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Marquis Yan often went on long visits to local temples, sometimes not so local temples. He had become disillusioned with the world of politics, with Da Liang, with the Emperor he had helped to enthrone. Focusing on the spirit seemed better than focusing on fleshly matters. And he had played his part in the political formation of Da Liang, and—he often thought—played it badly, giving such power to Xiao Xuan. His role in that world was past.
During these long visits, he received no contact from the outside world. Lin Xie and Xiao Xuan were busy with their own affairs and seemed to forget he existed when he wasn’t standing right in front of them; Lin Yueyao was now Consort Chen and they were largely out of contact; and as for Marquis Yan’s son, Yujin, he understood his father’s needs well. At the age of ten, he already knew better than to interrupt his father’s prayer, whether at home or abroad.
So when Marquis Yan received a letter from Yujin while on one of his typical sabbaticals, he knew it was cause for concern.
“Father,
“I am writing you this letter because in the city many things have been happening. I’m worried here at home by myself…”
It was a very vague letter, and unlike Yujin, who usually was very specific in both speech and writing, and also was not easily “worried” by anything. Marquis Yan asked the man who brought it whether anything unusual was going on in the city, and heard the news first from him: that Prince Qi had been accused of treason and was currently imprisoned, and that it was said the Chiyan Army had gone into rebellion.
The temple Marquis Yan had been visiting was far from Jinling, and the winter weather was horrible. Though he traveled with all speed, more than a week passed before he arrived at the capital, to find an eerily quiet city and, at home, a distraught Yujin.
“Father, I’m sorry. Lin Shu told me to write you and tell you not to come, to stay away, but they took him and all the Lin family, and the rest of the Lin family’s been executed…”
“Calm down,” Marquis Yan said. “Tell it to me slowly, from the beginning.”
He had asked for updates on the situation from every friend or stranger he met on the road, but now he received the fullest picture yet, if somewhat confused, from his ten-year-old son. Prince Qi had been accused of treason on account of a letter and some supposed murder—the Xuanjing Bureau was investigating everywhere, both in the capital and throughout the city—Xie Yu had gone out with his army to order the Chiyan Army’s surrender (Yujin had heard a lot about this from Jingrui), but had been expected to meet resistance, and reports had come back of a fierce battle that Xie Yu had nevertheless won—the Lin household had been seized and all except Lin Shu had now been executed, Lin Shu having been spared “because of Tai Nai Nai” and because there was no evidence that the youngest Lin had been part of the plot.
“What evidence—no. Thank you, Yujin. You were right to send for me. From here on, you do not concern yourself with this or get involved.”
Yujin bit his lip. “…yes, father. Father, they might still kill Lin Shu.”
He did not exactly demand that Marquis Yan do something about it, but his eyes were pleading. Marquis Yan patted his shoulder. “There is nothing more for you to do about it, son. I will speak with the Emperor, and we will see how things stand with Lin Shu. If he is not dead yet, there may be hope for him.”
Hope that had already been extinguished for Grand Princess Jinyang, Prince Qi, most of the Chiyan Army, Lin Xie, and, Marquis Yan learned soon enough, Consort Chen, along with any number of other officials or nobles accused of treachery. Marquis Yan forced himself to push his feelings on all of it aside. He could mourn later. Right now there was still a battle to fight, and he would have to take back out his old political weapons. Words and wits, really. They were all he had ever had, and now unpolished, rusty from years of disuse. But he would have to do his best.
He gained admittance to Xiao Xuan’s presence only after days of waiting. The Emperor was right now a busy man and an angry man, and Marquis Yan knew he’d have to step lightly. He took his time in getting to the subject of Lin Shu, taking care not to say anything… treasonous… about Lin Shu’s father.
“Lin Shu. Yes, he is a problem.” The Emperor scowled. “Properly he should be executed for his father’s deeds, but the Grand Dowager Empress has pleaded for mercy on his behalf. She is already in mourning. Lin Shu might not have taken part in his father’s treason, that’s true. He’s been in the capital for months, far away from the Chiyan Army. But he keeps saying his father was innocent as well despite all proof and despite my proclamation. That’s treason as well, and I cannot have mercy on traitors. If Lin Shu cannot listen to reason, he must die.”
“Lin Shu has a temper. His nickname when he served in the Chiyan Army was ‘Little Fiery’,” Marquis Yan said. He’d been popular too—one of a couple reasons the Emperor had ordered him to stay in Jinling instead, as he never liked too much power in the hands of men who were charismatic and a little uncontrollable. Marquis Yan had thought that kind of paranoia a weakness before (a weakness that weakened the army, the empire), but had never thought it would go to such great heights as this.
