The moment Zhu Nanxian’s forehead touched the icy ground, he knew he had acted impulsively.

He shouldn’t have let anyone know that Su Jin was his weakness. He shouldn’t have shown even the slightest bit of emotion.

But with the Huben Guards striking down with their staffs like this, even an ordinary man would struggle to withstand it, let alone Su Jin, a woman?

He couldn’t watch her die.

Zhu Nanxian thought with abandon—he accepted his fate.

From the day he first met her, she had perhaps become his lifelong weakness. So what if everyone knew? He was willing to give everything to protect her.

Thinking this, Zhu Nanxian felt somewhat relieved.

In his distraction, he even felt that having such a weakness was good. Just now, seeing her in crimson robes, seeing her speak righteously on behalf of the people, he simply couldn’t look away.

Her clear and cold temperament, her refined features, set off by those brilliant colors—like kindling a blazing fire in the vast snowy world of brilliant white.

This fire also kindled in his heart.

Zhu Nanxian let his heart and soul be completely consumed by this fierce flame, and said softly: “I beg Father Emperor to reconsider.”

Deep in the great hall, the aged emperor looked at his most beloved thirteenth son kneeling prostrate beneath the dragon throne in such a posture, and suddenly realized something.

Nanxian wasn’t a willful child, he thought. He was magnanimous and tolerant, never making things difficult for him as a father.

Emperor Jingyuan looked at Su Jin again, his gaze already different from before—it carried shocked fury mixed with doubt.

Last time when Nanxian refused to marry and insisted on going to his fief, wasn’t this Su Shiyu also present?

And before that, when Zhaowei set a trap to harm Nanxian, didn’t she use the case of the missing student scholars, using Su Shiyu as bait?

So Nanxian’s continued refusal to take a consort—was it because of this censor?

Thinking this, Emperor Jingyuan slumped back wearily onto the dragon throne.

Though he had iron-fisted methods for seizing and governing the realm, toward his own children he was still too indulgent—it could even be called a woman’s kindness. Watching them compete with each other, he turned a blind eye. Watching them commit wrongdoing, he couldn’t bear to hurt any of them. Now even his most beloved thirteenth son was going astray?

When sons are not taught, it is the father’s fault.

The shocked fury in Emperor Jingyuan’s gaze gradually subsided, revealing eyes full of worry and sorrow. He called out almost with a sigh: “Nanxian.”

He wanted him to lift his head and let him see, to see clearly what exactly he was thinking.

At this moment, the Twelfth Prince Zhu Qiyue finally realized something was wrong. He quietly called out: “Fourth Brother,” and together with Zhu Yushen and the Seventeenth Prince stepped forward, prostrating and kowtowing like Zhu Nanxian, saying the same words: “We beg Father Emperor to reconsider.”

Only then did Zhu Minda breathe a sigh of relief. He too bowed: “Father Emperor, Censor Su was ordered to investigate the Denunciation Drum case. The evidence is now solid. Impeaching based on facts is her duty and responsibility. As for Third Brother, officials in the Shanxi region all follow his lead. Whether he failed in supervision or was the mastermind still requires further investigation, but since he is after all the Prince of Shanxi, calling him the chief culprit in this matter is not too excessive.”

Then he paused slightly and said with a composed expression: “Censor Su is handling the case impartially. We beg Father Emperor to reconsider.”

Emperor Jingyuan looked at the several sons kneeling on the ground pleading for Su Jin, and couldn’t help but be stunned.

Had he been overthinking?

Perhaps Nanxian knelt first simply because he was kinder-hearted, more perceptive—like his late empress, who always thought of others.

Perhaps it was just that the righteous gain support while the unrighteous lose it?

Seeing this situation, Liu Chaoming finally bowed with folded sleeves: “Your Majesty, Censor Su’s impeachment was approved by this subject. We beg Your Majesty to reconsider.”

Liu Chaoming knew his words couldn’t go too far.

Just like earlier, when the Huben Guards raised their spears, the half-step he had taken forward—after seeing Zhu Nanxian kneel—he slowly drew back. Withdrawing this half-step with him were Minister Shen Xi of the Ministry of Finance, Zhang Shishan of the Court of Judicial Review, and Zhao Yan and Qian San’er of the Imperial Censorate.

They all knew this was an emperor who couldn’t tolerate coercion.

The one being impeached was Zhu Jiyou. Imperial princes had already knelt—ministers could not kneel as well. If both sides knelt together pleading, in Emperor Jingyuan’s eyes, wouldn’t that be equivalent to forcing his hand?

If that happened, the only path left for Su Jin would be death.

Shen Xi bowed together with Liu Chaoming and said neither lightly nor heavily: “We beg Your Majesty to reconsider.”

