That very night, the Imperial Censorate’s defenses were completely changed inside and out.

The Imperial Medical Bureau’s chief physician came to verify that the bowl of medicine sent to Su Jin during the day had indeed been poisoned, containing arsenic. Just one spoonful would have meant certain death.

The palace attendant who had delivered the medicine was also found—in the pond, and when pulled out, his body was already bloated from soaking.

Su Jin didn’t know who had tried to harm her. Before lying down to sleep, she had still been thinking of carefully reviewing all the clues in her hands once more, but who knew that the moment her head touched the porcelain pillow, she would fall into a deep sleep.

She was truly too exhausted. Going to sleep with chaotic thoughts, she surprisingly had almost no dreams all night.

In a daze, she could only hear the boundless sound of rain, and Liu Chaoming’s words: “Su Shiyu, would you be willing to come to the Imperial Censorate, to follow me from now on, and become a censor who rectifies chaos and remains true to their principles?”

She had not answered.

Not because she was unwilling.

It was just that from the moment she decided to embark on an official career, the vast road ahead had become discordant. Liu Chaoming’s question was like someone suddenly taking bamboo strips to tune her strings, correcting the pitch, saying this was how the piece should be played.

Su Jin didn’t know whether continuing like this would lead her further astray into discord, or whether she could forge a new path in the desolate wilderness.

The next morning, Zhao Yan came to the duty room to discuss with Liu Chaoming the external evaluation system for the twelve circuit inspecting censors. He knocked on the partition door, but it was Su Jin who came out.

Zhao Yan was stunned and instinctively glanced into the partition.

Su Jin bowed to him: “Is Lord Zhao looking for Lord Liu? He has already gone to the public hall.”

Zhao Yan nodded. Though he felt his mind was full of improper thoughts, he couldn’t help but ask: “You spent the night here with Lord Liu?”

Su Jin was taken aback and lowered her eyes: “Lord Zhao has misunderstood. Last night Lord Liu said he had an urgent case to handle and did not rest in the duty room. It was only this morning when I got up and ran into him returning to fetch case files that I learned he had gone to the public hall.”

Zhao Yan put on a proper expression: “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that the Office of Transmission sent a letter early this morning, and it’s rather urgent.”

Though he said this, he actually felt relieved.

Last night he had presided over Imperial Censorate affairs and had originally planned to arrange lodging for Su Jin here. But with so many threads to manage, he hadn’t gotten around to it at the time, and when he turned back to look for her, she was already gone.

Zhao Yan saw that Liu Chaoming cared about Su Jin, and Zhao Yan also saw that Zhu Nanxian cared tremendously about Su Jin.

Zhao Yan thought, fortunately this caring was not the same as that caring.

Otherwise, if his failure to arrange lodging had caused the Left Chief Censor to lose his reputation, his offense would have been great indeed.

Zhao Yan slowly exhaled and stepped out of the duty room, only to see Liu Chaoming walking over carrying a cup of tea. He couldn’t help but ask: “What urgent case did you handle last night? Why did you let Su Jin sleep in your partition for the night? Didn’t the letter from the Office of Transmission only arrive this morning?”

Liu Chaoming took a sip of tea: “There was no urgent case. I deceived him.” Seeing Zhao Yan’s surprise, he added, “Otherwise how would he have felt at ease resting here?”

Zhao Yan was stunned: “Then where did you sleep last night?”

Liu Chaoming glanced at the duty room: “I didn’t really sleep. When I got tired reading case files, I dozed off leaning on the desk and woke up at the fourth watch.”

Zhao Yan felt that the breath he had just exhaled was now tightly constricted in his chest again.

As the two were talking, three people approached through the Imperial Censorate’s corridor. The one in front wore a flying fish robe with an embroidered spring knife at his waist—it was Wei Jiang, Assistant Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Seeing Liu Chaoming, Wei Jiang cupped his hands and bowed first: “Lord Liu, dare I ask if Magistrate Su from the Capital Magistracy is under interrogation at the Imperial Censorate? Could we borrow him for half a day at the Regional Military Commission?”

The major criminals from the North-South case, Elder Qiu and Yan Ziyan and others, were held in the Ministry of Justice prison, while five days ago, the southern scholars accused of cheating had been sent to the Regional Military Commission’s imperial prison.

Liu Chaoming remained noncommittal, only asking: “Is there a problem with the scholars’ confessions?”

