Chapter 90: Ambiguity

Every Jade Rabbit Festival, countless girls vanished to kidnappers. Boys fared somewhat better—often sold to childless families in remote places as sons. Girls and young women suffered worse: plain faces might pass through brokers into great houses as lowest maids; prettier ones fared worse still—sold to opera troupes, brothels, or refined into Yangzhou "thin horses," trained for years into pets for noble amusement.
Even wealthy daughters were taken. Kidnapping knew no rank—great lady or commoner, in a kidnapper's hands all were the same.
"Shen Miss taken by kidnappers?" Yushu shot up in the room and paced, worry plain. "She's handsome, carries herself well—sold for sure. I like Shaoyao at Baoxiang Tower, but I don't want Shen Miss ending up there too. Third Brother Xie—shall we save her?"
Gao Yang scoffed. "Are you mad? With Shen Miao's methods—kidnapped? Kidnappers pick lone girls or lost children. Qiu and Shen Xin were right beside her. Kidnappers aren't fools—they wouldn't pick such a thorn. And she's not peerless beauty—not worth the risk."
He had a point. Kidnappers struck when no one watched. Even a official's daughter needed solitude. Yet reports said Shen Miao was at Wanli Lake in a moving crowd—easy to grab, hard to escape if caught. A gamble only for stunning looks; Shen Miao was a girl, pretty but not madness-inducing. And Shen Xin and Qiu were nearby. Bullies prey on the soft—why provoke that family? Reckless and poor profit—unless the kidnapper was simple in the head.
Yushu understood. "So not kidnappers? Then who? Clearly aimed at Shen Miss—Prince Yu's remnant faction?" He shook his head. "They don't know she wiped the house. Shen family? Heard they're not harmonious—another branch?"
Xie Jingxing, silent till now, stood. "It's them."
"Them?" Gao Yang tensed. "They've been found out?"
"Probably not." Xie Jingxing shook his head. "I waited for them to move—nothing. Now I see. They may know about the secret chamber—somehow learned Shen Miao was there that night. Our identities aren't exposed yet. They mean to pry the answer from her mouth."
"They came because of you?" Yushu rubbed his head. "Bad—those methods—Shen Miss won't fare well."
"Send Mo Yu Army shadow unit—search around Wanli Lake. Crowds everywhere—they can't have gone far." Xie Jingxing's voice was low. The usual lazy face was gone—something deep and cold, not like a youth of seventeen or eighteen.
"Mo Yu moving now is risky." Gao Yang frowned. "Too many eyes on you in the capital—alert the court and we're in trouble. Seal the gates, search quietly at dawn—we'll find her. Stirring now makes it worse."
"Wait all night?" Yushu exploded. "One night and Shen Miss is dead!" Young and fierce, he admired Shen Miao—unlike Gao Yang's politician's cruelty, he still had a boy's honest heat.
Gao Yang snapped: "At a time like this you're thinking of Shen Miao? One slip and we're exposed!"
"Send the shadow unit now." Xie Jingxing said cold. "I won't say it twice."
"Xie San!" Gao Yang stared. "You'll ruin the plan for one girl? Remember what you promised."
"Gao Yang—mind your place." Xie Jingxing's voice turned sharp. Brow furrowed; peach-blossom eyes dark as Dingjing's night—sudden anger that made Gao Yang flinch.
Yushu hurried in. "Sudden tonight—no one expected it. Maybe it's not that bad—think first."
Xie Jingxing was quiet, then: "Not for whose sake. Playing undercut on my ground—I don't like it. Since they had the nerve to come, tonight they learn what one-way means."
……
Along Wanli Lake the crowd roared; laughter drowned other sounds. A missing official daughter barely rippled—Shen family kept it quiet—but even if word spread, people would only stare at the spectacle.
The Jade Rabbit fairy's dance had ended. Men stared entranced; women cursed fox spirits under breath. The great rabbit lantern—white silk thick with oil, painted with festive rabbits, candles bright and dim—drifted on the lake.
Cheers rose as people rushed to the shore with handmade lanterns, wishes rolled in paper slips, pushed gently onto the water.
Snow sifted down; yet the lake blazed with light and fireworks—you could not tell sky from water. A sight rare even in past festivals. Elegant painted boats floated mid-lake—usually hired by gentry for wine and song. Tonight several boats held unknown guests; dense lanterns made the boats easy to miss.
One unlit boat drifted slowly downstream. Fewer people below; lanterns followed the current. From afar the boat seemed crowned with lights—yet farther from the city, emptier, until almost no one came.
Shen Miao sat in the innermost cabin, cold eyes on the two men before her.
A small oil lamp lit the dim hold. A gag stuffed her mouth; wrists and ankles bound tight—no give.
