Chapter 88: Bonds and Betrayals (2/2)

He didn’t push.

“Alright. I’ll have the Imperial Guards bring the documents I need to review. I can work from here.”

Even amidst Ancheng’s brewing conflicts, the Imperial Guards kept to their routines, uninvolved in the fray.

Lin Ting sighed, defeated.

“Fine, I’m not sleepy anymore. I’ll go with you. Hauling documents back and forth is too much hassle.”

If the mountain wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to it—she had to admire his persistence.

***

At the yamen, she fell into her usual habits: nibbling on snacks, sipping tea, and, today, dabbling in calligraphy and sketching on the table by the arhat couch.

She moved with deliberate ease, careful not to betray the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her brush danced across paper, capturing the objects around her, until her gaze settled on Duan Ling, seated not far away.

Beauty, whether in things or people, had a way of lifting the spirit.

She pushed aside her earlier drawings, took a fresh sheet, and began to sketch him.

When the portrait was done, she left it on the table to dry and sank into her chair, lost in thought.

Her mind wasn’t idle—it churned over her task.

Two steps: procure the aphrodisiac drug, then use it on Xia Zimo.

Both had to be done by her own hand, no intermediaries allowed.

Any ordinary pharmacy would stock the drug, but with Duan Ling’s sharp eyes on her, how could she stroll into a shop and ask for it?

The task demanded secrecy, even in its smallest details.

She chewed over the problem, her thoughts a tangle of schemes.

A sudden breeze slipped through the open window, scattering her drawing to the floor.

Duan Ling rose, stooped to retrieve it, and paused as his eyes caught the image.

A young man in a crimson robe sat at a desk, head bowed over documents, his features rendered with quiet care.

It was him—Lin Ting had drawn him.

He’d noticed her glances as she worked, her brush moving in time with her gaze, but seeing himself captured on paper stirred something deep and unspoken within him.

Her skill was unpolished, yet the portrait’s vitality revealed the attention she’d paid to her subject.

He carried the dried drawing back to her, setting it gently on the table before her.

She blinked, pulled from her reverie, and tucked away her worries.

“Done with today’s documents?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

“Yes.” His tone softened.

“You were drawing me.”

She tilted her head to study the portrait, where his painted likeness seemed to return her look.

“I draw what catches my eye. You were there, so I drew you. What do you think?”

His fingers brushed the paper’s edge, grazing her hand where it rested on the table.

“It’s very well done.”

Her lips curved at the praise, a flicker of joy easing her tangled thoughts.

She rolled up the drawing and handed it to him.

“It’s yours.”

A memory sparked.

“I almost forgot,” she said, “I still haven’t seen that double portrait we had done before the wedding. When we’re back in the capital, show it to me.”

He hesitated, just for a moment then replied, “It’s in the study. You can see it when we return.”

She stood, stretching, and frowned slightly.

“You’ve kept it in the study this whole time? Didn’t you say it’d hang in our room?”

He shrugged, unconcerned.

“If you want it in the room, we can move it there.”

She let the matter of the portrait’s placement slide, her curiosity shifting.

“Is that double portrait not very good?”

“Why would you think that?”

‘You’ve kept it hidden, not showing it to anyone, not even me,’ she thought, but didn’t say.

Instead, she said lightly, “I’m just curious since I haven’t seen it.”

He took her drawing, his voice steady.

“That portrait, like this one, is well done. There’s nothing lacking in it.”

He glanced out the window, where the sky was turning dusky and said, “It’s time to wrap up for the day.”

The workday had ended, and with it came the promise of home.

Lin Ting murmured a soft “oh” and trailed after Duan Ling as they stepped out into the fading light.

On the road back, Lin Ting’s thoughts drifted to Duan Xingning.

She paused the carriage to buy some sour fruits, knowing her friend’s recent bouts of morning sickness could be eased, if only slightly, by their tart bite.

The rebels hadn’t struck Ancheng in days, and the townsfolk carried on as if untouched by the looming threat—shops open, laughter spilling from doorways, meals savored without a care.

Lin Ting couldn’t help but marvel at their resilience.

If not for the task anchoring her here, she’d have bolted to the farthest corner of the realm.

As she purchased the fruits, a young woman brushed past her, the fleeting glimpse of her face sparking recognition.

Lin Ting stole a few more glances and her memory stirred.

She knew her: the younger sister of General Yang Liangyu of Great Yan.

What was she doing in Ancheng?

The woman wore no veil, her features exposed, perhaps believing this distant city held few who’d know her.

She hadn’t met Lin Ting, so their passing today meant nothing to her.

But Lin Ting had seen her once, on the day the National Teacher paraded through the streets, rushing to Yang Liangyu’s side, calling her “Elder Sister.”

Yang Liangyu’s worsening illness and return to the capital for recovery were no secret.

As her sister, bound to her by necessity and affection, shouldn’t she be at her bedside?

Yet here she was, far from the capital, in Ancheng, moving with purpose, as if drawn by some urgent errand or meeting.

