The sixth year of Yong’an was a period of tremendous spiritual torment for the people of Daliang.

Overnight, the great households of the capital fell one after another. Yesterday’s wealthy families with their singing and dancing, their extravagant tastes from the splendid capital, wanting for nothing in worldly goods—today they suddenly turned to lives of austerity: burning incense, playing the zither, tasting tea, listening to rain, admiring snow, waiting on the moon, drinking wine, composing poetry. Wealth mingling with wealth, power mingling with power, cliques mingling with cliques. Yesterday they spoke of dying for their country; today they became guests boiling in oil.

It so happened that many of this crowd had risen from common, dirt-poor origins. Following their lords, the wealth of the nation had come easily to them; they held high office and generous stipends, their storehouses filled with gold and silver, yet they had never developed the wits to protect their power and wealth, nor the means to do so, nor any understanding of subtlety or proper conduct—so they simply drifted along with the current.

To match their newfound wealth and status, some inexplicably took up frivolous pursuits—playing with rare birds, auspicious fowls, strange rocks, exotic flowers, admiring fine brushwork and coloring, nodding along and believing themselves refined and elegant. But to those who truly knew such things, they were nothing but great fools squandering money, all while claiming this was merely cultivating their temperament.

Money that comes easily goes even more easily. Once they’d gotten a taste for such extravagance, their hands could no longer be stayed even as their coffers emptied—so they began to extort brutally through their official duties.

There was never any shortage of such ants, nor any lack of such flies. The nation’s backbone was already weakened, and this crowd of fools began gnawing at its very foundation—not just a few, for traitors and corrupt officials flock together in great numbers.

It began with the case of a Ministry of Works official who attempted to assassinate the Emperor—the very worst of the Ten Unpardonable Crimes: treason. The subsequent internal investigation of the Ministry of Works turned everything upside down, and inadvertently uncovered another case: Vice Minister Liu Xi had used inferior materials in constructing the imperial mausoleum—another of the Ten Unpardonable Crimes, this one “great sedition”!

Liu Xi was the eldest son of the Duke of Loyalty and Valor, Liu Pu, and heir to the Dukedom.

So then—where had all those precious building materials that Liu Xi had embezzled gone? Materials like mica, lapis lazuli, and cinnabar?

Further investigation revealed they had all been sent into the palace to Empress Cao, who had supplied them to alchemist priests and priestesses. The deposed Empress Cao had even built a small Daoist temple in an abandoned corner of the inner palace for her own cultivation practices. This in turn led to this year’s “realgar case” involving the plague among children.

The deposed empress sought immortality; the palace consorts wanted to bear children. It happened that Yandu’s gynecology and pediatrics were dominated by Buddhist nuns and Daoist priestesses who diagnosed pulses and prescribed remedies—this seemed proper enough. This was the reason a group of nuns and priestesses had suddenly been arrested within the palace.

Only this quest for children had gone strangely awry—in the end it became a matter of different factions within the palace deploying their own methods to poison and sabotage each other, leaving the vast Daliang palace without a single imperial prince born in six years.

As for how these drugs had flowed into the palace—after Empress Dowager Zheng passed away, Chief Eunuch Weng Jinzhong lost his backing. Wanting to hedge his bets, he openly pledged himself to the deposed empress while secretly continuing to serve Consort Zheng, whom the Zheng family had sent into the palace.

Consort Zheng, by generational reckoning, was considered Empress Dowager Zheng’s great-granddaughter. The Zheng family had once suffered from the troubles of an adopted heir, and this time, no matter what, they were determined to have a prince born with Zheng family blood.

They were ruthless people indeed. They began mobilizing the connections Empress Dowager Zheng had left behind, and before Consort Zheng could give birth to a prince, they managed to ensure that scarcely any infant’s cry was heard throughout the entire Daliang palace.

From a single loose thread, an entire chain unraveled—toppling one dukedom, three marquisates, four or five imperial clan branches, and countless officials both great and small…

In a daze, it seemed as though crows blanketed all of Yandu, wailing filled every corner, and it looked as though rivers of blood were about to flow.

The day the matter came to light, the Emperor’s fury shook the court; all the ministers trembled in fear. Someone, afraid of catastrophe, ran to plead before Prince Furui, She Qingling.

Prince Furui had always been a man of quiet temperament and pure, upright character—why would he want to implicate good people in this? And yet he had no choice but to become implicated himself.

