Chapter 51 - 2#

Or rather — the news of his death.

Ding Peng was dead. Officially, he had slipped and fallen into the water.

The body was found in the lotus pond.

Jingzhe knew because it was people from the Directorate of Cleaning who found it. Word traveled back to him as a matter of course.

He pressed his fingers to his brow and went to find Jiang Jinming.

Jiang Jinming was pacing in his room, hands behind his back. “Slipped and fell into the water,” he said, with considerable sarcasm in his voice.

Jingzhe: “Did you know him?”

Jiang Jinming: “He was the head of the supply depot.”

Jingzhe’s expression darkened. The supply depot head was not some ordinary servant. A man in that position, and he had “slipped and fallen”?

Jiang Jinming didn’t believe it for a second.

He let some distaste show on his face. “It doesn’t matter. None of this concerns us. File the report and be done with it.”

Jingzhe accepted the order and left, handling the filing himself.

Ding Peng’s death, given the timing, immediately attracted the attention of Zhongcui Palace, and the matter was taken over by Noble Consort De’s people from there.

What Jingzhe could determine was that the man had been dead for three or four days.

Inside the Directorate, Ding Peng’s death was discussed at length. After all, it was their own people who had found the body.

Specifically, it had been Xinsheng.

For the next few days, Xinsheng was probably the most sought-after person in the Directorate, stopped wherever he went.

Jingzhe had even heard him grumbling about being disturbed.

Gusheng, however, couldn’t resist venting his true opinion to Jingzhe on the side.

“He says he’s been disturbed — but whenever someone asks, he doesn’t look reluctant at all. He’s sitting there waiting for people to come ask him.” Gusheng had no patience for the performance. “What is he playing at?”

Jingzhe: “Maybe he just finds it hard to say no.”

He had witnessed other people’s curiosity at work before.

“That would be one thing. But nobody’s even asking, and he’s still doing the sighing and the dramatic looks, just waiting to be prompted. That’s fishing for attention.”

The detail of his commentary made it clear that Gusheng simply didn’t like Xinsheng, and nothing Jingzhe said was going to change that.

All he could do was offer a few mild words of comfort.

That said, Xinsheng’s loose mouth turned out to be useful — it gave Jingzhe more details about Ding Peng than he’d had before, and combined with his own quiet inquiries, a portrait of the man began to take shape.

Ding Peng had managed the supply depot, overseeing the provision of all the inner palace’s equipment and vessels. For an occasion like the autumn banquet, any extra cups and serving pieces had to be requested from the supply depot in advance and delivered either the evening before or on the day itself.

As the investigation progressed, the connection between Ding Peng and the imperial tea service came to light. The person who had personally escorted that delivery of equipment to the imperial tea service on the morning of the banquet had been Ding Peng himself.

Kangman. Ding Peng. The imperial tea service. A suspicious fall.

Jingzhe’s brow furrowed. Something had begun to take shape.

A few days later, Zhongcui Palace announced the results of the full investigation. Two consorts had been implicated; the imperial tea service and the supply depot had both been replaced, top to bottom.

The depot head Ding Peng was officially classified as a suicide — not an accident.

Which meant Ding Peng was the one who had administered the substance.

Death by guilt.

“How is there nothing to find?”

In the side chambers of Yongning Palace, Kangman kicked out at a junior eunuch and snapped, “Can’t even handle a thing this simple. Completely useless.”

The junior eunuch curled up on the floor and said nothing, didn’t move. Any movement would bring more kicks. Kangman had a short temper, and everyone who worked under him had learned that the hard way.

Kangman settled into his chair with a dark expression, absently rubbing his neck — still able to feel, or imagining he could feel, the pain from that day.

He hadn’t been humiliated like that in years. Hit, and then let his attacker get away.

He looked at the young eunuch on the floor with cold eyes. “Xingzhi. You and Xinghé — you didn’t let him go on purpose, did you?”

Xingzhi shook his head violently, voice trembling. “Kangman-gonggong, we would never. The man was — his fighting skills were too good. That’s why we couldn’t hold him — he knocked us both out.”

Xingzhi still didn’t fully understand what had come over them that day. They had been somehow compelled to help that stranger escape. When they came back to themselves and realized Kangman had woken and found them still conscious, they’d known he would come after them — so they’d both staged their own unconsciousness. Got a few hits in themselves to make it look convincing.

