“Not pressing charges anymore?” Prefect Bai’s eyes widened. “Lord Wang, you said yourself that your daughter showed clear signs of having given birth. That proves she was truly harmed by some scoundrel. You’ve even dared to accuse a prince—what person would you hesitate to sue now?”
Wang Mingxuan, however, only wept silently, shaking his head over and over as he murmured, “I’m not pressing charges… I’m not pressing charges anymore…”
Prefect Bai was no stranger to cases like this. In the capital, every incident often pulled in a web of officials and nobles, and it wasn’t uncommon for plaintiffs to withdraw midway under pressure. The yamen was already short-staffed, buried under a mountain of urgent cases that demanded attention. If the plaintiff didn’t keep pushing, some cases simply faded into forgotten old files gathering dust.
But this case had blown up spectacularly. It involved a prince, a death, and tracing back further, even tied into an attempt on that prince’s life by a lowly servant. Regardless of whether Wang Mingxuan wanted to drop it or not, Prefect Bai had to see it through—for the sake of his own official hat if nothing else.
“Lord Wang,” Prefect Bai said, his expression turning grave and serious, “this case—you want to pursue it, good; you don’t, tough luck, you’re pursuing it anyway! At this point, it’s out of your hands! Guards—”
Before he could finish, a stir erupted from the crowd outside. Prefect Bai’s gavel hadn’t even struck the bench when the guards at the door parted to either side, clearing a path wide enough for two to walk abreast.
Prefect Bai frowned and peered out. Though he couldn’t yet make out the newcomer’s face, the crimson official robes alone told him it was a third-rank official.
His heart jolted. He rose hastily to greet the arrival. As the man drew nearer, another shock hit him, and he blurted out, “Lord Shen?! What brings you here?”
At the sound of “Lord Shen,” Wang Mingxuan, slumped on the floor, slowly lifted his head. When he saw the man’s face, the grief and despair in his eyes dimmed utterly, extinguished like a snuffed flame.
Lord Shen was none other than Shen Wei, the current Dali Temple Minister, tasked with reviewing criminal cases and handling any involving officials of fifth rank or higher. With his arrival, the case was no longer anyone else’s to touch.
“This case involves key court ministers and has been fully taken over by the Dali Temple,” Shen Wei declared. Dressed in his crimson robes, he cut an imposing figure. After answering Prefect Bai, he turned to Liu Yuanxun, whom Ling Ting had helped to his feet, and cupped his hands in salute. “Greetings, Your Highness Prince Rui.”
Liu Yuanxun returned the gesture with cupped hands. “Lord Shen.”
Then Shen Wei turned to Wang Mingxuan, who had been helped up by others, and announced, “By imperial decree: Wang Mingxuan is to be immediately escorted back to the Dali Temple for trial. The bodies of Feng Hu and Tang Meiniang are to be transported as well. Prince Rui, I must trouble Your Highness to accompany me.”
Who was this Tang Meiniang? The relentless twists had left Liu Yuanxun’s mind in chaos, and he could only nod in agreement for now.
Not just Liu Yuanxun—even Prefect Bai looked baffled. It wasn’t until the Dali Temple men dragged the disfigured woman’s corpse from the cold storage that he cried out in shock, “Isn’t this Wang Yuyin’s body?”
Shen Wei replied coolly, “No. This woman merely resembles Wang Yuyin. Her true identity is that of a Jiangnan slim horse, known as Tang Meiniang.”
Prefect Bai instinctively glanced at Wang Mingxuan, only to see him sitting there woodenly, as if he had long known the truth.
Prefect Bai quickly looked to Liu Yuanxun and saw the same confusion on his face. Only then did he feel a slight measure of relief. If both the accuser and the accused knew the full story while he, the investigator, was left in the dark, he’d be stewing in frustration for days.
Shen Wei had arrived in haste and departed just as swiftly. The venue for the proceedings shifted from the Capital Prefecture Yamen to the Dali Temple.
With Ling Ting’s support, Liu Yuanxun made his way outside. Gu Lianzhao, who had been standing in the corner with arms crossed against the wall, fell into step right behind. Though he lagged half a pace as they walked, when Liu Yuanxun climbed into the sedan, Gu Lianzhao lifted the curtain and sat down beside him.
