Xie Linxu’s gaze lingered on Song Xingyue’s departing figure for a long time before he finally drew it back. Turning to Qian Gaoyu, his eyes at last carried emotion. Coldly, he said: “Second Young Master, why were you staring at my wife just now?”
Qian Gaoyu sneered inwardly. He had nearly cuckolded him once—what right did Xie Linxu have to act so proud? But hearing his words, seeing that unfriendly look, how could he dare say more? Especially today, his family’s joyous occasion—if he quarreled with Xie Linxu, his father would surely scold him harshly. Never mind. The future was long; why fight for this moment’s pride?
So Qian Gaoyu forced a smile: “I’ve long heard your lady is of extraordinary beauty. Inevitably I looked a few times too many. It was my lack of manners—please don’t take offense.”
Xie Linxu’s voice was icy with mockery: “My wife’s beauty—what has that to do with you?”
Those words nearly made Qian Gaoyu choke with rage. What arrogance! He wanted to lash out, but one light glance from Xie Linxu silenced him. Swallowing his resentment, he held back.
The two walked toward the banquet hall. At the door, attendants lifted the beaded jade curtain and announced: “The heir of Duke Ding’s household has arrived!”
Each guest was announced upon arrival, but most carried on with their own conversations, greeting only acquaintances. Yet today, the Duke’s heir had come. And not just anyone—the famously upright heir.
At the sound, voices hushed, and eyes turned to the doorway.
Clad in light furs and jeweled robes, his azure round‑collared brocade shone like celestial garments. A jade pendant swayed at his waist with each step, drawing every gaze. Some faces, man or woman, captivate all who see them.
Qian Buwei himself looked toward Xie Linxu, surprise flickering in his eyes. He seemed puzzled that he had come. He had only sent the invitation as a formality—never expecting Xie Linxu to appear. Only days ago, he had executed the Director of the Astronomical Bureau. With his temperament, surely he would not show himself here today?
Suspicion stirred in Qian Buwei’s heart. Yet he set aside his other guests and personally greeted him: “Isn’t today a rest day? Why do I see only you, not the Duke himself? It’s been long since we drank together. I thought if your father came, we might share a few cups.”
Xie Linxu looked at him, his eyes unreadable, and replied coolly: “He has matters to attend to. He sent me in his place.”
Seeing his indifference, Qian Buwei did not press further. His smile faded slightly. He beckoned to Qian Gaoyu, saying pointedly in front of Xie Linxu: “See that you treat the heir well. Do not neglect him—or I will hold you alone to account.”
Those words were meant for both Qian Gaoyu and Xie Linxu. After leaving them, Qian Buwei turned away to mingle with other guests.
Qian Gaoyu had no desire to deal with Xie Linxu, but since his father had assigned him the task, he could not neglect it. Reluctantly, he led Xie Linxu toward the banquet.
Fortunately, Xie Linxu did not resist or cause trouble. Seeing him behave, Qian Gaoyu quickly dismissed his father’s instructions as mere noise. He casually found him a seat, then went off to seek other company. Meanwhile, colleagues from the Hanlin Academy approached Xie Linxu.
One of them was a man in his thirties named You Xunfan. He was nearly ten years older than Xie Linxu, yet they were of the same examination year. Three years ago, in the palace exam, Xie Linxu placed third (*Tanhua*), while You Xunfan took first (*Zhuangyuan*).
After winning the top rank, You Xunfan was appointed as a *Xiuzhuan* (Compiler). Xie Linxu, as *Tanhua*, became an *Editor*.
But in the three years since, Xie Linxu had advanced through court promotion to Fifth‑Rank Lecturer, while You Xunfan remained a *Xiuzhuan*. Moreover, Xie Linxu had apprenticed under several Grand Secretaries, and with a few more years of experience, he might enter the Cabinet itself. Same year, same honors—yet now their paths were very different. Still, as colleagues in the Hanlin Academy, their relations were cordial.
You Xunfan came over and clinked his teacup against Xie Linxu’s. “I thought you wouldn’t come. What brings you to join this crowd?”
Xie Linxu replied, “I had some free time, so I came. What’s the situation here?”
You Xunfan sat beside him, surveying the hall. “You see, not many have come today. Likely because of Sun Ping’s death—unsettled matters. Among those present are my teacher and the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review. Both oppose the Emperor’s temple project. Sun Ping died in the Ministry of Justice. Tell me, are they here to drink wine—or to stir trouble?”
Xie Linxu had already guessed as much. He leaned closer and asked: “Has there been an outburst yet?”
You Xunfan said: “Not yet. But look—my teacher’s face is nearly on the floor. He won’t hold back much longer.”
