Chapter Twenty-Five: All Bets on This Moment

Du Residence

Mingrou struck the table, her voice brimming with anger. “I want to eat the little lotus leaf rice cakes! You must make them for me today.”

Standing before her was the Du family’s cook.

Since coming to live in the Du residence, Mingrou had found little to her liking, except for a relatively peaceful relationship with Du Zhong. Everything else had fallen short of her expectations. In this vast household, there were scarcely more than four or five maids, and the masters were expected to handle everything themselves. Mingrou was astounded beyond words. Thankfully, she had brought Caichun and Xiu’er with her—otherwise, would she be expected to wash clothes and make beds herself?

Mingrou sighed incessantly, suppressing her dissatisfaction. Today, it was the cook who drew out all her pent-up frustration.

The Du family’s cook replied timidly, “Young Madam, I don’t know how to make those rice cakes—I can only make red bean cakes.”

“Are you joking with me? In the grand residence of the Deputy Minister of War, there is only one cook, and not only that, she can only make red bean cakes!” Mingrou pressed her hand to her forehead in exasperation. “Enough, enough. Go collect your wages for this month—you may leave the Du family.”

The cook fell to her knees in supplication. “Please, Young Madam, don’t do this. I’ve worked here for over twenty years—if you drive me out now, what am I to do?”

“Over twenty years? With cooking skills like yours, how did you manage to remain here?” Mingrou thought of the Prince Jiang’s residence, where the kitchen staff numbered at least a dozen, and even so, the food was sometimes less than perfect. Yet here, there was but a single cook—did the Du family not eat at all?

Du Zhong entered the room, surveying the scene with a languid curiosity. “What’s going on?”

Mingrou turned away with a huff.

“You, speak,” he said, gesturing to the cook.

“Master, the Young Madam wants to send me away.”

“And why is that?”

The cook bowed her head, her voice aggrieved. “Young Madam says I can’t make the little lotus leaf rice cakes.”

Du Zhong nodded. “The Young Madam is only teasing you. Go now. Just make sure lunch is well done.”

With a grateful nod, the cook withdrew.

“I was not teasing! I really do want her gone!” Mingrou protested.

Du Zhong fixed his gaze on her, his tone languid. “Mother has always managed the household with thrift. This is not the Prince Jiang’s residence. You’ll get used to it in time.”

“Why should I have to adapt to your impoverished ways? Did I marry into your family just to suffer?” Mingrou rose abruptly. “Caichun, we’re going home!”

Caichun hesitated, but Du Zhong, reclining in his chair, spoke coldly: “This is your home. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Caichun, leave us,” he commanded.

Caichun glanced at Mingrou, but dared not disobey Du Zhong. She left the room.

“Don’t go!” Mingrou was about to cross the threshold when Du Zhong rose and pulled her into his arms. Suddenly, their gazes met, her subtle fragrance drifting between them. Du Zhong tilted her chin, looking down at her.

Mingrou froze for a moment, then struggled fiercely. “Du Zhong, what are you doing? Are you playing the scoundrel? Let me go!” She pushed against him, but he remained as steady as a mountain.

He tightened his hold at her waist, his eyes deep. “Don’t move. The more you struggle, the less likely I am to let go.”

At last, Mingrou fell silent. Du Zhong leaned close, his breath at her ear. “Now that you’re married, you are one of the Du family. Whether poor or humble, you must stay.”

He released her, and Mingrou leapt away as if startled. Du Zhong poured himself a cup of tea, sipping it at leisure.

Mingrou stamped her foot, then suddenly turned her back, her shoulders trembling.

Du Zhong arched an eyebrow, surprised. He walked around to face her, seeing her eyes rimmed with red as she glared at him.

“Why…are you crying?” he asked in astonishment. He hadn’t said anything so terrible.

Mingrou shoved him hard. “You’re the one who’s crying! I’m not. Go away!”

“I’m not leaving. Why are you crying?”

She turned away. After a long silence, her voice came out hoarse. “Back at the Jiang residence, I ate whatever I wished, drank whatever I pleased—who would dare refuse me? But here, I am treated no better than a maid.”

She turned to look at him. “In short, I cannot endure life in your household.”

Du Zhong sighed. “Jiang Mingrou, you’re seventeen, not ten. Stop acting like a child.”

“Hmph!”

“You’re used to being spoiled at the Jiang residence, but no one here will indulge you.”