Both wore hemp, faces strange. The tall lean one checked the bow, came back, nodded to the shorter. "Clear. No one here."
The short one grinned, yanked out the gag. "Shen Miss—no one's around. Don't scream. Scream and we'll kill you—we've time to run."
Shen Miao's gaze shifted. She said nothing.
They had done the opposite—boat in plain sight drifting downstream while Shen Xin searched the banks. No one would think she was in the lake's heart under ten thousand eyes.
Waiting on the stone platform for Qiu, someone had clamped a cloth over her mouth from behind and dragged her off—too fast to react—then bound and thrown aboard.
Her silence pleased the short one. The tall one sat opposite, gaze dark—not quite common bandit air.
"Shen Miss—plain speech. We brought you to ask one thing." That unique bearing—more than street thug. "You went to Prince Yu's secret chamber that day."
Her eyes flickered. She had imagined many hands—second or third branch, Yuan, Prince Yu's old servants, even Fu Xiuyi—but not the chamber itself. Its secret, she thought, was known only to Xie Jingxing and Gao Yang. Had Fu Xiuyi learned years early?
They had come prepared—her file read. No point hiding. "Yes. Elder Brother was handling affairs at Prince Yu's house; I waited in the tea room, found the chamber by chance, and went in from curiosity."
The two exchanged glances. The short one: "Then you met someone inside. Who?"
Her fingers tightened slightly.
Not the chamber's treasure—someone inside. Xie Jingxing and Gao Yang? These men hunted them? Her mind raced. They knew another person had been there—not who. If she named names, Xie and Gao Yang's secret would break cover.
She looked puzzled. "Someone else?"
The tall one's gaze turned cruel. "Shen Miss—no tricks. We believe you found the chamber by accident—but what was inside is gone. Who did you meet? Speak and we spare you."
She stared, calculating fast. Only her past life let her know that chamber; to them she could only be an accidental visitor. They were investigating—but did not know the person. Xie Jingxing and Gao Yang were their quarry.
She shook her head. "I entered alone—no one else. I saw nothing taken. Perhaps whoever you mean had already left before I went in."
"Impossible!" The tall one smiled cruelly. "Since you won't talk—you'll taste pain—"
Before he finished the short one's eyes lit. A hand reached for her face, obscene grin. "Smooth skin, little beauty—serve big brother nicely and maybe you'll remember." He went for her buttons.
"Touch me and I'll bite through my tongue. You'll learn nothing." Shen Miao said flat. "If I lose my chastity I'll want death. Do you think you'll ever get words from me?"
The hand stopped. He looked at the tall one. The tall one stared. "You know who it was?"
Shen Miao smiled faintly. "Maybe I'll remember."
The short one blinked stupidly. The tall one's eyes wavered. Her calm unsettled them—or her threat reversed the trap. Most women cared for purity; she looked like a street rogue. If she truly knew the man in the chamber, violating her would earn hatred that would never speak.
Her gaze cooled. Everyone had a weakness. These two had to know who had been in the chamber; she might be the only living witness. A timid young lady might crack under fear—but she was Empress Shen, honed in the inner palace.
"What do you want?" The short one did not touch her again—voice turned coaxing, as to a child. "Name him—we'll agree to anything."
She did not blink. "Who are you?"
They paused. The tall one sneered. "What good does knowing us do you?"
"Maybe then I'll remember." She smiled at him.
"You're stalling."
She neither confirmed nor denied.
The short one shot up and slapped her—patience gone. "Bitch—wine refused, force it is! Enough talk—Shen Xin's soldiers hold the shore—we can't get out. Take her back—after that—" His smile twisted. "Plenty of ways to make her talk!"
He leaned in and scraped her cheek with a filthy hand. "Girl—I was being nice to save trouble. You don't want life—don't blame us!"
Her eyes turned cold. She whipped the hidden blade from her sleeve and slashed his face—blood streaming before he knew it. The ropes on her wrists and ankles—ground through without notice—had parted. She always kept a dagger in her sleeve; now it struck by surprise. One cut and she ran for the cabin door, screaming for help.
At the threshold a brutal hand seized her and flung her down. Her back hit a wooden table—sharp pain, the boat rocking. She was up again instantly, running— the tall one laughed, kicked her knee—pain like drilling bone. She recovered and stabbed for his eyes. He jerked aside, cursed "poison woman," snatched the blade. Leg throbbing, she grabbed the cabin window and jumped without hesitation.
"Running?" The tall one did not hesitate—hurled the dagger. It sank shallow into her calf; a bloom of red spread on the lake surface.
