On the bluestone path in the backyard of the Shen Manor, a fierce chase between father and son was playing out.
Shen Mingxuan ran in front.
Shen Zhongcheng chased after him, wielding a stick.
The stick, made of premium boxwood and as thick as a wrist, was polished smooth. At this moment, it was being swung with fierce momentum in Shen Zhongcheng's hands—though most of the strikes hit nothing but air.
"Unfilial son! How dare you run!"
Shen Zhongcheng roared as he gave chase, his voice so loud it startled the birds under the eaves into a flurry of wings.
Shen Mingxuan didn't even turn his head, his feet moving as swiftly as the wind.
At twenty-four, he was in the prime of his youth and strength. Having served in the Dali Temple for years, investigating cases and hunting down criminals was routine for him, giving him top-notch stamina and endurance. Right now, although he didn't dare to completely leave his father in the dust, maintaining a safe distance was effortless.
In contrast, Shen Zhongcheng—
The Vice Minister of Personnel was nearing fifty. Though he maintained his health well and could occasionally still draw a bow at the training grounds, age had ultimately caught up with him.
A sudden burst of energy was fine, but after chasing with a stick for the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, his vigor faded.
His breathing grew heavy.
His steps slowed.
Fine sweat beaded on his forehead.
Finally, he stopped beneath the old locust tree in the courtyard, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Resigning himself to defeat, he dropped the wooden stick to the ground with a loud clatter.
"Unfilial son... how dare you run!"
Shen Zhongcheng straightened up, pointing at his son who had already reached the safety of the eaves. His voice was thick with exhaustion and anger.
Only then did Shen Mingxuan stop.
He turned around and, from the safe distance of half a courtyard away, bowed respectfully to his father. Yet, a helpless smile played on his face. "Father, if I don't run... am I supposed to just stand there and take a beating?"
"You—!"
Shen Zhongcheng instantly flew into a rage.
He pointed at Shen Mingxuan, his finger trembling. "You dare talk back! The matchmaking meeting last time, why didn't you go? Huh? The time and place were clearly set, and the young lady waited for you at the teahouse for an entire day! But you? You didn't even show your face!"
A flash of guilt crossed Shen Mingxuan's face.
He scratched his head and offered an embarrassed smile. "Please quell your anger, Father... That day at the government office, I was thinking about a case and got so absorbed that I lost track of time..."
"A case, a case! It's always a case!"
Shen Zhongcheng's face darkened, his voice sharply rising. "Are you still obsessing over that case? The suicide of Chen Qiming has already been closed by the Dali Temple! What more do you want? Cases, cases—you can't spend your whole life married to your cases!"
Shen Mingxuan fell silent.
He lowered his eyes, his lips pressed into a tight line.
His father was right, but also wrong. The case was closed—Chen Qiming had committed suicide and forged a murder scene, motive unknown. In the Dali Temple's files, those few brief lines served as the final verdict.
But Shen Mingxuan could not let it go.
Chen Qiming was a dignified provincial governor; why would he commit suicide?
Why choose a locked room?
Why use such a complex method to fake a murder?
What exactly was hidden behind all this?
These past few days, these questions had occupied almost all of his thoughts.
He thought about them while eating, while walking, and even while sleeping—his dreams were filled with Chen Qiming's blurred face and that empty, locked room.
Not knowing the truth behind the truth...
He truly had no appetite for food or drink.
Seeing his son in this state, half of Shen Zhongcheng's blazing anger suddenly dissipated.
He sighed.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced a few steps in the courtyard.
The autumn sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves of the locust tree, casting a mottled shadow. As the wind blew, the leaves rustled—much like many years ago, when he used to stand in this very courtyard, teaching his son how to read and write.
In the blink of an eye, his son had grown so big.
He was a good man. Though his academic talents weren't the absolute best, he had passed the imperial examinations and entered the Dali Temple. He was of upright character and never partook in the vices of wealthy playboys. Over the years of painstaking upbringing, his son had not gone astray. He ought to be satisfied with this son.
It was just that...
He was too stubborn.
Too fond of getting to the bottom of everything.
He didn't live with enough flexibility.
"Mingxuan," Shen Zhongcheng turned around, his voice softening. "I know that serving in the Dali Temple means you will encounter countless cases in the future. But you must understand—not every case can be investigated until the absolute truth is revealed. Not every mystery has to have a resolution."
He walked until he was three paces away from his son and stopped.
His gaze was deep.
"Some matters, when they should be closed, must be closed. Some mysteries, when they should be let go, must be let go. Since the Dali Temple has already made its ruling, and you are not responsible for the follow-up, why must you continue to waste your thoughts on it?"
Pausing for a moment, he added:
"Furthermore, even if you really want to investigate—you still should have gone to the matchmaking meeting, shouldn't you? Leaving a young lady waiting in vain for an entire day, is that proper etiquette? Is that the discipline the Shen family taught you?"
Shen Mingxuan looked up.
Seeing the faint white hairs at his father's temples, and the complex mixture of concern and disappointment in those eyes, his throat choked up.
