As Shen Mingxuan's words came to a close, the carriage and its surroundings fell silent for a beat.
A breeze drifted in from the river, carrying the dampness of water vapor and the warm, sun-baked scent of cut grass.
In the distance, the clatter of the cooks packing up their pots, the low murmur of soldiers chatting among themselves—all of it blended together like a thin layer of ambient sound hovering over the open ground.
Inside the carriage, Shen Ninghuan sat with the half-finished bowl of porridge still at her side. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze resting on her elder brother's square, earnest face.
As if she were both digesting what he had just said and, on a deeper level, weighing it carefully.
"So, brother," she began, her voice even and unhurried, each word seemingly chosen with care, "you suspect that Chen Qiming's impeachment was true all along, but Zhao Wenhuan and the people behind him managed to suppress it. To expose the matter, he deliberately took his own life, hoping to draw the court's attention?"
Shen Mingxuan stood by the carriage and nodded firmly at her words.
"Exactly." His tone turned grave, carrying the quiet conviction of a man who'd worked many cases. "Chen Qiming died too conveniently. He files an impeachment against Zhao Wenhuan for embezzling river-works funds, and not long after, he's found dead in his own study—in a locked room, no less."
He paused, as if recollecting the details in the case files, his brow furrowing slightly. "They call it suicide. But what kind of suicide is that suspicious? If he truly wanted to die, he could have just hanged himself with a rope. Why go through the trouble of a locked room?"
"Only one explanation makes both things fit at once—Chen Qiming did take his own life, but his purpose in doing so wasn't death. It was survival. Not his own survival, but the survival of this corruption case coming to light. For the embezzled river-work funds to be called to account."
A note of muted regret crept into Shen Mingxuan's voice, along with respect for the former Yunyang prefect he had never met.
Pei Cijing leaned against the carriage wall, the half-eaten flatbread in his hand long forgotten and pausing mid-bite.
He looked at his brother-in-law's earnest face and nodded to himself.
This line of thinking.
Logically, it held up.
In the world he'd lived in before, there were people like this too—those who could have lived safe and comfortable lives, but chose instead to use their own deaths as a fuse, to blast open the iron door welded shut by power and profit.
They weren't fearless in the face of death.
No—some things mattered more than death.
The funds for repairing the river embankments didn't concern any single official's cap or any one family's coffers—they concerned the very lives and deaths of countless civilians along the river.
Build the dike solidly, and when the floods come, the people have a way out. Build it like rotten tofu, and when the floods surge, the destruction wouldn't just be the embankment—it would be tens of thousands of homes, tens of thousands of lives.
If his brother-in-law's theory held true.
Then this calculation.
Chen Qiming had probably seen it more clearly than anyone.
So he filed his impeachment, and when that failed, he used his own death as a final act of defiance, hoping the case would catch the court's attention, that someone would come to investigate, that the stolen silver would be accounted for, and the people along the river would get a safe barrier against the waters.
"If that's the case, then the name 'Qiming' was well earned," Pei Cijing murmured to himself, his voice low, as if thinking aloud.
Qiming.
The one who brings light at dawn.
Indeed, his name had not betrayed its meaning.
Like the darkest moment before dawn, when the first star appears on the horizon—not large, not dazzling, yet heralding that the darkness will pass and the light is coming.
Shen Mingxuan heard this, glanced at him, and did not respond in words, only gave a slight nod—small in amplitude, yet carrying a silent acknowledgment.
"Now that we have a direction," Pei Cijing set the half-eaten flatbread aside and sat up straighter, his tone more earnest than before, "did you manage to dig up anything on Zhao Wenhuan?"
That question hit the crux of the matter.
Shen Mingxuan's previously composed and confident expression, in that instant, seemed struck by something—visibly crumbling. The corners of his mouth drooped, his brows twisted into the character for "river," and the whole man looked as if he had swallowed an entire bitter melon, radiating frustration from the inside out.
"No." He shook his head, his voice laced with both reluctance and helplessness. "Zhao Wenhuan is too clean."
