Twenty-three. Close Enough

Pei Xiunian did not refuse Xiaoqin’s kindness.

However, as soon as she entered the room, she was startled by the blood splattered across the floor, nearly sending the plate in her hands flying. Only after confirming that Pei Xiunian was unharmed did Xiaoqin kneel in terror and say, “I have failed in my duty to protect you, Your Highness. Have you been injured? My crime deserves death…”

In her panic, Pei Xiunian merely waved his hand, his voice calm: “It’s nothing. I am not seriously hurt. The attack was sudden—you couldn’t possibly have watched both sides. But now that such a deliberate assassination has occurred, we must reconsider our stay in Hangzhou.”

“Before you clean up, I want you to record the talisman inscription from the sword.”

“Thank you for pardoning me, Your Highness.”

Upon hearing this, Xiaoqin finally dared to rise. She placed the plate of pastries obediently on the table, then, after recording the inscription and handing Pei Xiunian the talisman, began to clean the blood from the room.

She did not know why the room was in such a state upon entering, nor how the young lord had managed to fend off the assassin. But since Pei Xiunian did not mention these crucial matters, she wisely refrained from asking, maintaining a silence she knew was key to survival.

What surprised Xiaoqin was that Pei Xiunian made no fuss about the incident, not even letting out the slightest word, instead waiting for her to handle the traces herself.

The attempted assassination of a prince was no trivial matter. If news broke, the entire Hangzhou prefectural courier station might be sent to the execution ground. Clearly, the young lord was acting out of concern for the common folk.

It was hard to imagine that one who once lived as a humble hunter beyond Hangzhou’s borders could, seated here, possess such insight and magnanimity. The former Third Prince was no match for him; it was not impossible for the young lord to shine in the struggle for succession.

Thinking this, Xiaoqin redoubled her efforts to wipe away the blood.

Pei Xiunian rose and walked to her side, eating a pastry as he pointed to the headless assassin, asking casually, “Can you tell which sect or school this assassin belongs to?”

At his question, Xiaoqin immediately examined the corpse with her internal energy, then concluded, “This person disguised himself well—no sign of his origin. But there are not many sects in the martial world skilled in assassination; it shouldn’t be hard to find out.”

But it would require considerable time and manpower...

Pei Xiunian swallowed the pastry. To him, uncovering the assassin’s true identity was not worth the trouble. Even if he discovered which house sent him, he could never know who had bribed them, and might only alert the real culprit.

Better to focus on what he should do when he met the Heir of King Qi tonight...

Just then, as Xiaoqin was tidying up the murder weapon in the corner, her movements suddenly paused. She exclaimed, “The poison on this sword—it's a rare toxin only found in Qingqiu.”

Pei Xiunian’s expression changed slightly. He chewed the pastry in his mouth, sipped his tea, then went to the window to ponder.

Was this the work of the demon clans from Qingqiu?

If so, the only possible perpetrator was Su Zhiqiu; the others from Qingqiu had been kept in the dark, believing the body in the ice coffin might really be the Third Prince...

Pei Xiunian doubted Qingqiu had any means to verify the true identity of a prince of the Great Zhou.

But Su Zhiqiu was different. She was certain she was the Third Prince, and if she had motive to act...

She certainly had ample reason to eliminate him. Once he died, the identity of the corpse in the ice coffin would be settled, which would solidify her position and render the so-called "Heart’s Intent Pill" irrelevant.

Yet Pei Xiunian soon realized his reasoning was flawed.

The timeline didn’t fit.

At this moment, Su Zhiqiu was likely still imprisoned in Qingqiu’s dungeon, unable to reach all the way to Hangzhou in Great Zhou.

Therefore, the poison on the sword was not meant to confuse Pei Xiunian, but was a ploy by the mastermind to frame Qingqiu.

The Third Prince had previously negotiated alone with Qingqiu’s leader, and after Qingqiu’s retreat, the Third Prince died from poisoning—perfectly plausible.

Pei Xiunian now knew one thing:

The person who wanted him dead was not the same one who tried to frame the Third Prince at Xiangyang, hoping to trigger an impeachment. This attempt came only after the imperial meeting...

In other words, the culprit acted in haste only after hearing that Great Zhou had recovered lost territory.

So what was his motive?

All conflict stems from interest.

The urgency implied that the culprit feared Pei Xiunian’s great victory and its rewards would threaten his own position.