In the gently swirling smoke of the kitchen, Du Zhong deftly shaped the rouge-tinted rice cakes. His hands, more accustomed to wielding a sword, proved just as skilled at preparing food. He took a fresh lotus leaf from the earthen jar and spread it flat.

Seated on a small stool, Mingrou watched with wide eyes. She nodded. “Du Zhong, you’re as good in the kitchen as you are in the prison.”

“What do you mean, in the prison?” Du Zhong glanced at her in confusion.

“Word in the alleys is that you visit the prison every day to interrogate criminals.”

“I only preside over cases—I rarely go to the prison itself.” Du Zhong placed the rice cakes on the lotus leaf and pushed the tray into the steamer.

Soon, the little lotus leaf rice cakes emerged, fragrant with sweet rice and fresh lotus. The enticing aroma teased the senses.

Du Zhong placed a piece on a small dish and handed it to Mingrou. “The taste may not match what you’re used to, but do try it.”

“It smells wonderful.” Mingrou took a small piece and tasted it, chewing softly, then exclaimed with delight, “Delicious!” She quickly popped two more into her mouth.

Du Zhong nodded. “As long as it’s not inedible.”

“How did you learn to make this? And so well, too—it’s better than any I’ve had before,” Mingrou said, her mouth full.

Du Zhong busied himself clearing the counter, not looking up. “As a child, I was sent to the mountains to study martial arts with a master. Since I arrived late and was of the youngest rank, all the daily meals fell to me. I learned much out of necessity.”

“So that’s how it is. Very impressive, indeed.”

Mingrou stared dazedly at his profile. When he lowered his head, a lock of hair fell, veiling those ever-calm eyes; the corners of his lips seemed to curl ever so slightly.

Nibbling the rice cake, Mingrou felt a sweetness in her mouth and, unexpectedly, in her heart as well.

Could sweetness really flow through you?

That night, Du Zhong sat in his study, lost in thought over the case files. His heart was heavy. He had already submitted the Jiangzhou case to the Ministry of Justice, but the documents had just been returned, rejected. The messenger discreetly hinted that he should withdraw. Could it be, as Jiang Zhenyuan had said, that the Minister of Justice was deliberately shielding someone? If so, what should be done?

A knock sounded at the door.

Du Zhong rubbed his brow. Mingrou entered, carrying a bowl of soup. She set it down before him, but her hand was heavy, and some of the porridge spilled.

Her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean to—I’ve never done this before.”

“It’s nothing,” Du Zhong replied coolly, reaching for a cloth to wipe the table.

“Mother asked me to bring this. She said you like mung bean soup.”

Du Zhong looked up and smiled. “There was a time when every case was especially taxing. I was irritable and short-tempered—mung bean soup helps cool the fire, so I drank it often.”

Mingrou giggled. “I thought Lord Du was capable of anything.”

She leaned closer, peering at the files. “What’s this—The Jiangzhou Tragedy?”

After finishing the soup, Du Zhong pulled over a stool for her to sit.

“Do you remember when you came to see me before, and I told you I was headed to Jiangzhou? Well, I went and uncovered the truth behind a case…” He told her everything.

Mingrou sprang up in shock. “You mean to say the Second Prince is the mastermind? He harbors…intentions of treason?”

Her father and the Crown Prince were close in private; the Crown Prince often visited their home, and she had met him a few times. But the Second Prince—she scarcely knew at all.

“Shh.” Du Zhong signaled her to be quiet. “There’s no direct evidence implicating the Second Prince. I sent someone to find the steward of the Song family, but he has not returned by today. But Wang Tuo neglected his duties—we can summon him for questioning and perhaps uncover the one behind it all. Now that the case has been rejected, I’m searching for another way.”

Mingrou rested her chin on her hand, pondering. She spoke slowly, “Why not report directly to the Emperor? This is a matter of the state, and of the royal family.”

A glint appeared in Du Zhong’s eyes. “You mean, go straight to the Emperor?”

“Yes. Even if the Emperor doesn’t believe you, it will serve as a warning.” Mingrou’s tone was resolute.

By candlelight, Du Zhong’s expression shifted to surprise. To report directly to the Emperor—if the imperial wrath was roused, he would be the first to bear the brunt. But if he never took the chance, how would he know the outcome?

Suddenly, Du Zhong felt his burden lighten.