Chapter 5

# Chapter 5

My father had always been a sage in my eyes.

When catastrophe fell upon the aristocratic clans in my previous life, he was the first to sense the danger. His warnings to the emperor went unheeded, so he resigned and moved our entire family south.

At the time, many condemned him as spineless and dishonorable.

Unfortunately for them, every one of those critics died.

The survivors praised Father’s wisdom and foresight, but he found no comfort in it. He spent the latter half of his life consumed by grief and guilt, mourning relatives, teachers, political enemies, and dear friends alike. He regretted not remonstrating with the emperor to the death-and hated himself for surviving.

I, too, grew silent. The friends of my childhood had perished in the same disaster.

A star without a field of stars around it, however vast and brilliant, is only a lonely moon. I preferred a world alive with noise, crowds, and bustle.

In this second life, Father’s conclusions often matched mine. The Eldest Princess’s heart ailment, in particular, had been a secret almost no outsider could know. Yet he trusted me enough to stake himself on my foreknowledge and create momentum for my plans.

I could not fail him.

Three years would be enough to forge a new generation of great ministers and generals. Above all, when the rebels came three years from now, our country must not again fight them while simultaneously waging war against Nanli.

The emperor did not want war.

Then the Eldest Princess recalled, with bitter fury, how she had almost been sent to Nanli as a marriage princess eighteen years earlier. Only an attack of her heart had spared her.

At that precise moment, a censor submitted a memorial: the imperial clanswoman sent in the princess’s place had died suddenly in Nanli, under unexplained circumstances.

Ordinarily it would have been treated as a small matter. History held too many marriage princesses whose deaths were never explained. Most died and were forgotten, with no descendant left to avenge them.

But now that death became impossible to ignore.

When a spy from Nanli was captured inside the Crown Prince’s residence, the emperor’s fury reached its height.

The word “war” thundered through the throne hall and swept into every street and alley.

Chu Zheng and I raised our cups in a teahouse.

His gaze drifted into the distance. “I never imagined Ah Ran was a spy. He grew up beside me.”

I drank my tea without answering.

Three years from now, the Crown Prince would march to war with fine generals and elite soldiers, yet suffer a crushing defeat and die on the battlefield. There had to have been a traitor.

The Kingdom of Nanli had profited most from the chaos that followed.

So we had laid bait.

Chu Zheng pretended to be the most aggressive advocate for war and held detailed councils with his generals. The plans were false; drawing out the spy was the true purpose.

And we caught a very large fish.

On the surface, Ah Ran was a young aristocrat selected to be the Crown Prince’s study companion. In truth, he was from Nanli. Following the trail he left, investigators uncovered many more spies Nanli had planted over the years.

The capital lived in fear, every household terrified that a spy might be found under its roof.

Chu Zheng was heartsick.

But compared with staying alive, grief was a small matter.

“You don’t seem to pity me in the least,” he said.

I considered my words. “If Your Highness requires sympathy, I suppose I could pretend.”

Chu Zheng stared at me.

Then he crooked a finger and tapped my forehead. “Song Jiaruo, you truly are a block of wood.”