At midnight, crows cawed, and a faint cool breeze began to blow.
The large tree outside the window rustled in the wind, with the occasional sound of branches tapping against the wall.
Song Xilou draped an outer robe over her shoulders and lit the oil lamp in the room. The dim yellow lamplight fell on her profile, serene and gentle. As the bean-sized flame flickered to life, she heard a faint tapping sound, like fingers knocking against the windowsill.
One tap. Two taps. Three taps. Then silence—not a single sound more.
Before she could even reach the window, footsteps sounded from outside the door, followed by Xiao Quanzi's voice: "Master, are you asleep?"
"Come in."
With a creak, the door opened, and Xiao Quanzi stepped inside to see Song Xilou holding the oil lamp. He glanced at her, then immediately lowered his head and asked, "Master, why are you up? Are you feeling unwell?"
He thought he had just seen a figure, but it had been too quick for him to be certain. His master had ordered him not to leave her side for even a moment, so he naturally dared not be negligent.
"It's nothing—just that the window came open." Following her gaze, he indeed saw the half-open window. Xiao Quanzi smiled and went over to close it. "It must have been blown open by the wind. It's late, Master—please get some rest, lest you catch a chill."
She must have been half-asleep and seen things; who would be out at this hour of the night?
Seeing Song Xilou nod, he lowered his voice, closed the door, and then, hitching up the hem of his robe, sat down at her doorstep and began to doze off.
The next morning when she rose, Dongya was pouting with a face full of displeasure. Song Xilou teased her: "What's the matter? You could hang an oil jug from those lips."
Dongya pursed her lips and said nothing. It was Xiao Quanzi who chuckled and explained: "Auntie Wang, who makes the crystal cakes in the morning, isn't feeling well, so Sister Dongya is upset."
"Is that worth getting angry over?" Song Xilou tilted her head as she inserted a magnolia hairpin, its dangling pendant swaying prettily. She turned back and said, "I'll take you out to eat."
Dongya's face lit up with excitement, and she shook her hand: "Miss, are you serious? That's wonderful—we haven't been out once since we arrived."
Song Xilou turned to Xiao Quanzi and asked, "Which shop makes the best crystal cakes?"
He didn't need to think twice, slapping his thigh: "Linglong Pavilion, of course—their crystal cakes are the most famous."
And so, early that morning, they took a carriage to Linglong Pavilion. Xiao Quanzi drove the horses excellently, and the ride was smooth the whole way.
As they entered the main hall, the sharp-eyed shopkeeper immediately stepped forward and asked, "The front hall is too lively—would you like a private room?" His gaze swept over the three of them and settled on Song Xilou.
Seeing her nod, he beamed and shouted, "Private room on the second floor!"
The waiter who led them upstairs was quick-tongued as well; by the time they were halfway up the stairs, he had already rattled off most of the shop's pastry names. Dongya, drooling with impatience, quickened her pace noticeably.
Once seated, she begged Song Xilou to order everything she wanted to eat. Song Xilou, who always spoiled her, nodded without a moment's hesitation. The waiter was delighted to take such a large order and served them even more diligently.
But Dongya waved him off, dismissing him: "We're fine here—hurry to the kitchen and rush them along."
The waiter had just stepped out when a scrawny young attendant came up, pointing downstairs in a panic: "Honored guests, your horse seems to have eaten something bad—it's got diarrhea so bad its legs have gone weak."
Xiao Quanzi looked anxious and glanced at Song Xilou before saying, "Master, let me go down and check." That horse had been raised by his own hands and was closest to him of all; no one was more worried about it than Xiao Quanzi.
After he left, the man who had been standing off to the side, hunched and stooped, raised his head and knelt with a thud: "Miss."
"Where's Dongliu?" Song Xilou set down her teacup. The scrawny man stood up, walked to the screen in the room, and pushed it aside with his hand, revealing a hidden compartment behind it.
"Dongliu-ge is in there." Following his pointing finger, she saw a sturdy man sitting inside—thick-browed, with eyes like brass bells, fierce-looking but with a simple, honest air about him.
The man scratched his head and started to kneel when he saw Song Xilou, but she stopped him in time: "You came in such a hurry—have you found something?"
The tapping on the window the night before had been her prearranged signal with Dongliu: if there was something important, he would summon her this way. Dongliu had arrived in the capital one step ahead of her; Song Xilou had sent him to investigate Ninth Master, Aisin Gioro Yintang.
A knot had been lodged in her heart in her past life. In the forty-third year of Kangxi's reign, Kangxi had issued an edict to confiscate the Zhao family's property. Zhao Wenxuan's entire household—several dozen people—had all died under the executioner's blade, while the remaining branches of the family had their men exiled and their women forced into prostitution.
If not for Zhao Wenxuan, she would have starved or frozen to death during all those years in the Song family. It was only at the very end of her past life that she had discovered the Zhao family's death might be connected to the Ninth Prince, so she had sent Dongliu to the capital ahead of time.
The Zhao family were imperial merchants. Zhao Wenxuan's carving craftsmanship was so lifelike and exquisite that every year his works were presented to the emperor as tribute of the highest grade. For a time, anything that came from Zhao Wenxuan's hands was hyped to be worth more than gold. The Ninth Prince also had a head for business, and Song Xilou feared that the Zhao family had gotten in the way of the Ninth Prince's interests.
