Chapter 87

Proofreader: Mim

The figure in the black cloak moved like a phantom, their footsteps completely silent.

In the moonlight, their shadow stretched long and distorted, almost otherworldly.

The cloaked figure crept to the window of Lu Yao’s chamber, pressing their ear against the window to listen before attempting to peek inside through the narrow gap in the frame.

Judging by their stature, the person appeared to be either a short man or an adult woman.

Either way, Li Zhi felt confident she could handle them.

She stuffed the half-finished sachet she’d been embroidering into her sleeve, took a deep breath, and then leaped to her feet. Vaulting out of her slightly ajar window, she shouted at the figure beneath Lu Yao’s window, “Stop right there!”

The figure flinched, nearly stumbling to the ground.

But they recovered quickly, scrambling to their feet and breaking into a run before Li Zhi could grab them.

“Stop them!” Li Zhi yelled as she gave chase.

The lanterns around Changqiu Hall lit up one after another as her voice echoed through the hallways.

Two eunuchs on duty rushed over at the commotion. But as soon as they caught sight of the cloaked figure, they both froze in their tracks, paralyzed with fear.

In that brief hesitation, the cloaked figure bolted into the rear garden.

Li Zhi pursued them relentlessly.

She was fast, but no matter how much she pushed herself, she couldn’t seem to close the distance between them.

It didn’t take long for her to realize why.

The cloaked figure knew the layout of Changqiu Hall intimately. They ran without hesitation, taking sharp turns and navigating the complex paths without so much as a glance at their surroundings.

After one particular turn, the cloaked figure vanished from sight.

A shaky, half-open door swayed slightly in the breeze in front of Li Zhi.

She barely had time to question why there was a door there before she instinctively rushed through it.

Beyond the door was a wide palace path illuminated by lanterns spaced every fifteen steps. Their faint light flickered against the darkness. The cloaked figure darted left, continuing their escape.

Li Zhi didn’t hesitate and followed.

The figure seemed just as familiar with the palace paths as they were with Changqiu Hall. The maze-like layout of the paths made the chase significantly harder for Li Zhi.

But thanks to the grueling training Hei Huo had put her through—forcing her to run up and down treacherous mountain trails—Li Zhi gradually closed the gap between them.

As she approached, she gathered her strength and lunged, tackling the figure to the ground.

A faint scent of orchid wafted through the air.

The impact knocked the hood off the cloaked figure, and a cascade of long, jet-black hair spilled out.

“Who dares to cause such chaos on the palace path?!”

The sharp, icy voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Li Zhi looked up to see Gao Shan, dressed in his high-ranking eunuch robes, standing at the end of the crossroad.

Behind him was a group of eunuchs, their lanterns casting eerie, flickering light on their pale faces. In the ghostly glow, they looked even more terrifying than the cloaked figure.

Taking advantage of Li Zhi’s momentary distraction, the cloaked figure headbutted her with surprising force.

Li Zhi had been on guard for weapons but hadn’t anticipated her opponent using their own head as a weapon. Dizzy and disoriented, she stumbled back, allowing the cloaked figure to wriggle free and dart into the unlit part of the palace path like a frightened rabbit.

Still seeing double, Li Zhi could only watch helplessly as the figure vanished into the shadows.

The eunuchs surrounded her in a tight circle as Gao Shan approached at a leisurely pace, holding his lantern aloft to illuminate her face.

“Director Li,” he said coldly, his thin lips barely moving. “What are you doing on the palace path at this hour?”

Li Zhi frowned deeply, one hand rubbing her aching forehead while her eyes searched the direction where the cloaked figure had disappeared.

There was no trace of them left—only the faint scent of orchids lingering in the night air.

“Under Zhaoyi’s orders, I was investigating the ghostly disturbances at Changqiu Hall,” she said, her tone measured. “Just now, a cloaked figure fled from there. Did you see them, Chief Eunuch Gao?”

Gao Shan glanced briefly down the empty palace path before looking back at her, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said flatly.

“…That was a living person,” Li Zhi said, sensing the mockery in his tone. “They’re the one pretending to be a ghost at Changqiu Hall. I almost caught them.”

Gao Shan seemed uninterested.

“Whether you’re chasing a person or a ghost,” he said icily, “this is the imperial palace, the residence of the Son of Heaven. As Director, your every action must be measured and prudent. Running around the palace paths at night and spreading tales of ghosts is unwise.”

If it had been anyone else, Gao Shan’s stern demeanor and coffin-like expression would have scared them into silence.

