The courtyard wall of Huaiyu Pavilion stood no more than five or six feet high. Fang Linyuan jamped lightly, landing soundlessly on the glazed tiles, and drifted down into the courtyard like a feather.

Inside the pavilion, all was quiet. Zhao Chu had always kept few close attendants, and at this late hour, the maids and servants had mostly gone to rest.

Thus, Fang Linyuan met no resistance along the way. A few nimble leaps took him past the rustling crabapple trees and landed him beneath Zhao Chu’s window.

This window likely opened right beside Zhao Chu’s sitting couch—his favorite spot to sit when he wasn’t resting.

Fang Linyuan stood before it, bathed in a blend of moonlight threading through the branches behind him and the warm lamp glow from within the room.

He reached out cautiously and tapped on the window lattice.

*

When Zhao Chu pushed open the window, this was what he saw:

A faint aroma of wine had been folded into the night breeze, softly flowing in through the window. The man beneath it was cloaked in moonlight. And in the instant the window opened, he was embraced by the warm glow of the lamplight.

He stood there smiling up at him, the firelight gilding his hair in a soft halo.

The young general had been drinking; his cheeks looked faintly flushed, which made his smooth, radiant skin appear all the more translucent.

Like a divine youth general who had descended from the heavens to undergo mortal trials—spotless, untouched by worldly filth—yet somehow fallen right outside his window, unguarded and dazzling, landing straight into his eyes.

Zhao Chu stared, slightly dazed. He didn’t even realize that the book in his hands had slipped, brushing across his knees with a rustle before landing on the floor with a soft thud.

Fang Linyuan didn’t notice the fallen book either.

Zhao Chu was caught in a daze, and he himself was somewhat distracted—like the delayed effects of the wine had finally crept up on him, making him a little lightheaded.

It had been a long time since he’d seen Zhao Chu in a skirt.

He had changed back into the silk skirts he used to wear in the capital. Since no one else was around at this hour, he wore them casually. His long hair was loose over his shoulders, lazily draped and blurring the lines between masculine and feminine in a way that was effortlessly alluring.

Fang Linyuan found himself momentarily speechless. It took a long pause before he managed an awkward smile and said, “I came to check on you—did I disturb you?”

Zhao Chu simply shook his head and pushed the window further open.

Fang Linyuan took the opportunity to leap inside.

That familiar scent of incense wafted in again—not overpowering, but rich and somber, full of quiet nobility. It made Fang Linyuan feel like even his bones were loosening with comfort. He stretched with a deep yawn and turned his head, just in time to see Zhao Chu shutting the window and picking up the book he had dropped.

Wait—had he knocked the book down when he climbed in?

Fang Linyuan didn’t recall.

“You’ve been drinking?” Zhao Chu asked, ever sharp, before Fang Linyuan could sort through his thoughts.

Distracted, Fang Linyuan nodded and plopped down on the seat across from him.

“Those brats at the Garrison Division. Each one acted like they wouldn’t survive another day if they didn’t see me. Dragged me off and made me drink like mad.” As he spoke, Fang Linyuan smiled, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at Zhao Chu.

“But even all of them together were no match for me. Quite a few had to be carried back by the servants just now.”

He chuckled with a touch of proud mischief in his eyes, like he was showing off. In Zhao Chu’s gaze, that pride sparkled like a star fallen from the sky.

Zhao Chu lowered his eyes with a gentle smile, his voice softening unconsciously.

“So formidable?” he said. “Then how are you feeling? If your head aches, you should have some sobering tea or soup to rest well tonight.”

Fang Linyuan’s eyes suddenly lit up.

He looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated, cheeks tinged with bashful reluctance. After a pause, he revealed a sheepish smile.

He didn’t need to say it—Zhao Chu already understood.

“Do you want Eunuch Wang’s soup… or my tea?” he asked.

“Well, it’s so late—I wouldn’t dare trouble Eunuch Wang,” Fang Linyuan laughed a couple of times, curling up like a squirrel tucked into a pile of pine cones. “Besides… I snuck in, after all.”

Zhao Chu smiled but said nothing. He stood and fetched his tea tools and ground tea powder, returning to sit across from Fang Linyuan.

“Soothing tea—to help you sleep after drinking,” Zhao Chu said softly, as he rolled up his trailing sleeves.

Fang Linyuan sat across from him, watching, chin in hand.

Perhaps it was the drink, but his gaze was unusually intense—fixed and unwavering as he looked at Zhao Chu.

He didn’t notice that Zhao Chu didn’t dare lift his eyes, didn’t dare meet that gaze that could so easily be misunderstood.

All he thought was: Zhao Chu looked beautiful.

