I traveled back to the Southern Song Dynasty and was actually outmaneuvered by Yue Fei.

He is the Prince of Puan—no, his current status is still just the Duke of Jian.

His voice was unrecognizable to the spies in Lin'an Prefecture, nor to Qin Xi.

But the people will shout along with him.

One person shouts, ten people follow. Ten people shout, a hundred people follow. Qin Xi couldn't hold out any longer.

Zhao Bozong went through the process in his mind.

He stood in the crowd, dressed in plain clothes, mingling among the people.

Qin Xi found the secret box and was the first to shout it out. The people around him followed suit, and the sound surged up in waves.

Qin Xi's face turned from ashen to deathly pale, and he had no choice but to open the secret box in public. Then, the irrefutable evidence of Qin Hui's collusion with Jin was revealed to the world under the watchful eyes of hundreds of people.

The plan can be implemented, but there is one problem.

"After I shout, Qin Hui's men will target me."

"No," Yue Yinping said. "Because you're not the only one shouting. There are plenty of people in Lin'an who hate Qin Hui. As long as you're the first to speak, others will shout for you. Qin Hui's people won't be able to tell who started it."

Zhao Bozong looked at her.

She spoke calmly when she announced the plan, without any change in expression.

He knelt for three days, uttered the secret code for three days, using himself as bait to lure Qin Hui's spy to him, forcing him into the Dali Temple, letting him know the secret of the wooden bird, arranging for Zhou Sanwei to gather evidence, seal the secret box, place it at the bottom of the coffin, and arrange for him to be the first to shout out in the crowd—

Every step was meticulously planned and executed, with a backup plan in place for every step.

What if Zhou Sanwei is silenced, and Qin Xi withstands the pressure and refuses to open the secret box? She didn't say. Perhaps she did have a backup plan, but simply didn't need to tell him.

"When did you start setting up this scheme?" Zhao Bozong asked.

Yue Yinping was silent for a while. "From the day my father died."

"The 29th of the twelfth lunar month?"

"Yes."

Zhao Bocong did some mental calculations.

From the 29th day of the twelfth lunar month to today, the 9th day of the first lunar month, it has been a full ten days.

For three out of the ten days, she knelt outside the Dali Temple. For the remaining seven days, she wove a web under Qin Hui's watchful eye and the triple surveillance of spies from Lin'an Prefecture, the Imperial City Guard, and Qin Hui's family.

Qin Hui, however, was completely unaware of this.

"What did your father write in the letter he left you?" Zhao Bozong asked.

For the first time, Yue Yinping's eyes flickered.

"Once you get the wooden bird when you return, you'll know for sure."

Zhao Bozong stood up. "Qin Hui will not let you go. You cannot leave Lin'an alive..." Yue Yinping did not answer.

Just then, there was a knock on the iron gate from the outside, and the voice of the man in gray came through the crack in the door: "Duke Jian Guo. Prime Minister Qin has sent word—it is getting late, please return to your residence to rest."

Zhao Bocong did not respond immediately.

He stood in the center of the cell, looking at Yue Yinping. She sat in the corner, chains hanging from her wrists to the ground; her eyes held no fear or sorrow, only calm.

It's the kind of tranquility where everything is arranged and all that's left is to wait for dawn.

After leaving the Dali Temple, Zhao Bozong did not return immediately.

He lingered for a moment at the intersection of Yujie Street and Yongjin Gate before heading towards the Duke of Jianguo's Mansion.

Zhao Bozong quickly re-analyzed the timeline in his mind. It was now the third quarter of the midnight hour, about three hours before dawn.

The fact that the man in gray escorted him out of the Dali Temple meant that Qin Hui had already confirmed that he could not get any results from the interrogation.

This was exactly what Yue Yinping had predicted.

Qin Hui wouldn't let him stay overnight at Dali Temple. A prince who couldn't get any results from the interrogation would only cause trouble if he stayed there, so he was sent out.

As they walked, Zhao Bozong suddenly stopped. He realized that Yue Yinping's plan had a flaw in this part.

It's unclear whether she didn't consider it, or if she did but simply didn't tell him.

She didn't need to tell him all her plans afterward; she only needed him to do one thing: stand in the crowd after dawn and be the first to shout out.

But if he doesn't do it, all his options will be empty.

When Zhao Bocong entered the gate of the Duke of Jianguo's mansion, it was already past midnight. The old servant on night duty was dozing off against the door when he heard footsteps and was suddenly awakened. When he saw it was him, he hurriedly stood up.

"Your Highness—why are you here at this hour—"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk." Zhao Bozong flashed his token. "Go and rest. You don't need to be served."

The old servant responded and then shrank back into the shadows of the gatehouse.

He returned to the east wing of the inner courtyard, pushed open the door, and went inside. The room was exactly the same as when he left; he had put the wooden bird back under his pillow when he left.

Zhao Bocong walked to the bedside and lifted the pillow.

