A flicker of fear crossed Rong Tang’s face as he suddenly recalled something he ought to have paid far more attention to, yet had completely overlooked.
At the flower-picking festival, aboard the pleasure barge, the very first glance he’d cast upon Sheng Chengli had convinced him: this was not someone who belonged to this particular point in time. Narrowing it down, that figure belonged to the end of the eleventh year and the beginning of the twelfth year of Qingzheng.
Rong Tang pressed his lips together, his face cast in alternating light and shadow under the lingering glow of the evening sun. Only now did he fully grasp the implications of that suspicion.
At the end of the eleventh year of Qingzheng, Mu Jingxu had already died.
—In the fixed destiny laid out in the original story, and in the past he himself had lived through in a previous lifetime.
It had been the heavy snowfall at the end of that year that took Lil’ Bro Mu’s life. And now, Sheng Chengli appeared exactly as he had looked back then.
For a brief moment, panic swelled violently within him. Rong Tang lowered his eyes and, without a second’s delay, turned to leave the courtyard.
But just as he passed through the moon gate, he nearly collided with Su Huaijing. The latter paused in surprise, a smile instinctively forming… only to vanish the instant he saw Rong Tang’s expression. He reached out and took his hand, asking gently, “What’s wrong?”
Rong Tang looked at Su Huaijing, his face stricken with an expression of rare and genuine panic. He reached out and gripped Su Huaijing’s arm tightly, his voice rapid and urgent. “Has Sheng Chengli gone to the Imperial Court of Justice? When? Why? Is xiong zhang still there?”
A barrage of questions. Enough to rouse anyone’s suspicions.
Su Huaijing’s expression shifted slightly. A sharp glint flickered in his eyes as he instinctively studied Rong Tang’s face, scrutinising his emotions. But the sharpness faded in the next moment. He took Rong Tang’s hand in his and led him out of the residence, his voice still soft. “What is it that Tangtang wants to say?”
Rong Tang had been beside himself moments ago, but Su Huaijing’s presence calmed him somewhat.
Based on what he’d previously known, Mu Jingxu had succumbed to lingering illness and exhaustion. His body simply hadn’t been able to weather the winter.
It all made perfect sense. In this era of primitive medicine, and given Mu Jingxu’s consistently poor health, such a death was wholly unsurprising.
But with Sheng Chengli’s sudden and inexplicable reappearance, Rong Tang could no longer be certain. He now suspected Mu Jingxu’s death might somehow be tied to him.
Even though the system no longer occupied his mind, he still couldn’t speak openly about what he had witnessed across his two previous lives, nor about the original storyline. Perhaps this wasn’t merely a limitation imposed by the system or the central programme, but a rule intrinsic to the world itself.
Rong Tang made an attempt, but in the end could only hint obliquely: “Xiong zhang once aided Sheng Chengli, but later cut ties and stood with us. Now Sheng Chengli has suddenly appeared at the Imperial Court of Justice. What for? Could it be he wants revenge?”
As they spoke, they reached the gates. Su Huaijing helped him into the carriage, instructing Shuang Shou to drive them to the Mu residence. His expression darkened ever so slightly.
Something occurred to Rong Tang then, and he frowned faintly. He asked hesitantly, “Did you and Excellency Mu argue during the Ghost Festival? What was it about?”
Su Huaijing blinked in surprise, giving him a startled look before shaking his head in resignation. “Tangtang, how do you know everything?”
Rong Tang didn’t respond to the remark, his gaze fixed and unwavering as he waited for an answer.
Su Huaijing met his eyes in silence. The carriage rolled steadily forward.
After a long while, the main villain said softly, “Ask xiong zhang directly.”
He didn’t pursue the topic further, instead asking Rong Tang a series of seemingly harmless questions.
What sort of cases might arise in the capital in the near future? Which ones would fall under the Imperial Court of Justice, and which would be handled by the Censorate? What factions lay behind each case, and how might they affect the current balance of power?
All of it was speculative in nature, deftly avoiding direct mentions of key individuals.
Rong Tang understood his intent and responded in vague, noncommittal terms that wouldn’t provoke any restrictions. Both knew precisely why these questions were being asked.
