Chapter 51 - 3#

Rong Jiu looked at Jingzhe.

Jingzhe grinned, sitting cross-legged. “You bought my house. And you wouldn’t tell me how much you paid, so I had Zheng Hong look into it.”

Rong Jiu’s brow shifted slightly. He jingled the purse. The coins inside clinked against each other.

“You’re using…” He squeezed it again, counting precisely by feel. “Approximately thirty taels of loose silver — to buy it back?”

“Obviously not,” Jingzhe said, eyes flashing. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

Then, somewhat sheepishly: “I don’t have that much. I just thought — whatever I have, I’ll put in what I can.”

Before Rong Jiu could respond, Jingzhe added quickly: “I know it’s a gift from you. I’m not trying to split it into yours and mine.”

His voice had dropped.

“I just — can’t we buy it together?”

A long pause. A hand settled over Jingzhe’s face, flat and unaffected. “At your rate of saving, it would take you about fifty years.”

“Is that bad?”

A guileless, soft question.

“It means we’d at least be alive together for fifty more years.”

He had no idea what he had just ignited.

“Moon cakes, moon cakes, Mama, I want moon cakes—”

“Fresh moon rabbit cakes, buy one, honored guest?”

“Silk cloth, handkerchiefs, cloth shoes, thread of every kind—”

“There’s a blessing ceremony in the east — want to go and see?”

The whole street was alive with noise. Hawkers calling from every direction.

Cen Liang and Liu-shi were caught in the current of the crowd, nearly separated several times. Cen Liang kept a firm grip on her mother’s arm and stayed pressed close, refusing any gap between them.

Liu-shi laughed. “Don’t worry — if we lose each other, we meet at the bridge.”

Cen Liang shook her head vigorously. “Mama, I don’t want to be separated from you.”

Liu-shi looked at her daughter, and something ached quietly in her chest.

Since they’d visited Cen Xuanyin’s grave, Cen Liang had been more clingy than ever. She had always slept in a separate bed, but these days she would creep into Liu-shi’s room in the night and curl up at her feet, as careful as a small animal trying not to wake anyone. Liu-shi had found her more than once like this and eventually just told her to share the bed — better than watching her make the trip each night.

“After we finish shopping, I want to go by — I want to look at that place again,” Cen Liang said.

Liu-shi knew exactly where she meant, and nodded.

“But just once more. And after this, we don’t go back.” Her voice was quiet. “That isn’t our home anymore.”

Cen Liang pressed her lips together with a trace of stubbornness.

Liu-shi let it go, sighing inwardly. Cen Liang had grown up with a lot taken from her. She was sensitive, and fiercely protective of Liu-shi — because of it. The things you were denied, you ended up craving most. Lately Liu-shi would sometimes catch snatches of what Cen Liang said in her sleep.

She called for her brother.

Jingzhe—

Liu-shi felt a familiar ache at the thought of that name.

She missed him too. Of course she did.

But he had entered the palace now, and that was near-permanent. He wasn’t a woman, so there was no release at twenty-five. He would most likely spend his life inside those walls — or perhaps he was already gone.

Whenever she allowed her mind to touch these possibilities, sleep became impossible.

But there was nothing to be done.

Liu-shi hadn’t wanted to feed Cen Liang false hope. She had quietly tried several avenues to find out something, anything — and come up against nothing. She had pushed the disappointment down.

Cen Liang led her mother through the stalls, filling the basket on her arm with this and that.

Then the two of them turned against the flow of the crowd and walked slowly toward—

The Rong family house.

Cen Liang glanced at the plaque above the gate, then looked away just as fast. No matter how many times she came here, she could not make peace with it.

She murmured: “I’m going to save money.”

Liu-shi smiled. “What for — a dowry?”

“When I have enough, I’m going to buy the house back.”

Liu-shi’s smile wavered, becoming something strained that threatened to break. “What are you talking about, child. Do you have any idea how much a house in the capital costs?”

“Mama — the shopkeeper said he wants me to take on more responsibilities at the store. I was going to refuse — it felt like too much. But now I think it might not be a bad idea after all.”

She would work for it. Step by step, a little at a time.

Cen Liang had asked around quietly. Palace servants — eunuchs especially — could, in old age, sometimes be released. If she hadn’t bought the house back by then, where would her brother go when he came out?

She hadn’t told Liu-shi any of this.

Liu-shi held her daughter’s arm, hesitated, and swallowed the words of discouragement that rose to her tongue.

