Ye Jiao did not pause for even a moment. Following the clues provided by Lin Jing, she located several of Sang Qing's ruffian associates. They all knew Sang Qing had committed a grave crime, yet each remained steadfastly silent.
"Rest assured," Ye Jiao declared, tossing a silver ingot high into the air before catching it with steady hands. "I do not require you to testify at the Dali Temple. I only seek to ask one question. Whoever claims this ingot first owns it." The silver gleamed as it danced in the air, captivating everyone's gaze.
"I have but a single inquiry," Ye Jiao continued, "Is there anyone among you acquainted with an official of the court?" The ruffians' eyes sharpened as they fixated on the shimmering silver, fear flickering across their faces. Indeed, they were privy to hidden truths.
Lin Jing had told Ye Jiao that among Sang Qing's old comrades was once an assassin, who later found fortune by aligning himself with a certain courtier. Beyond that, Lin Jing was ignorant.
"The Marquis of Wu favors us," one ruffian spoke up, "The only official we know is you. You patrol the streets daily catching lawbreakers—we couldn't help but recognize you." Like mice familiar with a cat, they even knew Ye Jiao's silhouette.
"One of your friends," Ye Jiao said, her peach blossom eyes narrowing slightly, her demeanor disarmingly casual, "is no good. When you drank together once, he spoke of 'never forgetting each other in wealth and honor,' but once he secured a high-ranking official, he abandoned you all. He won't invite you out for a good time, nor even acknowledge you on the street. Such contemptuous disregard for loyalty—what a betrayal of your past camaraderie. Am I right?"
Her voice was soft, deliberate, each word carefully sown to sow discord. Though she did not know the assassin Lin Jing mentioned, Ye Jiao understood that one who ruthlessly sacrificed lives for gold would never spare his companions. The jealousy and injustice felt by the weak were fertile ground for resentment.
Sure enough, one ruffian, his sleeve torn, spat on the ground, "Marquis of Wu, do you know that bastard?"
Ye Jiao pressed, "His name?"
This time, the ruffians eagerly answered in unison.
"Feng Ming!"
"That's his name—Feng Ming!"
"Damn it, if Marquis of Wu seeks Feng Ming, we'll help for sure."
Ye Jiao tossed the silver toward them, smiling, "Come with me… and hold your tongues."
As she turned, Ye Jiao suddenly felt a faint disorientation, as if she had become another person. When had she ceased being straightforward and instead grown as calculating as Li Ce? Truly, proximity to darkness corrupts.
"Ah-choo!" Li Ce, sharpening a dagger, sneezed. They had rushed nonstop from Ganzhou back to the capital. Today, a horseshoe had broken, and Li Ce had dismounted to wait, absentmindedly polishing the dagger Ye Jiao had dropped from the carriage. Yet Li Ce had convinced himself it was a gift from her—how else could it have fallen so conveniently? It had even saved him from an assassination attempt, and most importantly, Ye Jiao had never demanded anything in return.
The dagger was cold, but warmed by fire and held to the sun at a certain angle, it vaguely resembled Ye Jiao's figure. Qing Feng, however, insisted it was just his eyes playing tricks under the sun's glare.
Since that day, Li Ce no longer confided his thoughts to Qing Feng. There was urgency now.
Midway through sharpening, a horse thundered along the mountain path ahead, raced past, then wheeled back.
"Is this the Prince of Chu's carriage?" the rider called.
Qing Feng looked up and asked, "Who are you?"
"This is a letter for the Prince of Chu," the rider replied, producing a scroll, "My master instructed me to verify identity with the Prince's seal."
Qing Feng glanced at Li Ce, who nodded. After confirmation, the letter was handed over. Familiar stationery—the handwriting of Bai Xianyu.
Li Ce tore open the letter, reading only one line before abruptly rising. His face turned ashen, eyes darkened with fury, lips murmured, and fingers instinctively clenched. The half-sharpened dagger sliced his palm.
The horseshoe remained broken. They were still over a hundred miles from the capital.
The messenger mounted his horse, preparing to leave.
"Dismount!" Li Ce strode toward him swiftly, without cloak or provisions. The messenger, though puzzled, was overwhelmed by Li Ce's intimidating aura and slid down, weak and trembling.
Li Ce mounted.
"Your Highness, where are you going—" Qing Feng's words trailed off as Li Ce urged his horse forward, vanishing down the official road.
No snow fell today, yet the penetrating cold froze Qing Feng in place, mouth agape, bewildered. Who had spurred the prince into such reckless haste back to the capital?
For two consecutive days, reports concerning the An Guo Duke's household were presented at court. On the first, Sang Qing was interrogated and Lin Jing apprehended. The second day revealed a forged memorial, leading to Ye Chang Geng's imprisonment.
