It was November, and the border city had long since been frozen solid. “The third watch—midnight!” The watchman’s call drifted through the night, distant and wavering as it echoed through the empty streets and alleyways. Even his voice seemed to tremble from the bitter cold. A dog heard footsteps passing outside the wall but was too sluggish to bark. It merely tucked its neck in tighter, curled itself into a ball, and pricked up its ears. In weather like this, even without a curfew, no one would willingly venture outdoors. Yet along the base of the wall, a small, slender figure hurried past. She pulled her hood as far forward as possible, covering her head completely. A strip of cloth was wrapped tightly over her nose and mouth. Anyone who had lived in the border city knew this wasn’t to conceal her identity. It was to keep out the biting wind and prevent her nose and lips from freezing numb. Her hands were clasped protectively against her chest. Beneath her padded jacket, something bulky was bundled close to her body. Hunched over, she hurried forward, the anxiety in her heart evident in every hurried step. Suddenly, a faint sound brushed past her ear. It sounded uncannily like someone drawing a sharp breath. But in this bitter cold, with silence stretching in every direction, where could anyone possibly have come from?！ Startled, the woman came to an abrupt halt and looked around. The night lay utterly silent. Not even the sound of someone turning over in bed or snoring behind the courtyard walls could be heard. Almost there. Just another half li, and she'd arrive. The woman hesitated no longer. She quickened her pace until she was almost running. Faster. Just a little faster! The remaining snow had only recently begun to melt. Her foot slipped before she realized it, and she crashed to the ground. Both hands were occupied protecting the bundle she carried, leaving her unable to break her fall. A sharp, icy pain shot through the bridge of her nose. She didn’t even think to cover it. Scrambling frantically to her feet, she whipped around to look behind her. The street was empty. There was nothing there. And yet she could have sworn that, just moments ago, someone had shoved her squarely in the back. “Have you ever done something that weighed on your conscience?...” The voice came from nowhere. Soft and drifting, like a wisp of smoke, or perhaps nothing more than a trick of her imagination. Something that weighed on her conscience? Well... Two years ago, Wang Erniang, the widow who had lived across the street, hanged herself in the middle of the night after being driven to despair by vicious rumors. At the time, the incident had haunted her for quite a while. But the more she thought about it afterward, the more she convinced herself it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t been the one whose gossip had driven Wang Erniang to her death. She had merely... Merely said a few extra words whenever relatives or neighbors brought it up. Even if Wang Erniang had returned to settle old scores, why would she come after her? The thought made the woman tremble all over. Her voice shook as she stammered, “Y-you... are you Erniang?” Confusion spread through her, but no answer came. The surroundings were vast and deathly still. Only the icy wind howled through the streets and alleyways, carrying with it a bone-deep chill. The wind wormed its way through the gaps of her sleeves and collar, slicing across her skin like sharpened blades. Through the haze, the familiar question returned once more. “Have you ever done something that weighed on your conscience?” It wasn’t her imagination. The woman could have sworn she had heard that voice. This time, every word rang crystal clear in her ears, colder even than the winter wind, so cold that her hands and feet began to tremble. She could no longer think about anything else. Scrambling to her feet on all fours, she grabbed at the wall for support and tried to run. But fear and the numbing cold had robbed her legs of their strength, and she nearly stumbled again. The voice refused to let her go. It drifted around her once more, soft and ghostly. “Why won’t you answer? “Have you really never done a single thing in your life that weighs on your conscience? “Guess who I am.” “I-I’m not guessing! I don’t know who you are!” The woman’s words tumbled over one another. Sitting on the ground, she frantically scrambled backward with both hands and feet. