"Later, tell Guan Zhaojing to arrange things as he sees fit," he said. "Even if you're not by your master's side, don't neglect your filial duties. It's most disappointing when people forget their obligations once someone's gone."
Dingyi let out a sigh, her heart suddenly heavy with sorrow. If there had been no further developments from him, it might have been easier to accept. But now, with the situation taking a sudden turn for the worse, missing this opportunity felt like the cruelest twist of fate.
"What should I do..." She sniffled. "Just now, Seventh Lord gave an order—he wants me to go to his residence to inspect the cellar. I refused, and he said if I won't go to Prince Xian's Residence, then I can't stay in any other prince's household either... I hadn’t planned to tell you this, but now that you’ve agreed, I feel even more regretful."
Hongce was taken aback. Hongtao was known for his eccentric temper and disregard for protocol. Since he had issued such a decree, it would be difficult for Hongce to insist on keeping her.
"There’s nothing to be done about it," he leaned back, noticing her dejected expression and offering comfort. "Beijing winters are cold, but Ningguta is ten times worse. You’ve never experienced such bitter cold—if you regret it after arriving there, it’ll be too late. Perhaps it’s better not to go."
"I’m not afraid of the cold. I just wanted to see more of the world while I’m young... It’s lonely being alone, but with you, I’d have someone to rely on." She felt deeply disheartened, yet there was no changing things now. Blaming her own bad luck, she forced a smile and said, "Never mind. I’ll just stick to being a Headsman. I won’t go to Prince Xian's Residence to move flowerpots either—who knows, I might end up stuck there for life."
So it wasn’t about escaping her current situation—it was simply youthful curiosity about the wider world. That wasn’t a bad thing. Without excessive attachment, life could be easier. Since this topic had reached a dead end, it was best to move on to something else. Mu Xiaoshu was an interesting person. Despite her disappointment, she always wore a faint smile and was full of lively street talk, making conversation with her anything but dull. Hongce couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so lighthearted. Listening to her childhood stories—catching beetles, capturing emerald-green dragonflies—she described them so vividly it was as if the scenes unfolded before his eyes. He hadn’t noticed the time passing until he looked up and saw they were already nearing the Shuntian Prefecture Office. Quickly composing himself, he lowered the carriage curtain and sat upright.
The prefect, having received word of his arrival, hurried out to greet him. Before the sedan chair even touched the ground, he briskly swept his sleeves and bowed deeply, stepping forward to lift the curtain. "Your Highness, if you had any instructions, you need only summon this humble official to your residence. Why trouble yourself to come all this way under the scorching sun?"
"If you don’t run, then I must. Someone always has to bear the burden," Hongce replied as he stepped out of the sedan and walked forward. "Last time, you sent me signed documents—standard procedure, nothing revealing. Today, I’m here to review the case files. A twelve-year-old case—digging up old testimonies and confessions won’t be easy. Take your time; I’ll wait here."
The prefect hastily agreed and ushered him into the main hall.
The rest of the matter had nothing to do with her. Dingyi lingered at the gate for a moment before turning to ask a yamen runner, "A twelve-year-old case? Whose case is it?"
"Who knows?" The runner leaned against the doorway. "Old cases aren’t like new ones. With new cases, if trouble breaks out somewhere, we get orders to arrest people, so we have some idea of what’s going on. But old cases? No suspects, just paperwork. That’s the job of the Clerks and legal secretaries—let them handle the headache."She was puzzled—what major cases from twelve years ago could be so urgent that the Prince would rush to review them? She briefly considered whether it might relate to her father’s case, but dismissed the thought, figuring such coincidences didn’t happen in the world. Still, she kept an ear out for news. If only she could get closer to serve in the office—unfortunately, tasks like serving tea were handled by dedicated staff, leaving her no opportunity.
Lost in thought, she paced around the gatehouse when she spotted Xiazhi coming in from outside, carrying a string of crabs tied up with straw. He hung them on a small iron hook near the key rack, then picked up a teapot from the table and drizzled water over each crab to keep them from drying out—dead crabs didn’t taste as good.
