“What did you say? Qin Shaozong really said that? Are you sure you didn’t mishear?” Jiang Chonghai kept asking the man in front of him.
If Dai Li were here, she would definitely recognize the man being questioned—he was Steward Lin, someone she had met before.
Steward Lin nodded repeatedly. “No mistake. Lord Qin Shaozong did say that his beloved concubine went missing inside the mansion and that he wanted to search for her within the estate. He also asked you, Master Jiang, to be understanding.”
Jiang Chonghai’s younger brother, Jiang Chongjiang, frowned deeply. “A beloved concubine gone missing? When Qin Shaozong came, I accompanied them the entire way into the inner chambers. I clearly remember it was all men—where would a concubine come from?”
Steward Lin lowered his voice. “She must have been hiding in the carriage earlier, unseen. I later saw her myself. That lady is a beauty, with delicate features—clearly someone who’s been carefully groomed. And…”
Here, Steward Lin hesitated slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.
Jiang Chongjiang’s curiosity was piqued by the pause. “And? If you have something to say, say it. Don’t beat around the bush.”
“If I’m not mistaken, she was wearing a pair of leather shoes made from cattle hide.” This observation was a coincidence; at the time, he was only trying to observe what kind of provisions Lord Qin Shaozong gave his beloved concubine.
A cow—a great beast. Farmers never kill oxen used for plowing. Usually, a cow would only be slaughtered when it fell ill or became too old to work the fields. Only then would its meat, hide, and tendons be harvested.
Of course, Jiang Chonghai knew full well that many rules meant nothing to the powerful and influential, especially someone as mighty as Qin Shaozong. If he wanted cowhide, even the strongest bull could fall ill on the spot.
If that woman truly wore a pair of cowhide shoes, she was undoubtedly Qin Shaozong’s favored concubine. After all, only a man of great means could afford to have his concubine wear such fine leather shoes.
“Send Steward Lin outside to wait,” Jiang Chongjiang ordered, waving him away.
Once the door was closed again, Jiang Chongjiang spoke. “Though we don’t know why a concubine suddenly appeared out of nowhere, it’s true that Qin Shaozong is searching for someone. Brother, at such a critical moment, could this be a deliberate act by Qin Shaozong? Might he have learned something and is now testing us?”
Jiang Chonghai stroked his chin with his thick, stubby fingers. “What you say is quite possible. Qin Shaozong is cunning and treacherous, full of schemes. When he took over Rong Bingzhou, he used a terrifying spy tactic. Who would have thought that Kuang Ye, who served under him for seven years, fighting and dying for him, was actually a planted mole?”
Speaking of the shocking defeat of Rong Bingzhou a year ago, Jiang Chonghai still felt a chill.
To follow someone loyally for years, shielding them from open and hidden attacks, even risking death for them, only to suddenly betray them—first eliminating their other trusted aides, then poisoning the lord, and finally seizing control and opening the city gates to the enemy forces…
If this happened to any other mighty lord, ask yourself—would they not be terrified?
The answer is, of course, yes.
After the news of Rong Bingzhou's fall spread, the various warlords were struck with deep psychological shadows. It was no exaggeration to say that during that period, paranoia was rampant—everyone lived in constant fear, and even the regional governors would occasionally cast suspicious glances at their own trusted aides.
Qin Shaozong had managed to embed a long-term mole right beside Rong Bingzhou, a spy who had quietly infiltrated the very core for seven years. Who could say he wouldn’t use such a ruthless, undermining trick again?
Who would be the next Rong Bingzhou? No one wanted to become the next Rong Gong.
Jiang Chonghai felt a chill run down his spine.
Jiang Chongjiang hesitated and said, “Brother, more than twenty people followed Qin Shaozong into the mansion. Now that he’s looking for someone, who knows if he’ll mobilize all of them? If we let them roam freely, won’t things spiral out of control?”
“It won’t,” Jiang Chonghai replied. “The only critical areas in the mansion are the study and the secret vault. We just need to reinforce the guards there. The rest of the place doesn’t matter.” He paced back and forth inside the room. “If they want to search, let them search. Don’t stop them. If they want the mansion’s soldiers and servants to cooperate, just have our people put on a show—no need to really exert themselves. We’ll keep things steady and see what kind of trick Qin Shaozong is really playing.”
Jiang Chongjiang smiled broadly. “Brother, you really have a way with these matters.”
*
Dai Li stood beside a small pavilion, hidden in the darkness of the night. She stared blankly in one direction, her eyes unfocused. Rather than watching, it was more like she was lost in thought.
In truth, Dai Li’s mind was in turmoil.
Just now, she had tried the same tactic—snatching a lone little servant girl for questioning. She had come with hope, hoping someone here would tell her—
Yes, not long ago, a strangely speaking little servant, about nine years old and roughly that height, had come here. He kept saying he wasn’t originally from this place...
But there was nothing.
This second servant’s quarters held no sign of the person she was searching for.
Her son wasn’t here. Could he be somewhere else in the mansion? Or was he not even in this residence at all—perhaps not even in this era?
At that last thought, Dai Li’s temple throbbed fiercely. She gazed out into the boundless night, overwhelmed by confusion and despair.
“No, Zhou Zhou can’t not be here. The school bus and surveillance on the road all showed that no one got off before the bus plunged into the river. None of the windows were broken on a large scale. The driver was there, the teachers were there, the other children were there—only Zhou Zhou was missing. He must be here. He has to be here...” Tears welled up in Dai Li’s eyes.
The news had reported that thirty-nine people died in the Red Sun Bilingual Elementary School bus accident—one driver, two teachers, and thirty-six students—based on the number of bodies found inside the bus.
Yet almost no one knew that the bus had not carried thirty-nine passengers that day, but forty.
