Clouds come and go, yet the green mountains endure.

The case of the escaped slaves from the Marquis of New City had been settled, and the people of Guangling were in an uproar.

“Hey, have you all heard? The Marquis of New City’s estate is about to be confiscated.” At a corner of Vermilion Bird Street, a group of middle-aged men sat, each cradling a jug of wine, deep in lively discussion.

“Bah! Heard what? Early this morning, the Crane Guards went to the Marquis’s residence and took away the Marquis and his son on the spot. It doesn’t look good for them.” Another man replied disdainfully; last year, while he was conducting business on the street, a servant from the Marquis’s household recklessly rode through and overturned his stall. When he tried to protest, he was beaten with a whip by the Marquis’s attendants. He still held a grudge.

“Is that so? These past few years, the Marquis of New City has enjoyed imperial favor, and even his servants act superior, strutting about Guangling as if they owned the place.” The common folk, whether they bore grievances or not, felt a certain delight at the fall of the powerful.

“A once-glorious marquisate, toppled in a day—how lamentable.” He poured himself another cup, patting the table’s edge.

“What’s there to lament? Was the Marquis ever worthy? Didn’t he earn his title by accusing General Feihong of reckless ambition and treason? But we all know, the charge of treason against General Feihong was never proven. The court found no real evidence—perhaps the Marquis fabricated it?” As Feihong’s name was brought up, the men drew closer, voices hushed; businessmen knew to be cautious.

“Exactly. A traitor seeking glory isn’t fit to be a marquis. General Feihong was the war god of the northern border, undefeated in countless battles—he was the one truly worthy of titles and honors.” They raised their cups in sighs, moved by their own words.

Though General Feihong’s death had been shrouded in mystery, she had defended Dayi’s frontier for over twenty years. Her deeds were not recorded in the annals, but justice and memory remained in the hearts of the people.

“Back then, the Pei family was executed to the last member, with a list of crimes as long as your arm—all baseless. Now that His Majesty is dealing with the Marquis of New City, does this mean the Pei family’s old case might be reopened?” The speaker’s voice was charged, rising a bit too loudly.

“Brother Zhang, be careful! Matters of the court are not for us peddlers to discuss openly.”

“Ah, too quick with my tongue—I deserve a slap!” The man known as Brother Zhang promptly slapped himself, full of regret.

“But truly, the Pei family’s fate was tragic—a clan so vast, a lineage so illustrious…”

“Fame, fortune, glory—all are at the whim of the sovereign, subject to change overnight. Whether commoners like us or great houses like the Pei, who can withstand the might of imperial power?”

White clouds drift over green mountains; in twenty years, how many tales of glory and sorrow, flowers falling and blooming.

That day, the sky was clear and the breeze gentle. In the Palace of Peace, all was still.

“Crown Prince, what is the meaning of this?” The emperor did not look at the evidence laid upon the imperial desk, but glared at his son, eyes ablaze.

Fu Lanchen, dressed in brown and gold, blended into the grand hall’s furnishings. He knelt upright before the imperial desk, hands folded at brow level, his body, mind, voice, and gaze all focused: “I beg Father to clear the name of the Marquis of Martial Tranquility, to vindicate General Feihong, to bring justice for the fifty thousand soldiers of the northern frontier.”

The eunuchs and attendants who usually served the emperor had been sent away, posted strictly at the doors. Within the hall, only the emperor and his crown prince remained—one seated, one kneeling, one in light, the other in shadow, one tense, one relaxed, one high, one low—a scene of stark opposition.

When the crown prince finished speaking, it was as if time stood still; for a long while, there was no answer.

Fu Lanchen, unwilling to relent, bowed again: “I beg Father to clear the name of General Feihong, to vindicate the fifty thousand fallen soldiers of Chetlan City.”

Drip, drip, drip—drip—drip—the hourglass sounded, as if urging the emperor to respond.

At last, the emperor rose slowly, his left hand digging into his flesh, his right pressed to the desk. His gaze swept coldly over the kneeling Fu Lanchen, his voice suppressed in a low growl: “It is true that the Marquis of New City sent men to burn the Pei family’s library, but it is also true that the Pei family defied imperial orders. The king is the ruler; if ministers are disobedient, I am justified in punishing them—where is the injustice?”

Back then, General Feihong died in battle at Chetlan City. The Pei family wished to travel north to retrieve her remains, but were inexplicably detained by the city garrison. The emperor had not yet ordered their punishment, and the Pei family still held their marquisate, yet suffered such humiliation!

When the officials from the Judicial Office first tried to force their way into the Marquis of Martial Tranquility’s residence, they brought no imperial decree. For a marquis’s estate, unauthorized entry was unthinkable—this was the second humiliation!

First, General Feihong’s death at Chetlan City was mysterious; then, rumors spread throughout Guangling of her alleged treason—how could the Pei family accept this? Generations of Pei were warriors; even the household guards were fierce and proud, which led to their eventual defiance of imperial orders.

The Pei family had been driven to such extremity, yet the emperor chose to turn a blind eye.

Fu Lanchen knelt, his body bent, feeling a chill in every bone, colder than the stone floor.

