To tell two sides of the story, each branch separately.

On Shen Xi’s side, after being reported by Su Shiyu, the next day someone also submitted an anonymous memorial impeaching the Third Prince Zhu Jiyou, saying he kept catamites and concubines in his residence and lived extravagantly.

Zhu Jiyou was utterly foolish. He actually blamed this on Su Jin and Zhu Nanxian, demanding a confrontation in court. Fortunately, Zhu Shisi blocked him and said that though the Third Prince’s residence did indeed have several concubines, they weren’t kept by the Third Prince. After returning to the capital this time, someone had somehow stuffed them into the residence. The Ministry of Rites, which managed guest protocol and reception, should be held accountable.

From top to bottom, the Ministry of Rites was full of “Three Don’ts” officials who feared trouble most of all on ordinary days. Taking such a huge blame out of nowhere, from the Minister down to the Vice Ministers, they all prostrated on the ground, kowtowing until their heads bled, crying injustice. Seeing this, Zhu Jiyou wasn’t to be outdone—he also knelt, also cried, competing in volume as he played the wronged victim.

A perfectly good morning court session was thrown into chaos. Emperor Jingyuan left with a flick of his sleeves, but didn’t actually punish anyone.

Last night, Shen Xi had been chased all night by Zhu Nanxian wielding a blade. As soon as morning court dispersed, he returned to his office and had just dozed off when the Right Vice Minister of Finance Du Zhen tiptoed in, rummaging around on his desk.

Shen Xi lifted his eyelids for a glance, casually grabbed a ledger from his side and tossed it over, grinning: “Lord Du, it’s here.”

This was the Yellow Register from the Shaanxi circuit.

After the autumn harvest, each region reported tax grain numbers. As Left Vice Minister, Shen Xi checked the southern circuits, while Du Zhen as Right Vice Minister checked the northern circuits. But to prevent embezzlement, each Yellow Register required the signatures of three department officials.

Caught red-handed by Shen Xi, Du Zhen remained unhurried and calmly opened the Yellow Register to look. He said with surprise: “Oh my, Young Master Shen hasn’t signed yet.”

Without signing, the work couldn’t be submitted. Without submission, they’d await the Emperor’s accountability. Once questioned, the Three Judicial Offices would investigate. If they actually discovered something, it would be over.

Shen Xi raised his hand to pillow it behind his head, stretched his feet onto the desk, and said lazily: “Lord Du is so anxious—is it because you heard that tea merchant surnamed Feng was arrested by the Censorate, your money launderer is gone, and you’re rushing here to put out the fire?”

Du Zhen knew he was exaggerating and smiled: “Young Master Shen’s joke has gone too far.” Then he placed the Yellow Register properly on the desk and turned to leave.

Shen Xi teased again: “Lord Du, don’t panic. I’ll go to the Censorate right now to help you ask whether Feng Mengping has confessed.”

Du Zhen walked out without looking back.

Shen Xi’s last words weren’t joking. Feng Mengping had been taken by the Censorate for two days already. Su Shiyu still hadn’t cleaned up this mess for him—he really should go inquire.

Turning to head to the Censorate, Su Jin surprisingly wasn’t there. Casually calling over a censor, he learned that Lord Su had gone to Chengtian Gate to investigate the woman who fell into the water and was poisoned in the Petition Drum case.

Shen Xi raised an eyebrow: “She’s not investigating the Magistrate Qu case anymore?”

That censor replied: “Reporting to Lord Shen, Lord Liu has already transferred this case to Lord Qian. Lord Su is currently investigating the latter two cases.”

Shen Xi felt something was wrong. Qian San’er had always followed Liu Chaoming’s lead completely. So Liu Chaoming was personally intervening?

He said nothing more and turned toward the interrogation room to find the person, but it was completely empty inside.

Shen Xi’s expression changed. If this person was truly seized by Liu Yun, wouldn’t all his hard work be wasted?

Thinking of this, he headed straight for the dark chamber. Along the way, seeing the Vice Minister of Finance’s displeased expression, the censors and clerks dared not obstruct him and only paid respects from the roadside.

Before Shen Xi could burst into the dark chamber, its door opened. Qian San’er emerged from inside. He was now Vice Censor-in-Chief, holding the same third rank as Shen Xi. Upon seeing each other, the two bowed.

Qian San’er’s crescent eyes curved in a very amiable manner: “Why didn’t Lord Shen have someone announce your arrival at the Censorate? San’er would have gone to the main hall to welcome you.”

Shen Xi glanced at him, then suddenly also laughed, pointing to the dark chamber behind him: “I’m afraid in the time it would take Lord Qian to welcome me, someone inside would die.”

Qian San’er cupped his hands again: “Vice Minister Shen jests. The Censorate exercises surveillance and interrogation authority. How could we casually cause deaths?”

Shen Xi clasped his hands behind his back and said lightly: “Well then, your Censorate’s arrests also require solid evidence. Where’s the evidence for arresting Feng Mengping?”

Qian San’er still curved his smiling eyes and said nothing.

Shen Xi continued: “When Feng Mengping was arrested that day, it was because this official received a secret letter saying he falsely reported tax grain numbers. But now I’ve discovered—” He paused, took out a banknote from his sleeve and held it between his fingers, grinning: “This official looked wrongly that day. I actually mistook a banknote for a secret letter, wrongly accusing Lord Feng. I hope Lord Qian will release the person so this official can apologize to him in person.”

Hearing these words, the smile in Qian San’er’s eyes gradually faded.

Truly, when a person is shameless, they’re invincible.

Fishing in troubled waters, fabricating evidence to arrest people, publicly recanting testimony—Shen Qingyue truly did whatever unscrupulous thing possible.

Seeing Qian San’er still not speaking, Shen Xi took two steps forward, moving closer: “San’er, you’ve followed Liu Yun so long—how have you not learned his foolproof methods?” Then he smiled again, reaching out to point at his own right cheek: “The blood here isn’t wiped clean yet.”

Qian San’er’s expression stiffened. He reflexively touched the same spot and indeed found a trace of blood, probably splattered during the interrogation of Feng Mengping earlier.

Only then did Shen Xi put away his smile, saying coolly: “What’s this? Little Lord Qian interrogates so vigorously—are you trying to get a hold on Minister Qian? But based on this official’s understanding of Liu Yun, he probably only lets you interrogate, not submit memorials, right? How does that make you feel? Why not hand the person over to this official, and let this official help you impeach your father?”

Shen Xi always left room for maneuver in his words and actions, but when he didn’t leave room, he was also devastatingly sharp.

Though Qian San’er and Minister Qian were father and son, they were as incompatible as fire and water. What he hated most in his life was others making articles about this matter. Yet Shen Xi specifically picked this to discuss—it seemed he thought Liu Yun and Qian San’er had seized his witness and wouldn’t return him, and was truly angry.

Just then, the dark chamber door opened again. Liu Chaoming stood there with a cold expression and said coolly: “If Feng Mengping is handed over to Vice Minister Shen, will the Vice Minister punish evil and eliminate wickedness? Won’t you first grip this person in your hand, weigh pros and cons to keep an escape route, wait for the right opportunity, then make plans?”

Having said this, he glanced at Qian San’er: “Have everyone disperse.”

Qian San’er bowed to both men again and withdrew with all the censors from the central courtyard.

Shen Xi gave a light snort, walked to the covered corridor and sat down with arms folded: “Censor Liu digs out every usable person clean, wishing to hold the secrets of everyone in the world as chips in your hand to deploy troops and formations. How is this way of conducting oneself any better than mine?”

He pulled out a folding fan from his sleeve and tapped the corridor chair beside him.

But Liu Chaoming didn’t follow over.

Shen Xi laughed, gazing at the distant palace towers. As if thinking of something, he suddenly clicked his tongue and said: “Last year when the Seventh Prince set a trap at the Ma residence to lure and kill Zhu Shisan, after you rushed to Zhaohe Bridge, you ordered the Embroidered Uniform Guard to kill all those shadow guards who assassinated Zhu Shisan. It wasn’t solely to cover up Su Shiyu’s identity, was it?”

Liu Chaoming glanced at him: “What makes you think so?”

Shen Xi opened his folding fan and said unhurriedly: “If it were only to cover up identity, you could have left one or two alive to publicly confess Zhu Zhaowei’s involvement before killing them. Those shadow guards were the most direct witnesses to the Seventh Prince’s assassination attempt on Thirteen. Yet before Zhu Minda arrived at Zhaohe Bridge, you summoned the Embroidered Uniform Guard to kill them. You didn’t want the Crown Prince to use this to suppress the Seventh Prince and gain too much power, so you destroyed the evidence?”

Hearing these words, Liu Chaoming neither confirmed nor denied, and stepped toward the front courtyard.

Shen Xi suddenly smiled in realization: “So Su Shiyu’s identity actually gave you perfect cover. Even Zhu Minda focused his attention on Su Jin, thinking you acted to protect her, and didn’t detect your true purpose?”

Liu Chaoming stopped in his tracks, turned around and said coolly: “If Zhu Minda didn’t detect it, how did Vice Minister Shen detect it?”

Shen Xi said: “Things can happen once but not twice. Below the Petition Drum, the death of Magistrate Qu from Shaanxi was eighty percent due to problems with Shaanxi’s tax grain. I’m in the Ministry of Finance. Where this withheld tax grain went, who was behind it—I know better than you. Whose man Minister of Finance Qian Zhihuan is—I also know better than you. What I lack is only concrete evidence. You heard from Su Jin that I was investigating, so you detained Feng Mengping and concealed it without reporting. What for? Afraid the Petition Drum case would implicate Minister Qian, causing the Seventh Prince to fall?”

But speaking to this point, even Shen Xi himself shook his head and smiled: “But how could you possibly be Zhu Zhaowei’s man?”