Emperor Jingyuan’s thoughts gradually calmed in this moment.

He felt somewhat afraid, because before Qiyue and Yushen knelt, what he had been thinking was—if that rebellious thirteenth son dared to develop feelings for a current censor, then he would beat them both together: beat one to death and beat the other to remember the lesson.

But now, the old emperor thought with full mercy—he was too old, he had been overthinking.

He waved his hand and said: “Enough, all of you rise.” Seeing this gesture, the Huben Guards silently withdrew.

But how should this Su Jin be dealt with?

Emperor Jingyuan thought about it, his heart suddenly hardened again, murderous intent rising once more. He called out: “Ministry of Justice—”

Just as Shen Tuo stepped forward, someone suddenly announced from outside the hall: “Your Majesty, the Marquis of Wenyuan requests an audience!”

Su Jin lay on the ground, her entire body taut as a bowstring. Only when she heard the three words “Marquis of Wenyuan” did that string buried in flesh and blood, strangling her heart, finally break.

The Marquis of Wenyuan, Qi Boyuan—her final witness.

He was not merely the former Chancellor of the Hanlin Academy, the Third Prince Consort’s birth father. More importantly, when Emperor Jingyuan conquered the realm years ago, he had three advisors by his side—Chancellor Xie, the old censor, and the Marquis of Wenyuan. Only the last one still lived.

After learning this case involved the Third Prince, Su Jin had gone to the Wenyuan residence to present her card and request an audience, but each time she was blocked outside by servants with the excuse that “the Marquis has withdrawn from the world for long and does not see worldly people.”

Su Jin had waited until today—she could wait no longer. The New Year approached, government would soon cease, and after the fifteenth of the first month, the Third Prince would set out to return to Shanxi. What could she use to stop him then?

Not to mention that construction on the Shanxi traveling palace hadn’t stopped—how many more people would die during this New Year season?

Hearing the three words “Marquis of Wenyuan,” Emperor Jingyuan’s gaze actually froze for a moment.

Qi Boyuan? How many years had it been since he’d seen him? Since he arranged his only daughter’s marriage to Jiyou?

Emperor Jingyuan raised his hand and unconsciously smoothed his graying temples before saying: “Invite him in.”

Fengtian Hall was much warmer than outside. As the hall doors opened left and right, a gust of cold air swept in, and the features of the person entering seemed to carry wind and frost as well. His temples, like Emperor Jingyuan’s, had already turned white, but the indifference in his eyes had never changed.

Even in old age, he remained a lean scholar.

The Marquis of Wenyuan bowed with folded sleeves, then knelt and kowtowed, performing the complete set of protocols smoothly and properly.

But watching this, Emperor Jingyuan felt uncomfortable. The days of addressing each other as brothers and drinking together in joy had passed decades ago and could never return—he had destroyed them with his own hands.

The Marquis of Wenyuan straightened his back, took an object from his sleeve pouch and held it in his palm, saying quietly: “Your Majesty, this old subject, entrusted by Censor Su, has come specifically to testify regarding the case of the Third Prince Zhu Jiyou’s construction of a traveling palace, abduction of common women, and connivance in the Ministry of Works’ selling of craftsmen exemptions.”

The object in his hand appeared to be a letter. Wu Chang hurriedly descended the steps, first bowing to him respectfully before taking the letter to present to Emperor Jingyuan.

The Marquis of Wenyuan continued: “This is a family letter my late daughter wrote to this old subject before her death. Every word in the letter is written in blood and tears, denouncing the Third Prince for accumulating wealth by conniving with the Ministry of Works to sell craftsmen exemptions, harming commoners, indulging in lust and pleasure, and even wanting to build a traveling palace to house abducted common women. My daughter had a pure and noble character. She believed the common people suffered because she failed as a wife, and thus fell ill from worry and died in melancholy.”

After hearing the Marquis of Wenyuan’s words, Emperor Jingyuan stared blankly at the letter in his hands.

Actually, he hadn’t absorbed a single word written in the letter.

He was just remembering how several years ago, when he decided to marry the Marquis of Wenyuan’s daughter to Jiyou, this scholar who had never been moved by external things had knelt before him, saying through tears: “Yu’er’s character is too noble and pure, unable to be stained by even a speck of dust. Marrying her to the Third Prince will destroy her.”

At the time, Emperor Jingyuan had dismissed it. Jiyou had always liked Qi Yu—he knew that.

In the following years, though Zhu Jiyou was improper and dissolute, he treated Qi Yu well. Wherever he went, whatever new and precious things he obtained, he thought of Qi Yu.

