Su Lingxi returned to the Imperial Preceptor’s Residence.
Officials of the Great Yin dynasty placed great importance on the layout of their estates.
They not only emphasized harmony with heaven and earth to show honor and nobility, but also pursued designs that would “gather wind and accumulate energy,” preserving the family’s fortune and ensuring prosperity.
Their inner courtyards were like miniature universes.
Residences were often enclosed with blue brick and white walls, grand gatehouses erected, and massive stone lions stationed out front to signal status.
But not the Imperial Preceptor’s Residence.
Su Lingxi didn’t care for such things, which made her home stand out.
There were no enclosing walls, no name plaque, and not even a pair of traditional stone stools meant to ward off evil.
Push open the gate, and instead of interconnected corridors or lush gardens, the first thing one saw was a long cobblestone path ending at the main hall, where a mercury mirror hung—particularly eerie at night.
Su Lingxi liked this mirror very much. Whether returning home or just about to leave, she would always pause in front of it.
No one knew what she kept looking for so tirelessly.
Xi Liu lowered her gaze briefly and reported honestly, “My lady, there are people along the southern wall and in the rear northern courtyard.”
It wasn’t that Su Lingxi had gained much power from a trip outside; rather, it was that the residence had visibly deteriorated further.
Two years ago, when Xi Liu first took her post, she had observed everything in detail, and the Imperial Preceptor’s Residence had then been far livelier and more majestic.
Not due to an abundance of servants, nor from extravagant construction—but because there had been subtle wonders hidden in its design.
Once, there had been a small pond beneath a winding corridor.
Though not large, the water had surged like ocean waves, especially during rainfall, when splashes soared as if they could swallow a person whole.
Lotus flowers had bloomed in unison by the hundred, and all in just a blink.
The artificial rocks had not been fake at all, and the water cascading from them had resembled a true mountain waterfall.
Su Lingxi was not a cold, detached person.
She had endless curiosity and could be quite playful.
She often leaned on the railing to listen to the rain, casually tossing fish food to the fat koi in the pond.
Xi Liu had once awkwardly tried to flatter her, but only dared to praise the fish.
Su Lingxi had found this amusing, lazily stretching and saying, “This is called good? Some fish don’t even need to be fed—they can fatten themselves a hundredfold…”
She always stopped there.
She would pause for a long while, tilting her head as if trying hard to recall what she had meant to say.
When she couldn’t, her smile would fade a bit, and she’d fall silent, tapping her forehead with a finger, teasing herself:
“What was I about to say again? Forgot. Getting old really does make one forgetful.”
But that wasn’t the truth.
The Imperial Preceptor had an astonishing, nearly terrifying photographic memory.
And she wasn’t old—she was the youngest Imperial Preceptor in history.
Each time she stood calmly amidst a crowd of white-haired elders, debating them eloquently, it always left people dazed, as though she didn’t belong.
But there were certain things destined to be forgotten.
The emperor had said it wasn’t important—only by thoroughly cutting away the rot from a wound could it heal more quickly and fully.
By now, regardless of weather, incense no longer burned by the pond.
The water had slowed, the lotuses ceased blooming, the pond had become an ordinary pond, and the artificial mountains truly fake, now covered in cobwebs.
The marvels that had once inspired awe were fading at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The Imperial Preceptor’s Residence grew quieter and colder.
No one came to repair it.
What remained unchanged seemed only the hostility lying in ambush in all directions.
“Mm.”
Su Lingxi broke a sprig of grass and poked it into a birdcage, teasing two birds with beautiful tail feathers.
The birds, long without their mistress, had dropped their mischief and now nuzzled her fingers.
She, however, was clearly more concerned with another matter:
“What’s going on with Prince Yan? Has it been investigated?”
“We spent great effort placing a spy in the Demon Suppression Bureau, and now we’re just giving it up?”
She patted her fingers, glancing up.
“Why?”
“Just to come tell me that he sent over two young men?”
Certainly, the things Chen Shang had said under arrest were calculated, but Xue Huai’s reaction had been even more surprising.
Complaints about the delivery of those two youths might have made more sense coming from someone in his camp—not by repeating it to her face.
Besides, it had been a foolish move.
“We’re looking into it,” Xi Liu replied after a brief pause.
“According to your instructions, I ordered the two young masters returned to their own households. But the fourth son of the Minister of Rites refused. He said he wants to see you.”
The more colorful pearl bird suddenly pecked Su Lingxi, and she let out a slow “ah.”
“He wants to see me?”
Su Lingxi kept watching the bird.
“Why?”
Xi Liu shook her head.
Su Lingxi glanced at the moonlight, withdrew her hand, and soaked it in a basin of warm water, then wiped it clean with a cloth.
She said, “I remember him—smarter than his older brother.”
That older brother of his—the former imperial son-in-law.
“Let’s go. As it happens, I’m free tonight. I’ll see him.”