Not only was his face beautiful, but his hands were also slender like bamboo joints, and even the way he prepared tea was graceful. Fang Linyuan watched for a while, then sighed softly.

“I didn’t climb over the wall just to make you brew tea for me in the middle of the night,” he said.

“It’s just… it really is delicious.”

Across from him, Zhao Chu let out a quiet laugh.

Unlike his usual air of practiced cunning—tonight, it was simply genuine.

After all, when one was looked at like that by the person they’ve secretly loved and placed at the center of their heart for so long—even if they were a fox spirit or a ghost who had cultivated into a demon—they would still feel a flustered unease, afraid it was their own deluded infatuation that had blinded them, making them imagine things in the night.

Fang Linyuan remained completely unaware. He only heard Zhao Chu ask: “Then what did you come for?”

That, indeed, stumped Fang Linyuan.

What had he come for? If it was merely to see Zhao Chu’s face, to look at him—that would sound far too strange, far too laughable.

Yet that really did seem to be the reason.

Since returning to the capital, he felt like someone who had dived into the depths of the sea—having seen whirlpools and undercurrents, he could no longer regard the calm surface without suspicion.

He had begun to grow paranoid; even when standing before Emperor Hongyou, he couldn’t help but feel doubt rise in his heart. A few stray words from others would send him into fearful vigilance, like a startled bird wary of every gust of wind.

And at times like that, he just wanted to see Zhao Chu.

Was it because Zhao Chu had grown up within the imperial city and was used to such scheming, suspicion, and deceit? That didn’t seem to be the reason. Fang Linyuan had never been the sort to retreat in the face of difficulty, and he certainly wouldn’t use others as human shields before a storm.

Yet still, he very much wanted to see Zhao Chu—as if he were a weary bird returning to the forest. Or perhaps, he simply wanted to see him.

He propped up his chin and began to think seriously, but no matter how long he pondered, he couldn’t come up with an answer.

Zhao Chu didn’t press him either. He just sat quietly across from him, calmly preparing the tea with a smooth, practiced hand—like a breeze drifting quietly through the moonlight.

After a while, Fang Linyuan heard Zhao Chu speak:

“No matter,” he said.

“No matter the reason. It’s all right.”

*

Heng Feizhang and the others had not yet returned, but because the case involved such wide implications—and implicated local officials—the emperor had issued strict orders to investigate swiftly. One urgent report after another galloped back to the capital, and the findings, along with evidence, were continuously sent back for review.

During last year’s famine, tax and grain corruption cases broke out in many prefectures across the land, leading to the punishment of numerous officials.

Yanzhou was among them. Three officials had been removed from office, but neither Jiang Huaqing nor Tan Ji had been implicated in the slightest. At the time, Jiang Huaqing hadn’t even been the prefect yet, and it was precisely because of that incident that he was promoted to become the chief official over the entire Yanzhou prefecture.

That, however, had been orchestrated by him behind the scenes.

According to Jiang Huaqing’s confession, in the past two years, he had become entangled with the local gentry and wealthy clans. After accepting bribes, he used those funds to curry favor with officials at all levels, frame his superiors, and rise through the ranks.

After being promoted, his ties with the gentry only deepened. This recent scheme to inflate grain prices and traffic in state stores was a joint profit-making venture between them.

Emperor Hongyou quickly dispatched the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the Eastern Depot, and the Court of Judicial Review to begin rooting out the capital officials who were in league with him.

What surprised everyone was that the officials connected with Jiang Huaqing were mostly known for being upright and clean, many from humble backgrounds, their households practically bare—so bare, in fact, that they couldn’t even turn up enough silver during the searches.

Just when things were at a stalemate, the Eastern Depot unearthed the first stash.

Under the command of Sang Zhixin, an official from the Ministry of Personnel had his house searched. Shi Shen and his men pried up the garden paving stones and uncovered a hidden treasury filled with gold. The vault wasn’t large, but it held over ten thousand taels of gold. Once exposed, both court and commoners were thrown into shock.

From then on, all searches of corrupt officials were handed entirely over to the Eastern Depot.

In just a few days, the Eastern Depot did not disappoint the emperor. Every time they were dispatched, they returned with results. The hiding places for silver and valuables were astonishingly creative, quickly becoming tales passed among even the common folk.

One such story told of a certain official reputed for his integrity—so poor that he couldn’t afford coal in winter, and his only hobby was collecting paintings and calligraphy. But when the Eastern Depot opened up his storehouse, they discovered that those unremarkable scrolls had been hollowed out and lined with silver notes. The total value? Tens of thousands of taels.