And the most immediate reward for Pei Xiunian’s achievement was—fame and public support, making him a frontrunner in the succession struggle.

Thus, the assassin was surely sent by a prince with ambition, a powerful faction, and considerable means.

Pei Xiunian formed this hypothesis, confident he was close to the truth. He exhaled long out the window, then asked Xiaoqin, who had finished cleaning the room, “Which princes are currently the most favored in the succession?”

Xiaoqin had no idea Pei Xiunian had thought so much in such a short time. She immediately stood at attention and reported, “Your Highness, the leading contenders are the Second Prince, the Fourth Prince, and the Seventh Prince... and yourself. But the Second Prince is the most prominent.”

If she remembered correctly, his Second Brother had not only been granted a fief in Yangzhou, but had already established his domain there. Yet Emperor Zhaoning still delayed naming a crown prince to quell the turmoil?

What was the emperor thinking?

But this was not Pei Xiunian’s concern now. Given the circumstances, it was unlikely to be the Second Prince; after all, he was in Yangzhou and unlikely to have responded so quickly to the news.

Pei Xiunian abandoned pointless speculation and sought to learn more about his suspicious royal siblings. He sat down with his teacup and asked, “How much do you know about these princes, Xiaoqin?”

Xiaoqin’s expression became animated; the topic made her feel a little like an adviser. She shuffled closer to Pei Xiunian, then counted off on her fingers like reciting a list:

“The Second Prince’s fief is in Yangzhou. It’s said that the most luxurious pleasure house in Yangzhou—Mistwave Pavilion—is secretly his;

As for the Seventh Prince, he’s at the northern frontier, only nineteen this year, but has won many battles against Jin Xia, and is highly esteemed by the military;

The Fourth Prince is a student personally taught by the Grand Tutor, now holding office in the court...”

Pei Xiunian suddenly interrupted, his voice deep, “Xiaoqin, did you just say the Second Prince owns a brothel, and the largest, most lavish one in Yangzhou?”

“Um... Your Highness, is something wrong?”

Xiaoqin looked up at Pei Xiunian, her expression quietly odd, but she answered honestly, “It’s said the courtesans of Mistwave Pavilion attract a swarm of dignitaries and nobles, though before I could...”

Pei Xiunian leaned back, quickly interjecting, “Don’t look at me like that. I am a gentleman, disciplined and upright; I’m not thinking about courtesans. I’m just surprised... the Second Prince could run such an establishment?”

Xiaoqin paused, then replied, “I don’t know the details, Your Highness. I overheard it in the palace from a Yangzhou official once—perhaps the Second Prince runs it in secret.”

Pei Xiunian truly had no interest in competing for courtesans. As a modern man who had crossed over, he scoffed at such obvious marketing tactics.

No matter how much you hype up a courtesan, dressing up the tea poetry and literary flair, it always boils down to flesh trade in the end.

A chicken is a chicken, no matter how you paint it, it can’t change its nature.

Having traveled through time, with the literary education of modern schooling, he could easily open an academy by reciting poetry. Why chase after courtesans instead of marrying a noble lady?

Such misplaced priorities...

If not for the business with the Third Prince, Pei Xiunian would have used his savings to stun the imperial examiners with a few verses at the Spring Imperial Examination. Now that plan was dashed...

Pulling his thoughts back, Pei Xiunian realized that since the Second Prince could run such a venue, he needed to reassess how much control and support the prince possessed.

Anyone poised as the top candidate for succession would hardly be simple.

In sum, both the Fourth and Second Princes could be the masterminds; the Seventh Prince’s likelihood could be dismissed, given his distance at the frontier.

As he pondered indoors, dusk crept over the city. Pei Xiunian ceased his worries and asked Xiaoqin to fetch him a fresh outfit, instructing her, “I am about to attend the Heir of King Qi’s invitation. The attire must be formal. Also... Xiaoqin, do you have any recording talismans?”

Xiaoqin rummaged through her travel belongings and brought out two sets for him to choose from. Hearing his request, she drew a talisman from her sleeve and handed it to Pei Xiunian, feeling a bit puzzled, she asked instinctively, “I do... If you infuse it with internal energy, it will work. But Your Highness, what do you need it for?”

“I need two.”

Pei Xiunian donned his outer robe and took the talismans from her, then added, “If I’m not mistaken, this will become an excellent pledge of allegiance.”