While Xi Liu ordered the servants to prepare the horses, she caught up again and added, “My lady, in the last case at Chongque Tower, Jinwu Guard Captain Jian Su performed quite well. I looked into him—no background, no ties to high officials. Should we consider recruiting him?”
Su Lingxi glanced at her.
“Let your people test him first. Don’t assign important tasks.”
“Understood.”
The Imperial Preceptor’s servants were few but well-trained.
By the time Su Lingxi and Xi Liu stepped outside, two steeds were already waiting, reins in hand.
Su Lingxi mounted her horse with ease and took off into the night wind. Xi Liu followed closely behind.
Hooves echoed through the quiet streets.
Jinwu patrol guards approached and prepared to bark warnings, but quieted immediately at the sight of the token pressed in Xi Liu’s palm.
The road was smooth and unimpeded.
Su Lingxi cared little for possessions.
She seldom returned even to the Imperial Preceptor’s Residence, let alone other properties.
This courtyard, one of her few private holdings, sat just a few streets away—not in the best location, but secluded.
It had been a gift from the emperor years ago.
The palace had sent people to renovate it, but after much review, Su Lingxi had drawn up her own plans and hired her own craftsmen for gradual remodeling.
She didn’t visit often.
This had once been Zhang Jin’s residence.
It had stood vacant for two years now.
Knowing that no one could infiltrate the Imperial Preceptor’s home, Prince Yan had planted someone here instead.
Su Lingxi reined in her horse and dismounted, looking up at the sign above the door with a snort of laughter.
She weighed the whip in her hand.
“I really don’t understand him anymore.”
Xi Liu said nothing.
The courtyard was dark, but in the shadows, a small glowing orb swung from the lantern held by the young noble.
He insisted on standing by the door.
At the first sound of movement, he looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Su Lingxi.
He cupped his hands in salute, and his voice, once tense, suddenly relaxed:
“Commoner Wei Shixian greets the Imperial Preceptor.”
Su Lingxi turned at the note of relief in his voice.
As the hall lights were lit and the courtyard grew slightly more lively, she stepped inside.
As she passed him, she said, “Come in.”
Wei Shixian followed obediently.
Raised in a prominent household, he was well-mannered, understood propriety and virtue, well-read, and full of ambition.
Seventeen—a particularly sensitive age.
No matter how composed he tried to appear, there was still unconscious nervousness in him.
His eyes flickered when meeting hers, youthful in a way he didn’t yet recognize.
Su Lingxi sat at the head seat and looked at him, her voice calm: “Speak.”
Wei Shixian had grown up hearing tales of Su Lingxi.
As had all his peers.
Even though she didn’t raise her voice or throw her weight around, the pressure crept up his spine and settled on his shoulders.
He dared not flatter, dared not pretend.
He held his breath and lightly clenched his fists.
“…Today’s events were on the orders of Prince Yan.”
“I know,” Su Lingxi said.
“Go home now. The Imperial Preceptor’s Residence won’t make things difficult for you.”
Wei Shixian fell silent and couldn’t help but glance at Su Lingxi.
The Imperial Preceptor was thirty-two this year.
Her beauty had long settled into something that was the least remarkable about her.
When one looked at her, the instinct wasn’t admiration—but avoidance.
No one dared meet her gaze.
“I am willing to serve the Imperial Preceptor,” he heard himself say.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Su Lingxi stood up and walked to his side.
The hem of her dress brushed into his peripheral vision—a steady, deep indigo.
Her voice didn’t change, as if she shook her head slightly:
“Before coming, I said you were a clever one. If this is what you wanted to say to me, it’s rather disappointing.”
Wei Shixian revealed everything he had prepared in his heart:
…“Both His Majesty and the Prince value the Imperial Preceptor greatly. What happened today, the Prince made the first move—if it fails once, it might happen again. You are burdened with endless state affairs. If you don’t wish to be bothered by such matters, why not find someone and use it as a pretext?”
“Last year, the article I wrote was read by you. I know what I can do, when I should do it. I never covet what I shouldn’t, and I never pursue what I shouldn’t.”
So young. And indeed, still naive.
Su Lingxi said, “Look up.”
Obediently, Wei Shixian raised his face.
If a painted portrait of him could be chosen and given to Emperor Xue Hui by Su Lingxi herself, then in person, he could only exceed expectations.
But in fact, Su Lingxi only looked into his eyes—at the reflection of herself within—and softly asked, “Are you afraid of death?”
A tremor ran through Wei Shixian’s heart, and his face turned ashen.
“You’re afraid of death, yet you dare offer yourself as a bed servant?”
Su Lingxi waited patiently for a while and then said again, “Speak.”
Wei Shixian clenched his fists tightly at his sides, took a deep breath, and forced out his words:
“It’s… originally a family shame best kept hidden. But recently, strange things have been happening at home, truly hard to explain.”
Su Lingxi paused in her steps and after a moment, returned to her seat.
