The Golden Hairpin

Zhou Ziqin stared at her in astonishment, his mouth agape as he pressed for answers. But Huang Zixiang could hear nothing. Before her eyes surged a vast expanse of crimson—the same hue as the sunset when she first met Yu Xuan, now staining the heavens and earth in blood-red. The entire world seemed reduced to varying shades of red, all things losing their true forms, leaving only faint outlines that twisted and wavered before her eyes.

Grief and depression, bitterness and endurance—all that had weighed upon her heart for most of the year—now collapsed like the sudden breach of the Yellow River's dykes. Unstoppable sorrow swiftly engulfed her entire being, making her hands and body tremble uncontrollably.

So... this was it.

The deaths of her parents and family, the turning point of her life, all she had recklessly sacrificed—her reputation, her status—had been effortlessly erased by someone else.

Clutching Zhou Ziqin's hand, she gasped for breath but couldn't utter a single word.

Seeing her pallid face and trembling body, Zhou Ziqin couldn't help but ask, "Chonggu, are... are you alright?"

Before he could finish, Li Shubai, who had been standing behind her, spread his arms and enveloped Huang Zixiang's shuddering, nearly collapsing form. He held her securely in the crook of his arm, preventing her from falling to the ground.

Her hands flailed aimlessly in the air, like weary crows startled at dusk with no home to return to, as if trying to grasp something. Li Shubai's hand, resting protectively on her shoulder, slid down her arm and firmly clasped her hand, intertwining their fingers.

The warmth radiating from him seeped through the thin layers of her undergarments and outer robe, imprinting onto her skin. In the chaos and clamor of her mind, a sliver of clarity emerged.

It was he who held her close, whispering softly in her ear, "Don't be afraid... You've already endured the most terrible things this world has to offer. What is left to fear?"

His voice was deep and gentle. Though her ears rang with the roar of boiling blood, his words lingered around her like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person. She clung to it tightly, her mind emptying into blankness, yet knowing she was saved and would not let go.

Knowing he was behind her, knowing he would protect her, she allowed all her strength to drain away. In that moment, she thought of nothing else, silently leaning against him. Because she knew—this person behind her could give her all the strength and support she needed, holding up the sky that had collapsed upon her.

Leaning on Li Shubai, she let him guide her to sit down in the waterside pavilion.

Zhou Ziqin stood bewildered, utterly clueless about her sudden state. Staring at her ashen face, he stammered, "That... that bracelet—is it very important?"

Huang Zixiang nodded, cradling her head, but said nothing.

Li Shubai then said to him, "I believe Chonggu suspects the bracelet was poisoned."

Zhou Ziqin recalled what Huang Zixiang had mentioned to him before and quickly added, "Oh, that matter! Chonggu did bring it up with me. But we tested it on Fugui earlier, and it didn't seem poisoned. Besides, the bracelet must have been with Fu Xinruan for a long time. If it were poisoned, why did she only succumb to it a few days ago?"Huang Zixiang raised her hand and grasped his sleeve, her dry, hoarse voice squeezing out from her throat, word by word: "Give it... to me."

Zhou Ziqin quickly nodded and handed her the bracelet he was holding, staring at Huang Zixiang in shock and uncertainty, at a loss for what to do.

With trembling hands, Huang Zixiang took the jade bracelet, caressing the two small fish that bit each other's tails, swimming intimately together in a circle. Her hands shook slightly.

After a long silence, she quietly lifted the jade bracelet, flicked something inside with her nail, and then slipped it onto her left wrist. The translucent jade bracelet shimmered under the sunlight, the two lively little fish seeming to come alive, swaying faintly on her wrist.

Zhou Ziqin gazed at her snow-white wrist, encircled by that radiant glow, looking even more flawless. For some reason, he felt inexplicably nervous and stammered, "Chonggu, didn’t you say this bracelet might be poisoned?"

Huang Zixiang lowered her head, twisting the bracelet with her right hand, her chest rising and falling slightly, but she said nothing.

Meanwhile, Li Shubai stood up and said softly, "Don’t worry. No poison can seep through unbroken skin, right?"

Zhou Ziqin nodded, but something still felt off to him.

Without another word, Huang Zixiang and Li Shubai walked out one after the other. Zhou Ziqin hesitated for a moment before quickly chasing after them. "Where are you going?"

Li Shubai turned back and gestured to him. "Go to the flower hall first and wait for us."

Zhou Ziqin agreed, then cautiously asked, "Should I call a physician to check on Chonggu?"

Li Shubai shook his head. "First, examine this bracelet. I’ll take care of Chonggu."

The kitchen of the prefectural office was located in the southwest corner of the compound, close to the yamen and not too far from the dining hall where the prefect usually entertained guests.

When Li Shubai and Huang Zixiang arrived at the kitchen, lunch had already passed, and dinner was still some time away. A few maids and helpers were idly peeling water chestnuts and lotus seeds while chatting.

Seeing them at the door, the head cook, Aunt Lu, quickly stood up and asked, "Would you two like some refreshments?"

Noticing Huang Zixiang’s silence, Li Shubai asked, "Do you have lamb trotter soup?"

Aunt Lu replied promptly, "We don’t have lamb trotter soup, but there’s still lamb broth today."

"Then bring a bowl of lamb broth," he said, turning to look at Huang Zixiang.

Huang Zixiang walked in, picked out a large bowl identical to the one from before, washed it herself, and placed it on the stove.

Though she came from a noble family, since the age of twelve, she had often dressed as a boy to accompany her father on investigations, spending most of her time with constables and bailiffs. Her demeanor lacked the refinement of a typical young lady, and she washed bowls and spoons with practiced ease.