Lin Ting’s suspicions deepened—she still believed this woman was the one who’d tasked the bookstore with finding Fu Chi.

Her presence here demanded answers.

Duan Ling, ever at her side, had seen her too.

His voice was calm, measured.

“General Yang’s sister, here in Ancheng.”

Lin Ting’s eyes followed the woman’s figure, nearly lost in the crowd.

“Why would she come here?”

Duan Ling caught the flicker of curiosity in her expression, reading her as easily as a page.

He didn’t probe her interest in Yang Liangyu’s sister, only asked, “Want to follow her and see?”

“I do, but…” Her words trailed off, hesitancy creeping in.

He took the bundle of sour fruits from the vendor, placed it in their carriage, and dismissed the driver.

“Then let’s go.”

His martial prowess made him fearless—tracking someone was as simple as deciding to do it.

Lin Ting, meanwhile, had to wrestle with the risk of being caught, weighing each step.

She envied his confidence, dreaming of the day she could move with such ease.

“Alright,” she agreed, a spark of resolve igniting.

They shadowed her, moving swiftly toward her destination.

Lin Ting’s lightness skill had grown sharper, and Duan Ling, a Imperial Guards with a predator’s instinct, was unmatched in stealth.

The woman glanced back now and then, but their presence went unnoticed.

Half an hour later, she reached the back gate of a residence, her eyes darting about before she knocked—three sharp raps, a pause, then two more.

The gate creaked open, revealing no one, and she slipped inside.

Lin Ting crouched behind a wall across from the residence, her voice a hushed whisper.

“Do you know who lives here?”

“The Factory Supervisor,” Duan Ling replied.

The moment Ta Xuening arrived in Ancheng, Duan Ling had set his men to uncover his whereabouts.

Lin Ting’s eyes widened.

“General Yang’s sister is meeting the East Factory Supervisor?”

Did Yang Liangyu know?

The timing of her sudden illness before the battle seemed more suspicious by the moment.

Duan Ling scanned their surroundings with unruffled calm.

“It appears so. Do you want to follow her inside?”

Lin Ting hesitated and asked, “What if we’re caught?”

Ta Xuening’s residence would be guarded, likely with hidden sentries in the shadows.

A man of his stature never traveled lightly—trespassing could spell trouble.

He might spare her for her mother’s sake, but Duan Ling was an Imperial Guard, a figure Ta Xuening distrusted, and one who could report his doings to Emperor Jiade.

Ta Xuening wouldn’t let him slip away easily.

Duan Ling’s tone was light, almost dismissive.

“If we’re caught, we’re caught.”

His nonchalance steadied her.

If he wasn’t worried, why should she be?

She trusted his skill.

“Fine, but let’s be cautious.”

They moved like shadows, slipping past patrolling guards and evading hidden sentries.

In less than half a quarter-hour, they found the woman in a side room, joined by another: Ta Xuening, the East Factory Supervisor.

Exchanging a glance, they leaped onto the roof with practiced ease, lifting a glazed tile to peer below.

The voices within carried clearly.

“Supervisor, you still haven’t found Fu Chi’s body?”

Lin Ting’s mind clicked into place.

So that’s why the woman had later told the bookstore to abandon the search for Fu Chi—she’d learned from Ta Xuening that he was dead.

Ta Xuening reclined on a soft couch, warmed by a brazier.

“Fu Chi’s body is gone.”

“Why?” the woman pressed, her voice trembling.

“When Prince Liang seized him and demanded the prince’s whereabouts, he refused to break. They killed him, and his body was fed to dogs. I didn’t tell you sooner because I feared you couldn’t bear his death, let alone the loss of his remains.”

The woman swayed, her strength faltering.

Ta Xuening’s eyes closed briefly.

“I’ve had a cenotaph built for him.”

Years ago, after rescuing Jin Anazi, Ta Xuening made annual trips to Suzhou to ensure his safety.

But over a year ago, Jin Anazi vanished, seeking vengeance against the crown prince.

Ta Xuening had sent men to track him down in secret.

Fu Chi was one of them, posing as a scholar bound for the capital’s exams to confirm whether the former dynasty’s prince still lived.

His meeting and falling in love with the woman was an unforeseen twist.

That explained Ta Xuening’s frantic search when Fu Chi disappeared.

After a heavy pause, Ta Xuening spoke again, his voice faint with fatigue.

“Don’t worry about your sister’s medicine. It only seems severe—she’ll recover fully in two months.”

The woman, who’d only learned of Ta Xuening after Fu Chi’s death, nodded.

“I trust you.”

“You should go.”

She lingered and said, “You promised that when Great Yan falls, you won’t kill my sister.”

The dynasty’s collapse was inevitable, and her sister, a general, would likely perish with it.

She needed a path to safety for her.

Ta Xuening’s eyes opened, sharp and steady.

“I keep my word. You and your sister will be safe. You were Fu Chi’s heart—I won’t betray you.”

Suddenly, his gaze snapped upward, cold as steel.

A dagger flew toward the roof.

“Who’s there?”