Chapter 38

In the bustling West Market, an early-rising bird had successfully claimed the throne as King Jiujiu, with Sui Ziming hot on its tail feathers, flapping away in shameless flattery.

Meanwhile, Pei Du—who had spent the audience with the Emperor staring solemnly at his own nose, enduring a torrent of pointless blather—was waylaid after court by someone entirely unexpected.

“Lord Pei,” said a female official, her expression grave and her bearing impeccably deferential as she bowed to him, “the Eldest Princess requests the honor of your presence at Su Ling Pavilion.”

Of the direct imperial line of Great Zhou’s royals, only one prince had survived that brutal fratricidal struggle for the throne. But the legitimate bloodline still included one Eldest Princess.

This princess, enfeoffed as Yu Hui, was now over forty years old. She rarely made waves or showed her hand.

More than a decade ago, after her consort died of illness, Princess Yu Hui had withdrawn almost entirely from public life. Many court officials had never even laid eyes on the royal pearl who had once dazzled the Capital while still in her boudoir.

So what manner of person could summon Her Highness the Princess Yu Hui?

Pei Du’s gaze flickered slightly as he stepped aside and gestured politely. “After you.”

Princess Yu Hui’s boudoir name was Zheng Ying; she was the Late Emperor’s eldest daughter. By that reckoning, Pei Du had indeed grown up under her watchful eye.

Back then, the Duke’s Consort had shared a close private friendship with Princess Yu Hui, and the two households had frequented each other.

Later, calamity struck the palace. The Duke’s Consort perished, Duke Pei followed soon after from illness, and the court teetered on the brink of chaos. The path Pei Du had to tread was far too perilous—better to stand alone as an isolated minister for survival’s sake. Thus, Zheng Ying had offered discreet support on a few occasions but never stepped forward openly.

Only… Zheng Ying could never have anticipated that, in a mere three short years, Pei Du would rise to command such sway over the court as the Prime Minister.

Fortunately, thanks to that old bond of goodwill, she could at least exchange a few words with this man who now held the reins of power.

When Pei Du entered Su Ling Pavilion, Zheng Ying had just finished brewing tea.

The years had left few marks on her face, merely deepening the poise in her brows and eyes.

She was not what one would call stunningly beautiful—not the sort of opulent beauty that seized the breath on sight.

Her brows arched like distant hills, her lips faintly colored. Only her eyes remained as clear and still as a winter pool, exuding a quiet authority that brooked no disrespect.

In her youth, the Capital had buzzed with tales of Zheng Ying’s talents, not for her looks but for her breathtaking qin playing and her literary prowess—able to debate policy in the same hall as the top three imperial examination scholars without yielding an inch.

Had it not been for that upheaval, had she not backed the wrong side, Zheng Ying would never have faded into obscurity.

Now no longer young, her composure and elegance had only grown more profound and settled.

“It’s been a long time,” she said with a smile as the steam curled upward. “The boy from back then has truly grown into a man.”

Pei Du cupped his hands in salute. “Fuguang pays respects to Aunt Ying.”

The familiar form of address bridged the years between them in an instant. Zheng Ying’s smile warmed, and she gestured for him to sit.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Zheng Ying knew Pei Du could not linger too long lest busybodies take notice. She cut straight to the point. “Fuguang, I’ve asked you here on impulse today to make an introduction for a close friend from my boudoir days.”

Before the royal house descended into that bloody contest of brother against brother, Princess Yu Hui had been a force of nature in the Capital.

Her station was lofty, her standards loftier still. Countless court ladies vied for her favor, but those she called true boudoir confidantes could be counted on one hand.

Pei Du accepted the teacup. “Please speak freely, Aunt Ying.”

“Her name is Xie Jingtang.” Zheng Ying named her plainly, without any titles. “Even after all these years, I suspect she still carries some renown in the Capital.”

“Yes, nephew is aware.”

Pei Du made no mention of her as the Former Wife of the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion, nor did he allude to Xie Jingtang’s past in the Capital. His tone even carried a hint of deliberate avoidance.

Surprise flickered in Zheng Ying’s eyes.

Steam from the tea rose languidly between them.

“That case from three years ago,” Zheng Ying said. “I imagine it never truly closed in your heart.”

Three years prior, out of dire necessity, Pei Du had prioritized the greater good. The Jiangnan Canal Embezzlement Case—a web of official corruption and collusion littered with bodies—had been addressed only superficially, without a full investigation.

But Zheng Ying had known the unmasked Pei Du of his childhood, so she understood his resolve and principles.

No matter if Pei Du aspired to be a loyal minister, a scheming one, a pure official, or a power broker, in his heart, that affair—that case—could never simply be laid to rest.

“Xie Jingtang has a list in her possession: the names of merchants and officials who paid tribute to Prince Wu each year.”

Pei Du’s thumb traced the rim of his cup.

A list like that alone shouldn’t have driven Prince Wu to pursue her relentlessly for three years.

After all, Prince Wu’s power was vast now, Jiangnan his fief. Such tributes might not be spoken of openly, but they hardly touched his vital interests.

