In the spring of the seventeenth year of Yongchang, when the mourning bells rang out from within the palace walls, the first drift of willow catkins had only just finished floating through the capital.
Emperor Yongchang had passed away. Crown Prince Xiao Ling'an ascended the throne, adopted the era name Kangshun, and proclaimed a general amnesty throughout the realm.
Chu Moqi had heard a little of the new emperor's reputation before. Unprincipled, partial, obstinate. When Chu Rong was alive, he had thought more highly of the second prince, Xiao Lingping, but what did that matter? After the Chu father and son died fighting at South Mountain, their former allies, protégés, and subordinate officers had all receded like the tide. Once a man was gone, his tea grew cold-let alone a household of loyal martyrs with only a cripple left.
Chu Moqi had long since had no attention to spare for affairs of state.
He was a cripple, unable to receive a noble title, unable to attend court, and seldom even set foot outside the marquis's residence. Everyone at court knew perfectly well that the Marquis of Ningyang's household was now an empty shell, with neither military authority nor imperial favor, and no one would see it as an obstacle on the road to promotion.
On the day news of the emperor's death spread throughout the capital, Cui Wan stood beneath the covered walkway and listened for a long time. She said nothing, merely lowering her head and twisting her sleeve.
Chu Moqi knew what she was thinking.
* A general amnesty. Cui Minghai would be pardoned too.*
Tomorrow was the eighteenth day of the third month, the day the Ministry of Punishments' prison would release its prisoners.
Wanwan must be very happy.
The spring rains had been unrelenting lately, pattering down for seven or eight days, the dripping from the eaves ceaseless by day and night. Chu Moqi sat at his desk, unconsciously rubbing his knees. His old injuries flared up in damp weather, an aching pressure seeping out from between his bones, accompanied by faint spasms, as though something were slowly gnawing at him.
He lowered his head and looked at his legs, utterly without sensation yet faintly aching, and his lips twisted with a trace of mockery.
A cripple, yet he understood what it meant to be chilled to the bone better than ordinary people did.
The whistle through the air came without warning.
Chu Moqi tilted his head. The arrowhead skimmed past his ear and struck the bookshelf three feet behind him with a thunk, its fletching still quivering.
His expression did not change, but his fingers had already pressed the mechanism inside his wheelchair's armrest. A silver gleam as fine as a hair flashed past, striking the collar of the dark figure beside the wall with precision and pinning that piece of black fabric firmly to the outer wall.
The black-clad figure struggled once, then simply abandoned that piece of fabric, flipped away, and vanished into the curtain of rain.
"Young master!" Yan Qin rushed in, his sword already drawn, his sharp gaze sweeping toward the window.
"No need to pursue," Chu Moqi said mildly. "They weren't here to kill me."
Yan Qin froze for a moment, then sheathed his sword, stepped forward to pull out the arrow, removed the note tied to its shaft, and presented it with both hands.
The note was small and neatly folded, its corners slightly damp, probably from the night rain just now.
Chu Moqi unfolded it.
A line of neat, steady inked characters met his eyes.
My worthy son-in-law Moqi:
At the hour of the boar tonight, in a private room on the second floor of Spring Breeze House, I hope to meet with you for a chat.
Written by Cui Minghai
Chu Moqi's fingertips paused for a moment over the name "Cui Minghai."
The amnesty was not until tomorrow. Cui Minghai should still be in the Ministry of Punishments' prison.
How could he appear at Spring Breeze House at the hour of the boar tonight?
Yan Qin leaned closer for a look, his brows knitting. "Young master, this isn't right. Official Cui isn't due to be released until tomorrow. Tonight... I'm afraid he couldn't get out. This letter... is a trick."
Chu Moqi did not answer immediately. He folded the note, tucked it into his sleeve, and turned his gaze toward the vast night rain beyond the window.
"...We'll only know what the other party's purpose really is if we go and see."
"Young master!" Yan Qin said urgently. "They're clearly luring you into the jar!"
Chu Moqi paused, his tone growing mild. "He's a section secretary in the Ministry of Works. Instead of going home to see his wife and daughter first thing after leaving prison, he asks to meet alone with his crippled son-in-law, whom he's never met. A-Qin, tell me, what does that mean?"
Yan Qin opened his mouth, unable to answer.
"It's a trap." Chu Moqi's expression was calm. "I know."
"Then you're still going, young master?"
"Yes." He raised his eyes; outside the window, the threads of rain wove together. "If I don't go, how will I know what the other party's purpose really is?"
Yan Qin fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Then... what about Madam?"
"Don't tell her yet. If nothing happens, she'll see her father tomorrow anyway. Why needlessly add to her worries tonight? If it is a trick..." Chu Moqi paused. "If she doesn't know, she won't have to be on tenterhooks along with us."
Yan Qin looked at Chu Moqi and opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing...