“Second, confiscate the Third Prince’s residences in both Shanxi and the capital, dismiss all his concubines, and sell off the family assets from both places. The money obtained shall be used: first, to compensate for the embezzlement deficit; second, to provide restitution to the abducted women, the families of those who froze to death innocently, and to compensate those able-bodied men forcibly conscripted for labor service.”
Su Jin bowed again toward the dragon throne: “Your Majesty, this subject believes the Third Prince is pure and kind by nature. His actions were truly the result of being led astray by others. However, this case is extremely grave, with countless deaths and injuries. Without punishment, it will not be enough to satisfy the realm. Therefore, third,” she paused, clasping her hands behind her back, “the Third Prince should be confined within the palace. When spring comes next year, officials from the Ministry of Works’ Construction Bureau, Construction Office personnel, and Imperial Censorate supervising censors should go to Shanxi to investigate the exact scale of the traveling palace, the manpower and resources consumed, and whether there were any wrongful deaths. The case details should be formulated and announced to the realm, then Your Majesty can determine the Third Prince’s crimes. This will demonstrate Your Majesty’s benevolent virtue and impartiality, treating all people equally.”
Su Jin did not aggressively demand Zhu Jiyou’s execution.
In all things, moderation is key—excess brings failure.
She understood this principle, moreover she had other requests in her heart.
After Su Jin finished speaking, Fengtian Hall fell silent for a time. After a long while, Emperor Jingyuan responded with almost no ripple of emotion: “Approved.”
Then he called out: “Ministry of Justice.” To the bowing Shen Tuo, he said: “You will preside over this case. Complete it before March of next year. As for those with conclusive evidence—execute or punish as appropriate, following the sentencing recommended by Censor Su just now.”
Actually, given the gravity of this case—not only involving officials of third rank and above, but also implicating a prince—to ensure integrity and justice, it should have been tried jointly by the Three Judicial Offices.
However, if tried jointly by the Three Judicial Offices, Zhu Jiyou’s safety could no longer be guaranteed.
This was the old emperor’s final bit of selfishness. He hoped that this Minister of Justice, who like him was an imperial father-in-law and the birth father of the Crown Princess, would show mercy and spare his third son’s life.
After Shen Tuo received the order, Emperor Jingyuan looked at Su Jin and asked with particular indifference: “Does Censor Su have any other advice to offer?”
Su Jin was silent for a moment before saying: “Your Majesty, this subject has one more unworthy request.”
“Speak.”
“This subject wishes to request the erection of a merit stele for the scholars of the realm, for the nameless righteous men.”
As Su Jin spoke these words, countless images flashed through her mind.
There was her joy when she received her appointment, her regret in Songshan County when she and Chao Qing generously donated yet couldn’t relieve the suffering around them, and even more so Xu Yuanzhe’s tragic blood oath before death—”In my next life, I will not be a scholar.”
Finally it settled on the image in the sunless corridors of the Ministry of Justice—Yan Ziyan’s back, nine deaths without regret.
Su Jin’s eyes dimmed slightly as she said softly: “This subordinate has investigated. This Scholar Xu was merely a provincial graduate with no official rank. The Shanxi traveling palace construction and craftsmen exemption selling case originally had nothing to do with him, yet he couldn’t bear to see the common people around him suffer. He submitted over ten petitions for clemency, every one suppressed by the Court of State Ceremonial. Left with no alternative, he could only come to the capital and strike the Denunciation Drum.
“He feared that after striking the Denunciation Drum, the censor guarding it would not present the petition to Your Majesty. So he took his own life beneath the drum to provoke Your Majesty’s thunderous wrath and ensure this case would be investigated to the end.
“This was his righteous act, his solitary courage.” Su Jin raised her eyes, fierce fire burning in the depths of her clear bright gaze. “Therefore this subject wishes to request the erection of a merit stele to bring this case to a virtuous conclusion—for Scholar Xu, and even more so for all righteous men throughout the realm who risk their lives to plead on behalf of the people.”
In the hall, dragon’s blood incense burned faintly, consuming the taste of frost and snow.
For a moment, the vast Fengtian Hall fell so silent that even breathing couldn’t be heard.
Su Jin thought of Yan Ziyan again, one year and seven months after his righteous death.
To this day, what she remembered most deeply was no longer his resolve before execution—”Rather die in exile than compromise.”
It was his faint smile as he accepted a cup of apricot blossom wine, saying with both regret and complete composure: “Unfortunately, after being tortured the other day, somehow my tongue was damaged and I can no longer taste flavors. Though the wine looks fine, I cannot tell what kind it is.”
