With a loud “clang,” the already-locked main gate of the Hanlin Academy was opened again.

Two palace lanterns flashed by, their lights swaying.

A man strode in.

The front hem of his robe fluttered in the cold wind, gray on the outside and yellow on the inside, with five-clawed dragon patterns spiraling along the seams, appearing particularly intimidating in the dim night.

Behind him, the clear moonlight gently struck the courtyard walls, the faint crimson color seemingly covered with a layer of gauze, hazy and ethereal as if in a dream.

As he walked, the white jade hairpin at the back of his head gleamed with condensed light, contrasting with his severe, darkened face.

His brows were slightly furrowed, his heterochromatic eyes cold as ice, his tightly pressed thin lips as sharp and pressing as a dangerous blade.

The yellow-robed attendant carrying the lantern beside him walked with light steps, his face filled with trepidation. He knew the man was displeased and feared doing anything that might provoke his anger.

The courtyard’s brick pathways were covered with traces of white snow. Each of his steps was steady and heavy. The gray snow under his boots made a grating crunch, causing people inside the hall to hear the commotion and hurriedly come out to greet him.

“Your Highness.”

Fang Huai drew in his sleeves and bowed respectfully.

He remained silent, his gaze coolly brushing past Fang Huai’s shoulder and looking straight into the half-open vermilion doors of the Imperial Edict Hall. Then he strode directly up the steps and entered the hall.

Everyone in the room stopped their busy work. Yellow imperial papers on the tables, cold ink and warm candles, official caps and jade belts with various fish pouches all came into view, and everyone unconsciously froze.

Meng Tinghui stood in the innermost part of the room. He lightly raised his eyelashes, saw the expression on the man’s face, and then lowered his head.

Perhaps everyone here had anticipated his arrival tonight.

But upon actually seeing his angry face, no one dared to act on their own. All stood still, waiting for him to speak.

He merely stood at the entrance, looking at each person in the room, very slowly, but his gaze was fierce, unbearable to meet.

Everyone lowered their eyes, except for her, who instead raised her head, meeting his gaze directly.

She could read his eyes and knew why he was so angry.

…

Ten days ago, a memorial sent by Shen Zhishu from Qingzhou to the capital had caused great waves throughout the court. That memorial accused Qingzhou Vice Magistrate Wang Qi of three major crimes. Every sentence was like a knife, every word drew blood. Particularly regarding the Qingzhou garrison’s monthly silver and his use of the Emperor’s name to extort from the people—matters that shocked and frightened the entire court and enraged the Emperor.

Consequently, the high officials from the Secretariat and Chancellery, along with the Censorate officials, were ordered to deliberate. They had intended to dismiss Wang Qi from office for investigation, but due to the intervention of senior Eastern Court officials led by Gu Qin, who argued that Shen Zhishu lacked conclusive evidence regarding the monthly silver matter, the case was postponed. It concluded with an edict recalling Wang Qi to the capital, temporarily appointing him as an official in the Court of the Imperial Stud, and leaving the matter for further investigation.

The senior officials of the Eastern and Western Courts had been at odds for many years. Shen Zhishu, as the eldest son of Shen Wuchen, the head of the Western Court’s senior officials, had made the already tense situation between the two sides even more intense with this impeachment memorial. Additionally, since the Crown Prince and Shen Zhishu were close friends, almost everyone in the court believed this matter was done at the Crown Prince’s instruction and was specifically targeted against the senior officials of the Eastern Court.

Though there were whispers in private, no one dared speak openly at court. Everyone assumed the matter would come to a temporary conclusion, with further judgment to be made after Wang Qi returned to the capital and the Censorate conducted a detailed investigation.

Who would have thought that the matter was far from over so simply?

A day ago, the Hanlin Academy was ordered to lock its gates to draft an imperial edict demoting Wang Qi from his position as Qingzhou Vice Magistrate and transferring him to the Court of the Imperial Stud. This edict should have been written in severe, harsh language. Unexpectedly, that night, the person drafting the edict used mild and diplomatic wording, not mentioning a single word about the reasons for Wang Qi’s demotion and transfer. The entire edict was vague in its transitions, clearly intending to cover up Wang Qi’s crimes.

This draft edict was presented to the Inner Court Hall in the early morning and was immediately torn to shreds by the Crown Prince, who was handling affairs there and had not yet returned home.

For the prestigious Hanlin Academy to misunderstand the Emperor’s will and draft such an edict was truly an act of defiance!

As soon as the morning court session ended, the Crown Prince sent people to investigate who had locked the academy gates the previous night to draft the edict, but the entire Hanlin Academy claimed ignorance.

It was an attempt to protect the drafter.

Furthermore, it openly demonstrated these senior officials of the Hanlin Academy’s opposition to the matter.

It could be called lawless…

How could he not be angry?!

…

Ying Gua stood motionless, but his face was full of accusatory intent.

Everyone in the room stood with him. For a long time, no one spoke, not knowing what he wanted or where and with whom he intended to start.

Candlelight spread across the floor. The night’s cold wind gushed in through the wide-open doors, cold.

She suddenly stepped forward, pulled over a blackwood chair from the side, placed it beside the high table, and said to him: “Your Highness.”

His gaze swept over, cold and intimidating. After looking at her for a while, he finally moved his feet and walked over to sit down.

His cool, smooth robe spread across his knees as he clasped his hands together.

She went to pour a cup of hot tea, brought it before him, and said softly: “Please, Your Highness.”

He took the teacup, ignoring how hot it was, gripping it tightly. Finally, he spoke, calling her name: “Meng Tinghui.”

She was about to turn and go back but stopped when she heard his voice.

He said: “According to the Hanlin Academy’s monthly duty roster, which scholars, secretaries, and compilers were supposed to stay overnight to draft the edict?”

The gazes of several people in the room instantly fixed on her, like burning flames, searing her from head to toe.

She didn’t need to look to know what kind of gazes Fang Huai and others were giving her. She shook her head and answered without any hesitation: “In response to Your Highness, I do not know.”

With a heavy “bang,” the teacup on the table fell to the ground. The official porcelain shattered, and the scalding hot tea splashed in a circle around it.

His elbow rested lightly on the table, his fist slightly clenched.

If looks could kill, she would have been lingchi’d a thousand times over.

Her expression remained calm, as if unaware of the magnitude of his anger. She slowly bent down and picked up the pieces of the broken porcelain one by one.

His expression grew increasingly severe.

If anyone in the Hanlin Academy would tell the truth, it should have been her. How could he have imagined that even she would have a day when she would lie to him?

After picking up all the broken pieces, she stood obediently in place, her bright eyes looking at him.

“Meng Tinghui,” he spoke again, his eyes full of anger, “I ask you once more, who stayed at the academy last night?”

Her eyes were warm and bright as she looked at him, quietly gazing at him, and then suddenly knelt, saying softly: “Among those who stayed at the academy last night was me.”