy,” Ming Yuhe introduced.
Wang Shu rose, clasped his hands in greeting, and said evenly, “I hear from the young marquis that you are searching for Wang Yinrao, the successful candidate of the metropolitan exam sixteen years ago?”
“Yes,” Luo Xinci replied softly. At first sight, beyond his scholarly air and faint authority, she could vaguely discern that in his youth his features must have been strikingly handsome.
Her uncle had once said she bore a resemblance to Wang Yinrao only when her eyes were closed. Wanting to confirm whether Wang Shu was indeed Wang Yinrao, Luo Xinci fixed her gaze upon his eyes. But beyond that first impression, she could see nothing more.
“May I ask, for what reason does Miss seek Wang Yinrao?” Wang Shu raised his voice to inquire.
Luo Xinci startled back to herself and looked toward Ming Yuhe. She had not expected Wang Shu to appear so suddenly. At Yunshang Pavilion, she had been too preoccupied with sparring against Ming Yuhe, and had forgotten to ask how she should deal with Wang Shu.
She wished to seek Ming Yuhe’s help, but when she glanced at him, she noticed a faint red mark upon his cheek—precisely where she had brushed against him earlier. She thought it was a trace of her lip rouge, and in an instant her face flushed crimson with embarrassment. She turned away to Wang Shu, then forced herself to look back, only to realize she had been mistaken.
Her shame amused Ming Yuhe. The anger he had been suppressing eased, and he rose, walked to her side, and said gently, “With your elder brother here, Niansheng, you may speak freely.”
The cost of his gentleness made her shiver. She forced herself to steady, faced Wang Shu, thought for a moment, and said, “I have a friend in Linzhou, surname Luo. Her father came to the capital before she was born, passed the metropolitan exam, and never returned. Not long ago, her family suffered calamity. Knowing I was bound for the capital, she entrusted me to search for him, hoping…”
Hoping to ask her father whether he had sent men to commit the crime.
She had meant to ask directly, but halfway through she noticed Wang Shu’s brows knit, a trace of disgust flickering across his expression.
If he were Wang Yinrao and the true culprit, the past exposed, he should have shown fear or guilt. If he were innocent, hearing of old affairs and his daughter should have stirred some emotion.
Of all possible reactions, disgust was the one he should not have shown.
Luo Xinci’s voice caught for a moment before she continued: “…She wants to find her father, to beg him, for the sake of her mother and herself, to lend aid to her uncle’s family.”
Wang Shu’s brows furrowed tightly, as though he were forcing himself to endure.
When Luo Xinci finished speaking, he flicked his sleeve and bowed, saying: “To be frank, Wang Yinrao was indeed the name I used before entering official service.”
Luo Xinci’s heart gave a jolt, and the weight she had carried for so long finally eased.
Before today, she had imagined countless scenarios of meeting Wang Yinrao: she would sternly demand why he had sent men to commit violence, curse him until he was utterly disgraced, and remind herself again and again that she must never shed tears. But in reality, when she finally saw him, her reaction was far calmer.
Perhaps it was because she had just endured the storm with Ming Yuhe, which had overturned her very understanding of morality? Or perhaps it was because of the thick disgust in Wang Shu’s eyes.
Either way, Luo Xinci remained composed, quietly watching him, waiting for him to go on.
“Since you already know the past, I will speak plainly. My bond with Luo Shang ended sixteen years ago with a letter of divorce. Please tell the young lady of the Luo family that whether her kin live or die has nothing to do with me. I will not interfere in any matter concerning the Luo household.” His words were cold and resolute, showing no trace of guilt or shame—almost as if it were the Luo family who had wronged him.
Luo Xinci’s breath quickened, and she unconsciously stepped forward. She wanted to say: *If life and death mean nothing to you, why send men to silence them?* She wanted to say: *It was you who wronged Luo Shang—how can you have the face to speak so?*
But lacking proof, she swallowed her accusations. After a pause, she asked instead: “Then what about your daughter? All these years you’ve ignored her, and now that she’s in trouble, will you still abandon her?”
Wang Shu was silent.
Silence was admission.
Luo Xinci felt a pang of sorrow. She recalled her childhood fantasies—dreams where her father was a high official, condemned by the emperor to execution, and so had severed ties with her and her mother to protect them.
Dreams, sometimes, are not just dreams—they are cruel jokes.
Looking at Wang Shu now, she finally saw faint traces of resemblance in the lines of his aging face, but her heart was ice-cold. Blinking rapidly to clear the moisture from her eyes, she coughed lightly, steeling herself to confront him, and asked why he had sent men to Linzhou to silence witnesses.
“You—”
“The Emperor is merciful, and values blood ties above all,” Ming Yuhe suddenly interjected. “If word spreads that Lord Wang abandoned his wife and daughter without cause, it may harm his career prospects.”
Luo Xinci glanced at Ming Yuhe, then back at Wang Shu.
Wang Shu’s brows knit even tighter. After a moment of brooding, he said bitterly: “She is not my daughter.”
Luo Xinci almost thought she had misheard, and repeated in confusion:
“Luo Shang’s child is not your daughter?”
“Correct,” Wang Shu replied firmly.
Luo Xinci had imagined countless possibilities, but never this one. Eyes wide, she demanded: “How can she not be your daughter? Explain yourself clearly!”