This was true righteousness, Su Jin thought—though the heart has regrets, there is no remorse.
So she was willing to trade Zhu Jiyou’s life for even the slightest bit of justice, even if it came too late.
Emperor Jingyuan looked at this young censor in the hall who retreated to advance, calculating a hundred moves ahead, looked at the court officials standing in silent stillness throughout the brilliant hall.
No one spoke up for Su Jin anymore.
But was anyone speaking up for him? Was anyone defending his supreme imperial authority as Zhu Jingyuan, denouncing this censor’s outrageous words? Also no.
He looked at Qi Boyuan standing beside Su Jin—his comrade and old friend, his scholarly bearing and integrity still present, yet ultimately aged, like himself, temples graying, face full of wrinkles.
Perhaps the era that belonged to them was coming to an end.
Emperor Jingyuan felt utterly exhausted. He suddenly harbored a somewhat childish hope that the New Year would arrive quickly. Then he wouldn’t need to concern himself with this muddled court anymore and could properly enjoy a few days of family happiness, with children filling the rooms and grandchildren surrounding him.
So he waved his hand and said with abandon: “As you wish.”
When Emperor Jingyuan looked at the assembled ministers again, his gaze was very detached: “Marquis of Wenyuan and Minister Liu remain. The rest—court is dismissed.”
Qi Boyuan and Liu Chaoming bowed low. The other princes and ministers performed the kowtow ritual and withdrew in order of rank.
Su Jin led Zhai Di and the other two out last, discovering that the witnesses who had been unable to enter the hall to testify due to Emperor Jingyuan’s protectiveness were now being held below the steps by the Ministry of Justice.
Shen Tuo stepped forward: “Then I must ask Censor Su to come to the Ministry of Justice today to transfer all case files and evidence from the Shanxi Circuit portion of the Denunciation Drum case.”
Su Jin assented.
Shen Tuo glanced below the steps. Among the several witnesses was one wearing the fifth-rank white pheasant badge—precisely Ministry of Works Division Director Sun Yinde.
“This Director Sun, though a witness in this case, according to this official’s knowledge, the crimes he’s involved in are extremely serious. Moreover, he just claimed that Censor Su promised him that if he would tell the truth about the case, she would spare his life.” Shen Tuo spoke while bowing distantly toward Fengtian Hall. “Since His Majesty just instructed that sentencing should follow Censor Su’s recommendations, then give us your word—how should this person be dealt with?”
Hearing these words, Su Jin also turned her head and glanced coolly at Sun Yinde.
They weren’t far apart. Sun Yinde could hear their conversation.
He was looking at her with a flattering expression.
Su Jin withdrew her gaze: “Lord Shen, this person’s crimes are heinous. This official hopes you will handle matters impartially and absolutely not show leniency.”
Sun Yinde was struck as if by a club to the head. His fish-bubble eyes rolled up and down, then he roared in fury: “Su Shiyu! What do you mean! Are you going back on your word! You told me to erase evidence, you told me to shield the Minister of Works—”
Before he could finish, Shen Tuo angrily interrupted: “You dare make noise outside Fengtian Hall? Do you not value your life? Do you want this official to have you executed on the spot?!”
Hearing the word “executed,” Sun Yinde’s knees went soft. His short, squat form collapsed to the ground as he stared blankly at the two people on the steps.
Su Jin took a document from her sleeve pouch and presented it to Shen Tuo: “I must trouble Lord Shen. This indictment lists thirty-four crimes Director Sun has committed over twenty years as an official. Even if he rendered meritorious service today by testifying in the Denunciation Drum case, this merit cannot offset one ten-thousandth of his crimes. When the student scholars caused trouble, he took the bailiffs and hid in the alleys. Years ago when Vice Minister Ma set a trap to kill the Thirteenth Prince, it was also this person who went to the prince’s residence to report, leading His Highness into danger. Therefore, if this subject must determine Director Sun’s sentence—”
Su Jin paused here.
She was someone who kept her word, and her original words back then were—I, Su Jin, will one day make you fall, shattered to pieces, to accompany all those who died unjustly in their graves.
“He should be sentenced to dismemberment by chariot.”
Like a thunderclap exploding above Sun Yinde’s head, a buzzing sound arose in his brain. By the time he came back to himself, Su Jin had already descended from the steps.
Scalding tears and mucus poured from Sun Yinde’s eyes and nose. Ignoring the guards’ obstruction, he stumbled forward and grabbed Su Jin’s crimson sleeve: “Lord Su, I—no—this lowly one knows he was wrong. This lowly one shouldn’t have offended you before.”
