◎Old Ties◎

Fu Mingran, having revealed her face, immediately lowered the white veil and settled across from Zhou Tan, smoothing her robe. She spoke casually: “Lord Zhou, how have you been lately?”

Zhou Tan replied curtly: “Thanks to your grace.”

“This Golden Hairpin Pavilion was established by His Majesty himself. I hear that during the early days of the empire, the Golden Hairpin Consort once resided here, training a group of royal assassins—hence its name. His Majesty set it up here hoping for loyalists within the court.” Without hesitation, Fu Mingran reached for the teapot to pour herself a cup of tea but realized there was only one teacup on the table.

That teacup was firmly clutched in Zhou Tan’s hand, showing no sign of being relinquished.

“Consort Zhao dares to come alone despite knowing all this—I’m impressed,” Zhou Tan said coolly.

“His Majesty had a headache yesterday and rested in my palace. I had someone prepare soothing medicine for him. After skipping today’s morning court, he is still resting,” Fu Mingran blew lightly on her nails, speaking nonchalantly. “I left the palace with an imperial edict to visit my father. I haven’t stepped out of the Fu residence all day—what danger could there be? Though the Golden Hairpin Pavilion houses His Majesty’s trusted men, people can’t fully become hearts or bellies. Organs belong to oneself, but those closest to you can also serve others, can’t they?”

“Consort Zhao truly has far-reaching influence.”

Mocked repeatedly, Fu Mingran finally felt her pride bruised. She snorted coldly: “Even in such dire straits, Lord Zhou remains calm and composed. Should I commend your broad-mindedness or ridicule your arrogance?”

Seeing Zhou Tan remain silent, she felt a fleeting sense of triumph, relaxing the emotions he had almost stirred in her: “We share old ties. My visit is to offer you a way out.”

“Consort Zhao, please choose your words carefully,” Zhou Tan placed the teacup heavily on the small table. “What old ties do we have? Only the relationship between sovereign and subject exists. You are noble; I am a servant. Consort Zhao should not make reckless associations—it does not suit your station.”

“Lord Zhou always holds himself upright, forever so lofty and cold-hearted,” Fu Mingran exhaled deeply, reminding herself that Zhou Tan was like this—she shouldn’t let him provoke her. “But I remember when Lord Zhou achieved the triple crown as top scholar, clad in crimson brocade, escorted by the Left Forest Guard, riding a white horse through the imperial street, graceful and elegant. Every woman in the capital dreamed of marrying you.”

Zhou Tan kept his eyes lowered, neither speaking nor looking at her.

“I went with my friends to watch you from the楼上. I was so entranced that my hairpin slipped and fell into your arms—miraculously unbroken. The story of ‘the hairpin falling from the wall’ became a tale worthy of opera. All the women envied me, and Lord Zhou even came upstairs personally to return it. Today, I come remembering that bond.”

She had privately traveled from the Fu residence without styling her hair, simply pinning it with a jade hairpin.

Zhou Tan didn’t even raise an eyelid. He sighed impatiently but remained restrained and respectful: “Consort Zhao, I dare not claim old ties with you. Besides, what kind of old ties are these? If anything, I’d rather have never caught the hairpin you threw from the wall.”

“You haven’t changed at all over the years. Back then, you wrote those poems to insult me just to reject marriage. Now, harboring resentment against my father, you speak harshly to me,” Fu Mingran narrowed her eyes but suddenly recalled something amusing, biting her lip with a smile. “Enough. You’re no longer the dream suitor of every maiden in Bianjing. Let the past be forgotten. Are you pleased with the marriage I arranged for you?”

At this, Zhou Tan finally reacted slightly, his fingers trembling: “Naturally.”

“Is that so?” Fu Mingran said cheerfully. “I thought she would make a fuss after receiving the pear fan on her wedding night. Surprisingly, coming from a Qingliu family, she endured it. However, your forcing her to beat the drum of justice caused quite a stir across the city—even I heard about it in the inner palace. They say you’ve rarely returned home since then, staying mostly at the Ministry of Justice. But behind closed doors, do you have other worries?”

Zhou Tan stared blankly at a corner of the table. Fu Mingran’s words suddenly clarified something for him.

From childhood, except for his mother, every woman he had encountered was the same—beautiful, dignified, and condescending, just like Fu Mingran before him.

