The hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

Zhu Nanxian glimpsed Zhu Minda’s expression from the corner of his eye and very sensibly dropped to his knees with a thud. However, unable to bear the wad of paper jutting awkwardly in his mouth, he couldn’t help chewing twice.

Zhu Minda’s face turned black as the bottom of a pot, and he immediately roared in fury, “Outrageous!”

Startled by his shout, Zhu Nanxian felt the paper ball in his throat gulp down and slide down his esophagus.

Blatant destruction of evidence.

Zhu Minda was so angry smoke practically came from his seven orifices. He roared, “Bring a blade!” The hall door opened in response, and an inner servant knelt to present a blade. Zhu Minda then pointed at Zhu Nanxian and said, “Cut open his belly for this Crown Prince!”

As soon as the words fell, Zhu Shisan’s legs trembled and he also fell to his knees, clutching Zhu Minda’s hand and crying out, “Imperial Brother, if punishment is needed, punish me instead! Thirteenth Imperial Brother did this all for my sake!”

Zhu Nanxian froze, looking at him in silent speechlessness, thinking to himself, imperial younger brother, you’re overthinking this—this imperial elder brother did this truly not for your sake.

Zhu Minda had quite a headache. These two brothers had grown up at his side—one kneeling, one making a scene—what kind of spectacle was this?

Currently, the Seventh Prince’s wings were growing increasingly strong. His handling of the previous canal transport case had been exceptionally impressive, earning him a reputation as a worthy prince, and even their father the Emperor regarded him highly.

Although ancestral rules dictated succession by legitimate heir if one existed, or by eldest if not, Emperor Jingyuan had implemented a feudal enfeoffment system, and each imperial heir possessed extraordinary capabilities. The Seventh Prince’s Huaixi region was precisely where their father had risen to power in his youth—the implications of this needed no elaboration.

Zhu Minda desperately hoped his two full younger brothers could become his right and left arms.

Never mind Shisan—he had revered martial prowess since childhood, believing their father’s empire was won on horseback, so he had somewhat neglected literary accomplishments.

However, Shisan couldn’t lift a finger for honest work, couldn’t distinguish the five grains, couldn’t write, couldn’t ride—a complete wastrel.

Zhu Minda was too lazy to bother with these two useless brothers any longer and instead turned to bow to Liu Chaoming, saying, “Forgive the spectacle before the Censor.”

Liu Chaoming returned the courtesy with cupped hands.

Zhu Minda then looked at the person kneeling on the ground, suddenly remembering something, and asked, “Your surname is Su? Have you passed the imperial examination?”

Su Jin bowed her head, “In response to Your Highness the Crown Prince, this humble subject was an imperial scholar from the special examination of Jingyuan Year 18.”

Zhu Minda made a sound of acknowledgment, then said, “Raise your face.”

Zhu Minda was the Crown Prince—he had seen plenty of beautiful people, from consorts of devastating beauty to refined and elegant young scholars.

The face that came into view—how to describe it?

Between the brows carried an inherent air of refined clarity that could make one overlook the originally quite elegant features.

Beyond temperament, what was more captivating were those eyes—bright eyes that seemed to harbor blazing fire within.

Zhu Minda recalled a phrase: a belly full of poetry and books naturally bestows grace. What a pity—there were three parts too much desolation.

Zhu Minda asked Zhu Nanxian, “Before you went to the northwestern garrison that year, you mentioned wanting to request an imperial scholar to serve as your tutor and teach you learning. Was it this person?”

Zhu Nanxian thought to himself, it certainly was.

But when the words reached his lips, he hesitated again, as if someone had suddenly exposed his secret thoughts. With a guilty conscience, he said, “Pro-probably so.”

Zhu Minda saw his pathetic appearance and snorted coldly, then asked Yan Ziyan, “Previously I had you find the original essay that Magistrate Su ghostwrote. Have you found it?”

Yan Ziyan knew the original essay was with Liu Chaoming, yet he said, “In response to Your Highness, not yet.”

Zhu Minda thought for a moment, then asked Liu Chaoming, “This Crown Prince heard that Magistrate Su was brought to the Crown Prince’s Administrative Office by the Censor?”

Liu Chaoming affirmed this was so.

Zhu Minda said, “Did the Imperial Censorate discover something, which is why the Censor brought him here for interrogation?”

Liu Chaoming paused slightly and said, “Indeed, I had heard something about Magistrate Su helping the Seventeenth Prince with ghostwriting, which is why I came to inquire. Regrettably, there is no solid evidence.”

Hearing these words, Zhu Minda looked at Su Jin thoughtfully and said, “Since the Censor is looking into this matter, this Crown Prince is completely at ease. Very well, I’ll leave this to the Imperial Censorate. Whatever Lord Liu discovers and however he decides to punish, there’s no need to report back to this Crown Prince.”

Rather than dealing with an eighth-rank minor official, better to do the Imperial Censorate a favor.

Zhu Minda was a clever man. From Liu Chaoming’s single phrase “regrettably, there is no solid evidence,” he immediately guessed that Censor Liu was determined to shield Magistrate Su.

How strange indeed—Liu Yun had entered the Imperial Censorate at nineteen, and over six years had maintained an almost coldly impartial stance, never seen showing anyone leniency.

However, this was also good. Currently he and Seventh were like fire and water, and both his full younger brothers were simple-minded wastrels. If he could win the Imperial Censorate’s favor through this matter—not to mention support, even the slightest bit of preference would be greatly beneficial to the situation.

