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Chapter 176: A Confession

Zhang Zhe realized halfway through his journey that he had lost something.

After encountering Jiang Xuening, Zhang Zhe found himself unsettled, unable to focus. He couldn’t recall exactly when he had lost the item—was it on the way back or in the Prince Linzi’s Mansion?

And so, he returned to search.

The garden was quiet and empty, devoid of Jiang Xuening’s presence. The pavilion was similarly deserted, save for two attendants cleaning up the mess of cups and dishes left behind.

Noticing Zhang Zhe’s return, one of the attendants, who had served him earlier, recognized him, stepped forward, and bowed. “Master Zhang, is there something amiss? Did you leave something behind?”

Zhang Zhe asked, “Have you seen an embroidered pouch?”

The attendant was taken aback. “Is it the one with a dark base and silver patterns?”

Zhang Zhe’s eyes lit up. “You’ve seen it?”

The attendant hesitated, his expression growing peculiar and conflicted. After a pause, he replied with a sheepish smile, “I did see it, but when we arrived to clean up earlier, Miss Jiang—the second daughter of Minister Jiang—was standing here, holding a pouch that resembled the one you described. She… seemed preoccupied, so we didn’t dare approach her or ask about it.”

Zhang Zhe stood on the steps, momentarily dazed.

The absence of the pouch at his waist left a strange emptiness.

After a long pause, Zhang Zhe finally spoke.

“Has the second Miss Jiang left?”

The attendant nodded. “Yes, she seems to have returned home with Minister Jiang.”

Zhang Zhe closed his eyes briefly, remaining silent before finally murmuring, “Thank you.”

The attendant, though puzzled, dared not probe further.

He bowed again, and when he raised his head, he saw Zhang Zhe walking back down the garden path. Despite the intoxicating warmth of the summer night, the figure that gradually disappeared under the lantern-lit corridors seemed to tread a frost-covered autumn ground.

Two days prior, a rainstorm had swept away the dust shrouding the capital, leaving the streets clean and refreshed.

The sound of carriages and horses faded.

The light footsteps striking the street’s surface became distinct—empty and cold. Zhang Zhe’s mind felt simultaneously crowded and blank.

His residence was far from the mansions of nobility. As he moved beyond the area of extravagance, the buildings on both sides grew shorter, and sounds of laughter and street vendors gradually broke the silence.

Earlier that morning, he had accidentally knocked over a teapot at home. His mother reminded him to buy a new one on his way back.

So, he stepped into a late-night porcelain shop and selected a simple white porcelain tea set from the Xing Kiln. There, he overheard the shopkeeper sighing alongside a refined guest before a cabinet of treasures.

“This bottle of Qinggu liquor, with its delicate glaze and thin body, truly reflects the elegance of plum blossoms. Such a pity that Master Zhou’s plum vase was shattered. I sought the finest craftsmen to restore it, but even their skills could only go so far.”

“From afar, it appears flawless.”

“But up close, it’s different. Look here at the neck—faint cracks are visible. No matter how skilled the craftsman, it’s impossible to completely erase the old scars. Once broken, it must be cherished even more in the future. Any small bump could cause it to collapse again. It can never compare to its unbroken, pristine state fresh from the kiln.”

“Ah…”

…

Zhang Zhe glanced over at the cabinet. Standing within it was a plum vase about a foot tall, its sky-blue glaze as fine as jade, naturally elegant in its craftsmanship. Yet, faint cracks crisscrossed its surface—marks left from its restoration, like scars softened by time but never fully erased.

The shop assistant behind the counter noticed his gaze and said, “Young master, are you interested in buying a plum vase? We have all kinds. Feel free to browse!”

Zhang Zhe slowly looked away and replied, “No need.”

After paying for the tea set, he headed home.

When he returned, his mother, Madam Jiang, who had anticipated the social drinking inevitable at the banquet, had prepared a hot sobering soup for him. She handed it to him as soon as he entered.

A pang of sourness rose in Zhang Zhe’s heart.

For a brief moment, he felt utterly disheartened. Yet, in the end, he softened his voice and said to Madam Jiang, “I came back late and made you worry again. Your health isn’t great; you should rest earlier in the future.”

After all, she had raised him herself. How could Madam Jiang not notice the heavy burden in his heart? For days, he had been leaving early and returning late, constantly buried in official duties at the Ministry. If it was simply because of work, it would be understandable. But from his demeanor, it seemed like he was using work to suppress something, as though avoiding any thoughts beyond his duties.

He had always been a decisive person, keeping everything to himself.

Madam Jiang knew little about what weighed on his mind. Seeing his composed facade now, she realized that asking him would yield no answers, so she didn’t press further. Instead, she said, “Even your father back then didn’t accomplish as much as you have. If he could see you now, he’d surely rest in peace. All I wish for you, my son, is to live a peaceful life. If you meet a girl you like and start a family, that would be even better. As for wealth and honor—they’re good, but if you pursue them too hard, you’ll only end up exhausting yourself.”

Zhang Zhe didn’t respond.

Madam Jiang sighed and left his modest study, reminding him to rest early as she closed the door behind her.

