Though the Directorate of Armaments was orderly and efficient, danger lurked at every corner. Craftsmen hauled hundred-pound ores with heavy footsteps, swung colossal hammers that crashed against unfinished blades, and molten iron boiled within the furnaces—one misstep could mean vanishing without a trace. Taking a life here would be all too easy. But to kill a court official—one who happened to be the betrothed of the Prince of Chu? The subordinate under Director Wang shivered. His loyalty did not extend to dying for his superior.
He stared at Ye Jiao's retreating figure, and the shadow beside her—Lin Jing—who never strayed a step away. Instinctively, the subordinate retreated, then took another step back, nearly tumbling into the furnace himself.
Ye Jiao paced slowly through the Directorate, pausing before each stage of the production. She observed in silence—sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking her head—her expression solemn, so much so that Director Wang's heart began to race. At the testing station for the mo-dao's toughness, several blades had already snapped. Ye Jiao bent to pick up a fragment, rubbing it between her fingers with a mixture of reverence and suspicion. Could this woman truly understand any of this?
After making a full round, Ye Jiao instructed Director Wang to prepare samples of the raw materials, molds, and blade blanks used for forging the mo-dao. These items were heavy; once loaded onto the cart, there was no room left for her to ride. Director Wang turned to his subordinates and ordered with a haughty air, "Bring my horse. Escort Physician Ye home."
Though his words conveyed concern, his tone remained lofty.
"No need," Ye Jiao replied as she took her leave. "I shall walk."
But as the words left her mouth, a carriage pulled up to the gates of the Directorate. At the reins sat Qingfeng, who tugged them taut before lifting the curtain, revealing Li Ce's handsome and fresh-faced countenance.
Director Wang hurried over, bowing from a distance. "Your Highness the Prince of Chu honors the Directorate with his presence. I deeply regret not coming out to greet you sooner—please forgive me."
He looked down on women, but dared not offend a man of power.
Li Ce nodded faintly and addressed him, "I'm here to take Physician Ye home. This is a personal matter, not an official visit. No need for ceremony."
His tone was courteous but distant—a stark contrast to Director Wang's obsequious enthusiasm. Wang's face flushed with awkwardness. That Li Ce would come in person was surprising enough; that he made no effort to conceal his affection for Ye Jiao, even more so. Had she… complained?
Director Wang felt a flicker of dread.
Unexpectedly, Ye Jiao spoke to Li Ce, "Director Wang had kindly arranged for an escort to send me back."
"I'll do it instead," Li Ce said gently.
He stepped down from the carriage and reached out to steady Ye Jiao as she leapt aboard with practiced grace. Only after ensuring she was settled did he turn back to Director Wang.
"Today, the Council of State convened, and the ministers expressed great interest in the mo-dao. Our Tang Empire stands on martial strength—surely I need not explain the importance of weaponry."
"Indeed, indeed," Wang replied reverently.
Li Ce continued, "The mo-dao evolved from the horse-slaying sword, and the technique has been perfected over decades. For problems to arise now is bound to raise suspicion. I urge Director Wang to proceed with utmost caution."
With the Emperor gravely ill and the Crown Prince acting as regent, the foundation of the empire may not yet tremble, but the appearance of vulnerability could invite opportunists.
Wang's expression darkened. He bowed low. "Understood, Your Highness."
Li Ce said no more. He returned to the carriage, where Ye Jiao sat, chin resting in her hands, lost in thought.
"You loaded quite a cartful," Li Ce said. "Did you see through the mystery?"
She turned her head and shook it. "Not at all," she said, disheartened. "I pretended to understand, but I was completely clueless. Saving face is such a curse—might as well return to the Ministry of War and admit defeat."
Li Ce moved closer, gently took her hands away from her face, and cradled her head with tender care.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
Ye Jiao obeyed. Li Ce warmed his fingertips and began to massage her temples in slow, gentle circles. He did not speak comforting words—only relieved her weariness with quiet presence.
Ye Jiao gave a soft sigh and leaned her head against his knee. After a long while, she sat up, her spirit rekindled.
"Seven days. Within seven days, even if the Directorate is hiding demons, I'll drag them out one by one!"
"Good," Li Ce replied, now working on her shoulders. He nodded with a soft smile, eyes filled with tender affection.
The carriage rolled forward, past street vendors selling grilled skewers, past a troupe of Hu performers juggling and tumbling, past the grand ward gates and patrol squads of officers, until it reached the ward street outside the Jin Prince's mansion. A traffic jam brought them to a slow halt.
After a pause, Qingfeng called from outside, "Your Highness, shall we take a detour?"
He was calm at the reins, but mildly anxious. No sweet nothings today? No stolen glances? Was the affection fading? Heaven forbid. It had taken so much for someone to care for the Prince—Miss Ye mustn't give up now.
Just then, he saw several carriages blocking the ward street outside the mansion.
"What's going on?" Ye Jiao asked.
Li Ce lifted the curtain and, after a moment's thought, replied, "Most likely, the Jin Prince's concubine, Lady Yan, is being expelled from the residence."
Yan Jixue, a concubine of Prince Jin, had been implicated by her father's crimes and was originally to be caned and exiled to the frontier for labor. But Prince Jin pleaded on her behalf, and the Emperor pardoned her. In recent days, with the Emperor gravely ill, Li Zhang remained in the palace, unable to return home. It appeared today was the day he had come to drive her out.
Inside the Jin Prince's residence, the steward handed a ledger to Yan Jixue.
"Miss Yan," he addressed her coldly. "As instructed by His Highness, all your dowry shall be returned. What can be moved has been placed in the carriages; what cannot be moved has been converted into silver drafts for your convenience."
Yan Jixue accepted the ledger, carefully reviewing the accounts, mentally calculating the total, and personally verifying the silver drafts. The steward, though impatient, forced himself to remain civil.
"Does Miss Yan have any other instructions?"
"There is one more matter," she said calmly. "When I married into the Prince's residence, I brought with me a total of fifty-nine attendants—matrons, wet nurses, maids, and young servants."
"Yes," the steward nodded. "They're waiting outside the residence, ready to depart with you."
"No need," she said icily, her pale face showing calm ruthlessness. "Leave me one strong maid. Sell the rest. Exchange the proceeds for silver drafts and hand them to me."
With that, she lifted her tea and sipped, as if she had all the time in the world to wait for the steward to complete the transaction.
The Prince's residence had only ever purchased people—never sold so many at once. Fearing the commotion this might cause, the steward hurried to report to Prince Jin.
Li Zhang was at his desk, focused on calligraphy. He did not practice for fame or fortune, but because in the dance of brush and ink, he could empty his mind. The sound of ink upon paper soothed him, giving him an illusion of control over all things.
Only when he finished an entire page did the steward dare to speak.
"She wishes to sell them? Then help her do so," Li Zhang said. "With the Yan family fallen, once she leaves this residence, those servants will turn on her anyway."
Such is human nature—loyalty exists only where interests align.
The steward bowed and turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Miss Yan is waiting in the covered hallway," he added.
Everyone in the residence knew Prince Jin had once favored Concubine Yan. Now that she was to be cast out, surely he would at least bid her farewell?
But Li Zhang made no reply. He laid out another sheet of paper, dipped his brush, and began anew, as though his heart bore no weight, and Yan meant nothing at all.
With one maid and a rented carriage, Yan Jixue made a brief return to her ancestral home. The gate still bore the imperial seal, though half-torn and hanging askew. The doors were open, the interior a chaotic wreck. It was clear that after the official seizure, local riffraff had returned to plunder whatever remained.
"Summon someone," Yan Jixue said.
She had unfinished business.