When the lamb broth was ready, she reached out with both hands to take it but paused, then rolled up her narrow sleeves just as she had done that day before lifting the bowl.

The large bowl was celadon from the Yue kiln, its color like the emerald hues of a thousand peaks. Because the bowl was so large, it had two handles on either side. Holding it carefully with both hands, she walked forward slowly, then carried it out of the kitchen toward the hall.

It was an all-too-familiar path.

After leaving the kitchen, she passed the loquat tree in the courtyard, stepped through the cracked wooden gate, and onto the polished brick path leading to the long corridor.

She walked along the corridor, just as she had done back then.Back then, burdened by her melancholy, she stubbornly carried that large bowl of soup all the way forward. Behind her, the maid Míwú followed, saying, "Let me take it, miss. You're too tired!"

But she paid no heed to Míwú, keeping her head down as she walked. When her bent arms grew weary, she gripped the bowl's handles and let her hands hang down. The twin-fish bracelet slowly slipped from her wrist, landing with a soft "ding" against the porcelain bowl—a crisp sound like shattering ice striking jade.

That same "ding" echoed again today, between her wrist and the sea bowl, identical, as if the past had returned.

Silently, she carried the bowl, step by step, head bowed as she made her way toward the hall.

Li Shubai followed behind her, walking with her toward the hall—the place where her family had once gathered for joyful meals.

The freshly ladled mutton soup in the porcelain bowl steamed, its heat rising in wisps. The vapor condensed on her lowered lashes, moistening her eyes.

She remembered the early summer when she was fourteen, dragonflies skimming low, lotus buds just emerging. The crimson sunset bathed the world, and she saw his eyes—gentle and clear, not looking at a little girl but at someone he would cherish for a lifetime.

When he picked up the orphaned child who had lost both parents and carried them to the orphanage, his eyes brimmed with tears. He said, "Axia, perhaps in this world, only I truly understand this feeling." She saw the thin glimmer of moisture in his eyes, that sorrowful longing—something she only comprehended when her own loved ones passed away.

In the early autumn, beneath the creeping fig corridor, they sat back-to-back, half a foot apart. He turned the pages of his book one by one, while she peeled lotus seeds one after another. Occasionally, she would hand him a particularly sweet seed, and he would eat it without a word. Annoyed, she plucked a fig and hurled it hard at the top of his head. The soft fruit flew off, and he rubbed his head, looking at her with bewildered innocence.

On the night he moved out, a snowstorm swept in before dawn. The next morning, she rose early to find him, only to discover him standing by the doorstep when she opened the door. The eaves couldn't shield him from the swirling snowflakes; his body was stiff, his head covered in snow. The snow on his shoulders had melted and refrozen into ice, clinging to him. His expression was numb as he stared at her, unable to speak. Only when she quickly pulled him inside and brushed off the snow did he gaze at her and murmur in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, "I couldn't help it. I don't know what to do... without you all."

What to do, what to do? What to do...

Huang Zixiao's body began to tremble slightly.

Finally, she walked the last stretch and entered the hall, placing the porcelain bowl in her hands on the table.

Zhou Ziqin was already there, eager to speak with her, but when he saw Li Shubai follow her inside and noticed her frozen, heavy expression, he hesitated by the table and didn't approach to disturb her.

Behind her, Li Shubai, who had been carrying the dishes, set the clean small bowls one by one on the table.

Huang Zixiao took a deep, silent breath, then tightened her already rolled-up sleeves and began ladling the soup.She held a small bowl in her left hand, hovering it over the large steaming bowl, while her right hand scooped up the soup with a wooden ladle. After filling one bowl, she placed the ladle back into the larger bowl below, then set the filled bowl down before picking up another to fill again...

Her face was pale, and though she tried to control herself, her trembling figure was impossible to suppress. Li Shubai watched her expression, seeing it ashen, her eyes filled with immense sorrow. Yet even so, she stubbornly moved step by step toward the outcome she feared most—heartrending, despairing, yet resolute.

Li Shubai raised his hand and gently pressed it on her shoulder. Her trembling body felt the warmth of his palm, and through that contact, a quiet strength flowed from his hand into her shoulder, infusing her fragile frame with immense courage.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "No matter the outcome, you don’t have to be afraid—I will always stand by your side."

Her breathing quickened at his words. The suffocating weight pressing down on her, the terrifying results she dared not face, the heart-wrenching truth of the murderer—all of it suddenly seemed insignificant.

What mattered now was faithfully reconstructing every step and detail of the case, stripping away all deceit to expose the truth, refining and presenting it clearly before everyone.

No matter what the truth held, she now had the strongest fortress standing behind her. He would give her the greatest strength, and no one could take that away.

She looked up at Li Shubai, nodding slowly before murmuring, "It’s alright. I’ll do it well."

Li Shubai gazed at her deeply, reassured by the determination in her eyes before finally releasing her shoulder.

Her mind cleared, and her trembling hands steadied. She filled five bowls with the fragrant lamb soup, arranging them one by one on the table, then placing each in the exact spots where her family members had once sat.

Only then did she seem to collapse, slowly sinking into a chair beside the table. She stared blankly at the five bowls of soup for a long time before finally speaking. "Zi Qin, help me test these five bowls of lamb soup."

"Test for what?" Zhou Ziqin was baffled.

"Poison... zhen poison," Huang Zixia said slowly but clearly.

Zhou Ziqin was stunned, exclaiming, "How could there be poison? You brought this from the kitchen yourself, escorted by Prince Kui, and personally ladled it onto the table! Besides... where would you even get zhen poison?"

"Test it," Huang Zixia gritted her teeth, refusing to say another word.