Clean.
Pei Cijing was momentarily taken aback. The word used on an official impeached for embezzlement sounded somehow off.
"How so?" he pressed.
Shen Mingxuan took a deep breath, as if organizing his thoughts, or perhaps trying to suppress the indignation swelling inside him.
"Zhao Wenhuan serves as the deputy governor of Yunyang Prefecture. As the second-in-command, if the chief official had delegated authority, he might have been in charge of water conservancy affairs. But here's the thing—Chen Qiming never delegated any power to him."
"Based on the official records we pulled from the prefectural office, over the past three years, all documents related to water management—progress reports on levee repairs, detailed expenditures of river works funds, rosters of recruited craftsmen—were all personally signed and sealed by Chen Qiming. What Zhao Wenhuan handled were mostly trivial matters like correspondence and attendance logs."
Shen Mingxuan finished in one breath, his gaze sweeping back and forth between his sister and brother-in-law, as if confirming they had understood.
The carriage fell silent.
The implication was easy to grasp.
Zhao Wenhuan appeared to be the number two man of Yunyang Prefecture, the highest-ranking official below the prefect. Yet in reality, his scope of authority was tightly boxed in by his superior, Chen Qiming. Matters as critical and money-heavy as water management—Chen Qiming had never once handed over the reins.
He had no foothold there.
No opportunity.
In other words—even if one were to investigate this embezzlement case, linking it to Zhao Wenhuan would be nearly impossible.
It was like asking whether a man had stolen the chicken from the kitchen, only to discover that he couldn't even get through the kitchen door. The chicken was indeed missing, no doubt about it, but the thief could never have been him.
Because he wasn't the person in charge of that matter. He didn't even have the qualifications to reach in. One could say—he was simply not in the pool of suspects at all.
Pei Cijing listened, and his brow furrowed slightly.
Wait.
The more he heard about this case, the more convoluted it became.
Chen Qiming impeached Zhao Wenhuan for embezzlement, yet before his death, Chen Qiming himself was the one who actually held full control over water affairs. If he claimed someone was embezzling, shouldn't the first person to be investigated be himself? Why would he impeach a deputy governor who had no real authority in that area at all?
There was an inherent contradiction here.
Shen Mingxuan was unaware of the doubts swirling in Pei Cijing's mind. He was still elaborating on the details of their investigation: "The Dali Temple has already searched both Chen Qiming's and Zhao Wenhuan's residences."
He paused, and his tone carried a hint of something hard to define. "We found no trace of unexplained money. Both households lived in very straitened circumstances. The most valuable item among Chen Qiming's belongings was nothing more than an old inkstone, a gift from his teacher. As for Zhao Wenhuan's home, there's even less to say—he lived in the official residence behind the county government offices, furnished with old, worn-out pieces."
Shen Mingxuan let out a long sigh when he finished speaking. A deputy county magistrate impeached for embezzlement, living in such poverty; a county governor who impeached another for embezzlement, also living in such poverty.
The case had reached this point.
The years of investigative experience he had accumulated suddenly seemed insufficient.
Shen Ninghuan thought it over seriously.
Morning light spilled through the gap in the lifted carriage curtain, falling across her cheek and casting an unusual brightness in her clear eyes. Yet behind those bright eyes, a faint mist now lingered.
It was the expression one wore while deep in thought, like a person walking through heavy fog, straining to make out the path ahead.
She did not rush to a conclusion.
To be honest, the Court of Judicial Review was full of quick-witted minds, and her elder brother Shen Mingxuan was a seasoned investigator with years of experience—if they could not untangle the case, she did not flatter herself into thinking she would outdo them by much.
But she also knew exactly where her advantage lay.
His Heart's Insight.
That was something no one else possessed—her greatest reliance. Within three zhang, every thought in a person's heart could not escape her. As long as she stood before that person, as long as that person had ever entertained those thoughts in their mind, she would hear them.