His teacher was Jiang, the Rector of the Imperial Academy.
No sooner had he spoken than Rector Jiang gave a sudden cold laugh.
Amid the festive cheer, the sound was jarring.
Rector Jiang was elderly and had taught at the Academy for years, with countless students—including You Xunfan himself. His cold laugh was followed by sharp eyes fixed on Qian Buwei. With biting sarcasm, he said: “Minister Qian, how lively you are. Sun Ping has only just died, and here you are with drums and gongs. Listening to this today chills me to the bone, makes me feel as if I sit on needles.”
Qian Buwei had been smiling with guests. Hearing Rector Jiang’s words, he turned. His face was far from kind. Like Qian Gaoyu, he had narrow, triangular eyes, sharp and cruel when narrowed. He smiled thinly: “Today is my family’s joyous banquet. Why speak of such ill‑omened things?”
At once, the hall fell silent.
Rector Jiang stared coldly at him: “Ill‑omened? An innocent man died at your hands, and you call it ill‑omened? When you forced Sun Ping to confess under torture, did you not think yourself vicious? His crime was not worthy of death. He did not die in the imperial prison, but in the Ministry of Justice. Tell me—how did he truly die?”
Qian Buwei had only wanted to vent the Emperor’s anger, to kill one man as a warning to silence the court. It won him favor with Emperor Jingning. But how could other officials stomach him?
All were officials. To win imperial favor, Qian Buwei took the crooked path—persecuting and killing upright colleagues. How could they accept that?
Sun Ping’s death silenced some who opposed Emperor Jingning, but it also stirred resentment in others.
Qian Buwei gave a cold snort and retorted: “Sun Ping died in the Ministry of Justice because he disrespected His Majesty! What else? If everyone hides behind the guise of frank speech to slander the Emperor, would not the world fall into chaos? Sun Ping is dead, and you grieve—are you his accomplice?”
At that, the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, who had been silent, spoke: “His Majesty never convicted Sun Ping of anything beyond harsh words and disrespect. As for collusion, no one ever mentioned it. Now you call Rector Jiang his accomplice? Do you mean to pin baseless charges and drag him to prison too?”
He furrowed his brows, flung his robe with force, and said sternly: “What is this? In Great Yan, the Three Judicial Offices always judge cases together. I have never seen the Ministry of Justice act alone!”
Qian Buwei realized these two had come only to make trouble. Indeed, he had not even sent them invitations. They came uninvited, and once inside, they disrupted his banquet.
Since they came to cause a scene, he would not be polite: “Yes, the Three Offices judge together. My Ministry cannot overrule yours. But Sun Ping is dead, and His Majesty has said nothing. If you question me now, are you not opposing His Majesty? Am I, the Minister of Justice, not even allowed to handle a criminal? If you came to celebrate my son’s full‑month, my Qian family welcomes you a hundred times. But if you came to stir trouble, forgive me—I will not entertain you.” With that, he ordered them out.
The Minister of Judicial Review said coldly: “We have no desire to stay!”
And he left with Rector Jiang.
After such an incident, the banquet atmosphere grew awkward. Even long after their departure, the tension lingered.
Qian Buwei was not thin‑skinned. If he were, he could never have done such things. Once he composed himself, he raised a smile again: “A trifling matter. No need to dwell on it. Eat, drink—let us continue.”
Some guests forced dry laughter, and the mood began to recover.
But just then, Xie Linxu suddenly spoke. He looked at Qian Buwei and asked: “Why did you insist Sun Ping had accomplices?”
Surely there must be a reason. Such charges could not arise from nothing. Why force Sun Ping to confess? Whom was he trying to implicate? Was it his own idea—or the Emperor’s?
Qian Buwei had just rid himself of those two troublesome guests. Now Xie Linxu spoke up, freezing the atmosphere once more. His face darkened toward Xie Linxu. With a cold laugh, he asked: “What do you mean by that, Heir? Are you suspicious of something? Speak plainly.”
Indeed, Xie Linxu had come only to make him uncomfortable, just like the others. Since he demanded plain words, Xie Linxu would not hide. He set down his teacup with a sharp clink against the table.
You Xunfan heard that sound and sensed danger. He tugged Xie Linxu’s sleeve and shook his head slightly, signaling him not to escalate the matter further.
But Xie Linxu ignored You Xunfan’s tug, only curling his lips in a cold smile: “Since you, Minister, said to speak plainly, I will not hide. You claim Sun Ping had accomplices—who were they? Did you force him to confess only to torment him, or did you truly have evidence? Why not share your suspicions with everyone here?”