"I've been watching the Ninth Prince's mansion day and night, and I discovered he's been frequenting the Yingge Pavilion lately. I had people watch for a few days, and that's where I saw Jiang Zhengqi." Jiang Zhengqi was the prefect of Jiangnan, who threw his weight around the region while invoking the Crown Prince's name at every turn. Dongliu naturally knew him well.
"Jiang Zhengqi? The Ninth Prince?" Song Xilou was equally confused. These two should logically be enemies—how could they possibly have come together?
"There's something else even stranger." Dongliu looked up at her as she spoke, seeming hesitant to continue.
Song Xilou smiled. "Is there something you can't say to me?"
Dazzled by that smile, Dongliu finally spoke: "There are rumors spreading everywhere now, saying the Crown Prince ordered the Dark River dam not to be repaired. Jiang Zhengqi risked death to make his point and reported the matter to the Emperor."
As the largest brothel in the capital, the Yingge Pavilion attracted plenty of wealthy young gentlemen, and after a few cups of yellow wine, they'd say anything. Dongliu had overheard quite a bit while trailing the Ninth Prince.
"They say the Emperor reprimanded the Crown Prince but singled out Fourth Prince for praise." This was also the reason for her earlier hesitation—she knew her mistress had connections with the Fourth Prince, but she didn't know what she was up to.
"Mistress, do you think these things are connected?"
Song Xilou couldn't figure out the relationship either. Jiang Zhengqi was the Crown Prince's man, and he and the Ninth Prince should have had nothing to do with each other. The Crown Prince was the future heir—why would anyone abandon the Crown Prince for an imperial prince?
Behind the Ninth Prince stood the Eighth Prince. Could Jiang Zhengqi really be backing him?
She shook her head, thinking it unlikely. Unless there was some unavoidable reason, otherwise how could the Crown Prince have failed to notice for so many years, only for this to happen now?
"Jiangnan, the great flood, the suddenly rising grain prices." These seemingly natural phenomena slowly connected into a thread in Song Xilou's mind.
She suddenly had a bold idea: was that flood disaster truly an act of nature, or was it man-made?
If someone had deliberately breached the dam during the heavy rain, disregarding the deaths of tens of thousands of refugees, then framed the Crown Prince—with the prefect, being the Crown Prince's man, coming forward to expose it—everything would appear perfectly justified.
The rising grain prices would be evidence of the Crown Prince profiteering. If that were truly the case, who would agree to let someone who disregarded the lives of the people become Crown Prince?
"This is… truly beyond belief." But the thoughts in her mind wouldn't stop. Was the Zhao family later executed because they had stood in their way as well?
Then what about Jiang Zhengqi, who had followed the Crown Prince for so many years—what was his motive?
Suddenly, knocking sounded from the screen. Song Xilou glanced at Dongliu. "Go investigate the Ninth Prince's household, and contact me later."
Passing through the screen, she saw Dongya sprawled on the table eating pastries. Of the dozen or so plates on the table, a few pieces had been taken from each. Song Xilou sat down beside her and casually picked up a piece of lotus cake.
Before she could finish the pastry, Xiao Quanzi came in. Seeing them sitting safely in place, he let out an obvious sigh of relief. "Master, the carriage is ready. Shall we return now?"
"How's the horse?" Song Xilou noticed he was covered in sweat.
"It's fine—just ate something bad." The waiter here didn't know any better and fed it the wrong grass, but after drinking some salt water, it improved considerably. Xiao Quanzi secretly thought his master was truly kind-hearted, even caring about the horse.
"Then let's go." Song Xilou nodded. "Have someone come check on it when we get back."
Dongya scrambled to pack up the uneaten pastries to take home, and the thin young waiter came over to help. As he received them from Song Xilou, he whispered a few words.
"Mistress, Young Master Zhao is in the private room next door. Brother Dongliu says you should leave quickly."
Song Xilou's hand paused. She glanced at Dongya, who turned around and announced loudly: "These, these aren't good—we don't want them."
The waiter immediately beamed and bowed. "Thank you for your generosity, miss."
Song Xilou hurriedly led them downstairs. Fortunately, they reached the entrance without running into Zhao Wenxuan. Xiao Quanzi had borrowed a horse from the innkeeper and was harnessing it to the carriage out back.
A moment later, noise erupted from the main hall behind them. A dozen or so people clustered together, walking toward the entrance. At the head was a man as gentle as jade, standing straight among the crowd like a green bamboo, radiating an air of refined nobility.
But when Song Xilou turned around, she saw eyes that didn't match his appearance—filled with arrogance and pride, tinged with faint disdain.
This was Zhao Wenxuan, whose carving skills had ten thousand people begging for his work, his pride as natural as breathing.
"Xilou." Zhao Wenxuan met her gaze, his face lighting up with surprise. He shook off the people trying to speak with him and walked over in disbelief.
"You've mistaken me for someone else." Countless eyes were on her. Song Xilou's surface remained calm, but her hands clenched tightly. She couldn't be recognized here, not now.
Especially not with Xiao Quanzi potentially coming over at any moment.
Song Xilou turned and walked away. Zhao Wenxuan froze, then hastily followed, grabbing her hand. "Song Xilou, you liar."
"Let her go."
A carriage pulled up beside the two of them, and a male voice came from within. They both turned their heads at the same time to see a man with a dark, icy face, holding a string of prayer beads in his hand.
His eyes held a storm of blood and slaughter as he looked at the two of them with their hands clasped together.