With his innocence cleared, Liu Yuanxun felt a wave of relief wash over him. He turned to Gu Lianzhao, studying his face closely.
Gu Lianzhao frowned slightly. He wanted to turn away from Liu Yuanxun’s gaze but felt it would seem too deliberate, so he stiffly endured it, his posture rigid.
The fatigue on Gu Lianzhao’s face wasn’t all that obvious. To him, three straight days without rest was routine; he’d endured far worse. But the leisurely days he’d spent with Liu Yuanxun had left him pampered and well-rested, so in Liu Yuanxun’s eyes, that faint trace of shadows under his eyes stood out sharply.
Liu Yuanxun gazed at him tenderly, a hint of pity in his voice. “You’re worn out, aren’t you?”
Gu Lianzhao stared straight ahead. He didn’t turn to meet Liu Yuanxun’s eyes even as he replied softly, “Not at all. Just doing my duty.”
What kind of duty demanded cracking such a tangled case in a mere three days? The more Gu Lianzhao downplayed his efforts, the more moved Liu Yuanxun felt.
He was the sort to magnify a small kindness threefold. Besides, Gu Lianzhao had gone to such lengths to help him—simple thanks felt too distant, and gifts might cheapen his sincerity. Liu Yuanxun could only smile faintly, committing that hardship to memory.
There was still some distance to the Dali Temple. Liu Yuanxun’s mind brimmed with questions, and he needed answers. With a ready source of information right beside him, he instinctively leaned in a little and whispered, “So, who was behind this whole thing?”
Liu Yuanxun was always measured; even as he drew closer, he maintained a proper distance between them. Yet Gu Lianzhao flinched as if startled, though he made no big motion—just a subtle tremor.
“What’s… wrong?” Liu Yuanxun asked, mildly surprised.
Gu Lianzhao’s face was as impassive as ever. Even up close, his deep black eyes resembled a bottomless cold pool, utterly serene.
“Nothing.” Gu Lianzhao cleared his throat lightly to cover his slip, then answered the question. “Wang Mingxuan’s elder brother, Wang Mingzhang.”
Liu Yuanxun blinked, then understood.
No wonder Wang Mingxuan would rather take the punishment himself than press on. The culprit turned out to be the Wang family’s sole remaining pillar. Wang Mingzhang was, at the very least, Vice Minister of Works—and Wang Mingxuan’s only brother. A guilty verdict would bring the entire Wang family crashing down.
Great clans always prized their name above their lives. Wang Mingxuan had risked everything to seek justice for his daughter, yet he couldn’t bring himself to doom the family by sending their last hope to prison.
Liu Yuanxun said, “At first, I thought Wang Youqi had been put up to it, using Wang Mingxuan to set a trap. But if Wang Mingzhang is the mastermind, then I’m not so sure…”
The trap’s architects wouldn’t have overlooked the fallout if it unraveled. If Wang Youqi had planned this, he surely knew success would be fine, but failure would annihilate the whole Wang family.
Such a high-stakes scheme didn’t seem like something Wang Youqi could devise.
Unless he was being blackmailed into it, forced to take the gamble. But even then, the cost of failure was catastrophic. Something felt missing, a crucial link, making Liu Yuanxun’s speculation unsteady.
Gu Lianzhao, however, said, “Your Highness, you’ve overlooked someone.”
Overlooked someone? Liu Yuanxun paused, about to ask who, when it hit him. “You mean Wang Youqi’s second daughter? The Inspectorate Censor who was dismissed for misconduct?”
Before Gu Lianzhao could respond, Liu Yuanxun pressed on. “What position did she hold before dismissal?”
Liu Yuanxun had zeroed in on the key. Gu Lianzhao replied meaningfully, “Left Deputy Censor-in-Chief, Fourth Rank, Principal.”
Liu Yuanxun got it. “So Wang Youqi sired two mediocre sons but had a daughter of exceptional talent?”
Gu Lianzhao nodded. “Moreover, after failing to promote his two sons, Wang Youqi threw his weight behind his second daughter, Wang Suining, at the eleventh hour.”
Tianyong permitted women and gers to hold office, but carving out a position in court was far harder for them than for men.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard, where Gu Lianzhao served, valued skill over birth, which had given him his chance. The Censorate, however, was filled with die-hard traditionalists obsessed with pedigree, seniority, and scholarship. For Wang Suining to rise to Left Deputy Censor-in-Chief there marked her as no ordinary figure.