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything! It had nothing to do with me! Everyone else was saying it too! Why don’t you go after them? It wasn’t me... Aaah!!! A ghost! Hel—” Her shrill scream tore through the night, only to be cut off abruptly. The cry startled even the old dogs dozing in nearby courtyards. They poked their heads out of their kennels, whining and barking uneasily. The woman’s body went rigid. Then she toppled backward limply. Her eyes remained wide open, frozen in terror. She was no longer breathing. One by one, lights flickered to life in the surrounding houses. Some residents, alarmed by the scream, hurriedly threw on their clothes and got out of bed. Others simply turned over, pulled their quilts higher, and pretended nothing had happened. Beneath the midnight sky, there was one more corpse by the city wall. …… “I heard someone died in the eastern district last night. A maidservant of the Protectorate General, wasn’t she?” Without waiting for an invitation, Liu Fu lifted up the hem of his robe and seated himself at the table. He picked up a slice of untouched crystal pork aspic with his chopsticks, popped it into his mouth, and chewed appreciatively. “I never expected to find a cook of this caliber in a tiny frontier city. This Marquis can almost taste the flavors of Jiangnan. Perhaps we should take the cook back with us. Then we’d have good food to eat on the road.” Having spoken, Liu Fu wasn’t satisfied with just one piece. He helped himself to two more pieces before finally moving on to the other dishes, all the while offering a steady stream of commentary between bites. “This steamed chicken has quite an interesting flavor, though I detect a medicinal note. Did they season it with goji berries and star anise or something?” “Oh dear, this osmanthus rice cake won’t do. Even the cook in my household makes it better, never mind comparing it to Yunlai Restaurant back in the capital.” Liu Fu rambled on for quite some time before finally realizing he’d been performing a one-man show. “Vice Minister Lu, at least say something!” He was a little annoyed, but not nearly bold enough to show it openly. There was a reason for it. Liu Fu had only been granted the title of Marquis of Ruyang shortly before his departure from the capital. Although the title was hereditary, the emperor had deliberately delayed confirming his succession. Whether the delay lasted one year or two, a subject could hardly complain. Now that His Majesty had finally bestowed the title upon him, it was clearly because he needed Liu Fu to carry out this assignment. Compared with someone like Lu Wei, who had earned his official post through merit and steady promotion, Liu Fu naturally lacked a certain confidence. Besides, Lu Wei was no ordinary official. Despite being born into an illustrious family, he had insisted on going to the provinces to study under a local master before earning recommendation as a xiaolian. Afterward, he solved one extraordinary case after another, drawing the emperor’s attention time and again. By now, his position as Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review was probably even more secure than many hereditary titles. His career was soaring, and his future looked brighter than ever. After all, there was no shortage of idle aristocratic heirs living off inherited titles. Officials capable of solving difficult cases, however, were a rare breed. Liu Fu therefore had a very clear understanding of his own position: Carry out the assignment well. Stay on good terms with Lu Wei. Return safely to the capital. Consolidate his marquisate. Then continue enjoying a life of food, drink, and pleasure. “...Say something?” Vice Minister Lu’s long fingers finally folded the notes he had been reading and looked up. “What did you just say?” Liu Fu: …… So after everything I’d been saying, he only caught the last two words? “I was saying...” Too lazy to repeat himself, Liu Fu casually switched topics. “It’s already halfway through the fifth watch. Why haven’t we seen the princess’s advance escort yet? Don’t tell me she won’t be arriving today.” Lu Wei glanced outside. Dawn was only just beginning to break. The main road into the city had been swept clean the day before, but after a single night, another layer of white frost had formed over it. The Protector General’s Office had evidently anticipated this. A handful of soldiers were already making their way down the street, pouring hot water from kettles before scraping away the ice with wooden rakes to keep carriage wheels from skidding. Liu Fu’s mouth had barely been quiet for a moment before it started up again, chattering away without pause like a sparrow perched on a branch. Of course, in weather this cold, there wasn’t a sparrow to be found. Only the Marquis of Ruyang. “Then again, we haven’t seen anyone