June weather changes at a moment's notice. The morning had been bright and sunny, but by the afternoon a light rain began to fall.
Raindrops pattered against the windows. The young eunuch at the doorway curled up against the cold, his mouth watering at the aroma of food drifting from the inner chamber.
Inside, a small mutton hotpot simmered with a bubbling sound, the whole area filled with the smell of lamb—though after a while, one could still detect that gamey undertone.
The dishes had been ordered by the Fujin. Most of the servants in her quarters had been brought back from the Imperial Household Department and followed palace rules, and the dishes were the same court cuisine Yinzhen had eaten since childhood.
As for how it tasted? He had eaten it since he was young—even if it were made perfectly, greens passed through broth several times all tasted the same to him.
He ate without much enthusiasm, but if he stopped, the Fujin would set down her chopsticks as well. So he idly picked at the crushed peanuts in a plate of dressed cucumber.
The Fujin thought he liked it, so she leaned aside and whispered to the elderly attendant beside her: "Go tell the kitchen to send another plate of dressed cucumber."
Not quite reassured, she added: "Extra crushed peanuts."
The attendant bent over and instructed a young eunuch to handle it. But by the time the dressed cucumber arrived, Yinzhen had already set down his chopsticks.
He had noticed the Fujin kept watching him, seemingly without much appetite herself. On top of that, the smell in the room was truly unpleasant—he found it hard to stay.
"You're not eating anymore, my lord?" Ula Nara set down her chopsticks as expected. In the past, Yinzhen would urge her to keep eating if she hadn't had enough, but the Fujin always acted as if she wouldn't listen.
"If my lord has eaten his fill, this concubine is content."
Seeing that persuasion was futile, after several such attempts Yinzhen stopped trying, only slowing his chopsticks instead. The young eunuchs came to clear the table, and Yinzhen was holding a cup of digestive tea.
At that moment, Su Peisheng approached, bowed, and whispered a few words into Yinzhen's ear.
After listening, Yinzhen stood up. The Fujin swallowed back the words "Would you like to stay?" and watched as Yinzhen said to her: "There are matters at the front courtyard. I won't come over tonight."
The Fujin nodded along. Only after both figures had disappeared did she sink into her chair with a long sigh.
"Attendant, tell me—what has been wrong with my lord lately?"
Ever since my lord returned from Jiangnan, she had felt something off, but she didn't know how to ask. The person who knew most about my lord's affairs was Su Peisheng, but Su Peisheng's lips were tighter than anyone's—even as the Fujin, she could do nothing about him.
"How is Lady Li doing?" At the thought of that woman, her brows furrowed involuntarily.
"Same as before—unusual."
Indeed. In the past, Lady Li had been first among the women in this rear courtyard, yet for over half a month now, my lord had not set foot in her quarters.
What was unusual was that Lady Li's side had made no move at all. In the past, she would surely have kicked up a fuss by now.
The Fujin smiled and tightened her grip on the handkerchief in her hand.
Yinzhen's head had been aching terribly these past two days. Jiang Zhengqi—the one who had submitted the memorial accusing the Crown Prince last time—had gotten himself into trouble.
The entire court knew that the Emperor had always favored the Crown Prince. Without solid evidence, he naturally wouldn't do anything to him.
Those with eyes knew it well: after two days of scolding the Crown Prince, the matter should have been glossed over. But who would have thought that Jiang Zhengqi, though skilled at lining his pockets, had a one-track mind. Seeing no progress, he flew into a rage and hanged himself.
His body wasn't discovered until the afternoon by a servant in his household—a rope tied to a beam, long since dead.
Beside him lay a blood letter in his own hand, listing everything the Crown Prince had done over the years. Now even if Kangxi wanted to play ignorant, he had no choice but to punish the Crown Prince.
The entire court was condemning the Crown Prince's crimes, with Eighth Master's people being the most vocal. But the more anxious those below grew, the calmer Kangxi became inside.
In secret, however, he quietly ordered Yinzhen to investigate the matter.
Yinzhen was overwhelmed with distress. This task was thankless—the Crown Prince had already been ordered not to leave the palace, so how was he supposed to investigate with no leads at all?
Was he to point the finger at Eighth Brother's faction? But—where was the evidence?
Rubbing his brow, he had searched for days without finding any leads. Seeing the fine sunlight outside, he suddenly thought of Song Xilou.
When he arrived at her courtyard, Yinzhen did not have anyone announce his arrival in advance. He simply walked slowly from the gate, enjoying the flowers blooming along the path.
The entire courtyard was in full bloom—reds, pinks, and greens filled every corner. For a moment, Yinzhen felt as if he had returned to Jiangnan.
Someone in the courtyard was bent over, watering the flowers, bathed in translucent light—beautiful and gentle.
Song Xilou had known all along that Yinzhen had arrived. His footsteps were different from others; she knew it was him the moment she heard them.
"What brings you here today?" She set down her watering can, squinting with a smile as she faced the light.
Seeing her, the worries of the past days vanished in an instant. All he wanted now was to lie here and rest for a while. Yinzhen said nothing, only stepped forward and took her hand: "I've come to sit with you for a bit."
Song Xilou blushed and pulled her hand away. Turning her body, she went back to brew tea for him.
It was ordinary Lu'an Guapian tea, yet the tea here tasted different from anywhere else—carrying a faint lotus fragrance that seemed to emanate from her very being.
Song Xilou always added a small amount of Palm-center Water to their food and drink, which made one feel more at ease after consuming it. Seeing Yinzhen arrive with a face full of exhaustion, she secretly added a bit more.
After one cup of tea, Yinzhen set down his cup and fell into a deep sleep. When he woke, a woolen blanket was draped over him, and the room was filled with the aroma of food.