Which had worked. After waking, Kangman hadn’t suspected them. He was simply furious, fixated on finding whoever it was.

It should have been straightforward. The people he’d sent out had found nothing.

Kangman frowned. The area was close to several servant residential blocks. Even factoring in his limited description of the person, there should have been a match.

Height. Voice. That unbothered, confrontational attitude — someone who fit all three criteria should have been findable.

Unless he had it wrong.

Unless it wasn’t someone from the Directorate of Cleaning, the Office of Miscellaneous Purchases, the kitchens, or any of the other nearby buildings.

It hadn’t occurred to Kangman that the person he was looking for — Jingzhe, who was so at ease in causing trouble — was known by everyone around him as the quietest, steadiest person in the group. Not a trace of what Kangman had described.

Looking for a wildcat and finding a lamb. No wonder nothing turned up.

Without finding this person, Kangman couldn’t let go of the grievance. But he had more pressing matters right now. He put it aside, and kicked the eunuch on the floor again, telling him to get up.

“The thing I told you to arrange before — is it done?”

Xingzhi, head bowed: “Done.”

A smile of satisfaction crossed Kangman’s face. Good — contact had been made.

At least one thing hadn’t been botched.

Xingzhi lowered his head further, eyes full of a fear he couldn’t show.

The fifteenth day of the eighth month was the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Despite the shadow of the autumn banquet incident, Noble Consort De had moved decisively, closing the matter within five or six days. The festive atmosphere was present, if a little subdued.

Many of the consorts were still shaken, and most chose to remain in their own quarters rather than venture out. Noble Consort De’s gifts made a token appearance, adding some semblance of celebration.

The Mid-Autumn Festival fell on the fifth, and Jingzhe met with Rong Jiu as usual.

He didn’t bring up what had happened that night. He behaved as though nothing had. His manner toward Rong Jiu was unchanged — except that, every now and then, despite himself, his eyes would drift to Rong Jiu’s neck or wrist.

Both wounds were covered by clothing. Nothing was visible.

“You don’t think Ding Peng was the one who actually did it?”

The question came from Rong Jiu, cutting into Jingzhe’s stream of thought.

Jingzhe: “Probably not.”

If Ding Peng had truly been the one who administered the substance, he wouldn’t have needed to die.

“I think Kangman may be behind Ding Peng’s death.” He was lying with his head on Rong Jiu’s waist, frowning at the middle distance. “But Noble Consort De moved so fast to close the case — there’s likely no evidence linking him.”

If Zhongcui Palace couldn’t uncover it, Jingzhe had no hope of doing so on his own.

“Perhaps Noble Consort De chose to conclude it quickly rather than let the chaos drag on,” Rong Jiu said, his tone empty of judgment.

Jingzhe lifted his head to study Rong Jiu’s profile.

If Noble Consort De had not actually found the person behind it, and had simply chosen to end the matter early, then the two implicated consorts might well have been framed.

Ding Peng had an argument with Kangman and said he wanted out — and shortly after, Ding Peng was dead, having recently handled the imperial tea service delivery.

At the autumn banquet, Zong Yuanxin had identified the substance in the tea — which was why the tea service had been investigated.

Jingzhe, on the day of his system glitch, had been moving through a deserted corridor and had run into Kangman in a remote room. Kangman had been there with two junior eunuchs, doing something unspecified, and had been extremely suspicious of Jingzhe’s presence, trying to determine who he was.

That room was close to both the imperial kitchens and the imperial tea service.

Laid side by side, Jingzhe would have to be genuinely stupid to miss what connected these pieces.

Kangman was dirty. That much was clear.

Rong Jiu was leaning against the tree trunk behind him, absently running his hand along Jingzhe’s spine.

Jingzhe had grown into himself since they’d first met — less thin than he used to be, less angular — but under his hands there was still very little flesh, especially along the lower back, where each vertebra could be pressed individually.

Jingzhe lay there relaxed, entirely unaware of how dangerous that deliberate attention was.

The throat, the spine — those were the most vulnerable parts of a person.

“So how would you investigate?” Rong Jiu’s voice had an indifferent quality. “Yongning Palace is far away, and he’s a senior eunuch with more standing than you. If you cross him, you’ll come off worse.”

Then he pivoted without warning.

“The person who blocked your path that day was him.”

Not a question. Certain, and cold.

