The days of the twelfth lunar month darkened early.
Harris Ma and Jack Golden lingered at the spectacle until the night fell completely. Only then did Prince Heir Gavin Shea finally emerge to accept the Marquis of Yongping's formal apology.
It was the pair's first bet at Castleton—and they had lost every coin they wagered.
In Fried Rice Alley, Lena Sanders had just finished listening to their animated, overlapping retelling when the sound of the door knocker echoed from outside the courtyard gate.
Harris Ma leapt up, dashed out, and returned almost immediately, breathless.
"Boss! Boss! It's Prince Heir, he's outside waiting for you—Prince Heir himself!"
"Mm."
Lena Sanders rose, went into the house, fetched a gray-mouse-lined cloak with a fine cloth exterior, and draped it over her shoulders as she walked toward the door.
"Boss…"
The word 'Boss' left Harris Ma's lips, but the next stuck in his throat, heavy with longing and envy, as he watched her disappear through the gate.
He wanted to go too—desperately.
But he didn't dare say so.
Lena Sanders left the alley, followed the servant through several narrow lanes, and entered the same tavern as before.
The entire building was silent—only the sound of her own footsteps filled the air.
She followed the servant into the warm pavilion by the lakeside in the rear courtyard.
Every window was thrown wide open, yet the air within was mild and free of chill.
Gavin Shea sat facing the lake in a comfortable rocking chair. Hearing her approach, he turned slightly and gestured. "Sit."
Lena Sanders sat down beside him, gave the chair a gentle rock, and found it quite comfortable.
"What would you like to drink?" Gavin Shea lifted his cup and asked.
"What's the finest wine in Castleton?" she countered casually.
Gavin Shea smiled. "Bring Miss Lena a pot of Jade Spirit," he instructed the servant, then turned back to her with amusement. "You've been in Castleton for months now—haven't tasted a single drop?"
"Mm. I didn't dare." She rocked the chair lazily, her tone as unrestrained as her posture.
"Didn't dare?" He raised an eyebrow. "Do you mistrust me so much? Have you not made inquiries about me?"
"Where would I inquire? How would I? About what? You were nearly killed—where does one even seek the truth of that?"
Her sidelong glance and blunt tone left Gavin Shea momentarily speechless.
"Then from today onward, will you dare to drink?" he asked after a pause.
"Mm." She nodded. Watching the servant pour the wine, she took a sip and smiled in approval. "Good wine."
Gavin Shea regarded her for a moment, then reached to the low table beside him and handed her a stack of papers.
"Fan Ping'an's records of military merit, and the decree granting his family favor.
I've already sent men to Riverford City to retrieve his remains.
His real name was Hong Jian.
After leaving for the Southland, he lost all contact with his kin—they believed him long dead and raised a cenotaph in his memory some years ago."
He paused, exhaling softly.
Now he was truly gone.
"He left two sons. The elder already has a daughter; the younger married earlier this year.
Their home lies barely two hundred miles from the capital.
Would you like to visit?"
Lena Sanders glanced over the documents and set them aside.
"No. I never knew him.
That day, I spoke for him merely out of passing indignation."
Gavin Shea studied her briefly, then looked away, sipping his wine before continuing.
"The jade token and command that directed Fan Ping'an came from the eunuch known as Yunxi—alias Liu Yun.
His credentials were issued through Shen Yun, the Marquis of Yongping's own brother.
The eunuch was hanged, Yunxi and thirty-seven others beheaded. Shen Yun, too, was executed, as were seventeen servants of the Yongping household.
At Riverton, Commander Martin Shaw was found to have colluded with Southland; all male members of the Shaw family above the age of seven were executed, their women sold into slavery."
Lena Sanders listened intently.
"And the archers from North Hollow County?" she asked, arching a brow.
"The eunuch claimed he acted under imperial orders, commanding the Yunmeng Guard," Gavin Shea replied, then added in explanation:
"When His Majesty was still a prince, the struggle among the heirs was fierce—dragging on for nearly thirty years.
The Yunmeng Guard was a private army established by the late Emperor after he founded his own household. Eventually, it passed into His Majesty's command. Two years ago, His Majesty spoke of folding them into the regular army after his reign."