"Your son... knows his mistake."
Shen Zhongcheng gave a cold snort.
"You know your mistake? Then do you admit your fault?"
"I admit it," Shen Mingxuan said softly.
"Good that you admit it." Shen Zhongcheng put his hands behind his back, his tone turning cold. "But admitting your fault is one thing; punishment is another. Tomorrow, at Qingyun Temple, you will go to another matchmaking meeting."
Shen Mingxuan froze.
"Father, I..."
"What? Trying to make excuses again?" Shen Zhongcheng narrowed his eyes.
"No," Shen Mingxuan smiled bitterly. "It's just that... my fate might be bad. If I were to marry, I fear I would bring misfortune and curse my wife..."
Before he could finish speaking.
He was interrupted by Shen Zhongcheng.
"What cursed fate bringing misfortune to a wife! Nonsense!" Shen Zhongcheng's voice suddenly grew stern. "What happened to your previous fiancée was an unforeseen tragedy, the unpredictable fortune and misfortune of mortal life. Who could have predicted it? What does it have to do with you? All these years, you've delayed discussing marriage—is it all because of this?"
Shen Mingxuan remained silent.
It was a tacit admission.
Looking at him, Shen Zhongcheng suddenly felt a heavy ache in his chest.
After so many years.
It turned out his son's emotional knot had never been untied.
That childhood sweetheart of his—they had grown up together, and their affection was deep. After the wedding date was set, his son had secretly come to him, saying he wanted to give the girl a surprise: planting the courtyard full of her favorite crabapple trees.
But before the crabapples could bloom.
The girl fell ill.
The illness came quickly and took her just as fast. In barely half a month, she was gone.
At the funeral, his son didn't shed a single tear. He merely stood blankly before the mourning hall, standing there for an entire night. From then on, he never mentioned marriage again.
Shen Zhongcheng had thought that time would dilute everything.
But looking at it now...
"Silly boy."
Shen Zhongcheng let out a long sigh, his voice full of helplessness. "In this life, how can everything go as we wish? If you become timid and fearful over a single accident, then what can you possibly achieve in your lifetime?"
He stepped in front of his son and reached out to pat his shoulder.
The force wasn't heavy.
But it carried a father's unique, weighty concern.
"The young lady of the Jiang family is magnanimous and didn't hold your previous rudeness against you. For this meeting, even if it's just to apologize, you must go—in fact, I insist you go."
Shen Mingxuan wanted to say something else.
But Shen Zhongcheng gave him no chance.
"This time, I've arranged for you two to meet at Qingyun Temple. You know the Taoist priest there—he is highly respected and possesses profound knowledge of the Taoist arts. If you two hit it off, we can have the priest read your birth charts right then and there. It will save you from overthinking all day."
He paused, looking at his son, and his tone suddenly became earnest and profound.
"Mingxuan, you are twenty-four this year. Next year, you'll be twenty-five. Round it up, and you're practically a man of thirty. If you still don't marry, are you trying to make me too ashamed to face your mother when I pass away?"
Mother.
Those two words were like a key that instantly unlocked the softest door in Shen Mingxuan's heart. A figure faintly appeared before his eyes—
Blurred, her facial features indistinguishable.
Yet, her entire being radiated a gentle and loving aura. Those eyes always held a smile, watching him, watching his sister, watching this family.
Before his mother passed away, her greatest worry had always been him and his sister.
Holding his hand, she had said with her dying breath, "Mingxuan... take good care of your sister... and... find someone who understands your heart... live a good life..."
Before she could finish her words.
Her hand went cold.
Now, his sister was married.
She had married Pei Cijing, the second young master of the Weiyuan Marquis Manor. He had met the man; though he appeared carefree, his eyes were clear, and his devotion to his sister was genuine. Whenever his sister mentioned him, there was a light in her eyes.
He understood that light.
It was happiness.
It was security.
It was the contentment of being cherished.
Then... the only one left was himself.
Shen Mingxuan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The autumn air was slightly cold, carrying the dry, bitter scent of fallen leaves. When he opened his eyes again, the struggle and hesitation in his gaze had gradually faded away.
"I... understand."
He bowed respectfully to his father.
"Tomorrow at Qingyun Temple, I will attend the meeting on time."
Shen Zhongcheng looked at him, carefully gauging the level of sincerity in his expression. After a long moment, he finally nodded in satisfaction.
"That's more like it."
Pausing for a moment, he added:
"However, just in case—tomorrow, your sister Ninghuan will come to pick you up and personally 'escort' you to Qingyun Temple."
Shen Mingxuan: "...?"
He raised his head, his face full of astonishment.
Shen Zhongcheng stroked his beard, a smug smile playing on his lips that proved the older generation always had the upper hand.
"I have finally figured it out. I can no longer control you as my son. But your sister... you have to give her some face, don't you?"
Shen Mingxuan opened his mouth.
He wanted to say something.
In the end, it only turned into a long, helpless sigh.
"Your son... obeys."