Many case files from the Ministry of Justice had been brought home with him. Now, they were stacked high on his desk. The flickering light of the nearby lamp illuminated rows of inked words lying on the paper, but none of them registered in his mind.

Finding the light too glaring, Zhang Zhe pushed the lamp farther away.

This dimmed the paper even more. He sat motionless behind the desk, like the ink in the inkwell drying up little by little, not stirring for the entire night.

The light of early summer mornings came quickly.

The city streets grew lively again with the bustling sounds of people.

Madam Jiang woke early to prepare porridge. Assuming Zhang Zhe had left for court as usual before dawn, she planned to tidy up the house and garden before the day grew too warm. But as she reached his bedroom door and placed her hand on it, the door swung open. Inside, the bed was perfectly made, the pillows neatly arranged—clearly untouched from the night before.

Turning her head again, she saw that the study door was tightly shut.

The day had not fully dawned, and a faint light seeped out from within.

She hesitated for a moment, then knocked lightly on the door: “Aren’t you going to court today?”

Behind the desk, Zhang Zhe’s figure moved slightly, as if someone had finally drawn him back from some dark and silent place. He replied slowly, “Not today.”

On days when the court was in session, he had never delayed.

Nor had he mentioned taking leave the previous day.

Madam Jiang was stunned, speechless for a while, then finally said, “I’ll go to the market to buy some ingredients. Let’s have breakfast together before you head to the office.”

She gathered her things, grabbed a small bamboo basket, and went out.

The morning market was bustling.

She picked a two-pound black carp, some fresh ginger, green onions, chives, and tofu, and selected a decent cut of pork shoulder, placing them all in the bamboo basket before heading home.

When she left for the market, it was barely light.

By the time she returned, the morning light had brightened.

But as Madam Jiang turned into the familiar alley and approached her old courtyard, she suddenly noticed a young woman standing at the moss-covered steps.

The girl was dressed in a flowing moon-white gown with wide sleeves, her face bare of makeup. Her pale complexion appeared even more wan in the soft morning light. She stood still, her head slightly raised, gazing absently at the weathered wooden door.

This early in the morning…

Madam Jiang hesitated for a moment, then approached with a smile. “Miss, are you looking for someone?”

Jiang Xuening turned her head, only then realizing she had been standing there for a long time.

She saw Madam Jiang, an ordinary-looking woman whose years of hardship raising her son alone had left deeper marks on her face than on other women her age. Her temples were streaked with white, her face finely lined.

The bamboo basket in her arm held fresh groceries.

At this moment, Madam Jiang looked at her with a mix of concern and kindness.

She should hate me.

There was only one household at the end of this alley. Jiang Xuening had already guessed this woman’s identity. A surge of guilt bubbled up within her like a hot spring. She tried to force a smile, but tears rolled down her cheeks instead.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice trembling, “is this the home of Zhang Zhe from the Ministry of Justice?”

So, she was here for that wooden-headed son of hers.

Madam Jiang, seeing this radiant, fairy-like young woman, had never even thought to associate her with Zhang Zhe. But the girl had barely spoken a few words before tears started falling. Remembering Zhang Zhe’s unusual behavior the previous night and morning, Madam Jiang couldn’t help but wonder: Could it be that her blockhead son had wronged this girl and made her sad?

He was fine when they were in Henan, but now that they were in the capital, had he started misbehaving?

If he really had done something disgraceful, she’d invoke the family rules and give him a good beating in place of his late father!

“Yes, yes, this is the place,” Madam Jiang said hastily, flustered. “He didn’t go to court today; he’s in the study. Please come in. I’ll go get him for you!”

She opened the door and invited Jiang Xuening in.

Forgetting even to set down the bamboo basket in her hand, she was about to knock on the study door that had remained closed all night and call Zhang Zhe out. Unexpectedly, before she could climb the steps, the previously shut door creaked open.

Zhang Zhe stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.

Dressed in a dark blue robe, his figure was as straight as ever, but he exuded a silent desolation. He gazed quietly at Jiang Xuening, standing in the humble courtyard, for a long time before speaking.

“Miss Jiang, please come in.”

Jiang Xuening also looked at him for a long moment before stepping forward and climbing the steps. When she reached the door, Zhang Zhe stepped aside to let her in.

She entered the room.

Zhang Zhe gave Madam Jiang a brief instruction before turning back and closing the door.

The two, who had not slept the entire night, sat facing each other.

The tea on the table was leftover from the previous night, now cold.

The desk, piled high with case files, held a lamp whose wick had burned down completely, leaving a faint wisp of blue smoke curling at the tip. The first rays of the morning sun angled in from the east, falling on the low lacquered table by the window, dispelling some of the lingering chill.

Jiang Xuening fixed her gaze on him.

But Zhang Zhe lowered his eyes.

She spoke softly: “Today was supposed to be a court day, yet you stayed home. It’s almost as if you knew I would come. Were you waiting for me?”

Zhang Zhe remained silent.

