Downstairs, beneath Bai Ran's room, Hanyue and the cold man sat together in silence. From time to time, Hanyue glanced towards the inn's entrance. Eventually, unable to restrain himself wanting to start a conversation he finally spoke.
"Your Highness."
The cold man looked at him but did not respond.
"Do you think she truly doesn't remember anything?" Hanyue asked.
After such a long silence that Hanyue almost thought he wouldn't answer, the cold man finally said in a distant voice, "Perhaps."
Hanyue thought there would be more, but no other words came.
That made his heart ache.
Back in the day… His Highness was still the Crown Prince — Ji Zhouyan, eldest son of the previous emperor — young, peerless in martial ability, unmatched in strategy, and highly respected among the princes and officials. Everyone said he was born with a great destiny. Hanyue's own elder brother, Hanzhou, used to talk about the adventures they had with him, laughing as though the entire world was beneath their horses' hooves.
But after that accident, His Highness completely changed. He withdrew from the world — no longer chasing honour nor power. The only thing that could draw him out of his courtyard… was news about Shen Yueran.
Hanyue thought: If my brother were still alive… maybe His Highness wouldn't be so broken now. But his brother would never return.
He had stayed by His Highness's side because his brother always used to say: "Among all the people under heaven, I will only ever follow him."
But now… His Highness did not care whether anyone followed him or not. He had let go of everything — as though discarded by the world — and no longer lived like a man who wished to live.
Hanyue wanted to speak again, hoping His Highness would say a few more words, when Dongpo suddenly rushed in — breathless, eyes bright, holding something in his hand.
He bowed to them with excitement and handed it to Hanyue.
"Master — she is most likely a daughter of the Lin family!"
Hanyue unfolded the square of silk, revealing a portrait of a stunning young woman whose appearance resembled Bai Ran's almost perfectly.
Dongpo continued eagerly, wanting to report everything at once.
"Following your order yesterday, we investigated the Lin daughters. Some of our men have already gone into the household disguised as workers. The head of the family is Lin Bowen — a famous silk merchant in town. His main wife passed away. She was the only daughter of the Chen family, and she was also wealthy. Their legitimate daughter, Lin Ruolan, is said to be extraordinarily beautiful. In addition, Lin Bowen has five concubines and three other children — only one son, the others are daughters—"
Before he could continue pouring everything out, Hanyue, still holding the portrait, said firmly:
"Keep it short."
Dongpo nodded eagerly, continuing like a storyteller.
"Yes, Master — this subordinate shall explain briefly. Once our men got into the Lin residence, they searched for anything unusual. They looked through each courtyard to see if anyone was missing…"
Hanyue leaned forward. "And?"
Dongpo's eyes lit up. "Yes, Master. All the courtyards were normal except one. Miss Ruolan's courtyard was strangely quiet, as though no one had been living there for some time. One of our men overheard two servant girls speaking—"
Hanyue interrupted, "What did they hear?"
Dongpo replied, "They heard one girl sobbing, saying, 'My poor young miss no one even knows where she's gone.'
The other one scolded her, whispering, 'Lower your voice! If Master hears of this, none of us will be spared.' …And that, Master, is why I believed something was wrong."
He clasped his hands, grinning as he continued,
"You must be wondering how I got this portrait."
Hanyue said, "How?"
Dongpo puffed out his chest proudly.
"We invited a young servant from Miss Ruolan's courtyard to drink. Once drunk, he could no longer distinguish whether he was dreaming or speaking. We asked him about Miss Ruolan's appearance he described her in detail, saying she was even more beautiful than her late mother, and furthermore, her father—"
Clink.
Ji Zhouyan placed his teacup down with a soft metallic ding — but it was enough.
Dongpo instantly understood that His Highness did not wish to hear any unnecessary gossip. He immediately bowed.
"That is all, Master."
Hanyue nodded.
"Any news about the monk?"
Dongpo straightened, speaking a little more seriously now.
"Yes, Master. Dongyan took men into the town and the surrounding areas to make sure we get a true portrait of that monk. The young man we questioned didn't speak clearly, so Dongyan went personally to confirm things. They may return at any time."
Hanyue nodded. "Ask Miss Bairan to come here."
Dongpo clasped his hands. "Yes," he replied, then quickly headed upstairs.
Just as he did, Dongyan entered through the inn's entrance. He was younger than Dongpo and, unlike him, rarely smiled — always carrying a straight, expressionless face. He bowed respectfully.
"Master, I've returned."
He drew a rolled piece of silk and a bamboo slips from his sleeve.
"These are the monks' portraits. We made sure it's the right portrait of him. He helps so many villagers on the road; they recognised him immediately and told us more details about his portrait and this is prescription the old man mentioned."
Hanyue handed the portrait to Zhoyan. The latter unfolded it slowly.
What appeared before them was a portrait of a bald monk with broad shoulders and a calm, composed face. His eyes were shaped like peach blossoms — gentle and warm. A straight nose and thin lips curved into the faintest smile, giving him a serene, almost benevolent air. Though his grey monk robes were plain, his bearing was not that of an ordinary ascetic — there was a quiet presence in him that was hard to overlook.
Zhouyan stared closely into the painted eyes.
Hanyue's gaze remained fixed on the portrait as well.
"Master," he said quietly, "do you recognise him?"
The cold man's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the silk.
"…Yes."
Hanyue stared at Zhouyan in silence for a moment.
Finally, Zhouyan spoke, his voice calm and cold.
"He and Shen Yueran were once the closest of friends in their youth, more like sworn brothers. His name is Gu Yuxian, the second son of the Gu family. No one knows why, but many years ago, he suddenly became a monk."
Hanyue looked genuinely startled.
"The second son of the Gu family… I was too young to remember when he left to become a monk, but my elder brother once told me he was a peerless youth in the capital — there was no skill or art he did not excel in. Yet he chose to shave his head and enter the temple, no matter how his family begged him to stay."
As he mentioned his brother, Zhouyan's hand trembled slightly.
He answered faintly, "Yes… he was."
Hanyue then unrolled the bamboo slip and held it out.
"Master — do you still remember his handwriting?"
Zhouyan had a photographic memory once he saw something, he never forgot it. In his youth, he had read many of Gu Yuxian's articles and poems, and still remembered that man's elegant brushwork clearly. Even though the characters on the bamboo slip were written in poor-quality ink, the style of the strokes was unmistakable. After taking one look, he gave a small nod.