If Mu Jingxu hadn’t died of exhaustion, then there had to be deeper conflicts at play. Rivalries, betrayals, hidden vendettas.
Perhaps he had come into conflict with Sheng Chengli. Or perhaps the danger lay in his position as Junior Minister of the Imperial Court of Justice.
That institution dealt with countless cases each year. It wasn’t impossible he had unknowingly stumbled into dangerous territory.
The two conversed the entire way. But as they neared the Mu residence, Rong Tang hesitated briefly.
Su Huaijing noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Is there something Tangtang finds hard to speak of?”
Rong Tang seldom asked about Su Huaijing’s dealings in court. But now, with autumn well underway, there was one man who should no longer be alive.
He asked, “Is Li Changfu still in the Sky Prison?”
Su Huaijing was briefly taken aback. His brows furrowed as he answered, “He’s close to death.”
Rong Tang had always trusted him. But not in this matter.
As Vice Minister of War, Li Changfu had close ties with the minister himself, not to mention the powerful military figure, Earl Wukang.
Last autumn, the Wukang household was wiped out in its entirety, sending shockwaves through the Ministry. Fear gripped everyone.
Treason was no small matter. Emperor Renshou ordered a sweeping investigation of the War Ministry, led by the Censorate and assisted by the Imperial Court of Justice.
It didn’t take long before Li Changfu was found guilty of multiple offences: corruption, bribery, and more. Still, he had been a long-serving official, adept at navigating court politics. It wasn’t until late spring of this year that he was finally imprisoned.
Given the War Ministry’s strategic importance, and in light of the back-to-back cases involving Earl Wukang and Zhang Baoshan, Emperor Renshou had flown into a fury. He called for a thorough investigation and ultimately uncovered over ten crimes, sentencing Li Changfu to death by execution after the autumn assizes.
This had happened in both the original work and Rong Tang’s previous lifetime. Su Huaijing had played a significant role in it. Rong Tang had even witnessed Li Changfu being escorted to the execution grounds, and the moment a stray dog leapt out and tore half his face apart had been so horrific that he fell ill afterwards with a high fever.
Li Changfu had always been destined to die, as no more than a minor pawn. But perhaps because Su Huaijing, in this lifetime, had not been fully consigned to Qin Pengxuan’s backcourt, or perhaps due to some other unknown variable, he didn’t seem quite so determined to see the man dead.
Despite the clear execution order issued by Emperor Renshou, a general amnesty was declared before the Longevity Festival. Among those spared was Li Changfu. His sentence commuted from death to life imprisonment.
If this were the only anomaly, it might have been dismissed. But now, with Sheng Chengli’s sudden involvement in the Imperial Court of Justice, Rong Tang could no longer overlook the possibility of a connection.
Su Huaijing frowned, noting his lingering concern. He said softly, “I have other ways of ensuring his death. Tangtang needn’t worry.”
Rong Tang glanced at him. He wanted to believe him. Emotionally, he did. But something in his gut told him a far greater trap lay in wait.
In the end, he only nodded, placing his trust in Su Huaijing as he always had.
By the time they arrived at the Mu residence, the household was sitting down to supper.
Yuanyuan was overjoyed to see Rong Tang. He dropped his bowl and chopsticks and dashed over, gesturing above his head with excitement. “Look! I’ve grown taller again!”
Su Huaijing gave him a glance and coolly exposed him: “You’ve got three layers of insoles in your shoes.”
“How did you know?!” Yuanyuan was utterly shocked, his mouth wide enough to swallow a whole egg.
Su Huaijing let out a disdainful heh and didn’t bother answering. Ke Hongxue, meanwhile, pulled his daft child back and sighed faintly. “We only saw you a few days ago. You’re not a sapling. You don’t shoot up overnight.”
Yuanyuan looked a little deflated, his shoulders slumping, but he still mumbled, “He didn’t even look at me. How could he possibly know how tall I was a few days ago, let alone tell exactly how many insoles I’m wearing?”
At that, Mu Jingxu glanced at Su Huaijing, the look in his eyes full of unspoken admonishment, as if to say, What have you done to make the child feel you don’t care about him at all?