She worried, as a mother would, that Cen Liang working so publicly might make things more difficult for her when it came time to marry. But for people in their position — Liu-shi thought — what was the point of that kind of constraint?

Let her do what she wants.

They stood close to the gate, speaking quietly, not approaching — just glancing up at it once or twice. Then Liu-shi tilted her head at the sky.

“We should get back.”

Any later and they wouldn’t have time to prepare for the evening offering.

Cen Liang gave a reluctant nod and turned to follow her mother — and then the large gate behind them gave a sudden creak and swung open.

A broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, holding the gate steady, speaking to someone inside: “I’ve told you before — this gate needs proper maintenance. Listen to that sound. What kind of condition is that to leave it in?”

The person inside said immediately: “Yes, yes, Manager Yu, I’ll oil the hinges right away. It won’t happen again.”

Manager Yu nodded, satisfied, and stepped out through the gate.

He saw two figures standing not far away — a handsome middle-aged woman and a young girl, the resemblance between them clear enough that they were obviously mother and daughter.

Manager Yu rubbed his hands together and was about to say something, then stopped, his gaze lingering on the middle-aged woman with an expression of uncertain recognition.

Cen Liang felt immediately that something was wrong. She grabbed her mother’s arm and moved. “Mama. Quickly.”

Liu-shi was less quick to alarm, but she followed.

Footsteps came rapidly behind them.

“A moment, please, if you would — might I ask — are you Liu-shi? And Miss Cen?”

Liu-shi’s breath caught. Cen Liang’s face went rigid.

They had used their real names since coming to the capital — they had felt safe doing so, because who would bother tracking down people as unimportant as them?

And now someone had called out their names in a single breath. The shock of it was cold.

Liu-shi moved in front of Cen Liang and turned to face the man who had come after them. Her voice was hard and sharp: “You have the wrong people. What do you want, following us?”

Manager Yu looked urgent, wanted to speak, then suddenly stopped himself and patted at his own clothing, searching carefully until he produced a letter.

“Liu-shi, please look at this first.”

Cen Liang ducked out from behind her mother, irritated at being shielded, stepped forward and took the letter from Manager Yu’s hand, then retreated to her mother’s side.

“Liang—” Liu-shi caught herself, bit her tongue — she didn’t want to say Cen Liang’s name aloud. “What are you doing, don’t be so reckless—”

“Mama, stop always—”

Cen Liang was talking and opening the letter at the same time. Her eyes fell on the paper inside — and she went silent.

Liu-shi noticed and looked too, and the color drained from her face.

Cen Liang might have had some uncertainty. But Liu-shi could not fail to recognize Cen Xuanyin’s handwriting.

She had been illiterate before she married him. Everything she knew of reading and writing, he had taught her — character by character, stroke by stroke. He had held her hand and guided her brush across page after page. How could she ever forget those characters?

She turned sharply to Manager Yu. “Where did you get this?”

Manager Yu, carefully: “Now — you should both believe I mean you no harm.”

Cen Liang: “Having this letter proves you knew us. It doesn’t prove you mean us no harm.”

Manager Yu smiled. “Miss Cen — if I wanted to do something to you, I would have knocked you both out and carried you off just now. Why would I bother talking?”

Cen Liang opened her mouth, closed it, and looked at her mother.

She couldn’t feel it as sharply as Liu-shi did, but she could see that her mother was barely holding herself together. She stepped close and took her arm.

Manager Yu’s voice was sincere. “Please — come inside first.”

It was an invitation neither Liu-shi nor Cen Liang could refuse.

Inside the house, the rooms had been renovated — the old decay had been stripped away and replaced. The pond in the courtyard, the peach trees planted along the walls — they were all the same as they had always been. Nothing had been changed.

It looked exactly as it had before. Only time had passed, and the people standing in it were not the people they used to be.

Manager Yu led them to the edge of the pond and pointed down into the water. “Along with the letter — there were also several account ledgers. They were buried in the mud at the bottom.”

Liu-shi: “…The evidence was hidden under here?”

Manager Yu: “Yes. When my employer ordered the renovation, naturally that included this. The pond had been running on clean water for years but was never properly maintained, so workers were sent down to clear it out. What they found there — no one expected.”

He paused. “The new evidence that came to light in the Huang Qingtian case — it came from there.”

At the sound of those words, Liu-shi’s breathing quickened.

She looked down at the water.

Manager Yu said, with quiet satisfaction: “My employer had some ability, to acquire this property from the Huang-shi woman at all. And having come into possession of this evidence — how could they keep it buried and unseen for the rest of its existence?”

