◎ Coercion ◎

The judicial and legal authority of the Great Yin dynasty was divided among three offices — the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Punishments, and the Censorate — and in every dynasty, without exception, the Ministry of Justice had always held the greatest authority and the heaviest workload; the current dynasty was no different.

Qu You still remembered that the “Treatise on Law and Punishment” in the History of Yin devoted enormous attention to recording the internal power struggles within the Ministry of Justice across successive reigns — the vice minister’s official seal was worth its weight in a thousand pieces of gold, and countless men had died fighting to seize it.

Liang An spoke of it so casually, yet what he was really after was the position of Vice Minister itself — he must have assumed she understood nothing at all, which was why he dared to behave so brazenly.

Seeing that she’d fallen silent, Liang An, assuming he’d guessed correctly, smiled with easy confidence. “I only came properly, presenting my calling card and requesting it in the proper manner, out of respect for you, Madam. If you refuse to hand it over, then I’ll simply have to retrieve it myself.”

Uncle De’s earlier panic hadn’t been merely because Liang An had come calling — it was because he’d seen that Liang An had brought over a dozen private soldiers with him.

The soldiers couldn’t enter the residence itself, so they were stationed discreetly at the gate — clearly, this had all been carefully planned in advance.

Liang An was, after all, only Zhou Tan’s subordinate — the second-in-command at the Ministry of Justice. Bringing along household attendants might have been understandable, but bringing private soldiers? Wasn’t he afraid of being reported for colluding with military forces and showing disrespect toward a superior?

Qu You held her teacup, thinking rapidly.

In the Great Yin dynasty, the divide between civil and military officials was sharply drawn — not only did the two sides look down on one another, but even private friendships between them were rare. Aside from high-ranking military officers and members of the imperial family, officials both great and small were strictly forbidden from keeping private soldiers of their own. For Liang An to openly bring soldiers to demand the seal like this…

There were only two possible explanations.

Either he had already secured the tacit approval of some powerful figure with direct influence over the Ministry of Personnel — and in the current court, the only people bold enough to do such a thing were likely the reigning Chief Councilor and Vice Chancellor themselves — or, he was acting on behalf of one of the imperial princes’ factions, using this opportunity to eliminate an obstacle and seize control of the Ministry of Justice.

But either possibility required one crucial precondition: that Emperor De had already tacitly accepted that Zhou Tan would die, and had decided not to intervene any further.

At this realization, Qu You felt her heart begin to pound.

Factional strife within the Great Yin court ran extremely deep, stretching back over forty years to the power struggles between successive chief councilors and vice chancellors — a climate that had only eased somewhat once Gu Zhiyan took over as Chief Councilor.

Unfortunately, Emperor De could not tolerate a Chief Councilor who held such singular, overwhelming authority.

Zhou Tan had betrayed his own teacher’s faction in exchange for the position of Vice Minister of Justice — for himself, it was a desperate act of self-preservation, cutting off his own tail to escape the trap. But to Emperor De, it was nothing more than a trivial matter. Zhou Tan had come offering his loyalty, hoping to serve as an isolated pawn beholden to no faction — yet the emperor still needed to first weigh and measure exactly how much this man was truly worth.

A chill crept up from the soles of Qu You’s feet. Though she had read countless historical accounts, this was the first time she was experiencing firsthand the cruelty of imperial statecraft and the vicious scheming of factional politics.

This must have been the most difficult period of Zhou Tan’s life — utterly alone within the Ministry of Justice, having pledged allegiance to no faction whatsoever. The emperor, wanting to see whether the man was truly of use, had simply washed his hands of the matter entirely; meanwhile, every faction eager to seize his position circled like hawks, ready to use any means necessary.

Thinking it through this way, the assassination attempt Zhou Tan had suffered in the street was very likely the work of whoever stood behind Liang An.

Having already made their move, and worried that Zhou Tan might only be feigning injury, they had gone to great lengths to test him — even orchestrating this Chongxi marriage for him as a further probe.

Now, having confirmed that Zhou Tan truly was gravely wounded, all but declared as good as dead, Liang An had come brazenly demanding the seal, emboldened by whoever backed him, with nothing left to fear.

In the span of a moment, Qu You had worked out the entire chain of cause and effect with perfect clarity — only to realize she had absolutely no way of dealing with the situation now before her.

