Although a fire happened in one of the capital's districts, the news didn't cause many waves.

The residents of the district weren't of the upper crust nor were they the type to cause a scene.

It wasn't a surprise when the Hong family held a quiet funeral that morning. They didn't commit to the mourning rituals of the Great Han. Because Hong Chun didn't have an intact body, it wasn't too good to display her ashes for the visitors to burn incense to.

Instead, they decided to directly bury her. Only their closest friends and the servants of the Hong household grieved with them.

Mother Hong nearly fainted multiple times but she didn't wail like a banshee.

In memory of her always indifferent daughter, she didn't want to be noisy. She remembered how Hong Chun never liked loud people. The child avoided noise like a plague.

An empty smile graced her lips as the urn was lowered to the ground.

Yi Bing held her husband's hand tight and he did the same. The two of them bickered every now and then but they were each other's strongest pillar. Squeezing her husband's hand, she let go to approach her son.

Hong Ting stood far away from them and his eyes never left the mound where his 'sister' now lay.

She blocked her son's view but his eyes remained staring at the empty air.

"Hong Ting," Mother Hong sternly called as she cupped his face. He must have sobered up a little because his gaze gained some focus.

"In this world, who do you admire the most?" Yi Bing asked her son.

At this question, Hong Ting's eyes couldn't help but water again.

"...My jiejie." His parched lips broke and it stung him.

Mother Hong embraced her forlorn son. Only in front of his elder sister, he was free to show his childishness. To him, she was the most precious existence.

There were even times when she felt Hong Ting was closer to his sister than his mom. But that precious existence was gone now.

Her motherly voice was heard near his ears. "Then from this day onward, you have to show the person you admire the most how capable you are."

Hong Ting's shoulders grew stiff and slowly, he rose to his height and left his mother's arms.

After the funeral, Mao Zhu accompanied the Hong family to their home. But he knew they needed to grieve on their own so, with a heavy heart, he decided to leave.

It was about time he visited the palace.

Hong Ting was listless as he went straight to what was left of the southern courtyard. The remaining wooden poles and arches were covered in soot. His sister's clothes, books, and calligraphies were all lost in the fire.

Footsteps fell behind him and he could guess who it was.

Hong Shu Cao stood with his son in silence. After a long stretch of not talking, the father spoke first. "There will be major changes in court soon."

He didn't say the reason but Hong Ting knew it wasn't because a daughter of a fifth-ranked official died in the fire.

"Father... jiejie probably escaped right?" He asked in a soft voice. Both of them more or less knew that it wasn't Hong Chun who was inside that marble urn.

"I also want to believe that."

Hong Shu Cao was aware of the things happening inside his estate even though he wasn't always present.

Back then, days after he gained his daughter, he employed a new housekeeper as recommended by his superior. The former Grand Tutor who was now the Emeritus Principal of the Han Academy gave Old Shang to him.

This wasn't a mystery since it was also Fan Taifu who made him adopt Hong Chun1.

The Grand Tutor, who was disguised, visited his house one day with a little girl. He personally asked Hong Shu Cao to take care of her. Hong Shu Cao didn't ask questions that he couldn't dare to know the answers to. He was loyal to the Taifu and the Scholars of Great Han so he agreed to this request.

In the back of his mind, he knew Hong Chun was special. But since she became Hong Chun, she was his, Hong Shu Cao's only daughter. There was no doubt about that.

He only asked if there was a chance her real family would come to get her. The Grand Tutor said that they might but until then, Hong Shu Cao couldn't advance to a significant position in court.

Father Hong understood that Fan Taifu didn't want him to attract attention as long as the child was with him. Maybe it was to protect her. Maybe it was to hide her.

But until now, he was a dutiful member of the Scholars Guild, and his son, Hong Ting, was being groomed for an important position in the guild.

"The Emperor really played his cards well." Hong Ting's words were tinged with resentment.

His father agreed. "Even the Guild was left unaware that Crimson Trail has reached the capital. We didn't have an idea that his Majesty already knew about your sister."

"Father, do you think-"

Hong Shu Cao cut him off. "We can only hope for the best, son. If it's Old Shang and that young man you said, what's his name again?"

"Si Hai da ren."

"Yes, Old Shang and Si Hai da ren. None of them are shallow people."

Hong Ting bowed his head. The possibility that Old Shang survived was low and he already guessed that the burned ashes were him.

If Mao Zhu heard this conversation, he would probably die due to his conscience gobbling him up. He might have a strong channel of information through the Mao merchants but their intelligence could only reach so far.

One of the organizations they couldn't bother was the respectable Scholars' Guild.

In the first place, the members were diligent literati and all they ever talked about were poetry, classics, art, political and societal issues, and so on.

There was no need for keeping an eye on this guild and the Emperor didn't order him to do so either.

It wasn't a secret that a large portion of officials were members of the guild. It was a means to have connections with the higher-ranked ministers. There were also students who wanted to receive backing once they passed the civil service exams.

But what would Mao Zhu do if he learned that the white lie he said was already seen through? He believed Crimson Trail killed Hong Chun but he told the Hong family she died in the fire.

On the contrary, Hong father and son didn't believe that Hong Chun died. But no one would suspect it because the grief they displayed was no joke.

Who would know that it wasn't the person herself they were mourning for? It was the identity, 'Hong Chun', which died. If they ever met in the future, they would be nothing but strangers.

Hong Ting's nose felt sour again. Because he was so young back then, he really believed that she was his elder sister. And no matter how many times the other kids said his sister looked sluggish and witless, he believed she was the best in the world.

Hong Chun was the one who taught him how to read and write. It was true he would often get a 'why are you so stupid' stare but she still directed him.

He learned from his sister how to read people's thoughts through their subtle actions. And through the years, he found out that if he acted dumb, she would speak more than usual. Because she would educate him on what to do.

If he looked gullible, he would hear the things inside her intelligent mind. How she would reason out every theoretical situation he would ask her out of his 'curiosity.'

His jiejie had the brightest mind in their generation. He was sure about that but nobody would believe him if he ever said that aloud. Even so, he was satisfied to be one of the few people who knew.

Now, his sister probably wasn't his sister anymore. How could he live in a world without her?

Woe gripped his heart in a sickening way but he couldn't do anything about it. He was also worried about whether she was alright. How he wished she wasn't hurt and that her real family found her.

He remembered one of the paintings inside his study. He painted it one afternoon near the end of spring but he wanted to hide it from her.

She still saw it though and she laughed while asking why he didn't want her to see it. In the end, she even volunteered to write a few lines.

Hong Ting remembered watching from the side as she wrote. Her calligraphy was neat and androgynous. One wouldn't be able to tell the artist's gender at a glance. He tried imitating it one too many times in the past but he didn't succeed.

The image depicted a lady catching a falling yellow leaf with a painted fan in all seriousness. Behind her, the magnolia tree was starting to change colors in preparation for the coming winter after autumn.

On the upper left corner, it wrote:

Spring never dies,

It merely comes and goes.