Wang Xiuxiu stood before the white jade steps outside the Imperial Study, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the yellowed secret report hidden in her sleeve.
The afterglow of the setting sun stained the palace walls blood red, and several crows circled around the eaves, emitting piercing cries.
Her fingertips could feel the uneven marks on the secret report—every detail recorded in coded language by the secret guards three years ago, now almost blurred from her rubbing.
The wind swept across the palace walls, fluttering her moon-white skirt, but it could not dispel the heavy stench of blood from her memory.
That aura seemed to have seeped into her very bones, quietly surfacing in every sleepless night.
The scene described by the guards a few years ago is still vivid in my mind—how the chains rubbed the girls' ankles until they were bloody and mangled, how the silver hooks hanging on the racks were still dripping with fresh blood, and how the young masters of noble families in the private room were raising their luminous cups and commenting on the direction of the screams.
What she remembered most clearly was the young master of the Cui family, known as the "Jade-Faced Gentleman," who, while sipping fine wine, had someone stick red-hot silver needles into the fingernails of a young girl.
After she secretly reported the matter to Lu Nancheng, not long after, the Jinlou was deserted, and the whereabouts of the victims were unknown.
That night, in the pouring rain, she stood alone in front of the abandoned Golden Building, watching the rain wash away the dark brown marks on the steps, and for the first time felt the powerlessness of authority.
Before setting off for the northern border, she had asked Lu Jingze to secretly follow up on the matter.
Persistence pays off, and he was eventually able to save some of them.
When she received the message by carrier pigeon in the North, it was snowing heavily and the mountains were blocked.
The letter contained only a few words: "Twenty-five people were saved; the rest... have gone to the Yellow Springs."
She crumpled the letter in her palm, the fragments freezing into ice along with her tears.
Those unfortunate women who were able to return home were all escorted back by people sent by Lu Jingze.
She remembered a girl named Xiaohe who, upon returning home, discovered that her parents had already passed away due to illness caused by longing for their parents, and could only kowtow three times in front of their graves.
The rest, under Wang Xiuxiu's arrangement, went to stay temporarily in the embroidery room she had set up in the capital.
There, each room was arranged according to her instructions, with copper bells hanging on the window frames to ward off nightmares and daggers hidden under the pillows for self-defense.
"Your Majesty, I have a request to make." Wang Xiuxiu knelt on the brocade carpet, her back ramrod straight.
She held that position for a long time, and her knees were starting to ache, but that was nothing compared to the torment in her heart.
The wisps of smoke from the gilded beast-head incense burner swirled before her eyes, and in a daze, they transformed into the intoxicating fragrance that once permeated the Golden Pavilion.
That cloyingly sweet aroma was used to mask the smell of blood.
Aristocratic families hold high positions, and the court is embroiled in endless infighting. At this critical juncture for the survival of the dynasty, she should not act impulsively.
But last night, news came from the embroidery workshop that a girl had a nightmare and attempted suicide by hitting her head against a wall, but failed and is still in a coma.
She still couldn't resist testing the waters.
The snow in the North, the rain in the South, the sandstorms at the border—what was the purpose of every step they took and every drop of blood they shed over the years?
She wanted to see if the emperor sitting on the dragon throne was someone worth risking everything for with Lu Jingze.
Wang Xiuxiu knelt before the emperor, her voice firm, "It concerns the aftermath of the Golden Pavilion."
Lu Nancheng paused slightly as the ink spread a small shadow on the memorial.
The ink slowly spread, much like the pool of blood that had spread in the dungeon of the Golden Pavilion years ago.
When he looked up, a hint of weariness flashed in his eyes: "I remember promising back then that this matter would be thoroughly investigated."
He spoke these words softly, yet they caused the palace lanterns at the corner of the hall to move without wind, casting swaying shadows.
"Li Dequan, go and fetch the things." The emperor's suddenly raised voice startled the owls perched outside the window.
When Li Dequan brought in the black lacquered and gold-painted box, Wang Xiuxiu noticed that his fingertips were trembling slightly.
The box didn't look big, but it seemed to weigh a ton.
Wang Xiuxiu sat on the ground, holding the scroll in her hands and carefully flipping through it. It took her a long time before she looked up.
Her fingertips lingered on a certain page for a long time, which recorded the details of twelve girls being buried alive on the winter solstice night of the fifth year of Yuanxi.
Most appallingly, the recorder described in detail how the ground undulated slightly as they struggled in the soil.
"Have you finished watching?"
"I've finished reading it."
Lu Nancheng nodded and said, "I owe you, and I owe those unfortunate women, the truth, but given the current situation, I haven't found an opportunity to stand up for them."
As he spoke, his gaze fell on the memorial on the right side of the imperial desk—the impeachment memorial submitted by aristocratic families this morning.
"Does Your Majesty truly wish to antagonize the aristocratic families in order to seek justice for them?" Wang Xiuxiu looked directly into the Emperor's eyes.
Lu Nancheng stared for a long time, then suddenly stood up and drew the Emperor's Sword from the wall.
A flash of cold light, and a strand of hair fell to the ground.
He raised his hand and swore: "I, Lu Nancheng, hereby swear that one day I will stand up for the women involved in the Jinlou incident!"
The sword's edge reflected the candlelight, casting flickering shadows on his face.
Wang Xiuxiu looked at the emperor, forcing her voice to remain steady: "Your Majesty, I have a plan that might temporarily relieve your predicament!"
After saying that, she took out a roll of silk from her sleeve, which, when unfolded, revealed a circle formed by eighteen bloody finger marks.
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