Сhарtеr 181: Тhе Wеdding
That dау, Zhu Yаn rеturnеd to the manоr with а light step, сarrying а bundlе оn hеr bасk, beaming with jоy at everyonе shе met.
Shеn Du, notiсing hеr unusuаl сheеrfulnеss, fоllоwеd her with а curious eхрressiоn. "Did you find treаsure?"
"No!" Zhu Yаn shook hеr hеаd, hеr еуеs crinkling into а smilе. A whitе jаdе hairрin swaуеd with the motiоn, its fаint glow рaling in comрarison to thе rаdiаncе of her smile.
"Did уоu tаke thе wrоng mеdiсinе?" Shеn Du frownеd.
"Рah! Мy third sistеr is getting marriеd soоn. Whу аre уоu sауing such inauspiсious things?" Zhu Yan shot him a reрroachful glаre. As shе spоkе, theу reached her room. She hurried inside and eagerly unwrapped the bundle.
Shen Du leaned in for a closer look. "Brocade? Is this related to a new case at your Ministry of Justice?"
Do I have nothing else in my life besides cases?
Zhu Yan rolled her eyes at him. She spread out the brocade, retrieved a brand-new pair of scissors from the bundle, measured carefully, and began cutting with utmost caution. "I’m going to make the best mandarin duck pouch in the world for my third sister."
"You know embroidery?" Shen Du exclaimed in surprise, his voice rising unintentionally. He hadn’t expected her to possess such a skill.
"No, it’s my first time."
Zhu Yan shook her head honestly, then ignored him, focusing entirely on her cutting.
Yet, after cutting out two palm-sized pieces of fabric, a fine layer of sweat already dotted her forehead.
She wiped away the perspiration, but before she could catch her breath, a threaded needle appeared before her eyes like a cattle prod, urging her to hurry.
Zhu Yan followed the hand holding the needle to Shen Du, who turned his head away without a word.
A surge of frustration choked Zhu Yan. With Shen Du’s sharp perception, how could he not tell she was inexperienced at needlework? He was definitely doing this on purpose.
Having boasted so confidently, Zhu Yan refused to be looked down upon. She snatched the needle and began stitching with the same concentration she applied to solving cases.
Candles had been lit in the room at some point. When Zhu Yan finally looked up, the bright light made her squint. Opening her eyes, she was slightly surprised to see Shen Du still there. After a moment’s thought, she couldn’t resist asking:
"Are you that free?"
Zhu Yan swore she only meant to make small talk, but seeing Shen Du’s expression darken like the King of Hell’s, she hastily waved the finished pouch in her hand:
"How does it look? Isn’t it good?"
The stitches were messy and crooked. The two "birds" on it—if Shen Du hadn’t watched Zhu Yan embroider them himself—might not even be recognizable as birds.
His mind raced through elegant phrases and classical allusions, but he couldn’t conjure a single word worthy of describing these "birds."
Zhu Yan rubbed her sore neck, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at Shen Du. "I’ve decided. On my third sister’s wedding day, I’ll give this to her as an addition to her trousseau. They say, 'One envies the mandarin ducks, not the immortals.' Isn’t this a lucky symbol?"
The corner of Shen Du’s mouth twitched. These were "mandarin ducks"?
"Mediocre. It looks like a beggar’s patched-up old clothes, pieced together haphazardly, with no discernible shape."
Hearing his mockery, Zhu Yan slammed her palm on the table with a loud smack. Her willow-leaf eyebrows shot up, and her lips trembled with anger. In the end, she didn’t dare do anything to him, simply dragging and shoving him out of the room.
But after taking a clear look at the pattern on the pouch, Zhu Yan grimaced and tossed both the pouch and the brand-new needlework into a basket.
Forget it. I’ll tighten my belt for a few days, scrape together some money from my meager salary, and buy one to give instead. No need to embarrass myself.On the day of the wedding, the Zhu family’s gates were bustling with activity, with even the palace sending numerous gifts.
Zhang Baohuan arrived in an extremely low-key green-topped sedan chair. After stepping out, he avoided the crowds and slipped unnoticed into the back hall.
“You…” Han Shiyuan’s smiling face froze, completely unprepared to see this unexpected person appear before him.
