Jinghe Year Fifteen, third month, seventeenth day, night. Thin clouds, a solitary moon; an empty courtyard, silent shadows.
Ever since returning from the Xie Residence, Li Jin had felt a thorn lodged in his heart, impossible to swallow or spit out.
In the rear hall of the Imperial Silk Bureau, the ginseng soup sat on the desk, cooling from hot to lukewarm, then from lukewarm to cold.
A young eunuch approached with a bow. "Old Ancestor, it's late. You should rest."
Li Jin merely waved a hand, sweeping both the man and his words away.
He remained alone in the hall, gazing absently at the cold moon beyond the window.
Composed and unhurried, lightness in every movement.
Xie Zi's serene bearing kept drifting before his eyes.
Yet the more he recalled it, the deeper that thorn pierced Li Jin's heart.
Xie Lin never laid plans without purpose.
Had he sensed no danger, he would not have dismissed his servants.
Had he felt no concern, he would not have shut his doors to plant bamboo.
Precisely because he had done these things, he must already have seen something others had not.
At that thought, Li Jin suddenly felt that the Imperial Silk Bureau's walls were no longer high enough.
The walls were too thin, the doors and windows too flimsy, as though a single gust could penetrate them.
Moonlight filled the courtyard, frost blanketing the ground.
Li Jin lowered his eyes to that expanse of silver-white and found himself sensing gaps everywhere, people lurking everywhere.
Early the next morning, Li Jin did two things.
First, he ordered every side gate at the front and rear of the Imperial Silk Bureau locked; no one was to enter without his written order.
Second, he summoned the bureau's steward and instructed him in