Chapter 881

Shenjing, the official compound of the Dali Temple, Yang Hongbin's residence.

Yang Hongbin stared at the handkerchief spread on the desk, its contents a dark red, shriveled food offering, emitting a faint fishy odor.

After days of investigation and speculation, he finally had clear confirmation; his mind rapidly organized his thoughts, integrating cause and effect.

Zhou Ping said: “Sir, we’ve watched Duan Chunjiang for days—he showed not the slightest flaw. Yet a single dish of food exposed him.”

But I don’t understand one thing: I’ve watched Duan Chunjiang for days.

His appearance, mannerisms, clothing, and habits are all identical to a Han’s—not a trace of a Mongol.

He blends into the marketplace, indistinguishable from ordinary Han commoners.

He speaks fluent Han Chinese—how could a man raised in the desert speak so naturally?”

Yang Hongbin pondered briefly, then said: “This isn’t strange. When the Taizu stormed Dadu, the last Yuan emperor was assassinated.

The remnants of the Yuan royal family fled north beyond the passes, and many high-ranking Han ministers followed them, fleeing with their entire households.

These people settled and multiplied in the northern deserts; it’s said they intermarried with Han bloodlines, avoiding unions with the remaining Mongol clans, preserving Han scholarship and language.

Duan Chunjiang likely comes from such a lineage—so his appearance, speech, and conduct are indistinguishable from ordinary Han, which is no surprise.

These northern refugees had long vanished from sight, but now that the Zhou and the remnants of the Yuan are at war, they’ve become a menace, infiltrating everywhere, impossible to guard against.”

Zhou Ping said: “Sir, if we now conclude Duan Chunjiang is Mongol, he must be involved in the military supply leak case. Should we move to arrest him?”

Yang Hongbin shook his head: “At this critical juncture, we must not alarm the prey.

With the army preparing to march, information flows freely through the city—it’s impossible to contain.

Arresting him alone is useless; we must net the whole nest to eradicate the threat. So we must remain patient.

But we must intensify surveillance on Duan Chunjiang. All his associates, friends, and merchants must be logged, thoroughly investigated, not a single one spared!”

“Take Xue Pan, for instance. Though a wastrel, seemingly incapable of serious action, his social circle is vast—he associates with the scions of Shenjing’s noble families.

Many of these youths hold military posts; when you think about it, it’s deeply troublesome.”

Yang Hongbin sighed: “Since we’ve fixed our gaze on him, we must be cautious inside and out.”

Zhou Ping sensed his superior’s hesitation, as if there were unspoken implications—and a trace of inexplicable unease.

He suddenly realized: Yang Sizheng and Weiyuan Bo Jia Cong are close friends; many in the capital know this.

Xue Pan, by blood, is related to Jia Cong—otherwise, how could he have lived so long in the Jia household? Yang Sizheng must be somewhat troubled…

…

Yang Hongbin said: “We’ve watched Duan Chunjiang for many days. Aside from that dish of food, he’s shown no flaw.

This proves he’s extremely cautious. I’ve said before—if he’s stealing military secrets, he won’t act directly.

He’ll likely use intermediaries to probe indirectly, achieving his goal that way.

Of Duan Chunjiang’s daily associates, besides Chen Ruichang, Xue Pan is a idle youth with no knowledge of official or military secrets.

We’ve also checked the backgrounds of all other merchants who interact with Duan Chunjiang—so far, nothing suspicious.

But that woman in Huarong Alley… I can’t shake the feeling she’s hiding something.

She’s also from Datong. According to the official records you dug up, she arrived in Shenjing only half a month after Duan Chunjiang.

Based on current findings, among all those who associate with Duan Chunjiang, she’s the most suspicious.

For the next two days, make more visits to Huarong Alley. See if you uncover anything new.

Tomorrow morning I won’t be in the office—I must see someone off. If you find anything, come to my residence after the hour of Si…”

…

Rongguo Mansion, Rongxi Hall.

Yu Chuan paced back and forth in the eastern side chamber, wearing a dark blue brocade jacket with floral embroidery, a snow-purple standing-collar tunic, and a pale green embroidered long skirt.

Her waist slender, her face flushed, she was packing her personal clothes and toiletries neatly into a trunk, then had the old nurse roll up her bedding.

At that moment, Xiao Hong entered the room to help Yu Chuan pack.

She said: “You’re lucky now—moving to the eastern mansion, leaving me all alone.”

Yu Chuan laughed: “Second Master gave me to Third Master. He’s about to depart for war, and Second Miss ordered me to move over early—though it’s just a face-saving gesture from Second Master.

Third Master isn’t even home now; staying in Rongxi Hall is no different.

You’re now the head maid of Rongxi Hall—you’re far better off than me, the tea-pouring girl. What more could you want?”

Ping’er said that since Third Master is away at war, things are quiet over there, and coming and going is perfectly fine.

I’ll come over whenever I have time to keep you from being lonely. Bao Er has already moved out of the western mansion; his comings and goings are no longer restricted—it’s nothing.”

…

These past days, Yu Chuan had temporarily stayed in Rongxi Hall, sharing a room with Xiao Hong, and daily accompanied Jia Cong in grinding ink and practicing calligraphy; they’d grown quite close.

This morning, Yingchun passed through Rongxi Hall on leaving Rongqing Hall, remembered Yu Chuan, and arranged for her to stay temporarily in Rongxi Hall because Jia Cong often resided in the western mansion.

