My father ordered me to kill the emperor, but His Majesty bestowed a princess upon me instead.

Qian Fang's wife, Zhao Mei, waited for her husband for three months.

The dye house continued to send wages every month as usual, and the letters home never stopped. Each letter had a chipped copper coin in the lower left corner, a private note Qian Fang had left for himself after losing half a month's wages gambling when he was young. Zhao Mei recognized the mark, and she also recognized the nicknames of the two children in the letters, and which alley her family had moved to. But she didn't actually recognize Qian Fang's handwriting.

When Qian Fang was twelve, he knocked over a dye pot, burning his right palm and the area between his thumb and forefinger. He could still hold things, but his handwriting would tremble. He usually used his left hand to calculate on an abacus and to record simple numbers. However, the accounts for the Zhou family dye shop for the past three months were all written with his right hand, which was extremely steady. Qiu Tang brought Zhao Mei to the dye shop. Zhao Mei didn't look at the person first, but only at the accounting table, and then squatted down to feel under the table.

Manager Qian was initially certain, having seen Qian Fang sitting behind the same table writing accounts for the past three months, and "using only his right hand." Qiu Tang asked him to sit back in his original position: Qian Fang inside the table, Manager Qian standing outside, the two facing each other. Manager Qian pointed in the direction he was seeing and talked for a long time before realizing he had mistaken the other man's right hand for his own. It wasn't intentional fabrication; it was just that his memory had filled in a gap based on common sense.

Zhao Mei didn't immediately conclude that her husband had been replaced. She crouched down under the table and found a carving known only to the couple. Every time Qian Fang replaced a table, he would carve a small fish under the crossbeam, saying that the Zhao family ate fish without spitting out the bones. The reason was utterly illogical, but precisely because it was illogical, it was difficult for others to imitate from public records. The table in front of her, used for three years, had no fish underneath. The table might not be fake, but the person who had been sitting here for so long might no longer be the same person.

"It's not his table."

Claiming she caught a chill while traveling, Zhao Mei asked Qian Fang about the missing money. He answered correctly. She also asked for the nicknames of her two children. He answered correctly there as well, except for one discrepancy. Qian Fang never called his daughter "Yatou" (丫头, meaning "little girl"), always calling her "Xiao Dongjia" (小东家, meaning "Little Master"), because he had just been promoted to accountant on the day his daughter was born. The man had called her "Yatou" once, but Zhao Mei thought it was just out of tiredness. She didn't pursue the matter further; a single form of address wasn't enough to make a wife suspect her husband of ten years. However, it could be placed alongside her right hand, the old injury, and the absence of fish under the table. This was enough to suggest that Qian Fang's identity had become abnormal at least three months prior. Whether the current accountant of Zhou Ji Dyehouse is indeed him remains to be verified. It cannot be directly stated that Zhou Qi is Qian Fang.

Manager Qian said urgently, "It hasn't been changed in three years!"

"He carved a fish under every table." "There isn't one here."

The table may not have changed, but the person using it may not be Qian Fang anymore.

The last time Manager Qian was certain that "that person was Qian Fang" was on the winter solstice last year, when Qian Fang shielded him from the dye pot, leaving a new burn on his right arm. For the next three months, he saw the same face, the same clothes, and the same accountant, but he never saw him do anything that only Qian Fang himself would do.

Zhao Mei had noticed the flaws much earlier. Three months ago, when that man came home, he held chopsticks with his right hand, and his palm did not have the hard, hot skin that her husband had. He also called his daughter "little girl" once, while Qian Fang had always called her "little boss" since the child was born. At that time, these things were too trivial. It was impossible for his wife to suspect that her husband of ten years had been replaced just because of a name or the way he held chopsticks.

She later recalled that there were subtle things that seemed off the first night he returned home. Her husband, who had a habit of holding bowls with his left hand after his right palm was burned, naturally used his right hand that night; he called both children by their nicknames correctly, but called their daughter "Little Girl" only once. He had called her "Little Boss" since the child was born, because he had just been promoted to accountant that day. One title alone couldn't break up a ten-year marriage, but when placed alongside old injuries, the way he held chopsticks, and the absence of fish under the table, it became more than just "people change."

But now, putting them together, it's enough to show that Qian Fang's identity became suspicious at least three months ago. Bai Zhi also found problems with the note about lacking money in the family letter. The genuine copper seal had a notch pointing to the right, while the seal on the family letter pointed to the left—someone didn't get the original seal, but instead had it carved based on the imprint on the paper. As for those old stories known only to family members, their source has also been found.

The missing coin wasn't hand-drawn, but a small seal. Zhao Mei brought the real seal from home, pressed the two together, and the directions were exactly opposite. Someone hadn't stolen the original seal, but rather carved a new one based on the imprint on the paper, which is why it flipped left and right when stamped. The contents of the family letter, however, were still true: the child's nickname, old gambling debts, which alley Zhao Mei's family had moved to—all were correct. The missing piece was finally found in a crack in the bricks under the bed—Qian Fang's little ledger filled with family records was gone. Before replacing someone else, the other party first stole someone's daily life.