But Li Zhi wasn’t so easily intimidated.

She responded calmly and methodically, “If you don’t believe me, you can inquire at Changqiu Hall. Several palace servants witnessed a cloaked figure running through the main hall and into the palace paths.”

“If several people saw this, why did no one apprehend the suspect?” Gao Shan countered.

A good question—one that Li Zhi herself wanted an answer to.

The figure wasn’t particularly skilled in martial arts, nor were they faster than her. How had they managed to evade capture for so many years, continuing to haunt Changqiu Hall unchecked?

Diverting the topic, Li Zhi asked, “What brings you out so late, Chief Eunuch Gao? Does His Majesty require something?”

Gao Shan’s tone softened slightly, though it remained curt. “I was on my way to the Imperial Prison to handle some matters.” He added, “If you have no other business, Director Li, it would be best not to linger on the palace paths.”

Knowing the cloaked figure was long gone, Li Zhi conceded and returned to Changqiu Hall.

The hall was ablaze with light, and all the servants had been roused by the commotion.

Standing in Lu Yao’s bedroom, Li Zhi reported the night’s events to her.

Lu Yao sat on her luohan bed, a robe draped over her shoulders courtesy of Chunmei. She seemed even thinner than the last time Li Zhi had seen her.

Her lips were pale and bloodless, and she listened quietly, almost doll-like in her stillness.

“…So,” Lu Yao said softly, “there is indeed someone pretending to be a ghost, but you didn’t catch them.”

“Rest assured, Zhaoyi,” Li Zhi replied. “After tonight, I have some clues to follow in my investigation.” She paused, her gaze lingering on Lu Yao’s face. “You look so pale—are you frightened by all this?”

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” Lu Yao said weakly, her voice heavy with an inexplicable stillness. “When there’s something weighing on my mind, I can’t rest.”

The last time Li Zhi had seen her, Lu Yao’s body had been weak, but her spirit had been lively.

Now, something felt different.

From the moment they met tonight, Lu Yao hadn’t called her “Sister Li” once.

She only said “you.”

And that “you” could have been anyone. There was nothing personal about it.

Li Zhi carefully probed, “If there’s something weighing on Zhaoyi’s mind, you can share it with me. Perhaps I can help.”

Lu Yao sighed softly, her gaze drifting to a half-finished ruyi knot sash weight lying on the low table beside her bed.

“This sash weight… I’ve been working on it for over half a month,” she said. “But somehow, it got all tangled into a dead knot. I can’t finish it anymore.”

“Why don’t you let me take a look?” Li Zhi offered.

“You may try,” Lu Yao said, nodding.

Li Zhi approached the luohan bed and picked up the intricate ruyi knot. It was nearly complete, but the tangled knots were obvious upon closer inspection.

Though she wasn’t particularly skilled in weaving, untying knots was much simpler than creating them.

Focusing intently, Li Zhi began to unravel the knots, silently praying she wouldn’t have to restart her own half-finished sachet from scratch.

As her fingers worked, Li Zhi gradually realized something wasn’t right.

Lu Yao had said the knot became tangled accidentally, but the knots she was undoing were deliberate, tightly secured dead knots. Could such intricate tangles have happened by chance?

As this thought crossed her mind, Lu Yao got up from the bed.

Her shoes were right under the bed, but she ignored them, walking barefoot across the floor.

“I’ve told you before,” Lu Yao said, her voice as faint and fleeting as a wandering spirit. “When it’s just the two of us, you don’t have to call yourself a servant. There were only a few rare times you referred to yourself as ‘I’… and I was so happy.”

“In this harem, I have no one else to trust but you. I thought you were the only one who wouldn’t harm me, the only one who extended a hand to save me in my darkest moment.” She paused, then added bitterly, “I’m such a fool.”

“Zhaoyi…” Li Zhi’s throat tightened, but she couldn’t find the words to continue.

In her hands was the ruyi knot, tangled into countless dead knots. In Lu Yao’s hand was a small blade—when had that appeared?

The tip of the dagger pressed against Li Zhi’s abdomen.

“Sister Li,” Lu Yao said softly, “do you also think I’m a fool?”

Suddenly, Li Zhi understood why the ruyi knot had so many dead knots.

“The emperor told you,” Li Zhi said.

“You’ve hidden this from me for so long. Are you proud of yourself?” Lu Yao asked in a quiet voice.

“…I never thought that way,” Li Zhi replied.

“This ruyi knot,” Lu Yao said, “I started weaving it for you before the Qixi Palace Banquet.”