from the Protector General’s Office either. Turns out we’re the first to arrive. Tsk, tsk... a new emperor really does bring a new court. Back when Emperor Guanghua was on the throne, I heard the princess was the apple of his eye. And now? It’s only been a few years, yet she’s returning to the capital with no one to welcome her. Whatever else you say, she deserves some credit for all she sacrificed...” “What do you mean, ‘no one’? Are we not people?” Lu Wei finally broke his silence. “Mind your words, Marquis Liu. Speaking carelessly about His Majesty and the Princess is a serious offense.” “Oh, come on, I’m only saying it in private—to you!” Liu Fu looked thoroughly deflated. His head was bursting with gossip and there was no one to share it with. He had finally cornered Lu Wei for a bit of conversation, only to be met with a solemn warning to watch his tongue. It was immensely frustrating. “Besides, I’m not wrong! As for the two of us... well, I won’t even mention myself. I know exactly what I am—a spoiled noble who excels at eating, drinking, and amusing himself. When have I ever handled any serious business? But you, Vice Minister Lu, you’ve got a brilliant future ahead of you. You’re a judicial official in charge of criminal investigations. So how did you suddenly end up as an imperial envoy, all the way out here on the frontier doing the Ministry of Rites’ job? “Or could it be...” Liu Fu leaned across the table, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “...there’s more to this assignment than meets the eye? My blockhead just can’t make sense of it. Vice Minister Lu, do enlighten me. I won’t forget the favor. And when we get back to the capital, how about I treat you to fine wine and the company of beauties at Jinghong Pleasure House?” “Marquis Liu, do you really think we were sent here on some routine errand?” Lu Wei had originally intended to ignore him, but suddenly he smiled and changed his mind. Liu Fu was momentarily transfixed by that smile, fleeting as the bloom of the epiphyllum. “Vice Minister Lu... that smile of yours is worth a fortune!” “So I’ve heard Your Lordship has a weakness for beautiful women. Turns out you’re not particular about the gender?” Lu Wei raised an eyebrow. “Who doesn’t appreciate beauty? ...Ah, no, no, that came out wrong! What I mean is, I simply can’t bear to see beauties left unappreciated out in the world, so I bring them into my household. But of course, they can’t compare to you. How could ordinary peonies ever be mentioned in the same breath as someone with your immortal grace and refined elegance?” Liu Fu had completely forgotten what he’d originally wanted to ask. Convinced that he and Lu Wei had become acquainted enough to speak freely, he turned to the rumor that had intrigued him most. “I’ve heard you’re a legendary investigator—that you judge the living by day and the dead by night. Is it really true?” “What do you think, Marquis?” “I’d say it’s half true, half false. Even if ghosts do exist, they’d probably be so captivated by your good looks that they’d confess without being questioned.” Liu Fu’s words were frivolous, but Lu Wei remained unmoved, his calm, unruffled demeanor never wavering. After a while, it was Liu Fu himself who sighed. The journey from the capital had been long, tedious, and exhausting. The only thing that kept his spirits up each day was catching sight of Lu Wei’s handsome face. Unfortunately, Lu Wei rarely left his carriage. No matter how Liu Fu tried to draw him into conversation, he simply sat inside reading. In the end, much as Liu Fu appreciated that face of his, he couldn’t stand Lu Wei’s impeccable poise and solemn reserve for long, and usually chose to ride in another carriage, or on horseback instead. Only now had he finally found the chance to talk with the Vice Minister at close quarters. “With looks and bearing like yours, Vice Minister Lu, you ought to be seated amid flowers and fine company, discussing philosophy with learned men. What are you doing suffering out here in this godforsaken frontier? And then there’s the princess... Ten years in a political marriage. No small sacrifice. Yet why is it the two of us who are sent to receive her?” Liu Fu’s incurable habit of pitying beauties and feeling sorry for himself in the process had surfaced again. As he lamented the hardship of his own journey, he couldn’t help lamenting the princess’s treatment as well. After all, she was the current emperor’s cousin, the eldest legitimate daughter of Emperor Guanghua. She had spent ten years in a marriage alliance to secure the frontier. If nothing else, the years she had given the empire deserved