Chapter 25

The moon hung high in the midnight sky as Gu Lianzhao slowly opened his eyes. He pushed away the person lying beside him and rolled out of bed.

He had no intention of tending to the man on the bed any longer, yet the image of Ling Ting’s daily care was still fresh in his mind— so vivid that he didn’t even need to think about it. His hand moved on its own, tucking in the corner of the blanket and wrapping Liu Yuanxun up snugly.

In the ink-black night, a shadowy figure vaulted over the prince’s mansion walls and sped toward Lin’an Street.

On the other side of the wall, Ling Ting’s eyes snapped open at the faintest sound. He slipped silently from his bed, pushed open the door to Liu Yuanxun’s room, and approached the bedside.

Those who cultivated internal force possessed senses far sharper than ordinary men. Even in the darkness, Ling Ting could clearly make out the scene on the bed. Seeing that Liu Yuanxun slept peacefully, he retreated as quietly as he had come, standing guard just outside the door.

Meanwhile, Gu Lianzhao evaded the patrolling guards. He then lifted the crossbar from the door, slipped inside, and got to work.

First, he removed the painting Liu Yuanxun wanted. Next, he detached it from the mounting scroll, overlaid it with a new one, trimmed them to size, and swiftly replaced the original with the fresh painting.

His movements were so quick and precise that by the time the waiter on the other side of the wall had tossed and turned twice, Gu Lianzhao had finished everything.

With a light leap, he touched down on a roof pillar for leverage and hoisted himself onto the beam, where he waited silently for the hour to pass.

Just past the hour of the tiger, the tea house servants began to stir.

The waiter emerged, lantern in hand, yawning endlessly. A rag draped over his shoulder, broom in his grip, his eyes bleary and his expression dazed—he clearly wasn’t fully awake yet.

As he shuffled past the mounted painting, Gu Lianzhao flicked his fingers, sending out two bursts of qi. The first struck the pressure point on the waiter’s wrist, forcing him to drop the lantern. The second hit the candle itself, tilting the flame toward the tung-oiled painting, which caught fire instantly.

With a soft whoosh, the flames lit up the main hall.

“Mother of God! Fire!” The waiter let out a shriek, stomping frantically to extinguish the fallen lantern before dashing into the kitchen to fetch water.

In the instant he turned toward the back, Gu Lianzhao swept past him like a gust of wind and vanished through the wide-open front door.

The cook, midway through washing his face, had his basin snatched away by the waiter. With another splash, the water doused the flames, putting out the fire.

The waiter patted his chest in lingering relief, then glanced warily up at the second floor. Seeing no sign of activity from the manager’s room, he carefully took down the charred painting remnant. He fetched two more from the storeroom and hung them up in its place.

The Nameless Residence catered to scholars and refined guests, so it was naturally adorned with calligraphy and paintings. The storeroom overflowed with them—one basket after another. To keep things fresh for the patrons, they rotated them every few days, mixing old and new. Over time, even the manager probably couldn’t tell one from another.

Losing a painting was no big deal, but if the manager learned he’d nearly burned down the place, he’d be out on his ear, bag and baggage.

The cook, who had watched the whole thing, didn’t mind the stolen wash water. He just chuckled and rubbed his fingers together, signaling for a drink on the house.

The waiter cursed him inwardly as a booze-hound, but plastered on a grin. He slung an arm around the cook’s neck like old pals. “Keep this quiet for me, and a round’s on me. Easy!”

And that was that. Aside from the one who set the scheme in motion, only the cook and waiter knew a painting had gone missing from the Nameless Residence.

…

The next morning at dawn, Liu Yuanxun woke, his mind fixed on the painting scroll. Without even opening his eyes, he mumbled, “Has Gu Jiu come back?”

Gu Lianzhao hadn’t returned to bed after coming home. Instead, he’d gone out for his usual morning martial practice, then slipped back inside at the right moment. Now he sat quietly at the tea table.

Only when he heard Liu Yuanxun’s voice did he reply flatly, “The painting’s been retrieved.”

Liu Yuanxun’s eyes flew open at once. His gaze wandered for a couple of seconds before settling on Gu Lianzhao. A brilliant smile curved his lips. “Thank you.”

Gu Lianzhao averted his eyes and murmured, “Your Highness is too polite.”