Wang Shu closed his eyes with a sigh and began slowly: “Back then, when I entered the capital for the examinations, I was chosen as a son-in-law selected from the candidates. I refused, saying I already had a wife at home. Yet I never imagined that the wife I left behind, unable to endure loneliness, would fall into an affair. By the time I returned to fetch her, she was already pregnant…”
“You lie!”
At first, when Luo Xinci heard him say she was not his daughter, she was shaken, thinking there must be some hidden truth. She pressed him urgently for answers—only to hear him paint Luo Shang as an unfaithful woman. Her face flushed with anger, and without thinking, she shouted back: “You’re deceiving me! It was you who abandoned your wife and child!”
Wang Shu seemed startled by her fury, fixing his gaze on her.
Luo Xinci’s heart tightened. Forcing herself to rein in her anger, she said with effort: “I’ve met Aunt Luo Shang. She can’t even raise her voice, spending her days quietly in the inner residence caring for her family. She is nothing like what you claim!”
Wang Shu replied: “I did not wish to believe it either. But I was gone for four months, and when I returned, the child in her womb was barely two months along. How could I believe otherwise?”
Luo Xinci’s face burned red. “That’s not true—you’re lying!”
“This was what the physician himself told me after taking her pulse. I could not disbelieve.”
Wang Shu’s expression carried humiliation as he turned his face aside:
“Out of regard for three years of marriage, I did not expose the matter publicly. I left her a divorce letter and some silver, then departed for the capital to take up office. I never returned to Hongqiao Town again. It was a disgraceful affair, so I changed my name in the capital and severed ties with the Luo family completely.”
“No… no, it’s not like that. The physician must have lied…” Luo Xinci argued anxiously. She was certain her mother was not that kind of woman, and she clearly remembered her own birth date. By that reckoning, when Wang Yinrao returned to Hongqiao, Luo Shang should have been four months pregnant—not merely two. But since she had not witnessed it herself, she could only piece together fragments told by her uncle. She could not state the exact months, nor produce evidence to refute Wang Shu. The more anxious she grew, the redder her face became, her thoughts tangled and incoherent, unable to defend her mother’s honor clearly.
In front of Wang Shu—still dignified despite his humiliation—her words carried no weight.
Ming Yuhe had listened to their exchange intently, his gaze shifting between them before settling on Luo Xinci’s face. Her emotions surged so violently that she forgot to disguise her identity. Her eyes brimmed red, tears threatening to fall at any moment.
If Ming Yuhe wanted her to continue as Ming Niansheng, he had to pretend not to notice. He had to play the fool.
“It must have been someone conspiring with the physician to slander her…”
*Clang!* Ming Yuhe pushed the teacup at his side, the sharp clash of porcelain cutting off Luo Xinci’s words. Humiliated, she turned to him with tear-filled eyes, forgetting entirely that she was supposed to be Ming Niansheng.
Ming Yuhe ignored her for the moment and said: “As far as I know, at that time Madam Wang was still alive.”
“She was indeed,” Wang Shu answered. “And precisely because both my mother and the physician testified, I was convinced Luo Shang had been unfaithful, and I abandoned her without mercy.”
Luo Xinci could not bear to hear her mother slandered so. With tears in her eyes, she bit down hard and said: “Then Madam Wang was lying too!”
Uncle had once said that when Wang Yinrao first left home, Luo Shang was already diagnosed as pregnant. She managed the household while also caring for Madam Wang, and because he worried, Aunt often went over to accompany her.
Madam Wang was the one who knew most clearly when Luo Shang conceived—she must have lied!
“What does Miss mean by this?” Wang Shu turned angrily, then bowed to Ming Yuhe. “My mother has been gone for many years. If Miss continues to slander the deceased, I fear I may speak or act improperly. I beg the young lord’s pardon!”
It was a threat. Luo Xinci had no proof. To accuse a deceased elder of conspiring with outsiders to defame her daughter-in-law was, in the eyes of others, baseless slander. And now she was speaking under the identity of a member of Marquis Wuling’s household—using that power to malign the late mother of a court official. She thought Ming Yuhe would surely rebuke her, tell her to hold her tongue. Biting her lip, she hated Wang Shu and that grandmother she had never even met.
“How do you know it is slander and not the truth?” Ming Yuhe’s voice drifted lightly to her ears.
Startled, Luo Xinci looked up at him. He sat at ease, teacup in hand, his expression indifferent. He was speaking on her behalf.
Wang Shu faltered, saying: “My mother was never such a person…”
“You forbid others to speak ill of your mother without evidence, yet you condemn Luo Shang based on the words of the dead? Your mother is gone, that physician likely cannot be found—so isn’t it all just your word alone? The dead cannot testify.”
Ming Yuhe cut him off, raising a brow at him.
When Wang Shu was struck dumb, Ming Yuhe added: “And besides, even if Niansheng slanders your mother, what can you do against my Marquis Wuling’s household?”
The earlier words had reason; now it was sheer intimidation.
Wang Shu’s face flushed crimson. Breathing heavily, he flung his sleeve in shame and strode out.
Luo Xinci wanted to call him back but had no grounds and felt it was improper at that moment. She could only watch him leave through the gates. Standing dazed, she turned helplessly to Ming Yuhe.
He sipped his tea, glanced at her coolly, and said: “Why so surprised? Didn’t I tell you—since you have your elder brother here, you may speak freely.”