The Dali Temple prison held officials from the central departments accused of crimes, as well as key criminals from the capital region. Due to the gravity of their cases, visits were generally forbidden. This was Ye Jiao's first time earnestly requesting Yan Congzheng's assistance. Apology filled Yan Congzheng's eyes as he said, "There is something I must tell you—the thief was captured by the Imperial Guards, and the stolen goods were sent by me to the Jingzhao Prefecture. I had no idea this matter involved General Ye. I…""You bear no fault," Ye Jiao reassured him from the shadowed alley by the imperial street, her face veiled with gauzy silk. "This falls within your duty. Moreover, we were careless; your warning was earnest and well-meant."
That day, when Ye Chang Geng hosted guests, both Fu Mingzhu and Yan Congzheng warned her to be wary and keep a distance from the Tibetan delegation. She knew the Anguo Duke's residence was targeted, yet still failed to prevent the breach. Yan Congzheng remained burdened with guilt.
"Ye Jiao," he called her name, his brow furrowed with worry, "there is no such thing as guarding against thieves a thousand days straight. You only happened to be at Daxuexixiang; you couldn't have known Lin Jing consorted with traitors. And that memorial—it was forged to match your handwriting perfectly. Their painstaking scheme meant you were bound to fall into their trap sooner or later."
Defense was futile; only in a narrow confrontation could one charge fearlessly, drawing sword against the enemy. Yet seeing this maiden, the first time she donned a veil to conceal her face, stirred a deep pang of sorrow. Once she had been confident, poised, and elegant, with shimmering hairpins and captivating eyes—never before so cautious and trembling. It must be terribly difficult. She was now the sole pillar of the Anguo Duke's household.
Li Ce was right: Ye Jiao's dream was to safeguard the Anguo residence single-handedly. But to protect her, a mere Imperial Guard commander or even the deputy commander before him was far from sufficient.
"Go back," Ye Jiao took the pass from Yan Congzheng and stepped back. "Do not let anyone see you." The Anguo household teetered on the brink of collapse; one wrong step would drag him into the vortex.
"I will accompany you," Yan Congzheng insisted, heading toward the Dali Temple prison. Ye Jiao grasped his sleeve—his slim, dark ink-colored uniform cuff brushed her wrist, their warmth mingling.
"No." Her voice was low, solemn beyond all previous times. They had never been this close. She clutched his arm tightly amid the winter's sparse shadows, speaking words laden with care. "We cannot be utterly destroyed. If you go, you fall right into someone's trap. I know your heart lies with the Anguo household—that alone is enough."
A warm current flowed from Ye Jiao's fingers through Yan Congzheng's entire being, his expression moved, throat choking with emotion. She understood him, knew he cared, and that he was no coward. A fierce resolve to risk everything for her coalesced in his heart. He turned, longing to embrace her, to take her hand and stride boldly into the Dali Temple prison. Even if she wished to storm the prison, Yan Congzheng would wager everything he owned.
Yet Ye Jiao released his arm and knelt in a swift, respectful bow. Before he could react, she strode away briskly. Yan Congzheng noticed her attire today—a gown of blue. Less dazzling than red, yet like King Yue's sword, it carried an unstoppable sharpness.
Yan Congzheng turned to return home. His father, Yan Lian, had come back early, conferring behind closed doors with an aide to Prince Wei, the Fourth Imperial Prince. Yan Congzheng entered; the aide looked up in surprise and immediately rose with respectful greeting.
"So the deputy commander has returned." His tone was ingratiating. Before Yan Congzheng could speak, Yan Lian's anger flared. "With guests present, how can you be so discourteous?"
"No matter," the aide smiled, "we are family."
Prince Wei Li Chen had married Yan Congzheng's sister, Yan Shuangxu—his brother-in-law.
"My son is here," Yan Congzheng said to his father, "I wish to ask your counsel: was the plot framing Ye Chang Geng devised by Prince Wei?"
"Nonsense!" Yan Lian slammed his teacup on the table, rising to scold his son. "Have you lost your mind? Is your brother-in-law that unscrupulous?"
The aide shook his head, sensing the bitter strife between father and son, he gently advised Yan Congzheng, "Young master, I fear this time the Anguo residence is not the real target. Consider their true purpose, and you will know who set this trap."
True purpose? The Tibetan delegation colluding with the Tang generals to seize top-secret military intelligence—then—Yan Congzheng felt a chill down his spine, realization dawning: "It is Tibet—they do not wish for peace."
