She bit down fiercely, like a trapped wild beast resisting the hunter's grasp. Li Jing clenched his pain and quickened his pace. Along the way, servants and maids hurriedly lowered their heads and stepped aside, clearing a path for them. Amid their startled and anxious gazes lurked embarrassed, shy smiles.
Entering the inner chamber, Li Jing muttered in a muffled plea, "Let go, let go—quickly, release me!" Cui Jin'er parted her pearly teeth slightly and pressed soft kisses against his neck. A shiver of warmth ran through him. Gently, he laid her down on the bed, his anger dissipating.
"Look at you!" he chided, "Where is the dignity of a princess consort now?"
"You like it this way, don't you?" Cui Jin'er nestled into the embroidered quilt. "You used to enjoy the pleasure houses—weren't all those courtesans just as seductive?"
That, however, was a different matter. The courtesans feigned the airs of refined ladies, but his princess consort, the true noblewoman, was shamelessly provocative when arousing desire. Thoughts of Li Chen and Li Ce sent a cold sweat down Li Jing's back. When this woman lost her mind, she might truly put a green hat on him.
Feigning composure, Li Jing slid his right hand into Cui Jin'er's robe, resting it upon her faintly rounded belly. He sighed helplessly, "For the child's sake, I won't hold it against you. But what of Second Brother? How do we save him?"
"No need," Cui Jin'er pressed his hand to still it, "Remember this: what Second Brother cannot accomplish, neither can you. Reckless attempts only cause more chaos. Better to write to Prince Chu and ask for his counsel. He's far wiser than you."
Li Jing grumbled reluctantly, then flung himself onto the bed, shouting, "Prince Chu! Prince Chu! Don't you dare think anything of him—Xiao Jiu is mine! Don't ruin our relationship!"
"What nonsense!" Cui Jin'er gripped his shoulder and twisted sharply, "Xiao Jiu belongs to Jiao Jiao. Who do you think you are?"
Though the couple bickered, Li Jing still dispatched messengers on swift horses to Jinzhou. By the next day, a reply arrived. Li Ce, untrained in calligraphy, had learned by copying stone inscriptions since childhood—his strokes wild, unrestrained, yet sharp. Yet the letter bore only two characters: "Wait home."
"Wait home," as if an elder brother admonishing a wayward, dull sibling. It wasn't that Li Ce was unwilling to write more—he was simply overwhelmed with affairs.
The rain and wind in Jinzhou had not ceased with the discovery of the crossbows. Evidence suggested the bows in the hands of villagers from Dahuaishu were planted to provoke trouble. Given this, Li Ce conferred with Jinzhou's magistrate, Zhou Ci, proposing that apart from those guilty of fatal brawling, the rest of the villagers might be released. This would both stabilize morale and avoid disrupting spring farming.
Stroking his goat's beard, Zhou Ci readily agreed. Many villagers had been punished, some barely able to walk. To appear benevolent before Li Ce, Zhou Ci ordered his officers to deliver a pardon notice to Dahuaishu a day in advance, instructing the villagers to come to the prefecture office early the next morning for their release.
That night, firecrackers in Dahuaishu blazed until dawn. Skilled carpenters even carved a longevity tablet overnight, prepared for temple offerings.
Yet the next day, events took a dire turn. Villagers trekked two hours on foot to the prefecture office, only to find its gates stubbornly shut. By evening, desperate villagers smashed the doors, prompting the chief clerk to emerge and explain.
They were told a grave incident had occurred in the prison the previous night. The investigation was incomplete; thus, no one could be released.
"What incident? Does the prefecture go back on its word?"
"Yes! You promised we could take them home, so what excuse is this now?"
Elderly parents berated furiously, spitting curses. Women clutching children comforted their wailing young while cautiously pushing forward.
"Not today? When then?"
"Please, officials, let us take them home!"
Surrounded, the chief clerk was pulled and shoved, faces pressing close. Torn garments and lost shoes littered the ground. In desperation, he shouted, "They're all dead! What's there to take home?"
His words plunged the courtyard into stunned silence.
Stammering, he disclosed the grim truth: over a hundred prisoners in Jinzhou's jail had perished overnight, all without exception. The cause was poison in their meals. The culprit and motive remained unknown.
Thus, even if they were to be taken, it would only be in death.
Shock soon gave way to anguished wails outside the prefecture gates.
The villagers cared not who poisoned them. They admitted to hiding arms and fighting in crowds. They accepted their loved ones beaten nearly to death, teetering on the brink. But only yesterday, officials claimed their innocence and promised release—now they were all gone.
They were no mere "hundred prisoners" but sons, husbands, fathers—living souls, blameless.
Did a higher rank grant the power to trample human life with impunity? They were not the prefecture office; they were the gates of hell!
"Smash this hellhole!" The mob surged forward, toppling the chief clerk, trampling him as they stormed the prefecture, seeking the prison and their kin's remains.
