Though A’Liu’s mouth had been stuffed, he still prepared food and heated water for Su Jin.

After rushing about for several days, Su Jin could finally wash away the dust of travel.

She slept especially deeply that day. The Liu residence was permeated inside and out with a faint fragrance of Solomon’s seal, pleasant and soothing. After falling asleep, she didn’t even dream.

Su Jin slept from just after dawn until dark. When she woke, it was already midnight. An’ran came in to say that Vice Minister Shen from the Ministry of Revenue had been waiting for her at the Liu residence all day and wanted to take her into the palace to see Junior Guardian Yan.

Though Su Jin couldn’t understand why Yan Ziyan would want to see her before his execution, considering that a dying man’s wishes should be respected, she didn’t refuse and boarded the carriage with Shen Xi.

In the dark night, lanterns burned at the entrance to the Ministry of Justice prison. Walking down a long, deep corridor, iron cells lined both sides, pitch black. Occasionally moonlight shone through high windows, revealing prisoners confined within.

Shen Xi led Su Jin in through the prison’s back door, with a minor official from the Ministry of Justice holding a torch beside them. Halfway there, Shen Xi suddenly stopped and handed Su Jin a small jar of apricot blossom wine, saying, “You go ahead. I won’t go.”

Su Jin was startled: “Lord Shen?”

Firelight and moonlight fell upon Shen Xi. His pair of peach blossom eyes were lowered, the beauty mark at the corner particularly striking.

He laughed quietly and said, “Actually, he didn’t specifically say he had to see you. It’s just that when he heard you hadn’t used Yan Ziqi as an avenue to investigate Chao Qing’s case, he mentioned to me that he wanted to thank you in person.”

Su Jin said, “This was also at Lord Shen’s request.”

Shen Xi fell silent for a moment, as if trying hard to think what to say, and finally sighed: “He’s been prideful his whole life, valuing dignity above all else. Now that he’s fallen to this state yet I see him, he probably finds it unbearable. Every time I come, he has to quarrel with me—I suppose he doesn’t want to see this enemy anymore.”

He continued, “You’re different. You’re not deeply acquainted with him. He’s about to die—whatever he’s unwilling to say to me, he might be willing to say to you.”

In the darkness there was only firelight. The corridor was long and deep. Yan Ziyan’s cell was at the very end.

He seemed to be resting with his eyes closed. Hearing the movement at the cell door, he suddenly opened his eyes. Seeing Su Jin, he was stunned and said, “It’s you.” Then he fell silent for a moment, glanced behind Su Jin, and asked softly, “Are you alone?”

Su Jin still remembered what Yan Ziyan had looked like the last time she saw him.

Long eyebrows, phoenix eyes, white robes with wide sleeves—like a famous Wei-Jin scholar from an ancient painting.

Seeing him again now, she could barely recognize him. His filthy prisoner’s robe was covered with bloodstains, his emaciated appearance bearing no trace of his former elegance.

Su Jin nodded and said, “I’ve come to see the Junior Guardian off on his journey.”

As she spoke, she entered the cell, set down the wine jar in her hand, and using the wine cup left from the farewell meal, poured a cup for Yan Ziyan.

Yan Ziyan accepted it with an indifferent expression and smiled, saying, “Thank you.” Then he said with some regret, “Unfortunately, I was tortured the day before yesterday, and somehow my tongue was damaged. I can no longer taste anything. Though the wine looks fine, I can’t tell what kind it is.”

Su Jin said, “It’s apricot blossom wine.”

Yan Ziyan’s hand holding the wine cup paused. His eyes darkened, and he suddenly asked, “Shen Qingyue truly didn’t come?”

Su Jin didn’t know what to say.

Yan Ziyan laughed to himself: “Every year at the beginning of spring, he personally brews several jars of apricot blossom wine. In my entire life, I’ve never praised him for anything. The only time was last spring when I accidentally tasted his apricot blossom wine and said one sentence: ‘The wine is good.'”

Su Jin said, “Lord Shen said that every time he comes to see the Junior Guardian, you quarrel with him, so today he won’t obstruct your view.”

Yan Ziyan shook the apricot blossom wine in his hand and drank it all in one gulp. He snorted and said, “I can’t be bothered to quarrel with him. I just can’t stand that taciturn appearance of his every time he comes. Where did that determination from childhood to adulthood to annoy me to death go? Where did that playful, cynical energy go? If I don’t quarrel with him a bit, I’m afraid he’ll suffocate to death.”