The gatekeeper grumbled, "That was my freshly cooled boiled water you just used on the crabs!"
Xiazhi shook the teapot. "There’s still some left—enough for you." Turning to Xiaoshu, he added, "You’re off early today." He nudged her with his shoulder and gestured toward the wall. "There’s a vendor selling crabs at the acrobatics ground near the Temple of the Sun—two coppers for a whole basket. Look how plump they are, their shells are bursting. Didn’t you say you were getting Master some wine? Well, I’ve got the snacks ready."
Crabs weren’t rare among commoners—they were everywhere in ditches and fields. These weren’t the largest, barely two taels at most; any bigger and they’d be sent to restaurants or wealthy households. The rich ate crabs with "crab tools," meticulously picking at them like embroidery. The poor? They pried off the shell, grabbed the legs, snapped them in half, and went straight for the roe. Crude but perfect with wine.
Dingyi suddenly remembered and rubbed the back of her head. "Ah, I forgot. I’ll go home later to fetch the gourd."
"You’re always busy, never a moment to rest." Xiazhi sighed, following her gaze. "Hah, off to Prince Chun’s residence again? Returning the umbrella, I bet. You two sure keep things lively."
Before he could finish, Dingyi grabbed the tea ladle and hurried out—she’d heard the wooden clapper signaling a wealthy household giving out ice water in the summer heat.
She was always diligent, well-liked by everyone at the office. For trivial tasks like this, which the constables and bailiffs couldn’t be bothered with, she was quick to volunteer. Fetching the ice water wasn’t enough—she also poured and distributed it. Those who received it smiled and praised her, "Our Xiaoshu’s so thoughtful. Young folks should stay active, not get lazy. Unlike Xiazhi—what girl would want to marry a man who’d make her his servant?"
After filling the teacups on the table, she expected the bailiffs to take them, but instead, she carried them straight into the office, stopping at the eastern annex where Guan Zhaojing and Clerk Bai were chatting.
"Chief Steward, here’s some water," she offered, handing one bowl to Guan Zhaojing and the other to Clerk Bai. Glancing toward the main hall, she couldn’t see clearly through the paper-covered windows, only the movement of black boots—they must still be busy. She blinked and asked, "Have all the case files the Prince requested been retrieved yet?"
Clerk Bai replied, "Not yet. The criminal law clerk is handling it—I’m the tax clerk, so those files aren’t my responsibility. The Prince has Magistrate Lu from the outer office assisting with the case, so us two get to relax. Usually swamped with duties, it’s rare we get to chat." He clasped his hands toward Guan Zhaojing. "Last time, when Xiaoshu went to the Prince’s residence to request an audience, it was my idea. It wasn’t exactly proper, and I owe you thanks for accommodating it."Guan Zhaojing waved his hand dismissively. "No need for formalities between us. We're from the same hometown, and by family seniority, I should call you uncle. This small favor isn’t worth mentioning. Besides, the boy’s clever—he didn’t even say what exactly his senior brother had done wrong. I passed the message inside, and only later found out what it was about."
He had used some cunning this time, but fortunately, the Prince didn’t hold it against him—a close call with no harm done. Clerk Bai also smiled. "The boy’s had a hard life—no parents, born into hardship. Having a master and senior brother to rely on, he’d give them his whole heart."
Dingyi felt embarrassed by the praise and quickly changed the subject. "Is the court reopening a case? I heard it’s an old case from twelve years ago. Why bring it up now?"
"It’s the same every year," Guan Zhaojing said. "There’s always some commotion—too many people with too many opinions. Today someone’s impeached, tomorrow someone’s accused—never a dull moment. You can’t just eat without working. It’s like the laborers in the marketplace—when the boss hires you to carry bricks or timber, you put in effort when someone’s watching, but slack off when no one’s around. In officialdom, you need results to stand out. The bigger the splash you make, the more the Emperor notices you, and the better your chances for promotion and fortune."
She was getting closer to the answer she sought. Steadying herself, she asked, "Was there a major case twelve years ago? I lived in the capital for a while as a child but never heard of any notorious bandits entering the city."
