Qiao Chu

This year has seen frequent rains, with drizzles lingering over the capital while downpours drench Han County.

The streets are almost empty of people.

Yet taverns and teahouses remain filled with patrons.

Rainy days bring idleness—drinking, sipping tea, and listening to storytellers. As the storyteller weaves his silver-tongued tales, bursts of applause echo through the teahouse.

The scars of last year’s rebellion have long vanished. Damaged houses have been repaired—some by their capable owners, others through government aid. Noble families have donated to charity halls, ensuring care for orphans and the elderly left bereaved. All appears peaceful and secure.

But while external wounds have healed, inner trauma lingers. Through the rain-soaked silence of the street, sudden weeping erupts, mingled with a woman’s cries.

Patrons in the teahouses and taverns fall quiet at the sound. Some glance outside, though most seem accustomed to the scene.

"Sister Jiang is having another episode," someone remarks, shaking his head as he studies the chessboard. "Why is no one watching her?"

"Her family only has one frail old mother-in-law left," his opponent replies gravely, contemplating his next move. "It’s easy to lose sight of her in a moment’s distraction."

"I’ve long said she should be sent to the charity hall," a spectator chimes in. "Old Madam Jiang can barely care for herself, let alone a madwoman."

A waiter refilling teapots interjects, "How could A Po bear to part with her? Her daughter-in-law is her only remaining family—mad or not, she’s still family."

Just then, the woman staggers to the doorway, drenched and disheveled by the heavy rain, oblivious to her state as she screams, "Help! Murder—!"

Those gathered at the entrance guess the cause. "Was her family killed by the traitor Xiao Xun?" one asks.

Another nods. "Her husband and two sons were conscripted as laborers. They encountered imperial troops who claimed they needed practice targets—all three were slaughtered."

Everyone knows how vile and cruel Xiao Xun’s rebel forces were, driving even surrendered noble families to rise up and join the imperial court. Clearly, this woman is another victim of the rebellion.

"Pitiful," the crowd murmurs, shaking their heads.

One man, unable to bear the sight, rushes out to drape a rain cloak over the madwoman. "Sister Jiang, go home now," he urges loudly. "The villains have been executed. You needn’t fear."

Sister Jiang mumbles, "Villains... executed?"

The man nods. "Yes, the Empress’s troops stormed in and killed them all. Your husband and sons are avenged. Return home now."

She scans the surroundings wildly. "The villains... truly... executed?"

Bystanders chime in: "Yes, yes, they’re all dead." "The Empress has avenged you."

This is no empty consolation—it is common knowledge.

Yet instead of calming her, the voices send Sister Jiang into a deeper frenzy. She tears off the rain cloak and shoves her helper away.

"Villains! Murder—! Help! Help—!" she shrieks, weeping hysterically as she bolts down the street.

The onlookers sigh helplessly, shaking their heads in pity. "There’s no helping it. She’s mad—understands nothing, hears nothing."

As the madwoman’s cries fade into the rain, the crowd turns back to their tea, chess, and storytelling, discussing the scene briefly before resuming their pastimes.Until the madwoman was dazed and exhausted, she finally stopped. Fortunately, even in her madness, she knew the way home, stumbling and swaying as she made her way back. As dusk fell and the heavy rain blurred her vision, a low house appeared before her, as if blocked by a dark wall.

The madwoman stared blankly for a moment before realizing it was a group of people. They wore pitch-black rain cloaks, their faces almost entirely concealed.

"Sister Jiang," the leader called out.

The madwoman didn't know her own name, nor did she care whether it was people or a wall in front of her. She stumbled forward, muttering, "Murder... help—"

The human wall parted to let her through.

"Sister Jiang," the leader spoke again, "Who committed the murder?"

Sister Jiang, rushing forward, staggered and fell to the ground. Muddy water splashed onto her face, but it didn't obstruct her vision. As the figures moved, she caught glimpses of golden python patterns beneath their black rain cloaks—

"Sister Jiang," the voice continued, "Who killed your husband and son?"

Who was it? Everyone knew, everyone knew. Why were they asking like this? Sister Jiang scrambled to her feet and stumbled into her home.

The people outside didn't follow her in, but their voices did.

"Did you see the murderer?"

The murderer? The murderer?

Sister Jiang rushed into the room, colliding with a table. Her soaked, disheveled hair covered her face, but beneath the tangled strands, her eyes were not clouded or foolish—they were as red as blood. Tears streamed down, crisscrossing her face.

