For sixteen years, Luo Xinci had lived lawfully and uprightly, and this was the first time she had ever encountered such a thing. She never imagined she would be the one standing on the side of oppression. Shock left her speechless for a long while.
When she finally gathered herself, she felt deeply grateful for Ming Yuhe’s blatant partiality—for the strong support he gave her when she was helpless. Yet the thought of *why* he helped her made her heart uneasy.
Such emotions were too overwhelming—they shattered all the pent-up frustration, anger, unwillingness, and pain in her chest, leaving her unable to even feel sorrow anymore.
Luo Xinci was still hesitating over how to face Ming Yuhe when he said again: “I told you to speak freely, and you really poured your heart out to him. Why not just drive me to my grave while you’re at it?”
“I didn’t…” She hadn’t poured her heart out—she had been careful, never once mentioning the Luo family being targeted for silencing.
“How not? From the very first sentence, you let him lead you by the nose.”
Ming Yuhe rose, came to stand before her, bent slightly with furrowed brows, and said in a low voice: “Father devoted himself to overturning imperial power, his hands stained with royal blood. Elder brother is not as ruthless as Father, but he is no harmless man either. Niansheng, you are so weak—it makes your brother lose face.”
Luo Xinci: “…”
Her mouth opened and closed again, unable to think of any reply. In the end she shut it, pretending not to hear. Instead, she focused on his earlier words, replaying her first exchange with Wang Shu, and realized it was true—she had been led along.
Fortunately, she had been cautious midway, or else she might have revealed everything without gaining any answers.
She quickly tugged at Ming Yuhe’s sleeve, looking up with earnest humility: “Brother, was he deliberately trying to trick me into talking? Does that mean he doesn’t know about Linzhou, so it wasn’t him who sent men there to silence people, right?”
Ming Yuhe pulled his sleeve free and walked toward the courtyard, saying: “That’s for you to decide. After speaking with him, do you think he is innocent—or the mastermind?”
Luo Xinci followed closely, replaying Wang Shu’s words in her mind: “The things he said to slander Aunt Luo Shang—I don’t believe a word. But he didn’t seem to be lying. Could it be he was truly deceived?”
“You believe him?”
Though she disliked Wang Shu’s accusations, she had seen his unwillingness, his shame, and his defense of Madam Wang. Without realizing it, her heart leaned toward believing he was innocent. At least, when he thought his wife had betrayed him, he had not exposed her publicly, but left her silver to live on. Later, he changed his name and concealed his identity, all to sever ties and bury that disgraceful past. By all appearances, he seemed a man of feeling and honor. Perhaps it really was Madam Wang who meddled.
Luo Xinci nodded.
“Is that so?” Ming Yuhe stopped beneath the corridor.
The long walkway led to the rear courtyard—on one side, carved relief murals; on the other, a spacious garden where tall late-spring magnolias swayed in the breeze, dropping a few pale petals.
Ming Yuhe stood in the shadow of the flowering tree, his face shifting between light and dark. Looking down at her, he asked: “Then who deceived him?”
Luo Xinci wanted to say Madam Wang, but then recalled the altered records in the Bureau of Archives—something Madam Wang could not have done.
She hesitated, then said: “Whoever did it wanted to break them apart. If it wasn’t Madam Wang… could it have been the family of some high official who fancied Wang Shu? Brother, do you know who his father-in-law was?”
Ming Yuhe cooperated, saying: “His father-in-law was Qin Zhiyi, Minister of Rites. Sixteen years ago his rank was not high, yet sufficient to manipulate a newly appointed *jinshi*. Perhaps the Qin family’s daughter took a fancy to Wang Yinrao, and when her pursuit failed, someone intervened to break apart that marriage.”
Luo Xinci had already faintly suspected this while listening to Wang Shu. Hearing Ming Yuhe echo the thought, her heart began to race. If this were true, then her father was not a faithless traitor at all—merely foolish, deceived, while the true enemy lay elsewhere.
Her eyes shone as she gazed at Ming Yuhe. “It must be so…”
“I only said it was possible, not certain. In fact, I lean more toward believing Wang Shu is lying.”
Luo Xinci froze again, staring blankly. “Why?” she asked in a daze.
“For no particular reason. I simply feel, from his words, that he paints himself too spotless a victim.”
Ming Yuhe bent toward her, meeting her gaze. “In his account, everyone harbors selfish motives. Only he—perhaps a little foolish—balances both affection and duty, the most pitiable victim. But don’t forget: he is also the greatest beneficiary.”
Luo Xinci was stunned by his words.
Straightening, Ming Yuhe added: “By the way, if you have nothing else, Neisheng, think carefully again about your conversation with Wang Shu.”
She nodded absentmindedly, lost in thought, unmoving until a magnolia petal drifted to her nose and startled her back to herself. Looking around, she realized Ming Yuhe had slipped away unnoticed. Not far off, Lianxing was watching her with worry.
