Chapter 116: People Always Ask Why One Does Evil, But Why Don’t They Ask Why One Does Good?

After a passionate and exhausting round of lovemaking, the two lay on the bed, breathless and unmoving. Pei Wenxuan reached out to hold her, but Li Rong pushed him away with slight disdain. “You’re sweaty.”

Pei Wenxuan chuckled but didn’t insist. Sensing her own harshness, Li Rong hesitated, then turned and gently rested her head against his shoulder. Pei Wenxuan folded his arms behind his head and asked softly, “Did it hurt?”

“No.” She closed her eyes, but the sticky discomfort on her skin made it hard to relax. She was too tired to get up yet too restless to sleep. Noticing her unease, Pei Wenxuan understood why. He threw on his robe, stepped out to fetch warm water, and carefully wiped her clean.

Li Rong lazily accepted his attentions, finally drifting into satisfied slumber.

They slept through the afternoon. When they awoke, the expected divorce decree still hadn’t arrived. Poking Pei Wenxuan with her elbow, Li Rong muttered, “Father hasn’t issued the order yet. You weren’t lying to me, were you?”

“Why would I lie about this?”

Pei Wenxuan laughed lightly, then mused, “He must have… other considerations now.”

“Then what should we do?”

He fell silent for a moment before speaking deliberately. “First, I’ll have someone forge a confession from Hongde. Later, you go to the Inspectorate to see him. Dismiss all attendants—leave only yourself and Hongde inside. When you come out, present the confession as if you’d just obtained it. Afterward, draft a memorial, attach the confession, and submit both.”

“But a forged confession won’t hold up under scrutiny,” Li Rong frowned. “Once verified, it’ll be exposed.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Pei Wenxuan smiled. “I have arrangements in place. You only need to do one thing.”

“What?”

“Believe, absolutely, that this confession is real.”

Li Rong hesitated but finally nodded. Though unsure of his plan, she was willing to trust him this once. Experience told her that when they worked together, one had to take the lead—if both acted on their own, things would fall apart.

Surprised by her easy agreement, Pei Wenxuan teased, “Aren’t you going to ask more, Your Highness?”

“You have your reasons.”

She waved him off. Pleased, Pei Wenxuan kissed her forehead. “Good girl.”

As he dressed, he added, “No time to waste. I’ll make the arrangements. Rest for now—I’ll return once the confession is ready.”

“Mm.”

Li Rong nodded. Watching her sprawled listlessly across the bed, lost in thought, he couldn’t resist another reminder: “Don’t just laze around. Get up and eat something.”

“I know.”

Her languid reply carried a hint of exasperation at his fussing.

“Also,” he added, “avoid anything cold lately, and stay away from things unsuitable for pregnancy. The odds are low, but better safe than sorry.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Li Rong scoffed, a mocking edge to her voice. “You think you could succeed on the first try?”

Pei Wenxuan, though slightly embarrassed by her teasing, merely grabbed his outer robe and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead as she lay sprawled across the bed. “I’ll take my leave now.”

Li Rong, already irritated by his prolonged departure, suppressed her annoyance and gave a curt, “Mm.”

He turned to go but paused at the door, feeling a chill in the air. Unable to resist, he glanced back. “Wear an extra layer if you go out. The weather’s turning—”

“Get lost!”

Her sharp retort finally snapped his patience. Recognizing her irritation, Pei Wenxuan sighed inwardly—perhaps he was being overly fussy—and left without another word.

Hongde’s handwriting was easy enough to replicate—after all, the man had spent years crafting talismans and charms for countless patrons. A skilled forger was hired to mimic his script, and though the result wouldn’t withstand close scrutiny, it was passable at a glance.

By nightfall, Pei Wenxuan returned with the fabricated confession in hand. He passed it to Li Rong, who skimmed the contents with a measured gaze. The document claimed that Su Rongqing himself had gone to Huguo Temple, using his influence to coerce Hongde into deceiving Consort Rou and fabricating evidence against her and Pei Wenxuan.

Notably, the confession absolved Consort Rou entirely—making it far easier for Emperor Li Ming to act.

Li Rong studied the words in silence. Pei Wenxuan watched her, his expression deceptively mild, though his eyes cooled slightly. “If Your Highness finds this unsatisfactory,” he offered smoothly, “this humble official can certainly prepare another version more to your liking.”

She paused, then shook her head. “No. This will do.”

Tucking the document into her sleeve, she glanced up. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing. Everything is arranged.” His smile was light, effortless. “Just return as soon as you can.”

With a nod, Li Rong left for the Inspectorate.

Hongde, once a revered monk, was now a shadow of his former self after days in prison—haggard, trembling. The moment he saw Li Rong, he threw himself to his knees, kowtowing desperately.

“Your Highness, I was deceived! I beg you—spare this worthless life!”

Li Rong dismissed the guards, leaving only the two of them. She sat gracefully, fan flicking open with a practiced ease. “You claim someone deceived you. Who?”

Hongde froze.

She poured tea, her voice calm. “Speak slowly.”

A long silence. Then, haltingly: “This commoner… truly does not know.”

“You accuse someone of deceiving you, yet you ‘don’t know’?” Her laugh was sharp. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“N-no, Your Highness!” He wrung his hands. “That night, a young master came to the temple—summoned me back. But I never saw his face, nor his guards’! He—he had my son kidnapped. I had no choice!”

“You have a son?” Li Rong’s brows lifted in surprise—then realization. A man like Hongde, wandering for years, would hardly live like an ascetic. Of course he’d have a woman, a child.

