Chapter 232: Married the Wrong Man

Wuhoupu belonged to Jingzhao Prefecture. The fact that the Tibetan princess Gesang Meiduo left the city unnoticed was deemed negligence. Yet the emperor's ire did not stem from this alone. His fury was provoked by Liu Yan, the prefect of Jingzhao, who speculated on the timing of Gesang Meiduo's departure and suspected her involvement with Prince Wei. He urged the emperor to conduct a thorough investigation. Naturally, this meant scrutinizing whether Gesang Meiduo had any contact with Prince Wei, as well as examining the Honglu Temple and other government offices responsible for the delegation.

Upon seeing Li Ce and Ye Jiao enter the hall, the emperor, who had been standing aside, turned to face them directly and bluntly asked,

"Prince Chu, you have returned from Jinzhou. Tell me, is Prince Wei's rebellion connected to the Tibetan princess Gesang Meiduo?"

Previously, none of the memorials from Li Ce, Zheng Feng'an, or Zhou Ci mentioned Gesang Meiduo. Li Ce's mind stirred; his autumnal eyes glanced at His Majesty, then at the kneeling Liu Yan and Bai Xianyu, gradually understanding the situation. Before Ye Jiao could respond, he knelt first and said,

"Father, I have not seen Gesang Meiduo in Jinzhou."

Ye Jiao's eyes flickered, but she dared not contradict. Li Ce had not seen her, yet she had— even obtaining the antidote from Gesang Meiduo herself. The emperor's expression remained stern but visibly eased.

"Did you hear that, Minister Liu?" he said with displeasure. "I shall order a full inquiry into Gesang Meiduo's whereabouts. As for your dereliction of duty, all three of you shall forfeit three months' salary as a warning to others."

Liu Yan tried to protest, but the emperor silenced him with a sharp glance. He could only kneel, kowtow, and withdraw, Bai Xianyu following timidly, step by step. Even after they had gone far, Li Ce remained unmoving. The emperor paced within the hall, each step heavy with helplessness. After a while, he stood by the window, eyes half-closed, and murmured,

"I forced you to lie."

The emperor had long known whether Gesang Meiduo appeared in Jinzhou. He even knew of her collusion with Prince Wei, a truth that had made him ill with rage. But how could the royal house betray the nation and collude with the enemy? Such treason would lose the hearts of the people and invite their scorn. This matter could only be investigated discreetly and must never be exposed to the public. Only Liu Yan, stubborn and fearless of death, dared openly suspect a royal prince of treason.

Raising his hand, the emperor beckoned Li Ce to rise. Li Ce approached like a child confessing a fault and stated,

"I did not see Gesang Meiduo in Jinzhou, but according to my investigations, over a hundred innocent souls who perished in Jinzhou's prison, as well as Ye Chang Geng, who was injured by leaping from a cliff, were all victims of Gesang Meiduo. She escaped too swiftly, and I failed to capture her, thus I have not yet uncovered her accomplices and have not reported this sooner."

Failing to uncover her allies did not mean ignorance of them. Li Ce refrained from naming names, understanding the gravity and the emperor's strict prohibition. The emperor now wore his usual round-collar robe for leisure, the thin summer garment revealing a frame leaner by a measure, with gaunt shoulders exposed beneath the absence of layered formal attire. Turning, he addressed Ye Jiao with concern,

"How is Chang Geng's condition?"

"Your Majesty," Ye Jiao knelt softly, "he has taken the antidote, but his fractured arm and ribs will require prolonged care."

"Let him recuperate fully," the emperor said, "there is no need to rush. As for the innocent who died unjustly in Jinzhou…" His fingers clenched the window frame tightly, knuckles protruding in agitation, but he merely said,

"I will see justice done for them."

Yet how? The Tang dynasty had already signed a peace treaty with Tibet, sealed with the imperial stamp and carried away by Tibetan envoys. They had honored their promise to retreat south of the Ganquan waters, vowing never to trespass again. To reignite conflict over these hundred or so souls and descend into a war of annihilation was unthinkable. The path of a sovereign lay in wise timing and weighing consequences—prioritizing peace and stability over fleeting satisfaction that would squander soldiers' lives and mire the nation in bloodshed. Still, allowing Gesang Meiduo to escape gnawed at the emperor's resolve.

"Xiao Jiu," he whispered a secret command, "I grant you full authority to mobilize the armies of Hedong, Hexi, and Longyou. Under no circumstances must Gesang Meiduo return to Tibet alive."

