Chapter 66

Proofreader : Mim

Under the reddish glow of the evening sun, as it sank into the horizon and painted the clouds crimson, a carriage slowly pulled away from the Zhu residence.

Inside the carriage, Xie Lanxu and Li Zhi sat facing each other.

“Though I didn’t know Zhu Jing personally, I imagine he must have been an innocent and lovable person,” Li Zhi said.

Xie Lanxu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her statement.

Li Zhi reflected on her earlier conversations with members of the Zhu family. It was true that Zhu Jing was intellectually impaired, but it seemed he wasn’t particularly troublesome or unlikeable.

“Zhu Qinghai had two sons,” Li Zhi continued. “The eldest, Zhu Jing, was born of his wife, while the younger, Zhu Feng, was born to a concubine. Now that Zhu Jing is dead, the entire family fortune falls to Zhu Feng. From a material standpoint, Zhu Feng had plenty of motive to kill his elder brother. However, when I spoke to him, his feelings about Zhu Jing’s death seemed… complicated.”

One hour earlier.

Li Zhi had parted ways with Xie Lanxu and approached Zhu Feng, who was dressed in mourning white in the ancestral hall.

She wasn’t foolish enough to ask directly about the brothers’ relationship. Instead, she had feigned a moment of emotional vulnerability, blinking rapidly until her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Her sudden display startled Zhu Feng.

Building rapport was Li Zhi’s forte, and she had her own set of tricks.

The key was always the same: find common ground.

In this case, it was their shared experience.

Who hasn’t lost a brother?

“Young Master Zhu, please forgive me. I’m merely overwhelmed with emotion—your family’s loss reminded me of my late elder brother,” she said, wiping away her tears as though determined to remain strong.

Through this shared loss, Li Zhi skillfully opened a dialogue about their respective siblings.

“To say he isn’t relieved would be a lie,” Li Zhi told Xie Lanxu now, recounting her conversation with Zhu Feng. “But I could tell he harbored no malice towards his elder brother. In fact, he seemed to regret Zhu Jing’s death in his own way.”

Though Zhu Feng left a rather ordinary impression on her, another individual had caught her attention more strongly.

“When I spoke with Zhu Feng, his wife was present. I tried to make conversation with her, but she acted aloof and disinterested. Regarding Zhu Jing’s death, she displayed no grief—only a faint sense of glee. As I mentioned earlier, with Zhu Jing’s passing, Zhu Feng inherits everything. Her reaction is consistent with someone benefiting from the situation.”

“Zhu Feng’s wife comes from the prestigious Duke Liu Mansion, though she is a concubine-born daughter,” Xie Lanxu noted. “She married into the family after Bai Xiuxiu. Originally, Zhu Qinghai intended to find an equally noble match for Zhu Jing but, having no luck, settled on the daughter of a merchant family, Bai Xiuxiu.”

“I didn’t get a chance to speak with Zhu Qinghai himself,” Li Zhi said. “The endless stream of visitors kept him occupied. But I did find Bai Xiuxiu’s maid, Yinhuan, who was demoted to cleaning the side rooms after Zhu Jing’s death.”

A small sparrow suddenly landed on the carriage window, its round belly drawing Li Zhi’s attention.

She watched as Xie Lanxu reached for a dried grape from the tea table and gently offered it to the bird. The sparrow didn’t seem the least bit frightened of his approach and, with a quick peck, snatched up the grape before fluttering off into the sky.

Only after watching the bird disappear did Xie Lanxu speak again.

“What did the maid have to say?”

Li Zhi snapped back to focus and continued: “She firmly believes Bai Xiuxiu couldn’t have killed Zhu Jing.”

“Why is that?”

“Zhu Jing treated Bai Xiuxiu like a beloved sibling. While their relationship wasn’t romantic, they shared a bond akin to that of brother and sister. Bai Xiuxiu, being naturally introverted, was only close to Zhu Jing after marrying into the Zhu family. According to Yinhuan, it’s absolutely impossible that Bai Xiuxiu would have had an affair, let alone plotted against him. She was resolute on this point.”

“Bai Xiuxiu is merely a scapegoat,” Xie Lanxu concluded. “The real killer is still at large.”

“I also overheard some rumors,” Li Zhi added. “The servants say that Zhu Qinghai and Zhu Jing had a close relationship. Despite Zhu Jing’s condition, Zhu Qinghai never resented him. On the contrary, he was full of care and affection. On sunny days, he would take Zhu Jing to the back garden to read and practice calligraphy. The only issue that seemed to trouble Zhu Qinghai was that Zhu Jing remained completely uninterested in consummating his marriage. No matter what methods were tried, Zhu Jing simply didn’t seem to understand. Some of the servants even speculate that Zhu Jing might have been incapable of consummating a marriage altogether.”

