Palace Coup 11

She slowly sat back on the railing, her expression indifferent. She did not tell him to stop, simply watching Foreman Cao weep.

Crying for a long time is exhausting, especially when it is performative; it drains one’s spirit. Given the vigor and posture he maintained—as if he were mourning at a funeral—the fatigue and resulting headache would inevitably set in soon. Dealing with an old fox like him, using such a passive-aggressive tactic to make him uncomfortable while deriving some satisfaction for herself was quite pleasant.

Foreman Cao had never expected Xie Miaoxuan’s temperament to shift as quickly as turning a page—flaring up suddenly, then withdrawing just as abruptly. He had been wailing for quite some time, yet she remained unmoved, showing no intention of speaking. He couldn't help but feel uneasy. Whenever he had sobbed to nobles in the past, they either impatiently dismissed him or were overcome with pity, sometimes even rewarding him with silver.

He peeked through his fingers and saw the young lady watching him with a grave expression, as if contemplating something. His eyes darted around, and he immediately resumed his loud, wailing cries.

After another long while, he felt his throat turn dry, his eyes grow sore, and his temples begin to throb. Unable to keep up the charade, he pretended to choke back his sobs and fell silent.

Xie Miaoxuan saw his eyes were bloodshot and felt deeply gratified. "Foreman Cao, your filial piety is… *ahem*… truly moving. Very well, go back and fetch the ledgers from these past few years so I may have a look."

"This..." Foreman Cao’s expression went blank. This was not how he had envisioned it. The young lady hadn't even come over to help him up; she looked positively intrigued! Was his vision failing him?

"Well?" Xie Miaoxuan sighed. "If you don't even dare to show me the ledgers, how can I believe your situation is truly as difficult as you claim? I was almost convinced, but it seems you might be deceiving your superiors, oppressing the tenant farmers, and lining your own pockets. If that is the case, I have no room for such people."

Daniu took a half-step forward and drew the blade at his waist with a sharp *shing*. A cold glint flashed through the air.

Foreman Cao scrambled to his feet. "I dare not, I dare not! I shall go fetch them at once." He retreated, scurrying home in a flurry of steps.

***

Inside the house, Mistress Cao was carefully trimming paper with a craft knife. Looking up to see her son finish a large character, she beamed, her face creasing with pride. "My Jian'er is growing capable! You’ve learned another character today. When your father returns, we’ll show him."

She then touched the book on the desk with reverence. "You must study hard. Your cousin the Magistrate bestowed this upon us; I had to pester him for a long time before he agreed to let you use it for calligraphy practice. Once you have learned a thousand characters, I will have your father pay to buy you an official title."

The courtyard gate was pushed open with a heavy thud. The young man at the desk looked up and called out, "Mother, move your hand." He looked honest, perhaps even a bit dim-witted.

Mistress Cao’s heart skipped a beat at the noise. "Jian'er, don't be afraid. Keep writing. I'll go see if that little wretch is causing trouble again. See if I don't beat her to death." She grabbed a broom from the doorway, hands on her hips, and marched out. Seeing it was her husband, she quickly dropped the broom and brushed off her apron.

As she got closer, she saw his eyes were red and swollen, as if he had been punched. She cried out in alarm, "Old man, what happened? Was it that barbarian who was shouting at the gate this morning who hit you?!"

"I told you to just lie in bed and play sick! You didn't need to pay her any mind. As long as you didn't come out, I’d handle her. Could she drag you out of bed? She’s just a young lady, not the Master of the house—what would she know? Demanding an audience… humph, acting so high and mighty. You’ve been the foreman of the largest estate in the capital suburbs for over twenty years; she’s just looking to flaunt the authority of a noble family."

She kept grumbling, "The tenants have already been warned not to speak to her. She has no one to talk to here. I give it two days before the novelty wears off and she leaves. You should have just humored her—she actually hit you?!"

Foreman Cao walked past her without a word, ignoring her barrage of questions. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a water ladle, and gulped down a bellyful of water until his burning throat felt a little better.

He turned toward the inner room. Mistress Cao followed, still nagging, which reignited the fire that had just begun to die down. "Enough! My head is splitting. I’m going to sleep for a while; wake me for the midday meal. Also, find the ledgers in Jian'er’s study—get the ones from the last two years ready for me. I’ll need them this afternoon."

A flicker of malice crossed his eyes. He thought to himself that the accounts had already been cooked by his nephew, a clerk at the county office; he had no fear of an audit. However, he had no intention of handing them over to Xie Miaoxuan immediately. He would stall her. These nobles were accustomed to idle pastimes and possessed little patience; perhaps in a short while, she would forget the matter entirely.

This rural estate could never compare to the bustle of the capital. He didn't believe she would stay here for long, and he felt that as long as he put on a good enough performance, it would suffice.

He was feeling miserable, having been woken up at the crack of dawn by that "barbarian," and now, with a splitting headache, he intended to take a nap before dealing with the noblewoman. He collapsed onto the bed, having no mood to listen to Mistress Cao boast about their precious son learning another character.

***

Once Foreman Cao left, Daniu wanted to follow. "Young Lady, this old man is not honest and is dragging his feet. Shall I go and urge him to be quick?"

Xie Miaoxuan stopped him. Daniu’s face visibly slumped; his emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and delight—were all written plainly on his face, so vivid that it made one chuckle at his bitter, aggrieved expression.

"No hurry. To make someone perish, one must first let them go mad. Come! Gather our people; follow me to inspect the estate."

***

In the capital's largest brothel, the Qimo Spring Pavilion, the main hall was filled with clamor, singing, and dancing. By the time one reached the third floor, however, all noise vanished.

Inside a quiet private room, Xie Yuanju slowly set down his tea cup, his slender fingers tapping rhythmically on the tabletop.

"Three days ago, the advisory minister Wen Zheng was found dead in his home. The cause of death is unknown; not a single external injury could be found on his body. It was only after Elder Shang carefully examined him that it was discovered he had been killed by a single sword strike through the throat. The perpetrator’s swordsmanship is that of a grandmaster of our age; the wound was hidden beneath the muscle tissue, invisible to the common eye."

Que Si knelt on one knee, and even after finishing his report, he remained motionless, not daring to look at the man before him. His eyes remained fixed on the floor tiles, as if a flower there held his entire focus.

A resonant voice cut in, carrying a hint of mockery. "Que Si, why are you still the same? If the Master doesn't speak, are you going to kneel here until you die? If others knew that the number one assassin of the Hidden Shadows died in such a manner, their jaws would drop."

Xie Yuanju said, "Did you not hear what Elder Shang said? Rise."