The trail of clues to the culprit broke off at Wang Shu, leaving Luo Xinci with a new puzzle: was Wang Shu lying, or had he truly been manipulated? And if so, who had deliberately torn her parents apart?
Back at Yunshang Pavilion, she pondered long. Whoever it was, the person must have been closely connected to Wang Shu. She resolved to begin with him, unraveling the truth thread by thread. A fine wish—but having just offended Wang Shu, she now had no way to proceed.
Unable to act, she turned to the maids for gossip. They chattered, but all they knew was that the Minister of Rites was named Qin Zhiyi, with a single daughter, Qin Liang. Qin Liang and Wang Shu had only one child: Wang Linghao, the youth whose portrait Luo Xinci had already seen, once listed among her intended targets. She quickly fetched the portrait again, studying the boy anew.
Wang Linghao was six months younger than Luo Xinci, just past his sixteenth birthday. By rough calculation, Wang Shu must have remarried soon after divorcing his first wife.
Luo Xinci’s mood was heavy.
That day the rain fell in a steady drizzle, vexing to the heart. She still had not found a way to investigate the events of years past. Summoning her courage to seek out Ming Yuhe, she learned he was away and had not yet returned.
Distraught, Luo Xinci dismissed her maids and wandered alone along the covered corridor, aimless. At times she brooded over Wang Shu, at times she thought of Ming Yuhe, sighing with sorrow now and then. A sudden gust of wind swept the rain against the hem of her skirt.
She lifted her skirt slightly and, glancing at her embroidered shoes, was reminded of the snowfall from years before. That day she had molded a little snow figure for her cousin, who loved it so dearly she laid Luo Xinci’s embroidered shoes down as its bed. But the next morning the snowman had vanished, and the shoes were soaked, unwearable. The memory made Luo Xinci laugh softly—then the laughter faded. She missed home. Her nose stung, her throat tightened; she leaned against a pillar and wiped at her eyes.
“Still pretending! I never even touched you!” A harsh, angry shout rang out ahead.
Startled, Luo Xinci looked up. At the end of the corridor, beneath a pavilion set with fruits and tea, sat Princess Shao’an with her maids. The furious voice belonged to Jiang Liyang.
Because of the mishap at the training grounds, Jiang Liyang had lost face—his match with Fan Ning unresolved, whipped in public yet unable to retaliate. Later, hearing that the palace, the Wang residence, and the Marquis’s household had all apologized on Luo Xinci’s behalf, his hatred for her only deepened. He had come today to see Princess Shao’an, but by ill chance encountered Luo Xinci again. Worse, she had just been smiling, skirts lifted, walking forward—only to suddenly choke back sobs.
Suspicious she was once more trying to frame him, Jiang Liyang struck first, appealing to the princess: “Aunt, you saw it! I’ve been sitting here the whole time, I never even went near her—I don’t even dare look at her!”
The homesickness that had just welled up in Luo Xinci vanished in an instant. Her hand, still raised to wipe her eyes, felt awkward—unsure whether to continue. She wanted to turn and leave, to get far away from Jiang Liyang.
But Princess Shao’an was her nominal stepmother. On ordinary days, if they did not meet, there was no need for formal greetings. Yet now, having run straight into her, to avoid her would be a breach of propriety. She had to pay her respects.
Luo Xinci straightened her dress and walked forward with measured grace.
Before she reached the pavilion, Jiang Liyang suddenly sprang out into the rain. “Aunt, I’m tired—I’m going back to rest!”
“Ah…” The maids looked startled. Seeing Princess Shao’an nod, they hurried to follow with umbrellas.
Luo Xinci stopped, embarrassed, beneath the corridor, and from a distance offered her greeting.
Princess Shao’an, as ever, was cool and detached. She inclined her head and said, “Sit down. I have something to ask you.”
Obediently, Luo Xinci approached, taking a stone stool at the edge of the round table. Her hands rested properly on her knees, her gaze lowered, silent and cautious. Seeing the princess brought Marquis Wuling to her mind.
Surely Princess Shao’an already knew that the current Marquis was an impostor. Ming Yuhe had said the death of the old Prince Ning was tied to the Marquis; perhaps the true Marquis had been killed by this mother and son together? In any case, the Marquis was dead, and everything in the household had passed to her son. She had lost nothing. The possibility seemed strong. By that logic, Princess Shao’an was ruthless indeed. Luo Xinci felt she must tread even more carefully. But what could the princess want to ask her? Could it be she had finally decided to vent her anger on Jiang Liyang’s behalf?
“Why did Wang Shu come to the residence the other day? And why did he leave in such a fury?”
“Uh… well, that…” The matter was hard to explain. Luo Xinci faltered, unable to speak.