“As for Zhu Jing and Zhu Feng’s relationship,” she continued, “the servants said they weren’t particularly close, but there wasn’t any animosity either. When Zhu Feng returned from official business trips, he would often bring back interesting trinkets for his brother, who had never left the mansion.”

Xie Lanxu listened quietly, revealing none of his thoughts.

“That’s all I managed to learn in the short time we had,” Li Zhi said. “Ah-Li, what are your thoughts?”

“You mentioned that Zhu Qinghai often took Zhu Jing to the back garden to read and write?”

“That’s right.”

Xie Lanxu smiled faintly. “This Zhu Mansion truly embodies fatherly affection and brotherly harmony.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain over dinner.”

…

That evening, Mansions across the capital celebrated Winter Solstice with lavish feasts.

The Li Mansion, now bustling with life, gathered around a large round table. At its center was a three-legged bronze hotpot, steam rising from the bubbling broth within. Plates of fresh vegetables, mushrooms, thinly sliced rabbit, lamb, and venison surrounded the table.

Li Zhi’s younger brother, Li Xiangsheng, was wolfing down food, while her sister, Li Cien, was attempting to cook pear slices in the hotpot—an experimental new technique. Meanwhile, Hei Huo was busy murmuring prayers over the fire beneath the pot, though Li Zhi had no idea what deity he was praying to. Jia Sui and Jia He were engrossed in a discussion about the day’s market prices.

Everyone seemed absorbed in their own little worlds, yet together they formed a lively, harmonious whole.

Li Zhi sat beside Xie Lanxu, watching as he haphazardly mixed various condiments into his dipping sauce, seemingly intent on concocting some new flavor experiment, much like her sister with the pears.

It made her suspect he really had never eaten hotpot before.

She stopped him before he could ruin his meal, emptied his over-seasoned bowl, and prepared a fresh dipping sauce for him.

“Hotpot on Winter Solstice is all about enjoying the freshness of the ingredients,” she said with a smile, setting the sauce dish back in front of him. “The dipping sauce should complement and not overpower.”

Xie Lanxu took her advice and carefully placed a slice of rabbit meat into the pot.

The meat, sliced thinly, cooked in an instant. But Xie Lanxu, a novice at hotpot, didn’t realize this and stared intently at the boiling broth as if expecting it to signal when the meat was ready.

At Li Zhi’s urging, he finally retrieved the meat, much to her amusement.

Xie Lanxu swirled the rabbit in his dipping sauce and took a bite. Under her expectant gaze, he gave a small nod.

“Not bad,” he said.

From Xie Lanxu, this was the equivalent of high praise.

Before long, the meat dishes in front of him were polished off.

He set his chopsticks down, looking content.

Now that he seemed satisfied, Li Zhi finally asked the question that had been on her mind all evening, “Can you tell me now? Who’s the real killer?”

“The identity of the killer doesn’t matter,” Xie Lanxu said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “What matters is who the emperor wants the killer to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“For the past two years, the struggle for the crown prince’s position has been at a stalemate between Prince Jing and Prince Feng. But that stalemate has recently begun to break. Prince Jing and his faction are gaining the upper hand in court. The emperor placing me in the Ministry of Justice means only one of two things,” Xie Lanxu said slowly. “Either he wants me to board Prince Jing’s ship—or he wants me to put a hole in it.”

Li Zhi immediately thought of something: although Prince Jing had a reputation as a virtuous and capable leader, it was no secret that the emperor’s true favor lay with Prince Feng, Xie Fengshao. This was a fact known throughout the entire kingdom.

This case of the husband’s murder involved none other than the Left Minister of the Ministry of Rites, a key ally of Prince Jing.

If the Emperor’s intentions were indeed as Xie Lanxu speculated, then the identity of the true culprit didn’t matter at all. What they needed to do was overturn Bai Xiuxiu’s conviction and use the case to bring down the Minister of Rites, Minister of Justice, and their associates.

“I want to know who the real culprit is,” Li Zhi said firmly.

Even if it would only deepen her guilt, she wanted to know the truth.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Xie Lanxu asked.

Li Zhi nodded with unwavering determination.

Xie Lanxu’s gaze lingered on her face, a barely perceptible trace of warmth softening his usually distant demeanor.