Aside from him, who else dared speak before an enraged Emperor?

So it is said—the worldly principles of this world always seem to torment the upright and honorable until they wish for death yet cannot break free, while afterward, once matters are settled, it is the good people who are left desolate.

Emperor Wu had always been a good-tempered man, even remarkably tolerant and forgiving toward the elderly on certain matters. And yet this very man ended up in a fierce quarrel with Prince Furui inside Changxin Hall. In the Emperor’s own words: In what way have I wronged them? They wish to destroy My mausoleum, shake My nation’s foundation, cut off My heirs… I gave them high office and generous stipends, wealth across generations—for such ingrates, executing their entire ten clans would not be punishment enough for their crimes…

The ministers present, upon careful reflection, felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, ashamed before the Emperor’s countenance. Was His Majesty not good enough? He was too good, in fact—this was what had driven a benevolent, righteous ruler to such an extreme.

Prince Furui, for his part, had not pleaded on behalf of those guilty parties. His point was singular: the nation has its laws, the family has its rules; those guilty of the Ten Unpardonable Crimes should be dealt with accordingly—there was no justification for suddenly executing nine entire clans.

The great nation had only just risen; the people’s hearts were not yet settled, and there could be no large-scale slaughter. Considering the nurturing kindness of the late Empress Dowager, considering the years of service rendered by the old officials of Shaoshang, considering the loyalty of former-dynasty officials who had turned toward the light—he begged the ruler to think thrice, thrice over. Nine clans? Even three clans should not be touched—a single clan alone was already terrifying enough…

Between the former dynasty and the new, between marriages of equal standing, between clan alliances—pull one thread and the whole tangle comes loose. The Daliang court could not withstand such upheaval…

The brothers’ quarrel grew loud, and the ministers outside the hall listened with hearts pounding in terror. His Majesty wanted to have Prince Furui whipped forty times. But what kind of temperament did Prince Furui have? He came from eight generations of unyielding, upright officials—he insisted the Emperor handle matters according to the law, and that the Son of Heaven must not, in a single fit of rage, leave a hundred thousand corpses in his wake.

His Majesty wanted to beat Prince Furui to death.

Prince Furui remained entirely composed. He walked directly out of the hall, knelt in the courtyard, removed his official cap and robes, and calmly submitted to punishment.

This time, it was truly carried out.

The palace whip, three zhang long, soaked in oil for three years, its tip tearing flesh—cold and sharp as the wind.

The first heavy strike fell, and all the ministers and condemned men filling the courtyard saw that refined, upright man let out a muffled groan as a bloom of blood seeped through his snow-white undergarment.

This was the elder who had always been sharp-tongued but soft-hearted as tofu—this was Prince Furui, who had endured half a lifetime of hardship and only just begun to enjoy a few peaceful days. What had he done, to suffer such pain on behalf of these vile people?

Some could no longer bear it. Chang Lianfang ran out; later, the Second and Fifth Princes threw themselves down before the Emperor, weeping and pleading.

Emperor Wu finally stepped out of the hall and walked step by step toward She Qingling, saying sternly: “Take back your words!”

She Qingling’s expression did not change. He said the same thing again: “The nation has its laws, the family has its rules. Since Daliang has statutes, they must be followed accordingly. The Son of Heaven’s word carries the weight of nine tripods—how can the law of the nation be cast aside out of anger?”

Emperor Wu, enraged, his eyes bloodshot, pointed at that thin back and shouted: “Strike him! Strike him for Me!!”

The cold wind of the whip rose again, striking She Qingling until he supported himself with a single arm on the ground, cold sweat covering his head. The courtyard erupted in wailing, yet no one dared intervene.

Such a heavy crime—even if one wished to plead for mercy, where could one even begin? Everyone’s only hope rested on Prince Furui. If he did not resist, who else could?

Should they cry out not to strike him?

Then who would beg mercy for the innocent nine clans about to be implicated?

The whip lashed on a while longer. His Majesty himself began to weep, walking to where She Qingling now lay prostrate on the ground, saying: “You—take back your words.”

She Qingling swayed but pushed himself upright again. The flesh inside his mouth had been bitten through, and with a mouth full of blood he said: “The nation has laws. According to law—Da—Daliang’s law…”

Emperor Wu retreated in fury, grinding his teeth for a long moment before saying: “Strike—strike him dead!”

