Light snow fell in vast expanse. The medical official finished his report and silently withdrew.

Dusk was encroached upon by night. Before long, the courtyard gate emitted a creaking sound. Yan Xiu pushed the door open and entered. Upon first stepping into the public hall, he instinctively felt the room’s penetrating coldness. He used tongs to stir the charcoal brazier, then removed his fur cloak and bowed to Liu Chaoming with cupped hands: “My lord.”

He had come from Yanding Hall. During the Yongji era’s official promotions, Qian Yueqian would transfer to the Ministry of Justice, vacating the third-rank position of Left Vice Censor-in-Chief, which Yan Xiu would fill.

“Has the roster been finalized?” Liu Chaoming asked.

Yan Xiu nodded. “Minister Zeng went to petition His Majesty this morning. It’s been decided. Among fourth rank and above, aside from Minister Qian transferring to Minister of Justice, this subordinate and Zhai Di will be promoted to Vice Censor-in-Chief. The former Hanlin Academician Lord Shu Wenlan will transfer to the Ministry of Rites as Right Vice Minister. His Majesty also personally ordered Lord Shen’s title elevated, bestowing the first-rank Duke Shenguo title. As for the first-rank Vice Grand Secretary position vacated after Lord Su was convicted, the candidate still needs consideration. Minister Zeng said His Majesty’s intention seems to be reforming the Cabinet, but specific details must await Lord Shen’s return for discussion.”

Liu Chaoming nodded slightly. “Have Zhao Yan send the roster as soon as possible.”

“Yes. Word has already been sent to Director Zhao, saying he’ll finish verification by tonight.” Yan Xiu paused briefly, glancing at Liu Chaoming. “My lord, after finishing the discussion, on my way here, I made a detour to the Ministry of Justice prison to look in.”

Liu Chaoming was opening a document at his desk. After a long while, he made an acknowledgment sound.

“Last night Lord Su somehow recalled something and had another episode. The wound on her leg tore open again, bleeding quite a lot. Medical Officer Fang was meticulous and assigned two young palace maids dressed as eunuchs to attend her. I heard that by this morning she had calmed down. She takes the medicine when fed, but unfortunately her cold hasn’t healed, and combined with excessive grief, she always vomits half of what she eats. Her mind still isn’t quite clear. Whenever she speaks, she says delirious things. When this subordinate visited, I heard her asking Medical Officer Fang if everyone around her was dead, asking when her execution would be.”

Liu Chaoming’s gaze fixed on one spot in the document. After a while, he asked: “What did Fang Xu say?”

“Medical Officer Fang said Lord Su’s cold actually isn’t serious—the illness is in her heart. With His Majesty’s passing, the capital has become a place of heartbreak for her. I’m afraid keeping her imprisoned in the Ministry of Justice won’t allow her to recover. It would be best if she could go elsewhere. He also pleaded on Lord Su’s behalf, asking whether His Majesty and Lord Liu, in consideration of Lord Su’s years of meritorious service to the state, could spare her from the death penalty.”

Having said this, seeing Liu Chaoming silent, Yan Xiu lifted his robe and knelt down of his own accord, kowtowing once.

“My lord, this subordinate has followed you for so many years. I know that in this situation, sometimes compassion is the cruelest thing. But—my lord, since you’re willing to risk concealing from His Majesty to save that person’s life, why not also give Lord Su a path to survival?”

“Do you think—” Liu Chaoming said instead, “that His Majesty doesn’t know about this official saving the Late Emperor?”

Yan Xiu suddenly raised his head. Zhu Yushen actually knew? But given his temperament, how could he allow Zhu Nanxian to live in this world?

“My lord’s meaning—”

Liu Chaoming shook his head, cutting off his words. “Send orders to the Ministry of Justice. Tomorrow morning, bring Su Shiyu to Ziji Hall for trial.”

In the twelfth month of the first year of Yongji, after several wild snowstorms, the palace towers were submerged in pure white.

Su Jin was brought from the Ministry of Justice into the palace, nearly blinded by the brilliant snow’s brightness.

She hadn’t seen daylight for a hundred days. The Ministry of Justice prison was pitch dark, filled with the decaying smell of corpses. Every day people were taken away—those she had once known, been close to—executed one by one.

With one turn of imperial power, history was written anew.

The prison robe on her body was somewhat oversized. The bitter wind poured in through her sleeves.

Su Jin lifted her eyes toward the depths of the palace towers—that was where Zhu Nanxian had been imprisoned. The once supremely prosperous Minghua Palace now stood in dilapidated ruin, as if a sovereign in his prime had turned decrepit in an instant.