Each bead on the knot had been handpicked by her, even while her belly was still heavy with child. She had gone to the Bureau of Attire herself, selecting each bead with care.

She had once knelt before the window in sincere gratitude, thanking the heavens that, in the cold and treacherous depths of the palace, there was someone like a sister to her who treated her with kindness.

For countless sleepless nights, she had tossed and turned in her room, plagued by nightmares.

In one dream, she returned home. Li Zhi traveled thousands of miles to visit her as a guest. She proudly held Li Zhi’s hand, showing her every corner of the house.

In another, she dreamt she had turned into a worm—or perhaps an ant. She watched as Li Zhi sat with the emperor, admiring a painting.

She heard Li Zhi say to the emperor, “…The daughter of the classical scholar from Anyang County is beautiful and dignified. What does Your Majesty think?”

The emperor, his expression inscrutable, studied the painting of her for a long time before nodding and saying, “Not bad.”

Just like when he had painted her nude and admired his own work, saying the exact same words: Not bad.

Those two simple words weighed on her like Mount Tai, crushing her under their weight.

In yet another dream, she was back home, but the next day, the carriage that brought her to the palace stopped in front of her house.

She cried and screamed as she watched her parents being thrown to the ground, while she was forcibly shoved into the carriage.

The scenes shifted and blurred. She knelt in the Jinglan Pavilion as Noble Consort Yi’s maid slapped her repeatedly. Noble Consort Yi’s cold words echoed: The punishment ends with her. I’ll kill her, but I won’t touch her family.

Then, Li Zhi stepped forward.

Don’t save me, she thought to herself in the dream.

Better to die right there than to face the truth later.

Dreams were dreams, but waking up meant facing the cold, bloody reality—and planning for her future.

“I want to ask you…” Lu Yao gritted her teeth, each word like a jagged blade, “Why me?”

Why her?

In the dead of night, sick and weak, she had vomited blood from the sheer force of her rage and anguish.

The drops of blood splattered onto her bed, but they weren’t enough to express even one percent of the storm raging in her heart.

Li Zhi’s hands clenched tightly around the ruyi knot, its beads digging into her palms.

The beads were shaped like little rabbits, deer, and colorful fruits like lychees. She could almost imagine Lu Yao’s mood while weaving it.

“Answer me!” Lu Yao’s voice cracked as she shouted.

“…Because,” Li Zhi croaked, her throat dry, “you were the biggest one in all the portraits.”

Her answer took Lu Yao completely by surprise.

No matter how much Lu Yao had speculated, she never imagined it would be this simple.

And yet, this answer made everything fall into place.

Lu Yao stood frozen, her tears glinting in her wide, unblinking eyes. Even the flickering candlelight seemed to pause, casting a stillness over the room.

Li Zhi had already prepared herself for the worst.

She didn’t deserve Lu Yao’s forgiveness.

Even now, she wasn’t entirely repentant. Her peripheral vision was locked onto the dagger in Lu Yao’s hand.

If Lu Yao truly intended to kill her, she would have no choice but to wrest the blade away.

She would have to exploit Lu Yao’s youth and frailty, just as Xie Shencong had done, crushing the girl’s final hope for vengeance.

How despicable. How shameful.

But then, Lu Yao lowered the dagger.

It slipped from her limp fingers, falling to the ground with a soft clang like a raindrop on a clear day.

Lu Yao turned and walked barefoot toward the window of the main hall, her back to Li Zhi.

“That dagger wasn’t even sharpened. It’s just scrap metal,” she said.

She stood by the window, gazing at the flower stand where a pot of rare green chrysanthemums sat. They were the first green chrysanthemums to bloom in the imperial gardens this year. Usually, they were reserved for Noble Consort Yi, but this year, the emperor had sent one pot to her.

Looking at the flowers, she thought of that hypocritical, disgusting man, and her stomach churned.

Before she realized it, the flowers were crushed into a messy pulp in her hand.

Staring at her ruined palm, she made up her mind and turned to face Li Zhi.

Their gazes locked, and Lu Yao’s dark eyes burned with a fiery determination Li Zhi hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve thought long and hard,” Lu Yao said. “And I’ve realized I hate the man who destroyed me with his own hands even more.”

“When the time comes, I want his life. That’s what you owe me.”

“Will you repay me?”

Li Zhi had only one answer.

Hearing her response, Lu Yao smiled, tears streaming down her face.

Her smile, reflected in the flickering light, was radiant and unyielding.

“In that case,” Lu Yao said, “I’ll forgive you, Sister Li.”