The Spring Banquet finally concluded.
The brilliant lights within Shaoguang Pavilion gradually extinguished, and the crowd, like a receding tide, dispersed along the palace paths.
Zhan Shuo stood in the shadow of a corridor pillar, his gaze sweeping past the sparsely departing figures, falling upon the goose yellow figure, carefully assisted by Xie family servants as she boarded a carriage. In the dim glow of dusk settling and palace lanterns just lit, that color appeared particularly striking, and particularly… forlorn. The carriage curtain fell, cutting off the last bit of light and shadow, and also all prying gazes.
A noble daughter of a prominent family, a pearl of the “pure stream” faction, fallen in a single day, now to be matched with him, a man of humble origins, head of the Imperial Guard with blood-stained hands.
In her heart, there must have been a thousand unwillingnesses, a hundred kinds of humiliation.
This thought clearly surfaced in Zhan Shuo’s mind, devoid of emotion, merely a cold, factual assessment. He had seen too many similar gazes—those of the officials’ family members he had sent to the Imperial Prison, their initial looks at him, besides fear, were filled with this bone-deep contempt and hatred for “hounds and falcons” and “cruel officials.” Xie Lanyin’s composure in the hall just now was merely an armor forged by her noble family upbringing; inside, she was likely already utterly defeated.
He subtly twitched the corner of his mouth, a smile that was not quite a sneer, then immediately smoothed away all outward traces, his eyes returning to an unfathomably deep cold. Turning, his black cloak cut a sharp arc in the rising evening breeze, heading in the opposite direction from the Palace Gate—towards the Northern Commandery Investigation Bureau, where he usually handled official business and sometimes rested.
Inside the independent study in the Bureau’s rear courtyard, the lamps were brightly lit. As Zhan Shuo unfastened his cloak, Xiang Da slipped in like a shadow, closing the door behind him. His face held its usual lazy yet shrewd smile, though at this moment, it was mixed with an unyielding playfulness.
“I say, Commander,” Xiang Da dragged a chair over and sat casually opposite the desk, elbows propped on the table. He leaned closer and lowered his voice, his eyes gleaming. “Setting aside Empress Dowager Shen’s ‘Great Heaven and Earth Shift’ political maneuvering—” he drew out the words, “—between us buddies, aren’t you secretly overjoyed?”
Zhan Shuo’s hand, holding the fire starter to light a lamp, paused slightly. The dim yellow flame illuminated half of his expressionless profile. Xiang Da didn’t care if he answered, continuing on his own, his tone growing more mischievous. “That’s The Xie Family! A century-old ‘pure stream’ lineage, the pinnacle of scholarly families! Grand Tutor Xie’s direct granddaughter! Normally, with our origins, let alone seeking marriage, we wouldn’t even be qualified to glance at which way their manor gate opens.”
He clicked his tongue twice, shaking his head. “Not to mention, this one is the ‘Number One Beauty’ renowned throughout the Capital City… Her looks, her figure, how many people at the banquet today stared wide-eyed! I say, Chief, this is… an immortal maiden falling from the sky, landing right in your arms! Such good fortune in love, tsk, truly envied by others!”
As he spoke, he observed Zhan Shuo’s expression, trying to find a crack in that perpetually frozen face, even the slightest ripple of emotion a man should show when confronted with such beauty and “special honor.”
Zhan Shuo had finished lighting the lamp, extinguished the fire starter, and casually placed it aside. He raised his eyes to look at Xiang Da. The lamplight danced in his deep eyes, but it couldn’t warm that icy expanse.
“Good fortune in love?” he spoke, his voice flat and calm, revealing no trace of embarrassment or pride from being teased, only an almost indifferent statement. “Commander Xiang, did you drink too much at the banquet today, or have you investigated too few cases, leaving you so bored you’re panicking?”
Xiang Da was choked by the cold retort, awkwardly rubbing his nose. “I was just… ‘happy’ for you.”
