The morning mist of late winter, heavy with ice pellets, draped over the Capital like a vast, grey net. Shen Mingyue stood under the eaves of the Shen Estate, gazing at the meandering cracks in the flagstones—lines that resembled both the scars of time and some cryptic prophecy. Her fingertips unconsciously traced her gilded armor-nail guard.
The chill seeped through, yet it could not match the cold in her heart. The brass bell at the corner of the eaves chimed in the biting wind, startling a few crows; their black silhouettes flapping over the snow-dusted palace walls looked jarring against the ashen sky. Ever since the birthday banquet at the Lu Residence, news of Shen Qingyao’s disgrace had spread through the Capital like a wildfire, yet Shen Mingyue knew well that her uncle, Shen Chongshan, a man who hid a dagger behind his smile, would never let matters rest easily.
As a Vice Minister in the Ministry of Rites, Shen Chongshan had held the reins of the Shen Family for over a decade. He was almost always seen in a dark blue brocade official robe, a flawless mutton-fat jade pendant at his waist, his face perpetually etched with a subtle smile that seemed to reach even the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Yet, in the dead of night, by the candlelight of his study, his movements as he toyed with his jade thumb ring would turn sinister.
Chapter 17