Minghua Palace had caught fire—it seemed the rumors from three days ago were true.

Attending Eunuch Wu Chang pushed open the doors of Ziji Hall. His elongated voice called out: “Criminal subject Su Jin has arrived—”

The person in the hall suddenly turned around. In black robes and crown, they accentuated the sharp, coldly murderous aura between his brows and eyes.

This was the real Liu Chaoming. Su Jin found it laughable, lamenting that when she first met him, she had thought: in this world exists such a gentleman like jade, never seen through the ages.

How should she address him now? Chief Grand Secretary? Regent Prince? No—he had supported a demented person as Emperor. Now, he was this realm’s true sovereign.

The ambergris incense in the hall mixed with the snow’s essence, condensing into mist, making it difficult for Liu Chaoming to see clearly the person kneeling below.

“Come closer.” After a moment of silence, he ordered.

Su Jin didn’t move. Two guards stepped forward, dragging her several steps. On the ground, two shocking trails of blood were drawn.

Now closer, Su Jin raised her head and asked hoarsely: “The fire at Minghua Palace—did you set it?”

He made no sound. Su Jin continued: “You wanted to burn him to death.”

Only then did Liu Chaoming see the grief-stricken smile at the corners of her lips. Once upon a time, that Lord Su whose talents astounded the realm had always remained unperturbed by honor or disgrace, emotionally detached and indifferent—could she actually feel grief to the point of despair for one person?

Liu Chaoming’s heart trembled slightly, yet he couldn’t quite taste what it meant. After a long while, he finally said: “You caused chaos and offended your superiors, colluded with rebels from the previous dynasty, and though a woman, disguised yourself as a man to enter office—deceiving the sovereign and covering up the truth. Your crimes are extremely grave. You are hereby immediately exiled to Ningzhou, never to return for life.”

Su Jin smiled again. “You won’t grant me death?”

This life had been discordant from start to finish, reaching its end. Better to follow the departed.

The prison cart waited outside the Meridian Gate. She put on shackles. With each step, the clanging sound shocked heaven and earth.

Liu Chaoming watched Su Jin’s thin, retreating figure and suddenly recalled what she looked like when he first met her. It was late spring in the twenty-third year of Jingyuan, with endless wind and rain. She had bowed to him through the rain curtain. Though in plain, shabby clothes, her bright eyes were as beautiful as spring sunshine.

Back then, Liu Chaoming had felt she resembled him—the same clear-minded self-discipline, the same penetrating insight.

He only regretted not strangling her at the beginning of her career. Because of some curiosity, some emotion, he’d allowed her to grow into a towering tree, allowed her to diverge from his own path.

Now that she had severed her will to live, she could never forgive him again.

“Su Jin,” Liu Chaoming said. “The fire at Minghua Palace—the Late Emperor set it himself.”

Su Jin’s retreating figure froze.

Liu Chaoming said flatly: “He’s still so foolish. Two years ago, he fought desperately to seize this throne, thinking it could save you. Now he set himself on fire, surrendering this realm with both hands, thinking it could exchange for your life.”

Su Jin didn’t turn back. After a long while, she asked hoarsely: “Why—why tell me?”

“Didn’t you ask why I wouldn’t grant you death?” Liu Chaoming said. “As Zhu Nanxian wished.”

The prison cart rolled over the snowy path and soon vanished without a trace.

Snow began falling from heaven and earth again. Snowflakes covered Liu Chaoming’s shoulders, melting into his cloak, yet he stood in the snow for a long time, as if unable to feel the cold.

Wu Chang held an umbrella over Liu Chaoming, sighing: “My lord, why must you do this?” He had witnessed life and death and human emotions in the palace. He knew that those in this whirlpool could not afford a shred of soft-heartedness, because one step back meant eternal damnation.

“Lord Minister had already relinquished her will to live. By telling her that way, my lord, I’m afraid you’ll force her to survive her death. Lord Su’s influence in court and countryside has deep roots. The crimes in the edict aren’t the capital offense of ‘disguising as a man, deceiving the sovereign’—merely concealing and covering up the An’nan merchant case. Since my lord wishes to spare her life yet wants to break her will, isn’t this neglecting both ends?

“The saying goes: a centipede doesn’t fall even when dead. The current Sage Emperor is also feigning dementia. If one day she manages to return to the capital, between her and my lord, I fear it will be either your death or my survival.”

They had known each other for five years. Even the sovereign in the hall had been replaced three times like a revolving lantern. What did life or death matter?

“If she can still return,” Liu Chaoming smiled slightly, “I accept it.”