In the Qingyun realm, status was measured by the strength of elemental power—and only men could wield it. Women were expected to be delicate, graceful, and pleasing to the eye.
Ming Yi fit those expectations perfectly. Her beauty and soft-spoken nature suited Ji Bozai’s taste so well that he spent nearly half a month at her side. He often lingered in her courtyard, drinking and chatting idly, sometimes taking her out to admire flowers or ride under the spring sun.
She was fragile, easily bruised, and prone to little mishaps—scratched wrists, stubbed fingers, tearful eyes. Yet instead of annoyance, Ji Bozai found her helplessness endearing. Like a spoiled cat that always needed attention, she had unknowingly woven herself into his daily life.
Each day, she brought him laughter and warmth.
“This satin from Weinv Building looks better,” she’d say. “I made new clothes for you.”
“Mama Xun bought scallion pancakes today. I saved one for you—quick, eat it while it’s hot.”
“Why are you injured again? Let me put medicine on it.”
Her chatter never ceased, light and sincere. And before he realized it, two weeks had passed without him visiting the inner courtyard—or the woman once tasked with serving him wine. Even when summoned to Prince Gong’s banquet, Ji Bozai took only Ming Yi along.
The grand hall shimmered with gold and jade, wine flowing freely. Shu Zhonglin raised his cup, sighing, “Who would have thought Mustar City still harbors unsolved murders? Those nobles in the inner courtyard died for no reason.”
Liang Xiuyuan nodded gravely. “Even Judge Zhao can’t solve it. So many dancing girls killed, yet no trace of the murderer—it’s baffling.”
They spoke of poisons found only in the palace, and how the culprit must have moved among the dancers unseen. Those who’d been taken by nobles were beyond reach, turning the case cold.
Meanwhile, Ming Yi sat beside Ji Bozai, quietly wondering how to eat the pork elbow elegantly without splattering her dress. When she sensed several pairs of eyes on her, she blinked in confusion.
Ji Bozai noticed. “See what she’s up to,” he said lazily, his arm draped around her shoulders. “Yesterday I injured a bird, and she scolded me for half an hour.”
Laughter rippled through the table. “Forgive us,” Liang Xiuyuan said, “but it seems Miss Ming has been keeping you company quite faithfully.”
Indeed, half a month had gone by—and no beauty had drawn Ji Bozai’s attention more than her.
Ji Bozai shrugged. “Everyone settles down eventually.”
“Miss Ming,” Yan Xiao teased, flicking open his fan, “don’t believe him. He said the same thing last time—then switched partners the very next day.”
Ming Yi’s eyes widened. “Sir Ji wants to replace me too?”
“Don’t listen to his nonsense,” Ji Bozai frowned, tightening his hold. “He’s just jealous and wants to steal you for himself.”
She shook her head earnestly, her eyes glistening. “I’ll stay with you forever, Sir. Please… don’t replace me.”
Her voice was soft, trembling with sincerity. Around them, silence fell; even the flicker of candlelight seemed to pause. Ji Bozai’s gaze softened, and he picked up a piece of pork with his silver chopsticks, feeding her gently.
“No one could replace you,” he said with a faint smile. “Not even for a fortune.”
She smiled, radiant and shy, taking the bite as warmth spread across the hall. Yan Xiao sighed behind his fan. “She’s a real troublemaker,” he muttered, though even he couldn’t help but smile.
The other nobles, sensing the shift, returned to their conversations. Yet the Princess Consort, seated at the head table, had been watching intently. Her cup paused midair.
“Where’s Tianyin?” she whispered to her maid.
“She entered another courtyard, Your Highness,” came the quiet reply.
“Useless,” the Princess Consort muttered. Her gaze darkened as it lingered on Ming Yi. “Keep an eye on the prince.”
The maid bowed low. But inwardly, she sighed. Who could possibly keep the prince in check?
At that moment, the Prince Consort and Judge Zhao approached Ji Bozai’s table.
“I heard you favor these steamed sugar pastries,” Qi Hong said warmly, gesturing to the plates. “So I ordered two more for you.”
“Your Highness is too kind,” Ji Bozai replied smoothly.
“No need for formality,” the prince said with a genial smile. “I heard Judge Zhao has allowed you to report to the inner courtyard less often. Quite the honor.”
Before Ji Bozai could answer, Judge Zhao cut in, voice sharp as a blade. “Honor? I would say indulgence.”
The atmosphere chilled. Laughter died midair as the nobles exchanged wary glances.
The Prince Consort intervened gently. “Judge Zhao is known for his directness. Don’t take it to heart, Bozai.”
“Of course,” Ji Bozai replied with calm detachment. “I’ve long admired Judge Zhao’s thirty years of flawless service. A man of such record must surely speak his mind.”
Yan Xiao choked on his drink, barely stifling a laugh. He really said it.
Everyone knew—the Judge’s spotless reputation had been tainted by the recent string of murders. Ji Bozai’s remark landed like a quiet blow.
Zhao Judge’s face stiffened. His gaze shifted from Ji Bozai to the woman beside him. “All thanks to Sir Ji’s… blessing,” he said slowly, his tone heavy.
The tension sharpened. Finally, he asked, “There have been strange reports about this young lady. I have a few questions—may I ask them here?”
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