Clerk Bai chuckled. "Twelve years ago, you were only six—just a little kid. What could you remember? If it were bandits, the court would’ve sent troops to wipe them out long ago. Why wait till now? It’s an old political case—the records of Wen Lu, the censor from the Court of Censors. The Emperor felt the trial was unclear, so he issued an edict to dig it up again."
Dingyi’s scalp prickled—just as she had guessed, it was her father’s case being reopened. After so many years, bringing it up now felt surreal. But none of it mattered to her anymore. The family estate was sold, her family broken and scattered. Even if the case was overturned, it wouldn’t make up for anything. The dead couldn’t come back to life, but those exiled might still have a sliver of hope. The convicts would surely be summoned to the capital for retrial, meaning she wouldn’t have to travel far to see her brothers.
Her heart pounded wildly. She took a steadying breath and said, "I’ve heard of Wen Lu. My parents used to work for his family. I heard he had three sons—are they still around? If they are, they could serve as witnesses."
Clerk Bai said, "They were all exiled to the Imperial Manor. So many years have passed, and the climate there is harsh. They were young masters, unused to hardship—who knows if they’re even alive now."
"True," she forced a smile. "Will our office send someone to the Imperial Manor to escort them? When will they set out?"
Guan Zhaojing folded his arms. "No need. The Prince is passing by there anyway—he’ll handle it in passing. No point in extra trips back and forth."
As fellow officials discussing a case that wasn’t top-secret, there was no need to mince words. She had learned everything she needed, but Dingyi grew even more anxious. She couldn’t leave things vague—she’d have to join the journey. With the path through the Twelfth Master closed, her only option was to plead with the Seventh Prince. He was also an Imperial Envoy assigned to Ningguta. Since the two brothers were traveling together, it made no difference whom she followed.But that was a man who would eat you without spitting out the bones. How could she convince him to transfer her from the garden to the Guards' Office? He had laid down the terms: becoming a guard was easy—first, she had to defeat two of his top men. Dingyi sized herself up—she wasn’t even enough to fill their teeth. A head-on confrontation was definitely out of the question.
That left only the soft approach—flattery and sucking up. Maybe if she buttered him up enough, he’d be pleased and agree to take her along.
Once she made up her mind, the next step was to find out the Prince’s schedule. The Seventh Prince was actually an idle royal, having secured his title thanks to his mother, Consort De. Sometimes he made appearances at the Imperial Clan Court or the Imperial Household Department, holding nominal positions just to justify his salary. Of course, even if he did nothing at all, not a single coin of his stipend would be docked. As a result, his attendance was highly flexible—too hot? He wouldn’t go. Too cold? He wouldn’t go. Rain or wind? He wouldn’t go. By that count, he showed up for work barely one or two months out of the entire year.
While he could skip official duties, there was one place he never missed. Every morning after finishing his martial arts routine, he would change clothes and head to Fengya Residence for tea and pastries. The place was a gathering spot for many bird-loving bannermen, who brought all kinds of birds to show off and exchange tips. The Seventh Prince also kept a bird—a lark. When it first started singing, its voice was downright awful. But with patient training, it gradually improved. If told to mimic an old man rolling walnuts, the bird would click and clack, imitating it perfectly. If asked to imitate a donkey, the lark would bray at the top of its lungs, sending everyone present into fits of laughter. The Seventh Prince thrived in such extravagant pastimes, whiling away half the day at Fengya Residence and staying through mealtime. After eating and drinking his fill, he would spend the afternoon at the opera house, enjoying everything from octagonal drum performances to Henan clapper operas. If the mood struck him, he’d even paint his own face and take the stage to perform The Second Entry into the Palace , with a dedicated claque in the audience to cheer him on.
Dingyi spent several days mapping out the Prince’s routine—what time he left home, when he ate, when he went to the opera—she had it all down to a science. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. She only had one shot at this. If it didn’t work out, she’d have to come clean to her master—Changbai Mountain was unavoidable this time.
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