Wei Jiang shook his head: “Not exactly. There’s one scholar among them who says he will only affix his seal after seeing Magistrate Su, but with the case deadline approaching, my subordinates lost their restraint and—”

“And what happened?”

Liu Chaoming turned around to see Su Jin had already emerged from the duty room.

She came over and bowed: “Dare I ask Lord Liu, is this scholar named Xu Ying, Xu Yuanzhe, who was originally the third-place scholar of this examination?”

Wei Jiang said: “Precisely.” He looked at Liu Chaoming again. “It was my poor supervision that led my subordinates to believe they could use severe torture to force him, not knowing that Xu Ying already had injuries and could not withstand further torture. Since he has a dying wish, if we could borrow Magistrate Su to persuade him with kind words, this matter could have a good outcome.”

Since the Embroidered Uniform Guard was established, they had handled countless cases. Though not every single one could be managed properly, it was common enough for subordinate officers to make errors during interrogation and have a key prisoner die.

They could just press the dead person’s hand onto the confession, and the case would be considered closed even if it wasn’t officially closed.

Yet this time they went to such lengths to request Su Jin to “persuade with kind words”—probably because the one sitting on the dragon throne had given instructions to obtain a living confession.

Thinking of this, Su Jin’s eyes dimmed.

And after confessing while alive? Then drag him to the execution ground to be beheaded?

Already going through such elaborate theatrics, yet still unwilling to lose face—Emperor Jingyuan truly was growing old.

Liu Chaoming glanced at Su Jin and said to Wei Jiang: “Lord Wei, please lead the way. I will go as well.”

Xu Yuanzhe had already been carried out of the imperial prison and placed in a side room of the Regional Military Commission’s office. Even with all her mental preparation, Su Jin was stunned when she saw Xu Yuanzhe.

Only ten days had passed since the scholars’ disturbance, yet he had already wasted away beyond human form. There wasn’t a single patch of intact skin on his body. His legs were bent at an impossible angle, and shattered bone could be seen among the bloody flesh.

Su Jin almost couldn’t recognize him.

Wei Jiang said in a low voice at the side: “We’ve given him alertness tonic. He’s conscious. Magistrate Su may proceed.”

Su Jin called out: “Yuanzhe.”

Xu Yuanzhe turned his face. Recognizing Su Jin, some light floated up in his hollow, lifeless eyes, but it was desolate. He opened his mouth, but aside from saying “Teacher Su,” he could say nothing else.

Su Jin’s chest felt blocked by a huge stone. She crouched down by the bed and said: “Yuanzhe, I know you did not cheat.”

When Xu Yuanzhe heard this, tears flowed from his eyes.

He turned his face back to stare at the ceiling beam: “They all don’t believe me.”

Su Jin could only grip his hand tightly.

Xu Yuanzhe paused, as if speaking to Su Jin and yet also to himself: “I was born of a concubine, with legs of unequal length. My father didn’t like me, my birth mother died early, and most of my brothers and sisters looked down on me. Only my grandmother treated me well. Back then I thought, I must strive hard, must study well. Even if I couldn’t pass the imperial examination later, even if I could only become a scholar or provincial graduate, I would take Grandmother away from that family.

“Every time the examination results were posted, those were my happiest moments—the laurel list, the apricot list, the imperial transmission. I still remember to this day, on the day of the imperial transmission, the announcing official called my name three times, saying I had passed the imperial examination, ranking third in the first tier, a third-place scholar. I was so happy. I thought my ten years by the cold window, every inch of time beneath the wind-swept eaves, all my efforts had finally not been in vain. But now, I’ve discovered I was wrong.”

He turned his face, his eyes filled with despair: “Teacher Su, now all I want is to clear my name. But these two words—clear name—are so difficult. I endured all the pain, all the resentment and grief, yet they deceive me, slander me, make me bear this false accusation. Why?”

Su Jin’s heart ached with dull pain. For a moment she couldn’t even face Xu Yuanzhe’s gaze, as if anything she said would be pale and powerless.

She pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes: “Yuanzhe, many of us are like this. In our youth we chose a path for ourselves, thinking it was a broad road to an unlimited future, but only after walking it do we discover thick fog on all sides with no sight of daylight. You ask yourself whether you made a mistake, but the path behind is vast and the path ahead dim—there’s no way to find the road home.”

Xu Yuanzhe laughed from his chest: “So we crash into walls bloody and broken, approaching the lamp’s end?”