Seeing her hesitation, Princess Shao’an tapped the table. “Then let me ask another question. Is your elder brother treating you well?”
“Yes!” That was easy. Luo Xinci answered fluently: “My brother takes me out to play, stands up for me, teaches me many things. I truly don’t know how to repay him.”
“Brother?” The princess repeated the word with emphasis, raising her brows. “Repay?”
Though she bore little resemblance to Ming Yuhe in appearance, the expression was identical when she made the same gesture.
For a moment Luo Xinci felt as though Ming Yuhe himself were interrogating her. Her face flushed red; she lowered her head, unable to speak further.
Princess Shao’an studied her, then waved all the maids away. When only the two of them remained in the pavilion, she spoke gently: “My son’s temperament is peculiar. No young lady has ever said he is easy to get along with. Have you been threatened by him? Tell me—I promise today’s words will never reach his ears.”
Cold sweat broke out across Luo Xinci’s back. How could she answer? Should she say that her son harbored an improper affection for his sister, that they had struck a bargain and carried on in secret behind her back? Of course, she could not say it.
Luo Xinci shook her head and whispered, “No… elder brother treats me very well.”
Princess Shao’an’s gaze lingered on her flushed face for a moment before she said, “That’s good. If only he treated all young ladies so, perhaps he would have married and had children long ago.”
At that, Luo Xinci’s ears pricked. Suddenly she thought of a way out.
Ming Yuhe’s wife would surely be the daughter of a powerful family. With such a woman watching over him, how could he still have time to entangle himself with “Ming Niansheng”? Sooner or later he would have to let her return to Linzhou. In that case, both she and Ming Niansheng would have the chance to reclaim their rightful places. If they began arranging a match now, the betrothal could be set within two or three months, and the wedding held in autumn. That would give her half a year—enough time to resolve her own affairs.
Quickly she chimed in, “Yes, elder brother should marry. Last time he took me out, so many young ladies were stealing glances at him.”
Princess Shao’an lowered her eyes, her gaze shifting. “Finding a suitable girl is not difficult. The hard part is overcoming his own barrier.” She pressed her hand to her forehead and sighed. “Every time the palace asks me about this matter, I never know how to answer…”
“…” Luo Xinci’s face showed sudden shock! Why did it sound as though Princess Shao’an knew all too well about Ming Yuhe’s unspeakable habits? Her lips parted slightly, but she couldn’t think of a reply.
Princess Shao’an noticed the change in her expression, pondered inwardly, and continued coaxing: “After all these years, only you have stayed close to him…”
“What are you talking about?” A cool male voice cut through the patter of rain.
Luo Xinci turned her head and saw Ming Yuhe standing outside the pavilion, holding an umbrella—she hadn’t even noticed when he arrived.
“Just idle chatter,” Princess Shao’an replied, instantly shedding her earlier warmth and resuming the aloof, dignified air of a noblewoman.
“It had better be.” Ming Yuhe tilted his chin toward Luo Xinci. “Come here.”
Seeing the tension between mother and son, Luo Xinci dared not interfere. She obediently stepped out from under the pavilion and walked toward him.
Ming Yuhe extended the umbrella forward, drawing her beneath its cover, and said to Princess Shao’an: “Mother, please remain seated. I’ll escort Niansheng back to her quarters.”
Princess Shao’an gave a dismissive “hmph” and ignored him.
The oil-paper umbrella wasn’t very large—perfect for one, but two people had to stand close together. Back home, Luo Xinci had shared umbrellas with her cousin, always with an arm around her cousin’s shoulder.
Now, walking beside Ming Yuhe, she dared neither to lean close nor to make it obvious she was avoiding him. Every step was carefully measured, terrified she might stray and brush against him.
“I told you to reflect on your conversation with Wang Shu. Did you?”
“I did,” Luo Xinci answered quickly, choosing to step into a puddle rather than edge nearer to him.
“If you did, then why are you still so easily led into revealing things?”
“Ah?” Luo Xinci stopped short, stepping out from under the umbrella. Rain splashed onto her hair and shoulders. She hurried to catch up, ducking back beneath the umbrella.
“Didn’t you realize Mother was gradually probing you—misleading you, luring you into exposing secrets yourself?”
On the day she met Wang Shu, Luo Xinci had been in such a pitiful state that Ming Yuhe hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her. He deliberately gave her time to reflect on Wang Shu’s words and to compose herself, refraining from visiting her for several days.
Today, upon returning to the estate, he heard she had sought him out. He had intended to startle her—but halfway there, he overheard her conversation with Princess Shao’an. If he had appeared any later, Luo Xinci would have spilled everything. What angered him even more was that he had already warned her once, yet she still dared to touch his sore spot—bringing up his marriage.