Cen Liang said suddenly: “Huang-shi?”

Manager Yu bowed slightly. “Yes. Before my employer purchased it, this property had been in the hands of Huang Qingtian’s wife, Lady Xu, managed by the Xu family’s people.”

Liu-shi’s voice was hoarse. “So from the beginning — Huang Qingtian knew he might be found out, and planned accordingly.”

He had known the evidence was in the house — and for years, had owned the house, had searched it, and found nothing. And then in the end, the house itself had been what tripped him.

How bitterly ironic.

Liu-shi and Cen Liang stayed a long time. When Manager Yu walked them out, he added: “My employer said — Cen-daren had so many contingencies in place that it seemed likely his family had also survived. Which is why I dared to approach you.”

Liu-shi shook her head and looked back at the gate for a moment. She said quietly: “We should be the ones to thank — your employer.”

Manager Yu laughed warmly. “My employer has a generous nature. He doesn’t reside here often. If you ever wish to visit again, you’re welcome to come at any time.”

Liu-shi bowed to him. Cen Liang finally let a small, faint smile appear — the tension in her face easing at last.

Once they were far enough away, Liu-shi spoke. “They have been kind to us, but we must not take advantage of their kindness. We shouldn’t come again often.” She pressed her hand over her chest, where she had placed Cen Xuanyin’s letter.

Manager Yu had told her: when the evidence had been sent out, the letters were kept back. But now they were simply returning what had always been hers.

Cen Liang sighed. “I suppose that means I should think more carefully about the house.”

Even so, today had been more than she could have hoped for. They had seen the old home. They had received her father’s own handwriting. And they had learned that the evidence he had worked so hard to leave behind had, in the end, served its purpose.

Huang Qingtian had been brought down by the very stone he had looked down on.

That was enough.

Manager Yu watched the two figures walk away. The pleasant, amiable expression he’d been wearing shifted several times across his face, and he muttered, rubbing his chin: “My face is going to cramp up.” Years without wearing that particular look — everything in his face had been fighting him.

Not an easy job at all.

“Did you get someone to follow them?” he asked, to the air behind him.

A figure materialized, and said quietly: “They’re being followed.”

Manager Yu nodded. “Remember my instructions. Watch them every day without exception. If they run into danger, you may intervene. Otherwise, don’t interfere.”

In the days ahead, Cen Liang would find that the shopkeeper intended not just to give her more responsibility, but to groom her as his successor. Liu-shi would find herself noticed by the shop’s owner — her wages more than doubled.

Not wealthy. Not prominent. But enough to live on.

And then — after some time — they would “hear” that Jingzhe had died.

Devastated, they would finally leave the capital and its grief behind them entirely.

Evening had come. The Emperor had not been back long.

From his manner, he appeared to be in a good mood.

Inside Qianming Palace, Ning Hongrú stood just behind him, watching as the Emperor picked up a document that had been delivered not long ago, in some urgency.

It detailed everything that had taken place at the Rong family house that day.

Hèlián Róng studied the two small portrait sketches — likenesses of Liu-shi and Cen Liang.

There was indeed a resemblance to Jingzhe.

And yet his expression as he looked at them was completely still. The way one looks at an object.

Well. They were objects, in a sense. Just two small drawings.

“Make sure they leave the capital soon,” Hèlián Róng said, with cold detachment. “Before I decide to kill them.”

Ning Hongrú exhaled quietly inward. Outwardly, he kept his face neutral. “This servant will oversee the matter personally.”

What the Emperor decided to do could not be stopped.

That it had found a relatively moderate resolution was beyond what Ning Hongrú had dared to hope for. Fortunately, the Emperor had not yet entirely forgotten how ordinary people were supposed to live.

Jingzhe would not forgive someone who harmed his family.

Unless it could be hidden for a lifetime — and even then, it was not the ideal outcome.

At least the Emperor had pulled back from the edge, and not done something irreversible.

Hèlián Róng looked at the two sketches.

Jingzhe’s family was alive.

Good.

He would ensure they stayed alive. Just as Jingzhe had, somewhere in him, always hoped.

Only they would never see each other again.

Inside Jingzhe’s heart, there could be no one more important than him. Whatever came close to that position — he would destroy it.

It was reason, or perhaps the constraints of convention, that told Hèlián Róng what the cost of killing Jingzhe’s family would be. And so he could exercise some patience.

…Patience.

Until the moment he lost control of it.