Unless the other party was like Master Qingyun, whose cultivation was so profound that even their inner voice could be concealed.
But in this world—
how many Masters Qingyun were there?
As long as she met Zhao Wenhuan face to face, the secrets buried in his heart—the ones he dared not speak aloud, the ones he could not even confide in his most trusted aides—would fall into her ears without a single omission.
Whether there was embezzlement or not.
Who stood behind it all.
The truth would come to light.
Shen Ninghuan made up her mind, and no longer agonized over the fog-shrouded case. She raised her head, looked at Shen Mingxuan, and spoke in a calm, composed tone.
"Given the current information, I find it hard to render a verdict. The fog surrounding this case is thicker than I expected." She paused, and her gaze turned more intent. "I may need to meet Zhao Wenhuan and conduct some further questioning. Some things cannot be written in case files—one must ask in person, observe in person, to glean any clues."
Shen Mingxuan nodded.
"That goes without saying," he replied. "Because his suspicions have not been fully cleared, Zhao Wenhuan has been suspended from his duties for the time being. Orders have been issued that he is not allowed to leave Yunyang by even half a step, and he must remain available for investigation at any time."
"Once we arrive, I'll arrange for you to see him."
In his heart, he knew full well that if his sister did the questioning herself, she might indeed unearth something different—not that the officials of the Court of Judicial Review had conducted poor interviews, but sometimes, the questioner made a difference, and the person being questioned responded differently as well.
The siblings' conversation came to a temporary halt, and for a moment, stillness fell inside and outside the carriage.
It was then that Pei Cijing suddenly spoke.
His voice was not loud, his tone still carrying that languid, lazy drawl—but once the words left his mouth, they struck like a stone dropped into a placid lake.
"By the way, Yunyang County was hit by a great flood, and the levees collapsed. Is Zhao Wenhuan even still alive?"
Shen Mingxuan opened his mouth.
No words came out.
Shen Ninghuan's hand, holding the spoon, paused slightly. She too remained silent.
The two of them remained silent, as if frozen solid by Pei Cijing's question. It wasn't that they didn't want to answer—it was that they genuinely didn't know how.
It was a well-put question, and the concern behind it was valid. It was just a shame no one had thought to bring it up sooner.
The flood had come with such ferocity that the riverbanks collapsed without warning. Yunyang Commandery and the surrounding counties were all submerged, with close to a million people affected. Whether Zhao Wenhuan had managed to survive the flood was anyone's guess.
If he was already dead...
Then this case would become even harder to crack.
Shen Mingxuan's expression shifted through several shades before settling into a heavy sigh.
"He should... still be alive, I think," he said, his voice tinged with a hesitation he himself didn't quite believe. "The commandery office sits on higher ground than the surrounding area, and he was, after all, a court-appointed official. When the flood came, surely someone would have gone to rescue him."
Pei Cijing made a soft "oh" and didn't press further, but that single syllable carried more than a hint of "let's hope so."
Shen Ninghuan watched her husband's expression—the one that seemed to say "I was just asking casually, no need to get worked up"—and couldn't help but curl the corners of her lips. Yet beneath that smile lurked a worry she wasn't willing to admit.
Her husband's question had indeed hit the mark.
In the face of natural disaster...
Human life was no more than brittle grass.
Whether you were a commoner or a court official, when the flood came, no one could outrun it.
She hoped Zhao Wenhuan was still alive.
Otherwise, this lead would truly be severed.
In the distance, the sound of a horn rang out.
It was long and mournful, note after note echoing across the open ground, and the soldiers who had been scattered about in small groups rose to their feet as if guided by an invisible hand, dusting off their backsides and drifting back to their respective units.
The field-kitchen soldiers moved swiftly, hoisting the great cauldrons onto the grain carts, then dousing the remaining firewood with water. A gust of white steam shot up with a sizzling hiss, carrying the acrid smell of char.
The cavalry swung onto their horses, the infantry lined up in formation, and the grain carts, one after another, lurched back into motion, their wheels grinding through the mud with a dull, rumbling groan.