recognition. Now that Rouran had fallen and its territory had been absorbed into the empire, she had merely requested permission to spend her remaining years in the capital. By all rights, the emperor should have welcomed her back with full honors. Instead, he sent only a newly invested Marquis of Ruyang still finding his footing, together with a Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review whose expertise lay in criminal investigations. Calling it a cold reception would be an understatement. It was closer to complete disregard. “The current emperor didn’t ascend the throne as an imperial prince.” Liu Fu seemed to be reasoning it out for himself, though he was just as clearly explaining it to Lu Wei. The imperial surname of the dynasty was Zhang (章), and so the state had taken the homophonous character Zhang (璋) as its dynastic name. Emperor Guanghua had been the dynasty’s third ruler, and the princess, as his eldest legitimate daughter, had enjoyed the highest rank and privilege. “Back then, the Rouran in the north were at the height of their power. Their armies pressed against our borders, the imperial forces suffered defeat, and the court had no choice but to negotiate for peace. The Rouran demanded a princess for marriage. Emperor Guanghua originally intended to send a daughter of the imperial clan instead, but those Rouran barbarians learned that he had one—and only one—daughter, and that she was just entering her maiden years. They insisted on accepting none but the emperor’s legitimate daughter. The whole affair threw the court and the empire into an uproar. My father was there himself. He witnessed Emperor Guanghua fly into a rage, denouncing the court for producing no men capable of defending the nation, leaving a woman to secure peace through marriage. The officials split into two camps. One faction argued that if the dynasty had to rely on a princess to make peace, what was the point of maintaining an army? Where would the empire’s dignity be? The other argued that although the princess had been raised in luxury and privilege, it was precisely because she had enjoyed the people’s support that she ought to set an example by sacrificing herself in the nation’s hour of need... You’ve heard about all this, haven’t you?” This time, Lu Wei actually responded, sparing Liu Fu from carrying the conversation all by himself. “My father was there as well.” Liu Fu immediately slipped into gossip mode. “Then which side was your father on? Did he support sending the princess away in marriage?” “He didn’t take a position.” Liu Fu clicked his tongue. Just what you’d expect from an old fox. The old story, however, seemed to have piqued Lu Wei’s interest. His gaze lifted from the dossier in his hands and settled on Liu Fu instead. The moment a storyteller has an attentive audience, he naturally becomes even more enthusiastic. “You know what happened after that, surely.” No matter how dearly the emperor loved his only daughter, he had to face the reality that the Rouran Khagan would not withdraw his army without the princess’s hand in marriage. In the end, Princess Longkang was married off to Rouran, forging an alliance between Great Zhang and Rouran. Three years later, Emperor Guanghua passed away. His son—the princess’s younger brother—ascended the throne and adopted the reign title Jingde. Unfortunately, Emperor Jingde’s reign was anything but fortunate. Still in the prime of youth, he spent much of his reign confined to a sickbed. He died after only four years on the throne, leaving no children of his own. With no direct heir, the court had no choice but to choose a successor from among the imperial clan. After much deliberation, they selected Emperor Jingde’s cousin. That man is the current emperor, Emperor Yonghe. “The current emperor had barely ascended the throne when he seized the opportunity presented by Rouran’s civil strife and launched a campaign against them. He wiped out the frontier threat in a single stroke and even recovered Zhangye Commandery, which had been under Rouran’s control for years. That achievement is unmatched, no question about it. But if you ask me, none of it would have gone so smoothly without the planning and patience of the two previous emperors. It’s just a pity. The princess is the elder sister of the late emperor and Emperor Guanghua’s eldest daughter. Now that she’s finally been allowed to return to the capital and retire in honor, her homecoming is met with such indifference. Hardly anyone seems to care.” He rattled on without restraint. Only after finishing did he realize he might have said too much. He let out an awkward laugh, trying