By candlelight, Song Xilou was arranging plates. Seeing him awake, she smiled: "You slept for quite a long time."
Yinzhen rubbed his head, feeling that the fatigue of the past days had been completely swept away. He steadied himself against the chair and rose, and only upon seeing the food did he realize how hollow his stomach felt.
"So fragrant."
"You made this?" He still remembered that it was she who cooked when they were in Jiangnan—during that time, he had put on quite a bit of weight.
Song Xilou blushed and said nothing, only picking food for him with her chopsticks. Yinzhen was truly hungry, so he didn't tease her further. He sat down and enjoyed a proper meal, finding that even the simple stir-fried greens suited his palate perfectly.
"Your cooking is so delicious, it makes me not want to leave." The moment the words left his mouth, Song Xilou's hand, which was handing him tea, froze. He looked up and caught a flicker of sadness passing through her eyes.
He suddenly realized he had misspoken. Hastily taking the teacup from her hand, he grasped hers instead.
"Then don't leave." But before his words could come out, he saw the young woman across from him silently blush a deep red, her large eyes filled with anticipation.
She said: "Then don't leave."
Last time, when she was ill, she had also murmured: "I miss you."
Yinzhen's throat bobbed, and his voice suddenly turned hoarse. Under the candlelight, those red, alluring lips were especially captivating.
He forced himself to look away and changed the subject: "A while back, Jiang Zhengqi hanged himself. He was the prefect of Jiangnan—you must have heard of him."
Song Xilou lowered her head, hiding the disappointment in her eyes, and nodded: "I've heard of him. Just recently, people were saying he'd come to the capital and spent several days at Yingge Court."
She turned her head and asked with confusion: "What is Yingge Court?"
Her cherry lips were red and pouty, her eyes full of bewilderment as she asked again what Yingge Court was.
"You say Jiang Zhengqi went to Yingge Court?" Yinzhen's brows furrowed as he pondered inwardly.
He had never been able to find the person behind Jiang Zhengqi—could it be that they met at Yingge Court?
The thought spun rapidly through his mind, and the more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed. If he could find the person behind it all, this matter would finally come to light.
"It was when I went to Linglong Pavilion that time—the people in the main hall were still discussing it." Song Xilou's voice was casual and indifferent, yet it struck Yinzhen's heart like a stone.
"It's getting late. I'll be going." Yinzhen could no longer sit still. He urgently needed to return and investigate who Jiang Zhengqi had been meeting.
He hurried away under the moonlight.
But after he left, Song Xilou took a slip of paper from her bosom, glanced at it a few times, then walked to the candlelight and set it aflame, burning it.
Written on the paper was: "Jiang Zhengqi was murdered."
Were it not for that blood-written suicide note he had left, no one would believe he had taken his own life. How could a man who feared death and treasured wealth above all else hang himself?
Song Xilou had long since had Dongliu keep watch over the Ninth Prince's rear courtyard, but the Ninth Prince seemed not to care much for women—it was said he had never once spent the night in any woman's chambers.
Feeling she could find nothing there, Song Xilou sent Dongliu to investigate Jiang Zhengqi instead. After great effort, she managed to locate an old servant of the Jiang household, who recounted many sordid secrets of the Jiang family.
In his youth, Jiang Zhengqi had a true love—a "Yangzhou thin horse" presented by a subordinate, stunningly beautiful and moving. He cherished her deeply and, for a time, had genuinely fallen for her.
But unbeknownst to him, the woman was secretly carrying on with the Jiang household's steward and had become pregnant. At eight months, Jiang Zhengqi discovered their affair. The steward was beaten to death with clubs, and his rotting flesh was thrown out to feed the dogs.
The woman, who apparently truly loved the steward, was so overcome with rage and grief that she disturbed the pregnancy. After giving birth to the child, she too passed away.
"So what does this have to do with the Ninth Prince?" Dongya held a teacup in her hands, a piece of candy still in her mouth, speaking indistinctly.
"Well… that depends on what our Ninth Prince intends." Song Xilou smiled, then turned back but didn't receive the tea at her side. She reached into Dongya's sleeve and rummaged around until she pulled out a packet of candy.
Dongya, holding the cup in her hands, couldn't resist. She could only watch with grievance as her young mistress took out her favorite osmanthus candy and ate it.
Song Xilou's cheeks puffed up as she chewed, and she sighed: "So sweet."
She had almost forgotten what sweetness tasted like.
Looking out the window, she sighed: "I just hope Yinzhen catches the Ninth Prince soon."
Yet there was another doubt: "With all those beautiful concubines at home, could Ninth Brother really not be tempted by any of them?"
Dongya shrugged carelessly. "Could he be a sodomite, perhaps?"
In the distance, in a room on the western side, a man sat in a chair, idly turning a ring on his finger.
Kneeling before him was a woman—or rather, judging by her figure, a girl. She wore a cloak of pink and white, its large hood obscuring her eyes and brows.
Though her face was hidden, she appeared to be weeping.
The man cast a glance at the one kneeling at his feet, his gaze contemptuous, as if looking at a piece of trash. He extended a foot clad in a black boot, hooking the toe beneath the kneeling girl's chin.
"You haven't come around in a while—I see your courage has grown fat."
The kneeling girl trembled, not daring to utter a word, her face pressed against his boot as tears silently streamed down.
The man seemed to find it filthy, his brows furrowing slightly. Then he raised his foot higher, until he could see the tear-streaked face.
"Or do you think you'll one day become a noble lady?"
He let out a harsh laugh. "Is that so? Imperial Noble Consort?"
The kneeling girl's face instantly turned deathly pale.