The Emperor snorted.
“He might listen to a man he knows, though,” Marquis Yan said. “Someone like me, who was close with his father in the past—if I tell him that his father was a traitor, he may accept it.”
The Emperor eyed him now. He said, “You want to see him.”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Tell him how little Yujin will cry if his dear cousin has to get his head cut off or drink poison.” The Emperor waved a hand. “I’ll see that you’re granted access.”
As he left the palace, Marquis Yan tried to convince himself that the Emperor hadn’t been threatening Yujin with that comment. He almost succeeded.
Lin Shu had been in prison for something like three weeks. For the first week, he had been indignant but still confident, more or less, convinced that the conspiracy against the Chiyan Army and against Prince Qi would be quickly put to rest, the truth uncovered. But his confidence had eroded little by little. Every time he was given news, it was of new evidence against Jingyu and Lin Xie, not in their favor. He himself was asked to confess; when he refused, he was handed over to the Xuanjing Bureau for a few days; when he refused under torture, he was put back in the Celestial Prison. They believed him, they said, believed that he had nothing to do with the treasonous plots of his father—but they did not believe that his father had hatched no treasonous plots.
When he heard about Prince Qi’s execution, he lost the last vestiges of faith in the sanity of the Emperor. Then he heard of his mother’s execution, along with the rest of the household. He expected his own execution to follow, but instead he received more visitors: Xuanjing Bureau officers including even Xia Jiang himself, telling him to either confess to treason or denounce his father as a traitor. If he did the first, he would be given an execution like his mother’s. If he did the second, they told him, he would be granted a pardon and allowed to live—with title and property stripped, and with no honor left in his family name, but still. Allowed to live.
Why would Lin Shu desire to live in such a way?
He had heard that his father was dead, too, the Chiyan Army slaughtered. To hear that hurt more than anything else. He should have been with the Chiyan Army, had been their Young Marshall for some time, their leader… but then the Emperor had declared he should stay in Jinling instead, as head of the Lin household in the capital. “As a hostage,” Marquis Yan had said once, when paying Lin Shu a visit, “but don’t worry. Your father is a smart man, and a loyal one. You’re merely a surety.”
He’d been supposed to die if the Chiyan Army was defeated, when he was part of the Chiyan Army. As a hostage, he should have died when his father was accused of treason. But still he lived.
And he had been in prison for something like three weeks (but who could keep track of time in this place?) when Marquis Yan came to visit.
He was the first visitor Lin Shu had actually stood up for in days. “Marquis Yan. I thought you were on a retreat.”
“I returned,” Marquis Yan said. “I heard there was trouble, and there was Yujin to consider. He should not be alone in the city at a time like this.”
He looked worn—and fragile, too, those thin scholar bones—worn, even though he was wearing a good clean set of clothes (unlike Lin Shu) and his normal calm expression. Lin Shu’s fists clenched. He glanced to see that there were no guards too nearby, no obvious eavesdroppers, then muttered, “You shouldn’t have come back. The Emperor is on a rampage. You could be killed.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, xiao-Shu. I have known Xiao Xuan since we were both children.” Yes, Marquis Yan’s voice was tired. “I won’t be killed.”
Lin Shu’s father had known the Emperor too.
“Father is dead,” he said. “Mother… is also dead. So is Prince Qi.” Pointless; there was no way Marquis Yan didn’t know all this already. “But Father was not a traitor. He was innocent.”
Marquis Yan stood an arm’s length away from the bars of Lin Shu’s cell. “Lin Shu… you had not seen your father in a long time, and he was a grown man. Grown men keep secrets. You could not possibly know everything in his heart.”
Lin Shu stared at him. He couldn’t possibly…
“You are filial to believe in him, but protesting his innocence now will not help him anymore. Your father would want you to live.”
And then it clicked into place. “Ah,” Lin Shu said. He sat back down. “The Emperor sent you.”
“The Emperor allowed my visit so I could speak with you,” Marquis Yan admitted. “Lin Shu…”
“Why can’t he just kill me?” Lin Shu said bitterly. “He did not hesitate to kill my father. My mother is dead too.” He rubbed his face. “To kill me is nothing compared to them.”
