Chapter 32: The Performance of Innocence

Mingyi staggered in shock, her frail figure swaying like a delicate willow caught in a sudden gust before Granny Xun swiftly caught her with practiced hands.

After steadying herself—and wasn't it convenient how quickly she needed steadying—tears finally cascaded down her cheeks in a perfect display of devastation. "She promised not to tell! She promised!"

Her tear-streaked face and fragile frame would evoke pity in anyone who saw her, which was precisely the point.

Situ Ling studied her intently, his sharp eyes noting every tremor, every catch in her breath. "Sister Ming, is there more to this matter you wish to share?"

"Young Master, please be just." Mingyi sniffled as she wiped her tears with delicate fingers that trembled just enough. "This humble one and Zhang Tai were both Dancing Girls in the Music Bureau, so we had some friendship. Even after leaving the inner court, I still thought of her and made a special trip back to visit her when Lord Ji was occupied."

"Only then did I discover she was with child and couldn't perform at the royal banquet. With the Music Bureau short on dancers, there was no avoiding it. Out of past camaraderie, I agreed to take her place—and she swore never to mention it to anyone. After all... after all, I already have a master. If Lord Ji learned I secretly performed behind his back, he'd doubt my loyalty, and I'd have no place left in this world!"

She wept pitifully, each sob perfectly calibrated. "I acted out of kindness—how could she betray me?"

Zhang Tai had confessed to this as well, confirming Mingyi spoke the truth—or at least, a version of truth that served them both.

Situ Ling pondered briefly, his young face creased with concentration. "What of Mulan Qing's dress?"

"That dress wasn't mine. That day, I took Zhang Tai's position, and her spot was at the edge. You need only ask the nobles who attended the banquet—so many eyes saw it. Rong Xin was undoubtedly the one wearing Mulan Qing's dress."

Mingyi dabbed her eyes with the precision of an actress who'd perfected her craft. "Such a beautiful color—if it were mine, why wouldn't I claim it?"

"Because that dress may very well be what killed Prince Ping," Situ Ling said coolly, watching her reaction with the intensity of someone who'd been trained to read deception in every microexpression.

Her heart skipped a beat—genuine surprise she couldn't quite suppress. Mingyi lowered her gaze to hide the calculation flickering in her eyes.

What a sharp young man. Dangerous, this one.

Still, Situ Ling had talent but lacked experience, making him easily swayed by the right performance. For instance, right now, her tears alone were enough to unsettle him—she could see it in the way his jaw tightened, in the slight shift of his weight.

"Young Master's words imply you're accusing this humble one of murder?" She trembled between sobs, vulnerability weaponized to perfection. "A mere Dancing Girl—what grudge could I possibly hold against His Highness Prince Ping to risk my life harming him?"

"I never said that." Situ Ling waved his hands hastily, falling directly into her trap. "I meant the dress might have poisoned Prince Ping, but the wearer may not have intended it. If you clarify the dress's origins, this matter won't involve you."

Mingyi blinked at him in surprise, her eyes wide with wounded innocence. "Young Master means for me to falsely accuse Lord Ji?"

Situ Ling jolted in alarm, realizing too late how his words could be twisted. "No, no! I didn't say that!"

"But if the dress wasn't mine, and you demand I explain its source, doesn't that mean pinning it on Lord Ji?" Mingyi tilted her head in confusion that looked entirely guileless. "If not, then the murderer becomes me—isn't that what you just implied?"

His ears flushed red with embarrassment. Situ Ling shook his head vehemently. "I didn't say that."

"Then... then the Young Master must be trying to torment me." Mingyi burst into tears again—fresh ones, more convincing than the last. "Regardless of whose dress it was, everyone wore Mulan Qing's dresses before. Who could've guessed there was poison? If it was poisonous, it should've been banned long ago—why let someone wear it to the royal banquet?"

Her weeping was heartrending, full of grievance and confusion. Situ Ling's face burned crimson, utterly flustered by the emotional onslaught.

He only discovered that the herbal scent infused in Mulan Qing clashed with the ingredients in Prince Ping's usual health tonic, forming a deadly poison when combined—a chemical reaction no one could have predicted. Thus, he intended to investigate further, never expecting it would implicate Mingyi in such a tangled web.

After their encounter at Prince Gong's residence, he found Mingyi to be an exceptionally rare woman—skilled in Essence Power yet using it only for self-defense, never for show or intimidation. She even credited him with the merit of subduing those attackers, earning him praise from Ji Bozhai that he hadn't truly earned.

