63: Chapter 63 High-Level Conspiracy: First Signs Emerge

Sunlight shone across the street, the stone road shimmering slightly.

Chen Xuan walked on the way back to his residence; his pace wasn't fast, and he didn't look down at his shadow, only wiping the tip of his nose with his finger from time to time.

The palace gate guard's words "didn't see the female warrior in white" were still spinning in his head, but right now he wasn't thinking about whether the Sword Immortal had visited, but about something else.

When he pushed open the courtyard gate, he casually hung his waist token on the copper hook by the door.

The gray cloth curtain swayed gently in the wind; the house was very quiet, not even a teapot was boiling. He walked straight through the front hall and entered the small study on the east side.

The room wasn't large, with a row of bookshelves against the wall, a wooden table in the middle, and two chairs.

Several sheets of paper were spread out on the table, including maps and a few lines of scrawled handwriting. He sat down and, instead of rushing to flip through things, first poured a cup of cold tea and finished it in one gulp.

Only then did he move the papers on the table in front of him one by one.

The first thing he looked at was the capital's defense map; its edges were curled, borrowed from an old Taoist on Wudang Mountain.

The map showed city gates, barracks, and postal roads, along with several places circled in red—all inconspicuous corners of the markets.

He stared at it for a long while, his finger tapping a spot: the former site of the Cloud Pavilion.

Last month, while investigating Liu Ruyan's affairs, he had passed by there and discovered that in an area that should have been a patch of abandoned houses, people were actually coming and going at night.

The guards were changed frequently; their clothes looked like those of bailiffs, but their walking posture didn't resemble people from officialdom. He hadn't paid much attention then, but thinking back now, something felt off.

He pulled out another piece of paper, which listed the officials he had met over the past three months.

Some names were checked, indicating normal interactions; a few were circled, indicating unusual attitudes.

For example, Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites Zhou Yuan'an—one moment he was acting like a brother at a banquet, and the next he was impeaching a minister of the 'Pure Stream' faction at the imperial court for forming a clique for private ends.

Then there was Zhao Dechang, a Secretary in the Ministry of Works; despite handling funds for bridge and road repairs, a new residence had suddenly appeared at his home, even using glazed tiles for the roof.

Individually, these matters weren't major, but gathered together, they were like a few grains of sand falling into a bowl of rice—gritty and uncomfortable to eat.

He put down the list and took a thin booklet from the drawer. There were no words on the cover, and upon opening the first page, there were only three words: "Liu Ruyan."

This was his private notebook of clues. Inside were written every sentence she had mentioned: her mother was once a musician official of the previous dynasty who disappeared during the war; at age eight, she was sold into a Jiangnan pleasure boat;

The first time she performed on stage, she sang "Song of the Snapped Willow"; the tune was cold, and the lyrics were cold. That day, hearing her speak of these things, he had even joked, "No wonder your words carry a breeze."

But later, when he checked the archives of the previous dynasty, he discovered something strange: there had indeed been a female musician surnamed Liu in the palace back then, skilled with the pipa, who had performed at royal banquets.

However, she didn't die in the war; rather, three days before the Emperor's passing, she was suddenly expelled from the palace on the grounds of inappropriate speech.

Even more coincidentally, the year she left the palace was the very year Liu Ruyan was born.

The timing was too close to be a coincidence.

He closed the booklet, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes to recall his recent visits to the imperial palace.

The Empress had summoned him and asked about official business, but there was always something else in her tone. Yesterday's remark—"Do you really think I'm testing you?"—sounded like a joke but was actually sharp.

She might not know anything for sure, but she had certainly sensed something.

And then there was Li Qingge. That woman standing on the eaves—why did she appear just then? She could have sent someone to deliver the invitation; why come in person? Was she also investigating something?

He opened his eyes, stared at the roof beams for a while, then suddenly stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled out a volume of "Regulations of the Great Zhou: Imperial Clan Section."

This was a copy he had someone transcribe from the State Archives; it couldn't be taken out of the city and could only be borrowed for a few days. Flipping to a page, it listed all registered imperial relatives and in-laws from the past fifty years.

He ran his fingertip across the columns until he stopped at a name.

"Liu Clan, consort of a certain musician official, gave birth to one daughter, whereabouts unknown. Case reason: Implicated in the Former Crown Prince's treason case."

The Former Crown Prince? His brow twitched.

