The news that Wen Yan would submit a ten-thousand-word petition at the Thousand Elders Banquet to expose the mastermind behind the scenes spread through the capital like a spark igniting boiling oil.
Storytellers in teahouses hastily revised their scripts overnight, crafting a new tale titled “Goddess Gu’s Plea Reaches Heaven, Ten Days to Decide the World.”
From street vendors and laborers to scholars and poets, everyone in every alley and marketplace was discussing this high-stakes gamble.
A delicate young woman from the inner chambers, openly declaring war against an invisible, omnipotent power.
Was she insane, or had she grown tired of living?
Gu Xiewei’s reputation soared to unprecedented heights amid this nationwide spectacle and anticipation.
Countless eyes were fixed on Guogongfu and the imperial palace, awaiting the feast six days later that was destined to be recorded in history.
This kind of “social validation” under the watchful eyes of the masses was exactly what Wen Yan wanted.
She intended to transform this case from a conspiracy hidden behind closed doors into an open scheme laid bare before the eyes of the world.
However, within Guogongfu, gloom and despair prevailed.
In the study, Gu Yuanlei, the Duke who had been decisive and ruthless on the battlefield, paced back and forth like a trapped beast.
“Reckless! Utterly reckless!”
He finally couldn’t hold back, slamming his palm on the table and rattling the teacups.
“You’re gambling with the lives of hundreds of people in our Gu family!”
Wen Yan sat opposite him, her face showing not a trace of fear, only the absolute calm of a surgeon facing an operating table.
“Father, you are mistaken.”
“From the moment I was poisoned, our Gu family was already pushed onto the gambling table.”
“The difference is, before, we were fish on the chopping block, without even the right to cry out in pain.”
“Now, I intend to take the dealer’s seat and play a high-stakes game with them.”
Gu Yuanlei was left speechless for a long moment by his daughter’s audacious words.
Wen Yan stood up and walked over to him, her gaze sharp as a blade:
“Father, do you think I’m seeking death? No, I’m fighting for survival.”
“The opposing forces are deeply entrenched, capable of easily making court officials ‘commit suicide out of guilt.’ If we investigate step by step, we’ll never keep up with their speed of silencing witnesses. The only way is to force them to reveal themselves.”
“This so-called ‘ten-thousand-word petition’ is the bait I’ve thrown out.”
“Its truth or falsehood doesn’t matter. What matters is that it will make the big fish lurking in the deep sea believe it holds all the cards, then recklessly surface to swallow this bait.”
“The Thousand Elders Banquet is the slaughterhouse I’ve chosen for it.”
Every word of this speech was tinged with madness, yet its logic was terrifyingly clear.
Gu Yuanlei looked at this daughter who was both familiar and strange to him.
For the first time, he realized that the killing intent he had honed over a lifetime on the battlefield was overshadowed by her pure, desperate determination to fight to the death.
He slumped into his seat, and after a long while, finally forced out a sentence through gritted teeth.
“The three hundred elite guards in the mansion are at your disposal from today onward. Even if my Gu family’s daughter must die, she will die standing, taking a few down with her!”
…
Prince Jing Li Yu also came.
He intercepted Wen Yan in the garden.
On this prince’s face, besides his usual arrogance, there was a trace of confusion and agitation that even he hadn’t noticed.
“Gu Xiewei!”
His voice carried a hint of exasperation.
“What exactly are you trying to do? Seek attention? Do you know the entire capital is laughing at you?”
Wen Yan scanned him with her Truth-Seeking Eye.
She had no interest in analyzing his complex emotions at the moment,
merely calmly confirming one thing—the five golden light spots on him representing the “core of the plot”
were flickering violently, like sparks about to ignite.
That was enough.
As long as he remained entangled in the game, he still held value to be used.
Wen Yan didn’t even bother to lift her eyelids, stepping around him as she prepared to leave.
“Halt!” Prince Jing was utterly enraged by this extreme disregard.
“This prince is speaking to you!”
Wen Yan finally stopped and glanced back at him,
her gaze as if looking at an inanimate object.
“Your Highness,”
her voice carried not a ripple of emotion,
“My time is precious. I have no interest in playing the role of ‘the wronged, infatuated protagonist’ with you.
If you cannot understand, return to your residence and stay there quietly. Do not come out and cause trouble for me.
This is my final piece of advice.”
With that, she paid no further attention to Prince Jing, whose face had turned pale with fury, and walked away.
To her, this was merely an unnecessary interlude.
A valuable pawn was not worth wasting words on.
A worthless one was even less deserving.
…
The fire of public opinion had been ignited. Next, a grand sense of ceremony was needed to fan the flames even higher.
Wen Yan told Mo Xingchuan that she needed to prepare the “Ten-Thousand-Word Memorial.”
Her demands were outrageously extreme.