Su Jin lowered her eyes and said, “Some words may not be appropriate for me to mention now, but someone as clear-minded as the Junior Guardian must know where the Emperor’s heart lies. If the Junior Guardian had not volunteered to investigate the scholar fraud case, or if after investigating, you had taken a more ambiguous stance, you wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

Yan Ziyan smiled and said, “Shen Qingyue also said these words. When extremely angry, he even mocked me, saying I deserved to die for deliberately opposing him. True, initially I did determine that the southern scholars had committed fraud and volunteered to investigate the case just to oppose him, but—” He paused, his tone suddenly becoming extremely firm. “If you had witnessed with your own eyes the deaths of these scholars, seen their talent and hopes from a lifetime of bitter study being demeaned and insulted, standing in my position, shouldn’t you seek justice for them? ‘Rather would I die in exile than bear such shame.'”

Yan Ziyan raised his eyes to look at Su Jin: “I, Yan Ziyan, since childhood, have not matched Liu Yun in talent or Shen Qingyue in cleverness, but I have always held firm to my original heart. To me, right is right, and wrong is wrong. So what if I suffer unjust accusations? I believe that time flows like water, and I believe in the hearts of the common people. I believe that one day, history will return justice to me.”

In this moment, though he wore filthy prisoner’s robes, Su Jin seemed to see in his eyes his former incomparable elegance.

She paused for a moment and said softly, “‘This too is what my heart holds dear—though I die nine times, I shall not regret it.'”

Yan Ziyan was stunned, then suddenly smiled and said, “Liu Yun has always valued you highly and presumably wants to recruit you to the Imperial Censorate. Are you willing to go?”

Su Jin suddenly remembered Liu Chaoming’s words—”Just consider that I never said those words.”

Su Jin shook her head and said, “I don’t know.”

Yan Ziyan was about to say something more when the lock on the cell door suddenly rang with a “clang”—the time had come.

Two runners from the Ministry of Justice entered and put shackles on his feet. Standing at the cell door, they said quietly, “Junior Guardian, please.”

Yan Ziyan nodded, picked up the jar of apricot blossom wine, poured himself a full cup, stood up and walked out of the cell, but then turned back and said, “Why not? You possess great talent. Why not follow him and become a censor who sets disorder right? In this world where ten thousand horses stand silent, there must be someone who can speak out. I hope that after my death, one day there will be censors, there will be people of leisure, who will make note of me, so that names like Yan Ziyan and Xu Yuanzhe can see the light of day again in history.”

Then he paused and smiled again: “Su Shiyu, ‘I dwell in dark bamboo groves where I never see the sky. The road is perilous and difficult—I walk behind alone.'”

Though enlightenment comes late, fortunately it’s not too late.

The corridor had doors at both ends—the north end was the entrance, and the south end led outside the Meridian Gate.

Yan Ziyan walked to the door, suddenly turned around, looked toward the endless darkness of the long corridor, raised his wine cup, and called out loudly, “We fought for a lifetime—did I win this round slightly?”

The firelight was dim. In the darkness, someone seemed to be sighing softly.

Yan Ziyan smiled, drank the wine in one gulp, placed the cup on the ground, and said quietly, “Tell him that having been enemies for a lifetime in this life, I’m tired. In the next life, let’s be close friends.”

Having spoken, he never looked back again and strode with great strides toward the Meridian Gate.

Su Jin watched his retreating figure.

She had originally thought Yan Ziyan was arrogant and aloof, appreciated by few. Now it seemed she was wrong—if a person could remain calm and without regret even while shackled, he was truly an incomparable man of character.

The execution procession had disappeared from view outside the Meridian Gate. The morning sun was rising. Shen Xi, carrying the apricot blossom wine, had somehow also arrived at Xuanyuan Platform. He asked softly, “Did he… leave any words?”

Su Jin nodded: “The Junior Guardian said that having been enemies with Lord Shen for a lifetime, he’s tired. In the next life, he wishes to be close friends.”

Shen Xi looked at the majestic palace buildings standing in the distance against the long wind, wordless for a moment.

After a while, he bent down to pick up the wine cup Yan Ziyan had placed on the ground, filled it with apricot blossom wine, raised it toward the endless wind around the palace buildings, and drank it all in one gulp.

Su Jin bid farewell to Shen Xi and headed toward Chengtian Gate, constantly thinking about Yan Ziyan’s final words.

“I hope that after my death, one day there will be censors, there will be people of leisure, who will make note of me, so that names like Yan Ziyan and Xu Yuanzhe can see the light of day again in history.”

