Xiao Jue slowly turned around. From a distance of about ten steps, he looked at her without much expression, though there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile in his eyes.
“What is it?” he said.
“Does Consort Shen think it’s not worth showing up when I personally wait for you?”
Shen Zhiyi took a deep breath and stepped up the stairs.
Entering the pavilion, she curtsied. “This concubine greets Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jue did not tell her to rise. He simply watched her.
The gaze made Shen Zhiyi uneasy.
“That note,” he suddenly said. “Who wrote it?”
Shen Zhiyi looked up.
Xiao Jue took a piece of paper from his sleeve and unfolded it—it was exactly the note she had found this morning beneath the orchid pot.
“(5-7 PM), Yujing Pavilion.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“I had someone investigate Consort De’s orchid,” Xiao Jue said, placing the note on the stone table.
“The flower is real. The pot is real. But this note is not hers.”
Shen Zhiyi said nothing.
Xiao Jue stared at her. “Do you know who wrote it?”
“This concubine does not know,” she replied, lowering her gaze.
“You don’t know?” Xiao Jue stood up and walked toward her, looking down at her from above.
“If you didn’t know, why did you come?”
Shen Zhiyi lifted her head to meet his eyes.
“This concubine came to try her luck.”
“Try what luck?”
“To try…” She paused, then suddenly smiled.
“To try for a chance to play chess with Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jue narrowed his eyes.
Shen Zhiyi took something from her sleeve and placed it on the stone table.
It was a white jade chess piece—the same one that had appeared in her room without her noticing when it arrived.
Xiao Jue’s gaze landed on it and lingered for a moment.
“Do you know who placed this chess piece?”
“Yes.” Shen Zhiyi looked at him.
“Your Majesty.”
Xiao Jue did not deny it.
Shen Zhiyi continued, “Your Majesty placing this piece is telling me that the game has begun.”
Xiao Jue looked at her, the faint interest in his eyes deepening.
“And you?” he asked. “Will you accept?”
Shen Zhiyi smiled.
This time it was a real smile—not the soft, careful kind she usually wore.
She pushed the chess piece forward by an inch.
“I accept.”
Xiao Jue stared at it, then suddenly smiled.
This smile was different from all the previous ones—cold or perfunctory. This one had warmth in it, faint but unmistakably real.
“Good,” he said. “Then I’ll play this game with you.”
He turned and sat down at the stone table, pointing to the seat opposite him.
“Sit.”
Shen Zhiyi sat.
Xiao Jue looked at her. “Aren’t you curious who wrote that note?”
After thinking for a moment, she replied, “I am curious. But I am more curious why Your Majesty personally came to this appointment.”
Xiao Jue raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you afraid this is a trap I set?”
“I am,” Shen Zhiyi answered honestly.
“But I am more afraid of missing it.”
Xiao Jue was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, “The note was written by Zhou Cun.”
Shen Zhiyi paused.
The Chief Astronomer of the Imperial Observatory?
“He wanted to see you,” Xiao Jue said.
“But he did not dare come directly, so he used Consort De’s flower to pass this note.”
“Why does Lord Zhou want to see me?”
“Because he is convinced that the person who once interpreted the celestial phenomena in the Imperial Garden was you.” Xiao Jue looked at her.
“When he returned, he re-examined what you said that day and found that although you denied it, every sentence you spoke was full of technical terminology.”
Shen Zhiyi said nothing.
Xiao Jue continued, “He also investigated the book spine that was briefly visible from your sleeve that day. It was an official text from the Imperial Observatory. In the past ten years, fewer than three copies have been circulated.”
“One is in the Empress Dowager’s possession, one is in mine, and the third…”
He paused slightly.
“…was in the hands of the former occupant of Fangcao Hall ten years ago.”
Shen Zhiyi’s heart tightened slightly.
Xiao Jue looked at her, his gaze deep.
“Do you know who lived in Fangcao Hall ten years ago?”
Shen Zhiyi shook her head.
“It was Imperial Consort Jing of the previous emperor,” Xiao Jue said.
“When she entered the palace, she was only a minor consort. Five years later she rose to prominence and was once greatly favored. Later, she suddenly requested to move into Fangcao Hall and never left it again—until the year the previous emperor died, when she died in that very palace.”
Shen Zhiyi listened quietly.
“When she died, only one thing was left by her side: a copy of Celestial Phenomena Record from the Imperial Observatory. The book was filled with her annotations.”
Xiao Jue stared at her. “That book later disappeared. I have spent ten years searching for it, without success.”
Shen Zhiyi’s hand tightened slightly inside her sleeve.
That book was now in her possession.
Xiao Jue suddenly smiled. “You don’t need to be nervous. I don’t intend to take it back.”
Shen Zhiyi looked up.
“If the book is in your hands, it means you are connected to her,” Xiao Jue said, standing and walking to the edge of the pavilion with his back to her.
“She was a clever woman. Unfortunately, she died too early. Sometimes I think—if she were still alive, many things might be different.”
After a moment of silence, Shen Zhiyi asked, “How did Imperial Consort Jing die?”
Without turning around, Xiao Jue replied:
“Of illness.”
Then he paused slightly.
“But I don’t believe it.”
Shen Zhiyi’s heart tightened sharply.