After washing up, Liu Yuanxun skipped breakfast entirely. He hurriedly unrolled the painting on the table and examined it closely.

Following the lines indicated by the zither score, he measured the gaps between the treetops and crowns. Once he confirmed they matched perfectly, he grew even more convinced that this was the next clue.

The artist who painted it was Ye Jinxiao. The subject: a eucalyptus tree.

Beyond those two details, nothing else stood out.

Eucalyptus tree…

Ye Jinxiao…

Eucalyptus trees were native to the south, common around Jiangnan. And the zither score had come from Jiangnan too. Was this coincidence, or a deliberate pointer to the region?

Who was Ye Jinxiao?

He pondered deeply, murmuring to himself, “Does it mean I need to go to Jiangnan and find someone named Ye Jinxiao?”

At the name, Gu Lianzhao frowned slightly. He mulled it over twice in his mind, tempted to speak up—only to worry he was overthinking and stirring up trouble.

Never mind. It wasn’t his business anyway.

But seeing Liu Yuanxun furrow his brow in pained concentration, he couldn’t help piping up. “I’ve never heard of Ye Jinxiao, but there was a man named Xiao Jinye in Jiangnan.”

“Xiao Jinye?” Liu Yuanxun looked up. “Ye Jinxiao, Xiao Jinye—could be the same name written backwards. Where is this man now?”

Gu Lianzhao uttered two words: “Imperial Prison.”

…

Eight years ago, the Late Emperor was still in good health and ruling personally.

Perhaps to pave the way for Liu Yuanze, he abruptly shifted his stance and cracked down hard on corrupt officials. Xiao Jinye was one of those caught with his hand in the till.

He had served as the Jiangnan Salt Transport Commissioner for over a decade, overseeing salt production, sales, tax collection, and merchant management—a prime plum posting.

Once the Late Emperor’s anti-corruption drive began, an anonymous impeachment reached the throne. The Embroidered Uniform Guard promptly hauled Xiao Jinye to the capital and threw him in the Imperial Prison for interrogation.

Yet the case dragged on for eight years with no resolution.

First, there was indeed an eighty-thousand-tael shortfall in salt taxes.

Second, though no silver was found at his family home, he owned a lavish estate in Jiangnan. Factoring in the furnishings, it would have cost at least fifty thousand taels to build—a damning piece of evidence.

Third, his entire family had vanished without a trace, suspected of fleeing with embezzled funds.

The reason he hadn’t been executed was his stubborn refusal to confess.

The Imperial Prison’s tortures were the stuff of nightmares. Most inmates confessed the moment they arrived, desperate for a quick death after the horrors.

But Xiao Jinye wouldn’t break. His back was raked raw by iron combs; he endured most of the prison’s repertoire, dying and reviving, reviving only to suffer again—yet he never admitted guilt.

With the money missing, he bore responsibility. If innocent, he needed to account for the taxes’ whereabouts. But he claimed ignorance under every torment. He offered no useful information, denied the corruption charges, and even disowned the Jiangnan estate. The Northern Pacification Division was at a loss.

Without a confession or ironclad proof, the case couldn’t stick. So it languished, with Xiao Jinye still rotting in the Imperial Prison.

If this tied back to the Jiangnan corruption scandal from eight years prior, things grew complicated. Liu Yuanxun fell silent for a moment before asking, “Was Xiao Jinye’s family home in Jiangnan?”

Gu Lianzhao replied, “In the capital.”

Jiangnan was a land of wealth. A third-rank official controlling its salt trade would naturally relocate his family to the capital, as close to the center of power as possible.

Over the years, Xiao Jinye shuttled between both places, maintaining a “home” in each. The capital house held his elderly mother, siblings, wife, and children. The Jiangnan one boasted beautiful concubines, pretty boys, and grand halls.

It was one of those concubines in Jiangnan, terrified of torture, who cracked and admitted her ties to him—earning the man in the Imperial Prison his agonies.

“I’ve heard bits about this case, but I never knew the hidden layers,” Liu Yuanxun said gravely. “There are so many suspicious points. Do you know which Embroidered Uniform Guard handled it back then?”