Liu Yuanxun looked up at Gu Lianzhao. “So Wang Youqi did consider the consequences of dragging in his eldest son. He still rolled the dice because he was betting everything on Wang Suining.”
In officialdom, one word could dismiss a man, and another could restore him. Positions that ordinary folk toiled a lifetime for were mere pawns to those in power. If someone behind Wang Youqi promised a Censorate post, then sacrificing his inept, morally bankrupt eldest son wasn’t off the table.
After all, to the clan, it wasn’t about “Wang Mingzhang” or “Wang Suining” as individuals—they cared only about perpetuating the “Wang” name. As long as Wang Suining and the Wang descendants endured, discarding a few sons was just a moment’s ruthlessness.
With that, the case stood crystal clear.
Gu Lianzhao had always known Liu Yuanxun was sharp, but seeing him untangle it all so quickly still drew sincere praise. “Your Highness is most perceptive.”
If Liu Yuanxun was hailed as perceptive, how could Gu Lianzhao—who had cracked the case and pinpointed the crux in three short days—fall short? Liu Yuanxun smiled at him. “Lord Gu is impressive too.”
That “Lord Gu” carried a teasing lilt mingled with genuine admiration. Gu Lianzhao knew he ought to smile and brush it off with some witty reply, but facing Liu Yuanxun, his usual glib words stuck in his throat. He sat there, at a loss.
Ever since realizing his feelings were in disarray, he’d swung between dull-witted awkwardness and painful hypersensitivity.
To Liu Yuanxun, that silence came off as restraint and bashfulness. Considerately, he changed the subject. “So how did Tang Meiniang get tangled up in this?”
Gu Lianzhao exhaled subtly in relief, then explained, “According to the testimony of a Wang family maidservant, Wang Yuyin truly was a dutiful, well-read young lady from a good family. Her incestuous affair with Wang Mingzhang was half coerced, half seduced. A woman like that couldn’t have bewitched Feng Hu into utter devotion, willing to die for her, in a mere half-month.”
Thus, they needed a cunning, capable woman: first to orchestrate the assassination, then to disfigure her own face and make the scandal public knowledge—too big to cover up quietly. Only then could they exploit Wang Mingxuan’s paternal love, forcing him to beat the drum and drag Liu Yuanxun fully into the mess.
Moreover, even if Gu Lianzhao exposed the true culprit behind seducing and violating Wang Yuyin, if the Bone-Drop Kinship Test trap held, Liu Yuanxun’s suspicions wouldn’t fully clear.
Without breaking that ploy, even Wang Yuyin’s death might be pinned as Liu Yuanxun hiring a killer. At that point, a few years in prison wouldn’t suffice to resolve it.
One crisis had barely been resolved before the next arose, each piling on before the previous could be fully unraveled. Fortunately, they had made some gains. What had been their enemies’ greatest trump card—the Bone-Drop Kinship Test—had ironically become Liu Yuanxun’s key to breaking the deadlock. With this hurdle cleared, there might even be hope for a retrial in Xiao Jinye’s case.
After being led around blindly for so long, they had finally turned the tables. Liu Yuanxun let out a soft breath of relief. He turned to Gu Lianzhao beside him and said sincerely, “A’Qiao, though the circumstances of our meeting weren’t ideal, I’m truly glad to have met you. And I’m happy that you consider me a friend.”
“Actually…” Here, Liu Yuanxun grew a bit embarrassed, his voice dropping lower. “Actually, I don’t have many friends. So meeting you has made me really happy.”
The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, utterly unlike his usual poised demeanor. It had been ages since he’d spoken his true feelings to someone who treated him as an equal, so he couldn’t help feeling a little awkward as he did so.
Princes didn’t have friends. Everyone in the palace saw him as their master. And with his frail health, he didn’t even have a study companion. From childhood onward, the only ones who had coaxed and played with him were eunuchs, palace maids, and Liu Yuanze.
But Liu Yuanze was the Crown Prince, his elder brother. No matter how close they were, Liu Yuanxun always remembered his place and held his brother in deep respect. The eunuchs and maids in the palace treated him as their lord, and once that dynamic took hold, it became an unbridgeable gulf of status.