Two cups of hot tea were brought in, along with a plantain-leaf fan to cool the air.
“Seven years ago, when the emperor selected a consort… you know our family’s circumstances.”
Wei Shixian said, “The Minister’s residence had many siblings, but aside from a few visiting cousins and older brothers preparing for exams in the capital, in our generation, there are only five siblings.
I am the fourth, with two elder sisters and one elder brother above me. The sisters married long ago. My elder brother is eight years my senior and was once betrothed to a princess. But he was debauched and ungrateful. What happened to him was well-deserved.”
He glanced at Su Lingxi but couldn’t read her expression, and continued with difficulty:
“After His Majesty ascended the throne, there were many rumors outside. Some said my brother was ill and sent to convalesce in a manor.
Others said His Majesty couldn’t bear to see him and had him exiled. In truth, before my brother died, he came home to bid our father farewell. By then, he had already taken the poison. A eunuch from the palace stood guard outside.”
He took a deep breath and let out a bitter laugh:
“But recently… he came back.”
Xiliu whipped her head around to look at him, examining him from head to toe as if trying to determine whether he was out of his mind.
“I know times are unstable these days, but this isn’t a demon—it’s a ghost.”
Wei Shixian gave a wry smile:
“And the one who came back… is none other than the emperor’s consort.”
To put it bluntly, even if it were a demon, given the troublesome identity involved, the Demon Suppression Bureau would be reluctant to take the case.
Su Lingxi tapped her fingers on the table: “What do you mean by ‘came back’? And when did you first find it strange? Speak clearly.”
“It started at the beginning of the year, just before the New Year.”
Wei Shixian recalled the events, his face pale as he spoke:
“My brother’s existence and his death became taboo in our family. No one dared speak of him, afraid to offend His Majesty. My father has served in court for many years, always straightforward and sincere.
Even after the scandal, many distanced themselves from us for fear of being implicated. We became even more cautious. But that day, my younger brother and I were in the study, being tested on our lessons.
Perhaps my brother was being too unruly and angered our father. My father slammed the table and sighed, saying, ‘If only your brother were still here.’”
“I was shocked.”
“I thought it was just something said in anger,” Wei Shixian murmured.
“But two months later, at the beginning of spring, my father suddenly told me that my brother had passed away in the spring, three years ago.”
His Majesty had been on the throne for three years.
His brother, Wei Shiming, had indeed died three years ago.
Wei Shixian felt his father was becoming… not right.
A seasoned court official, after everything he had endured—how could he lose his sense of discretion?
This was not something to talk about.
His Majesty had already been merciful enough—despite the scandal, our family was allowed to continue as normal, and my father remained in office.
“Another month passed. My father began mentioning my brother more and more. I grew uneasy, afraid a careless word would bring disaster.
So I found a moment to remind him. But instead, he scolded me and told me never to speak that way again—otherwise, my brother would be unhappy when he came back.”
No matter how composed and well-mannered he was, Wei Shixian was only seventeen.
Youth comes with passion—and sometimes, that passion dares anything; sometimes, it leaves your knees weak.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that just thinking about it now, cold sweat trickled down his temples.
Even Xiliu fell silent.
“I considered many possibilities.
I thought my father might be stressed or delusional. I even sought out physicians to check his pulse—but it wasn’t that.
By May, one night, my father summoned me and asked if I had prepared a gift for my brother’s return in two months.”
“A few days later, my younger brother came to me with his homework and asked the same thing. He said, ‘Fourth brother, what have you prepared for third brother?’”
“On May 25th, my father’s birthday, my second sister returned to the house for the celebration. Before she left, she pulled me aside and asked if something had happened at home—why the atmosphere felt so deathly still. She was born at noon, and from a young age had a sensitivity to such things.”
That was the moment Wei Shixian nearly jumped out the window.
“On June 26th… I saw the silhouette of a stranger for the first time at home. White boots, white robe, white jade crown—exactly like the day my brother died.”
By this point, even a wry smile couldn’t stretch across Wei Shixian’s face.
“Since then, I haven’t dared stay in the Minister’s residence. I stayed at friends’ houses, making up excuses. Because of what happened to my brother, I didn’t dare visit brothels or flirt.
Especially once I heard the Imperial Preceptor might recommend me to serve His Majesty—I wouldn’t even drink tea outside without sniffing it first, afraid of being poisoned.”
Once is a personal failing.
Twice, it looks like rebellion.
He couldn’t speak of this to anyone.
He just held it in—and the more he did, the more terrified he became.
Now, back in the Minister’s residence, if someone so much as whispered near his ear, he’d break out in goosebumps and lie awake all night.
He hadn’t expected a palace summons.
Instead, he got a message from Prince Yan, demanding he come serve the Imperial Preceptor.He had no home to return to. His connection to his brother made serving the emperor a minefield.
In the end, Su Lingxi—despite the rumors, the criticisms—seemed the safest choice.
Whatever people said about her being arrogant or mad, she acted openly.