He looked into her eyes and asked: “Teacher Su, what about you? You studied hard by the cold window for ten years—for what? You have abundant talent and strategic wisdom hidden in your chest, yet because of one small matter you’ve been held back for years. Have you never felt unwilling? You’ve been humiliated beneath the feet of evildoers, regarded as an ant by those in power. Have you never felt indignant? Was there ever a moment when you felt that everything you gained from walking alone through wind and rain was nothing but a joke in the end, just like me—”

Xu Yuanzhe struggled to prop up his body, utterly grief-stricken: “The hopes I devoted my entire life to have all become empty dreams. In the end I cannot even keep a clear name. I’m nothing but a chess piece in the hands of those high above. He kills me to please the people of the realm, he kills me to stabilize his empire, he kills me to recover the northern popular support he slaughtered away in his early years. What’s most laughable is that he holds many chess pieces just like me in his hand. He really must kill us all completely and properly to be satisfied. After all, once I’m dead, no one will remember. A hundred generations hence, the ten thousand people will only pay homage to his illustrious empire that remains fragrant for a thousand years.”

Xu Yuanzhe’s head fell heavily back onto the bamboo pillow, as if his last bit of strength had been exhausted: “Teacher Su, do you know what I’ve been thinking about over and over these past days?”

He turned his head and suddenly smiled at Su Jin: “In my next life, I won’t be a scholar.”

Then he closed his eyes, bit down hard on the root of his tongue, and used all his remaining strength to say the last words of this lifetime—

In my next life, I won’t be a scholar.

A great amount of blood gushed out from Xu Yuanzhe’s mouth. His eyes, already dried out, remained open lifelessly. Su Jin didn’t even have time to tell him that his innocence—at least she would remember it, remember it for a lifetime.

Liu Chaoming sighed and said to Wei Jiang: “I trouble Lord Wei—could you change him into clean clothes and find a place to bury him?”

Wei Jiang’s eyes were also dim. He hesitated, then said: “This… I cannot make the decision. I must request instructions from His Majesty.”

Request instructions from His Majesty for what?

There was only a corpse left before them. Were they going to flay and stuff him with straw, hang him at the city gate?

Su Jin said: “Then could Lord Wei give these robes and cap to me? I would like to establish a cenotaph for him outside the city.”

Wei Jiang was silent for a moment, then said: “Very well. When matters here are concluded, Magistrate Su may come to the Regional Military Commission to retrieve them.”

Su Jin didn’t remember how she left the Regional Military Commission with Liu Chaoming.

Nor did she know what meaning her visit had served.

Xu Yuanzhe had still died, in such a resolute manner. Perhaps before this, when he said he wanted to see Su Jin, it was just because he wanted to find someone to talk to.

When a person is about to die, they always want to pour out their entire life story.

Su Jin remembered that in the end, it was an Embroidered Uniform Guard officer who took the written confession and held Xu Yuanzhe’s hand to affix his seal.

In the end, he still could not keep his clear name.

Palace towers and broad terraces, blue sky and bright sun—yet under this clear heaven and earth, how many more had died with such false accusations, eyes unable to close in death?

Su Jin looked at Liu Chaoming, who was walking half a step ahead of her, and suddenly asked: “Lord Liu, what do censors do?”

Liu Chaoming stopped and turned around: “Distinguish right from wrong, rectify chaos, offer direct counsel, and assist His Majesty in purifying the administration of officials.”

Su Jin asked: “But what if His Majesty is wrong?” She shook her head. “In this North-South case, Lord Liu offered direct counsel and was barred from morning court for a month. Vice Minister Shen of Revenue said one word—’misunderstanding’—and had his leg broken. Yan Ziyan of the Office of Ceremonial Affairs strongly proved that the southern scholars did not cheat, and now his head is about to fall. And Xu Yuanzhe, who feared no torture and sought only to clear his name, bit off his own tongue and died in the Regional Military Commission.”

She raised her head to look at Liu Chaoming, her eyes filled with disappointment: “This is a court where ten thousand horses stand mute. Whatever those above deem right must be right, whatever they deem wrong must be wrong. Everyone lives in fear, afraid that grace received at dawn means dismissal by dusk. How should one serve as a censor when everything is absurd?”

Liu Chaoming took in all this disappointment: “You want an answer?”

Su Jin nodded.

Liu Chaoming turned and headed in another direction of the palace towers: “I’ll take you to find it.”

—

Author’s Note: External evaluation—a system for assessing officials serving outside the capital.