After nightfall, the summer heat in the capital finally relented a little.
There was no ice brazier lit in Third Prince Xiao Jingyan's study. The windows were half open, and the night wind carried the bitter scent of locust tree leaves from beyond the courtyard walls, blowing through several open volumes of classics and histories on the desk, flipping their pages back and forth.
Just then, two very light knocks came from outside the door.
"Enter."
The adviser Su Ruoxu slipped sideways through the door and pulled a folded sheet of notepaper from his sleeve, handing it over.
"Your Highness, a servant from the Xu residence came to the side gate. He said he was delivering a message from the Lord Count on behalf of the Master."
Xiao Jingyan set down his silver shears, took the folded paper, and opened it.
On it were only eight characters, written in the standard court script, each stroke neat and upright, carrying a deliberate sense of deference.
"The Lord Count's residence has tea prepared, respectfully awaiting your honored arrival."
This old fellow writes the same way he lives—straight and level on the surface, always hiding some crooked scheme underneath.
But tonight, those eight characters were written with exceptional precision—so precise they didn't seem like his work at all.
Xu Youde: Heh, my calligraphy has improved somewhat.
Xiao Jingyan held the paper close to the lamp flame, and soon the eight characters were devoured entirely.
"Prepare the carriage. We're leaving."
"With the whole court watching the Xu family's disgrace play out, who would bother paying attention to an idle, disfavored prince?"
...
His personal guard Han Qi was already waiting at the base of the back wall.
Xiao Jingyan bent down and got into the carriage, while Han Qi took the seat next to the driver.
The carriage did not take the main road. It skirted the neighborhood walls and turned into three different alleyways.
Soon, the carriage turned again, this time into a narrow lane barely wide enough for one vehicle to pass.
At the end of the lane was the side gate of the Xu residence's rear courtyard.
The side gate was slightly ajar, a thread of dim yellow light leaking through the gap.
The steward Xu Fu stood inside the gate holding a lantern covered with white paper. Hearing the carriage wheels, he squeezed out and hunched over to meet the vehicle.
"Third ... young master, the Master is waiting in the study."
Xu Fu had almost said Your Highness, but the words twisted at the last moment into a deliberately vague address.
Xiao Jingyan stepped out of the carriage. As he crossed through the side gate, his eyes swept left and right.
The courtyard walls were clean—no extra figures, not even a cat in sight.
The vast rear courtyard of the Xu residence lay pitch-black, save for a solitary, lonely light through the study windows beyond two moon gates. Even the night patrol guards had been withdrawn to the outer courtyard.
Xu Fu led the way ahead.
...
Soon, they reached the Xu study, where Xu Youde was already waiting inside.
On the table sat a pot of Biluochun tea, two fine porcelain cups, and two plates of very ordinary snacks: one plate of peanut brittle and one of osmanthus cake.
"Your Highness is here—please, sit, sit!"
Xu Youde half stood up from his chair, his face plastered with a fawning smile. He rubbed his hands together as he welcomed the guest, then personally picked up the pot to refill the coarse porcelain cup in front of Xiao Jingyan.
As the spout aimed at the cup, his hand trembled slightly, spilling a few drops of tea onto the tabletop.
Xiao Jingyan sat down in the guest's round-backed armchair. He took the cup, lowered his head to smell it—the fresh fragrance of Biluochun carried a faint, astringent aftertaste.
He casually surveyed the study's furnishings.
The books on the shelves were crammed in with no sense of order. Two old, balding brushes soaked in the brush washer on the desk.
On the wall hung a landscape painting by some obscure artist from some forgotten corner, the seal mark on the signature crooked and askew.
The entire room gave off an indescribable air of shabbiness—a shabbiness so deliberate it seemed carefully cultivated.
Xiao Jingyan finished his survey, took a sip of tea.
"Magistrate Xu, this Biluochun is quite good."
"Oh, Your Highness flatters me. There isn't much fine tea left in the household."
"The other day, when that Guanghui Money House was seized, the few taels of private silver I had stored there also went down the drain. I'm truly tightening my belt these days."
Xu Youde sighed, putting on a pitiful expression.
And so the two exchanged pleasantries back and forth. They talked about nothing but idle topics.
The heat this year was unnatural. No one knew what the autumn exam questions would be. A new mutton soup house in the city that made a decent bowl of broth. Things like that.
Xiao Jingyan responded at an easy pace, occasionally even offering a smile.
That smile was warm and proper, betraying no trace of ulterior motives.
Xu Youde laughed too, his face crumpling into a mass of wrinkles as he stuffed peanut brittle into his mouth.
After three rounds of tea, the pot ran dry.
Xu Youde set down his cup.
He pulled an oil-paper packet from the inner pocket of his robe, tied with twine in three loops.
The knots were pulled extraordinarily tight, the ends tucked into the loops and pressed flat before being twisted half a turn.
The oil-paper packet was pushed across the table and set down next to the cup in front of Xiao Jingyan.
"Your Highness," Xu Youde said, his voice dropping—no longer the greasy, market-town tone from before—"this is a letter my daughter sent back from the Northern Border Garrison. It contains some things this old servant cannot fully grasp. I wanted to ask Your Highness to take a look and offer your insight."
Xiao Jingyan's gaze fell on the oil-paper packet. He paused for a beat.
He did not reach for it.
Instead, he picked up his nearly empty cup, brought it to his lips, took a sip, and asked: "Magistrate Xu, showing me this letter—does Miss Xu know about it?"
Xu Youde answered very quickly.