Jingzhe hadn’t mentioned that to Rong Jiu. He hadn’t mentioned it initially because at the time, Rong Jiu’s behavior had been considerably more alarming than Kangman’s. Afterward, the subject had passed. He had mentioned Kangman’s arrogance in passing, but never identified him as the person from that day.

He had, however, told Rong Jiu about the conversation he’d overheard late that night.

“How do you know?” Jingzhe was genuinely perplexed.

Only he and Kangman could have known. Plus the two junior eunuchs present.

No one else.

Rong Jiu knowing Jingzhe’s general movements was one thing — Jingzhe had long since concluded that someone among the people around him had been turned, functioning as eyes. But for Rong Jiu to know about something that no one else had witnessed was a different matter entirely.

Rong Jiu, unhurried: “If, as you’ve said, you’ve never seen Kangman’s face and only heard his voice — how would you know that he’s arrogant toward other people?”

Arrogant.

That was an assessment that was very difficult to arrive at without direct personal experience.

Jingzhe: “I might have heard it from others, without ever encountering him myself.”

After all, he had Shi’en as a primary source.

“Given your temperament — without seeing something firsthand, without experiencing it directly, you rarely make that kind of confident statement.” Rong Jiu’s fingers came to rest at the small of Jingzhe’s back, tapping twice. “So — are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

Jingzhe: “…You’re right.”

Insufferable. He believed Rong Jiu was correct, and he also believed Rong Jiu had somehow manipulated him into this corner, and he had no way to prove either.

Jingzhe gave Rong Jiu a mildly edited account of that day. The buff had influenced Kangman’s behavior — it hadn’t represented his genuine intentions — so he stuck to what was actually relevant. Kangman had made him feel sick, and he’d hit him. Accounts settled.

“Someone like that has no capacity for mercy toward others. The more you soften toward him, the more likely he is to turn on you when you’re not looking.”

Rong Jiu summarized in one sentence.

Jingzhe groaned, flopped over, and thudded his head down on Rong Jiu’s waist. He stayed facedown for a moment, then pushed himself back up.

Kangman was being used by someone. He was near-certain of that. It was possible the autumn banquet had been planned together by Kangman and Ding Peng, with Ding Peng killed when he tried to pull out.

What he didn’t know was who was pulling the strings from behind them.

Noble Consort De had lost a great deal of face — even her swift, decisive response had only salvaged some of it. What had already been lost was gone. Rebuilding her reputation wouldn’t be easy. The other consorts declining her Mid-Autumn gifts and retreating into their own quarters was a sign of that — whether out of lingering fear or simple recalculation, they were no longer showing her the same deference as before.

If she had still been the Noble Consort with the Empress Dowager’s full backing, no one would have dared behave this way. But the Empress Dowager was now a tiger without claws — authority without reach.

Noble Consort De had only herself to rely on.

She must despise whoever had orchestrated this. If she ever found out the truth — and learned that Kangman had a hand in it — she would continue investigating. Quietly, below the surface.

“How would you convince Noble Consort De? She isn’t Zhu Erxi. You have almost no way to reach her directly. And even if she believed you, her most likely response would be to silence you and then continue the investigation herself.”

Jingzhe: “I’m not planning to convince Noble Consort De.”

He had no means of doing that.

Persuading Zhu Erxi had only been possible because they’d met before, and because of the old tie through Chen Mingde. That had barely worked. Noble Consort De was a different order of difficulty entirely.

“Then what are you planning?”

Jingzhe examined Rong Jiu’s expression and the tone in which he’d asked the question, then shook his head slowly. “I’m not telling you yet.” When he’d worked it out properly, he would.

He had a feeling that telling Rong Jiu now would lead somewhere very bad.

“I have a suggestion,” Rong Jiu said. “Want to hear it?”

Jingzhe looked at him, curious despite himself.

“Kill him.”

…Right. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“And if I did kill him — how would I explain it?”

“Slipped and fell into the water,” Rong Jiu said, with a meaningful edge. “It really is a very elegant solution.”

To remove the problem at the root.

Jingzhe gave him a bright, sweet smile. And then let it drop.

“No.”

He pulled a purse from inside his robe and threw it at Rong Jiu with considerable force.

Rong Jiu’s brow furrowed. He picked it up between two fingers. It was heavy. He squeezed it — quite a few silver pieces.

No wonder it had hurt.

“What is this?”

“Money.”