Eight years ago, Gu Lianzhao had been just ten, freshly arrived at the Gu Mansion and enduring brutal training in the back yard. He couldn’t have been involved. But he’d spent three years in the Imperial Prison himself and knew more than Liu Yuanxun.

“Since Xiao Jinye was tortured in the Imperial Prison, the man wielding the whip was the North Pacification Commander at the time, Liu Qianyuan. But Liu Qianyuan died by a bandit’s blade a year ago.”

Liu Qianyuan’s death had cleared the path for Gu Lianzhao to rise as the next North Pacification Commander.

Those words, however, sent Liu Yuanxun’s thoughts wandering.

He had languished too long in his sheltered world, his indolence and frailty a fixture. Seeing Gu Lianzhao’s relentless diligence, he couldn’t help but admire him.

Yet he’d forgotten: his own sloth stemmed from a life of luxury, endless servants, and comfort—even staring down a short lifespan.

Gu Lianzhao’s path, by contrast, flirted with death at every turn. Without constant honing, the next North Pacification Commander to die might well have been him…

His thoughts scattered, then refocused. Liu Yuanxun pressed his lips together and turned his attention back to Xiao Jinye and the zither score.

“If the Xiao Jinye case is a miscarriage of justice, what’s the sender’s game? To have me champion his innocence? Is the zither score pointing to evidence?”

No—that didn’t add up. If there were proof of Xiao Jinye’s innocence, why wouldn’t the sender take it straight to clear his name? Why leave the man to rot eight years in prison, then lure him into investigating now?

“Your Highness,” Gu Lianzhao interjected, seeing him lost in thought. “This is just my guess. Whether Xiao Jinye connects to Ye Jinxiao at all is still up in the air.”

Liu Yuanxun nodded. “You’re right. But we have scant information so far, and the case reeks of doubt. A little digging won’t hurt.”

“Digging?” Gu Lianzhao blinked.

Xiao Jinye was in the Imperial Prison, his family vanished. Where even to start?

Staring at Liu Yuanxun’s gentle, guileless smile, Gu Lianzhao felt an ominous twinge.

Sure enough, the next words confirmed it: “I’m coming with you to the Imperial Prison.”

Gu Lianzhao’s brow twitched. He refused outright. “Impossible.”

“Why impossible?” Liu Yuanxun demanded, baffled. “I’m not sneaking in. As a prince, I have authority over Imperial City affairs. Why can’t I visit the Imperial Prison?”

Places like the Imperial Prison weren’t about permission—they were hellholes even Embroidered Uniform Guard shrank from. With Liu Yuanxun’s frail constitution, he’d trembled at their first encounter. If something happened to him inside, Gu Lianzhao would bear the blame.

Gu Lianzhao pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone laced with rare helplessness. “Whatever you want to know, I can ask for you.”

“No.”

It wasn’t that Liu Yuanxun distrusted Gu Lianzhao. Rather, their positions were simply too different. Gu Lianzhao belonged to the Embroidered Uniform Guard, while Liu Yuanxun was a member of the imperial family—and more importantly, the one in possession of the zither score map. If Liu Yuanxun were the one to question Xiao Jinye, the man might actually open up.

Liu Yuanxun refused to yield, leaving Gu Lianzhao with no recourse.

As Liu Yuanxun had pointed out, he was a prince and thus held the inherent authority to assist the emperor in handling official matters. Moreover, he wasn’t demanding that the Embroidered Uniform Guard release Xiao Jinye. He simply wished to visit the Imperial Prison in person to interrogate the prisoner himself. Forget about Liu Yuanxun—even Commanding Officer Liu Xun had no right to bar his way.

Yet the moment Gu Lianzhao—who served as the warden of the Imperial Prison—heard that Liu Yuanxun intended to go there personally, an inexplicable resistance welled up within him. He couldn’t even identify the root of his unease; all he wanted was to delay the matter indefinitely.

Gu Lianzhao said, “Your Highness, why don’t we first search Xiao Jinye’s old residence? If we find no other leads there, we can always consider visiting the Imperial Prison afterward.”

“Very well,” Liu Yuanxun agreed. Uncovering something in the ancestral home would certainly be a stroke of unexpected luck.

But who would go?

Liu Yuanxun instinctively glanced at Gu Lianzhao.

Gu Lianzhao drew a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. Then, enunciating each word deliberately, he said, “I… will go.”