“Father, please look at the evidence I present. These are six letters exchanged between General Feihong and Prince Mu of Daxiang during her last year—all before you. Years ago, you told me that General Feihong’s correspondence with Prince Mu was suspicious, possibly treasonous. But see for yourself—these letters discuss only ordinary matters, not a single word on state affairs or military secrets.”

The emperor paused, finally reaching out to touch the letters.

With a single glance, he recognized the handwriting of both Prince Mu and General Feihong, Pei Xueyao. Three letters from Prince Mu, three replies from Pei Xueyao—nothing more than routine communication…

The emperor’s cold eyes narrowed, his voice barely above a whisper: “But what about the numerous letters between Pei Xueyao and Baili Xi found in the command tent at Chetlan City and the Marquis’s residence? What do you say to that?”

Fu Lanchen pressed urgently: “Father, Prince Mu was a hostage here for ten years—he had ties with you, with General Feihong. Before our nations went to war, it was normal for friends to correspond. Didn’t you yourself exchange letters with Prince Mu?”

His words were earnest, but the emperor remained unmoved: “Pei Xueyao’s alleged treason wasn’t only shown in her correspondence with Baili Xi, was it? I recall telling you that the only reason I didn’t formally charge Pei Xueyao with treason was because she had already died at Chetlan City, and in recognition of her years defending the frontier, I kept the matter secret.”

“I didn’t even strip the Pei family of their marquisate, and allowed her and Pei Zhaojin to be buried with honors. What more do you want from me?” He felt he had been more than merciful to the Pei family, to Pei Xueyao, to Pei Zhaojin.

“Fu Lanchen, let me tell you—if you want to talk evidence, I can present proof.”

Fu Lanchen swallowed, his insides burning, lips dry, yet he struggled on: “Father, you said that Zhang Wei found a secret decree from Baili He, Emperor of Daxiang, addressed to General Feihong in her command tent at Chetlan City.”

The emperor snapped: “Besides that secret order, there was a letter from Daxiang’s main commander, Lin Songhe: ‘Change defense from north to south, shift east to west, with your help, I am eternally grateful.’”

“You have studied military strategy for years; your uncle taught you much. You saw the situation yourself. If Pei Xueyao wasn’t colluding with Daxiang, why did she change the defense lines before battle? Such decisions on the eve of war are a grave mistake!”

Indeed, Pei Xueyao’s choice to change defenses was risky, and at the time led to a fierce quarrel with Zhang Wei, who then sent an urgent report to Guangling, accusing her of reckless ambition and endangering the troops.

“Father, neither Baili Xi’s secret order nor Lin Songhe’s letter specifically mention General Feihong’s name. How can you be certain the treason charge applies to her? Perhaps General Feihong discovered someone in the army was colluding with Daxiang, and changed the defenses to respond to the threat.” Fu Lanchen’s argument was desperate.

The emperor shot him a glance, rebuking: “The secret order and letter were found in Pei Xueyao’s command tent. If not hers, whose? Zhang Wei? Even if he had the nerve, he lacked the cunning. Treason? He wouldn’t dare, nor could he!”

The emperor was resolute in defending Zhang Wei. Fu Lanchen felt his hopes freeze; gradually, he ceased his argument.

He rose, walked to the imperial desk, and handed the emperor a copy of a decree from Daxiang’s emperor, nearly pleading: “Father, look: this is from the fourth month of Dayi’s Chengxiao eighth year, which matches Daxiang’s Yunhe sixth year. At that time, Emperor Baili He of Daxiang sent a decree to Lin Songhe, stating, ‘The long wind has arrived, Chetlan’s nest; the bird’s wings are broken, the fine bow must snap.’”

The “bird” referred to General Feihong, Pei Xueyao.

“If General Feihong truly colluded with Daxiang, why did Baili He order Lin Songhe to destroy her before the northern war had ended? Even if he meant to betray her, wouldn’t he wait until victory was assured?”

The emperor’s eyes narrowed, lost in thought, silent.

Fu Lanchen continued: “This copy of the Daxiang emperor’s decree proves that the real traitor was someone else—General Feihong, Pei Xueyao, would never betray her country.” His words were measured, powerful, striking at the emperor’s heart.

Fu Lanchen believed that these sixteen characters would awaken the emperor, dispel years of doubt.

But…they did not.

“This copy…where did you obtain it? Did Prince Mu send it through Yan Qiqin this time?” The emperor’s suspicion was deep as the sea.

“Yes. Prince Mu spent much time searching the Daxiang palace for it.” Fu Lanchen’s eyes flickered, but he did not hide the source.

The emperor looked at Fu Lanchen strangely, sneering: “Prince Mu of Daxiang and General Feihong of Dayi—such deep affection!”

“But the decree is genuine!” No matter how it was obtained, the decree was real; Fu Lanchen hoped the emperor would see the truth.

“Hah, once it was my General Feihong, now it is my Crown Prince. Baili Xi truly never rests. So it turns out your persistence in overturning the Pei case has been supported from behind all along. I underestimated you, Crown Prince…”