◎Letter◎

Gao Yunyue had settled the young beggar who delivered the letter in an inn by the Bian River. Time was pressing, and she didn’t have the leisure to do much else. Sending Qu You and her husband to meet the girl was also a gesture of trust.

The messenger was a little girl, gaunt and frail, but with large, bright eyes. She cautiously asked several questions from behind the door before finally agreeing to let them in.

Gao Yunyue had prepared plenty of food for the girl, leaving the table in disarray. Seeing the tattered rags the girl wore, Qu You immediately sent someone to buy her a new set of clothes.

As the girl nibbled on her third cheese ball, she softly said, “My name is A Luo. It was Sister Liu who gave me this name.”

“A Luo,” Qu You glanced at Zhou Tan, who stood awkwardly beside her, unsure what to say to the child, and smiled. “How did your Sister Liu ask you to deliver this item? Can you tell me?”

“Sister Liu said I could only tell two sisters, one surnamed Gao and the other surnamed Qu,” A Luo shot a wary glance at Zhou Tan, adding with a hint of hostility, “He can’t hear it.”

“He’s my husband,” Qu You gently patted the girl’s head, explaining helplessly, “He and I share the same heart. You can trust him.”

After hesitating for a long while, A Luo finally spoke: “… I met Sister Liu outside the clinic. It was the depth of winter, and she kindly sought out a doctor to prescribe medicine that saved my younger brother’s life. But he didn’t make it—he passed away last year.”

A Luo appeared to be about eleven or twelve years old. Though her voice was timid, she spoke clearly and logically.

“But I never forgot Sister Liu’s kindness. I often waited outside the Du family estate for her to come out so I could give her flowers I’d picked. Sister Liu once said that if circumstances were different and she had the means, she would take me in… Thanks to her support, life became much easier for me. But that day, when I went as usual to give her flowers, I saw her step out of the sedan chair covered in wounds.”

After marrying into the Du household, Liu Lianxi indeed found herself powerless. The two had met earlier in the year, and A Luo, who lived among street beggars, had survived alone—a testament to her intelligence.

“She seemed extremely frightened and couldn’t say much to me. She only told me to come secretly to the canal outside the Du residence at midnight. She had something to give me and instructed me to keep it safe. If anything happened to her, I was to wait on the mountain path of Ting Mountain for either Sister Gao or Sister Qu and hand it over to them.”

Hearing this, Qu You understood more clearly. Liu Lianxi had chosen Ting Mountain to avoid prying eyes within Bianjing.

But this act was undeniably risky. By swallowing the key and handing over the box, even the slightest mishap could prevent these items from reaching their intended hands. Liu Lianxi’s decision to entrust a beggar reflected not only her lack of available allies but also her calculated gamble.

Qu You examined the box thoughtfully. Earlier, Zhou Tan had mentioned that even if the box fell into someone else’s hands, it likely couldn’t be opened. If forced open by fire or hammer, its contents would be destroyed.

After finishing her story, A Luo continued eating the food on the table. She had already washed her face, revealing round, bright eyes and a slightly upturned nose—a pretty face hidden beneath the soot she had smeared on herself for protection.

Zhou Tan exchanged glances with Qu You, about to say something when the girl suddenly began coughing violently. Qu You jumped up, patting her back. “A Luo, what’s wrong?”

A Luo covered her mouth and nose, gasping for air and rolling her eyes. She tried to stand and leave the table but nearly collapsed. Qu You caught her, hearing her broken words: “This is… a congenital weakness… Sister, don’t worry…”

With no choice but to act quickly, they took her to Bai Ying’s place. After much fuss, they finally returned to the estate. Zhou Tan instructed Nurse Yun to clear all servants from around Songfeng Pavilion, then led Qu You into the hidden chamber behind the bookshelves.

She hadn’t known there was a secret room in the estate. Having rarely visited Zhou Tan’s Songfeng Pavilion, she had never noticed it before.

The hidden room was spacious, with a dusty curio cabinet near the entrance. Glancing briefly, Qu You saw several scrolls, a few intricately carved wooden boxes, and a beautifully engraved sword.

Noticing her gaze linger, Zhou Tan lit a candle and murmured, “… That was my old sword.”

“Do you know martial arts?” Qu You was astonished, sitting down beside him at the desk. She had wondered about this since seeing him shoot an arrow toward Liang An atop Jinghua Mountain.

“A bit,” Zhou Tan replied simply.

Qu You retrieved the key hidden in her sleeve and inserted it into the lock of the box. After a series of mechanical clicks, the box finally opened. Qu You exhaled in relief. “I didn’t expect we’d actually find a use for this key.”

“What does the letter say?”

Zhou Tan sat across from her, holding the candle aloft. Struggling to read under such conditions, Qu You scooted closer, sitting beside him.

Shoulder to shoulder, they began reading the letter together.

Qu You carefully opened the oilpaper envelope at the top and began reading. The handwriting, though slightly hurried, was neat and delicate—undoubtedly written by Liu Lianxi.

“To my dear friends Yunyue and You, I’ve led a wandering life without close companions, fortunate only to have shared a cup of wine with you both. Knowing my days are numbered, I entrust this to you. If this letter reaches your hands, I will die without regret.”

