Chapter 53

There were countless people in the world named Liu San.

Yet Ning Bi happened to know one who threaded through the heart of the entire affair, and Liu Yuanxun had befriended one who had drawn him into this web.

In an instant, memories from the past surged through his mind like a tidal wave.

Three years earlier, after the Late Emperor passed away while on his imperial procession, once the sacrificial rites had concluded, Liu Yuanxun entered the Taichang Temple and took up the post of Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.

His constitution was frail, ill-suited to heavy workloads. By chance, he restored a couple of ancient texts and found unexpected pleasure in the task. He stuck with it, and in that way, three years slipped by.

It was during this period that he came to know Liu San.

Liu San was a broker deeply versed in antiques, someone who had handled many rare treasures. Ling Ting had been seeking a buyer for such items when Liu San approached him unbidden and sold off all the ancient books in his possession.

After authenticating them, Liu Yuanxun confirmed they were not only genuine but in superb condition. Before long, Liu San became his dedicated agent for sourcing ancient texts.

Liu San was a man of few words, honest and dependable. He appeared to be in his early thirties—a steady, reliable young fellow. In day-to-day dealings, Ling Qing usually handled the communications with him.

Over time, they grew acquainted. During the New Year’s festivities a year ago, Liu Yuanxun distributed bonuses to the household servants as was his custom, and Liu San received his share as well.

Liu San insisted on coming to kowtow his thanks, and Liu Yuanxun assented. In the course of their conversation, Liu Yuanxun was surprised to discover that Liu San possessed profound expertise in appraising antiques. He had remarkable skill at detecting forgeries and imitations.

Liu San explained that he had been born into dire poverty as a posthumous child. His mother suffered from chronic illness and spent her days bedridden, so every coin he earned went toward medicine. The family’s circumstances never improved.

Fortunately, he had once encountered a destitute scholar with no heirs. The boy often helped the scholar with chores, and in gratitude, the man taught him to read and write.

Armed with literacy, Liu San gradually mastered the trade of a broker and began dealing in antiques for officials and nobles.

To possess such insight without any formal tutelage was proof of his extraordinary talent.

Moved by this display, Liu Yuanxun once asked if Liu San would like an introduction to a proper teacher, but the man politely declined.

Liu San explained that he harbored no grand ambitions in life. He could not abide the constraints of structured study, and after years of constant travel, he had grown accustomed to the wandering life. He could not sit still anymore.

To each his own path, Liu Yuanxun reasoned, so he did not press the issue. Once refused, he let the matter drop.

Time passed swiftly, and two more years went by in the blink of an eye.

Just a month ago, Liu San had been in the study, scratching his head as he announced that he was about to get married. But mere days later, the dreadful news arrived: Liu San had been poisoned and died on the roadside.

Liu Yuanxun had gotten involved in the matter at first solely to seek justice for him.

And now, Ning Bi—herself mired in this major case—knelt before him, declaring with utter certainty that she too knew a man named Liu San.

The Liu San she knew was not merely a participant in this chain of events; he wielded such influence that he could drag unrelated innocents into Imperial Prison.

Liu Yuanxun could not help suspecting that the Liu San Ning Bi described was one and the same as his acquaintance. Yet he dared not leap to conclusions. After all, “Broker Liu San” was dead, his body cold, and even his mother had been laid to rest as a handful of yellow earth. If he was indeed Ning Bi’s “Liu San,” then were the deaths of him and his mother mere accidents—or a gambit paid for with their lives?

Such a suspicion was too venomous where the departed were concerned. Liu Yuanxun refused to fabricate accusations out of thin air, so he turned to Ning Bi and asked, “Have you ever seen what Liu San looks like?”

Ning Bi hesitated for a moment before replying, “I have seen him, but every time we met, his face was covered. He repeatedly warned me never to keep any portraits or records of him. I’ve only met him three times, and the last was five years ago… If I had to describe him from memory, I couldn’t do it justice. But if I saw him again, I’d recognize him at once.”

“In that case…” Liu Yuanxun pondered for a moment before continuing, “Miss Ning Bi, do you know how to grind ink?”

It had been eight or nine years since Ning Bi had last touched brush or ink. His question left her momentarily dazed, but she nodded after a beat. “Yes, I do.”

The flower house where they sat was steeped in scholarly elegance, complete with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. Ning Bi unrolled a sheet of drawing paper, secured it with paperweights, and began grinding ink for Liu Yuanxun.

Gu Lianzhao had never received a proper education since the age of five, and the very sight of brushes and ink usually bored him. But because it was Liu Yuanxun doing the painting, the scene took on an unexpected allure.

With his arms crossed, Gu Lianzhao stood silently to one side, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Liu Yuanxun, resplendent in his snow-white robes.

Liu Yuanxun ordinarily exuded an otherworldly grace, ethereal and untouched by dust, as if he cared for nothing in the world and might drift away on the wind at any moment. Now, as he stood at the desk and wielded the brush, a rare intensity and calm settled over his features.

Ning Bi stood at Liu Yuanxun’s side, slowly working the inkstone. The proximity allowed her to observe his painting process up close. As the lifelike portrait took shape before her eyes, she could not help but marvel inwardly at his exquisite skill.

In just a few deft strokes, Liu San’s very demeanor sprang to life on the page. With careful additions, Liu Yuanxun captured not only the man’s features but even the subtleties of his gait.

The Liu San in the painting was a sturdy young man striding boldly toward the viewer, his face rendered with crystal clarity, his distinctive features unmistakable—as if he might step right off the paper in the next instant.

