He was talking so seriously yet nonsensically that Shen Que couldn’t help but want to laugh, but he dared not, so he forced himself to suppress it, squeezing out a helpless expression instead.

Just then, there was a commotion outside, and soon the little maid Wu Hua came running in to announce, “Your Highness, Master Shiyi is here, saying he has urgent matters to report.”

Xie Shiguan said, “Let him in.”

“Yes.”

The little maid bowed and exited. Shen Que instinctively wanted to stand up, but the Prince quickly pressed down on his shoulder, “Focus on your calligraphy, why are you getting up?”

Earlier, it was just the two of them in the room, and the Prince’s affection made Shen Que feel embarrassed. Now, with someone else coming in, how could he remain seated?

But Xie Shiguan held him down, not allowing him to rise, so Shen Que had no choice but to continue sitting there, feeling like he was on pins and needles.

As Shiyi entered the hall, he caught a glimpse of Shen Que sitting in the master’s seat, and couldn’t help but be a bit surprised. However, his surprise didn’t last long on his face, and he didn’t dare to look too much. He simply presented the items on the tray in his hands for the Prince to see.

“This was found by the people below at the front gate this morning,” Shiyi said straightforwardly. “It seems someone took advantage of the night to throw it in front of the Prince’s Mansion. The snow melted today, revealing it.”

“Have you investigated it?” Xie Shiguan asked.

“Yes,” Shiyi replied. “The deceased is a performer from Pingkang Lane. It’s said that during the New Year, he wore a bright red water-sleeve opera robe and hanged himself on the main gate beam. By the time the singers found him, he was frozen stiff.”

Hearing this description, Shen Que suddenly stood up and took a few steps forward to see what was on the tray—several frostbitten, purple severed fingers.

One of the fingers still wore a ring, a pure gold band with a water-green jade face. The snowflakes that had covered it had melted, making the jade face even more striking.

He had seen this ring before, on the little actor’s index finger. The slender finger paired with the jade was particularly beautiful.

He wore it every time, never giving Shen Que a chance to doubt his recognition.

The flush on Shen Que’s face, brought out by the warmth of the room, quickly faded, leaving even his lips pale.

He had seen many dead people, both dignified and undignified, and had witnessed the most gruesome scenes. But today, perhaps because he was already feeling unwell, the nausea from his hangover surged again, churning his stomach.

Shen Que dared not lose composure in front of the Prince, so he forced himself to endure the discomfort in his stomach, lowering his eyes to avoid looking at the severed fingers on the tray.

“Jade bones and icy skin, slender jade fingers,” Xie Shiguan said with a hint of regret in his tone. “An Fengde really doesn’t know how to cherish beauty, what a pity.”

After speaking, he turned his head to glance at Shen Que, seeing him lower his eyes, unwilling to look. He then deliberately teased him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pushing him forward, “Isn’t this your old acquaintance? Why don’t you take a closer look, Ah Que?”

Being pushed forward by him, Shen Que seemed to catch a whiff of the faintly rotten scent of lead powder from the severed fingers, and then he couldn’t hold it any longer. He turned and ran to the window, bending over and retching.

He hadn’t been able to straighten up since morning and hadn’t eaten breakfast, only drinking a few sips of hot tea. So even though he felt this bad, he couldn’t vomit anything out.

With his hand on the window frame, the thin veins on the back of his hand stood out, and Shen Que’s mind went blank.

He heard footsteps behind him, and then the scent of sandalwood reached his nose, reminding him that he was still in front of the Prince.

He was annoyed with himself for losing composure in front of His Highness.

Then, a silk handkerchief came from behind, covering his mouth and nose, wiping away the dirt at the corner of his lips. The action wasn’t gentle, but it pulled Shen Que back from that blank state.

Xie Shiguan threw the soiled handkerchief out the window. He disliked filth, and even if the silk handkerchief was cleaned, he wouldn’t keep it.

“You were there when the secret order was given to execute the former court eunuch Tong Guang, and a whole human skin was peeled off, yet you didn’t even frown,” Xie Shiguan said, looking down at his eyes, his lashes trembling slightly, a physiological tear at the corner of his eye. “But just these few severed fingers scared you?”

Seeing Shen Que unresponsive, he suddenly added, “Or is it that you had true feelings for him, and that’s why you’re so sad?”

Shen Que shook his head, unable to say anything.

He was sad, but not because of any true feelings. He just felt that he was like this actor, a plaything that others could crush at will when they were displeased.

But Xu Sixian was like an oriole or cicada, locked in a cage, able to sing freely for a season. While he was like a mayfly or ant, crushed to death without a sound.