She had no idea who stood behind Liang An, but she did know this: the Zhou household had no private soldiers of its own, and there wasn’t a single official in the court on friendly terms with Zhou Tan. Liang An’s brazen, thuggish demand for the seal was banking precisely on this fact.

Once he got his hands on the seal, the Ministry of Justice would effectively change hands entirely. Emperor De would have his own means of manipulating the balance of power among the court factions, letting them rise and fall as he saw fit — and Zhou Tan would simply be discarded, a spent pawn no longer of any use.

In other words, once the seal changed hands, whether or not he survived his wound, Zhou Tan was as good as dead either way.

There was no way Liang An could walk away with the seal today — otherwise, history would surely have been rewritten.

And yet, even knowing how things were supposed to turn out, Qu You still found herself utterly at a loss in the face of what confronted her now.

She had no choice but to stall for time with vague words while watching for any opportunity to turn things around. “Lord Liang, you are my husband’s colleague, and I trust you — but though I don’t understand the affairs between officials of your rank, I do know that what you’re asking for is no ordinary item.”

Liang An replied with strained patience, “There’s no need for you to concern yourself with such matters, Madam. I understand you’re newly married and likely have no idea where the item is kept — no matter, I’ll have my men search for it myself. All I ask is that you step aside for now, and hold no grudge over it afterward.”

It was only upon hearing this that Qu You finally understood why he’d bothered coming with such polite formality in the first place.

Though his actions had already been quietly sanctioned from above, the Zhou household now held not only Zhou Tan but her as well — and if she made a scene, insisting on pressing charges of “illegal trespass upon an official residence,” she could turn this into a major incident.

If it blew up into something larger, it would become far harder to contain — and might even implicate whoever stood behind Liang An.

But she had no grounds, no standing, to actually do such a thing. Liang An assumed that a sheltered young woman like her understood nothing beyond poetry and romance, which was why he was going through these motions at all — hoping to resolve the matter quietly and without incident.

Qu You slowly let out a breath, choosing her words with care. “From what Lord Liang is saying, then, you intend to search the residence?”

“Why put it so unpleasantly?” Liang An denied, “I’ve simply come to retrieve an item. Once I find it, I’ll leave. You’ve been married what, five or six days now? Surely you understand Lord Zhou’s condition by now — why cling to appearances for the sake of a man who’s already as good as dead?”

As he spoke, he rose and began walking toward the screen, his tone taking on a flirtatious edge. “Truly, it’s a shame you were married off to him for a Chongxi ritual. If he dies, you’ll have to wait who knows how long for the emperor’s edict of release, and your reputation will suffer for it in the meantime. I’ve long heard from my son about your grace and talent at that flower-viewing banquet all those years ago — I was quite taken with you myself. Why not find yourself someone to rely on sooner rather than later?”

Qu You froze for a moment, then felt a surge of fury rise within her.

This shameless old lecher!

She forced down her anger as best she could, and forced out through gritted teeth, “That’s none of your concern. As for searching the residence — I cannot agree to that. Please leave, Lord Liang.”

Then she added, “If you insist on proceeding regardless, I’ll have no choice but to take this matter to the Court of Judicial Punishments and the Censorate. I ask for your understanding, Lord Liang.”

Liang An hadn’t expected such words from her; he paused mid-step, then, as though thoroughly amused, burst out laughing. “Madam is joking with me. The Court of Judicial Punishments, the Censorate? Setting aside whether they’d even have the standing to intervene — do you really think anyone would pay any mind to a woman, and Zhou Tan’s own family member at that?”

Qu You saw him reach out to push the screen aside, and without thinking, snatched up the teacup on the table and smashed it. Zhou Shengde, hearing the noise, rushed in — only for Liang An to turn and kick him to the ground.

He bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Someone! Shut the gates! Search the place!”

The doors of the Xinji Hall flew open at both ends. Qu You heard the clash of weapons outside and, with no time to think further, darted out through the back door toward the Pine Wind Pavilion, where Zhou Tan lay — the very room that had been arranged as the bridal chamber.

She slammed the door shut behind her and braced herself against it with her whole body, breathing hard, looking toward the inner chamber.

The folding screen by the bed was still the one set up for the wedding, its four panels painted with pomegranates, wild geese, mandarin ducks, and peach blossoms.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to calm down, her mind racing.