Someone had actually heard.

Someone had actually come to ask.

"Help, murder," she rasped silently.

...

...

Late at night, the Wei residence was disturbed by knocking. Normally, at such an hour, none of the Wei masters would receive guests. But upon learning that the visitors wore python-patterned robes and carried long swords at their waists, the eldest master of the Wei family personally came out to greet them.

As the meritorious minister who had led the people of Han County to kill Xiao Xun's soldiers and defect to the Empress, the Wei family now stood on nearly equal footing with the county officials—just as they had in the past.

But unlike before, the county now had a new office: the Garrison Guard.

The Wei family had long heard of the Garrison Guard's fearsome reputation. Directly under the Empress's exclusive command, clad in imperial-bestowed python patterns, they held the power of life and death.

It was the Garrison Guard's influence that had driven Deng Yi away.

The sudden visit of these wolves and tigers tonight made the eldest Wei master uneasy.

Yet, for over half a year, the Garrison Guard had remained as quiet as if they didn't exist in Han County, never interfering with the local government's affairs.

After all, Han County had only recently been reclaimed. It wouldn't do to stir unrest among officials and civilians immediately—that would reflect poorly on the Empress's dignity.

The eldest Wei master stepped out with a smile and greeted the leading official. Though the Garrison Guard kept a low profile, everyone knew their names.

This Associate Administrator of the Garrison Guard, Zhu Yong, stationed in the newly surrendered northern territories, was also renowned. It could be said that it was because of him the Empress had established the Garrison Guard.

"Lord Zhu," the eldest Wei master bowed, "What instructions do you have?"

"Master Wei," Zhu Yong said, "Someone has accused your Wei family of brutally killing civilians, so I've come to inquire."

The pouring rain outside made his voice sound almost jesting, and a smile lingered on his face.

But the heart of this Hanlin Academy-born official was no longer as gentle as his appearance suggested. The eldest Wei master smiled in return, "Lord Zhu, how could such a thing be said?""Let's start from when the rebels occupied the commandery city," Zhu Yong said. "Your Wei family managed laborers for the rebels. That day, thirty laborers were summoned under the pretext of digging trenches. But when they arrived, your son, the young master Wei, led men to drive these laborers like hunting game. All thirty were shot dead on the spot."

The elder Wei laughed again, turning to his attendant: "How absurd—how could such a thing possibly—"

"Laborer Jiang Shu and his two sons had forgotten their carrying baskets before coming. His wife, fearing they'd miss work hours, rushed to deliver the baskets and happened to witness this scene—" Zhu Yong continued, his eyes darkly fixed on him.

Elder Wei frowned. Jiang Shu? How would he know any laborer's name, much less care about their wives—unless she were some rare beauty from a modest family.

"Sister Jiang originally resigned to her fate, accepting the deaths under rebel rule as misfortune. With an elderly mother-in-law to care for, she couldn't let the entire family perish. She endured the heartbreak of watching her husband and sons die tragically, hiding silently to preserve her life and escape. But then, your Wei family turned coat and pledged allegiance to the Empress, framing the rebels for the deaths and transforming into heroes who quelled the rebellion." Zhu Yong said. "Sister Jiang became even more afraid to reveal the secret, forced to feign madness while crying injustice in the streets, with no one able to investigate—"

At this point, the frowning elder Wei sat down, picked up his teacup, and interrupted Zhu Yong.

"Or rather, no one dared to investigate." He didn't question, rebuke, or angrily demand confrontation, but instead smiled and asked, "Is that what you were going to say, Lord Zhu?"

Zhu Yong looked at him: "So Elder Wei admits it?"

Elder Wei waved his hand: "Let's not debate truth and falsehood for now. I know if the Garrison Guard investigates, they have countless methods to uncover things. These old bones of mine can't withstand scrutiny."

He gazed at Zhu Yong.

"But before you investigate, I have one question."

"Isn't the current situation just fine?"

The words seemed abrupt, but Zhu Yong understood his meaning and opened his mouth to respond.

Elder Wei interrupted him again, smiling gently yet arrogantly.

"Lord Zhu, you're not qualified to answer this." He said. "You should ask the Empress."

...

...

A secret message from the Garrison Guard swiftly reached the capital.

Chu Zhao sat by the window, watching the bright sunlight, and sighed softly.

"It seems they're not afraid of me at all." She said, then smiled again. "Indeed, what is there to fear about me?"