"Your son is remarkably perceptive," the aide complimented Yan Lian. "See? A single sentence and he understands. This is something the prince and I have pondered at length before grasping."
Yan Lian scoffed coldly: "'Raising an army of a hundred thousand, marching a thousand miles, the cost to the people and the state, a daily expense of a thousand gold coins.' How much graft flows through the offices involved? How many corrupt schemes arise? Who could have foreseen this?"
The aide added, "Victory comes at the cost of countless lives. War can bolster prestige, bring wealth, and secure footholds. There are battles that must be fought—defending the homeland, unifying the realm, establishing the nation. But Tibet—was it necessary?"
It was not. Tibet occupied highlands with thin air; though often harassing the border, it never caused mass casualties. This campaign led by Prince Jin proceeded smoothly. The emperor was pleased, and rumors of a designated heir quietly circulated. Yet some resisted peace with Tibet, whether for profit or power, casting the Anguo residence into the eye of the storm as a sacrificial pawn.
Yan Congzheng's expression hardened as he returned to the government office. He knew who was behind it all. But could that person, thousands of miles away, truly manipulate court affairs? Or were their allies in the capital acting independently, without his knowledge? Whatever the case, Yan Congzheng gripped his sword's hilt tightly. They would not succeed.
Meanwhile, chaos reigned within the Tibetan delegation. When the thief Sang Qing was captured, the guards had reported a break-in at the embassy. Only a few items were stolen, nothing serious; the envoy did not even disturb the sleeping princess. By dawn, they discovered Sang Qing had stolen top-secret Tang military documents. What kind of secrets? None had ever been seen! The envoy was drenched in sweat, hurriedly reporting to Gesang Meiduo.
"Princess, should we petition the Ministry of Rites or the Honglu Temple to request an audience with the Tang emperor?"
"Princess, perhaps we should go to the Dali Temple instead? We are innocent."
Gesang Meiduo sat composed in the hall, a faint, elusive smile gracing her lips.
"No need," she replied calmly. "There is a Tang saying: 'The pure remain pure.' Though I know General Ye, I did not allow him to gather any military secrets. We sincerely seek peace; this incident may yet help us resolve matters."
"Really?" the envoy asked doubtfully.
"Indeed," Gesang Meiduo smiled. "Have you ever seen General Ye slay wolves? Are Tang officials more ferocious than wolves?"
"He is formidable," she declared confidently.
Within the Dali Temple prison, Ye Jiao stood before the cell door, setting down the food box and looking at Ye Chang Geng seated on a straw mat. She lifted her veil and asked, "Where is your skill now?"
Ye Chang Geng raised his head, his handsome face marked by grievance and guilt.
"Sorry," he apologized, rising to the bars to explain, "How is this place more terrifying than the battlefield? How could I have leaked Tang's military secrets?"
"You did not," Ye Jiao said gently. "You were merely a bit foolish."
Ye Chang Geng bowed his head, sighing with shame. In his once-bright eyes was now a hint of calm born of hardship.
"Are you angry? I was wrong. When I get out—well, if I die because of this, in the next life I'll be an ox and ram my head to death before you, so you can eat beef for a year."
Tang law forbade slaughtering working oxen for food; Ye Jiao loved beef and longed to feast. Ye Chang Geng always remembered this.
Ye Jiao could not help smiling. "I don't love beef that much."
Seeing his sister smile, Ye Chang Geng scratched his head. "How is mother? Don't let her worry. Don't let Ye Rou cry until she's blind—I'd have to support her forever."
"Enough babbling," Ye Jiao interrupted sternly. "I'm here to ask: did you see that memorial before? The military intelligence document?"
"No," Ye Chang Geng answered seriously. "When they analyzed Tibet's court affairs, I shared some observations, but I never saw the memorial."
"Good," Ye Jiao nodded. "Did you take any detours delivering the memorial? Did you linger anywhere?"
"No."
Ye Jiao bit her lip, clenching her fists, wishing she could tear apart the tangled plot and rescue the family.
"I will save you all," she whispered resolutely. "This war has already begun, but I will not let the Anguo household fall into ruin."
The prison's cold walls closed around them. Outside, the storm was gathering, threatening to sweep away all shadows of peace. Yet within Ye Jiao's eyes burned a determined light—unyielding and fierce.