Shen Miao could swim—but midwinter water on Wanli Lake was knife-cold. Immersed, she felt all ice; a few strokes and her limbs would not obey.
The tall one was about to dive after her—she alone knew who had been in the chamber—when strange firecrackers sounded westward. A firework rose.
"Situation changed!" The short one wiped blood. "Withdraw!"
"Take her first—" the tall one cursed and moved to jump—
The boat lurched. Two black-clad men stood at the bow—golden eagle embroidery on their shoulders.
"Mo Yu Army!" the short one cried. "Mo Yu here?"
Before they could react silver flashed. Terror fixed on their faces; they fell.
In the water Shen Miao thrashed violently. The tall and short men were not alone—something larger behind them. Her instinct said: she might escape these two; in that larger hand, even dead, the Shen family would never find the killer.
Yet this desperate jump had trapped her in a dead end. No rescue came. The water was ice. Would she die here?
Her head grew heavy; ears buzzed—as if fallen into a cellar. Light and lantern glow were right above; she could not reach them.
When her vision almost failed, a figure swam toward her from far—strong strokes in the jeweled water, like a god descending with light.
He reached her, caught her waist, towed her up. One person in freezing water should struggle—he moved easily. At the boat he lifted her aboard and climbed after.
She choked on several mouthfuls, couched on deck coughing. A shadow turned—she looked up. He was soaked too; no teasing on his face—brow knit, watching her.
Xie Jingxing.
Seeing him now, she skipped surprise. Those two had come for him—he must have heard and come.
She forced herself up—and saw two corpses in the cabin, the tall and short men. Two black-clad men emerged from the depths. One murmured to Xie Jingxing; at a gesture they took the bodies and left, wiping blood clean.
She had no mind to ask who they were—obviously his people. She moved—every muscle sore. Half a quarter in ice water left her shivering; the tall one had thrown her repeatedly—her back ached worst; her calf burned worst. She looked down—skirt plastered to her body, blood blooming at the calf mixed with red embroidery, hard to see clear. The thrown dagger.
Cold and pain left her speechless. Xie Jingxing went into the cabin. Fine boats kept spare braziers and clothes; he pulled out a stove, lit it with a fire starter, added charcoal.
Warmth spread. The boat rocked on the lake. He glanced at her, lip curling: "I'm changing. You planning to watch?"
She shut her eyes at once—mind still chaos, yet he could jest. A soft laugh; rustle of dressing. Then: "Done."
She opened her eyes. He was fastening the last button—dark blue brocade, white fox fur—cold and solemn. Black peach-blossom eyes half smiled. "You changing too?"
Wet clothes against skin invited illness; even beside the brazier, drying would take hours—long enough to catch cold. She always tended her health. Everything hurt. She looked at him calmly. "Other clothes?"
He rose, took garments from a bundle on the table, sat against the wall. "My men brought mine. Trouble tonight—no women's things. If you change, you change into mine."
An unmarried girl in a strange man's clothes—scandal tinted the thought. She looked at Xie Jingxing. His smile turned slightly wicked—necessity or deliberate, hard to tell.
He had a peculiar power over her. Since rebirth she faced everyone as Empress Shen—even Shen Qiu she could not wholly treat as elder brother; sometimes she felt she was the one caring for him. Yet Xie Jingxing's mischief blurred the line—made her feel not the woman who had risen and fallen, but a naive Fifth Miss of Shen, untested by the world.
She drew a deep breath. "Give them to me."
Her answer surprised him. "You'll wear my clothes?"
"Is there anything else?" she asked.
He smiled and tossed the bundle. She caught it, hesitated, then: "Young Marquis—please turn around."
He looked her up and down with meaning. Wet clothes clung—small frame, young curves plain, disheveled oddly tender. He said with interest: "Still milk on your breath and you blush? Rest easy—" his gaze turned picky and disdainful—"there's nothing to see anyway." He turned away sharply—not a glance back.
She exhaled slightly, took his robe—pale blue thin cotton, cuffs pressed, fine cloth and embroidery. She touched it instinctively—workmanship like palace goods in her last life. Rumor said the Lin'an Marquis was rich as a nation—not false.
She peeled off wet outer and middle layers, warmed a damp cloth at the brazier, wiped herself, reached for his robe. The style was complicated—she misdressed; the belt tangled around her left calf. The dagger wound she had thought minor now looked ugly—belt rubbed raw flesh. Pain lanced; she lost balance—"bang"—hit the floor, knocked over the teapot.
Hearing the crash he turned at once, stepped forward to lift her. Before she could refuse she was against his chest—robe half on, loose at the shoulders, damp hair—momentarily flustered even for her.
Xie Jingxing frowned, took her calf, stared at the wound. "What happened?"