Rumors claimed he frequented brothels and forced Qu You to beat the drum of justice for courtesans. At first, Qu You couldn’t understand—such gossip seemed absurd and laughable upon reflection. Yet, once spread, everyone believed it without question.

Because, like Fu Mingran, they never imagined that a noblewoman would voluntarily sympathize with the plight of lowly women, even sacrificing her hard-earned reputation to risk public outrage by beating the drum of justice.

Perhaps some scholars admired her integrity, but most people never considered that a woman would do such a thing. Hence, once the rumors spread, people were convinced—so this was all his doing.

Fu Mingran would never think that the injustice of those women had anything to do with her, so she would never imagine another woman willingly taking such action.

Because she had never seen it.

But Qu You only thought that beating the drum for them was far more important than her own reputation. Compared to that, her intangible fame was utterly insignificant.

They were alike.

So even after losing everything, enduring betrayal, and standing alone in darkness, he still greedily craved this faint light.

Seeing him bow deeply, Fu Mingran thought she had struck a sore spot and smugly changed the topic: “Lord Zhou, do you know that after learning you were taken here by the Golden Hairpin Guard, I immediately probed His Majesty’s thoughts? A few days ago, he hadn’t made up his mind, but after a secret talk with my father, he seems to have formed an idea. I came to inform you in advance so you wouldn’t be startled.”

“Chancellor Fu allowing you to come here isn’t just to flaunt victory, is it?” Zhou Tan responded calmly. “The earlier words were what you wanted to say, but what does your father want to convey?”

“My father genuinely admires talent and wants to give you another chance, even now,” Fu Mingran smiled. “The Golden Hairpin Guard has confirmed that Young Master Ren was with Madame Chun of Chunfeng Huayu Pavilion that night and fell off the boat—a setup. Coincidentally, Lord Zhou was reprimanded by His Majesty that morning, argued with Young Master Du on the imperial street, and disappeared that night without any Ministry of Justice guards. Your whereabouts—are there witnesses? Oh, it seems... only a passerby near Bian River saw you.”

“Naturally, there are no witnesses,” Zhou Tan said. “Isn’t this precisely when my father chose to act, deliberately choosing a time when even he couldn’t find me?”

“What is Lord Zhou implying?” Fu Mingran covered her mouth and chuckled softly. “If you kill, you must admit it—you previously conspired with the maid beside the late Miss Liu, attempting to frame Young Master Du. When exposed in court, you killed in anger and framed your own cousin. Fortunately, Madame Chun is willing to testify for your cousin; otherwise, he might have been wrongfully accused.”

Such a smooth narrative—with the emperor’s suspicious nature, he would surely believe it.

Thinking this, Zhou Tan felt relieved. Ren Shiming had indeed been unlucky that day. Whoever pushed him off the boat likely acted on impulse after seeing him徘徊 near Bian River. After all, Ren Shiming’s awkward relationship with Zhou Tan meant no proof pointed to him orchestrating the murder, yet evidence suggested framing.

He entrusted the Crown Prince to secretly seek witnesses. Unexpectedly, Ren Shiming was with Ye Liuchun, whose word carried weight. With her testimony, Ren Shiming could walk free.

Relieved, Zhou Tan relaxed. Fu Mingran continued: “My father says that if you forget the past and return to your post as Vice Minister of Justice, reputation is but fleeting clouds. He has ways to restore you. The Crown Prince is no enlightened ruler—you know this. And we share old ties. After His Majesty passes, my son will ascend, and you’ll be the next chancellor under the heavens. My son will honor you as Imperial Tutor, and your renown will surpass even your teacher’s...”

“Consort Zhao.” Hearing this, Zhou Tan tightened his fingers slightly before releasing them, cutting her off.

Fu Mingran gazed at Zhou Tan, feeling a complex swirl of emotions.

Once, Zhou Tan was the ideal match every maiden in Bianjing dreamed of marrying. Even she, catching a glimpse from afar, fell deeply smitten. Her father, eager to recruit him, promised to help her secure him. But Zhou Tan showed no gratitude, not only joining Gu Zhiyan’s faction but devising methods to reject her marriage proposal—even damaging his own reputation.

Unaware bystanders called him a libertine, while knowledgeable sisters mocked her behind her back. Zhou Tan’s insult had left an indelible mark.

Her father originally intended to send her to the palace. Only because Zhou Tan seemed worth recruiting did he relent. When the marriage failed, she married the emperor, decades older than her.