He stood up and paced back and forth several steps, tapping his folding fan in his hand: “Ah, I know now. Balance is the emperor’s technique. You inherit the old censor’s will, inherit the Liu family’s learning—why would you need to manipulate this? But you value promises above all else in this life. Your efforts to maintain the balance between the Seventh Prince and Crown Prince must be because—” He turned around, raised his folding fan to point at Liu Chaoming, his expression suddenly becoming incomparably solemn, “you’ve made a pact with one of the princes other than the Crown Prince and Seventh Prince.”

Pale clouds hung in the sky. Green wild grass grew in the courtyard. Even in this bleak winter, it still stood tall and verdant, as if never experiencing rise and fall.

Liu Chaoming looked at Shen Xi and suddenly, slowly, gradually, curved his lips in a smile.

Everyone said Left Censor-in-Chief Liu Yun never smiled or joked. But at this moment, the smile at Liu Chaoming’s lips was extremely natural, as if he should have been born smiling, as if this was his true appearance.

And with this smile, all his unknown sharpness, decisiveness, unwillingness and solitude simultaneously seeped from his eyes.

Liu Chaoming raised his hand to slowly press down the folding fan Shen Xi held before him, hooking the corners of his mouth: “He who knows me is Qingyue.”

Shen Xi looked at him with cold eyes: “Who is it? What exactly did you promise?”

If Su Jin, Zhao Yan, or anyone who knew Liu Yun and Shen Qingyue were here, they would certainly find it incredibly strange—the two seemed to have instantly exchanged faces. The one who was usually warm with words and smiles became Liu Chaoming, while the coldly self-possessed, aloof and arrogant one became Shen Xi.

Yet both simultaneously showed their full sharpness.

Liu Chaoming casually adjusted his sleeves: “Vice Minister Shen inquires about these things—do you feel time is not on your side, afraid the situation is out of control? Then when you compassionately helped Zhu Nanxian go to his fiefdom initially, did you think the palace wasn’t chaotic enough? Do you know your momentary kindness seemed to help Zhu Minda but actually gave those ambitious people more choices? Anyway, whoever becomes emperor makes no difference to me. What about you?”

Shen Xi’s eyes narrowed slightly. After a moment, he said coolly: “Is that so? I hope you can remain indifferent forever.”

Having spoken, he said nothing more and turned to walk outside.

The two left the central courtyard one after another, but saw someone hurrying toward them, nearly colliding head-on.

This person was Song Jue, precisely the supervising censor Liu Chaoming had assigned to follow Su Jin.

Song Jue had no time for courtesies. Upon seeing Liu Chaoming, he hurriedly said: “This is bad, Lord Liu, something happened at the Ministry of Rites—”

Having finished speaking, he seemed to blink, instinctively sensing something unusual in Liu Chaoming’s expression. But when he looked carefully again, he couldn’t detect any clues.

Liu Chaoming asked coolly: “What happened?”

Song Jue said: “I heard that during this morning’s court session, the Third Prince had a dispute with the Ministry of Rites. Now several Ministry officials are crying injustice and making a fuss about hanging themselves to prove their innocence.”

Shen Xi had already reached the courtyard gate, but hearing this, immediately pulled back his half-stepped foot, turned around and asked: “Has anyone died?”

Song Jue said: “How could they? It’s eighty percent an act.”

This wasn’t the first time either—last year during the scholar riots, the Ministry of Rites had made this same fuss. The purpose was to wait for other offices to meddle, then dump the trouble onto the meddling offices while keeping themselves clean and innocent.

Shen Xi said: “If no one’s dead, what are you panicking about? Wait until someone actually dies.”

Liu Chaoming instructed: “Bar the courtyard gates. If people from the Ministry of Rites come looking, see none of them.”

But hearing this, Song Jue hurriedly said: “Can’t bar them, can’t bar them.” Then he said on the verge of tears: “Just now didn’t Lord Su go to Chengtian Gate to investigate the case? On the way back, he was intercepted by Director Jiang from the Ministry of Rites.”

Liu Chaoming and Shen Xi both paused simultaneously.

Song Jue added: “That’s the one from the Ministry of Rites who cries the most. Lord Su was blocked halfway, grabbed by the corner of his official robe and not allowed to leave. The man wiped snot and tears all over him. This subordinate barely managed to run back to report. Lord Liu, Lord Shen, please do a good deed and go to the Ministry of Rites to check on Lord Su. The lord has truly suffered the misfortune of eight lifetimes. Before this subordinate left, I looked back once—Lord Su probably wants to die.”—

**Author’s Note:**

Note: “Three Don’ts”—an old satirical term for weak, confused officials who dared not accomplish anything. Namely “entering court with seal unopened (not handling government affairs), meeting guests with mouth unopened (not discussing state affairs), returning home with gate unopened (not receiving scholar-officials and subordinate officials).”

Every month during my period I get a migraine for one day. After the headache comes dizziness and my brain doesn’t work well, so writing is really slow. The next update will be on the first day of 2018 =v=

Also, about that “ji di” from last time—the character “di” has the same pronunciation as “di,” but then I looked it up again and discovered “di” is actually just the traditional form of “di.” I didn’t even know. This attempt at appearing cultured has failed. Everyone forget it.