You Xunfan sighed repeatedly. He could not dissuade him. Seeing all eyes turn toward them, he averted his gaze and feigned ignorance.
He had guessed Xie Linxu would not behave quietly today. Coming to the Qian household was not to honor them, but to shame them. And the question he asked was exactly what everyone else secretly wondered.
All knew the Qians were not aligned with the Crown Prince. Months earlier, the Prince had memorialized against building the Daoist temple, earning Emperor Jingning’s rebuke. It was clear Qian Buwei now sought to pin Sun Ping’s “crime” onto the Prince.
If this touched upon the struggle for the heir apparent, then it was far more than the death of one Astronomical Bureau Director.
Everyone suspected as much, but only dared to think it silently. Xie Linxu, in front of all, dragged it into the open. Was he not placing himself at the center of danger?
Qian Buwei sucked in a sharp breath. Was Xie Linxu mad? Relying on his status as the Emperor’s nephew, he dared to bring such matters up. At once he said: “Heir, do not slander me! What suspicion could I have…?”
Before he could finish, Xie Linxu cut him off: “Without suspicion, there can be no crime. If you had no suspicion, why condemn him to death?”
Qian Buwei retorted: “He erred! He brazenly slandered the Emperor—was that not worthy of death?”
Xie Linxu replied: “He did not die in the imperial prison, but in the Ministry of Justice. Was it truly His Majesty who ordered his death?”
They went back and forth, dragging in dangerous implications. No one dared interrupt, listening with pounding hearts and sweat beading on their brows. In this world, two words must never be spoken lightly: the Emperor.
Quarrel or debate, once the Emperor was invoked, the matter veered into perilous territory.
Qian Buwei found himself forced back step by step. Not that he feared Xie Linxu—but his way of attack was reckless, courting death. Who could withstand it?
He snapped: “Enough! Today is my grandson’s full‑month celebration, and you insist on spoiling it? Is this how the Duke’s heir conducts himself?”
Xie Linxu looked at him coldly and said: “As you are, so am I.” He would not yield first.
Just as the confrontation threatened to spiral endlessly, Shouyuan hurried in from outside. The urgency of the matter left no room for decorum. He rushed to Xie Linxu’s side and whispered a few words in his ear.
Xie Linxu’s face betrayed no change, but he said nothing more. Abruptly, he rose and left.
Song Xingyue had followed the Qian family’s second young madam to the women’s hall. After seating her, the young madam went off to mingle with the other ladies.
Song Xingyue had no acquaintances there. She sat quietly, head down, eating in silence and listening. She disliked everyone in the Qian household. All she wanted was for the banquet to end quickly so she could return home. She wondered when Xie Linxu would be finished.
She remained withdrawn in the corner until the second young madam finally remembered her. Perhaps recalling Qian Gaoyu’s words, she deliberately came over and began speaking to Song Xingyue.
She came over, holding out the child for her to see, saying: “Everyone has already looked at the baby. Madam Heir, you should take a look too.”
Song Xingyue glanced at the child but felt no joy. After all, it was Qian Gaoyu’s child—how could she possibly like him? The baby himself was innocent, only a tiny thing, too young to look unpleasant. She held the child, forced a smile, and offered a few hollow words of praise.
The baby, oblivious to her dislike, was delighted to see her and clung to her eagerly.
Another lady came over to join the fun, saying: “Madam Heir, look how much this child likes you! The moment you hold him, he smiles so wide. Clearly, he knows how to choose—he sees your beauty and is happy with you!”
It was not mere flattery. The one thing about Song Xingyue no one could deny was her face. No matter how many looked down on her, they could not dispute that.
Praised by the lady, Song Xingyue only demurred politely, saying she dared not accept such compliments.
But the woman pressed further: “The child likes you. As his aunt, shouldn’t you show some token of affection?”
A token? Song Xingyue immediately understood what she meant. But she had not prepared anything for today. And even if she had, with her impoverished background, what could she possibly offer of value? When she came back to herself, she realized everyone was watching.
The chatter had ceased; all eyes were on her. The room had fallen into silence.
She grew uneasy, her smile fading. She said: “The Duke’s household has already sent a gift to the gatehouse. Today we left in haste, and I had no time to prepare anything else. As his aunt, I have been remiss.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, eyes filled with mockery. Everyone knew she was only making excuses—pretending at dignity when in truth she had nothing of value to offer.
“We understand, we all understand,” one lady said, hiding her smile behind her sleeve. She reached out to pinch the fabric of Song Xingyue’s dress, her face showing disdain.
“This gown looks like it’s from years ago, doesn’t it? Such styles are long out of fashion. It looks terribly old‑fashioned. And this cloth—so cheap. What, does the Duke’s household make fine clothes for everyone except you?”
