Chapter Eighty-Two: Fire in the Library Pavilion

Chen Pingwu saw Wang Changgeng approaching, his face radiant with joy, but showed not the slightest trace of surprise. With a calm expression, he offered a polite bow to the Prince of Pingyi.

“Nephew pays his respects to the Prince of Pingyi.”

Wang Changgeng burst into hearty laughter, exchanged a few pleasantries, and then took Chen Pingwu by the arm, seating him at the center of the banquet.

Yang Guang stood behind Chen Pingwu, sword in hand, face cold and gaze unwavering. Wang Changgeng glanced at him, instantly guessing his identity, and greeted him with courteous warmth.

“This must be Yang Guang. You, too, are the adopted son of Brother Sinian. No need to stand on ceremony—come, join us at the table.”

Hearing this, Chen Pingwu nodded slightly to Yang Guang, indicating he could sit. Yet Yang Guang did not move an inch, replying icily,

“The prince has ordered me to ensure the heir’s safety. I cannot relax my vigilance for even a moment.”

Wang Changgeng was momentarily taken aback, not expecting Yang Guang to deny him so bluntly; a shadow flickered in his eyes. But he soon laughed and praised Yang Guang before the assembled officials.

“Excellent, excellent! The Prince of Changwu’s men are truly self-disciplined—an example for us all in the training of our own retainers.”

Laughter rippled around the room in agreement.

Throughout this, Chen Pingwu remained steady and unruffled. He raised his wine cup to Wang Changgeng and said,

“My father has always had a temper. Since Brother Yang acts on his command, he dares not disobey. I beg the Prince of Pingyi’s pardon, and drink this cup in apology.”

With that, Chen Pingwu drained his cup, earning fresh rounds of admiration from the guests.

Midway through the banquet, Wang Changgeng’s face was flushed with drink, his demeanor slightly inebriated. He pulled Chen Pingwu’s hand, his gaze blurred with intoxication, and asked,

“I’ve heard, dear nephew, that you remain unwed. Do you perhaps have someone in mind?”

At these words, Chen Pingwu’s usually composed heart skipped a beat. Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to Feng Yewu, the woman with whom he had so recently collided. A faint smile played at his lips.

Wang Changgeng, noticing Chen Pingwu’s silence, frowned and pressed him,

“Well, nephew? Nephew?”

Chen Pingwu quickly regained his composure, gathering his thoughts before replying coolly,

“As a member of the royal family, matters of marriage are seldom of one’s own choosing.”

Hearing this, Wang Changgeng was secretly delighted. He raised his cup in a show of affection.

“Of all the heirs of the vassal kings, I have always thought most highly of you. My daughter has come of age—why not…”

His intent was unmistakable.

Chen Pingwu was displeased by Wang Changgeng’s casual proposal, especially as his mind was full of Feng Yewu’s image—he could not possibly accept. Yet, for the sake of propriety, a direct refusal would make future dealings in the capital awkward.

He composed himself and smiled politely.

“Such matters are decided by parents and matchmakers. I dare not presume to decide on my own. I must first seek my father’s will in this.”

Wang Changgeng, mistaking Chen Pingwu’s tact for acquiescence, grew even more elated and called for everyone to raise their cups.

Then, slapping his chest, he said to the still smiling Chen Pingwu,

“Rest assured, nephew. After tonight, I shall write to the Prince of Changwu at once and discuss the match. Our two families will soon be joined by marriage! Hahaha!”

When the banquet ended and Chen Pingwu returned to his residence, a maid brought him tea to clear his head. Rubbing his weary temples, he sighed softly,

“It seems such social occasions will be hard to avoid in days to come. After meeting the Prince of Pingyi today—though he’s somewhat in decline—his connections are still impressive.”

Yang Guang, standing nearby as ever, coldly pointed out Chen Pingwu’s misstep.

“At the banquet, your mind wandered. Was it because of the woman in front of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion?”

Chen Pingwu froze, ceasing his movements and looking up at Yang Guang with a wry smile.

“You truly see everything clearly.”

Though Yang Guang was Chen Pingwu’s protector, his loyalty lay solely with the Prince of Changwu. Seeing Chen Pingwu admit it, he frowned and admonished,

“You must put the prince’s commands before all else. Do not let your heart be troubled by distractions.”

With a helpless sigh, Chen Pingwu waved away any further words, claiming fatigue, and withdrew to his bedchamber.

Lying flat on his bed, his thoughts raced. Feng Yewu’s image lingered in his mind, making sleep elusive.

...

Within the imperial palace, Feng Yewu had just fallen asleep when a clamor broke out. Han Yue hurried into her chambers.

Draping a robe over her shoulders, Feng Yewu asked coldly,

“What has caused such panic?”

Before Han Yue could answer, Lu Jue arrived, explaining,

“Your Majesty, there’s a fire in the Imperial Library, and there’s unrest in the Court of Judicial Review as well.”

A flicker of alarm crossed Feng Yewu’s eyes. She immediately summoned Han Yue to help her dress and ordered Lu Jue to fetch Wei Nanqi and others.

Moments later, the fire was extinguished.

Inside the royal study, Wei Nanqi and Sun Changxi knelt to the side. Wei Nanqi, troubled, addressed Feng Yewu, who stood before them,

“Your Majesty, both the Imperial Library and the archives at the Court of Judicial Review were deliberately set afire. Fortunately, the flames were discovered quickly and losses were minimal.”

Feng Yewu’s icy expression softened slightly.

“Have you determined what documents were lost?”

Wei Nanqi and Sun Changxi exchanged uneasy glances.

“Hmm?” Feng Yewu’s tone grew cold at their hesitation.

Wei Nanqi quickly replied,

“Your Majesty, upon inspection, the only documents lost were the remaining records from the Northern Garrison General’s residence.”

Feng Yewu’s anger flared and she struck the table.

“What? Only the records from the Northern Garrison General’s residence were destroyed?”

Beside her, Lu Jue’s brow furrowed further.

Sun Changxi prostrated himself.

“Your Majesty, this arson was clearly premeditated. I am willing to accept punishment, but hope to first apprehend the true culprit.”

Feng Yewu and Lu Jue exchanged a glance, already having a suspect in mind.

Feng Yewu frowned at the kneeling officials. Though she knew it was a moment’s oversight, the fact that all clues about the Northern Garrison General’s residence were now lost left her fuming.

Wei Nanqi looked up and voiced his thoughts.

“Your Majesty, I believe this fire may not be such a misfortune.”

Feng Yewu was silent, signaling him to continue.

“Since you commanded us to investigate the case of the Northern Garrison General’s residence, we have long since memorized the remaining clues. Progress has been slow. Today’s fire was clearly set by someone with a guilty conscience—ironically, it points us in a new direction. If we can seize the arsonist, we may uncover fresh leads in the case.”

Hearing this, Feng Yewu and Lu Jue found his reasoning sound.

Suppressing her anger, Feng Yewu addressed the two of them with a cool composure.

“Then I will withhold punishment for now. If you fail to catch the arsonist, you will both be held to account together.”

Wei Nanqi and Sun Changxi bowed in thanks and withdrew.

At the Prince of Pingyi’s residence, Wang Changgeng—reeking of wine—was carried into his bedchamber by servants. The princess, visibly annoyed, muttered a complaint before leaving to fetch water.

For a moment, the bedchamber was left with only Wang Changgeng, appearing dead drunk and insensible.

A strange smile crept across his lips.