Entering the palace was like plunging into an abyss.

Later, Zhou Tan underwent monumental upheavals. She had spoken kindly for him to the emperor to save his life and fueled rumors tarnishing his already poor reputation.

Hearing that Gao Ze’s daughter, previously engaged to the Crown Prince, now eyed Zhou Tan, she hastily arranged a marriage with a Qingliu daughter involved in the Candlelit Pavilion case, hoping to disrupt Zhou Tan’s household.

Yet even trapped in the Golden Hairpin Pavilion, his demeanor remained cold and arrogant, as if he never regarded her.

After Zhou Tan called her name, he suddenly laughed softly, growing louder. Fu Mingran had never seen him like this, even feeling frightened—for a moment, she glimpsed frigid madness flashing in his eyes.

“Thank you for your father’s kindness,” Zhou Tan said with a mocking smile, his gaze sharp enough to startle. “Please convey to him that I remember every single thing he has done—down to the smallest detail—and dare not forget. How could I possibly accept his favor?”

“As for you—”

“Consort Zhao, do you truly resent me? Back then, unwilling to enter the palace, you hastily chose me as your refuge. When your plans failed, you harbored resentment. Yet, you’ve thrived in the palace, wielding power and authority so fiercely. Have you ever truly regretted it? If you had married me, that would have been your regret.”

In truth, Fu Mingran hadn’t only done harmful things—for instance, arranging a marriage for him that he once wouldn’t have dared to dream of.

But now wasn’t the time to reveal such thoughts.

“You’re mad…”

Fu Mingran shivered, momentarily unable to think of a retort.

“This place isn’t suitable for lingering, Consort Zhao. Please return home soon,” Zhou Tan flipped the teacup upside down on the table, smiling faintly. “The next time we meet, it may very well be across the divide between life and death.”

“Good, good,” Fu Mingran laughed instead of showing anger. She stood up, flicked her sleeves, and strode quickly toward the exit. “Don’t regret it. On the day we part ways between life and death, I’ll light an incense stick for you.”

The person who had guided her locked the door behind her. Zhou Tan remained seated, tapping the table lightly, then turned back to gaze at the beam of light. The sky had brightened, making the light less distinct than in the dimness, but he knew—it was always there.

“The divide between life and death… naturally, I’ll remain in the mortal realm while you descend into hell.”

“I won’t pray or burn incense for you.”

________________________________________

Ren Shiming lay on the straw in his cell, blankly watching the light from the small window brighten and fade. He stared absently, unsure how many days and nights had passed.

That day, someone had pushed him off the bridge into Bian River, landing him directly on the boat carrying the corpse. Enduring the pain, he climbed onto the sampan but barely glimpsed the face of the body before patrol guards shouted nearby. Torches approached, and someone swam over, steering the boat to shore.

He couldn’t swim and hadn’t thought of escaping. Everything happened too suddenly, leaving him bewildered.

Afterward, he was detained overnight at the Zhaosin Department as usual. Expecting to be handed over to Zhou Tan at the Ministry of Justice the next day, he was surprised when golden-armored guards brought him to this place called the Golden Hairpin Pavilion instead.

Faceless interrogators came one after another, questioning him relentlessly.

Only then did Ren Shiming learn that the deceased was Du Gaojun, with whom he had shared drinks just hours earlier.

During their banquet, Du Gaojun had ranted angrily about being humiliated by Zhou Tan earlier that morning. Though Ren found it uncomfortable, he hadn’t rebutted. And now, within such a short span of time, Du Gaojun had become a cold corpse aboard a small boat?

When questioned, Ren answered truthfully: After leaving the banquet, Ye Liuchun escorted him back to his room. Later, while sobering up by Bian River, he was suddenly pushed off the bridge onto the boat carrying the corpse. As he fell, he thought he saw someone else on the boat—but they jumped into the water upon hearing the noise.

No one was caught then, and now his account was impossible to verify—even he himself doubted its credibility.

Simple words, yet his interrogators refused to believe him, repeatedly pressing him for answers. Gradually, Ren understood their insinuation—they were asking if Zhou Tan had ordered him to kill Du Gaojun.

Ren vehemently denied it. His enmity with Zhou Tan was well-known; anyone familiar with them would know it was absurd to claim he’d act on Zhou Tan’s behalf.