He smiled faintly. “Congratulations. You don’t need to feel guilty about this—because the one we’re punishing is the true culprit.”

Li Zhi froze, momentarily stunned.

—–

As the frosty moon cast its cold light like snow upon the earth, Winter Solstice—a night meant for family reunion—was instead marred by a different kind of chill. In the gloomy dungeons of the Ministry of Justice, two prison guards sat at a wobbly wooden table, drinking sullenly and grumbling about having to work through the holiday.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, causing both guards to scramble to their feet, hurriedly hiding the wine.

“Your Grace!” they stammered, bowing nervously as Xie Lanxu emerged from the shadows.

Xie Lanxu greeted them with a calm and warm smile. “Thank you for your hard work, staying on duty even during the Winter Solstice. Don’t mind me—I only have a few questions for the suspects.”

“Your Grace wishes to interrogate the prisoners?” one of the guards asked, fawning eagerly. “Which ones? We’ll bring them here immediately!”

“The two suspects in the Zhu family murder case—Bai Xiuxiu and the tutor.”

The moment Xie Lanxu uttered these names, the guards exchanged uneasy glances, their previous enthusiasm draining from their faces.

“Ah… this…”

They hesitated, their discomfort evident.

The prisoners in question had already been convicted of murder and sentenced to death. The Minister of Justice, You Yigui, had explicitly ordered that no one—not even high-ranking officials—could interrogate them without his direct permission.

“I don’t intend to conduct a formal interrogation,” Xie Lanxu reassured them, his tone gentle yet authoritative. “I simply wish to ask a few questions on the spot. If you’re concerned, you can inform Minister You that I came to the Ministry of Justice prison. I will bear all the consequences myself.”

Though he didn’t resort to overt displays of power, there was something undeniably convincing about Xie Lanxu’s demeanor. The guards hesitated for a moment longer before relenting and agreeing to let him in.

One guard left to notify Minister You, while the other led Xie Lanxu to the cells where Bai Xiuxiu and the tutor were being held. Xie Lanxu knew his time was limited.

He visited the tutor first.

The tutor, wearing a bloodstained robe, was huddled in the corner of his cell, his body trembling violently. When he saw someone approaching, he recoiled in terror, his entire frame shaking as he muttered incoherently.

“I confess! I confess!” the tutor cried out before Xie Lanxu could even speak.

“And what are you confessing to?” Xie Lanxu asked.

“I… I had an affair with the Zhu family’s young mistress—she was the one who seduced me!”

“Who killed Zhu Jing, the Zhu family’s eldest son?”

“It was her! It was Bai Xiuxiu!—” The tutor’s voice rose in desperation. “She often said to me, ‘If only Zhu Jing were dead.’ Then one day, Zhu Jing really died!”

“What led to your… improper relationship?”

“She came to me for writing lessons! She seduced me! She killed him! I didn’t do anything—I swear!” The tutor’s face was ashen, his gaze darting wildly, as though he were speaking to something unseen.

Although his mental state appeared unstable, his words followed a certain logic.

Xie Lanxu had anticipated this. The tutor wasn’t his primary objective.

“Let’s move on to Bai Xiuxiu,” Xie Lanxu said quietly, turning on his heel.

The guard led him to Bai Xiuxiu’s cell. The stench of blood hit him immediately.

The figure lying on the ground inside the cell was barely human. Bai Xiuxiu’s condition was far worse than the tutor’s. Just seventeen or eighteen years old, the young woman who had entered the Zhu Mansion as a bride last year was now reduced to a pitiful, unrecognizable state. Her body lay crumpled on the floor like a fish that had been gutted and left to die, its scales stripped away. Blood splatters covered the cell, staining even the stray strands of hay on the ground.

“Bai Xiuxiu,” Xie Lanxu called softly.

The “fish” twitched slightly, as if trying to retreat into an unreachable corner of the cell. But such a place didn’t exist.

“Open the cell door,” Xie Lanxu ordered.

“Ah, but… this…”

“Open it,” he repeated, his voice light yet leaving no room for argument.

The guard, propelled by an inexplicable sense of authority, hesitated only briefly before unlocking the door.

Xie Lanxu stepped inside, crouching down in front of Bai Xiuxiu’s battered form.

“Bai Xiuxiu,” he said gently, “do you have anything to say about Zhu Jing’s death?”

Bai Xiuxiu slowly turned her swollen, bruised face toward him. Her eyes, so swollen that only half of one pupil was visible, met his gaze. A single tear slid down her cheek.