To Lin Shu’s surprise, Marquis Yan knelt down now too, clean robe pressed against the dirty floor of the hallway. “Did you know that when my Yujin was not yet born, it was thought he would be a girl? Every family in the city came and talked to me about the possibility of a betrothal. It was like a group of cats squalling over a fish.” He smiled slightly. “In the end, your father won out—our long friendship spoke for him. So if my Yujin had been a girl, he would have married you.”
Lin Shu did not see what Marquis Yan was getting at. But the marquis continued—“It would have been an alliance between two strong families; it was a good choice. Your father was always thinking ahead like this, looking for ways to connect you to people he respected. When Yujin was born a boy, he had Yujin play with you anyway, like you played with many of the noble children. And he arranged a contract between you and Mu Nihuang. The Mu family, Yunnan, holds the southern border. A marriage to Nihuang would have united the Chiyan and Yunnan armies, in a way, not to mention Nihuang’s own character.
“Your father also encouraged you when you played with Xiao Jingyan—him above all other playmates. Of course Prince Jing is a good boy, and you two get along very well. But your father especially approved because Prince Jing is a prince, whose mother was a friend of his, and because Prince Jing was closest to Prince Qi, who would one day have been emperor. Your father was thinking of your future there too.”
“I know my father thought of me,” Lin Shu said.
Marquis Yan nodded. “Yes. He loved you well. But that, Lin Shu, is not my point.”
“So what is your point?”
“My point is that one man does not stand alone. Prince Qi and your father were close, so they were cut down together. Many of their friends in the city have also been implicated in treason, and have been executed. The Emperor has had to kill a great many people.” Marquis Yan leaned forward. “Yunnan has not rebelled—it is not currently implicated, and it did not rise with the Chiyan Army. But just yesterday Mu Nihuang arrived in the city. She’s asked to see you and been refused. The Emperor has refused to see her too, which is wise. Right now she might say something foolish to him, and get herself in trouble. If you are executed, she will almost certainly do that or worse. She is only sixteen.”
“Nihuang… will you make her keep out of this?”
Marquis Yan ignored what he said. “Xiao Jingyan is still away, but when he returns to the city, he will no doubt be angry at the death of his closest brother. If his friend is dead too, he may fly into a fury. The Emperor cannot be patient with a treasonous son. You’ve already learned this. And there are others too… me, for example. The Emperor suspects I am angry at him for your father’s death. He does not want to kill me; he would rather placate me for old times’ sake. There are the people, too. The people admire Young Marshall Lin Shu. It will shake them to hear of you dying. The people admire filial piety, and the Grand Dowager Empress has asked for mercy on your behalf. If the Emperor ignores her plea, that too will stir people’s hearts. Bloodshed begets bloodshed, death begets death. So you see why the Emperor hesitates.”
“He wants to use me to stay the hands of people who loved my father and Prince Qi. So he can appear merciful—” Lin Shu cut himself off mid-sentence by laughing.
He’d already suffered torture under the Xuanjing Bureau. There was no such thing as imperial mercy.
“If you live, Yunnan may be satisfied. You could convince Mu Nihuang not to test fate better than I. Prince Jing might be less incensed too. And the people—yes, they would think the Emperor merciful. More than they do now, at least. Yes, Lin Shu, you are quite right. You always did understand your lessons better than most.”
“Father used to say he wished you’d tutor me.” Funny how quickly a person turned into past tense.
Marquis Yan stood. “I can’t stay long. If your execution is ordered, I will come back to say farewell. Lin Shu… you are no longer a child. I can’t tell a man when he should sacrifice his life or when he should sacrifice his honor. But there are many people who would be happier if you lived. I think your father and mother would want you to live, too.”
Yujin hadn’t dared to ask his father to intervene on Lin Shu’s behalf. With all those who were dying in the city, he’d known Lin Shu might easily die, even if all signs indicated Lin Shu’s innocence of treason. But he had also known his father would try his best. So he did not ask his father what he did for Lin Shu or any questions about the case, but behaved as he always did: never talking about politics, always remaining polite and cheerful, waiting to see what the next day would bring.
And one day at last brought Lin Shu to the Yan Manor.
He was to stay with them, now. Specifically he was to stay in the manor. He had been released from the Celestial Prison after disavowing Lin Xie and Prince Qi, but the Emperor still wanted him under close watch—basically house arrest—and Yujin’s father had volunteered for the job. Everyone knew the Yan family was close to the Lin family, but everyone also knew Marquis Yan had left politics behind many years ago. He was a safe option, and so the Emperor had agreed that Lin Shu would now be his responsibility.