Since the founding of the Great Zhou, a Crown Prince has never been appointed. The so-called 'Former Crown Prince' could only refer to the late Emperor's elder brother who died young while the late Emperor was still a Prince.

It was said that the man was favored by the late Emperor and was nearly appointed as the heir apparent, but later died in a fire at his residence, and the matter was dropped.

But what if this Liu woman's daughter was still alive?

He slowly sat back in his chair and connected these lines in his mind: Was Liu Ruyan's mother expelled from the palace because she was pregnant with a child she shouldn't have had?

The child was taken away and raised in Jiangnan to hide her identity? Now someone is operating in the shadows, sealing old archives and mobilizing troops—is it to find this person, or to eliminate her?

The more he thought, the heavier his heart became.

This wasn't a simple case of searching for relatives, nor was it a personal grudge. This was a scheme aimed at the throne.

He rubbed the space between his eyebrows, and the image of the four women gathered in the courtyard last night flashed through his mind.

Leng Shuang stood in the corner with her arms crossed, not saying a word; Zhao Hongling was anxious to ask if he was in any danger; Dugu Xue only said one thing: "The imperial court's waters are deep."

Liu Ruyan lowered her head and wrung her handkerchief, her eyes slightly red.

They all cared about him.

But he could no longer pretend not to know about this.

He stood up, paced the room a few times, and finally stopped at the table, spreading out a fresh sheet of white paper. Picking up a brush and dipping it in ink, he wrote eight characters: "Need people, need lines, need stability, need concealment."

Then he wrote them down one by one:

To check the archives, one needs a legitimate reason. Say it's for organizing old matters and compiling a 'Martial Forest Chronicle,' requiring access to the peripheral materials of the Imperial Court History Records Room.

This wouldn't be a violation of regulations; as long as core secrets weren't touched, it should pass.

To keep an eye on those unusual officials, someone needs to move around outside.

Leng Shuang has good hearing, Zhao Hongling knows many people in high society, Dugu Xue has eyes in the Northern Border, and Liu Ruyan herself is in the Jianghu information network. They can each monitor a section without overlapping, to avoid exposure.

He couldn't move easily; the Empress had just asked him about getting married and having children, clearly already paying attention to his private life.

Frequent outings now would easily arouse suspicion. He needed an excuse, such as secluded cultivation or observing a mourning period for an elder, to reduce his appearances.

Most importantly, he couldn't let them be in danger. Especially Liu Ruyan; she was the key and also the target. Once the other side found out she was investigating, she would be the first one they struck.

He stopped writing, looked at the words on the paper, and then crossed them out and rewrote them one by one. After several revisions, he finally settled on a rough direction.

Even before starting, he already had to think this far ahead.

He blew the ink dry, folded the paper into a small piece, and tucked it into his sleeve pocket. Then he picked up the teapot, found it empty, and stood up to go to the kitchen to boil another pot.

Just as he reached the door, he turned back, put all the booklets on the table into the drawer, and locked it.

Before leaving, he looked out the window; the sky was still bright, tree shadows slanted, and the courtyard was as quiet as if nothing had happened.

But he knew things were different now.

The deduction just now was like lifting a stone; the things crawling out from underneath weren't clear yet, but the stench had already rushed out.

He walked out of the study and closed the door behind him.

Crossing the courtyard, he saw the kettle sitting on the kitchen stove, picked it up and shook it—half a pot left. He placed it on the stove, lit the firewood, and crouched beside it to wait for the water to boil.

The flames crackled, their reflection flickering on his face.

He didn't think about conspiracies or danger anymore, but instead recalled a sentence he heard yesterday while chatting with the guards at the palace gate: "This morning, people from the Ministry of Internal Affairs went to the West Market and searched through several old bookstores, saying they were collecting banned books."

Banned books? What banned books?

He narrowed his eyes, thinking that perhaps he should take a trip to the West Market tomorrow.

The water boiled, and white steam rose from the spout. He stood up, took down the kettle, and brewed himself a cup of fresh tea.

As the tea fragrance spread, he sat on the threshold, drinking it sip by sip, his eyes looking at the sky outside the courtyard.

The clouds hadn't gathered yet, and the wind hadn't changed direction.

But what needed to be prepared, had to start being prepared.

He put down the teacup, brushed the dust off his pants, and stood up.

The road ahead could no longer be walked with the same steps as before.