“Think back to that day. On the surface, Wang Shu seemed to be sternly defending Madam Wang. But in truth, the reason you began to suspect Madam Wang of lying, of someone framing Luo Shang, was because he was deliberately guiding you. If I hadn’t interrupted, you might have voiced suspicion of Minister Qin right in front of him. Do you understand now?”
Luo Xinci froze, carefully replaying that conversation in her mind. Her distraction made her steps falter. Intent on verifying Ming Yuhe’s words, she couldn’t spare attention for the path, and instinctively hooked her hand into the crook of his umbrella arm—just as she used to do with her mother or aunt back in Linzhou.
She was able to focus on recalling, but Ming Yuhe’s expression darkened. His gaze fell on the pale hand resting against his arm, the sleeve slipping back to reveal a wrist as smooth as carved jade. A few raindrops slanted in, landing on the inside of her wrist, sliding down along the faint blue veins, turning that whiteness into flawless, glistening jade. The droplets continued downward, trembling beneath the shifting sleeve with each step, ready to fall.
“He wanted to steer me toward investigating Minister Qin,” Luo Xinci finally realized, murmuring, “Yes… he himself was innocent…”
Her dispute with Wang Shu lay in when exactly Luo Shang had conceived. That was easy to verify—her aunt had prepared birth gifts for the neighbors when she was born, and many could testify. The old neighbors of Hongqiao Town still remembered bits of it. As long as it was checked, it would prove Wang Shu had been deceived by Madam Wang. With Madam Wang gone and unable to testify, the greatest suspects became Qin Zhiyi and Qin Liang. Meanwhile, Wang Shu, who had remarried and risen high, remained spotless from beginning to end.
Her hand shook slightly against Ming Yuhe’s arm as she sought his confirmation: “So the murderer must be him. Everything he said was false, just a scheme to shift blame, wasn’t it?”
At that moment, the raindrop slipped away with her movement, vanishing beneath her clothes.
Ming Yuhe turned his eyes aside. “Perhaps… it still needs to be verified.”
“Then we must get close to his people, to keep investigating. That’s what I thought too—but I don’t know how to do it…”
All of Ming Yuhe’s awareness was fixed on the arm she held. He had offered her the umbrella to make her uncomfortable. At first, it worked. But once she grew absorbed in her thoughts, the discomfort shifted—onto him.
Ming Yuhe felt as though he was the one being taken advantage of. In his contest with Luo Xinci, he once again fell behind—without her even realizing it. He would not allow that to happen.
“The rain’s heavier. Let’s go under the corridor,” Ming Yuhe cut off Luo Xinci’s murmuring and turned into the covered walkway.
Luo Xinci gladly released his arm, but his expression grew even darker.
This time, the physical contact had mattered only to him. It was as if Luo Xinci were an upright, clear‑hearted gentleman, while he, a grown man, was being petty and oversensitive—brooding over something as trivial as a brush of the hand.
And Luo Xinci still dared to scheme with Princess Shao’an about meddling in his marriage.
Ming Yuhe spoke: “Wang Shu, Qin Zhiyi, and Qin Liang are likely already wary of you. If Niansheng wants to investigate Wang Shu, she can start with Wang Linghao. Speaking of which, my elder brother once sent you one of his paintings…”
“You promised not to hold the past against me…” Luo Xinci retorted, bold yet trembling inside, blocking his attempt to dredge up old grievances.
Ming Yuhe: “…Mm.”
The two walked side by side beneath the corridor for a few steps before Ming Yuhe said, “Niansheng, do you know the quickest way to approach a stranger?”
Seeing that he no longer mentioned the past, Luo Xinci truly mistook him for a magnanimous man—one who had cast aside her earlier lies and was now focused solely on the matter at hand.
“By catering to their interests?”
“To cater to their interests is too servile. I prefer the opposite approach.” Seeing her face clouded with confusion, he shifted the topic: “Niansheng, if your brother gives you advice, you ought to show some gratitude in return.”
“…” Luo Xinci snapped back to awareness, the thought of fleeing flashing through her mind.
But she couldn’t run. She dared not.
Ming Yuhe looked into her shrinking gaze, his mood lifting. He bent down with deliberate tenderness, lowering himself to make things easier for her.
“Heh…” Luo Xinci forced a dry laugh, her expression twisted with unease.
Last time, his protection had cost her a stolen kiss. This time, for his counsel, she owed him another favor. Her lips pressed together, burning with heat. Ever since that kiss, she hadn’t slept well for three nights. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw Ming Yuhe demanding intimacy. To kiss him again—she would scrub her mouth raw, die of fright in her dreams. No, she couldn’t kiss him. Then she would hug him instead.
She told herself it was like embracing her cousin. Children grow up, and who knows—perhaps her cousin would one day grow tall and broad like this man. Would she refuse her cousin’s closeness simply because he resembled a man too much?
Convincing herself, Luo Xinci paused, shut her eyes, and resolutely threw herself forward.