In the Great Yin Dynasty, women held power and men were expected to be meek and obedient. Jiang Yan, an assistant minister at the Court of Judicial Review, had a tongue like a poisoned blade. She had made the newly crowned top scholar cry, driven the sons of noble families away with her scorn, and even made the Matchmaker God give her a wide berth. Whenever the court officials brought her up, they could only rub their temples in despair. The woman could solve cases like a god, but her tongue was sharper than the Imperial Sword by a good margin.
Then a string of murders led her to the most elegant pleasure district in the capital: Heming House.
The owner, Shen Shuhe, wore white as bright as snow, with features as lovely as a painting and a quick, clever tongue. He served tea with a smile and spoke in a soft, gentle voice, winning over the powerful with just a few words and persuading them to part with their silver. Yet, amid their laughter and conversation, he always found a way to make those with ill intentions suffer the consequences of their own schemes.
At their first meeting, Jiang Yan sneered coldly, “A man like you should be taking the exam to become a model of virtue, not greeting guests here. What a waste.”
Shen Shuhe lowered his eyes and smiled faintly, his fingertips brushing the rim of his teacup. “You’ve worked hard investigating the case, my lord. I’m merely… handing you a blade.”
Later on…
Everyone said the owner of Heming House was a gentle, understanding beauty. Only Jiang Yan knew the truth: tea was his facade, but beneath it lay a blade.
Then an old case resurfaced, bringing to light a blood feud over the massacre of an entire family twenty years earlier. Shen Shuhe’s white robes were stained with blood, yet he still remembered to pour her a cup of tea. His eyes reddened at the corners, his voice low and hoarse. “Lord Jiang, if I told you… I’ve schemed against everyone under heaven, but never against you, would you believe me?”