She opened her cracked lips, as if struggling to speak. But all that emerged was a fragmented rasp, an incoherent whisper carried on broken breaths.

“Your Grace!”

A furious shout interrupted Xie Lanxu’s quiet interrogation.

The voice belonged to none other than You Yigui, the Minister of Justice, who stormed into the corridor with an air of righteous indignation. His sharp gaze swept over the guard at the cell door before landing on Xie Lanxu, who rose to his feet calmly.

“Your Grace, do you not think you’ve gone too far in disregarding my authority as the Minister of Justice?” You Yigui’s expression was dark, his voice seething with barely contained anger.

“Oh? What makes you say that, Minister You?” Xie Lanxu replied, his tone unhurried and his smile as composed as ever.

“This case involves a second-rank official of the court, a matter of utmost significance. Only I, as the Minister of Justice, have the authority to interrogate the suspects. Moreover, the case is already resolved. What is your intent in re-examining the prisoners? Do you doubt the fairness of how my Ministry of Justice handles cases?”

Minister You Yigui’s tone was sharp, his words laced with veiled accusations.

“Minister You, you overthink the matter,” Xie Lanxu replied with a disarming smile. “I’m new to this field of legal proceedings and still have much to learn. My purpose in revisiting these cases is merely to gain experience by cross-referencing.”

When it came to rank, a prince like Xie Lanxu would always hold precedence over an official, no matter how high-ranking.

Faced with this implicit reminder of authority, You Yigui’s sharp retort faltered, and he reluctantly abandoned the term “this official” when referring to himself.

“If Your Grace wishes to study casework, you would do well by consulting your colleagues. However, the Ministry of Justice prison houses only the most dangerous and hardened criminals—it is hardly an appropriate environment for self-guided study.”

“You speak wisely, Minister You. I apologize for troubling you on such a fine Winter Solstice evening.”

Xie Lanxu’s seemingly sincere retreat softened the minister’s stance slightly.

“No trouble at all, Your Grace,” You Yigui responded with strained politeness.

Xie Lanxu turned and departed without hesitation, his composed demeanor giving no indication of lingering concern.

Once he was out of sight, You Yigui’s face darkened. He turned sharply to the guard standing by the cell doors and demanded, “Did you overhear what was said?”

“Not much…” the guard replied hesitantly, his expression perplexed. “The tutor confessed to an affair with Bai Xiuxiu but denied killing anyone. As for Bai Xiuxiu… she couldn’t say much in her condition. She can barely speak at all.”

You Yigui glanced toward Bai Xiuxiu’s bloodied and motionless form sprawled on the ground. He accepted the guard’s report without further questioning.

“Until the execution, watch them both closely. Remember—no one, and I mean no one, is to interrogate these prisoners without my explicit permission!” he ordered sternly.

Both guards nodded emphatically, hurriedly agreeing to his demands.

—–

Meanwhile, Xie Lanxu exited the Ministry of Justice prison, pausing briefly to glance back at the shadowy edifice against the night sky. A faint smile played at the corners of his lips.

He climbed into the waiting carriage outside. Once inside, he instructed the driver to take a circuitous route, ensuring they lost the tails that You Yigui had undoubtedly assigned to follow him. Only after confirming they were no longer being pursued did the carriage come to a halt at a side gate of the Zhu family estate.

A nervous figure was already waiting there.

Taozi, one of Xie Lanxu’s loyal attendants, greeted the individual courteously and ushered them into the carriage.

The person was Yinhuan, Bai Xiuxiu’s former maid.

As soon as she stepped into the carriage, Yinhuan’s anxiety erupted into a barrage of questions: “Who are you? Why did you summon me? What is your relationship with my lady?”

“You don’t need to know who I am,” Xie Lanxu replied, his tone calm yet compelling. “What you do need to know is that I can help you save the person you want to save.”

He smiled faintly as he extended a handkerchief-wrapped object toward her.

“Make your choice quickly. You don’t have much time.”

Yinhuan hesitated for a moment, then unfolded the handkerchief with trembling hands.

Her eyes widened in shock and rage.

Inside the pristine white fabric was a bloodied earring—one she instantly recognized as Bai Xiuxiu’s.

Everything was now in place.

The stage was set.

The curtains were ready to rise on the grand performance.

Cultural Notes:

1. Winter Solstice (冬至): In Chinese tradition, the Winter Solstice is a significant holiday often associated with family reunions and feasting. It holds cultural importance similar to the Lunar New Year, particularly in emphasizing themes of warmth and togetherness during the coldest time of the year.