The door to the old paper warehouse of the Imperial Clan Court was unlocked. This was more troublesome than a lock; a new piece of paper was pasted on the door. "Welcome Shen An." After reading it, A-Liu took a step back. "Young Master." "Hmm." "Did she know you were coming today?" "Yes." "Then why are you still coming in?" "Check the door first." He breathed a sigh of relief; at least he wouldn't just walk in directly. The old paper warehouse was in the northwest corner of the Imperial Clan Court, a secluded courtyard. There were two doors; the lock on the first door had been completely removed. It wasn't pried open; the screws were neatly arranged along the wall. The second door was half-open, and there were no new footprints on the threshold. A thin layer of dust had accumulated in the courtyard, with only a path swept through the middle. It was as if it were deliberately telling us which way to go.

Qian Fang had hidden a household ledger in a crack under the bricks of his bed. Now the crack was empty; before the identity was changed, the other person had stolen someone's daily life. Three days before Qian Fang disappeared, he had driven a cart loaded with "waste paper"—the ledger was supposedly for a coffin shop, but the driver said the cart ended up in the old paper warehouse of the Imperial Clan Court. The driver only remembered the face, not which hand he used, and didn't know if it was the real Qian Fang from three months ago. Zhao Mei listened but didn't scold him.

She herself had been deceived by a familiar face. Therefore, we no longer treated "having met Qian Fang" as a complete fact, but rather broke it down into: having seen her face, heard her voice, seen her old wounds, knew her private affairs, and done habits that only she would do. For the first time, so many different questions arose behind the same name.

The place had long been abandoned, piled high with obsolete ritual drafts, old funeral rites, discarded genealogies, and unissued death notices. Genuine paper, old seals, old characters, and a past many had forgotten. The Emperor, after reading the Beijing Gazette, returned to the capital that same day. My father went back to Qingxia, while my mother remained in Yong'an. I left a day later, returning to the capital under the pretext of inspecting the old paper warehouses by the Censorate, neither accompanying the Emperor nor my father.

The most valuable items in the Imperial Clan Court's old paper archive weren't the banknotes, but rather the genuine paper that everyone considered obsolete: old funeral documents, discarded family genealogies, unissued death notices, drafts of ritual regulations from previous years, and numerous blank margins bearing genuine imprints. Forging a completely fake official document was difficult, but cutting a section from these genuine documents and piecing it back together was far easier. Zhou Qi kept the originals, not out of respect for them, but because only by seeing the complete facts could she know which piece to cut out and show others.

We also found multiple pre-written explanations for the same event: if the emperor returned to the capital, it could be written as "proving his sobriety," and if he didn't, it could be written as "fearing investigation"; if I accompanied the emperor, it could be written as "protecting the emperor," and if I didn't, it could be written as "causing discord with the emperor." The papers were prepared before the event, and no matter who chose which path, they could be inserted into one of the pages. Therefore, my mother made the four of us go our separate ways—not to avoid explanations, but to make our true purpose, route, and companions public first, so that at least future generations could see why we made these choices.

Before I left, my mother held my wrist: "Delaying by one day is not just to avoid the words 'accompanying the emperor.' The emperor will arrive first, and Zhou Qi will make her move first. Only if you are behind can you see what she wants you to pursue." I nodded, and the Imperial Clan Court's old paper warehouse opened the next day.

Before the treasury was opened, the Emperor, my father, my mother, and I had already parted ways. Zhou Qi clearly wanted me to choose whose side to stand on: following the Emperor meant protecting the monarch, going to Qingxia meant becoming the young master, and staying in Yong'an meant becoming a mother. My mother, however, told me to return to the capital a day later, to go alone under the pretext of the Censorate investigating the old paper warehouse. The route, purpose, and companions were to be made public beforehand. Of course, others could still fabricate explanations, but at least the original plan already contained our own reasons for going this way.

The first door to the old paper warehouse wasn't even locked; screws were neatly arranged against the wall, and a sign on the door read "Welcome Shen An." The more it resembled an invitation, the less one should follow the route arranged by the other party. Yan Xiaoyi first inspected the roof, Han Feng's men checked the wall plaster and drainage ditches, and we placed a sand puppet in through the side window before pushing the door open with a long pole. In the end, there were no killing mechanisms at all. Zhou Qi didn't need me killed in the warehouse; she wanted me to personally walk into the explanation she had prepared.

There wasn't a single "general ledger" that could directly convict someone; there were only hundreds or thousands of genuine documents that could be pieced together. Deep inside were several sets of pre-written explanatory pages: for the same event, four conclusions could be prepared in advance: loyalty, rebellion, illness, or chaos. There was also an old death certificate from the plague: Liu Yue, died of illness.

Beside it lay Bai Song's supplementary page: Liu Yue is an alias, Lan Yue is still alive, and should return her name within thirty days.

Eleven years ago, Bai Song saved Lan Yue with a fake death account, but in doing so, he borrowed the position of a woman who was truly dead and remains nameless to this day. Later, Zhou Qi found this page and changed "thirty days" to "temporarily suspended." Lan Yue survived, but the name of another woman was borrowed by her for eleven years. Zhou Qi left a note on the back of the old page:

If Bai Song is guilty, then his act of saving people is also a crime. If Bai Song is innocent, on what basis do you judge others' false accounts?