Qin Zijin didn’t know either. He looked out the window and said blandly, “The Grand Empress Dowager has always been a devout Buddhist. If we want to find her, we should send people to every temple to investigate. There must be one place where she has settled.”
Relief flooded Grand Preceptor Dong’s eyes. He clapped a heavy hand on Qin Zijin’s shoulder. “I truly didn’t misjudge you! Zijin, you are a talent meant for greatness!”
Qin Zijin glanced at the withered hand on his shoulder, a flash of disgust crossing his eyes before he replied, “I thank the Grand Preceptor for his praise.”
Recalling something, Grand Preceptor Dong turned and pulled a yellowed manuscript from the bottom drawer of his desk. It was wrapped in silk, the corners slightly worn, clearly preserved with great care over the years.
He ran his hand over the three words on the cover—Treatise on Statecraft—as if touching a priceless treasure. “Years ago, in the archives of the Hanlin Academy, I found this anonymous essay…”
“It took me three days of searching the records to find you, a ‘nobody’ at the time. I would recognize this exquisite Yan Style calligraphy even if it were burned to ash!”
Grand Preceptor Dong chuckled as he handed the book to Qin Zijin. In a corner of the cover was a small note he had written in tiny script years ago: This youth shall one day be Chancellor.
Qin Zijin took the book. His smile stiffened for a moment as he saw the annotation, but he silently tucked it into his sleeve.
Grand Preceptor Dong patted his shoulder again, speaking with heartfelt gravity. “From the moment I saw the Treatise on Statecraft, I knew you were my successor.”
“The flame of the Pure Stream must be carried on by you.”
Qin Zijin’s expression was subtle. For a fleeting second, a look of humiliation seemed to flash in his eyes before vanishing.
Noticing his silence, the Grand Preceptor asked, “What is it?”
Qin Zijin immediately smiled. “It’s nothing. This student is simply overwhelmed with joy.”
Meanwhile, the Chancellor’s Estate was ablaze with light.
Gu Huaiyu leaned against a daybed in his inner robes, his hair still dripping. Water pooled into dark stains on the bluestone floor.
Yun Niang was drying his hair with a cotton towel when she suddenly let out a soft sound of surprise. “Chancellor, your complexion is much better than before.”
Gu Huaiyu smiled but said nothing. The calyx plums by the bed were in full bloom, their reflection making his features look as beautiful as a painting, bright as the moon. Aside from being too thin and pale, he didn’t look like the sickly man who lived on medicine.
Yun Niang was heartened by the sight. “In past years at this time, three braziers wouldn’t be enough to stop the Chancellor from shivering.”
Now, there was only one brazier in the room, yet Gu Huaiyu wasn’t trembling with cold.
As they spoke, footsteps sounded outside. An Iron Eagle Guard entered quickly and dropped to one knee. “Chancellor, I have a report.”
Gu Huaiyu didn’t move from his reclining position; he only tilted his chin.
“Speak.”
The guard reported immediately: “There has been movement regarding the assassins’ bodies. After the executions at the Vegetable Market, the twenty-three corpses were hung for half a month with no one to claim them. Per your orders, they were eventually buried in the potter’s field…”
“Last night, at the Hour of the Rat, a group sneaked into the field and dug up all the bodies. they placed them in high-quality coffins and transported them overnight to the Northern Ridge on the outskirts of the capital.”
“The site they chose is a prime piece of land—south-facing, lush with vegetation. At current market rates, even a small plot would cost twenty taels of silver.”
Gu Huaiyu slowly sat up, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
The guard paused before lowering his voice. “I sent men to track them, but they didn’t dare alert them. They only marked the location.”
Gu Huaiyu had already picked up on the subtlety. He asked directly, “Oh? Whose land is it?”
The guard bowed his head. “I discovered that the deed to that land belongs to… the Imperial Mausoleum’s annex. It is the ‘Loyalists’ Tomb’ area, reserved by the Yuan Clan for rewarding meritorious service.”
Gu Huaiyu couldn’t help but chuckle. He tapped his chin. “This master is certainly righteous; it wasn’t for nothing that those assassins gave their lives for him.”
He wasn’t surprised at all. Those who wanted his life were most likely royalty.
Too many members of the Old Yuan Family had died by his hand. From princes and dukes to close relatives of the throne, the hatred had piled up like a mountain. It was only logical that someone wanted revenge.
The Iron Eagle Guard bowed, seeking instructions. “Chancellor, how shall we proceed?”
Without hesitation, Gu Huaiyu ordered, “Send an invitation. Ask Prince Xian to join me at the estate for a brief chat.”
Among the descendants of the Yuan Clan, the one who had lived the longest, knew the most, and was least interested in the struggle for power was Prince Xian.
He had always been detached from the world, making him the most clear-headed observer of the Old Yuan Family.
Regarding the Imperial Mausoleum, the Loyalists’ Tomb, and the old customs of rewarding merit, he would know everything. If someone were using that land to bury assassins, Prince Xian might be able to point out the trail.