Jiang Xuening folded her hands neatly on her knees as she knelt, her demeanor serene. She smiled: “I once confessed my feelings for you, Zhang Zhe, and you told me your heart already belonged to someone else. That day, I was so disoriented, my pride unwilling to accept defeat, that I even forgot to ask—who is it, this woman you care for?”

Under the desk, Zhang Zhe’s hands clenched tightly.

“She’s from the capital, an ordinary family,” he finally said.

So Zhang Zhe could lie, could deceive.

Jiang Xuening blinked, then asked, “You broke off your engagement with Miss Yao not long ago, only to shift your affections to someone else? Even if she’s from an ordinary family, she must be both talented and beautiful—better than me in every way, no?”

Zhang Zhe was silent for a long time before replying, “Miss Jiang has no flaws; it is I, born of humble origins, who dare not ruin your future. She cannot compare to you in looks or talent, and her temperament is far from ideal. It’s just…”

Jiang Xuening pressed: “Just what?”

Zhang Zhe finally looked up at her. His gaze was restrained and controlled, yet his heart felt desolate. He seemed to want to etch her face into his memory as he said, slowly, “It’s just that I love her.”

Jiang Xuening suddenly laughed out loud. “What is her name, then?”

Zhang Zhe fell silent, saying nothing.

Jiang Xuening, in that moment, hated him deeply. She could no longer maintain even a pretense of a smile. From her sleeve, she drew out a small embroidered pouch she had held onto all night, gazing at it repeatedly. She placed it lightly on the desk. A thin sheet of paper unfolded, lying atop the pouch.

“If you can’t say it,” she said, her voice trembling with suppressed anger, “then let me tell you.”

Zhang Zhe closed his eyes.

Jiang Xuening, eyes red, leaned forward and spoke each word with bitter force: “This person you love so much, who lacks beauty, who is as rotten as they come, a truly wretched individual—her surname is Jiang, her name is Jiang Xuening!”

“I have offered my heart to the bright moon, but the moon reflects it into the ditch.”

On that sheet of paper, the rare neat strokes of ink had seeped into the page but were still fresh, not yet faded. The heart of Zhang Zhe, once resolute, was now riddled with cracks and wounds.

Jiang Xuening stubbornly demanded, “How can you say you don’t like me? How dare you say you don’t like me?”

Zhang Zhe’s mind wandered back to the past life.

The vibrant her, the dazzling her, the unapologetically bold her. Back then, he couldn’t restrain his transgressive heart; he longed to be near her. But in the end…

The jade mountain toppled, the brocade screen shattered.

Her sharp words seemed to carve out his heart, exposing it raw and bloodied, dangling on the tip of a blade. A torrent of bitterness surged to his throat, only to retreat, filling his chest with a painful acidity.

The porcelain vase had been shattered beyond repair.

He looked at her, his gaze spanning lifetimes, and finally, in a hoarse voice, he addressed her, “Your Majesty…”

Your Majesty.

How could this person before her call her “Your Majesty”?

Jiang Xuening first felt a wave of confusion, which quickly turned into a dizzying vertigo. Those faintly spoken words carried from her ears straight to her heart. The Zhang Zhe before her seemed to sway gently, while the sunlight streaming in turned an ashen white. A mist seemed to rise within the room, blurring everything and filling her surroundings with a roaring chaos.

Instinctively, she shook her head.

How could it be?

It must have been a mistake…

Yet a cold, mocking voice echoed within her: You knew. You should have known all along! How long have you two even known each other in this life? Why would he love you so deeply, hiding his feelings from you? You didn’t hear it wrong!

A sharp, piercing pain mixed with endless guilt bound her tightly, forcing her to collapse into a sitting position, utterly despondent.

At that moment, everything became clear.

It was as though towering mountains and endless abysses weighed down upon her, crushing her and letting her fall. Unable to bear it any longer, she buried her face in her hands and wept uncontrollably.

Zhang Zhe walked toward her silently, feeling as though he were the cruel executioner who had destroyed her final defenses.

Memories from past and present converged in an overwhelming torrent.

He knelt on one knee beside her, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Finally allowing himself this moment of transgression, he gently pulled her into his embrace and whispered, “It’s my fault. It’s my fault…”

Through her sobs, she cried out, “You never told me. You lied to me…”

Zhang Zhe replied, “Yes, I lied to you.”

Jiang Xuening hated herself. Thinking back to her earlier accusations, she found herself ridiculous and laughable. How was she even worthy?

Her tears soaked into Zhang Zhe’s chest, dampening his robes, drenching his heart. It confirmed his belief—he truly should never have told her: “Your Majesty, I was afraid. Afraid that once you knew, you’d realize the man before you is the Zhang Zhe from the past life.”

Once she knew, the past would flood back, bringing with it boundless guilt.

She sought freedom and the fulfillment of her desires.

But such guilt was enough to crush and destroy a person who had gradually left their past behind. Everyone she met in this life was new—only he remained a relic of her old ties. And the gaping chasm created by the weight of the past, no matter how hard both of them tried, could never be fully bridged.

“How exhausting it must be to live like that?

When she was in front of him, she didn’t seem like her true self at all.”

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