The Ling Clan siblings were different from ordinary servants, but their lives revolved around him. He was always worried about what would become of them after his death, afraid that their deep involvement would bring them trouble. Those worries had piled up into a heavy burden on his shoulders, leaving many words unsaid and many tasks undone by them.
Gu Lianzhao was different. He had his own path to forge and the ability to share Liu Yuanxun’s burdens. More importantly, from the moment they’d met, Gu Lianzhao had never approached him with the fawning ulterior motives of those sycophants.
Liu Yuanxun knew full well that, given Gu Lianzhao’s background and talents, he himself was the perfect stepping stone to higher heights. Even if Gu Lianzhao demanded nothing but compensation for his “ruined innocence,” Liu Yuanxun would do his utmost to provide it.
But Gu Lianzhao hadn’t.
Liu Yuanxun wasn’t sure if that initial distance had come from a ger’s natural wariness or some clever ploy to play hard to get. Either way, that sense of detachment had eased his nerves and made Gu Lianzhao’s later closeness far easier to accept.
He had been burned too many times by the palace’s schemers. He disliked being waited on, hated people getting too close, and loathed those who fawned with hidden agendas.
Yet simply not fawning wasn’t enough to make him see Gu Lianzhao as a friend. What truly earned him that place in Liu Yuanxun’s heart was the casual concern he let slip from time to time, the debt of saving him from Feng Hu’s clutches, and his repeated displays of shrewd capability that commanded admiration.
Liu Yuanxun might lack friends, but that didn’t mean just anyone could become one. Sincerity was essential, but so was a talent worthy of respect.
Besides, now that Gu Lianzhao had been reinstated, all debts between them were settled.
With no lingering ties or obligations, their growing closeness felt as natural as two droplets of water merging. They could come together freely or part ways without regret.
Even if Liu Yuanxun died, Gu Lianzhao would remain Gu Lianzhao, living his life to the fullest. No pressure, no strings attached—this effortless camaraderie was a rare blessing for Liu Yuanxun.
With those thoughts in mind, Liu Yuanxun gazed into Gu Lianzhao’s eyes and said earnestly, “A’Qiao, thank you for helping me overturn this verdict. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Meeting a friend like you has made me truly happy.”
The words flowed smoothly enough, but he rarely bared his heart so openly, leaving him a touch uneasy even now. In his mind, Gu Lianzhao had likely always been just as solitary, so despite his shyness, Liu Yuanxun poured out his feelings, hoping to convey his sincerity.
But when he finished, Gu Lianzhao remained silent.
They sat so close that Liu Yuanxun could catch every subtle shift in his expression. Yet Gu Lianzhao simply gazed back at him without a word, his face betraying no change whatsoever.
In that near shoulder-to-shoulder proximity, Gu Lianzhao’s eyes were shrouded in shadow.
For the first time, Liu Yuanxun noticed how thick and straight his lashes were—dense enough that even a slight downward tilt hid all emotion beneath. Staring for too long, Liu Yuanxun even felt a strange illusion, as if he weren’t truly meeting Gu Lianzhao’s gaze at all.
Just as the mood in the sedan grew ever more charged—edging toward awkward—Gu Lianzhao finally stirred.
He reached for Liu Yuanxun’s hand hanging at his side and lightly hooked his pinky around Liu Yuanxun’s, which had curled halfway in embarrassment. Since Liu Yuanxun hadn’t gripped it tightly, their pinkies intertwined with that single hook.
Liu Yuanxun stared blankly at the motion, his gaze fixed on their linked fingers. Then Gu Lianzhao, his own eyes lowered, spoke. “Your Highness treats me as a friend when it suits him. But if I one day earn Your Highness’s ire, will he still be glad to have met me? A hooked pinky seals a promise, Your Highness. Think it over before you speak.”
Liu Yuanxun hesitated.
He knew all too well how fickle human hearts could be. Fathers and sons turned on each other for gain—how much more so between brothers or friends? If Gu Lianzhao ever betrayed or deceived him, Liu Yuanxun would never again offer his heart to be trampled.
But then he reconsidered. His own lifespan stretched barely a year. Even the most mercurial heart couldn’t change that much in so little time.
He never made promises he couldn’t keep, so he hooked his pinky back around Gu Lianzhao’s and flashed a sly smile. “One year to start. Renew at expiry.”