They subjected him to punishment.

Oddly, it seemed they had been instructed beforehand. Despite expecting the mysterious Golden Hairpin Guard to be more terrifying than the Ministry of Justice, the torturer wielded restraint. The whip left only shallow red marks, breaking only the surface layer of skin.

He spent roughly five or six days in prison.

Throughout the interrogations, his story never changed—it was the truth. Much as he disliked Zhou Tan, he couldn’t falsely implicate himself under others’ influence.

Finally, they released him.

Though not fatally injured, life in prison was excruciating. Unable to bathe, lacking food and clothing, and enduring endless silence, panic permeated the air. Ren could hardly imagine how his father endured such conditions for so long.

And Zhou Tan… during the Candlelit Pavilion case, rumors claimed he endured the cruelest torture in the imperial dungeon. How had he survived?

The person escorting him out didn’t release him immediately. After covering his head with a hood, they first led him through the depths of the Golden Hairpin Pavilion.

Ren Shiming followed the guide to the innermost chamber.

There, he saw Zhou Tan undergoing punishment.

Unlike the mild treatment he received, the whip used on Zhou Tan bore barbs. Fortunately, only the whip was employed—no other strange instruments. Ren had known Zhou Tan’s health was poor since he lived in his household, worsened even further after the assassination attempt. Now, after just a few lashes, Zhou Tan’s face turned ashen, drenched in cold sweat, biting his lips tightly without uttering a word. Pushed to the brink, he finally rasped, “I want to see His Majesty.”

Apparently, this was Zhou Tan’s first round of punishment during his imprisonment. Moreover, he was being punished because Ren had been released.

The guide explained: With the case unresolved, they hadn’t dared to question Zhou Tan thoroughly. Now, with Madame Chun testifying on Ren’s behalf, they felt secure enough to interrogate Zhou Tan sincerely. If Ren was innocent, it was highly possible Zhou Tan had killed Du Gaojun and framed Ren.

By then, the guide had brought Ren to a mansion outside the Golden Hairpin Pavilion. Upon hearing this, Ren felt as though struck by lightning: “But… it’s impossible. Before I fell off the bridge, I clearly saw Zhou Tan and his wife passing by on a boat along Bian River. Such a short interval—how could he have killed and framed me?”

The guide gave him a surprised glance, followed by a lazy male voice tinged with curiosity: “Oh? Is that so?”

Ren raised his head to see a man in a pale golden robe playing with a parrot on the corridor.

The guide immediately bowed respectfully: “Your Highness, the person has arrived.”

“Your Highness…”

Who else in Bianjing could wear the pale gold robe of a prince besides a few select individuals?

Ren’s legs buckled, and he immediately knelt: “I-I pay respects to Crown Prince Song.”

“Rise.”

Song Shiyan clapped his hands, signaling others to leave. Soon, the corridor emptied except for the noisy parrot repeating, “Rise, rise.”

“You said you saw your cousin on Bian River?” Song Shiyan approached, sitting at the stone table beside him. “Did you mention this while imprisoned?”

“No,” Ren replied cautiously. “Since it involved a murder case, I thought mentioning unrelated people might confuse matters. Besides, he didn’t see me that day. Even if I mentioned it, it would have been futile. It was better to omit this detail.”

“So protective of him.” Song Shiyan glanced at him, amused. “If I take you back to the Golden Hairpin Pavilion to testify, would you go for him?”

Ren didn’t fully understand what he meant. The Crown Prince was close to Gao Ze, a staunch enemy of Fu Qingnian, and also friendly with Zhou Tan. Ren had always assumed Zhou Tan was a trusted subordinate of the Crown Prince, but now it seemed otherwise. Thus, he simply replied, “If needed, I will naturally go.”

“Very well.” Song Shiyan praised ambiguously. “You may leave. This time, I sought out Madame Chun to save your life. Remember my kindness.”

The words carried hidden meaning. Ren immediately prostrated himself: “Thank you, Your Highness, for saving me. Whatever you command, I will obey unto death.”

Kneeling for a long while, Song Shiyan lazily hummed an acknowledgment and ordered someone to escort Ren out. As Ren stepped out of the mansion, he felt cold sweat drench his body, still mulling over many unanswered questions.

From afar, beyond three layers of deep courtyards, the parrot’s squawks could still be heard:

“Fool, fool.”