Zhang Tang sat quietly, watching the Court physician treat the two men’s injuries. If not for the dark official’s robes of a Deputy Chief Justice he wore, sitting there calmly drinking tea, he might have looked like a bookish, somewhat delicate young scholar.

But Zhang Tang had read very little. There was not a trace of the scholar’s spirit in his bones.

He had read for a while after joining the Court, then one day simply lost interest, and rarely picked up a book again.

If he had a talent for fighting, with his temperament he’d have been the kind of green-forest ruffian that no one dared provoke.

Someone had once advised Zhang Tang: You’ve already risen to the rank of Deputy Chief Justice — you ought to read more. Zhang Tang only smiled and said nothing.

Some called him stubborn and foolish. Others said it was the wisdom that looked like folly.

Someone eventually went and asked Director Gao what he thought about Zhang Tang reaching the rank of Deputy Chief Justice without reading more widely. Director Gao had smiled and said: Zhang Tang is a rare talent. At his age, to possess such profound wisdom — it’s no small thing.

Not many people understood. As a servant of those above, a man must always have some flaw. Even those who had navigated officialdom their whole lives failed to grasp this. Zhang Tang, who had barely read a book, understood it by instinct.

If he were flawless, others would have no small mistake to seize upon — and when they finally found one, it would by necessity be grave. If one has no weakness, many people will exhaust themselves searching for one.

But to let a few minor faults slip out now and then — that actually works in a court official’s favor. It also makes the people gunning for him underestimate him, thinking: a man like this poses no threat.

Sitting there in tranquil silence, this Deputy Chief Justice — heaven only knew what ruthless schemes were churning behind those quiet eyes.

“You may go.”

Once the physician had treated both men’s wounds, Zhang Tang dismissed him, rose, and walked to stand before the two prisoners.

“Good medicine — the sort ordinary people would have difficulty purchasing. It will be logged against the Court’s expenses.”

He looked at Xue Lingcheng. “You’re younger, stronger, and your martial skill is somewhat higher. So you carry more.”

Xue Lingcheng stared at him. In that one eye that could still open, fear had begun to appear.

“So today the instruments are for you alone.”

Zhang Tang said this with what sounded almost like sincere apology in his voice.

“Yesterday, one of your operatives couldn’t hold out and talked. Your part in covering the breakout — buying time for some women to escape — that much I know.”

Zhang Tang sat down and pointed at Xue Lingcheng. “Begin.”

Xue Lingcheng suddenly screamed: “If you already know, why are you still using the instruments!”

Zhang Tang explained, quite calmly: “Because you haven’t confessed. How could I use another man’s testimony to reduce your sentence? That would be unfair to the one who already talked.”

“The operative who confessed yesterday has already been treated today. Fresh clothes. And he gets to enjoy a proper meal.”

Zhang Tang said: “How about this—”

He turned and issued a quiet instruction: “Bring him up. Let him eat right here, in front of these two gentlemen.”

Before long, the operative who had talked was brought in, visibly terrified. The moment he saw Xue Lingcheng and Jiang Wei, he instinctively turned to leave.

“Why are you running?” Zhang Tang said. “You should set an example. If you don’t want your two commanders to keep suffering, you ought to tell them what it’s been like for you since you confessed — because if I describe it, they might not believe me. Seeing is believing, after all.”

Court officers came in and arranged a generous spread of food on the table. It looked extraordinarily tempting.

Neither Xue Lingcheng nor Jiang Wei had eaten so much as a bite since being brought in. Pain doesn’t ease hunger.

The operative ate in terrified silence, glancing at Xue Lingcheng and Jiang Wei between bites.

Xue Lingcheng said: “Eat if you want to eat. A man who betrayed his comrades won’t come to a good end anyway. Consider it your last meal before the execution.”

At those words, the operative’s hands visibly shook with fright.