Could becoming a censor truly illuminate history, purify governance, and clear injustices?

Upon reaching the palace gate, someone behind her suddenly called out, “Lord Clerk.”

It was A’Qi, the carter from the Capital Bureau.

A’Qi said, “Lord Clerk, Magistrate Zhou and Lord Prefecture Director have gotten into a fight. Lord Liu told me to wait for you at Chengtian Gate—”

Su Jin had a bad premonition. Without letting him finish, she jumped onto the carriage and interrupted, “What happened?”

A’Qi said, “I’m not quite sure either. It seems to be related to the old woman the Lord Clerk took in.”

Something seemed to explode in Su Jin’s mind. She said nothing more, immediately cracked the reins, and galloped away in a cloud of dust.

Inside Tuisi Hall, everything was in chaos. Tables and chairs had fallen over. Zhou Ping’s face was bruised, being firmly restrained by two bailiffs, yet his eyes still blazed with fury.

Sun Yinde’s face was also scratched. Upon hearing these words, he laughed coldly and said, “How is it related to this official? That old woman somehow heard that her grandson was arrested for fraud and kept pestering this official to clear his name. This official could only tell her the truth. Besides, His Majesty’s decree came down long ago—her grandson is already dead. At seventy or eighty years old, living is just a burden. Wasn’t this official right to say so? Her grandson deserved to die. Letting her follow her grandson—wouldn’t that solve everything?”

Upon these words, even the usually smooth Liu Yichu’s face turned iron-blue, the teacup in his hand nearly crushed: “Lord Sun, ‘Respect the elderly in your family and extend it to the elderly of others.’ The speaker may have no intent, but the listener takes it to heart. Telling her this—how is it different from driving her to death?”

Sun Yinde laughed contemptuously: “Driving her to death? She threw herself into the river—did this official push her?”

“What did you say?”

Su Jin stood outside Tuisi Hall, asking in a daze.

Then she glanced at Zhou Ping, restrained on the ground by bailiffs, full of grief and rage, then at Liu Yichu, filled with sorrow, and suddenly turned to rush back to her own quarters.

The room was elegant and even cleaner than when she had left days before—presumably Yuan Zhe’s grandmother had tidied it for her.

On the desk lay a pair of shoe insoles the grandmother had made for her, measuring them against her boots.

Yes, that day to help the grandmother feel at ease, she had asked her to make a pair of shoe insoles.

Su Jin gripped the shoe insoles tightly in her hand, slowly drew a breath, then resolutely returned to Tuisi Hall.

In Tuisi Hall, Liu Yichu and Sun Yinde were still quarreling irreconcilably. Su Jin stood at the hall entrance and called softly, “Gaoyan.”

Then she asked, “How did the grandmother die?”

Upon hearing this, the anger in Zhou Ping’s eyes suddenly transformed into endless sorrow. He opened his mouth and said hoarsely, “It’s my fault. Yesterday morning, I saw the grandmother go out alone. She walked very slowly, wiping tears as she went. I had already been alert and asked if something had happened. She said she just missed Yuan Zhe. I never expected that later…”

“Never expected that the grandmother didn’t return until evening. Gaoyan and I sent people to search and found her body by the Huai River. When we pulled her up, her body was already swollen.” Liu Yichu continued, turning to glare at Sun Yinde, finally unable to suppress his anger: “Gaoyan and I had already prepared a coffin for the grandmother, but this man surnamed Sun wouldn’t let us bring her back. He forcibly ordered the bailiffs to find a place outside the city and hastily dumped her there, then had Gaoyan and me tied up and brought back!”

Sun Yinde said sternly, “You still wanted to bring her back? Aren’t you afraid others will think our bureau caused a death? Don’t need to work tomorrow?”

“So you left her corpse exposed in the wilderness?” Su Jin stared coldly and said in an icy voice, “Sun Yinde, I kept the grandmother in my quarters. I didn’t ask you to help care for her—I only asked that you accumulate some virtue and simply not interfere. You used the Ma residence trap to send me away, then turned around and accumulated virtue like this?”

Sun Yinde roared angrily, “How dare you! You’re merely a junior eighth-rank clerk, yet you dare to order this official about. Careful that this official reports to the court and charges you with disrespect!”

Su Jin laughed coldly: “You can report to the court. So what if you prosecute me? At worst, it’s just another name added to the list of those wrongly accused. But I’d like to ask Lord Sun—what face do you have to tell the grandmother that Xu Yuanzhe died for fraud and deserved to die?”