Killing Gesang Meiduo would at least soothe the restless spirits of those unjustly slain in Jinzhou. Yet faced with such immense power, Li Ce refused,

"I only need to investigate one person; there is no need for such a grand deployment of troops."

"Necessary," the emperor insisted, allowing no refusal. "I grant you this. This is a secret edict, bypassing the Secretariat."

Though it circumvented the Secretariat, Crown Prince Li Zhang learned of it immediately. As regent, the palace was swarming with his confidants. Where once the emperor scrutinized his every move, now the prince was fully apprised of every word and deed. Sitting at his desk, he listened impassively to the attendant's report and calmly remarked,

"I understand."

The attendant bowed and withdrew. Li Zhang remained seated upright, fingers resting upon an open page of a book. That page bulged slightly—once turned, it would reveal the radiant eastern pearl hairpin. Li Zhang picked up the golden pin and gently rubbed one pearl.

"Ye Jiao," he murmured to himself, "you married a man whose words betray his heart."

Sent away to govern the vassals, yet wielding military and political power, presiding over Prince Wei's case, commanding the forces of Hedong, Hexi, and Longyou—he stood as powerful as a three-town military governor. Li Zhang's head throbbed unbearably. The hangover drained him of strength and stirred his unease. He closed his eyes, forcing calm to preserve his judgment.

"Presiding over Prince Wei's case," Li Zhang's lips twitched in a bitter sneer, "let's begin there. They say Prince Chu is kind-hearted and soft."

But clemency was the enemy of justice in legal proceedings. With the power to judge Prince Wei, Li Zhang could meet the severely injured and imprisoned Yan Congzheng. Yan's mansion was desolate. Once brimming with carriages and splendor, the residence of the Minister of Revenue now stood empty. Master and servants alike had been arrested, the estate confiscated. Walls were punctured to inspect for hidden chambers, leaving gaping holes. The courtyard lay barren, broken chairs scattered about. Careful not to cut her toes on shards of tile, Ye Jiao stepped inside.

Before arriving, Ye Jiao had already inquired about the situation. The imperial physician visited daily to tend to Yan's wounds, bringing medicine and meals—a mercy granted for his meritorious service in saving the emperor. Yet no one remained to serve him. Ye Jiao could scarcely imagine how Yan endured alone, broken and bedridden in the gloomy, silent mansion, living a life that felt eternal.

"Be careful," Li Ce said, steadying Ye Jiao as she stepped over a bloodstain outside Yan's chamber. He stopped at the cobwebbed doorway, handing over a food box.

"You go in alone," he said. "With me here, you cannot speak freely."

Though jealous of his wife visiting an old friend, Li Ce still afforded Ye Jiao utmost tolerance and freedom. She took the box and turned toward the east wing. Opening the door, darkness engulfed her. The room was dim—windows shuttered, drapes drawn, shutting out all light. The air was stale, mingling the scents of blood, medicine, and decay, discouraging any step forward.

Ye Jiao's eyes scanned the sparse furnishings: a standing screen near the door painted with mist-shrouded distant mountains; a precious Yue kiln celadon vase on the low table by the window, holding a withered peach branch; armor hung on the wall, its weapons long removed; even the bed was simple, its low frame of catalpa wood holding a book on a side table. The bed's curtains drooped, stained with blood. The occupant lay stiffly, coughing harshly.

"Cough, cough, cough…" No one soothed his back or brought even a cup of water. A pang of sorrow rose in Ye Jiao's heart as she stepped forward and helped him sit up. Removing the lid of the food box with one hand, she took out a soup cup, scooped some broth, and lifted it to Yan Congzheng's lips.

"Cordyceps and ginseng tea," she whispered, "drink this."

Startled by her voice, Yan struggled to sit upright and murmured,

"Your servant pays respects to the Princess of Prince Chu."

"Lie down!" Ye Jiao pressed him firmly back, then offered more of the tea.

"What's wrong?" she warned sharply, "Are you afraid it's poisoned?"

A bitter, self-mocking smile tugged at the cracked corners of Yan's lips as he lowered his head and drank. The tea moistened his throat instantly, sweetness spreading warmth through his body, easing his cough. He opened his mouth again, and Ye Jiao fed him several more spoonfuls before pausing.

"This is restorative medicine; you mustn't drink it too fast. In fifteen minutes, I'll give you more."

Fifteen minutes—meaning she would remain here a while longer.

"Go now," Yan shook his head. "