Chapter 72 Part 1

When Liu Yuanxun woke, Gu Lianzhao was still on the bed—but the difference was that as soon as Liu Yuanxun opened his eyes, Gu Lianzhao had already been meditating and regulating his breathing for who knew how long.

It was still early, and the thin winter sunlight filtered through the clouds, falling onto the bed and enveloping Gu Lianzhao, who wore only a single layer of thin clothing.

The young man sat at the foot of the bed facing him, his legs crossed, his back straight, his brows and eyes serene. Bathed in the sunlight, he exuded a vibrant sense of vitality that Liu Yuanxun could clearly feel.

Though they shared the same bed every night, their schedules differed. By the time Gu Lianzhao finished bathing in the evening, Liu Yuanxun was already asleep. In the mornings, Liu Yuanxun was still abed when Gu Lianzhao had already left. Witnessing Gu Lianzhao meditating like this was a first for Liu Yuanxun.

He lay there for a moment, planning to get up in a bit, when Gu Lianzhao—deep in meditation—slowly opened his eyes.

“Awake?” Gu Lianzhao asked him.

Liu Yuanxun gave a soft “Mm,” then asked, “Why didn’t you go train today?”

Gu Lianzhao replied, “The two men Eunuch Hong brought are guarding outside the door. If I come and go early and late, it might give them something to talk about. Regulating my breathing in the room works just as well.”

If Gu Lianzhao hadn’t mentioned it, Liu Yuanxun might have forgotten about the two eunuchs at the door altogether. They stood there as silent as wooden statues, so unobtrusive that they blended into the background.

Gu Lianzhao continued, “Physician Wang left word yesterday. He said you should rest a couple more days. As for Xiao Jinye, I can visit him on your behalf.”

Liu Yuanxun sat up, pulling the quilt around himself and wrapping it tightly with both hands. After a moment’s thought, he said, “All right. You go to the Imperial Prison first and fill him in on the recent events. If he has anything to say, listen to it. If he wants to see me, I’ll go another day.”

Gu Lianzhao nodded, then asked, “Shall I prepare water for washing? The hot water’s ready.”

Liu Yuanxun was still recovering, his bones aching with fatigue that left him feeling utterly listless. But he couldn’t stay in bed forever. “Very well. Call Ling Ting in.”

“I’ll do it,” Gu Lianzhao said. Hearing that Liu Yuanxun meant to rise, he got off the bed to prepare the water. “By rights, these are tasks for someone of my station.”

That was true enough—and with Eunuch Hong’s men standing guard outside, refusing Gu Lianzhao’s help might only get him scolded.

Gu Lianzhao fetched the copper basin, mixed in hot water, and laid out a cloth. Liu Yuanxun reached for it, but Gu Lianzhao didn’t let go. “Let me.”

Liu Yuanxun emerged from the quilt and sat on the edge of the bed, tilting his head back and quietly closing his eyes. His skin was fair and delicate, his features handsome and gentle, without a single flaw. When he sat there waiting to be tended, he didn’t seem like some lofty master at all—he looked like a child.

Gu Lianzhao pressed the damp cloth to Liu Yuanxun’s face, using the lightest touch as he began to wipe it clean.

He had never done such delicate work before. He worried his touch was too light, but if he pressed harder, he feared it might hurt.

Liu Yuanxun felt no pain, but he wasn’t used to being waited on by Gu Lianzhao. A faint awkwardness lingered in his heart, so he broke the silence with a question he’d been meaning to ask. “I keep forgetting to ask—how did you get the rest of those bones from Wang Mingxuan?”

As Gu Lianzhao wiped his face through the cloth—tracing over his brows and eyes, then his cheeks and neck—he multitasked with his explanation. “I used a few tricks to make him lose track of time. Day after day, he listened to the screams from the Imperial Prison, barely eating or sleeping, with no idea what was happening outside. When he thought seven or eight days had passed, he naturally panicked. Seeing he couldn’t hold out, I told him Prefect Bai had defected to you and destroyed the remaining evidence. With no way out, he handed the physical proof over to me.”

Liu Yuanxun asked curiously, “And Wang Mingzhang? How did you uncover him?”

Gu Lianzhao set the cloth aside and handed him the cup for rinsing his mouth. “The Wang family’s eldest miss is a sheltered young lady from a noble house. There are only so many outside men she could have contact with. The pool wasn’t large to begin with. Screen once, and if nothing turns up, screen twice. If such a man exists, we’ll find the traces he left behind.”

Retrieving the bones from Wang Mingxuan had been to fulfill his duty to Liu Yuanxun. Dragging out Wang Mingzhang had been to settle a debt. But there was one other matter he hadn’t mentioned to Liu Yuanxun.

Wang Yuyin’s maid had initially said her mistress suffered a miscarriage at fifteen. But after hearing about the Bone Bead, she changed her tune, claiming she’d misremembered and that it was at twelve.

Gu Lianzhao could guess the reason for the switch, but he didn’t call her out. Instead, he had the maid press her thumbprint on a confession stating “pregnant at twelve.”

It wasn’t mercy or a desire for vengeance on behalf of the Wang family noblewoman. He simply thought Wang Mingzhang deserved to die, so he gave him a little push.

He himself had been eyed with lust in his youth—especially during the chaotic flight from war, when morality and law lost their hold, and the basest human desires ran rampant.

Even caked in mud to disguise himself, he couldn’t fully hide his naturally striking looks, so he inevitably drew attention.