The rest break was over. The company was to move out again.
Shen Mingxuan glanced toward his own unit—several officials from the Court of Judicial Review were already standing at the roadside waiting for him, some waving to signal that he should hurry back.
But he didn't rush off.
He took a half-step forward, drawing closer to the carriage, and lowered his head to look at his sister's serene, composed face framed by the carriage curtain. His voice dropped, turning grave, as though he were carving every word into her ears.
"Sister, when you go to Yunyang, you must keep your wits sharp."
His voice was so low that only those within arm's reach of the carriage could hear him: "Chen Qiming impeached Zhao Wenhuan. If there really is someone backing Zhao Wenhuan, now that Yunyang's been flooded and the court is sending people to investigate, those people might panic and lash out. Be careful yourself—don't go anywhere alone. Take someone with you wherever you go."
As he spoke, his peripheral vision caught the ten female guards flanking the carriage on either side.
He paused mid-sentence.
The women had already remounted their horses, each with a long blade at her waist, their eyes sharp and alert as they swept the surroundings. That disciplined, killing air they carried could rival even the finest of the 3,000 Elite Guards.
These people protecting his sister...
They were not ordinary.
The worry that had been coiled in Shen Mingxuan's chest suddenly loosened a little at the sight of those ten stalwart figures—his sister's safety, it seemed, was in better hands than his own!
He averted his gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, but in the end, he swallowed the words he had nearly spoken.
“All right, I understand.” Shen Ninghuan looked at her brother’s hesitant expression and gave a small nod. “Brother, you must be careful too.”
Shen Mingxuan said nothing more. He simply glanced once more at his sister, then once more at his brother-in-law, before turning and striding off toward the group from the Dali Court in the distance.
Pei Cijing watched his brother-in-law walk away until he was out of sight. He straightened up from the carriage wall, brushed at the nonexistent dust on his robes, picked up the remaining half of the flatbread, and continued chewing. The bread had gone cold by now; it was no longer as soft as it had been when warm, but it was still edible enough, and the wheaty aroma lingered.
As he chewed, he mumbled through a mouthful of bread: “Wife, don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
Shen Ninghuan watched him eat and talk at the same time, unable to stop a soft smile from curving her lips. She said nothing, only letting out a gentle “Mm” — a sound that carried both warmth and a hint of quiet emotion.
The horn sounded once more.
The column began to move slowly forward.
The cavalry of the Third Battalion split into two sections, one in front and one behind, flanking the grain carts and the carriage as they resumed their progress along the official road.
Horses’ hooves struck the damp ground with a steady rhythm, a patter that mingled with the creaking rumble of wagon wheels and echoed far across the open fields.
Pei Cijing leaned against the carriage wall, shoved the last piece of flatbread into his mouth, and chewed. He swallowed, then picked up his water pouch and took a long drink, letting out a deep breath.
He stoppered the pouch and put it back in its place. Turning his head, he glanced at Shen Ninghuan through the curtain he had pushed aside.
His wife sat upright in the carriage, the woven casket at her side. Her gaze rested on the fields slowly sliding past the window. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking; her expression was calm, but there was a faint trace of contemplation between her brows.
She hadn’t noticed her husband’s gaze.
Pei Cijing looked away, settled back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
The wheels rumbled on, steady and rhythmic, like some ancient, tireless metronome measuring the distance from the capital to Yunyang, and equally measuring the distance from truth to lies.
Over six hundred li.
Still more than a dozen days of travel ahead.
He didn’t know what awaited him in Yunyang, whether Zhao Wenhuan was still alive, or how many people and how many secrets lay buried beneath this corruption case.
But he knew one thing.
Whatever lay ahead, he and his wife would face it together.
The curtain was lifted by a gust of wind, and a shaft of afternoon sunlight slipped through the gap, falling across Pei Cijing’s closed eyes, warm and pleasant.
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
Then, amid the rumbling wheels, slowly, slowly, he drifted into a shallow doze.
