Chapter 147: The Incident

Days passed quieter in Dingjing—New Year near—until Mo Qing reported Chang Zaiqing's husband and son were lodged in a east-city cottage. Shen Miao would need them—but leaving Shen Manor meant traps; Fu Xiuyi wanted her wed to Prince Zhou.
She opened the window wide by day, waited by lamplight. At last Xie Jingxing came, found her dozing, draped his cloak. She murmured for a shoulder rub—woke, sneezed, complained he was late.
"Waiting for me?" he leaned close.
"No—" "Then I'll go." "Wait!" She gritted. "I need help."
Chang Zaiqing's family was in the east city; she feared spies if she went with only Mo Qing. He scoffed at "high hand" Mo Qing, then said he'd come himself.
Midnight—snow crust—red lanterns on white eaves. He tied her veil, draped his cloak over her page's coat. They walked hand in hand through empty streets—she had never seen Dingjing's night so free.
At the cottage Huaisheng opened the door—reek of wine. A lamp showed a gaunt yellow man snoring on the bed.
"Wake him," she said.
The boy shook his arm. The drunk swung to slap—Xie Jingxing had his throat before the blow landed.
"Immortal!" Huaisheng begged. "Father didn't mean it—spare him!"
"Release him," Shen Miao said.
Tian Li knelt, shaking—especially before the beautiful man radiating danger.
"You're Tian Li?"
"Yes, miss."
Once a handsome scholar in Liuzhou—won Chang Zaiqing—now a ruined drunk. "Chang Zaiqing is your wife?"
He flinched—rage and shame in his eyes.
"I'm not her friend. Speak freely."
He spat. "That slut ran off with my silver!"
She sent Huaisheng out with a blanket.
The tale matched her spies: Liuzhou match, shops lost, parents dead, failed exams, quarrels, drink and dice—Zaiqing sold the last deed and fled pregnant with Huaisheng.
Tian Li still cursed her—sold the deed meant for Huaisheng's wedding.
"Someone brought us to Dingjing to see that woman—is that you?" Tian Li asked, eyeing their lordly air.
"Yes. I know where she is."
"Where?" His voice shook—anger and something like longing.
She chilled at that softness.
"She's in the old Shen general's house—Third Master Shen Wan's noble concubine, pregnant, pampered. Shen Wan may elevate her when the son comes—while Huaisheng has nothing but rags."
Tian Li's face twisted—green hat fury, envy, the last pity burned away.
"Worse—Shen Wan dismissed his lawful wife for her. The ex-wife is mocked in the streets."
"He's a fool!" Tian Li hated Shen Wan too—the rich who stole his wife.
"Third Madam Chen hired me," Shen Miao said. "Cornered by husband and concubine, she wants them ruined—and found you."
"Me?"
"At the right moment tell Shen Wan: Zaiqing is still your wife. End the mistake."
"I—"
"No time for mercy. She sold your deed and abandoned Huaisheng. Why spare her? One day your son might serve her Shen son while she disowns him. Will you bear that?"
Tian Li groaned.
"I only want her back—if she's killed, Huaisheng will grieve."
"Hide it from the boy. After success Chen pays silver—more than that deed—enough to leave and start anew. Spilled water and gone people don't return. She won't come for your heart or Huaisheng's. Will she?"
He closed his eyes.
She pressed: "She owes you. Take the chance—or lose it forever."
Memories flashed—Zaiqing's disgust, neighbors' fingers, Huaisheng in rags—and he lifted his head. "Done! I'll obey—enough silver to live elsewhere!"
She had expected a thug; he broke easier for the boy's sake.
"You'll have silver," Xie Jingxing said from the shadow. "No tricks—or else."
Tian Li crumpled. "I dare not!"
Leaving, Huaisheng whispered, "Will you find Mother?"
"Sleep early," she said, walking fast.
"Sorry for the boy?" Xie Jingxing caught up in the alley.
"Sorry—but I continue. I'm selfish too."
"You're not wrong. You're no bodhisattva."
"You are—midnight errands, threatening Tian Li—aren't you a saint?"
He laughed. "You don't sound grateful."
Her mouth curved. With him, no need for blades—easier, even this snow stroll. Queen still—and something new.
"Need help with Zaiqing?" he yawned. "Ask nicely, I might consider."
"No trouble for Prince Rui."
"You always have a plan." He sighed. "When will you need me?"
"Probably never."
"Pity."
In Dingjing, fresh scandals bury old. The Chen–Shen lawsuit faded; in the Shen house Qiushui Court had a new mistress—Zaiqing gracious where Chen had been proud. Shen Wan smiled; Old Madame's monk said the baby was a boy.
One afternoon Zaiqing sat by the brazier, thick furs, warm stove. "You're idle today."
He took her hand. "Court's quiet—I can stay with you and the child."
"Wonderful—the child needs his father."
He embraced her. "All I want is your safe delivery."
She asked if he still worried Shen Fifth Miss—plotting her to Prince Zhou had stalled; Shen Xin kept Shen Miao locked tight.
He sighed. "Iron bucket—no opening."
Zaiqing smiled. "Make her open herself—secretly, without guards. Frighten her with kin in danger—blood ties break calm."
His eyes lit. "Rough edges—but usable." He admired her. "You always surprise me."
She demurred—court has no fathers; she serves him first—framing the poison as loyalty.
"With such a woman, what more could I want?"
She played meek; he melted—she hid triumph. Men and love were smoke; she wanted Shen wealth and rank—not Shen Wan himself. Chen loved the man and lost her mind; Zaiqing loved the prize and kept hers. Poetry alone wouldn't hold him—usefulness would.
When he left for his study, a servant brought an anonymous letter.
He opened it—and froze.
*Third Master Shen—do you know your precious concubine is used goods?*
It claimed Zaiqing had a husband and son in Liuzhou, never divorced—Shen Wan could be sued for seizing another's wife.
He scoffed at first—Chen's trick?—until the last line:
*A small red mole on her private skin.*
His blood ran cold.