Chapter 9: Rescue

The furrow between Wang Ke’s brows eased. He turned back to Fu Li and asked the soldiers escorting him, “What crime has he committed?”

The officers exchanged glances before lowering their heads. “Reporting to my lord—this man was behaving suspiciously. Captain Huan ordered us to take him in for investigation, fearing he might be… a foreign infiltrator.”

Wang Ke waved his hand. “Release him. He is no criminal.”

The soldiers hesitated. “This…”

“What? In your eyes, is there only Huan Shuo and no Wang Ke?” Wang Ke’s temper flared—fierce and intimidating.

The Tiger Guard was composed of multiple battalions, riddled with interwoven aristocratic power. Factionalism was commonplace; under the Nine-Rank system, the military had long since been infiltrated by great clans.

The soldiers immediately bowed their heads. “We would not dare.”

They quickly stepped aside and released Fu Li. Fu Li rose, brushing dust from his clothes. Gongsun Zhi was freed as well. Wang Ke studied the two for a few breaths, then led them away.

Walking behind Wang Ke, Fu Li heard him say sharply, “I heard the prince has been missing for a long time—His Majesty has fallen gravely ill from worry. What have you been doing all this time?”

His tone was harsh. Fu Li replied calmly and softly, “The Twelfth Prince has been missing for days. This servant has already found clues to His Highness’s whereabouts and humbly asks my lord for assistance.”

Gongsun Zhi listened anxiously. He had just heard Fu Li say he was the Twelfth Prince’s personal guard—but hadn’t he claimed to be a Hu merchant?

Something felt wrong. He wanted to leave, yet hesitated.

Wang Ke stopped and turned to Fu Li. “Where is he?”

“At the Xie residence.”

Wang Ke’s expression changed, hesitation flashing across his face.

“We’ll discuss this later. First, I’ll take you to see the clan head,” Wang Ke said at last. Xie Chongqing was not someone to confront rashly.

“Hold it.”

Wang Ke halted. Fu Li’s gaze turned icy as he looked at the commander blocking their way—it was the same man who had ordered their detention earlier.

“What does Captain Huan mean by this?” Wang Ke’s hand quietly tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“These two are of unclear origin—especially this Hu man,” Huan Shuo said coldly. “Captain Wang surely knows the Grand Marshal is still fighting the Hu in Luoyang. To consort with Hu people at such a time—what are your intentions?”

“I am well aware,” Wang Ke replied. “This Hu man is a guard personally bestowed by His Majesty upon the Twelfth Prince. A misunderstanding, nothing more. Caution is commendable, Captain Huan—but if His Majesty were to learn of this…”

He leaned closer, his breath carrying a subtle pressure.

The Wang clan head was the Censor-in-Chief, possessing the right of direct remonstrance with the emperor—no intermediaries required.

Huan Song narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening on his sword. After a long moment, he said, “Huan Shuo was rash. Please proceed.”

He stepped aside. Wang Ke led the two away from the city gates toward the Wang residence.

---

Behind a folding screen, Yan Ling changed out of her wet clothes. Qingtao removed her hair ornaments and dried her hair with a cloth. Her glossy black hair, though still faintly damp, was thick and smooth in the hand like fine silk.

Qingtao wanted to style her hair, but Yan Ling refused. The chill had seeped into her body—she kept coughing, her head feeling heavy.

She wheeled herself out, her complexion noticeably pale. A brazier burned indoors now, much warmer than before.

A maid brought ginger soup and set it before her. Her hair fell loose down her back, framing a beauty so exquisite it seemed almost otherworldly—only making her look more fragile.

Xie Chongqing watched her quietly. Even raised as a man, such beauty would have drawn the admiration of every noble lady in Jiankang. If she were to return to her true identity, countless men would surely fall at her feet.

He said nothing. His thoughts were tangled; he knew he should not have softened toward her.

Yan Ling sipped the ginger soup slowly, looking listless. The faint spice spread warmth through her limbs, driving away the cold.

Wrapped in fox fur, the fluffy collar made her face look small and thin. “I wasn’t trying to die,” she said.

Her voice carried a nasal tone—she really was unwell. She sniffed lightly. “I shouldn’t stay here longer. I’ll be leaving.”

Xie Chongqing felt there was more behind her words. “Since you’re already here, why not stay a while longer?”

Yan Ling was sensitive to malice. “What do you mean? You think I did this on purpose?”

“Didn’t you?” he asked incredulously.

She fell silent. She truly hadn’t meant anything—she was just worried. He told her nothing, avoided her entirely. What else could she do?

Knowing explanation was useless, she admitted again, “Yes. I did.”

Satisfied now?

A cold glint passed through Xie Chongqing’s eyes. “Then I advise you not to waste your schemes on me.”

The air sharpened once more. Yan Ling instinctively wanted to retort.

Just then, Yuan Che entered the room, sensing the tension. He lowered his head and turned to leave.

“Stop,” Xie Chongqing called.

Yuan Che glanced at Yan Ling.

“I’m leaving,” she said dully. Without returning inside, she had Qingtao open an umbrella and rolled straight into the rain.

Xie Chongqing watched her back but said nothing this time.

Yuan Che leaned in to whisper something. Xie Chongqing frowned. “Why is he here?”

“This subordinate does not know.”