Dai Li never saw her son on that bus when it went into the river. He was gone—entered the water with the bus, the windows intact, but mysteriously absent from inside.
No sign of life, no sign of a body.
At first, Dai Li held onto a desperate hope—that her son had somehow gotten off alone midway, or that after the bus plunged into the river, he was swept out and rescued by someone kind on the riverbank.
Yet, no matter how many times the surveillance footage was reviewed, no matter how many times the riverbank was searched, even after hiring a costly rescue team to patrol, she waited day after day, and the strange dreams haunted her night after night. But half a year passed, and Dai Li neither found a body nor witnessed a miracle.
“If he’s not inside the mansion, then I’ll search outside,” Dai Li said, her chin lifting slightly as the glistening tears in her eyes quickly vanished.
She had an inexplicable intuition—her little one was definitely somewhere in this unfamiliar era.
But...
Not far off, a commotion was stirring. It seemed a crowd had gathered, and faint voices drifted over.
“Some of us will go this way, the rest that way.”
“Alright, we regroup and exchange information in half an hour.”
Dai Li’s heart surged as she looked toward the noisy gathering, then swiftly turned and headed in another direction.
Normally, the mansion would never be so raucous when honored guests arrived—unless all of this was at the guests’ behest.
He had discovered it.
To expose her lie, someone must have already searched the courtyards where the dancing girls lived. Those two courtyards had already undergone one round of questioning; a second round so soon was unlikely.
The West Garden sat at the edge of the estate. She remembered two thriving nai trees there—perhaps she could hide in their branches to evade the remaining searchers, and then, just before dawn when the sky was darkest and the guards most weary, she might try to scale the wall and slip out.
That was her only option, for Dai Li had no map of the mansion. Every step she’d taken so far had been by asking directions.
Other places—the warehouse, the quarters of the lord’s concubines, the kitchen—she had no knowledge of any of them.
*
“Lord Junhou, we found a hidden package in the rear garden,” Mo Yanyun reported, carrying the parcel back.
The package’s color was familiar—an inky black under the lamplight, with a loose sleeve dangling from one side.
Mo Yanyun unwrapped it, revealing a long purple skirt, a black upper garment, and a pair of shoes.
“Lord Junhou, could these be the clothes the young lady wore earlier?” Mo Yanyun asked. Dai Li had disguised herself in men’s clothing at the time, so he hadn’t seen what she wore underneath.
Qin Shaozong lifted one of the sandals by its strap, an inscrutable look on his face. “Cowhide?”
Mo Yanyun blinked, pressing the sole with his fingers, astonished. “Lord Junhou, this cowhide is incredibly soft and smooth—a top-quality material. Jiang Chonghai is too extravagant, using such fine leather for a concubine’s shoes to tread underfoot!”
Not all cowhide is equal; even if it starts from the same premium piece, differences in tanning methods and materials can create worlds apart in quality.
“This has nothing to do with Jiang Chonghai,” Qin Shaozong said, loosening the sandal strap and turning to touch the purple skirt. The fabric was soft and supple, like a clear spring flowing through his palm.
The skirt was scented; he caught that faint, elegant fragrance again—not overpowering or sharp, but gentle and pleasing. Qin Shaozong’s lips curled into a smile. “Such fabric—Jiang Chonghai himself probably never had the luxury to wear this.”
When the request was made back then, Jiang Chonghai had indeed been taken aback for a moment.
Looking back now, that moment of stunned silence wasn’t born of reluctance, but confusion. It was simply that he had no memory whatsoever of the name “Feng Chun.”
Mo Yanyun grew increasingly perplexed. It had nothing to do with Jiang Chonghai? But if it wasn’t related to anyone named Jiang, then how did she end up inside the Jiang residence? She couldn’t have just appeared out of thin air, could she? “But Junhou, she’s here in the residence.”
Qin Shaozong didn’t respond to this. The man gazed into the distance, the lamplight gathering into a tiny point in his light brown eyes—sharp as a gleaming blade’s tip, like the fierce gaze of a tiger locking onto its prey. “At midnight, send out search parties to the rear garden and the East and West courtyards. There might be something to find.”
Mo Yanyun’s face was clouded with doubt. He instinctively glanced sideways, habitually seeking help from Yan San, but then remembered Yan San had gone to assist elsewhere. Left to his own devices, he furrowed his thick brows deeply, forming a large “eight” shape.
Qin Shaozong ignored his subordinate’s eager curiosity and turned back to his chambers.
Mo Yanyun stood in the courtyard, muttering to himself, “I understand the midnight operation—deep into the night, when everything’s quiet, it helps rule out many irrelevant people. But why the rear garden and the East and West courtyards? Haven’t those places already been searched before...?”
Mo Yanyun had a habit: when he couldn’t figure something out, he would start from the beginning and try to find a new thread to pull.
What was it at the very start?
Ah, yes. After investigation, there was no “Feng Chun” in the residence. Then Yan San mentioned encountering a minor steward surnamed Lin, who claimed that the beautiful woman had asked him for directions...
Mo Yanyun suddenly shivered, as if a light bulb had flicked on above his head.
She asked for directions, which meant she was unfamiliar with the layout of the residence. Now, with the search parties mobilized in full force, anyone unfamiliar with the environment would instinctively choose the place they felt safest—the place they knew best.
For example, she hid her parcel in the rear garden.
The East and West courtyards had already been searched earlier. Logically, it wouldn’t make sense to launch a second round of searches so soon, especially since those courtyards were filled with beautiful women, some of whom were newcomers. If she were hiding among them, it would be far more discreet than in any other location.
Mo Yanyun suddenly understood everything and eagerly hoped time would pass quickly.
Once they caught that beautiful woman, all doubts would be resolved.
Midnight was approaching.