"The Wen family declined during that struggle, didn't they?" Lena asked offhandedly. She had heard tales of that calamity.
"Yes. The Wen family remained loyal only to His Majesty and pledged allegiance to no one else.
Every prince sought to win their support; when they failed, they turned on the Wens with blade and fire, fearing their loyalty might aid another.
That disaster was not only the downfall of the Wen clan—it was the tragedy of Great Qi itself.
The year my maternal grandfather was killed, Southland's Wu Army swept northward, their vanguard reaching Castleton's very gates."
His voice sank low.
Lena Sanders sighed softly.
For a long while, silence stretched between them, until she asked quietly, "So in the end, it was all the eunuch's doing?"
"No," Gavin Shea said at last, his eyes lowered.
"Oh." Her response was cool and indifferent. She lifted her cup slightly. "Then this wine, perhaps, should not be drunk too freely."
"When the Wu Army reached Castleton's walls, His Majesty stood upon the ramparts and wept aloud in terror," Gavin Shea murmured, swirling the wine in his crystal cup.
"If I had died in Southland, the army's wrath could have been turned southward. But if I were to die here in Castleton—then what?
My elder brother once said His Majesty's heart holds only the empire of Great Qi."
Lena Sanders raised her eyebrows, then laughed, lifting her cup toward him.
"I grew up within the palace."
They both fell silent, finishing their wine. Gavin Shea poured himself another cup, gazing over the empty lake as he began to speak again.
"My mother suffered complications in childbirth. She lingered a few days before passing.
The late Empress Zhang and my mother were cousins—raised together, closer than sisters.
My mother died in her arms. Before her last breath, she entrusted me to the Empress, who carried me into the palace that very day.
As a child, I shared a bed and meals with my elder brother. The Empress would hold him with one arm and me with the other.
When I came of age at twelve, I was titled Prince Heir and returned to the Prince Rui's manor.
On my first return, the Empress was already gravely ill. She sat in her sedan, held my hand, and as we entered the gates, she ordered half the manor to be walled off as my residence.
'Without your mother,' she said, 'there would be no Prince Rui's household. This is what you deserve.'"
Lena Sanders lifted her cup to the air, a silent toast to the formidable Empress Zhang.
"How did Prince Qin become crippled?" she asked.
"At ten, he fell ill—some sort of leg-weakness fever," Gavin Shea said quietly after a pause.
Lena Sanders nodded slowly.
"Why do you always think the worst?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.
"Because you've thought of it too," she said with a smile. "Otherwise, you wouldn't accuse me of overthinking."
He choked on his drink, then tilted his head back to finish it.
"Yes, I did think of it—and even investigated. The medical records in the Imperial Hospital are flawless, precise, and utterly ordinary."
"Your brother's two years older than you, isn't he? Why hasn't he married? A weak leg doesn't prevent one from having heirs."
"Two years older," Gavin Shea said. "And not all men can father children.
Around the time the Empress fell ill, he devoted himself to the Daoist path—nearly ten years of cultivation now. He hasn't taken vows or given up meat, but he lives as one apart from worldly affairs."
He looked down at the wine in his cup.
Lena Sanders made a soft sound of acknowledgment, then sighed.
"So the next emperor of Northrealm will be the Second Prince—the Marquis of Yongping's nephew?
You've just executed his other uncle.
I hear he had only two?"
"Yes. The Second Prince." Gavin Shea paused, as if choosing his words.
"He's my age—gentle, timid, soft-hearted.
As a child, he once wept over a cicada caught by a young eunuch.
He has always loved poetry and song, detesting histories and statecraft—still does.
After my brother's illness, His Majesty began taking him to court sessions. When asked for opinions, he sometimes spoke with startling insight, leaving everyone speechless. That hasn't changed.
Later, His Majesty brought my brother along as well. After court, my brother would explain everything again to him."
"Did he learn?" Lena Sanders asked with a laugh.
"Can such things be taught?
After ten years of lessons, the only thing he's mastered is obeying my brother—especially in matters of state."
Lena Sanders drew out a thoughtful hum, then clicked her tongue twice.
"No wonder."
"No wonder what?" Gavin Shea gave her a sidelong look.
She smiled, lifting her cup.
"Can't say."