"Your Highness, this letter was written by my daughter herself." He paused, his eyes meeting Xiao Jingyan's. "In it, she mentioned Your Highness's name."
The study fell silent for a moment.
Xiao Jingyan's fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
He set the cup down, then reached out and took the oil-paper packet.
Han Qi's short knife was handed to him. He took it, sliced through the twine in one cut, and peeled open the oil paper.
Inside were two sheets of letter paper.
He unfolded them. The handwriting was lean and sharp—unmistakably Xu Qinghuan's.
The first half of the letter was detailed and methodical, every sentence drawing blood.
How the First Prince, through the White Wolf Valley smuggling route, trafficked Great Qian's fine iron heavy armor beyond the passes in exchange for the Helian tribe's warhorses.
The smuggling intermediary, Wei Qian, originally a servant in the First Prince's household, had been killed by Xu Zhan in the desolate sands with his own hands. The deputy general He Minghu and the imperial censor Ma Jin'an had defected with the town defense maps of the Northern Border Garrison and were likewise executed.
The whole chain of events, human witnesses, physical evidence—every handoff point and time were laid out with clean logic.
But in the final section of the letter, the strokes turned sharply fierce.
"These crimes of treason and selling out the realm are far too heavy for any single family to bear alone. The First Prince's foundation runs deep; my Xu family's roots are but shallow. If we rashly lit the torch ourselves, we would surely be attacked by a pack of wolves and fall into someone else's trap."
"What the Third Prince lacks is precisely this perfect key to the door."
"Your Highness must 'leak' these solid proofs."
"As for whom to leak them to, and how to do it, Your Highness surely understands the capital's cannibalistic rules better than Qinghuan does."
"The knife handle is now extended. Qinghuan only asks the Third Prince one question: this great gamble of cleaving the Great Wall to establish power—dares Your Highness take it?"
Having finished reading, Xiao Jingyan refolded the letter paper precisely along its original creases and laid it flat back on the desk.
The study was so quiet, a pin drop could be heard.
Xu Youde neither spoke nor urged. He simply helped himself to a piece of peanut brittle and stuffed it into his mouth.
Not until Xu Youde had chewed through nearly half the plate of snacks did Xiao Jingyan's voice finally cut through the taut air in the room.
“Miss Xu placed this knife in my hand,” Xiao Jingyan said, his tone flat, no different from when he had been casually chatting about the mutton soup shop. “She wants me to take this knife and strike whom?”
Xu Youde stopped chewing, hastily swallowing the remaining half of the peanut pastry that had been in his mouth. The worldly slickness and flustered demeanor that had been plastered on his face moments ago vanished entirely.
“Your Highness,” Xu Youde lowered his voice, each word carrying immense weight, “the one this knife is meant to strike—you know it as clear as a mirror in your heart.”
He reached out a finger and tapped twice on the table beside the folded letter.
“Now it only depends on Your Highness—are you prepared to take up the knife and enter the game?”
This sentence, quiet as a mosquito’s hum, pressed precisely on the most crucial chord in Xiao Jingyan’s heart.
The room fell silent once more.
Xiao Jingyan lowered his gaze to study the letter, his expression remaining gentle and composed throughout.
That face was like a frosted bronze mirror—smooth and flawless, impenetrable to anyone trying to see the lethal intent and scheming hidden beneath the surface.
He picked up the coarse porcelain teacup before him, which had long gone cold, tilted his head back to drink the remnants, and set it gently back in its place.
Then he rose to his full height and paced to the window.
The window was half open; beyond the courtyard, the night was thick as undiluted ink.
A waning moon was obscured by heavy clouds, letting only a few streaks of pale, sickly light fall onto the gray stone slabs.
Xiao Jingyan turned his back to the Old Lord, clasped his hands into his wide sleeves, and stood staring fixedly at that impenetrable darkness, saying nothing.
A full quarter-hour passed by the incense clock.
Xiao Jingyan finally turned around.
The warm yellow candlelight fell across his face, his demeanor exactly the same as when he had stepped through the door.
Warm, restrained, carrying a hint of scholarly refinement and seven parts leisurely grace.
Not a trace of the sharp edge of power—to any observer, he was merely a wealthy idle gentleman, well-versed only in the classics and histories, raised within high walls and deep courtyards.
He walked back to the table and sat down.
“This letter—this king has never seen it.”
Having said this first sentence, he pressed two fingers together and slid the folded stack of paper back untouched to Xu Youde’s side.
“As for the First Prince’s actions in the northern border—I am a prince of leisure who meddles not in state affairs. I neither know of them, nor should I know.”
Having delivered this second sentence, he poured himself more tea. The pot was nearly empty, and the liquid that came out was as weak as water.
“But if there should be any censor in the court who catches wind of some irregularity and submits a memorial to His Majesty, laying out the facts—”
Xiao Jingyan raised the cup of watery tea to his lips, took a small sip, and lifted the corner of his eye with just the right measure of warm, polished amusement.
“—that would be that official fulfilling his duty to purify the government. As for what comes of it—it has nothing to do with the Xu family, and nothing to do with this king.”
Three sentences landed, clean from start to end, without a trace of bloodshed.
Xu Youde silently tucked the letter into the inner layer of his clothing and made a deep, formal bow to Xiao Jingyan.
“Many thanks to Your Highness for the fine tea.”
Xiao Jingyan casually picked up a piece of osmanthus flower cake, took a bite, and chewed it thoughtfully a couple of times.
“Magistrate Xu,” he said, “the cook in your household could use some improvement.”
“This cake—far too cloying.”