She did not want ordinary paper and brushes but specifically requested the emperor’s imperial Chengxin Hall Paper and Huizhou tribute ink mixed with gold powder. The scribe was not an ordinary clerk but the descendant of Liu Gongquan, a retired master calligrapher from the previous dynasty renowned as the “Finest Brush Under Heaven.”
Mo Xingchuan’s lips twitched. “Are you writing a confession or an imperial decree?”
Wen Yan smiled. “That is precisely the effect I want. I want the entire world to know that every word of my Ten-Thousand-Word Memorial is worth its weight in gold, as weighty as Mount Tai. I want the mastermind behind all this to feel half-defeated in their heart even before laying eyes on this memorial.”
Thus, a grand spectacle of “seclusion to write the memorial” began.
The gates of Guogongfu were tightly shut, with guards at the entrance increased fivefold.
The finest paper, ink, brushes, and inkstones from across the capital flowed like a river into Wen Yan’s study.
The retired calligrapher, who had long withdrawn from worldly affairs, was personally “invited” into Guogongfu by Mo Xingchuan after three earnest visits.
For a time, the entire capital buzzed with speculation:
What earth-shattering content could be in the legendary Ten-Thousand-Word Memorial to warrant such an extravagant display?
Inside the study, Wen Yan unrolled a three-zhang-long white silk scroll.
She did not begin writing immediately but started drawing diagrams.
She mapped all the clues from the nine unsolved cases over the past decade into an enormous web.
The victims, times, locations, causes of death, connections to other cases… every node was clearly defined.
What she intended to write was not merely a Ten-Thousand-Word Memorial but a “crime script” based on existing clues and logical deduction.
She aimed to connect the nine seemingly unrelated cases into a vast, coherent conspiracy with a clear direction and closed logic.
The core of this conspiracy pointed directly to remnants of the previous dynasty plotting a restoration, with the goal of overthrowing the entire Dazhao Empire.
Even without concrete evidence, this “script” was enough to send chills down the spine of any ruler who read it.
…
Meanwhile, at Prince Jing’s residence, in Jinyue Pavilion.
Bai Wanyin’s puppet was reporting everything happening outside to the reflection in the mirror.
When it was mentioned that Wen Yan had enlisted the descendant of Master Liu and used Chengxin Hall Paper,
the aged face in the mirror showed clear agitation for the first time.
“That little wretch! How dare she play such lowly mind games with me!”
The aged voice carried a tone of offended fury.
“Does she think these empty, intimidating tricks can shake my composure?”
“Send an order. Deliver a ‘gift’ to that Miss Gu.
Since she enjoys writing so much, remind her that those who talk too much tend to lose their tongues.”
…
Early the next morning, before dawn.
A piercing scream shattered the tranquility of Guogongfu.
In front of Wen Yan’s study, an exquisite Rosewood Box had been placed.
An early-rising maid, tasked with cleaning, opened the box and fainted on the spot.
Inside, there was no bloody carcass of a cat or dog, nor severed fingers or limbs.
Only a white peony in full bloom.
It was the Gu family’s emblem, also a symbol of Wen Yan’s childhood nickname, “Weiwei.”
But this peony had been neatly severed at the middle of its stem, the cut smeared with a layer of black poison.
The venom was slowly but relentlessly creeping upward along the veins, turning the snow-white petals into an eerie, deathly black wherever it passed.
What sent an even deeper chill down the spine were four small characters written in gold powder on the petals: “Loose lips sink ships.”
When the Duke and Duchess arrived, their faces turned pale. This was the most vicious, most direct threat.
Everyone looked at Wen Yan, expecting her to panic, to be terrified.
But Wen Yan simply stepped forward, retrieving a pair of gloves and a pair of tweezers from her specialized toolkit.
Under the astonished gazes of the onlookers, she carefully picked up the dying peony with the tweezers and placed it on a sheet of white paper.
She leaned in and gave it a gentle sniff.
“A mixture of Datura and Aconitine. A secret palace formula from the previous dynasty, specifically used for ‘granting death.’
It causes the plant’s living tissue to necrotize from the inside while maintaining its form without wilting for a short time.”
She then examined the cut.
“The incision is clean, with no tearing. It wasn’t made with an ordinary knife, but a specialized floral shear with an extremely thin blade. Such shears are only issued to the palace’s head gardener.”
Finally, her gaze fell upon the Rosewood Box.
“The wood is fifty-year-old small-leaf rosewood. The carving technique on the box is that of the ‘Ruyi Workshop,’ a style that went extinct twenty years ago. To my knowledge, the Ruyi Workshop served only the imperial family of the previous dynasty.”
After completing her examination, she removed her gloves and looked toward Mo Xingchuan, who had also rushed over upon hearing the news.
She smiled.
That smile held not a trace of fear, only the excitement of a hunter who had finally spotted their prey’s tell.
“She’s getting impatient.”
“She’s starting to use her treasured old artifacts to intimidate me.”
“Lord Mo, this ‘gift’ is far more useful than my unfinished ten-thousand-word memorial.”
“Because it has personally delivered her own history right into my hands.”