“But Xie Jingtang is no ordinary merchant.”

“She’s exceptionally clever, and she knows nearly every trade route between the Capital and Jiangnan.”

“Some of the shops and enterprises Prince Wu uses for smuggling were ones Xie Jingtang built and ran herself back in the day—until the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion seized them.”

“So that list might mean little in another’s hands, but in hers, it’s enough to unravel the threads: ledgers proving Prince Wu’s smuggling of salt and iron, his hoarding of soldiers and supplies in his fief.”

Hoarding troops left traces that could never be fully erased.

The massive flows of silver, grain, salt, and iron for such dealings were most easily spotted by those lowborn merchants whom the high and mighty so often overlooked.

That was why, three years on—even after Pei Du had left Jiangnan and publicly dropped the Canal Gang Case—Prince Wu still hunted Xie Jingtang’s whereabouts.

“Xie Jingtang has a grudge against the Shen Family. A year ago, her only son, Shen Xinian, was brought to the Capital by the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion, only to suffer a false accusation and die in prison.”

“The Zhenguo Marquis Mansion withheld the boy’s body to blackmail her, demanding she hand over all her enterprises in Jiangnan.”

“Fuguang, as a mother, Xie Jingtang couldn’t save her child. In the end, all she could do was bring him home for burial, returning his leaves to their roots.”

“That’s why she’s willing to stake everything she has on this.”

“Including her deductions on several likely sites for Prince Wu’s troop caches—places that need only a final scout to confirm.”

She sighed softly, her poise impeccable in advance or retreat.

Zheng Ying was truly an excellent negotiator. She laid out the terms of the deal with crystal clarity, while subtly impressing upon Pei Du the need to give it careful thought.

Xie Jingtang wanted nothing else. She cared not a whit for the fate of the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion. All she sought was news of Shen Xinian.

If he was alive, she wanted to see the man in the flesh. If dead, she demanded his corpse.

For a mother, it was the simplest, most natural request imaginable.

But Pei Du knew of Shen Jiujiu’s existence.

He knew of the strange twist of fate that had befallen Shen Xinian after his death.

Was there some connection between Xinian’s unburied body and his current form as this little bird?

Pei Du turned the scraps of information over and over in his mind, sensing the faint threads of a link just waiting to be uncovered.

Until he had unraveled the full story from beginning to end, he could not—would not—hand over either Shen Xinian or Shen Jiujiu to anyone else.

Not even to Xie Jingtang.

And so Pei Du did not immediately accept the deal proposed through the Eldest Princess’s intermediary. Instead, he merely said that he wished to meet Xie Jingtang in person.

Zheng Ying was not surprised by his caution. With a faint smile, she replied, “Very well. In three days, the Western Regions envoys will arrive in the capital. On Prince Wu’s side, we’ll need Fuguang to help cover our tracks.”

Pei Du’s fingers in his sleeve gently stroked the soft, downy feathers of the little bird. In a warm voice, he answered, “Of course.”

~~~

When Pei Du returned to the mansion, he pushed open the door to the study and immediately spotted the long-tailed little bird perched on the small desk. It was earnestly fiddling with the abacus, tail feathers sticking straight out as it kicked the beads with vigorous force. The clacking sounds rose and fell in a lively cascade.

Hearing the noise, Shen Jiujiu sped up, rapidly finishing the calculation he had been working on. With a flap of his wings, he flew straight toward Pei Du and dove expertly into the warmth of his palm.

“Chirp chirp chirp chirp~”

Welcome home~

Cupping the little bird in his hands, Pei Du walked to the desk and glanced at what Shen Jiujiu had been writing. “What are you so busy with?”

Shen Jiujiu poked his head out of Pei Du’s palm. The tip of one wing pointed proudly to the bold title at the top of the page. Puffing out his chest, he declared, “Chirp chirp!”

My first money-making plan as Little Bird the butler!

Noticing that Pei Du was still dressed in his court robes, Shen Jiujiu fluttered up to perch on his shoulder. He hopped about, using the motion to mask his real goal: searching for that single little bird feather.

He looked everywhere, even poking his head into Pei Du’s collar, but Shen Jiujiu still couldn’t find the feather that had been meant to accompany his benefactor to court.

Disgruntled, he kicked at the air with his tiny feet.

Well, it was probably normal, he supposed.

After all, his feathers were so small and light. One little movement from his benefactor, one puff of wind, and it would be gone.

Better to be happy it had lasted as long as it did.

Pei Du listened to the cheerful chirping by his ear and caught the little bird, who had already coaxed himself out of his disappointment.

He said nothing about the feather he had discovered that very morning, just after leaving the mansion—plucked from his collar and carefully tucked away in his coin pouch.

Lying contentedly in Pei Du’s palm, Shen Jiujiu nuzzled his beak affectionately against his benefactor’s finger.

The plan isn’t finished yet. I’ll show you when it’s done!

Pei Du responded mildly to the little bird’s chatter, his finger gently stroking the soft feathers of Shen Jiujiu’s wings.

But beneath the shadow of his lashes, the emotion in his eyes was impossible to read.

Xinian’s mother was coming.