67: Chapter 67 Ruyan's Background Gradually Revealed

The afterglow of the setting sun spilled across the eaves of Chen Xuan's residence, dyeing the blue tiles a warm yellow.

His steps were much steadier than usual as he pushed open the courtyard gate, and his shoulders no longer slumped as if weighed down by a thousand-pound burden like they had the past few days.

Last night's sparring session with Li Qingge hadn't just cleared his meridians; it felt like she had pulled him out of a quagmire, leaving his mind clear and his limbs agile.

He walked straight through the front hall, not sparing a glance at the decor or calling out to anyone, for he knew Liu Ruyan was waiting for him in the secret room.

That secret room had originally been the estate's library, but now its walls were covered with slips of paper, maps, and sketches of clues. Several worn-out old registers lay spread across the table, and in the most prominent position sat a yellowed letter, its corners crumbling and the ink blurred as if it had been soaked in water and then dried.

Liu Ruyan sat by the table, motionless, her fingers resting lightly on the stationery, her fingertips trembling slightly.

She wasn't wearing her usual pink gauze dress today, but was draped in a plain white outer robe. Her hair was tied more loosely, making her seem smaller, yet somehow more solemn.

“You're here,” she said, her voice soft but clearly strained as she tried to remain steady.

Chen Xuan gave a hum of acknowledgment and sat down opposite her. He didn't rush to speak, first reaching out to trim the oil lamp's wick to make it brighter. The flame flickered, casting shadows across both their faces.

“I read this letter three more times last night,” Liu Ruyan whispered. “Some of the words are still illegible, but the more I look at it, the more chaotic my heart becomes. Is my father truly the Minister of Rites, Liu Huaian?”

Chen Xuan nodded. “Based on the Human Broker records you found earlier, the Jiangnan Guild Hall's register, and the remnants of the official seal and dates on this letter, it all aligns.”

“Back then, the Liu family was executed. Publicly, it was said to be for colluding with the enemy and treason, but there have always been rumors among the people that he was framed for impeaching a powerful official.”

Liu Ruyan bit her lip. She didn't cry, but her eyes were red. “I remember when I was little, people called me Young Miss. At night, someone would always hold me and hide in the cellar.”

“Then came a great fire, and I don't remember anything after that. When I woke up again, I was already doing chores in the kitchen of a Flower Boat.”

After she finished, she looked down at the letter and suddenly reached out to touch a very faint scar on the inside of her right wrist, as if remembering something.

“I got this scar from a burn when I was five. That day, there was a birthday banquet at home, and I was stealing Osmanthus Cakes in the kitchen when I knocked over a hot pot.”

“A woman rushed in and picked me up, crying and shouting that nothing could happen to the Young Miss. Was she...”

“She was your mother,” Chen Xuan interjected, his tone soft yet firm. “And I know whose daughter you are—not because of these scraps of paper, but because you can stand here and calmly look back at the past.”

Liu Ruyan looked up at him.

Chen Xuan continued, “Anyone else would have gone mad, fled, or resigned themselves to fate long ago. But not you. You entered a Brothel, learned to play the zither and dance, practiced calligraphy and studied, all while quietly investigating your own origins. You haven't just survived; you've lived with clarity and backbone. That's not something an ordinary person can do.”

Her nose stung, and tears finally fell, though she made no sound. She simply raised a hand to wipe her face, her fingers still trembling.

Chen Xuan stood up, walked around the table to her side, and knelt down to bring his eyes level with hers. He didn't offer empty words of comfort or pat her shoulder; he simply placed his hand gently on her shoulder, his palm warm and his grip steady.

After a long while, Liu Ruyan spoke. “They killed my whole family; they didn't even spare the servants. The Old Nanny who escaped with me died of illness six months later. I don't even know her surname.”

“But she got you out. She traded her life for your chance to live. Sitting here now, seeing the truth and remembering the names—that is the best way to honor her.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackling of the burning lamp wick.

Liu Ruyan took a deep breath and slowly folded the letter, cradling it in her hands as if it were a piece of glowing coal.

“I feel hatred. I'm not afraid of their power or influence; what I'm afraid of is not even daring to mention their names, of one day forgetting whose child I am.”

Chen Xuan looked at her without blinking. “Then remember this: you are the daughter of Liu Huaian. He was a loyal official who was unjustly killed. You are his Bloodline, the proof that he lived on.”

He paused, his voice dropping lower but becoming more forceful. “I won't tell you to let your grudge go. Nor will I let you carry it alone. From today on, this matter is my business. Whoever owes your father his life, I will make them pay it back, stroke by stroke.”

Liu Ruyan was stunned, and tears welled up again. This time she didn't wipe them away, but simply stared at him.

Chen Xuan didn't smile, nor did he make any grand gestures. He just sat there on his heels, one hand supporting himself on the table leg and the other still resting on her shoulder, like a wall that would never fall.

“I'm not doing this for some grand cause; I'm doing it because seeing you suffer makes me feel stifled. I've saved you before, but you were never weak. You are a hero for enduring until today. A person like that shouldn't be without someone to back her up.”

Liu Ruyan suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

“You must be careful,” she said, her voice trembling. “Those people could kill a Minister's entire family; they could make ten Jianghu travelers vanish without a trace. Don't... don't bring trouble upon yourself because of me.”

Chen Xuan grinned. “Am I not already in enough trouble? Besides, do you think I've fought this hard just to spend my life hiding from things?”

He stood up and pulled her up with him. “Just remember who you are. Leave the rest to me.”

Liu Ruyan gazed at him for a long time before finally nodding. There were still tears in the corners of her eyes, but her gaze had changed—it was no longer drifting and rootless, but firm and grounded.

She carefully placed the tattered letter into a small cloth pouch she wore close to her body and hung it at her waist. Her movements were gentle, yet carried a newfound solemnity.

Chen Xuan glanced out the window. The sky was pitch black, and moonlight shone into the courtyard, casting slanted shadows from the trees.

“Rest here tonight. Tomorrow, I'll find a way to get a copy of the Ministry of Justice case files from back then. It'll be difficult, but not impossible.”

“Okay,” she responded, standing still.

Chen Xuan turned to leave, but she called out to him.

“Chen Xuan.”

He looked back.

“Thank you—and not just for helping me investigate my past,” she said softly. “But for letting me know that I deserve to be treated this way.”

Chen Xuan didn't say anything; he just smiled at her and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a habitual little gesture of his.

Then he pulled open the door and walked out.

Liu Ruyan was left alone in the secret room. The candlelight reflected off her profile as tears fell once more, though the corners of her mouth were turned up. She looked down and touched the pouch at her waist, her fingers slowly tightening.

Outside, Chen Xuan stood in the courtyard, looking up at the moon and letting out a long breath.

A breeze blew in from over the courtyard wall, carrying the slight chill of early autumn.

He turned and walked toward his own room, his steps steady and his back straight.