Su Huaijing couldn’t have cared less. He tugged Rong Tang down to sit beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When a servant brought over two sets of bowls and chopsticks, he immediately helped himself to some ribs and placed them into Rong Tang’s bowl.
Rong Tang looked resigned. He waved Yuanyuan over and took a packet of malt sweets from his pocket. “Su shushu bought these for you on the way.”
“Why give them to him?” Su Huaijing said sourly. “He sees me as the wicked shushu anyway.”
Rong Tang: “…”
Mu Jingxu: “…”
The two exchanged a glance and saw the same helpless exasperation in each other’s eyes.
Tutor Ke had already begun to mock: “Oh dear, you’re a grown man. How utterly shameful to bicker with a child.”
With that, he scooped up Yuanyuan, who was just about to gnaw on the sweets, and carried him off, muttering, “Let’s not play with him. We might catch his childishness.”
Su Huaijing didn’t spare him a single glance, wholly focused on picking food for Rong Tang. Only after watching Rong Tang eat did he start his own dinner. Mu Jingxu looked on, bewildered. Was their household so devoid of food, oil, or firewood that the pair had to come all this way just to scrounge a meal?
Still, since they were already here, he couldn’t very well excuse himself. So he ladled another bowl of soup, sipping it slowly as he sat with them.
Not until the other guests were about three-quarters full did Mu Jingxu smile and ask, “Why turn up without a word of warning?”
Su Huaijing, clearly committed to being childish to the bitter end, gave his elder brother a sour look. “Didn’t you know?”
Mu Jingxu blinked, his smile faltering slightly. He looked puzzled, first at him, then at Rong Tang.
Rong Tang shook his head and got straight to the point. “Why did His Highness go to the Imperial Court of Justice? Do you know what’s really going on?”
Mu Jingxu opened his mouth but hesitated, the answer not immediately forthcoming.
Su Huaijing snapped, “He invited me.”
Rong Tang froze, recalling the scattered pages in the study on the night of the Ghost Festival.
Su Huaijing had always been ruthlessly rational, never sparing himself when it came to sacrifices and calculations. Even if trading an arm meant securing someone else’s death, he’d likely agree without hesitation.
Yet in front of his loved ones, the so-called main villain turned into an overgrown child.
Knowing full well that Sheng Chengli was a venomous snake who might strike at any moment, Mu Jingxu had still invited him to collaborate. Naturally, Su Huaijing had been furious, leading to an argument.
Mu Jingxu looked rather helpless, but he still indulged his younger brother. Casting Su Huaijing a glance, he explained gently, “It was always going to be the Imperial Court of Justice, the Censorate, or one of the Six Ministries. Better the danger be somewhere I can keep an eye on than hidden where it can grow unchecked.”
Rong Tang was unconvinced. “But he’s a terrible person.”
Mu Jingxu looked slightly taken aback. It was rare to hear Rong Tang speak of anyone like that. Once he processed it, he gave a faint chuckle. “At least I can keep him in check.”
Rong Tang stiffened, a bad feeling rising in his chest. “How exactly are you keeping him in check?”
Mu Jingxu looked over at Su Huaijing and finally decided against keeping it from him. “I drugged him. He has to take the antidote every month. Miss a dose, and he could die at any time.”
Rong Tang’s pupils dilated, shock written all over his face. His voice trembled. “When did that happen?”
Mu Jingxu didn’t understand the sudden shift in his mood but still answered, “The Spring Festival. Two years ago.”
Rong Tang: “…”
So from the very beginning of the ninth year of Qingzheng, Mu Jingxu had never intended to side with Sheng Chengli.
Under those circumstances, could Sheng Chengli really have endured three or four years without retaliating?
He didn’t even understand the concept of gratitude. Betrayal and vengeance came far more naturally to him. For someone like him, who’d never truly invested in this power struggle, cold calculation was always the winning strategy.
Check and balance? This wasn’t that.
This was inviting a wolf into the house. Raising a tiger who would one day bite.
The author has something to say:
Mumu, you really ought to listen to Tangtang. In matters like these, he’s the senior, y’know (not really).
Oh dear!