Her words drew another round of sneers, their gazes growing more malicious.
Song Xingyue’s smile collapsed completely. Her face tightened as she pulled back her sleeve.
Seeing the situation sour, the second young madam quickly stepped in to smooth things over: “Enough, enough. Clothes are nothing worth discussing. If one likes them, that’s reason enough.”
With someone mediating, the matter did not escalate further.
But after such an ordeal, Song Xingyue returned to her seat with no appetite. She only wished the banquet would end quickly so she could go home.
Barely a cup of tea later, the second young madam suddenly cried out: “Oh no—the child’s golden necklace is missing!”
Song Xingyue looked up and saw her face pale with panic. Clearly, the item was precious.
The young madam said urgently: “It’s only a piece of gold and jade, not so valuable—but it was blessed at the temple by the child’s grandmother. If it’s lost, it’s terribly inauspicious.”
“Wasn’t it on him just now? Where could it have gone?”
Someone said: “Wasn’t the last person to hold the child the Madam Heir…?”
At once, dozens of eyes turned toward Song Xingyue. They stared—measuring, despising, scorning. Did they truly think she had taken it?
Even the second young madam’s once‑kind gaze now carried suspicion. She said to Song Xingyue: “If Madam Heir took it, please return it. Anything else could be overlooked, but this was the old lady’s blessing. It must not be defiled.”
Only then did Song Xingyue realize—since she had sat down here, no one had truly meant to befriend her.
Qian Gaoyu was restless, but even this smiling lady was a hidden tiger.
This was no trivial matter. If the blame fell on her, she would be ruined.
She straightened her expression and said firmly: “I held the child only for a few moments, in full view of everyone. How could I have had the chance to take anything? And besides, many others held him before me. Why suspect only me?”
Her words made others laugh. Everyone else wore gold and jade, all from noble families. Why suspect them—and not her?
Hearing her defense, the second young madam’s friendliness vanished. Her face hardened: “Madam Heir, why are you so obstinate? I speak kindly, yet you refuse to listen. Must you make this ugly before you’ll stop?”
Earlier, Qian Gaoyu’s eyes had clung to Song Xingyue, leaving the second young madam displeased. Now she deliberately sought to humiliate her.
She was not afraid of offending Song Xingyue. Everyone knew her position in the Xie household—if she were falsely accused, what of it? Xie Linxu would likely only grow more annoyed at her for stirring trouble.
Clothes make the person; horses need saddles. Had Song Xingyue dressed decently today, it might have been different. But in such shabby attire, she only revealed how poorly she lived in the Xie household, making her an easy target for insult and slander.
Others joined in, urging her: “Madam, if you took it, just return it. It’s only a necklace. Why touch the child’s things? You were the last to hold him—if not you, then who?”
Song Xingyue rarely quarreled in public. But today’s accusation was too filthy. If this stain stuck, how could she ever live cleanly in the capital again? Her hands trembled on the chair, anger choking her, nausea rising as if to vomit her breakfast.
She said firmly: “I did not take it. I am not afraid of noise—take it to the magistrate’s court; I am not afraid.”
The standoff grew tense.
Danping, seeing disaster looming, rushed out to find Xie Linxu. She ran without pause. The distance was short—barely minutes through a few corridors. She feared he would not come, so she exaggerated the urgency, as if Song Xingyue would be dragged to court at once and disgrace the Xie family.
Sure enough, when Shouyuan delivered the message, Xie Linxu did not hesitate. He rose immediately, striding so fast that Danping had to trot to keep up. When he arrived, he saw Song Xingyue surrounded by pointing fingers. She sat there, her face deathly pale. Even from a distance, he could see her lips trembling, her beautiful deep eyes hollow and vacant, shadowed with pain.
Xie Linxu’s breath caught. The crowd, seeing him, fell quieter.
Song Xingyue noticed him too. She lifted her eyes to him. She saw his brows tightly furrowed, his face dark and grim.
Would he think again that she had brought him trouble? Would he grow angry, turn cold, and cast her aside?
Song Xingyue dropped her gaze, no longer looking at him. She bit her lip hard, fingers twisting, nails digging into her flesh until they nearly drew blood.
Seeing her reaction, Xie Linxu’s expression darkened further. Why was she still sitting there foolishly? Did she not know to come to him for protection? He strode forward to her side, and the crowd instinctively parted.
He asked her, “What has happened?”