The whip lashed out again. This time, after a few more strikes, She Qingling collapsed completely, eyes shut tight, blood spilling from his mouth—it truly seemed he would be beaten to death.

Empress Cao, who had been growing hysterical, finally knelt and crawled on her knees before Emperor Wu, grabbing his sleeve to plead for mercy.

She was kicked away.

Cao’s hairpins fell loose, her hair disheveled across her face. Having failed to bear a child, she had grown despondent, wishing instead to be reborn into an ordinary family, married to someone of equal standing, living an ordinary harmonious life.

Was even that not to be allowed?

At that very moment, a dark shadow rushed in from outside the hall and threw himself fiercely around Prince Furui.

Another lash fell—but this time it struck the sound of armor breaking the wind.

Everyone froze, looking up—it was Prince She’s adopted heir, Chen Dasheng.

Chen Dasheng blocked the whip, first glancing at his already-unconscious father, then slowly removing his armor. Finally he too revealed his bare undergarment and prostrated himself before the ruler, saying: “The son shall repay the father’s debt. My father has erred; his son is willing to bear the punishment in his stead.”

Emperor Wu slowly exhaled, though his face remained twisted in fury as he bellowed: “So you too would defy Me?!”

“This is my father.”

Having said this, Chen Dasheng tightly embraced his father as he knelt, bearing the full brunt of every lash. Father and son looked exactly alike in that moment—no matter how much pain the beating caused, both remained silent, muffling every sound, as though there were something worth guarding even unto being ground to dust.

One guarded the nation’s law; the other guarded a son’s filial duty.

In this world, there is always something capable of moving the soul—whether the people standing in that court were living saints or living devils, in that moment everyone felt that though the two men’s flesh bore the pain, it was their very souls that ached.

A wave of shame and boundless fury swept through everyone.

How could such a ruler, such an unyielding official, be made to turn to ash for the sake of such vile demons and monsters?

Were they simply to watch it happen? It should not be this way!

So it turned out that the history books were not mere fabrication—there truly were people in this world willing to defend a principle with their very lives.

And every official present understood clearly: She Qingling, just like his ancestors before him, was using his own broken body to plant the eternal, unshakable roots of Daliang’s law.

And so, among the ministers, those with wisdom fell silent, willing to see this through, to drive an iron pillar into the very spine of Daliang’s legal system.

The whip rose and fell, tearing through the wind, striking again and again at something that was perhaps no longer flesh but soul. Many officials lay prostrate, wailing without cease; some military officers pounded their own chests, as though trying to force open hearts about to burst.

During this, She Qingling woke once more. The Emperor asked him again: “Look! The son you struggled so hard to have is about to die too. Because of you, your grandson will lose his father. Just take back your words, and we can go back to how things were…”

Everyone in the courtyard broke down. Chang Lianfang was pinned to the ground by his own father, howling in supplication: “Your Majesty, beat me instead…”

The old guards all had tears streaming down their still faces; standing near the Emperor, they had all bitten through their own lips, mouths full of blood, eyes full of bloody tears.

The Second and Fifth Princes, their pleas useless, fell silent, their fists trembling.

Who among them was truly innocent?

If they yielded to their father’s wishes, if nine clans were implicated, their own maternal relatives would sooner or later be dragged in as well.

Yet they dared not say: Father, these people destroyed our family’s mausoleum, but for the sake of our close kinship, please spare them.

Hearts filled with dread, they turned in silence toward their only remaining support—their little uncle, who truly seemed about to be beaten to death.

What manner of unyielding will was this?

The Fifth Prince, unable to bear the torment any longer, finally gritted his teeth and rose unsteadily to his feet. Whatever kind of person he had been before, he felt that today he too must step forward before those two men—if death was deserved, let it come; if words needed saying, let them be said; whoever bore the guilt should bear the consequence.

He admitted he had wavered indecisively, so let his father beat him to death as well.

Little Uncle was right—this nation has laws, and no one should be able to escape what they deserve.

Just as he stepped in front of Chen Dasheng and his father, the Sixth Prince, Yang Qian, came stumbling in from outside the hall—no one knew how this plump little boy had even gotten out—clutching in his hands a string of prayer beads belonging to Empress Dowager Jiang.

At this moment, the Second Prince, who had remained motionless all this while, suddenly stood and threw himself before Emperor Wu, weeping loudly: “Father, please spare Uncle Qingling!”