“Happy?” Zhan Shuo walked around the desk and sat in his chair, picking up an unread case file. His gaze was already fixed on it, yet his voice still came through clearly, with a metallic quality. “A marriage entirely based on schemes, without a shred of genuine affection; a position that will henceforth be pushed into the eye of the storm, forcibly bound to the ‘pure stream’ faction, liable to suffer blame at any moment—Xiang Da, do you think this is cause for ‘happiness’?”
The playful smile on Xiang Da’s face gradually faded. He heard the heavy warning and detachment in Zhan Shuo’s words. Indeed, this was no good fortune in love; it was clearly a hot potato, a splendid cage riddled with thorns.
“So… what do you plan to do?” Xiang Da’s voice became more serious.
Zhan Shuo’s gaze did not leave the case file; his slender fingers merely tapped lightly on the paper. His voice deepened, carrying a calmness as if the matter had nothing to do with him: “The Emperor’s will is decided, the Imperial decree has been issued. There is only obedience.”
“As for the rest…” He paused, finally raising his eyes to look at the deep night outside the window, which reflected no warmth. “It’s merely a piece of official business that needs to be ‘handled’ properly.”
Xiang Da, however, felt a bit uncomfortable, pricked by the coldness in those words. His playful mood hadn’t entirely dissipated, so he leaned in closer again, lowering his voice with a tacit understanding between men: “My Commander, that’s true… but it is Xie Lanyin after all, the Capital City’s number one beauty, full of life and charm! Are you truly going to be like a block of wood, without any other… thoughts?”
He winked, trying to pry a crack from Zhan Shuo’s expressionless face. “Do you understand cherishing beauty and pitying jade? Even if it’s a hot potato, it’s a potato inlaid with gold and jade, isn’t it?”
Zhan Shuo’s brush tip paused on the paper, a drop of ink nearly bleeding. He raised his eyes to look at Xiang Da, his gaze devoid of anger, yet so calm that the hairs on Xiang Da’s neck bristled slightly.
“Other thoughts?” Zhan Shuo repeated, his tone as flat as if discussing the weather. “Commander Xiang, you seem to have too much leisure these days. It appears you’ve already thoroughly sorted out the clues for the Northern Suburbs vagrant case, giving you time to ponder your superior’s ‘thoughts’?”
Xiang Da choked, muttering with a stiff neck, “I’m just… concerned about you…”
“Concerned about me?” Zhan Shuo let out an almost imperceptible scoff, so quiet it was barely audible, yet carrying a clear warning. “Some ‘blessings’ are too heavy, too hot. Accepting them may not be a blessing, but a death warrant.”
He paused, looking at Xiang Da, and clearly articulated each word: “At a time like this, you want me to entertain ‘other thoughts’ of ‘cherishing beauty and pitying jade’?”
Xiang Da shrank his neck, chilled by the coldness in his words, and said awkwardly, “I… I just said it casually. I just thought, she’s such a beauty after all, there must be something different…”
“There will indeed be a difference,” Zhan Shuo cut him off, seemingly weighing his words, but the sentences he finally uttered still lacked warmth: “The way she is handled will need to be more… befitting a ‘Commander’s Wife’.”
Xiang Da opened his mouth, watching Zhan Shuo, who was completely engrossed in official business, as if the shocking imperial betrothal had never happened. He finally swallowed the rest of his jokes. He rubbed his nose, knowing that if he pressed further, he might actually be assigned to those tricky, unsolved cases.
“Alright, you’re busy, you’re busy,” he said, standing up and slipping away even faster than he came.
The study door was softly closed.
The brush in Zhan Shuo’s hand, however, remained suspended for a long time. The candlelight stretched his shadow, casting it against the bookshelf behind him, silent and stark.
What flashed before his eyes were the eyes, as fierce as a wolf’s, in the farmhouse when she fought back to the brink of death, and the cool, clear eyes that met his gaze in the hall today.
Beautiful, indeed, exquisitely beautiful.
But also like the sharpest blade, the most captivating poison.
He could not… entertain any superfluous “thoughts.”
That would truly be fatal.
He closed his eyes, exhaled almost imperceptibly, and when he opened them again, he had suppressed all floating thoughts into the deep pool of his gaze, refocusing on the case files before him.