Before Song Xingyue could answer, the Qian family’s second young madam spoke first. Moments ago she had been cold and sharp toward Song Xingyue, but upon seeing Xie Linxu she changed her face entirely, smiling as she said: “It’s really nothing serious—just a small matter. Something of the child’s went missing, so there was a bit of fuss. Nothing more. Why has the Heir come here?”
Xie Linxu cast her a cold glance: “A small matter? And what does that have to do with my wife?”
She explained: “Well, it wasn’t meant to target Madam Heir. The necklace was there before, but she was the last person to hold the child. If it suddenly disappeared, then perhaps only…” Her eyes flicked toward Song Xingyue, the implication obvious.
“So I understand—you suspect she took the necklace?” Xie Linxu’s presence was overwhelming. With just a light glance, he silenced her. The word “yes” stuck in her throat, unable to be spoken.
She tried to soften her tone: “That was not my intention…”
“Not your intention? From where I stand, it is exactly your intention,” Xie Linxu said coldly. “Since when has the Xie household been so low that its members must steal from others to survive? Everything requires evidence—the Court of Judicial Review demands it, the Censorate demands it, even the imperial prison demands it. Does the Qian family not? Today you presume my wife stole a golden necklace without proof. Then I could just as easily say you hid it yourself to frame her. Would that be acceptable? Would that be allowed?”
The second young madam paled under his piercing gaze. “Your words, Heir—what do you mean? How could I ever do such a thing? To accuse me so baselessly, where does that leave me?”
Xie Linxu asked coldly: “And where does your accusation leave her? Where does it leave the Duke’s household?”
The second young madam realized the slander could not stick. She hadn’t expected Xie Linxu to arrive so quickly, or to speak so forcefully. If she pressed further, the matter would spiral out of control.
Seeing the danger, she immediately changed her tone: “It was my fault, my mistake. In my haste, I wrongly accused her. Heir, please don’t hold it against me.”
Xie Linxu replied coldly: “The debt belongs to the one who owes it. You did not slander me—you slandered her. Why should I be the one to forgive you?”
She understood his meaning, her face turning sour. She looked at Song Xingyue, awkwardly saying: “It was my fault just now. Madam, please forgive me.”
Song Xingyue stared at her, stunned by how quickly her words shifted. Her mouth opened and closed, left speechless by such fickleness. She glanced at the others—those who had been aggressive moments before now wore expressions of idle amusement. Then she looked at Xie Linxu, standing beside her, brows drawn, gaze cold, waiting for her to speak.
Yet in that moment, she felt no joy at “truth revealed, injustice cleared.” Her lips parted, but no words came. At last, she said nothing, turned away, and left.
Xie Linxu saw this, his thin lips pressed tighter. He too said nothing, and turned to leave.
The two departed the Qian household in silence, returning to the Xie family’s carriage. Autumn wind blew chill, the air already sharp with cold.
Song Xingyue felt the chill seep into her bones.
Summer had slipped away quietly, leaving behind autumn’s sudden, biting wind—like its lingering revenge.
Once inside the carriage, she remained silent. Her head felt heavy as lead, drooping, unable to lift—just as Xie Linxu had seen earlier.
The carriage rolled on. Xie Linxu was silent for a long time, then finally said: “If you ever face such a situation again, have Danping come find me…”
Song Xingyue suddenly spoke: “I told you to come home early. I told you I was afraid. Why do you never listen to me?”
Whether it was a woman’s intuition or the lingering fear from Qian Gaoyu’s past harassment, she truly hated that place.
She had asked him: Can we go home early? She truly hated that place.
But he did not listen. He never listened to her. Just as on her birthday, when she had asked him to come home early—he had not listened then either.
Why should she have to beg him again? When had he ever cared about her life or death?
Hearing her words, Xie Linxu sensed something hidden beneath them. He was about to speak when Song Xingyue asked: “If I were taken away, locked in the Ministry of Justice—would I be beaten to death too?”
If he hadn’t come, she feared the Qian family truly would have dragged her off. The Director of the Astronomical Bureau, a fifth‑rank official, had been killed—what was her life worth? One bucket of filth poured over her, and she could be drowned.
Xie Linxu frowned: “What nonsense are you imagining? You are the Heir’s wife of the Xie household.”
Song Xingyue suddenly lifted her head to look at him. By then, tears had already streamed down her face. She had suppressed herself so tightly that she had cried in silence, unseen, until now. Her voice trembled faintly as she spoke: “You know it too. In the eyes of the world, you are you, and I am me. Because you do not respect me, because you do not love me, no one ever treats me as the Heir’s proper wife. If they had even a little respect for me, today they would never have forced me like this.”
Xie Linxu listened, staring at her tears. His throat tightened, rough and dry, and for a long while he could not speak.