By the third day, the Dali Temple, Censorate, and Ministry of Justice officials fell silent, offering no reports.
The emperor, robed in crimson and yellow court attire, with a nine-ring belt and six-direction boots, exuded an unspoken authority as his gaze swept over senior ministers. His voice was commanding.
"How far has the investigation into the An Guo Duke's household progressed?"
The three departments' senior officials exchanged glances before Vice Censor Bai Lixi stepped forward. Stern-faced and lean, he spoke with the frankness reminiscent of Wei Xuancheng, the outspoken official of the previous dynasty.
"Lin Jing confessed to aiding the bandits by acting as a lookout but claims to have reformed and denies involvement in embassy theft. Ye Chang Geng refuses to confess, arguing the handwriting could be forged. Yet all scholars who dined with him that day assert he left for fifteen minutes."
Fifteen minutes was ample time to roam the entire Daxuexue alley and deliver a message to the Tibetan embassy.
The emperor, idly scanning the memorials before him, suddenly looked up.
"How does Ye Chang Geng explain that fifteen minutes?"
Bai Lixi replied, "He said he went to relieve himself."
The crude phrase startled the court; once, a censor would have interrupted such language. Today, silence reigned, as if a sword hung over every head.
Rumors of the An Guo Duke regaining imperial favor had circulated for months. First, Ye Jiao's failed marriage prompted the emperor to personally send the Ninth Prince to console her; then Ye Chang Geng's three arrows frightened Yan Congxiao to death, leading to his appointment at court; later, the emperor promoted Ye Chang Geng, and even Ye Jiao was installed as head of the Marquis of Wu's office.
The An Guo Duke's household prospered once more, and people felt time rewind to before the emperor's ascension—when the late sovereign deeply trusted and heeded the Duke's advice.
Now, which side would the emperor take?
After a moment's reflection, his eagle-like eyes fixed on Bai Lixi.
"In that case, how do the ministers propose to conduct the trial?"
The court grew even quieter. Even those prone to sneaking snacks or nodding off were now fearful, dreading the emperor's gaze.
This case concerned not only the An Guo Duke's household but also the war with Tibet. The emperor's will was inscrutable; one wrong word could mean death. They regretted not feigning illness to avoid attendance.
Amid the solemnity, Vice Censor Bai Lixi advised, "Yesterday, the Minister of Personnel suggested… though we feel this is rash and fear Your Majesty's disapproval."
Fearful yet compelled to speak, for once spoken, those listening must choose sides and face the fire.
At some unknown point, their reverence for the emperor had subtly diminished. No longer did they guess imperial intent; instead, they conspired with princes.
Gao Fu, standing discreetly behind the throne, glimpsed the emperor's expression—respectful yet tinged with frustration.
The emperor often encouraged frank counsel and said, "Vice Censor Bai, you may speak."
Bai Lixi bowed his head briefly, then looked up.
"Search the residence."
"Search the residence!" The proclamation rocked the court.
Who would be subjected to a search? Those with irrefutable evidence, those condemned by imperial decree, with no hope of redemption.
Was the An Guo Duke's household to be searched? Then their days of privilege were truly over.
Which official ran a coffin business? Now was the time to raise prices.
Amid whispers, Bai Lixi proclaimed loudly:
"If Ye Chang Geng is truly innocent of collusion with Tibet, no secret letters or stolen goods will be found. In that case, the An Guo Duke's household will be exonerated. The letter can be further examined, and inquiries made with Tibet."
On the day the secret letter was found, Tibetan envoys claimed the painting belonged to them, but the memorial did not. They professed ignorance of Tang's military secrets.
The next day, officials from the Honglu Temple accompanied Dali Temple officers to question a princess, who, smiling gently, remarked, "Is this Tang's handwriting? It's so beautiful."
They refused to admit guilt, and the court was powerless. After all, Tibet was a recently ceased hostile neighbor. Would they detain a princess for interrogation?
Hence, first they would investigate their own, clear the matter, then expand the scope.
The emperor's expression remained unchanged as he listened, but a vein twitched on his forehead.
He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the young man's visage—the arrow that had stunned the capital's streets and upheld Tang's dignity; his days of ambush in the northern war, severing Tibetan supply lines; his clear eyes at the imperial court, filled only with unwavering loyalty.
Chang Geng—the first star to pierce the evening dusk.
Could such a man withstand the scrutiny of a thorough search?
The emperor felt as if holding a raw bronze piece—whether to cast it into the fire, forge and refine it, demanded a resolute decision.
This was a perilous gambit.
After a long silence, the emperor finally spoke:
"The verdict rests with the three ministries."
The moment Bai Lixi's eyes gleamed with hope—search was authorized.