The sketch was simple in style yet bursting with vibrant motion. It highlighted the subject’s personal traits so sharply that even a stranger who had never laid eyes on Liu San could spot him instantly in a sea of faces.

The sole imperfection lay in the artist’s waning strength. By the latter half of the painting, his wrist had grown too weak to control the brush. The strokes wavered, the ink lines bled, and what might have been a masterpiece was marred into something flawed.

Ning Bi knew Liu Yuanxun had painted it for her identification, so she scrutinized every detail, searching for any resemblance to the “Third Brother” buried deep in her memories.

She studied it intently for a long while before shaking her head with regret. “The build is very different. The eyes don’t match either. No matter how closely I look, I can’t find a single point of similarity between them.”

At her words, Liu Yuanxun felt a strange mix of relief and deeper bewilderment.

Could it be that these two Liu Sans shared only a name? Or had the man Ning Bi encountered worn such masterful disguise that even this portrait failed to jog her memory?

Ning Bi was no stranger to painting herself, so she understood Liu Yuanxun’s intention. She knew full well that a person’s posture could be easily feigned. A deliberate hunch of the shoulders or a defeated slump could fundamentally alter one’s appearance with the subtlest of gestures.

But when a person walked, their true nature emerged unbidden.

Anyone with a keen eye could tell that the man in Liu Yuanxun’s painting was a rough-hewn fellow in his thirties, hardened by years of outdoor toil. He did not look the least bit like a martial artist.

Ning Bi stared at the painting. Though she could not summon Third Brother’s exact features, certain long-forgotten details began to resurface from the depths of her mind.

She added, “Third Brother isn’t tall, but he carries himself ramrod straight. He’s never displayed any martial prowess in front of me, but I’ve always sensed that he was a fighter.”

“A fighter?” Liu Yuanxun’s interest sharpened instantly. “What makes you say that?”

If this “Third Brother” truly possessed martial skills, it would completely exonerate Liu San. Faces could be altered with makeup, builds and auras mimicked with effort—but one’s capacity for martial arts was a trait even harder to conceal than gender.

Ning Bi dredged up her memories. “I’ve met Third Brother three times altogether. The first was when he came to Lamp Melody Alley looking for me. The second was when he took me into Imperial Prison. That was the time I realized he knew martial arts.”

“Imperial Prison is utterly dark, without a shred of light. Even holding a lantern illuminates only a handspan of ground. I didn’t know the paths at all, so I stumbled every few steps. The worst was when I nearly crashed headlong into the iron spikes protruding from the wall beside me. Third Brother reacted with lightning speed, yanking me back and steadying me just in time.”

Ning Bi was exceptionally perceptive. Once she turned her mind to these details, clues began to emerge.

She went on, “I thought it strange even then. I’d fallen so many times before, and he never once reached out to help—as if he knew I wouldn’t come to serious harm. But the moment I nearly hit those spikes, he grabbed me without warning. And in that pitch blackness, with me trailing behind him, he couldn’t possibly have been so precise unless he had eyes in the back of his head or martial training.”

“Not just that,” Gu Lianzhao interjected. No one knew Imperial Prison better than he did. “He didn’t help you before because he could tell a fall wouldn’t kill you. This time, he intervened because those spikes are coated in deadly poison. One prick, and you’re done for.”

Not every passage in Imperial Prison bristled with spikes. Those protrusions were traps designed to thwart escapes or rescue attempts—an impenetrable barrier for anyone unfamiliar with the place.

When Gu Lianzhao had escorted Liu Yuanxun through Imperial Prison earlier, he too had refrained from taking his hand, precisely to avoid an accidental brush against one of those sections before he could react.

Ning Bi blinked in surprise, not immediately grasping the full implication of his words.

But Liu Yuanxun’s eyes gleamed with sudden excitement, as if he had seized upon a vital breakthrough. “Are you saying this ‘Third Brother’ is most likely someone from inside Imperial Prison?”

Gu Lianzhao inclined his head slightly before shifting his gaze to Ning Bi. “You say he’s not tall. About how tall, exactly? Compared to me?”

An icy menace clung to him, his voice carrying a note of reprimand, compounded by the bloody aura of slaughter that hung about his form. Ning Bi shrank back at the sight of him but mustered her courage to steal a glance at his physique. Hesitantly, she raised her hand to the level of her own shoulder. “About here…”

Gu Lianzhao arched a brow. “You’re certain?”

Ning Bi swallowed hard, her voice tight with nerves. “I think so—maybe a touch shorter. And he’s very slender. His build… rather like that of a ger.”

“Short and slight of frame, skilled in martial arts, intimately familiar with Imperial Prison, with the authority to escort people inside…” A playful smirk tugged at Gu Lianzhao’s lips as he drawled, “If I’m not mistaken, this sounds like an old acquaintance of mine.”

Liu Yuanxun started in shock. “Who?”

Gu Lianzhao turned to him. “Do you remember that Liu Qianyuan I mentioned once?”

Ning Bi was present, so he omitted the “Your Highness.” Yet the plain address somehow felt unexpectedly intimate.

Gu Lianzhao hadn’t truly expected him to recall it in any case. He had only brought it up once before, so it was perfectly normal if Liu Yuanxun had forgotten.

Liu Yuanxun merely furrowed his brow in recollection for a few moments before accurately identifying Liu Qianyuan. “You mean that ‘Third Brother’ is very likely the former North Pacification Commander?”

This time, the stunned one was Gu Lianzhao.

After two breaths had passed, he slowly nodded, his voice softening unconsciously. “From the information we have so far, it’s extremely likely to be him.”

However, Liu Qianyuan had already died—a year ago, in a struggle with the criminal.