Emperor Jingyuan had simply felt that with Xie Xu dead and Meng Liang too rigid, he neither wanted those around him to leave one by one, nor did he want them to become so meritorious they overshadowed their master. So he thought he had found a perfect solution—using one of his less outstanding imperial sons, using a marriage alliance to constrain Qi Boyuan.

He truly hadn’t expected it would kill Qi Yu.

Emperor Jingyuan held Qi Yu’s final family letter, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably.

Zhu Jiyou prostrated on the ground once more, crying: “Father Emperor, Father-in-law, your son—your son may have been somewhat dissolute, somewhat lustful, but I’ve always treated Yu’er very well. Once she said she wanted to see night-blooming cereus flowers, I personally planted one for her, staying up night after night watching it, just to let her see it bloom once. I never thought of harming her, I…” He choked up, tears falling—he was truly mourning Qi Yu. “After she fell ill, I was extremely worried. I found many physicians to treat her. I was thinking we would live together to a hundred years old, together with her—”

“Rebellious son!” Emperor Jingyuan couldn’t restrain himself. He grabbed an inkstone from the imperial desk and hurled it at Zhu Jiyou.

The inkstone shattered on the ground before Zhu Jiyou, thick ink spattering all over his face.

The deep black ink mixed with tears, becoming murky and turbid.

Zhu Jiyou looked at his father emperor who could no longer tolerate him, at his brothers who pleaded not for him but for Su Jin, and suddenly felt utterly isolated and helpless.

He missed Qi Yu even more—that Third Prince Consort with her noble character, dignified and beautiful.

The dragon has nine sons. Seventh Brother, Tenth Brother, Thirteenth Brother—all tall and handsome, surpassing him a hundredfold in both civil and martial accomplishments. Only he had been fat from birth, so he had been deeply insecure since childhood. He never imagined that after Qi Yu married him, she would wholeheartedly treat him well, would love him.

All these years, he had lived as if a beautiful dream had come true, carried away with himself, yet he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

In this world, many women seek nothing more in life than for their husband to treat them well. But Qi Yu was different. What she wanted was clarity everywhere, a brilliant and pure world.

Zhu Jiyou was a true villain. He couldn’t give her that.

Emperor Jingyuan watched Zhu Jiyou crying with tears and mucus streaming down, and suddenly felt powerless. He raised his hand slightly: “Marquis of Wenyuan, you may rise.” Then he glanced at Su Jin again, was silent for a moment, and said, “Censor Su may also rise.”

Su Jin finally stood up again. She paused slightly, then turned and bowed to the Marquis of Wenyuan.

The Marquis of Wenyuan instinctively glanced at her face, then returned the bow with folded sleeves.

To others, they would probably think the Marquis of Wenyuan’s return bow was simply due to his humble character.

But Su Jin knew this first-rank marquis returned her bow because he had recognized her—Chancellor Xie had withdrawn from the world early. His daughter-in-law, Su Jin’s mother, had never been seen by Emperor Jingyuan, but the Marquis of Wenyuan and old Censor Meng had seen her. They had visited their old friend in Shu twice.

Emperor Jingyuan protected his own and loved killing. Since Su Jin had impeached an imperial prince today, she had been prepared to die.

But having sailed halfway, with dawn not yet arrived, how could she not desperately seek a way to survive?

And this path to survival was the Marquis of Wenyuan.

Among those Emperor Jingyuan protected, there were imperial princes connected to him by blood, and also old friends who had shared hardships with him in the past.

He was old now. His protective feelings toward his sons grew deeper, and his guilt toward old friends he had wronged in a moment’s error also grew heavier.

Last night Su Jin had Yan Xiu bring a message to the Marquis of Wenyuan—”Realizing past errors cannot be corrected, knowing future ones can still be prevented.”

On the surface, these words seemed ordinary, but when Chancellor Xie retired and withdrew from seclusion, the last words he said to the Marquis of Wenyuan before leaving the capital were precisely: “Realizing past errors cannot be corrected, knowing future ones can still be prevented.”

She had known the Marquis of Wenyuan would come. She had finally waited for him.

Su Jin stood silently in the hall. After a long while, she heard Emperor Jingyuan say woodenly: “Since the evidence is conclusive, let Censor Su propose how We should deal with this rebellious son of Ours.”

Attacking the heart is paramount. Perhaps only the heartbreaking death of an old friend’s daughter could make this old emperor stop indulging this third son who carried his blood yet committed countless evils.

Su Jin said: “Yes.” Then she turned to look at Zhu Jiyou and said without sorrow or joy: “This subject believes his princely title should be revoked, he should be recalled to the capital, and never again be allowed to return to Shanxi for his entire life. This is the first point.”