“He was about my height, very fat, with shifty, beady eyes,” Li Bo recalled. “But the thing that stood out was a huge mole on his neck.”
“Was the mole right here?” Qian Tu asked, making a small motion against his own throat. He hadn't expected confirmation—yet when Li Bo nodded, the world seemed to fall away from under him.
Why? The thought slammed into him with a cold certainty. The man had to be Mu Rindong—the younger brother of Mu Changzai, who worked in the palace. But Mu Rindong had officially been executed and thrown into the prison pit. How could he possibly be walking the city streets?
Qian Tu bowed to Li Bo and rode back to the palace at a hard gallop to report what he'd learned. The emperor, Yuan Yuchuan, though, had other concerns. His foremost worry was Mu Xingrou’s pregnancy; he would not allow anything to disturb her peace. He dismissed Qian curtly.
“I have already had Mu Rindong executed. How could he still be alive? Besides, did you actually see the man who set fires at your house with your own eyes?” the Emperor said. “I'm beginning to suspect you want to frame Mu Changzai. On account of your previous merits, I won’t press it this time—be careful.”
Qian Tu wanted to shout that he was telling the truth. He had no doubt—none—that the man Li Bo described was Mu Rindong. The Emperor’s words left him stunned and angry in equal measure. Since childhood he had known himself as an orphan, taken in and raised by the Qian family. They had scraped together money to send him to the capital. He had never been ungrateful; he had served the throne because the Emperor had promoted him, because he truly did feel indebted. Yet now the Emperor couldn’t tell right from wrong.
After leaving the palace he wandered the streets, dazed. He’d planned, during the upcoming leave, to fetch his adoptive parents to the capital so they could enjoy their twilight years. Now they were dead, and he felt the world narrow to a single point: revenge.
He found himself at the gates of the Prince Regent’s manor. The carved doors were closed; for a long moment he just stood there in the dusk, expression darkening, then settling into resolve.
“I request an audience with His Highness,” he told the guard, knocking. “Please tell him a man named Qian Tu has come.”
“All right, sir—please wait here.” The servant hurried inside.
Qian stood in the courtyard like a man with nothing left to lose. Without the emperor’s backing he could not leave the capital; and now that the emperor had refused to act, he had to find another way.
The servant returned and led him in with stiff politeness. “His Highness is with the Princess at the moment. He will be down shortly. Please, have some tea.”
Qian Tu accepted the cup without complaint. If the Prince Regent would even see him, that was enough for now.
Yuan Yuhan arrived not much later. He had the cool, composed air of a man who never let passion steer his actions. Today the Princess seemed in good spirits, so Yuan Yuhan came in a lighter mood than usual; he gave Qian a measured look. “To what do I owe the honor of Qian Tu’s visit? Or is there a criminal in my house I should know about?”
“My Prince, I—” Qian bowed low, every syllable weighted. “I have come to ask for your help. Mu Rindong escaped from prison and murdered my parents. I beg you, Your Highness—if you will assist me, I will serve you without question for the rest of my life.”
“Why didn’t you bring this to the Emperor?” Yuan Yuhan asked. He already knew Qian’s reputation—Qian was the capital’s most capable detective, respected for his talent and filial devotion. That made him worth watching, and maybe worth winning over.
“I did, Your Highness,” Qian said quickly. “But His Majesty refuses to investigate. He even suggested I might be plotting against Mu Changzai.” He sounded hollow. Years of service and favors, and now no trust.
Yuan Yuhan watched him kneel and remained silent a long moment. “I know how you are, Qian Tu,” he finally said. “If you’re lying, you won’t get far. But I will have men look into this. If what you say is true, you’ll have an answer from me.”
Relief and gratitude washed over Qian in a sudden rush. He knew the Prince had his own motives—bringing a man like Qian to his side would be an advantage—but Qian didn't care. He would accept any price so long as he could avenge his parents, even if it cost him his life.
Yuan Yuhan sent men out that night. He believed Qian: the man had a reputation for filial piety that didn't align with fabrication, and Yuan Yuhan was aware that Mu Rindong had once been in the custody of Jing Xunche. If Mu Rindong had truly escaped under Jing’s supervision, someone had been negligent.
Yuan Yuhan wrote to Jing Xunche at once and explained the matter.
When Jing Xunche read the letter, his face went hard. He had been away, and it appeared his men had grown lax in his absence. Time to tighten the reins.
“What’s wrong, A’Che?” Mu Fengqie asked, noticing Jing’s mood sour.
“Nothing much—just that my men are getting an itch to roam,” Jing replied flatly. “Do you remember Mu Rindong?”
“Of course. What happened to him?”
“He escaped from my custody and now he’s murdered people and disappeared,” Jing said, barely believing it himself. Mu Rindong had always been something of a loose end—dangerous in the wrong place, unpredictable in the right one. Jing felt a pang of guilt for the elderly couple who’d been tangled in this by luck.
“Don’t blame yourself for what he did,” Mu Fengqie said, reading Jing’s shame. “You had him in hand—this isn’t on you.”
“I won’t interfere with the Prince’s investigation,” Jing said. “But those responsible in my camp will be taught a lesson. I’ll make sure of that.”