Xie Chongqing rose and went behind the screen to change. He was fastidious by nature; his robe hem had been splashed with mud.

As soon as his eyes fell to the floor, his pupils shrank.

A lotus-pink undergarment lay scattered there.

He hooked it up by the ribbon, scoffing softly. Quite a few tricks, indeed.

Such an intimate item—having Yuan Che burn it was inappropriate. Calling another maid would only invite speculation.

Xie Chongqing snapped back to himself—he was actually hesitating over such a trivial thing, utterly unlike himself.

He folded the garment, covered it with a cloth, and slipped it into his sleeve, intending to dispose of it personally.

There was no need to return such a thing—it would only create further entanglement.

---

Yuan Che followed Xie Chongqing toward the front courtyard. The sudden visit from Censor-in-Chief Wang Tingyu had been completely unexpected.

Xie Chongqing walked steadily, sleeves billowing in the wind. Passing through layered corridors, he saw a man standing beneath the floral gate.

Wang Chen—the current head of the Wang clan—was just past thirty, wearing the purple insignia of high office and presiding over the Censorate.

The former clan head had died in Yangzhou for treason. As the eldest son, Wang Chen’s succession had been expected.

Though the Wang clan had drifted from the imperial family after rebellion, even a starved camel was still larger than a horse—they remained a formidable aristocratic house.

Wang Chen had refined, handsome features. For a fleeting moment, Xie Chongqing found himself comparing him to Yan Ling’s perpetually sharp demeanor.

Their features were somewhat similar—but their temperaments were not.

“Lanyuan,” Wang Chen greeted him with a formal bow. “Forgive the sudden visit.”

Lanyuan was Xie Chongqing’s courtesy name—rarely used.

Wang Chen was not alone. Wang Ke and several guards followed behind him.

“I have come today regarding the matter of regency.”

Xie Chongqing’s expression did not change. “That matter has long been decided. What more does Lord Wang wish to discuss?”

“Please don’t misunderstand,” Wang Chen said calmly. “I merely think that if the Eighth Prince could study state affairs under your guidance while assisting Prince Hui in governance, it would be ideal.”

Xie Chongqing raised his brows slightly, surprise flickering.

Whether the prince studied or not was secondary—the key was the Wang clan’s stance. It seemed the Langya Wang clan, long dormant, intended to draw closer through this opportunity.

They spoke as they walked toward Lotus Courtyard, Wang clan guards following behind, exchanging glances as they discreetly scanned the surroundings.

---

The sky hung low with dark clouds, lightning faintly visible. Fine rain fell with a cool wind, rippling the pond.

Xie Chongqing and Wang Chen sat opposite each other, playing chess—robes pooled on the ground, neither yielding.

Suddenly, Yuan Che rushed in. “My lord, there’s a fire at the eastern guest quarters.”

Xie Chongqing’s brow twitched. “How could there be a fire in the rain?”

“This subordinate heard that a retainer consumed Five-Stone Powder and caused it. The fire is severe—multiple residences are affected.”

Xie Chongqing’s face darkened instantly. Five-Stone Powder was forbidden in the Xie residence.

Wang Chen asked, “How is the fire now? Has it been contained?”

“They’re fighting it.”

“Wang Ke, take people and assist,” Wang Chen ordered calmly.

“Yes.”

Seeing no objection from Xie Chongqing, Yuan Che led them away.

“I’ll go take a look,” Xie Chongqing said, rising. “Lord Wang, please wait.”

---

With the fire raging, everyone rushed to help. The eastern hall was in chaos. Though Yan Ling’s Bamboo Purity Court wasn’t in the east, thick smoke still filled it.

After arranging the Wang clan men, Yuan Che hurried to Bamboo Purity Court and had Qingtao quickly wheel Yan Ling away.

“How could a fire break out out of nowhere?” Qingtao murmured, staring at the flames that writhed like fanged serpents, heat pressing even through the walls.

Wang Ke and his subordinates dispersed, using firefighting as cover to search for Yan Ling.

The fire had been set by the Wang clan. Both residences stood in Wuyi Alley—close enough to toss a flame over the wall with ease.

The eastern guest quarters lay near a side gate with lax security. The path from there to the main hall, however, was tightly guarded.

Now, with guards drawn away to fight the fire, Wang Ke slipped toward Bamboo Purity Court. According to the retainer who had come with Fu Li, the Twelfth Prince was staying here.

Smoke billowed thickly inside. He entered briefly, then retreated immediately, face flushed.

Jewelry lay scattered; dresses hung on the screen; the air was heavy with fragrance.

This was clearly a woman’s bedchamber.

He cursed under his breath—he never should have trusted that retainer.

Turning to leave, he saw a slender figure seated in a wheelchair along the corridor.

Likely the lady who had wandered into the courtyard earlier.

Her hair was styled in a xiezi bun, pearl tassels swaying at her temples. A veil covered her face, revealing only a pair of clear, luminous eyes in profile. She sat quietly, sorrow seeming to envelop her entire being.

Even without seeing her face, she was already breathtaking.

Wang Ke’s heart raced. Realizing his stare was improper, he hastily lowered his head and moved past.

As they brushed by, Yan Ling sensed something and looked up—

Her pupils shrank instantly. She leaned forward sharply.

That familiar profile—

It was her cousin from the Wang clan.