“I just came to take a look, secretly. I won’t disturb your ordinary life, nor will I drag you into any entanglement with the palace,” Zhang Baohuan hurriedly explained, fearing Han Shiyuan might be displeased. “I’ll leave after a moment. Don’t worry.”
As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on Han Shiyuan, as if trying to etch the image of him in his wedding attire—more dignified and imposing than ever—into his memory. Gradually, his eyes grew moist.
The memory of Zhang Baohuan risking his own safety to shield Han Shiyuan from Yu Chi Yang, along with every previous instance of their mutual support, flashed before Han Shiyuan’s eyes. His lips tightened, his fists clenched, and a look of struggle surfaced on his face.
How could Zhang Baohuan not guess what he was thinking? Wiping the moisture from the corners of his eyes, he stood up to leave:
“Then I won’t disturb you any longer. I’ll take my leave now!”
Han Shiyuan stopped him, his expression stubborn. The traces of moisture still lingered in the corners of Zhang Baohuan’s eyes. He was more delicately featured than Han Shiyuan, their appearances not entirely alike. Han Shiyuan resembled his elder sister, Zhang Baoying, with a refined and enduring handsomeness, while Zhang Baohuan was beyond comparison even to the gentle breeze and bright moon. Especially his eyes, which held three parts allure and seven parts emotion, made one instinctively willing to trust him.
“Brother…”
Han Shiyuan hastily interrupted:
“Why didn’t you protect my sister back then?”
Han Shiyuan had finally voiced the question that had long stood between them. In the past, he had never given Zhang Baohuan a chance to explain, but now he wanted an answer.
Zhang Baohuan wept with joy, taking two excited steps forward before halting under Han Shiyuan’s still slightly resistant gaze. He said, “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to save her, but the evidence at the time was overwhelming, and Chen Shi couldn’t be found. I had just entered the palace and had no solid footing—there was simply no way to turn things around.”
A gentle breeze stirred, lifting the wide sleeves of Han Shiyuan’s robe. His eyes still held a trace of struggle. Fearing Han Shiyuan might refuse to listen further, Zhang Baohuan poured out the hidden details in a rush, like spilling beans:
“Later, I still refused to give up, but someone came to warn me that if I interfered again, even you wouldn’t be safe. I had already failed to save my sister—how could I stand by and watch you fall into danger? With no other choice, I had to let it go.”
“Who warned you?” Han Shiyuan looked up, the suspicion in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by a deeper concern. Perhaps he cared about the truth, or perhaps…
Zhang Baohuan dared not dwell on it, afraid his hopes were merely an illusion:
“I don’t know. To this day, I haven’t uncovered that person’s identity. But I’ve been investigating in secret all along. It’s just that I couldn’t find you, and I feared the person behind it might harm you, so I didn’t clear your sister’s name.
After seeing you, I began urging His Majesty to reopen the Brocade Workshop case, hoping to restore my sister’s innocence!”
After speaking, he looked at Han Shiyuan with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
Tears streamed down Han Shiyuan’s face. In the past, he had stubbornly distanced himself from the court, never understanding its dangers. Only recently, forced into these conflicts, did he realize how difficult Zhang Baohuan’s position truly was.
“Why… why didn’t you tell me?”
If he hadn’t stopped him, if he hadn’t asked, Zhang Baohuan might have intended to keep these matters buried in his heart forever."Alas, I was forced into these court intrigues, constantly on edge, even measuring my steps with care.
I can endure these days myself, but why should I drag you into it?"
Though Han Shiyuan had imagined countless reasons, he never expected this one. Back when the Brocade Workshop was condemned, Zhang Baohuan served by the Empress's side yet watched it fall to save himself, watched as Kong Xianrong and Zhang Baoying's families were executed to the last.
In his eyes, Zhang Baohuan was so selfish—how could he ever consider others?
Tears welled in Han Shiyuan's eyes, and all the suffering he had endured over the years poured out in sobs.
Zhang Baohuan was at a loss, his hands fumbling, his expression helpless and pained. Finally, he reached out, drawing Han Shiyuan to his shoulder, patting and soothing him gently:
"It's all right now. Everything will get better."
"I will protect you."
Han Shiyuan shook his head, whimpering, "Brother..."
That single word melted the snow atop the mountains, bringing tears to Zhang Baohuan's eyes as well.
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