Another tale: one official had hollowed out the beams of his roof to hide gold and silver. When Eastern Depot agents searched his residence, a soldier who climbed onto the rooftop accidentally stepped on a beam—and immediately, gold and silver rained down into the house. The troopers had to wade through piles of treasure, and some were even injured by falling ingots.

Each of these scenes left people utterly speechless.

One by one, officials were thrown into prison, the evidence against them irrefutable. Their spines weren’t particularly stiff—before long, one capital official was naming another, and the entire court descended into chaos.

On the day Fang Linyuan returned to his post at the Sixteenth Guard, it was said that Lord Sang had been outside the emperor’s study, begging for punishment—claiming he had misjudged his subordinates, that he had been lax in supervision—and had knelt there without food or water for two days.

When Fang Linyuan heard this, he was a bit surprised. The guards of the Sixteenth were chatting and laughing loudly about it.

“Isn’t this a trick usually used by imperial consorts? A few tears and kneeling long enough to soften His Majesty’s heart—what, Lord Sang wants to give it a try now too?”

Fang Linyuan couldn’t help chuckling, but still reminded them, “Lord Sang is still a Vice Minister, he is highly respected. Don’t joke too lightly.”

These young noblemen were just in it for the spectacle, but Fang Linyuan vaguely saw through the surface—he understood why the emperor refused to meet with Lord Sang.

The evidence was conclusive, yet Lord Sang continued to evade and deflect. Naturally, the emperor was displeased.

But crimes like forming a party and corruption, once confessed, were tantamount to eternal damnation. Sang Zhixin would not admit guilt so easily.

Now in his final struggle as a trapped beast, what kind of strategy did Sang Zhixin intend to use in requesting an audience with the emperor?

Fang Linyuan found himself growing curious.

That day, after finishing his duty, Fang Linyuan once again encountered Zhao Yu outside the gates of the Sixteenth Garrison Command.

She still looked just as she had the last time they met—simple, composed, and coolly elegant—but when she looked at Fang Linyuan, there was a visible trace of spirited warmth in her eyes.

“Your Highness the Princess—what brings you here?” Fang Linyuan hurried forward. “If you had business to discuss, you could have sent someone to deliver word.”

But Zhao Yu simply shook her head and gave him a slight smile, cupping her hands in greeting.

Such a straightforward martial gesture didn’t seem out of place on her at all. On the contrary, it appeared like a sudden blooming of an ephemeral flower—revealing, even through the somber widow’s garments, a hint of the sharp edge of a warrior’s spirit.

“I came to thank you, General,” Zhao Yu said.

“Thank me?” Fang Linyuan was puzzled.

“The soldiers from the Chongzhou mountains—judgment was passed on them today,” Zhao Yu pursued. “They’ve been sentenced to exile in the northwest and assigned to military labor.”

Fang Linyuan was slightly stunned, then looked somewhat apologetic as he said, “If anything, I ought to be the one to apologize. Though their crimes didn’t warrant death, they had still taken up arms as mountain bandits. There was truly no way to make exceptions or pardon them.”

But Zhao Yu shook her head.

“This is already the best possible outcome,” she said. “The law is above all. They did wrong, so they ought to be punished. They were soldiers to begin with—being exiled to serve in the army again is, for them, a kind of fortune. They’ll be defending the lands of Daxuan once more.”

Hearing this, Fang Linyuan couldn’t help but nod.

“I went to see Meng Cheng and the others off at the city gates today,” Zhao Yu continued. “Meng Cheng especially asked me to thank you with a cup of wine on his behalf.”
She looked at him. “Would the General happen to have time now?”

At that, Fang Linyuan paused slightly.

Drinking—he had no objection to that. However…

“Today is the fifth,” he said, a little sheepishly but without hesitation. “The imperial physician said His Highness the Fifth Princess has finally recovered and can be visited. Your Highness, could we perhaps choose another day?”

Zhao Yu also paused slightly, then replied, “Of course.”

Fang Linyuan gratefully offered her a bow, then led over Liuhuo, his horse. Just before mounting, he once again cupped his fists toward her in respect. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Zhao Yu had come here especially to wait for him; under normal circumstances, he shouldn't have refused. But he had been thinking about it all day, and it didn’t feel right to be out drinking when Zhao Chu was finally well enough to be seen and he was still lingering outside.

Yet Zhao Yu showed not the slightest trace of displeasure. Instead, she looked at him and gave him a faint smile.

“No matter,” she said.

“My fifth sister holds deep affection for the General. If she knew you cared for her so much, she would surely be happy.”

 

--

Author’s note:

Zhao Yu: All this grinding—so annoying. X

 

Translator : DarNan