Yu Chuan was given by Second Master as a personal maid to his brother; as a maid bestowed by elders in a grand household, she was somewhat different—too cold a treatment would be inappropriate.

Now that Cousin Cong is about to depart for war, the duration of his absence is unknown; keeping his personal maid permanently in Rongxi Hall seems inappropriate.

So she sent Xiu Ju to deliver the message: Yu Chuan was to move back to the eastern mansion today, and She Yue was to arrange her quarters.

Xiao Hong laughed: “I’ll remember that—whenever two close friends leave, you and She Yue both go to the eastern mansion. Don’t forget me.”

But you say Bao Er moved to the eastern courtyard, yet still visits often—because Cai Xia still lives here, and she’s pregnant.

Though things are cleaner now, to fully sever ties, we must wait until Cai Xia gives birth and Bao Er truly marries—that’s when it’ll be truly settled.”

…

Yu Chuan had served Lady Wang since childhood; she knew her temperament and habits best—she didn’t think as simply as Xiao Hong did.

She vaguely felt Cai Xia’s pregnancy in the western mansion wouldn’t end easily.

The Old Lady always doted on grandchildren, and loved lively, festive scenes; when Cai Xia gives birth, she might well keep the child close—it’s entirely possible.

If that happens, Second Mistress would surely be delighted—using this as an excuse to entangle herself with the western mansion.

Ordinary maids, limited by their horizons, wouldn’t be as sharp as Wang Xifeng; they’d never think this far.

But Yu Chuan was clever, and had served Lady Wang for years; she knew her temperament intimately, and could vaguely guess the meaning.

Yet she could think it, but wouldn’t speak it to Xiao Hong—after all, it involved the conflict between the two branches; she naturally wouldn’t speak lightly of it.

…

Xiao Hong said: “Just now, when I went out on errands, I saw Second Master enter Rongqing Hall—his expression wasn’t good.

I heard passing maids say Second Mistress and Bao Yu came over early this morning—no one knows what trouble they’ve stirred up.”

Yu Chuan laughed: “You’re just worrying for nothing. As long as Second Master is present, Bao Er is like a mouse seeing a cat—he dares not cause trouble.

I’ve seen this so many times over the years—it’s nothing new. Everything will be perfectly calm, nothing will happen.”

As they chatted casually, their hands moved swiftly, packing everything. Yu Chuan tucked her small bundle under her arm, Xiao Hong accompanied her out, and two old nurses carried the trunk behind them.

When they left Rongxi Hall and walked a stretch along the covered corridor, passed a fork in the garden path, they heard footsteps behind them.

Yu Chuan and Xiao Hong turned back and saw many people approaching—the lead figure was Second Master Jia Zheng, his face dark, anger still unspent.

The two were puzzled: why was Second Master so furious coming to the western mansion? But when they saw Lady Wang and Bao Yu following behind, they understood.

These past days, Yu Chuan had stayed confined in Rongxi Hall; when Jia Cong came, she served tea or ground ink and practiced calligraphy, rarely stepping outside.

Since the fifth day of the month, Bao Yu had come around, but Yu Chuan had never once encountered him—he still wore bright red, his figure even fuller.

His face still bore the same gloomy, depressed expression, tinged with familiar bitterness—but his left cheek was swollen and red, a clear palm print visible, faintly shaped into five ridges.

…

Seeing Jia Zheng approach, Yu Chuan and Xiao Hong stopped and stepped aside to bow respectfully.

Though Jia Zheng’s face was full of anger, seeing Yu Chuan bow, his expression softened slightly. He noticed her carrying a bundle and the nurses hauling the trunk.

He asked casually: “Where are you going?”

Yu Chuan replied: “Second Miss ordered me to move back to the eastern mansion today.”

Lady Wang heard this, saw Yu Chuan’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes, radiating quiet joy—she clearly delighted in moving to the eastern mansion.

A wave of revulsion rose in her chest: this little slut, how quickly she’s changed—her eyes and expression so loose and vulgar; she’s surely already been taken by that boy.

Jia Zheng said: “When you go to the eastern mansion, serve Cong-ge well. If you do well, you’ll have a good future. After all, you’re from the second branch—seeing you treated well is decent enough.”

Yu Chuan’s face flushed slightly: “Yu Chuan will serve Third Master well.”

Bao Yu, standing nearby, heard this exchange, looked at the lovely, graceful Yu Chuan, and his heart ached with unbearable pain—his own stinging cheek suddenly lost all sensation.

The most beautiful maids in Lady Wang’s chamber had always been Jin Chuan and Yu Chuan.

He had teased Yu Chuan many times, but she was like a clam that wouldn’t open—beautiful and sweet, yet utterly unresponsive, leaving Bao Yu deeply disappointed.

Now that she’s entered Jia Cong’s room, her eyes gleam with delight, utterly unlike her former cold, icy demeanor. She was always graceful and refined—yet now she’s become so worldly.

Bao Yu understood the implication in the Master’s words: elders bestowing maids upon younger generations usually meant they were to become concubines.

That lecherous, lustful wretch Jia Cong—again he’ll defile a pure, delicate girl. How utterly despicable—heaven, why doesn’t it strike him down?

…

Jia Zheng only greeted Yu Chuan once, then resumed walking out of the mansion. Suddenly he noticed footsteps had fallen behind—he turned to see Bao Yu standing frozen, staring blankly.

His face wore a vacant, foolish expression; Jia Zheng’s irritation flared—he barked: “Wretched brat, what are you standing there for? Do you want to stay and humiliate yourself?”