But if she hadn’t known… who had?

“But then again,” Li Rong mused inwardly, “back then, many matters passed through his hands. It’s only natural he’d know more details than I do.”

Yet the thought sent a wave of nausea and an inexplicable pang through her. Lowering her gaze, she traced the delicate ribs of her golden fan with a fingertip and asked softly, “And then?”

“He had me bound and thrown into a carriage,” Hongde stammered. “Told me to spread word that Your Highness sought to delay the Crown Prince’s wedding. I—I suppose that wasn’t entirely a lie, was it?”

“It was a lie.”

Her voice turned icy. “I never did any such thing.”

Hongde gaped before hurriedly nodding. “Y-yes, of course! Your Highness never sought me out. Regardless, I truly had no choice! I beg for Your Highness’s mercy!”

“Mercy is possible,” Li Rong said coolly, “if you do exactly as I say.”

Hongde looked up, hope flickering in his eyes.

“Name Su Rongqing as the one who forced you.”

“Su Rongqing?” Hongde blinked. “The eldest son of the Su family?”

At her nod, he let out a hollow laugh. “Your Highness, how is that any different from asking me to die?”

“So you refuse?”

Hongde fell silent. Li Rong understood—his compliance with Su Rongqing stemmed from his son’s captivity. But she had no leverage over him now, only his life. To accuse Su Rongqing openly would invite the Su family’s wrath. Faced with certain death either way, he’d rather not stir the pot.

After all, he had no idea who truly held his son.

Watching Hongde’s defiant calm, Li Rong smiled faintly and settled in for a leisurely chat.

Hongde, well-versed in navigating noble whims after years of serving the elite, cautiously matched her tone. As they spoke, Li Rong peeled back his layers—his scams, his deceptions. Hongde was no mastermind; he simply loved money and spun lies to get it.

With her prompting, he boasted of his past exploits, perhaps sensing his doom and opting for one last performance. Li Rong listened intently, then frowned. “You’ve swindled and ruined so many. Don’t you feel remorse?”

Hongde paused mid-sip. Then, startlingly, he chuckled. “And what of you, Your Highness? Do you feel remorse?”

“For what?” Her brows knitted.

He set down his teacup. “After becoming a monk, I gained wealth and education. I learned a saying: ‘Only with full bellies do people care for honor.’ Countless wretches like me exist—I’m among the luckier ones.”

“You’ve never seen men kill for two taels of silver,” Hongde sneered. “That’s true evil. If folks like me were rare, you could blame our nature. But when we’re legion—is the world truly so full of villains?”

“You nobles demand to know why we sin. But have you ever asked yourselves—why do you choose virtue?”

Li Rong listened to his words without a flicker of emotion. In her youth, she might have scoffed, believing that good people remained good even in adversity, while the wicked were simply born so. But now, she no longer thought that way. To emerge untainted from the mud was the mark of a sage—and how many sages existed in this world?

She didn’t argue further. Glancing outside, she noted the late hour and stood, instructing the guards to leave tea for Hongde before departing.

Back at the princess’s residence, Pei Wenxuan was nowhere to be found in their chambers. Puzzled, Li Rong turned to Jingmei, who was washing her feet, while Jinglan busied herself with the bed. “Where’s the Consort?”

“He’s moved to the outer courtyard,” Jingmei replied, her voice tinged with concern. “He said you’d understand the reason. This servant didn’t dare ask further. Your Highness, have you two quarreled again?”

Conflicts between the princess and her consort were so frequent that the servants had grown weary of them.

Li Rong quickly grasped Pei Wenxuan’s intention. Since he had petitioned Li Ming for a divorce, even if the emperor hadn’t yet issued the decree, appearances had to be maintained. The princess’s residence was undoubtedly riddled with spies. While the inner courtyard was secure with their trusted aides, if they continued to act harmoniously, rumors might reach Li Ming and reignite his suspicions.

She nodded, offering no explanation. That night, she meticulously drafted her memorial, pairing it with the confession. The next morning, she and Pei Wenxuan met with cold expressions—his stern, hers deliberately bright. But as they walked side by side, he whispered, “Is the memorial ready?”

“It is,” she assured him. “Don’t worry.”

That same day, Li Rong submitted the memorial.

Following protocol, unless marked urgent, memorials were first reviewed by the Secretariat, where officials categorized them by priority before presenting them to the emperor. Li Rong’s memorial, lacking the red “urgent” seal, joined the queue for routine processing.

As she waited, Pei Wenxuan maintained their separation—he in the outer courtyard, she in the inner. They played their roles flawlessly: a couple on the brink of divorce, exchanging nothing but frosty glances during morning court. Only in the carriage did they steal moments of privacy, though even then, they dared not indulge in intimacy, lest they stoke desires they couldn’t safely quench. Instead, they sipped tea and discussed strategy.

The act strained them both. Two days of this charade left Li Rong restless. After a solitary dinner, she returned to her chambers, only to be abruptly seized upon opening the door—a hand clamped over her mouth, her back pressed against the wood.

The familiar scent told her it was Pei Wenxuan before she even looked up. Her pulse quickened; she swallowed hard.

She assumed he’d come out of longing, unable to bear the separation. Should she play coy? Scold him for recklessness? Her thoughts tangled—until his urgent whisper cut through:

“Your memorial was taken from the Secretariat. Go to the palace now, before they react.”

A beat. Then, grimly: “The game has begun.”

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