“Why are you afraid of him?” Zhang Tang addressed the operative. “You are now a meritorious subject of the Ning Army, under the Court’s protection. He’s a prisoner. If he threatens you, the Court won’t stand by and watch. So why are you afraid of him?”

The man didn’t know how to respond. He sat frozen, unable to eat, unable to speak.

Zhang Tang let out a quiet sigh. “Are you afraid he’ll take revenge on you?”

The operative glanced at Zhang Tang again, still unable to speak.

“I ask that you believe one thing,” Zhang Tang said. “You chose to surrender. I chose to accept. That means you have no reason to fear him. He should fear you — because you now have the power to decide whether he lives or dies.”

The operative nodded slowly. “I… understand.”

“Then tell me now,” Zhang Tang said. “What exactly are you afraid of?”

The operative hesitated for a long time, then answered carefully: “I… I just… can’t bring myself to look the Central Overseer in the eye.”

“Mm.”

Zhang Tang said: “You heard that? A man who has rendered us a service is afraid of a prisoner’s eyes. Take them out.”

A Court officer stepped forward immediately.

Zhang Tang said to the operative: “You see — I told you. You have the power to decide his fate. He should be afraid of you.”

Xue Lingcheng went pale with terror and began to struggle violently, but his bindings were too tight — no amount of struggling could free him.

Zhang Tang said lightly: “Take the eye that can’t open. Leave the one that can see.”

“No!”

Xue Lingcheng screamed.

The operative dropped to his knees, knocking his forehead against the floor. “Please, sir, please, I beg you — don’t take the Central Overseer’s eyes. Please—”

“You’ve rendered a service,” Zhang Tang said, “so you will be treated well. He refused to confess and threatened you. You said you were afraid of his eyes — so we take them.”

The operative turned and kowtowed to Xue Lingcheng. “Commander, Commander — please, just tell them. Please, Commander.”

Xue Lingcheng had gone paper-white. He watched the Court officer approach, watched the scoop-like instrument reach toward his eye, and began shaking violently.

“Leave him alone.”

At that moment, Jiang Wei spoke. “The one you didn’t catch is named Shang Jiuying. She’s a woman. Exceptional martial skill. She also knows the bone-softening technique. The reason we covered her escape was to let her get free and go after Prince Ning’s godmother. Isn’t that what you’ve been using as a pretext to search the city? So we thought — if that’s the story, we might as well make it true.”

Xue Lingcheng erupted: “Jiang Wei! You traitor — you betrayed your comrade. You won’t come to a good end!”

Jiang Wei let out a small scoff. “Stop performing. You were going to break in the next moment anyway. I was just sparing you the embarrassment. You should thank me.”

Zhang Tang asked: “When will she move?”

Jiang Wei shook his head. “I don’t know. Things were so urgent — there was no time to discuss details. If she really got out… Just have Prince Ning protect his godmother, that’s all.”

Zhang Tang nodded. He looked at Xue Lingcheng. “You really were performing.”

Xue Lingcheng stared.

Zhang Tang turned and walked toward the door, speaking as he went: “Take his eyes. Both of them.”

As he stepped outside, a shriek of pure anguish erupted from the interrogation room — the door closed and still couldn’t contain it.

Then came the terrified wailing of the operative, crying and asking why — why had they still taken the Central Overseer’s eyes.

Someone answered him: Because it wasn’t you who gave him up. What does it have to do with you?

Jiang Wei accepted all of this with remarkable composure, as though he had thought of something — or perhaps there was simply nothing left that he cared about.

The swelling around his eyes seemed to have gone down somewhat. Perhaps the medicine really was that effective.

But in that moment he caught sight of Xue Lingcheng — both eye sockets streaming blood — and quickly looked away, wishing he hadn’t seen it.

Fortunately, Xue Lingcheng’s screaming didn’t last long before he was dragged outside. Jiang Wei figured he was being taken out to be killed.

“Could you pass a message to Zhang Tang for me — I’d like to see Fang Biechen.”

Jiang Wei spoke quietly.