That praise might have been casual for Ji Bozhai, but it later became his stepping stone into the Hall of Judgment, the foundation of his current position. Grateful, he never truly intended to incriminate Sister Ming or Lord Ji. However, when Zhang Tai implicated Mingyi in her testimony, he had no choice but to question her personally—duty demanded it.

Yet, to his dismay, his good intentions seemed to have backfired catastrophically, frightening Sister Ming and making her question his motives.

Situ Ling stood helplessly for a while, feeling every bit his actual age, before asking Granny Xun to steady Mingyi with gentle hands.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said, his eyes slightly red with frustrated tears he was trying manfully to contain. "Prince Ping's death was likely just an accident, but the full story must be clarified before reporting it. Right now, Sister Ming's testimony contradicts those of Rongxin and Zhang Tai. I..."

His lips pressed tightly together, holding back tears as he stood there, nervously rubbing his sleeves in a gesture that revealed his youth. He looked both adorable and pitiful, stirring Mingyi's conscience—or what passed for it.

Here she was, a grown woman, bullying a child with manipulation and tears.

With a faint, self-deprecating smile that suggested internal struggle, Mingyi wiped her eyes. "Young Adjudicator, if this matter of testimony escalates, this humble servant fears Lord Ji might cast me out."

"Well..."

"The skirt was never mine, nor does it concern Lord Ji. If the evidence is inconclusive, might the young adjudicator show mercy and let me go?"

Situ Ling was torn, caught between duty and compassion. But he knew Sister Ming was in an even tougher spot than he was. She had only meant to help a sister in need, only to be dragged into this deadly mess through no fault of her own. If anyone was innocent here, it was her.

After a long silence weighted with internal debate, Situ Ling sighed with the weariness of someone much older. "Let's stop here for today. Your residence has suffered misfortune—you should rest and recover."

Mingyi nodded gratefully, then hesitantly asked with renewed concern, "Is Zhang Tai... doing alright in the Hall of Judgment?"

Even now, she still worried about her? About the woman who'd betrayed her?

Situ Ling frowned slightly, moved by her compassion despite everything. "She seems to have suffered some shock. Her emotions are unstable—she's been screaming nonstop in the holding cell and even tried to slam her belly against a table corner."

Mingyi stiffened, her performance momentarily forgotten. "May I see her?"

Witnesses weren't usually allowed to meet to prevent collusion and coordination of stories, but Situ Ling knew she was only concerned for Zhang Tai—or so he believed.

After a moment's hesitation, weighing protocol against mercy, he nodded. "In a couple of days."

"Thank you, young adjudicator." Mingyi curtsied with sincere gratitude that looked entirely genuine.

Situ Ling didn't linger, only ordering his men to carry away a few charred chests—evidence, or what remained of it.

Buxiu moved to stop them but was subtly blocked by Mingyi's raised hand—a gesture so slight it could have been accidental.

"My lady?" he asked urgently, confused by her restraint.

"I burned everything clean," she replied calmly, her voice stripped of all previous emotion. "Those chests they took didn't contain the fabrics Prince Gong gifted—they were just bluffing."

Buxiu froze, understanding dawning like ice water.

---

As dusk approached, the wind scattered the blue smoke over the ruins, carrying the acrid scent of destruction. Mingyi stood in the twilight, head slightly bowed in thought. The tears were gone, as was her fragile demeanor. Now, she resembled an unyielding bamboo grove—flexible enough to bend but never break, her phoenix eyes glimmering with resolve and calculation.

Suddenly, Buxiu understood with perfect clarity why his master had recently stopped dallying with those frivolous women outside, why he returned early, why he brought trinkets.

This woman was no delicate flower.

She was something far more dangerous.

---

As night fell with its cloak of darkness, Granny Xun came specifically to tell Mingyi, "There's no need to wait for the master today. He won't be returning."

Mingyi nodded in acknowledgment, yet she still dressed up with meticulous care and went to the crossroads as usual—a ritual she refused to abandon.

Granny Xun frowned deeply, maternal concern warring with confusion. "Why must you do this, miss?"

Though the day had been slightly warm, the evening turned cool with the cruelty of early spring. Her frail constitution certainly couldn't withstand standing all night in the cold wind, waiting for someone who had explicitly said he wouldn't come.

"It's the master's wish," Mingyi replied without turning back, her voice steady and certain. "Please trouble yourself to gather more people to watch the spectacle."

Granny Xun's frown deepened, but she understood—or thought she did.

This performance wasn't for Ji Bozhai alone.

It was for everyone who was watching.