“Since entering the Du household, I’ve lived in constant fear, merely surviving. The Du father and son are corrupt and unjust. I’ve long wished to uncover their crimes but lacked the opportunity. One day, a drunkard boasted of holding the reins of power. I sought out this item, though its meaning eludes me, it fills me with dread. After much deliberation, I decided to entrust it to you both. If used, I’ll smile in the afterlife; if useless, burn it to avoid entanglement… Words cannot express my gratitude. Pray take care, and may we meet again in another life. Wishing you peace.”

What secrets could this contain that made Liu Lianxi realize her days were numbered?

Frowning, Qu You set the letter aside and discovered more writings below, also in Liu Lianxi’s hand—but fragmented, likely transcribed from memory after reading.

“Third month… To my nephew Gongshu Duan, I’ve seen it. Waiting anxiously in Biandu.”

“Duan, I know the dark truth behind your father’s death—it’s tied to the renovation of Zhenru Hall in the palace… Zhao Yin is ruthless. The carpenters I saved left notes upon entering the capital… For our friendship’s sake, I vow to help until death.”

“Upon examining Duan’s sketches, my suspicions are confirmed… Await further developments.”

Across roughly ten sheets of paper, the words were disjointed and cryptic. Qu You was utterly bewildered, but she noticed Zhou Tan’s trembling hands holding the letters. In the dim light of the hidden room, she held her breath and heard his uneven breathing.

Turning to look, she saw Zhou Tan gripping the letter tightly, his throat bobbing as if choked by countless unspoken words. Almost frantically, he flipped through each page, his face turning pale. Sensing her gaze, he met her eyes, his own icy and shattering like broken glass.

Qu You watched in astonishment as Zhou Tan struggled to suppress his emotions, but ultimately failed. Tears streamed down his high-bridged nose, landing with a soft plop on the paper. Trembling, he muttered hoarsely, “How could this be…”

His eyes were bloodshot, his focus scattered. He unconsciously reached for his forearm. Seeing him glance toward the sword on the curio cabinet, Qu You acted decisively, wrapping her arms tightly around him from behind. Zhou Tan instinctively struggled twice before collapsing with her beside the desk.

Even as he fell, he instinctively shifted his body to cushion her fall. The movement extinguished the flickering candle flame, plunging the hidden room into complete darkness.

Qu You loosened her grip, intending to get up and relight the candle, but suddenly heard a muffled groan of pain. His hands tentatively wrapped around her from behind, pulling her tightly into his embrace.

“Zhou Tan...”

She called out hesitantly, sensing his fragile state, and awkwardly switched to another term of endearment.

“Xiaobai... Husband!”

Those words seemed to trigger something within him. Zhou Tan buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, silent, but she felt moisture seeping through her robe. Amidst the quiet, she faintly heard his broken voice mutter:

“So... this is how it is!”

After a long while, she felt his trembling body gradually calm. She knelt on the ground, unconsciously stroking his back. “You didn’t bring the celadon bottle with you today?”

Zhou Tan remained silent for a moment before his clear yet slightly hoarse voice finally responded: “...Since you’re asking, I assume you already know what was inside it.”

Qu You half-supported, half-carried him up, retrieving the flint he had discarded earlier. She relit the candle, its flickering light illuminating Zhou Tan’s pale face. He looked at her, the redness in his eyes still not faded, making him appear pitiful.

“When I left the Ministry of Justice, His Majesty didn’t trust me.”

With just that one sentence, Qu You realized her earlier suspicions were correct and couldn’t help but sigh.

“The bottle contained ‘Gu Wu’?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to be controlled by it?”

“Yes.”

She recalled the shattered celadon bottle and He San skillfully treating his wounds, still puzzled. “If you didn’t want to be controlled by it, why carry it with you?”

Zhou Tan let out a bitter laugh.

“If I didn’t carry it with me, how could I claim I’m not controlled by it? Only by having it within reach and choosing not to take it can I truly eliminate the threat.”

Qu You sucked in a sharp breath.

Ordinary detox methods involved restraint, confinement, and isolation—keeping addicts away from the substance until they trembled at the mere thought of it, eventually eradicating their cravings. But Zhou Tan was ruthless with himself. Not only did he aim to quit, but he also carried the temptation close, battling the overwhelming desire at arm’s length.

No wonder he resorted to self-inflicted pain... Without the distraction of physical agony, enduring such torment would have been impossible.

Zhou Tan steadied himself against the desk, pressing his cold hand to her forehead. His voice was icy, and Qu You found it hard to reconcile this composed demeanor with the man who, just moments ago, had trembled uncontrollably under the dual influence of Gu Wu and the letter, curling into her arms like a frightened animal seeking warmth.

“There’s no need to worry. I know my limits.”

“How can I not worry? Last time...” Qu You hesitated, her tone tinged with both frustration and concern. “There must be other ways besides hurting yourself. If you keep this up without speaking, aren’t you afraid you’ll collapse?”

Whether from guilt or stunned by her rare display of concern, Zhou Tan silently withdrew his hand but said nothing.

Qu You picked up the scattered letters from the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. With little hope, she asked: “Can you tell me why you lost control like that?”

Cradling the box, she looked up, only to meet Zhou Tan’s tear-filled gaze. His lips quivered as he forced a bitter smile: “If you come to understand this matter, it means we’ll walk together on a perilous bridge with no chance of turning back...”

“This path is fraught with danger and deceit. Are you sure... you want to hear it?”