The operative who had been kneeling on the floor was muttering to himself in a frenzy, asking over and over again: Why? Why?

“There is no why.”

A Court centurion looked down at him, expression blank.

“Our men in Qingmian County were tortured to death the same way. We’re simply returning the favor.”

The centurion crouched down and looked the operative in the eye. “We were always enemies. Our people died in your hands, in the most brutal ways imaginable. Your people died in our hands the same way. What is there to be sentimental about?”

He patted the operative on the shoulder. “Either we win in the end — and the Shadow Camp loses many people — or you win, and we lose many people.”

Hearing that, Jiang Wei felt a strange clarity wash through him.

Yes… what is there to be sentimental about?

Perhaps this was why Prince Ning’s side always seemed stronger.

Because they had the Ning Army — soldiers who fought brilliantly, who never harmed civilians, who had no stain of wrongdoing; a brilliance that was genuinely humbling.

And they had the Court of Judicial Review — an institution that had never once concerned itself with compassion or morality, only with what was right and what was wrong.

—

In the courtyard.

Zhang Tang stood over Xue Lingcheng, who was convulsing with pain, and asked in that same warm, unruffled voice:

“Now you can think about it carefully. Do you want to live on without eyes, or die without eyes?”

Xue Lingcheng was trembling — shaking and unable to stop, perhaps from pain, perhaps from fear.

“I…”

“I want to live.”

In front of Jiang Wei, he had held on to that last breath. But the moment he was dragged outside, he truly couldn’t anymore.

Zhang Tang nodded. “Take him to be bandaged. Our best physician. The best medicine. He can’t see anymore — but he can remember a great deal.”

His subordinate lowered his voice: “Jiang Wei wants to see Fang Biechen.”

Zhang Tang was silent for a moment. “Send someone to ask General Fang if he wishes to see Jiang Wei. If the General prefers not to, tell Jiang Wei so honestly.”

“Yes, sir.”

The subordinate acknowledged the order and left at a quick pace.

Zhang Tang straightened his robes, passed through a gate, and crossed into the main courtyard — then stopped outside Gao Xining’s study.

“Your subordinate Zhang Tang requests an audience.”

Shortly after, Zhang Tang relayed the intelligence he had extracted to Gao Xining.

“Understood. I’ll handle this.”

Gao Xining asked Zhang Tang: “What do you intend to do with the two of them? What are your thoughts?”

“Neither can be allowed to live.”

“Your reasoning?”

“General Fang,” Zhang Tang said, “should be the most valuable person here — not two men who only barely surrendered after severe interrogation.”

He lowered his head. “We need General Fang to understand that he matters — not to let him feel that those two who broke under torture could take his place, or even stand alongside him as equals. A man of importance should be kept alive in ways that befit his importance.”

Gao Xining was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You arrange it.”

Zhang Tang bowed. “Your subordinate will wait until both have written down everything they know, then act.”

Gao Xining acknowledged it with a soft sound.

This sort of thing — if it were left to her, she might not be able to go through with it.

But she knew: hand it to Zhang Tang, and no matter how ruthless or severe the task, as long as it was the right thing to do, Zhang Tang would see it done.

“Before it’s done, let General Fang know,” Gao Xining said.

Zhang Tang said: “Jiang Wei wants to see Fang Biechen. He’s a very intelligent man — he’s probably already figured out that no matter what, he will die.”

“And your opinion?” Gao Xining asked.

“They should not be allowed to meet.”

Gao Xining fell silent again.

She understood what Zhang Tang meant. A man like Jiang Wei — knowing his death is certain, wanting one last meeting with Fang Biechen — was he seeking forgiveness?

Impossible. He only wanted, in his final moments, to poison Fang Biechen’s peace of mind.

“And if General Fang wants to see Jiang Wei?”

“Then your subordinate can have him die early.”

Zhang Tang raised his head and looked at Gao Xining. “Though what I’d prefer to see is General Fang refusing to go.”

Not going — that was the best farewell.

—