Jiang Chenbi glanced to the side, her expression somewhat hesitant and unnatural as she said, “I might have to leave the capital for a while.”
Cui Wangshu paused for a moment and nodded. “Alright.”
She wasn’t even going to ask where she was going? Or what she was going to do?
Seeing that Cui Wangshu didn’t ask, a surge of grievance suddenly welled up in Jiang Chenbi’s heart.
What a cold, unfeeling blockhead. They had lived together for nearly two months now.
Was this woman really so heartless?
The face she used to adore now irritated her to no end. Jiang Chenbi didn’t want to see Cui Wangshu’s nonchalant demeanor, so she stood up to leave.
Cui Wangshu pursed her lips, a flicker of struggle in her eyes. She reached out and grabbed the woman’s slender arm.
“Be careful.”
Jiang Chenbi: ?
Fine. Just fine.
Jiang Chenbi shook off her hand and said coldly, “No need for Minister Cui to worry.”
Cui Wangshu stared at Jiang Chenbi’s departing back, then glanced at the Butterfly Pastry in her hand and sighed.
After Jiang Chenbi left, she didn’t return to her room. Instead, she headed straight out of the Shangshu Residence.
The rats in the Cui Family had been dealt with cleanly; no one would report every little detail to Cui Daoyuan anymore.
Unlike Cui Wangshu, who carried herself with official poise, Jiang Chenbi’s methods were direct and unexpected.
The capital was thousands of miles from the Southern Frontier. These nobles couldn’t even imagine the power of Gu Worms. Even Cui Wangshu had only learned after meeting Jiang Chenbi that one didn’t always have to follow the rules.
Ying Qi had returned to the Southern Frontier. The Yellow Path Palace had too many matters to handle, and she couldn’t be away. Qian Yuan couldn’t stay away long either, so he had gone back to Luozhou.
Now, only Ying Lan remained by Jiang Chenbi’s side. Ying Lan was Ying Qi’s younger sister; back then, Jiang Chenbi had bought the two sisters from the black market.
Ying Qi ran between the Poison Gu Sect and the Yellow Path Palace, mainly handling the Poison Gu Sect, while Ying Lan only managed the Yellow Path Palace.
This time, Jiang Chenbi was heading to Tongzhou, another base of the Yellow Path Palace.
On the cliffside, Jiang Chenbi wore a white robe, a conical hat shielding her overly striking features. She sat astride her horse, gazing into the distance, lost in thought.
“Whoa—”
The sound of hoofbeats approached from afar and stopped beside Jiang Chenbi.
A gust of wind lifted the white veil on her hat, revealing her pallid, sickly yet stunningly beautiful face.
“Palace Lord.”
“Is the information accurate?”
Ying Qi handed over the sword in her hand. “It’s accurate. Our people have been watching. Lai Niang is in Tongzhou right now.”
Jiang Chenbi narrowed her eyes. “Let’s go.”
Two white figures sped through the mountains toward Tongzhou.
…
The beauty trap ensnared many who couldn’t resist.
Especially when that figure overlapped with a lingering regret from memory—even Li Cong couldn’t resist.
He remembered that graceful shadow in the center of the dance floor at the Mid-Autumn Night Banquet all too well.
She was breathtakingly beautiful yet kept everyone at arm’s length, igniting Li Cong’s desire to conquer.
Normally suppressed by the Empress Dowager at every turn, he could only vent his so-called “manly pride” on the women of the harem.
Perhaps the Mid-Autumn sacrificial rites had finally diminished the Cui Family’s momentum, allowing him to reclaim some imperial dignity.
Li Cong stared at Li Ji seated before the vanity. Without her mask, her face bore a resemblance to Jiang Chenbi’s— that same aura of aloof detachment from their first encounter.
“Li Ji, I’ve granted you Fenghua Hall to live in alone. Are you not pleased?”
Li Ji kept her face cold, avoiding his gaze. “How could Your Concubine dare be displeased with His Majesty’s gift?”
Seeing her indifference, Li Cong wasn’t angry. He narrowed his eyes—this icy attitude was just like her.
As night fell, Li Cong left for Yangxin Hall.
He never stayed in the consorts’ palaces; he always returned to Yangxin Hall to rest. In the past six months, despite the grand selection of consorts, none had borne him an heir.
The one who had gotten pregnant, that Pang Fei—Li Cong sneered inwardly. Who knew whose bastard it was.
Passing the charred ruins of Cheng’en Palace, Li Cong lowered his eyes. That ungrateful woman—her death was no great loss.
After Li Cong departed, a bird flew out from Fenghua Hall, leaving the Imperial Palace and entering the Shangshu Residence amid the night.
Cui Wangshu removed the rolled-up note from the bird’s claw, scanned the contents swiftly, and tossed it into the brazier at her feet with a cold sneer.
The candlelight reflected in Cui Wangshu’s pitch-black eyes like cold stars in ink.
Lost in thought, Cui Wangshu gripped her brush, unable to put it to paper. Since Jiang Chenbi had stormed off that afternoon, she had heard nothing from her.
She didn’t know where she had gone or what she was doing.
Cui Wangshu pursed her lips, attributing this restlessness to the Love Gu, refusing to dwell on it.
Turning her attention back to the letter from Li Ji, Cui Wangshu frowned. She had always thought the Emperor’s sudden change in temperament was due to illness.
But now, upon reflection, what illness could transform a person so completely—altering their aura, preferences, and style entirely?