All this, Yujin had known for days. But Lin Shu arrived only now. Yujin ran up to him at the gate and hugged him, then flinched away at the smell, making Lin Shu let out a tired laugh. He smelled of body odor and prison stench, and he looked… he looked like a condemned man. Thinner than before, with dark circles under his eyes and his smile twisted into bitterness, even when he laughed.
“I’ll order you a bath,” Marquis Yan said, and Lin Shu nodded.
Yujin asked, “Did they hurt you?”
“No,” Lin Shu said. “I’ve been pardoned, Yujin. So don’t worry.” He walked slowly towards the house. “I’ll be fine.”
The Chiyan case brought about a new era in Da Liang, in Jinling. So too the introduction of Lin Shu brought a new era to the Yan household, though perhaps in a less grim sense. Every custom of the household was quickly and definitively turned upside down.
Marquis Yan stopped traveling. Not that he stopped visiting temples, but now he only went to those close to or within the city. He spent much of his time at home, hovering over Lin Shu or sometimes even Yujin. Or standing on the porch, looking off into the distance with a grim expression on his face. Yujin, who had often wished his father would stay home more, was not sure if this change was good or bad.
Lin Shu was not as loud as he had been before—he did not take up all the space and silence in the house—but he was still always there. Conversing with Marquis Yan in low, tense tones, reading books in the corner, sometimes condescending to help Yujin study. He no longer trained his body; the Emperor apparently had made some discouraging remarks to Marquis Yan about it. Lin Shu was allowed to live, but Young Marshall Lin Shu would never return. From now on Lin Shu was to train himself to be an official someday—in the far future, as it would be a while before anyone could see past his treacherous heritage. In the meantime, he was to do absolutely nothing. So he read, he talked, and he paced.
He paced a lot. Yujin knew he was supposed to be polite about how Lin Shu was coping, but “he’s going to wear a hole in the floor,” he complained to Jingrui.
Jingrui looked about as awkward as he always did when Lin Shu came up. They didn’t talk about the Chiyan case—better not to—but Jingrui’s father had killed Lin Shu’s father (or his army had, at least) and therefore Lin Shu’s continued survival and existence at the Yan house was a bit of a sore spot.
At least Lin Shu didn’t seem to resent Jingrui. When he emerged from pacing in his room to find Jingrui in the parlor, all he said was, “How is Aunt Liyang?”
“Well, thank you,” Jingrui said.
(He used to idolize Lin Shu, and now he barely dared to speak to him.)
Lin Shu smiled. “Good.”
His smiles these days were much smaller than before, and always bitter. And he was so quiet. He used to yell all the time, and now—now Yujin only ever heard him yelling from another room, and he always sounded actively angry rather than carelessly rowdy. If Yujin came in, he would stop. Sometimes it would be an argument ceasing between him and Marquis Yan; other times, eerily, it would appear that Lin Shu had been yelling at no one, or maybe at himself.
Other times he was yelling at Xiao Jingyan.
Jingyan arrived back in Jinling about a month after Lin Shu’s release. He came to visit Yan Manor almost immediately, of course. Marquis Yan took Yujin out for the day—one of the few times he actually accompanied him to a music hall.
“Those two will have a lot to talk about, not fit for the years of old guardians or young children,” he said.
Yujin made a face. “Father. I’m almost eleven.”
Marquis Yan snorted.
So they were away for hours, but they still came home to yelling. The tail end of an argument:
“My brother was innocent! If you’re going to ignore that—”
“You weren’t here! There was nothing I could have done—and what good would it do—”
“Do you think I don’t wish I was here? If I had been here—”
Marquis Yan looked at Yujin. “Allowing young men to argue is a good thing. They should work out their differences,” he said, “but it’s getting late for this, and you still have a bedtime. I’ll settle it.”
The argument was settled for the night, but it returned whenever Jingyan did. Always in different patterns. Jingyan had no peace with the Chiyan case, and for some reason he seemed to think Lin Shu did. Yujin could have told him otherwise, but he followed his father’s advice and stayed well out of Jingyan’s way.
He might have been angry at Jingyan for the way he got angry at Lin Shu, but the two of them were not always fighting. Sometimes they got along well enough. Sometimes they sat together quietly drinking tea. Sometimes they would emerge from Lin Shu’s room with red eyes and rueful, half-bitter smiles. Sometimes Jingyan trained in the Yan Manor courtyard, sometimes helping Yujin, while Lin Shu watched and called out biting comments on Jingyan’s technique, and it was about the closest Lin Shu ever seemed to come to his old self.