The morgue had no space. All the bodies lay stiff and lifeless in the cells, faces frozen with foam or vomit.
Meanwhile, magistrate Zhou Ci cowered in a residence a mile away where Prince Li Ce lodged, his face crumpled in despair.
"Why? Why has this happened?" he murmured, a refrain repeated three hundred times.
The Hedong Circuit Governor Zheng Feng'an was present, his face icy and grim. He shook his head: "Never has anyone been so arrogant. Nor has any magistrate been as foolish and incompetent as you."
Though colleagues, they usually spared each other's dignity, but today Zheng Feng'an's rebuke was scathing.
"I'm willing to face trial at the Dali Temple, accept dismissal and exile to the frontier swamps, but I want to understand clearly! What is going on? Your Highness, Prince Chu, speak!"
Seated at his desk, Li Ce raised his head, expression calm as ever, yet his deep autumn-pool eyes brimmed with the gathering storm of devastation. Closing the map before him, he ignored Zhou Ci's question and addressed Zheng Feng'an:
"How many soldiers are currently under your command in Hedong?"
The court official Lin Qing, kneeling and poised to draft memorials, widened his eyes in surprise.
"Your Highness, the populace is but a few hundred—surely no need for military force?"
"It is not to quell the people," Li Ce's right hand clenched as if grasping a blade, "but to defend the northern Great Wall against the Turks."
"The Turks?" Zheng Feng'an stepped forward cautiously, "No recent disturbances."
"Internal strife breeds external threat," Li Ce said without elaboration. "Deploy the troops to fortify the Great Wall. Guard vigilantly against upheaval."
"And Jinzhou?" Zheng Feng'an inquired.
"Jinzhou's affairs are complex," Li Ce frowned, but showed no sign of panic. "Deploy ten thousand soldiers to establish defenses outside Jinzhou. I shall personally comfort the populace—and I ask all of you to assist. Lives cannot be restored, but those who kill must pay."
Though he spoke of justice, no tears nor pity softened his voice.
Lin Qing stared, suspecting this man to be made of ice and stone—so composed, as if he already knew the enemy and how to strike. Such a man was unfit to be a courtier. He belonged on the battlefield, ruthless and resolute.
Having spoken, Li Ce rose and led the way out. The clash of his white jade pendant and golden tassel against his dark azure robes rang with sharp clarity.
Zheng Feng'an followed silently, his face marked by subtle turmoil.
Zhou Ci wiped his tears and walked out, murmuring, "My people... poor people..."
"What is he doing?" Lin Qing, unwilling to follow, blinked dryly and asked Qing Feng.
"Warming up," Qing Feng replied, "Preparing to raise a public outcry before the people."
Lin Qing snorted, shaking his head, already composing his memorial: Inept and hypocritical officials—how does the Great Tang tolerate such fools? He would report them immediately.
As Minister of War Jiang Min remarked, Ye Jiao was the lowest-ranked official in the entire administration. Yet surprisingly, no one ordered her to fetch tea or serve. Such duties fell to several fourth-rank officials new to the government, notably two surnamed Lu, who diligently ensured the tea was warm and accompanied by throat-soothing ginger candies at every cough.
Knowing they were waited upon even in their own offices, their earnestness seemed all the more precious.
Prince Wei Li Chen was easy to get along with. Upon meeting Ye Jiao, he laughed, clutching his ribs jokingly, "My wounds have healed, Doctor Ye. Still wish to spar?"
Though Ye Jiao disliked him, his lack of troublemaking eased her.
One day, however, an official accidentally overturned a full teapot. Water surged like a tidal wave, cascading from the desk and soaking Ye Jiao.
Reflexively, she slipped her hand into her sleeve, feeling the square gold badge there.
Voices of officials whispered around her.
"Doctor Ye, better change into dry clothes."
So drenched, it was indeed necessary.
She stepped briskly outside, asking the palace maids standing nearby, "
Where is Lady Wei?"
"The Consort is in the garden, the best place to dry in the sunshine."
The garden was unusually lively. Princely concubines and officials mingled, the air thick with gossip and intrigue.
Ye Jiao found Lady Wei seated beneath a plum tree, her pale face flushed, with a delicate gold hairpin resting on a stone bench.
Lady Wei smiled warmly, "Come, Doctor Ye. The spring sun is kind. Dry your robes here and rest a moment."
Though the golden sunlight warmed her skin, Ye Jiao's heart remained guarded. She sensed the hidden currents beneath the court's tranquil surface—struggles that could overturn lives like fragile paper boats.
After drying off, she bowed gracefully and said, "Thank you, Consort."
Lady Wei's eyes glittered. "Our prince needs a healer who can face hardships without faltering. I trust you, Doctor Ye."
The promise felt weighty, a thread woven into the tapestry of power and fate that would soon unravel across Jinzhou and beyond.