The last drops of rain dripped from the eaves onto the moss-covered stone bricks, startling a few sparrows perched on the branches. The birds twisted their necks, peering around with curiosity, as if investigating their surroundings.
He Xingzhi was much like those sparrows—both curious and bewildered as she took in her surroundings. The room was so quiet that even the chirping of crickets outside the window could be heard with startling clarity. Swallowing hard, she turned her gaze back to Song Huaijing, who sat across from her.
He sat upright, meticulously preparing the tea with slow, deliberate movements. Though his clothes and hair had been dampened by the hurried walk earlier, he now appeared neat and composed.
Back in the small accounting room, after Song Huaijing had exchanged a few words with Lu Jueming, several burly men had carried out a corpse right before He Xingzhi’s eyes. At her insistence, they had managed to avoid disturbing the rest of the inn’s patrons. Then, amidst the clamor of music and revelry, she had been escorted to an interrogation room.
Unexpectedly, it was not Lu Jueming who questioned her, but Song Huaijing.
She wasn’t in a government office or an interrogation hall of the Ministry of Justice—instead, she had been brought to a private room in the official teahouse across from the county office. Witness interrogations often employed such gentle methods, and since He Xingzhi was indeed innocent, she found herself seated in what was arguably the finest private room the teahouse had to offer.
Innocent or not, He Xingzhi had no idea what was even happening.
First, she had nearly been killed. Then, someone had attempted suicide right in front of her, abruptly thrusting her into the heart of some unfolding drama.
This was, by all accounts, the first time He Xingzhi had ever been interrogated. A vague unease settled in her chest, though her confusion outweighed her nervousness.
What kind of case required both the Minister of Justice and the Vice Director of the Secretariat to intervene?
She lifted her head, quietly studying the man before her.
He Xingzhi hadn’t studied history in nearly a decade, but she had common sense—the Vice Director of the Secretariat wasn’t exactly the kind of official who handled investigations. At most, he might oversee cases involving high-ranking officials.
She was a law-abiding citizen. Murder and arson were out of the question—her Golden Joy Inn didn’t even dare sell leftovers from the previous day. What crime could she possibly have committed to warrant Song Huaijing personally interrogating her?
Did Vice Directors of the Secretariat really have this much free time?
She blinked, her fingers nervously twisting the tassels of her skirt, the cotton fabric nearly crumpling under her restless grip.
“He Xingzhi.”
“I’m here.” She straightened her posture, her voice unintentionally louder than intended.
Song Huaijing paused, the teacup in his hand hovering mid-air. He offered a polite smile. “Miss He, there’s no need to be nervous. This is merely a routine procedure—just a few questions as part of the investigation.”
His gaze softened slightly as he spoke, his tone reassuring, though the formality of his duty still lingered beneath his composed demeanor.
He poured the hot tea into a cup and slid it toward her.
“The tea is still hot, Miss He. You may drink it later. There’s warm water here if you’re thirsty.”
She pressed her lips together, picking up the teacup and taking a few careful sips.
While she drank, Song Huaijing retrieved a coin from his sleeve and placed it on the table. With a light push of his finger, he slid it toward her.
He Xingzhi squinted, unable to make out what it was at first.
Only when he spoke did she realize it was a copper coin. “I imagine you must be puzzled by tonight’s events. Please take a look at this coin first.”
“May I touch it?”
“Yes.” His reply was brief.
She picked it up and examined it. “It’s a copper coin. What about it?”
“It’s counterfeit.”
“What? A fake?” He Xingzhi scrutinized the coin more closely. “Did this come from my inn?”
Song Huaijing took a sip of tea, mildly surprised by her quick deduction, but he shook his head.
“No. But these counterfeit coins were circulated by a group of foreign merchants who frequent your Golden Joy Inn.”
“So you’re saying these merchants used my establishment for illegal activities?”
“Yes.” He set down his teacup gently. Speaking with someone perceptive made things easier.
These counterfeiters were likely connected to officials in the Minting Bureau and even the Ministry of Justice—this case went far beyond mere counterfeit currency.
He briefly explained the situation to He Xingzhi.
Finally, she understood the whole story.
Over the past few months, counterfeit coins had appeared not just in the capital but throughout the Zhao Dynasty.
The foreign merchants had colluded with corrupt officials, minting fake coins not only for profit but to destabilize the livelihoods of ordinary people, disrupting the fragile peace the Zhao Dynasty had only just begun to restore after years of turmoil.