Nihuang came to visit sometimes too. Sometimes she even trained with Jingyan. Lin Shu was not exactly light-hearted with her, but he did smile a little. Their engagement had been put on hold, and there was talk of it being broken by order of the Emperor. But neither of them spoke about it. Instead they spoke about the current state of Yunnan—where Nihuang had to return soon, to take back command of her family’s army—of Nihuang’s studies, of recent stories of Mu Qing (fairly recent anyway, Nihuang having been in the capital for a couple months now), of other things.
And sometimes Nihuang and Jingyan and Lin Shu all went off alone to talk together or with Marquis Yan, and at times like that, Yujin didn’t know what they talked about, only that they would come out full of energy and silence simultaneously, and that when he asked Marquis Yan about it, Marquis Yan would tell him it was better for him not to know.
Twelve years after the Chiyan case, after the death of Lin Xie and the death of Prince Qi and the pardon of one Lin Shu, Mu Nihuang paid her respects to Yan Manor.
It had been a long time since she was in Jinling last. Marquis Yan was always kind to her when she was here, and had offered her some very good advice on governing Yunnan in recent letters. Lin Shu, despite no longer being her fiancé (their engagement having been broken about eleven years ago), was a dear friend and often sent her letters with advice on army tactics as well as governance—and though she thought he could be a little condescending about it, she had to admit the advice was usually good. Today she hoped to get both of them, and possibly Yujin as well, to help her with a stickier problem than ever before.
“The Emperor is very determined to see me engaged.”
Marquis Yan took a judgmental sip of tea. Yujin offered a dramatic gasp. Lin Shu said, “We did warn you.”
Nihuang would have elbowed him except that he was sitting across from her, and reaching across would have been too undignified in front of Marquis Yan. Instead, she said, “Well, he told me about the tournament today.” Lin Shu had informed her of the Emperor’s plans for a tournament in a recent letter—he also kept her apprised of the city’s gossip and the country’s great affairs, though she had no idea how he came by most of it. “He said it was a kindness to me, since I’m getting on in years and still single.”
“Well,” Lin Shu said, “there are a number of honorable men among the contestants. You might consider…”
He trailed off when Nihuang glared daggers at him.
“I told him I will fight the best ten contestants. Still, I was hoping to seek some guidance on this matter. After all, I don’t want to anger the Emperor.” She bit her lip. “Lin Shu-gege, it has been twelve years since the Chiyan case. In the city you are largely accepted. Perhaps…”
“No. We are not going to ask the Emperor for permission to get engaged again.” As always, Lin Shu was brutal in taking down a faulty plan. “Just because he hasn’t been angry with us lately does not mean he has forgotten my family, or the threat you could pose if I had too much influence on you. Breaking that engagement was the only reason you were ever allowed to go back to Yunnan.”
“Mu Qing inherits soon. I won’t be the head of the family or the army anymore.”
“The fact remains that marrying a traitor to an illustrious general is not a wise move. And the Emperor is far too suspicious to take that kind of risk. He doesn’t even like that we’re still close friends,” Lin Shu said. “I’ve told you before…”
“If you think I’ll start avoiding you now, you’re an idiot,” Nihuang said flatly. “Lin Shu-gege.”
Lin Shu sighed.
Yujin cut in, breaking up the argument. “Nihuang-jie, no need to worry. You can just marry Jingrui—I’m sure he’ll make it to the top ten.”
Lin Shu, despite having acted so willing to see her marry one of the contestants, looked abruptly murderous; Nihuang smiled. “Oh? Well then maybe you’ll make it to the top ten and I can just marry you. No need to push me off on a friend.”
“Eh? Nihuang-jie, obviously you don’t want to…” Yujin stopped when he saw Nihuang’s smile turn into a smirk. “Nihuang-jie, you really had me worried for a second there.”
“There really is no need to worry about the tournament,” Lin Shu said. “I have a contact who’s joining, and we can just send him against anyone you’re worried about. He’s really good.” He shrugged. At some point during the past twelve years, he’d gained an insane number of connections in the jianghu. Probably had something to do with the times Marquis Yan had convinced the Emperor to let him take Lin Shu on religious retreats. Nihuang didn’t know too much about it—there were some things Lin Shu and Marquis Yan didn’t tell even her, although she knew more of their scheming than most people.
And its eventual goal.
Marquis Yan said, “You should still show some interest in the tournament, though. At least pretend there’s a chance of your marrying one of them. Our contact will be… something of a distraction for the Emperor. But you can’t let him think that you’re refusing his kindness.”