Thinking this, Zhu Minda immediately bowed again to Liu Chaoming, saying, “I trouble Lord Liu,” and without bothering about the two princes still kneeling on the ground, turned and left.

After all the inner servants and guards had withdrawn with His Highness the Crown Prince, Zhu Nanxian finally patted his knees and was about to help Su Jin up when Liu Chaoming said coldly from the side, “Magistrate Su, rise.”

Zhu Nanxian’s hand froze in midair, then shifted rightward by a foot to pull up Yan Ziyan instead.

Zhu Shisan climbed up from the ground and sat in a nearby chair, still sobbing intermittently. Zhu Nanxian looked at him with extreme disdain, then turned to ask Liu Chaoming, “Lord Liu, regarding this ghostwriting matter—”

Liu Chaoming silently retrieved a secret letter from his robes, placed it on the lamp stand that had earlier failed in its mission, and burned it.

Everyone in the hall stared dumbfounded at this scene, thinking left and right but unable to figure out—this was something the Left Censor-in-Chief would do?

Liu Chaoming said, “This matter is concluded. No need to mention it again.”

Yan Ziyan realized that by burning the solid evidence, Liu Chaoming had not only helped Su Jin but also himself, who had earlier tried to burn the essay. He immediately bowed, “Many thanks to Lord Liu. This subordinate will personally speak to the Hanlin Academy to ensure no word of this leaks.” He paused, then added, “However, regarding the Seventeenth Prince’s side…”

Zhu Nanxian immediately understood and kicked Shisan’s leg, “Hey, they’re asking you—which blind fool did you find who let this matter get exposed?”

Zhu Shisan sniffled, “I only sought out the young marquis twice. He found someone to ghostwrite for me. When trouble arose, naturally I had him figure out a solution.”

With these words, Su Jin understood everything.

Yan Ziyan had shown her “Clear Currency Notes” to His Highness the Crown Prince, but Zhu Shisan claimed to recognize her handwriting, arousing Zhu Minda’s suspicion. In his panic, Zhu Shisan sought out Ren Xuan for a solution. However, Ren Xuan, fearing he’d be implicated, had no choice but to betray Su Jin by submitting her original essay to the Ministry of Justice. Yet fearing someone would discover the connection, he came to Yingtian Prefecture to have Su Jin flee.

Then, according to Yan Ziyan’s earlier words, on the day of the scholar disturbance when she was risking life and death, among the several high officials hiding trembling in the teahouses was Ren Xuan.

Thinking of this, Su Jin felt neither disappointment nor anger.

All living beings, all people in the world live for themselves—naturally some would forget righteousness entirely for profit.

This whole experience could serve as a lesson: those who barely knew each other yet could call each other brothers over trifling benefits were mostly not worth deep friendship.

They should be kept at a respectful distance.

Zhu Shisan had originally thought he would at least receive a beating, but unexpectedly the ghostwriting matter concluded just like that. Overjoyed yet still somewhat shaken, he clutched Zhu Nanxian’s arm and sobbed, “Thirteenth Brother, I finally understand—in this entire palace, you treat me the best. This time you risked being cut open to shield me from Eldest Imperial Brother’s scolding. Next time—next time I’ll also take the blade for you!”

Zhu Nanxian looked at him wordlessly, raised his hand to peel him off his arm, then said, “You, come here. This imperial elder brother has some heartfelt words that must be spoken.”

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and strode purposefully under an elm tree outside the hall. To Zhu Shisan who had followed bouncing behind him, he said, “Shisan, you’re really overthinking things. This imperial elder brother’s great righteousness and courage was not for your sake. Moreover, that Eldest Imperial Brother didn’t punish you because of this greatly disappoints this imperial elder brother. This imperial elder brother has something to instruct you: next time you write an essay, even if you have the heavenly king himself ghostwrite it I won’t care. But if you dare seek out Magistrate Su again, watch out—your imperial brother will break your legs!”

Zhu Shisan was thunderstruck. His large eyes blinked rapidly, instantly brimming with tears.

Fortunately, before he could start crying again, Zhu Nanxian ordered an inner servant to drag him away.

With matters here concluded, Yan Ziyan was first to take his leave, departing to handle aftermath at the Hanlin Academy.

Liu Chaoming gave Zhu Nanxian a distant bow and also prepared to return to the Imperial Censorate. Su Jin followed behind him, softly saying, “Many thanks, my lord.”

Liu Chaoming did not turn around. His steps paused as he asked, “How will you thank me?”

It was already approaching evening, and the long wind was rising. Su Jin gazed into the distance, seeing only palace pavilions and towers, not seeing distant mountains and long waters.

She said, “The clouded mountains are vast, the rivers broad and deep. Your lordship’s kindness this subordinate will remember profoundly and never forget.”

In a corner of the garden grew a clump of wild grass, untended yet growing ever more lushly. The Qinhuai rain had stopped—high summer had arrived.

Liu Chaoming looked at that clump of grass, tough as silk, and suddenly recalled the old Imperial Censor’s entrustment. His heart filled with guilt, and for a moment he wondered how Su Jin had managed after being seriously injured and driven to Songshan County.

With his back to Su Jin, he couldn’t help saying, “Su Shiyu, this official has something I wish to ask you.”

Su Jin said, “Please speak, my lord.”

Liu Chaoming said, “Would you be willing…”

Before finishing his words, they came to an abrupt halt, because he heard someone behind him ask with one part hesitation, two parts concern, and seven parts forced composure, “Has Magistrate Su’s injury improved somewhat?”—