She remembered the old Li Cong: mediocre in ability but born to the previous Emperor’s wife before his ascension. After her death, the previous Emperor had doted on this son.
As Crown Prince, Li Cong hadn’t been this effeminate; he had a youthful recklessness, handling affairs meticulously like a pedantic scholar even at a young age. The current Li Cong…
She couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something was off.
Cui Wangshu jotted down some notes—details she had learned from Jiang Chenbi’s mouth—and her gaze darkened.
She spent the night sleepless.
Cui Wangshu sat in her study through the entire night, let out a long breath, rubbed her aching eyes, changed clothes, and headed to court.
Cui Daoyuan noticed her off state at a glance, but she didn’t look like she’d overindulged. He frowned. “What were you up to last night?”
Faint shadows under her eyes lent her aloof features a touch of weariness, making her seem even more like a refined degenerate.
“I was reviewing the details of the Mid-Autumn sacrificial rites and lost track of time—before I knew it, the whole night had passed.”
Cui Daoyuan frowned. “Why suddenly revisit the Mid-Autumn events?”
Cui Wangshu replied, “I’ll explain in detail to Father after court.”
It wasn’t the time for details right now, so he let it go.
Unfortunately, Cui Daoyuan never got to hear her explanation.
At morning court, an urgent express report from eight hundred li was presented to the Emperor.
Kang Kingdom envoys had met with disaster on their way home, dying in Tongzhou. Involving foreign diplomacy, the Emperor decreed that Minister of Rites Cui Wangshu and Dali Temple Vice Minister Ji Yunwei set out immediately for Tongzhou.
Kang Kingdom was Great Zhao’s closest ally in recent years, with friendly peoples, thriving trade, and cultural exchange that boosted Western Border commerce.
Great Zhao excelled at brewing wine, and Kang people loved to drink. Cui Wangshu had specially petitioned to open night markets in the Western Border, which had flourished, increasing taxes substantially—not just benefiting the border folk but easing the national treasury’s pressures.
Afterward, even the Minister of Revenue viewed Cui Wangshu differently. So young, yet with such foresight—not only adept at diplomacy but accomplished in economics.
Establishing ties with Kang and reforming the Western Border were Cui Wangshu’s greatest achievements as an official. Now, with Kang envoys dying on Great Zhao soil, as Minister of Rites, she had to personally soothe the surviving delegation.
The matter came suddenly and fiercely. Before court even ended, Cui Wangshu and Ji Yunwei boarded a carriage and set off for Tongzhou.
On the road.
Ji Yunwei was dumbfounded. Such a major case on her plate—if mishandled, her head was as good as gone.
She glanced at Cui Wangshu beside her, eyes closed in calm repose, and couldn’t help but admire her. Worthy of being Minister. Mount Tai collapsing before her without a change in expression.
“Minister, what are you thinking about?”
Cui Wangshu opened her eyes, her gaze still hazy as if just roused from sleep.
Ji Yunwei: “…”
She had actually been sleeping?
But to sleep at a time like this—surely the Minister had a plan in mind.
“What’s wrong?” Cui Wangshu’s voice was still husky from waking.
Having disturbed her rest, Ji Yunwei didn’t dare press. She chuckled awkwardly. “Nothing, nothing.”
Now fully awake, Cui Wangshu said, “You wanted to ask about the Kang envoys, right?”
Ji Yunwei nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling. Just like the rumors—divine insight, prophetic wisdom.
Seeing her enthusiasm, Cui Wangshu knew another one poisoned by hearsay.
With that expectant look, Cui Wangshu curved her lips. Unfortunately, the rushed departure meant she hadn’t brought her Divination Chips.
She lifted the curtain, and the Onyx Iron Fan whirled out, returning with leaves of varying sizes.
Ji Yunwei gaped at the display, her admiration intensifying.
After some manipulations, Cui Wangshu reached a conclusion.
“Yelu Narqi, the Kang envoy, and I are somewhat acquainted. She’s handled diplomacy between Kang and Great Zhao for years—humble, courteous, rarely making enemies. With recent power shifts and unrest in Kang, focus your attention on their own people.”
Ji Yunwei took it all in, nodding solemnly and committing Cui Wangshu’s words to memory.
The murder of Yelu Narqi was shrouded in deep mystery; even Cui Wangshu glimpsed little. Forcing a full reading risked shortening her lifespan.
So she merely offered what she knew—a tip of the iceberg.
Cui Wangshu rather liked Ji Yunwei. As a woman unbound by convention, daring to carve a career amid the dead.
She had cracked many a cold case; with more seniority, promotion to Dali Temple Minister was inevitable.
Cui Wangshu admired the capable, especially capable women.
Great Zhao’s official selection didn’t bar women by gender, but women faced steeper odds—not due to lesser ability, but lack of family backing. Most hailed from humble origins.
Few commoners reached Li Qingqing’s position.
Among the Six Ministries’ Ministers, only Cui Wangshu was a woman. Beyond her talent, the key was resources: endless support from Rongguo Duke’s Mansion and Cui Residence to clear paths and elevate her.
Not every woman had such backing, so Cui Wangshu particularly valued ambitious, upward-striving women and was willing to lend a hand.
Just as she had once urged Cui Daoyuan to recommend Li Qingqing, now she gave Ji Yunwei her chance. Solving this case would make it her crowning achievement.
How many high officials drew salaries yet did nothing, coasting on family ties, vegetating in their posts?
Meanwhile, the capable languished outside great clans’ circles, holding to principles, truly serving the people.