“All right. I’ll watch the matches at least.” Nihuang shook her head. “In the meantime, may I send Mu Qing over to see you? You particularly, Marquis Yan. He’s behaving erratically, especially since this news, and he could use some steadying.”
“I’ll take him out to see the city,” Yujin said. “There’s nothing as steadying as good music.”
“I wouldn’t object,” Nihuang said. Though Mu Qing was less the music aficionado—then again, no one really could match Yujin there.
They chatted for some time longer, until Nihuang at last got up to go. Lin Shu was the one to see her out, and he made her pause with him by the gate. Well, some distance from the gate still.
“Something private?” she asked him quietly.
“It’s not a secret, but I wanted to tell you alone,” he said. “Nihuang… you’re not wrong that it would be possible for us now to maneuver towards getting engaged again. We would have to move carefully, but with some work we could probably make it happen.”
“Oh? So I was not so wrong after all.” Nihuang crossed her arms. “Then…” A thought occurred to her, that usually only occurred to her on bad days, late nights, and lonely watches. “You don’t want to get engaged again?” Or get married?
“It’s not… it’s not that, Nihuang.” Lin Shu’s fingers were moving in the fabric of his robes, a sign he was thinking very hard about what he should say to her. “But… the feud between the Crown Prince and Prince Yu is at its peak. Jingyan should be returning to Jinling within a week, and might stay for some time. Marquis Yan and I… you know we’ve been gathering information. Well.” He wet his lips. “We might be ready.”
“Oh,” Nihuang said.
Oh.
Of course.
The one thing that would make Lin Shu drop everything else—the reason he lived, quite literally, as he had told her some time ago, the main reason he had decided to live rather than let himself be executed. The Plan.
Nihuang had at first thought it would be put into action right away, had thought they would get right down to it twelve years ago. But one thing and another had intervened, and Marquis Yan had told them time and time again: Be patient. Rather than striking while the iron was hot, it was better to come back when it was lukewarm, when the iron was a political catastrophe and a paranoid emperor. So Nihuang had learned to wait, and she had waited twelve years. She had begun to believe the opposite of her initial belief—that it would come to fruition when she was old and gray, that it would take many, many more years…
“Not the Chiyan case yet,” Lin Shu said quietly. “We can’t even speak of that, yet. But we can start positioning Jingyan. And for that, we need the Emperor to not be thinking about the Chiyan case. And for that… I need to be well out of his mind.”
Nihuang joked, “You’d be out of his mind as my husband in Yunnan.”
Lin Shu laughed.
“All right. So we get started. You’ll tell me if there’s anything you need?”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps I’ll be glad to stay in Jinling for a while after all. It looks like things will be interesting.”
A box had arrived for Lin Shu. Apparently an order he had commissioned from some carpenter in the jianghu. Yujin wondered what might be so important that he would need some famous carpenter out in the middle of nowhere to carve it. When he asked, Lin Shu laughed.
“No one famous. I just didn’t want someone in the city to do the carving. Word gets around.” He smiled and crooked a finger. “Do you want to see?”
Yujin came over, and Marquis Yan did too. Lin Shu opened the box. Inside were a number of small wooden tablets, on each of which was a name.
“Duke Qing… He Jinzhong…” Yujin’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”
Marquis Yan said, “Lin Shu, you couldn’t have written the names on pieces of paper?”
Lin Shu said, “I didn’t want to.”
Marquis Yan sighed.
Yujin said, “But Lin Shu, what exactly are these names supposed to be? I know you and Father don’t like all these people—well, you don’t,” he said, when Marquis Yan gave him a look. “You’ve brought them up sometimes.”
Lin Shu glanced at Marquis Yan. Marquis Yan said, “Go ahead. Yujin should know what we’re getting involved in. After all, he’ll end up being involved too, I’m sure.”
“These,” Lin Shu said, “are some people we will have to destroy to make Jingyan Crown Prince and reveal the truth about the Chiyan case.”
Yujin’s eyes widened.
Lin Shu appeared to be fighting a smirk. Marquis Yan, on the other hand, looked at Yujin steadily. How many times over the years had he told Yujin never to speak about the Chiyan case, or express a preference as to who sat on the throne?
It might have been roughly equal to the number of times he’d told Yujin he was discussing private matters with Lin Shu and he shouldn’t ask about them.
“Oh,” Yujin said. Then, “And you said I’ll get involved? So you’ll let me help?”
Marquis Yan slowly smiled and nodded, and Lin Shu’s eyes gleamed.