Those severed fingers on the tray made him see himself.

*

With Xu Sixian’s death, the theater had to disband.

The older actors had already gained some fame on stage and wanted to join other troupes. But Xu Sixian’s death was so suspicious that even the red coral in the Listening Oriole Pavilion’s hall was smashed.

No one knew who gave the order, but the little actor’s body was left hanging on the beam for three days, not allowing the actors to collect it.

The surrounding troupes were also afraid. They were in a lowly business, and their lives were just as lowly. A big figure could blow them away with a breath, and they feared getting involved.

So, no one dared to take in the children from the Listening Oriole Pavilion.

On the day Xu Sixian was laid to rest, Shen Que took Yuanzhi to the Listening Oriole Pavilion for a look.

The theater was noisy, with children of all ages looking lost. The youngest actor was only seven, and the oldest hadn’t reached adulthood. They all wore white, with only their eyes red.

Seeing him with Yuanzhi, they thought he was just a servant, but his attire was of fine silk, and their eyes were filled with undisguised envy.

Entering the main hall, white silk hung everywhere, and in the center lay a thin coffin, with a few white candles burning coldly on the long table.

He had hanged himself, and his death must have been unsightly. Shen Que intended to cover Yuanzhi’s eyes, but the child rushed forward first, peering into the coffin, and then burst into tears, perhaps frightened by the face.

Yuanzhi’s cries filled the entire hall, hoarse and unpleasant, and it was no wonder the former troupe leader said he had no talent.

Seeing him cry, Shen Que didn’t stop him. He picked the child up like a rabbit and placed him on a cushion in front of the coffin, then signed, “Bow to your master uncle.”

Yuanzhi, sniffling, knelt on the cushion and knocked his head three times on the stone floor.

The little actor hadn’t reached adulthood and had no offspring or relatives. The cries in the Listening Oriole Pavilion weren’t for him; they were mourning their own fate.

Shen Que placed the severed fingers he brought into the coffin, his right hand resting on the edge, lowering his eyes in guilt. He could guess that the little actor’s death was related to him.

The Imperial Uncle lost half a hand, and the Little Emperor forced the Prince to use Shen Que’s blood to appease Miao Zongping’s anger, but the Prince refused.

But someone had to bleed, someone had to pay with their life. If not him, then someone else.

It just so happened that the little actor had been frequenting the Prince’s Mansion lately. Outsiders didn’t know and thought the Prince had summoned him to sing.

The Little Emperor couldn’t bear to punish Xie Shiguan, so he punished the seemingly insignificant little actor, ordering his fingers to be cut off and thrown at the Prince’s Mansion gate, as a painless warning to the Prince and to appease Miao Zongping.

He didn’t kill Boren, but Boren died because of him.

In the eyes of the powerful, their lives were cheap. If not for the Prince’s protection, the one lying in that thin coffin would have been him.

Having paid respects and mourned, Shen Que bent down to take Yuanzhi’s hand, ready to leave with him.

But just as they exited the hall, a little maid suddenly rushed up, her thin arms wrapping around his black official boots, crying pitifully, “Master, take me with you. I’ll wash your clothes, warm your bed, and I can sing too. The troupe leader often praised my voice.”

Shen Que recognized her. She was the pretty actor who opened the door for him when he came to the Listening Oriole Pavilion to return the favor.

She cried and spoke clearly, not slurring a word, a good seedling for a dan role.

Seeing Shen Que not agreeing, she grabbed Yuanzhi’s hand, “Little Lilac, we were so close in the Listening Oriole Pavilion, have you forgotten?”

Yuanzhi’s tears hadn’t dried, and hearing this, he pursed his lips. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten. After being beaten, it was Silan who applied the medicinal wine for him, and the first piece of candy he tasted was fed to him by Silan.

That sweetness, he hadn’t forgotten even now.

He looked up at Shen Que, and the actors in the courtyard, hearing the commotion, gathered around, looking at Shen Que with hopeful eyes, all seeking a way out from him.

Xu Sixian’s death was suspicious. He had the backing of the old ancestor in the palace, a powerful eunuch. Whoever could move him must be a figure even higher than An Fengde.

People came to these places to relax and have fun, not to risk their lives for a song.

The Listening Oriole Pavilion had to disband, and these people had to find another way.

But with the stigma of a lowly status, they couldn’t engage in legitimate work. Now, other theaters didn’t dare take them, and respectable families wouldn’t want them. These actors had nowhere to go, so they could only plead with him.

But he wasn’t a savior, not even a master. Others called him “sir” only because the Prince favored him. He couldn’t even save himself, let alone these people.