The wooden bird is gone.

There was nothing under the pillow, only the texture of the bamboo mat. He lifted the mattress, turned the pillow over, and unfolded the neatly folded quilt—nothing. Nothing was there under the bed, or on the small table beside the bed.

He straightened up and scanned the entire room—the bronze mirror, the clothes rack, the desk, and the candlesticks.

Everything was in its original place, except for the wooden bird.

Zhao Bozong strode out of the bedroom. The old servant guarding the door was still standing by the doorpost, startled by the sound of his footsteps and shuddered again.

"After I left, did anyone enter the mansion?"

The old servant was taken aback. "No, Your Highness. The side door has been closed the whole time; this old servant has not left."

"Where's the main gate?"

"Liu Da is in charge of guarding the main gate, but I haven't seen anyone go in or out."

He turned and walked back to the bedroom, his gaze sweeping across the room again, this time even more slowly.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Zhao Bozong's fingers touched the edge of the bamboo mat. The bamboo strips were tightly woven, and the surface of the mat was cool.

He suddenly remembered Yue Yinping's words: Zhou Sanwei had visited the Duke of Jianguo's mansion three days ago.

Three days ago, Zhou Sanwei entered this room and stuffed the other half of the evidence of Qin Hui's collusion with Jin into the belly of the wooden bird.

At that time, the original owner, Zhao Bocong, was still in this body and had no idea what was happening under his pillow.

Three days later, the wooden bird disappeared.

Did Zhou Sanwei send someone to collect it again? Or was it someone else?

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the bamboo mat, and his fingertips suddenly touched something.

Under the mat, in the corner near the bedpost, there was a small cloth bag tucked away.

The cloth is coarse linen, and its color is similar to that of bamboo mats; you can't tell the difference unless you touch it carefully.

He pulled out the cloth bag and opened it; there was a wooden bird inside.

Zhao Bozong's tense heart finally relaxed.

The wooden bird was moved from under the pillow to under the mat.

Someone had come in, moved the wooden bird, and then wrapped it in cloth and stuffed it under the mat.

That person didn't want him to discover the wooden bird was missing, but also didn't want it to be too easily found. Who was it?

He flipped the wooden bird over, looked at the extremely thin gap at the bottom, took a deep breath, and pried along the gap with his fingernail.

The gap split open with a snap. The wooden bird's belly was no longer empty; a roll of extremely thin paper, rolled into a thin tube about the thickness of a little finger, was stuffed deep inside.

He pulled out the scroll and unfolded it. The paper was very thin, made of high-quality bamboo paper, so thin it was almost translucent. The paper was covered with densely packed small characters, the ink varying in shades, clearly not written all at once.

First line: In March of the eighth year of the Shaoxing reign, Qin Hui wrote to Wanyan Zongbi: "The Southern Dynasty has no capable men; peace can be negotiated." (Attached is a map showing the troop deployment in Jingzhou and Xiangyang.)

Second line: July of the ninth year of Shaoxing, Qin Hui wrote to Wanyan Zongbi. Yue Fei has been transferred from Ezhou, and Xiangyang is now vulnerable; we can proceed cautiously.

Third line: September of the tenth year of Shaoxing, Qin Hui wrote to Wanyan Zongbi. Yue Fei's route for the Northern Expedition has been obtained, along with information on the grain and fodder depots in Yancheng and Yingchang.

Line after line. Date, recipient, summary of the message.

Each entry is marked with the location where the original document was hidden—"Hidden compartment in the study of the Hui family mansion," "Secret wall of Qin Xi's outer residence," and "Case archives of the Dali Temple."

It's not the evidence itself, but an index to the evidence. Every letter Qin Hui wrote to Jin, including when it was written, to whom it was addressed, its content, and where the original is hidden, is all recorded.

Zhao Bozong's fingers trembled slightly as he continued reading. The last part of the scroll had the freshest ink and the densest handwriting. It was not an index of evidence against Qin Hui's collusion with Jin.

It is a list.

The first name: Zhao Yuan, courtesy name Bo Cong.

His blood rushed to his head in an instant.

The ink on the second name was erased.

This wasn't a cross-out; rather, it was a blurry black mass painted over with light ink, applied very carefully, even covering the edges of the strokes.

The third and fourth. The fifth one was painted a little lighter, and you could still vaguely make out the strokes of the surname, the character "朱" (Zhu).

The rest were all painted over.

There were twenty-three names in total, but only the first one was complete; the remaining twenty-two were all crossed out.

Zhao Bozong stared at the ink blots; it wasn't that the person who made the alterations didn't want him to see the names.

If you don't want him to see it, just cover it up completely with thick ink.

But this person used light ink, applying it layer by layer until the strokes were just barely visible. However, if you looked closely by candlelight, you could still make out some outlines, as if a door had been deliberately left half-open.

Just then, his fingers accidentally touched the inside of the wooden bird's wing, feeling a rough, uneven texture.