to salvage the situation. “Women of our dynasty remarry all the time. Princess Longkang is still not that old, though she’s a widow now, and her late husband was the Rouran Khagan... I only mean that I feel sorry for her. I have absolutely no intention of criticizing His Majesty!” He genuinely pitied the princess. Born to the highest station, she had been sent to Rouran in the bloom of youth. Ten years beneath the wind and sand of the northern frontier... Even the corners of that once-young girl’s eyes surely must have begun to show the traces of time. With neither father nor brother left to protect her, the current emperor might be her cousin, but a cousin was still not the same as a brother. It wasn’t hard to imagine the princess returning to the capital only to find that everything had changed. Alone and without anyone to rely on, the rest of her life seemed bleak, its ending visible at a glance. People always say that once a person is gone, the tea turns cold. If even an imperial princess could be reduced to such a state, how could Liu Fu not lament her fate? The more he dwelled on it, the more sympathy he felt for the princess he had never even met. Lu Wei couldn’t help glancing at him again. Everyone knew the Marquis of Ruyang was a notorious connoisseur of beauty. Between the concubines in his household and the women who adored him outside it, there were more than he could count on both hands. His reputation for cherishing beauty preceded him wherever he went. Now, it seemed, another trait had to be added to the list. He had absolutely no filter. Lu Wei raised three fingers. “What do you mean?” Liu Fu looked puzzled. Holding up three fingers, Lu Wei replied, “First, His Majesty has issued a separate decree concerning the princess. It includes matters relating to her title. Things are not as you imagine.” Liu Fu was momentarily stunned. Before leaving the capital, the two of them had been granted an audience together. Yet after the audience ended, the emperor had kept Lu Wei behind alone. Liu Fu outranked him in noble status and served as the chief envoy on this mission. And yet the imperial decree of investiture had been entrusted to Lu Wei instead. Liu Fu had known this from the beginning. He was well aware of his own limitations and didn’t feel slighted. On the contrary, if someone else was willing to shoulder the responsibility, that suited him perfectly. “So there really is more to this than meets the eye.” He leaned forward eagerly. “Brother Lu, what’s the second point?” Taking the opening Lu Wei had given him, Liu Fu immediately pushed his luck. Without even asking what the imperial decree actually said, “Vice Minister Lu” instantly became “Brother Lu.” “Second, the imperial court’s campaign completely annihilated Rouran’s main forces and recovered the lost territories. This operation was planned under the late emperor and brought to completion by His Majesty. But no matter how capable the court is, it can’t possibly know everything happening inside Rouran.” Seeing that the Marquis of Ruyang was proving rather slow on the uptake, Lu Wei had little choice. Since he had already begun explaining, he might as well go into greater detail. Though the Rouran were nomadic people, they had dominated the northwestern frontier for decades. Their formidable cavalry repeatedly raided across the border, becoming a persistent nightmare for successive Central Plains dynasties—from the previous dynasty to the present Great Zhang. They were, without question, the empire’s greatest menace. This campaign not only recovered several Western Regions commanderies, including Zhangye, but also broke Rouran apart, leaving the confederation fractured into warring factions. Although Rouran had not been completely wiped out—some remnants had fled the royal court and migrated eastward—the victory was nonetheless enormous for the people of the Central Plains, who had spent decades locked in conflict with them. “So what you’re saying is...” Liu Fu finally caught on. “The princess played a part in Rouran’s downfall?” No wonder the campaign had gone so smoothly. The long-standing frontier threat had collapsed with astonishing speed. He had heard that after the death of the Khagan Dali, Rouran had descended into civil strife. Childless, the princess was expected, under the steppe custom, to marry the new khagan. When that news first reached the capital, Liu Fu had even lamented to his father over how ill-fated beautiful women always seemed to be. Who could have guessed that Rouran itself would later erupt into chaos? It was said that the late Khagan’s uncle and his nephew each commanded their own faction, while