His whole body shook like chaff. Wiping away tears, he continued: “Back then, Xu Yuanzhe and his grandmother’s graves—when I couldn’t sleep at night, I did go pay respects. And Young Grand Secretary Yan, Elder Qiu—I went to pay respects to all of them one by one. I also…”
Su Jin couldn’t listen anymore. She pulled back her sleeve robe: “Are you even worthy?”
Two guards came forward and dragged Sun Yinde away.
Su Jin walked down a narrow path toward the Imperial Censorate.
Above, the sky remained covered with layers of clouds. As far as the eye could see was vast white snow. This impeachment that balanced on the edge between life and death felt like walking through the deepest underworld, yet the world’s vastness remained unmoved.
Perhaps what she had done was truly insignificant.
Su Jin walked back with lowered head, but in an instant she stopped. She turned to look back, her gaze passing through the true south, through the thick and mottled city walls, through dust-covered time, seeing those righteous men outside the Meridian Gate who had thrown away their heads and spilled their hot blood.
Also seeing her former self, eyes full of disappointment.
At that time she had said: This is a court where ten thousand horses stand mute, where what those above approve, all approve; what they condemn, all condemn.
Then having maintained her course until now, did this merit stele she risked death to request count as finally making a hoarse, barely audible sound in this era of endless wind and rain?
Perhaps one day, she could have someone carve the names of Xu Yuanzhe, Scholar Xu, and Young Grand Secretary Yan onto that stone stele.
“Su Shiyu.” Not far from the steps, someone called her name.
Su Jin looked toward the voice. It was Shen Xi.
Shen Qingyue in his dark blue official robe remained as elegant as ever, the corner of his mouth carrying a casual smile, though his eyes were cool and clear.
He stopped before Su Jin and, following her earlier gaze, also looked deeply toward the towering city walls, his eyes not moving away for a long time.
When Shen Xi turned back, the smile at the corner of his mouth was gone.
His entire person became severe and solemn. Then he suddenly raised both sleeves and silently bowed to Su Jin with clasped hands.
Heaven and earth were filled with vast wind sounds.
Su Jin silently watched Shen Xi and raised her hand to return the bow.
The two straightened. Shen Xi said nothing more—or rather, he didn’t need to say anything more. His robe and cloak carried a crisp air as he turned and left.
After Shen Xi departed, Zhao Yan and Qian San’er came before Su Jin and, like the usually casual, occasionally serious Vice Minister Shen, silently bowed with folded sleeves.
Then came Court of Judicial Review Minister Zhang Shishan, Secretariat Drafter Shu Huan, Minister of Justice Shen Tuo…
When the Twelfth Prince Zhu Qiyue and Fourth Prince Zhu Yushen came before Su Jin, most of the people on the steps had dispersed. The two imitated the civil officials and began to bow, but seeing Su Jin lift her robe to kneel, they heard her say: “Your Highnesses are sovereigns, this subject is a subject. This subject absolutely cannot accept Your Highnesses’ courtesy.”
Zhu Yushen raised his hand to support her, saying coolly: “To remonstrate despite danger, to plead on behalf of the people, to prove resolve through death—this prince has attended court early for long. Today’s Censor Su seems to let this prince see the bearing of the old censor from the past. There’s nothing you cannot accept.”
At the other end of the steps, Zhu Minda looked at Zhu Nanxian standing silently to the side, gazing into the distance, and asked: “Aren’t you going over?”
Zhu Nanxian shook his head, his tone full of struggle and hesitation: “I won’t go.”
If he went over, what should he say? Praise her a bit? But as someone who practiced martial arts, even if he praised her, what clever words could he produce? What if he said something that didn’t sound right?
Or should he imitate Shen Qingyue and bow to her? But everyone else had already bowed—if he dawdled over there now, wouldn’t it seem very insincere?
Zhu Minda looked at Zhu Nanxian again, understanding everything clearly. He cursed: “Pathetic.” Then he patted his left arm and dropped a line: “You didn’t misjudge her. She truly is a good censor.” And walked away.
In just this amount of time, the officials below the snowy steps had all dispersed. Su Jin raised her eyes and looked around, finally spotting Zhu Nanxian standing at one end, caught between advancing and retreating.
She said to Zhai Di and the other two behind her: “You three go back first.”
Then she slightly lifted her crimson robe and walked toward Zhu Nanxian, one step deep, one step shallow through the snow.