He could no longer recall what that man looked like. He only remembered that at seven years old, he had already learned to feign compliance. He even lay down willingly, then jammed a tree branch through the man’s left eye as he leaned in close.

After wounding the man, he fled, hiding in terror for a long time. It wasn’t until later, when he learned the law, that he realized the man wouldn’t dare report it. After all, he was only seven—even an attempted rape would earn the man a lashing and exile three thousand li away.

He had failed to kill the man back then, leaving that stifled rage pent up in his heart, impossible to forget. Killing Wang Mingzhang now was a kind of release.

Liu Yuanxun knew nothing of these twists and turns. He was simply lamenting Wang Yuyin’s ill-fated life. He had just spat out the salt water when Gu Lianzhao said, “On top of that, I questioned someone else.”

Liu Yuanxun asked casually, “Who?”

Gu Lianzhao replied flatly, “Hong Xiu.”

Liu Yuanxun paused, then turned to study him. “What did Hong Xiu say?”

Gu Lianzhao gazed at him steadily. “She said she did indeed see you in the side hall, holding Wang Yuyin—her clothes in disarray.”

“You believed her?” Liu Yuanxun asked.

Gu Lianzhao reached out to brush back a lock of hair from his temple. “No. That’s why I came to ask you—so I can record the truth in the dossier.”

Liu Yuanxun froze for a moment.

But it wasn’t because of Hong Xiu. A month earlier, he suddenly recalled, Gu Lianzhao had grown inexplicably angry for no reason.

At the time, Gu Mingyuan had badmouthed Gu Lianzhao in front of him. Liu Yuanxun hadn’t cared about the truth of it—he simply despised Gu Mingyuan’s behavior and thus sided with Gu Lianzhao.

Later, when Gu Lianzhao asked if he “believed it,” Liu Yuanxun had lied. Gu Lianzhao’s face had darkened instantly, and he stormed out.

Back then, Liu Yuanxun had only thought Gu Lianzhao’s temper odd, giving it no deeper thought. But now, voicing that same question—”You believed her?”—he vaguely understood Gu Lianzhao’s feelings at the time. He had been hoping. And when hope fell through, anger followed.

Liu Yuanxun pressed his lips together and quietly explained what Hong Xiu had seen. “That year, at the palace night banquet, Wang Yuyin was there too. I felt unwell, so I showed my face and retreated to the side hall to rest. Not long after, Wang Yuyin slipped in quietly…”

An occasion like a palace night banquet wouldn’t include a momo in tow, and with no mother beside her, the girl panicked completely when her monthly courses arrived suddenly. With no one to turn to and before the blood could stain her skirt, she hurried to the side hall to change clothes—which was when she ran into Liu Yuanxun.

“This was the palace. Naturally, she couldn’t borrow suitable garments from her maid. My own position was delicate, so I couldn’t lend her anything. I could only cut the long sleeves from my inner robe for her to pad her clothes.”

To avoid suspicion, he yielded the bed to her and stepped behind the screen.

At that moment, Hong Xiu—who was a cleaning maid in Preservation Harmony Hall—heard movement inside and crept in quietly.

“Hong Xiu held a candle, casting a long shadow. Wang Yuyin, startled, instinctively shrank toward me. I wasn’t well myself and couldn’t steady her, so we both tumbled to the floor. She ended up in my lap. Then came a cry from outside—the candle went out, and the maid with it vanished.”

That maid must have been Hong Xiu.

“If she’d taken a few more steps forward, she would have seen not only me in the main hall, but also Wang Yuyin’s personal maid. They were both young; I didn’t take it to heart, and the matter passed. Who knew it would one day sow disaster…”

Recalling that chance encounter, Liu Yuanxun felt a pang of melancholy. He never could have imagined that lively, clever girl from back then would meet such a tragic end just two years later.

Gu Lianzhao listened to the full account, his face impassive, though his mind swirled with thoughts.

Among the evidence Wang Mingxuan had sent to the Capital Prefecture Yamen—aside from jewels reserved for the imperial family—there was one ironclad piece of proof: a length of embroidered silk brocade bearing Liu Yuanxun’s name.

The name was embroidered in gold thread, using techniques unique to the palace embroiderers, and the brocade itself was imperial-grade. Seven years had passed since Liu Yuanxun cut off his sleeve to help her. Wang Yuyin had preserved that brocade intact for all seven years.

The girl was gone now, her feelings unknowable. Even if she kept it at first out of youthful uncertainty, the fact that it lay pristine in its box seven years later spoke volumes.

…

After breakfast, Gu Lianzhao headed to the Imperial Prison. Liu Yuanxun leaned against the headboard, flipping through a book until drowsiness overtook him and he napped. When he opened his eyes again, it was already afternoon.

Time passed quickly for the ill, especially when energy flagged—one hazy day blended into the next.

Dinner hour had arrived, and the kitchen had prepared the meal, but Gu Lianzhao still hadn’t returned.

Ling Qing glanced at the darkening sky outside the window and couldn’t help advising, “Master, why don’t you eat first? When Attendant Consort Gu returns, we can have the kitchen prepare fresh dishes.”

Liu Yuanxun set down his book, puzzled. “Why the sudden change in address?”

Ling Qing stuck out her tongue playfully. “Lord Gu’s in your residence now. Calling him ‘Lord’ this and ‘Lord’ that all the time feels too distant. Besides, everyone else—my brother and I included—calls him that.”