the khagan’s former close advisers rallied a third. None of the three groups accepted the others’ authority. They fought among themselves until the confederation began to fracture, giving the imperial court the perfect opportunity to strike. Looking back now, it seemed as though there had been someone behind it all from beginning to end, quietly threading events together, linking one chance opportunity after another until the empire’s great victory became all but inevitable. Perhaps his guess had been right all along. Perhaps Her Highness the Princess had played an indispensable role in it all. Yet the court had sent such a modest delegation to receive her, and nowhere had it publicly celebrated her achievements. Naturally, Liu Fu had assumed she had fallen from favor. He looked at Lu Wei. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Lu Wei knew far more than he did. He pondered. His expression shifted several times as he wrestled with himself. At last, unable to hold it in any longer, he asked haltingly, “Brother Lu, I haven’t accomplished a single thing worthy of note. My standing isn’t all that impressive either. Yet I’ve barely taken office, and suddenly I’m entrusted with a mission of such importance. The more I think about it, the stranger it seems! If the princess really has rendered such great service to the empire... and now she’s a widow..., could it be that His Majesty might have taken a fancy to my handsome appearance and intends to bestow me upon the princess as her reward?” Lu Wei: …… He’d finally caught on. Unfortunately, in entirely the wrong direction. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Liu Fu asked. After a long pause, Lu Wei replied, “I think... the chances of that are rather slim.” Liu Fu looked genuinely alarmed. “How could they be slim? The more I think about it, the more plausible it sounds!” Lu Wei: …… “Think about it,” Liu Fu said. “I’ve only just inherited the title of Marquis of Ruyang. I don’t hold an official court post, so I’m respectable but hardly influential—the perfect sort of husband for the princess to keep under her thumb. And not to boast, but I’m young, unmarried, and devilishly handsome. How many men in the capital can honestly compare? When His Majesty suddenly assigned me to this mission, I thought it was odd. But now it all makes sense! Looking back, wasn’t he really sending me here for the princess to inspect? If she likes what she sees, I’ll be coming back to the capital as the imperial consort!” Good heavens. He might not be married yet, but that didn’t mean he wanted to become the princess’s husband out of nowhere! It had been at least ten years since the princess was married off to Rouran. With the wind and sand on that frontier, even the most delicate young beauty would have aged before her time. Liu Fu thought of his own comfortable life, surrounded by beauties wherever he went, from Jinghong Pleasure House to Bayin Pavilion. So many lovely companions were still waiting for him, and he had never once considered settling down. His parents had chased him around with lectures, and more than a few beatings, for exactly that reason. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he might stumble into marriage this way. Although there had been precedents in this dynasty for princesses and their husbands to divorce, if he were truly bestowed upon the princess as a reward, the emperor would probably never allow him to separate from her before the princess herself grew tired of him. The more Liu Fu thought about it, the paler he became. All hope vanished. In his mind’s eye, he could already see a princess aged before her time, beckoning him toward his miserable fate. In the space of a few breaths, he went from bright and full of life to wilted and utterly drained, like a flower that had had every last drop of vitality sucked from it. Lu Wei: …… Liu Fu’s expressions were so transparent, and every thought was written plainly across his face that it was difficult to pretend not to notice. Lu Wei looked away from Liu Fu’s vividly expressive face and resumed where he had left off. “Third—” But Liu Fu was no longer in the mood to listen. Slumped over the table, utterly dejected, he was already mourning the imminent loss of his carefree youth. Seeing this, Lu Wei simply closed his mouth. He lowered his head, took an unhurried sip of tea, and looked perfectly at ease. As for the third point... Receiving the princess was only the secondary purpose of his journey to the border city. His real mission was to investigate an unsolved case. A case of the utmost importance — and one that promised to be rather interesting.