The timber shop owner claimed this rosewood was exceedingly rare. As rosewood was traditionally used in herbal medicine and large logs were often requisitioned by the court, it was near impossible for ordinary people to obtain fine wood. This time, however, they were in luck—someone willingly sold a private stash. Delighted, the shop transported the timber into the capital overnight, hoping to sell it for a handsome profit. Yet the very next day, Bai Xianyu arrived.
"When Captain Bai wants to buy, how could we possibly refuse?" the shopkeeper said. "But he insisted the matter remain secret. He paid in full and even asked us to report it to the authorities—without ever mentioning his name."
The shopkeeper glanced nervously at the blade pressed to his throat. Steadying the knife's edge with his palm, he pleaded, "Please, Lord Marshal, have mercy on a humble merchant. It's hard enough to make a living. We dare not offend any of you officials."
Indeed, he wasn't worth the anger. Ye Jiao delayed withdrawing her blade—not out of an intent to harm, but out of sheer astonishment.
Now she understood why Bai Xianyu had shown sudden interest in the city gate records before the New Year, even offering to deliver them personally several times. He had been watching for the arrival of the rosewood. The man who "willingly" sold the timber had likely been planted by him. With such arrangements, the timber's entry into the capital appeared legitimate—no trace leading to Bai Xianyu, and certainly none implicating a certain ambitious prince.
Who was it? For whom was Bai Xianyu working? Prince Jin, Li Zhang, or Prince Wei, Li Chen?
In the past, Ye Jiao might have stormed up to Bai Xianyu, seized him by the ear, and demanded an explanation. But after this past year of trials, she had learned caution and patience. She now carefully analyzed his motives.
She had stolen the title of Marshal from him; perhaps he wished to reclaim status. Or perhaps he sought a powerful backer for his family. In that case, Li Zhang seemed the most likely—he was the legitimate son of the emperor and the strongest contender for the throne.
Yet mere speculation would not bring justice upon Li Zhang. She needed proof—starting from the eaves, and from the Ministry of Works. She had to demonstrate that the timber used in the renovation had been switched, and that the mastermind behind it all was none other than Prince Jin.
Though the Ministry was on recess, Ye Jiao still found Assistant Minister Zhang Jinzhi. In his thirties, Zhang sported a thick black beard that made him look a decade older. Meticulous in all things, he always carried blueprints in his sleeve, ready for consultation. He was a man skilled in engineering but inept at politics. The renovation of the Circular Mound Altar had been under his charge.
Seeing Ye Jiao, he paled, knowing she came with accusations.
"Is His Highness the Prince of Chu well?" he asked quickly. "I was just about to visit him—hadn't yet set off, when you arrived."
Though his rank far surpassed hers, his tone was courteous.
Ye Jiao softened. "Since you ask, I won't conceal it," she said. "He is not well. His life hangs by a thread."
Zhang Jinzhi's face contorted with worry. He rubbed his thigh awkwardly, clearly uneasy. "Has the imperial physician seen him? He must be treated with utmost care. Though the Grand Minister of Ceremonies claims the falling eaves were a divine test, I am no believer in such mysticism. I suspect it resulted from an uneven distribution of weight due to altered blueprints. I should have confessed—but as you know, the matter concerns auspicious omens…"
A matter of celestial favor, a matter tied to the Empire's glory—thus, even wounded, Li Ce refused to let Ye Jiao expose the truth at the scene. And others, though guilty, dared not confess and risk incurring the emperor's wrath.
But Ye Jiao could not tolerate the rot hiding beneath flawless skin.
"Assistant Minister Zhang," she said, "have you considered that the eaves might not be camphorwood at all, but something heavier—like rosewood?"
Zhang's mouth fell open, nostrils flaring, beard trembling, his back stiffened in shock. "Impossible! If it were rosewood, the brackets would have snapped!"
He began to pace, considering the possibility, but shook his head repeatedly. "No, no… The hardness of camphor and rosewood is entirely different. If it were rosewood, the carvers would've noticed first."
"What if," Ye Jiao asked quietly, "someone stole the Ministry's blueprints, carved a duplicate eave out of rosewood, and swapped it for the original camphor?"
After all, carving wasn't exclusive to the Ministry. With the blueprints, anyone could replicate the design. Once lacquered and painted, the timber's natural texture and hue would be hidden, leaving no way to distinguish the wood.
"Then…" Zhang looked at her, lips trembling. "Then that would be a capital crime—deliberately causing a collapse to harm His Majesty. If so, I would be guilty as well. Do you have any proof, Marshal?"
"The evidence is in Daxingshan Temple," Ye Jiao said solemnly, rising to her feet.
The proof lay in the eaves enshrined as a sacred relic. Zhang Jinzhi, trembling, followed her to the temple. Along the way, he was visibly anxious, wiping his sweaty palms on his robes again and again.
The temple had cleared an entire hall for the sacred object, placing it atop an ornate jade pedestal. Worshippers crowded inside, filling the offering box with copper coins.
Ye Jiao scanned the crowd coldly, then declared, "Marshal's Office inspection—please vacate the hall."
"Keep your voice down," Zhang whispered urgently. "We don't want people to know we were here."
"It's fine," Ye Jiao replied. "I invoked fire safety inspections today—every temple and shrine in the capital is being checked. I am here with full authority."
Zhang nodded. "Indeed. Marshal Ye is thorough as always."
As the people filed out, Ye Jiao shut the hall doors. "Assistant Minister Zhang, all of this—for a piece of wood."
That wood was irrefutable proof, evidence the eaves had been replaced. Once Zhang confirmed it, she could investigate the Ministry thoroughly—trace the timeline, uncover the scheme. Even if it angered the emperor, she would petition the court. Li Ce could not bleed in vain. She would be the retribution others feared.
Zhang nodded solemnly and pulled a rasp from his sleeve. He approached the eaves, studying them carefully. "This craftsmanship is ours," he muttered.
"Please confirm again," Ye Jiao said.
Zhang lifted the rasp, chose an inconspicuous spot, and scraped away the paint and lacquer. He examined it closely, even sniffing it. His face turned red—then flooded with relief and joy. "Camphorwood! It's camphorwood! Marshal, your concerns were unfounded!"
Ye Jiao stood frozen, stunned—just as Li Ce had been when he first discovered a missing bracket.
"How could this be?" she murmured.
She stepped forward, rasping at several more spots.
"Look at the grain," Zhang said. "Straight and fine, with a cool, pungent scent—this is unmistakably camphor. Rosewood has twisted, distinctive 'ox-hair' patterns."
He mimed the rosewood grain and slapped his chest. "Marshal, you nearly scared me to death."
Ye Jiao stood like a statue, at a loss for words. Had her reasoning been so completely wrong?
Zhang laughed heartily, then took his leave. "I must go—my heart is still racing. But worry not, Marshal Ye, I won't speak a word of your suspicion. Let us both live in peace and enjoy the new year."
As he opened the doors, the crowd surged back in, kneeling, praying devoutly.
"May the heavens bless us with fair weather and bountiful harvests."
"May my son pass the imperial exams."
"May our home be safe. May my husband's health…"