This shouldn’t be happening. Why was Liang An reacting this way? Was he truly not afraid of this blowing up into a major scandal?

Before long, someone had already reached the other side of the door. Holding her breath, Qu You heard Liang An’s voice, low and sinister, from just outside. “Madam, don’t turn down good wine only to be forced to drink the bitter cup instead. I understand that defending your husband is only natural and proper, but you’d best think carefully about your own future as well.”

Qu You forced herself to stay calm and said coldly, “And if I insist on defending him regardless?”

“Insist on defending him, hm?” Liang An showed none of the hesitation she’d expected. He repeated her words with amusement, then suddenly said, “Then how does this sound to you, Madam — once I have the seal in hand, I’ll send you off to join your beloved husband in the afterlife. He’ll have died of his wounds; you, having died for love of your husband. Once word gets out, your father won’t be able to continue in office either — though I do wonder, will he follow your example and lodge a complaint with the Censorate as well?”

“Oh, wait — hasn’t he not even made it out of the Ministry of Justice’s prison yet?”

She had, after all, still underestimated the sheer ruthlessness of these men steeped in court politics!

Qu You felt a chill spread through her hands and feet. She had wondered about this earlier, but now she understood completely — Liang An’s insistence that she step aside wasn’t out of any fear of her, but simply because she was an inconvenience.

But if she died, she would be, at most, a minor inconvenience — men skilled in the art of manipulating power like these could easily handle a single murder confined within the walls of a private residence; it would be nothing to them at all.

Qu You made a snap decision and immediately changed her tone. “Lord Liang, there’s no need for this. If you wish to search the residence, I won’t hold it against you…”

Before she could finish, Liang An kicked the door open.

Qu You, carried by the momentum, fell hard to the floor. She glanced toward the doorway and saw no sign of Zhou Shengde or Nanny Yun.

They must have already been restrained.

What should she do? What should she do?

History… would it truly be rewritten? Had her very presence here already set some butterfly’s wings into motion, throwing everything into chaos?

Liang An looked down at her, his narrow eyes glinting with a sharp light amid the folds of coarse flesh on his face. Qu You looked up at him and easily caught, in that instant, a flicker of both dark admiration and malice in his gaze. “A bit late to change your tune now, isn’t it, Madam?”

She had assumed earlier that he held some measure of restraint or fear — she now realized she’d been utterly wrong. Had she known from the start that Liang An had come prepared to silence her permanently regardless, she should have given way from the very first moment.

Qu You slumped back against the floor, retreating a few steps into the shadow cast by the doorway, the pale pink gauze of her wedding robe dragging a streak of color across the ground.

“Zhou Tan is right here. Have you considered…” Qu You said, cold sweat trickling down her forehead and dripping onto her fingers, “…that perhaps he’s already awake?”

Liang An reached back and shut the door, then approached her at an unhurried pace, sneering openly at her words. “Oh, is he awake? Then have him get up. Why’s he lying there like a corpse playing dead?”

“An arrogant little brat who doesn’t know his place, daring to climb over my head within the Ministry of Justice itself! You’re every bit as foolish as he is — though I confess, I do feel a certain pity for you.”

Liang An studied her, his eyes flickering with a mixture of excitement and lechery, his mouth spewing filth. “I pity you, young and beautiful as you are — why not come with me instead? Wouldn’t that be better than spending your life widowed, mourning Zhou Tan? You haven’t even had your wedding night yet — Madam surely doesn’t even know what it means to be with a man. Let me show you some tenderness…”

Thoroughly disgusted, Qu You forced herself, pale-faced, back to her feet. She stepped back twice, her hand fumbling blindly across the table behind her, until at last her fingers found the scissors she remembered lying in Nanny Yun’s sewing basket on the table.

She was still calculating how best to strike — quickly, decisively, without alerting him — when she saw Liang An’s smile suddenly freeze on his face.

As though he’d seen a ghost, all the smugness drained instantly from his expression, and his face began twitching uncontrollably.

Following his gaze, Qu You saw a figure standing behind the folding screen — she had no idea when he’d appeared there.

A cold, clear voice came from behind her — not loud, perfectly calm, and yet it sent a shiver through Liang An’s entire body in an instant.

“…How dare you.”