Sun Yinde said, “Su Jin, don’t speak recklessly. Xu Yuanzhe was specifically named by His Majesty’s decree as a rebel. With your repeated claims of injustice, you could be charged with defying His Majesty and even being cut to pieces wouldn’t redeem your crime.”

Su Jin straightened her sleeves and clasped her hands behind her back, saying calmly yet firmly, “In this North-South scholar case, how was Yuan Zhe guilty? How were the scholars who died unjustly guilty? How were the loyal ministers and righteous men who sacrificed themselves for fairness guilty? Innocence exists in people’s hearts. Even if someone schemes behind the scenes, even if heaven doesn’t see clearly, splattered blood may temporarily blind eyes but cannot cover the vast sky or the voices of all people. One day, those who died unjustly will all see the light of day again. As for you—”

She stepped closer to Sun Yinde, looked into his eyes, and denounced him: “As a government official, you shame heaven above and fail the people below. When a tribute scholar disappeared, you feared offending the powerful and wouldn’t let me investigate. When scholars caused disturbances, you hid in the alleys and wouldn’t emerge. When bloody cases arose, to protect yourself from Censorate accountability, you formed alliances and pledged loyalty to the Seventh Prince, setting a trap that nearly killed the Thirteenth Prince! And today, even as righteous men die by the blade in the deep palace without regret, you calculate here whether a suicide old woman will tarnish your reputation? Do you even have any reputation left? You truly have the shameless face to live in this world, behaving like a dog or pig!”

Upon hearing the last sentence, Sun Yinde erupted in fury: “What thing are you to dare speak to this official like this?! Don’t think that because you have the Left Censor-in-Chief and the Thirteenth Prince protecting you, you can do whatever you want. You think only you have backing? You can go right now to the Imperial Censorate and file a complaint against this official—let’s see if you can move this official at all!”

Su Jin glanced at him and said lightly, “No need. To punish you, I need no one else’s hand.” With that, she simply walked around Sun Yinde and headed out of the bureau.

Sun Yinde mocked, “Need no one else’s hand? You’re merely a clerk. This official would like to see what waves you can stir up. You couldn’t possibly climb above this official’s head, could you? Oh, you probably don’t know—in a few days, this official will be promoted.”

Su Jin paused in her steps, turned back and said, “Then congratulations to Lord Sun. I also hope Lord Sun remembers that no matter what methods you use or how high you climb, I, Su Jin, will one day make you fall, shattered to pieces, to accompany in death those who died unjustly for nothing.”

Su Jin felt that never in her life had she been as clear-minded and resolute as this moment.

The resentment and unwillingness from her family’s destruction in childhood had turned to nothing after witnessing the fickleness of human nature and the ups and downs of official life, leaving only a heart full of sorrow and confusion.

Even when she was framed by the Ministry of Personnel that year, it was only by will to survive that she climbed out from among the dead, step by step.

If her former persistence and struggles were only for the emotions and righteousness in her heart, then at this very moment, it was as if a drowning person grasping driftwood, a person falling from a cliff catching mountain vines—stumbling forward, she could actually see glimmering light.

Just as Liu Chaoming had said: sailing a boat in the dark night, heading only toward the bright moon.

Even if it meant a mayfly shaking a tree, even if it meant a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Su Jin waited outside Chengtian Gate. She didn’t know how long she waited before she saw Liu Chaoming’s sedan chair emerge from within.

Su Jin walked forward and stood in the middle of the road, blocking the sedan chair.

An’ran ordered people to stop the sedan. Liu Chaoming stepped out, glanced at Su Jin, and dismissed the sedan bearers.

It was dusk, with wind blowing, wild grass growing thick on both sides of the path.

Su Jin’s knees hit the ground. She knelt straight down facing Liu Chaoming, lowering her eyes and saying, “I humbly beseech you, my lord, to accept Shiyu as a censor.”

Liu Chaoming had intended to refuse, but in her brow he saw an unusually clear determination. The words that reached his lips transformed into: “Why?”

Su Jin said, “The Crown Prince already knows my identity, so I have only two possible outcomes: first, death; second, keeping me at court to be a useful chess piece.”

Liu Chaoming looked at her quietly and said softly, “This official is asking why you want to become a censor.”

The evening wind blew past. Su Jin raised her eyes from within this wind, her gaze blazing like a prairie fire: “To distinguish right from wrong, set disorder right, offer direct remonstration, and maintain an unwavering heart.”

“My lord’s aspiration is also Shiyu’s aspiration.”

“In this life and this world, I shall never regret this resolve!”