The black-clad man they had captured tonight had been a key witness—someone who might have revealed the mastermind behind the scheme. Unfortunately, he was a dead man walking, choosing suicide over capture. The trail had gone cold.
“We know you had no involvement in this counterfeit coin scheme. You’re innocent. But we’ll need your cooperation in the coming days.”
He Xingzhi set the coin down. The forgery was so convincing that even she couldn’t tell the difference. The thought that her inn might have unknowingly accepted fake coins made her blood boil.
Money would never betray her—but human greed was another matter entirely.
“Alright… but what can I do?”
“Miss He, you’re from Nanzhou County, and you’ve only recently arrived in the capital?”
She frowned slightly at the sudden shift in topic but nodded. “Yes, though I plan to stay in the capital long-term.”
Song Huaijing’s gaze lingered on her. Long before tonight, he had already investigated her thoroughly.
“What a coincidence. I’m also from Nanzhou County. We’re fellow townspeople.”
“Oh! That is a coincidence.” She blinked in surprise.
Her knowledge of Song Huaijing was limited to rumors from Hongdou and Cui Xizhen—that he was a good official, that he had a mysterious late wife.
“Miss He, there’s no need to be nervous. Right now, I just need to verify your identity for the records—your full name, age, place of origin, and a brief account of your family.”
As he spoke, she watched him pick up a brush and jot down a few characters.
“Miss He, born on the day of Jinghe 6’s Awakening of Insects—that would make you twenty-four this year?”
She nodded. The game had set her age to match her real-life one.
But Song Huaijing’s hand stilled mid-stroke. “Is your birth year correct?”
“It’s not wrong. I really am twenty-four.”
She couldn’t remember imperial reign names, but she certainly wouldn’t misremember her own age.
His long lashes trembled slightly. The warm glow of the candlelight cast their shadows across his face like a veil of gloom.
His A’Zhi had been born in the third year of Jinghe. If she were still alive, she would be twenty-seven now.
Unbidden, Song Huaijing recalled the first time he had seen A’Zhi—she had been just thirteen or fourteen, small and thin, like a tender sprout.
From youth to now, nearing thirty, he always told outsiders that He Xingzhi was his childhood sweetheart, his childhood friend. But in truth, they only met when they were thirteen or fourteen—too late to be considered childhood friends.
Yet Song Huaijing always wished for some trace of He Xingzhi to remain in this world, always longed for their bond to seem deeper than it was.
Song Huaijing looked up at her. Even though the candlelight brightened his pupils, his gaze remained as deep and unfathomable as a dark pool. Longing, hope, and obsession intertwined, only to dissolve into the desolation of disappointment.
But He Xingzhi resembled her—so much so it was uncanny. The same name, the same face and figure, even the timbre of her voice was identical. The only difference was age.
He Xingzhi picked up the tea Song Huaijing had just brewed. Now that it had cooled slightly, it was finally drinkable. She leaned over the cup and took a tentative sip, completely oblivious to the turmoil in Song Huaijing’s expression.
Song Huaijing tightened his grip on the brush, committing to memory the indifference in her eyes when she glanced at him.
This He Xingzhi before him wasn’t someone who had forgotten him—she simply didn’t know him at all.
Suppressing the inexpressible obsession in his heart, Song Huaijing continued in an even tone, "Your parents passed away early, leaving you an orphan?"
"Yes, they died ten years ago."
"Is Zhiweige in Luoyang also under your name?"
"Correct." Zhiweige and Jinxi Tower were He Xingzhi’s two largest restaurants.
"You arrived in the capital just two months ago and have been staying at Jinxi Tower since then? Earlier, you mentioned wanting to settle here long-term but haven’t yet considered purchasing a residence?"
He Xingzhi now realized she was truly being interrogated. Song Huaijing’s questions came one after another, rapid-fire, leaving her scrambling to keep up.
She was almost afraid he’d ask about parts of her backstory she’d forgotten.
"Right, the courtyard behind Jinxi Tower is spacious, the environment is pleasant, and it’s convenient for work. Since I’m alone, I don’t see the need to buy a separate residence. It’d cost a fortune."
He Xingzhi couldn’t help but grumble—apparently, no matter the era, housing prices in the capital were exorbitant.
"You jest, Miss He. Everyone knows you’re one of the most renowned merchants in the Zhao Dynasty."
He Xingzhi pressed her lips together in an awkward smile and rubbed the tip of her nose. "Well, in any case, the courtyard at Jinxi Tower is more than enough for me."
What she told Song Huaijing wasn’t a lie, but there was another reason she couldn’t voice—in the game’s mechanics, players could only purchase shabby houses with in-game currency. Nicer residences required either accumulated points or real money.
He Xingzhi hadn’t completed many quests, so she had no points to splurge on a lavish estate.
Besides, those run-down houses were far less comfortable than the courtyard at Jinxi Tower. Might as well stay there.
"Miss He, you’re still unmarried?" Song Huaijing lifted his brush, jotting something down in his ledger.
"Not yet." She stole a glance at him.
From what He Xingzhi had heard, public opinion of Song Huaijing was overwhelmingly positive—even the emperor favored him greatly.
Though tonight’s interrogation was conducted with an official air, there wasn’t a trace of condescension stemming from their differing social statuses. He was, by all accounts, a good official.
His tone throughout had been calm, easing He Xingzhi’s initial wariness. Combined with the fatigue of the late hour, she relaxed, her posture shifting from rigidly proper to slightly slouched.
He remained bent over his writing.
He Xingzhi tilted her head, studying Song Huaijing intently.
From the first time she’d seen him, she’d found his features peculiar. His facial structure was as striking as any of the romanceable male leads, yet there was something distinctly different about his aura.
Even without a close-up view of his face, He Xingzhi felt that when he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes—yet it didn’t seem fake either.
A cool night breeze, damp from the recent rain, slipped through the window, making the candle flame flicker. The shadows of his eyelashes trembled across his cheeks.
After a long moment of contemplation, a word suddenly flashed in He Xingzhi’s mind: widower.
Song Huaijing exuded the air of a man who had lost his wife—a widower’s aura.
Widowed, bereft, solitary, alone—as if embodying the most profound loneliness in the world.
So the rumors about his deceased fiancée must be true…
He Xingzhi felt a pang of guilt. Just days ago, she’d been gossiping about him behind his back.
"The foreign merchants involved in counterfeiting will likely return to Jinxi Tower soon. You need only treat them as usual customers—leave the rest to me."
Song Huaijing recalled her expression when she’d seen the corpse earlier. Though she hadn’t been overly frightened, there’d been clear shock. He added, "You’ll have protection. I’ll do my best to ensure no murders occur at Jinxi Tower."
He Xingzhi nodded repeatedly. "Understood."
Then, unable to stifle a yawn, she covered her mouth.
"Are you tired, Miss He?"
Song Huaijing’s voice softened as he flipped through the ledger, the rustling of paper faint in the quiet room.
Distracted by thoughts of how to explain tonight’s events to Hongdou later, He Xingzhi was pulled back to the present by his voice. She let out a questioning hum.
"Ah, sorry, I didn’t catch that."
Her words made Song Huaijing freeze. Years of practiced composure were the only thing that kept his expression neutral.
Her speech patterns differed markedly from the common folk of the Zhao Dynasty. The phrase "sorry" was something he’d never heard from anyone except He Xingzhi.
In his years searching for her, Song Huaijing had traveled to every province of the Zhao Dynasty and even ventured into foreign lands, familiarizing himself with countless dialects.
Yet he’d never encountered such an unfamiliar term anywhere.
The reason he’d been assigned to investigate the counterfeit case was precisely because he was the court’s foremost expert in Persian, Arabic, and Turkic languages. The emperor had tasked him and the Minister of Justice to handle it jointly.
From the start, Song Huaijing had noticed something unusual about He Xingzhi’s speech. He’d assumed it was a regional accent—perhaps she hadn’t formally studied the official dialect and retained some local quirks.
Yet he, too, was from Nanzhou County, and he’d never heard any village speak like this.
Moreover, like He Xingzhi, she was nearsighted, squinting unconsciously when struggling to see, and when nervous, her fingers would fidget restlessly with the hem of her dress.
Song Huaijing stood, gathering the documents.
"It’s late. I’ve detained you long enough. You may return now. There are still matters to discuss, so I’ll seek you out again in a few days. Tonight, I’ll have a female official from the Ministry of Justice and guards escort you back to Jinxi Tower."
"Alright." He Xingzhi smoothed her skirts and rose.
Unbeknownst to her, Song Huaijing’s gaze burned as he scrutinized her face.
His investigation into He Xingzhi hadn’t begun with this case—he’d started digging into her a month ago.
Ah Zhi, Ah Zhi, it's you, it's really you...