Emperor Wu’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened again. He looked at the Fifth Prince blocking the whip, then at his chubby-faced, immortal-seeming son whose knees were scraped and bleeding without his even noticing.

When had this child even slipped out?

Yang Qian threw himself before the throne, holding up the prayer beads with both hands, weeping: “Father, have mercy! Father, please have mercy! Grandmother said—Grandmother said not to beat him! Grandmother said the Old She Family only has this one bloodline left. If you beat Uncle Qingling to death, tomorrow she’ll hang herself underground to atone!”

Emperor Wu’s body swayed. Looking at the string of prayer beads, tears suddenly streamed down his face.

He walked step by step toward the Sixth Prince, took the prayer beads from him, then raised his foot and kicked the boy down, demanding: “Who told you to go disturb the old lady?”

The Sixth Prince crawled up, grabbing at the hem of Emperor Wu’s robe on his knees, pleading: “Father, have mercy. Grandmother—Grandmother said that wicked people who do wrong will naturally face their own reckoning in the Six Realms. You are a benevolent ruler who will be praised through the ages—please do not act rashly out of anger. She said even if she knelt reciting scriptures for the rest of her life, she would never be able to face the Buddha if this happened…”

No one knew who started it, but the ministers all knelt together, crying out for the Emperor’s mercy…

Chang Lianfang suddenly struggled up, running several steps toward his sworn elder brother, reaching out to embrace him.

But by then, neither of them knew exactly when that final breath had left them.

A gentle push, and they both collapsed to the ground together.

Beneath them, the blood had already congealed.

Chang Lianfang, heart torn apart, embraced the man and wept uncontrollably, looking up at the Emperor and crying: “Your Majesty, have mercy! Your Majesty, save him…”

No one knew how long he cried out. Finally Emperor Wu waved his hand, clutching the prayer beads, turning to go back inside—when someone spoke, voice broken and breathless: “The na—the nation has laws… even the Son of Heaven… must…”

Chang Lianfang, nearly out of his mind, moved to act without thinking further, but someone was faster than him.

Grand Tutor Li Zhang suddenly threw himself in front of She Qingling, raising his sleeve to cover the man’s face, saying softly: “The Prince’s health has always been frail. Today, let—let this be enough. If something happens to you, how will history judge my lord? Rest easy—you have this old man! You have the old officials of Shaoshang! Daliang’s laws will not be thrown into chaos. Now, let this unfilial grandson of mine carry you away to see to your injuries.”

She Qingling, his vision blurred, grasped Li Zhang’s hand, looked at his son, murmured something unintelligible, then his hand fell heavily.

Li Zhang looked around for Li Jingui to help carry the man away quickly, scanning the crowd—only to see that wretched child staring at the Emperor with eyes full of pained affection.

Ah, yes—this was a child the Emperor himself had raised.

With no other choice, Li Zhang dared not shout aloud, so he simply removed his shoe and threw it, and when Li Jingui looked toward him, he silently mouthed for him to come quickly.

Li Jingui ran over, bent down and carried one man on his back; Chang Lianfang carried the other. Without another thought, they ran toward the Imperial Physician Bureau. Grand Tutor Li Zhang spread his arms behind She Qingling to shield him—yet as they passed a palace pillar, She Qingling suddenly reached out, eyes closed, and grasped one of the dragon-carved corners, refusing to let go.

Everyone present felt a bitter, complicated ache in their hearts, looking again at the Emperor who had driven Prince Furui to near-madness. He too looked at the younger brother he valued most, then at the prayer beads in his hand. After a long while, he finally spoke to the assembled ministers filling the courtyard: “We—compared to rulers of past dynasties, how have We treated all of you? And how have you treated Us? How have you treated this nation?!”

No one dared answer.

The Emperor’s gaze returned to Prince Furui’s blood-soaked hand, and finally, coldly and solemnly, he said: “Very~ well, as the minister has petitioned. Let the Court of the Imperial Clan, the Ministry of Justice, the Censorate, the Office of Transmission, and the Court of Judicial Review… jointly investigate, try, and judge this case according to Daliang’s law!”

She Qingling’s hand finally fell still.

The Emperor slowly climbed the steps and walked into the hall. As the doors of Changxin Hall slowly closed, everyone present understood: in this confrontation, no one had truly won. Together they had collectively murdered the benevolent, cheerful emperor of the past, and had also failed the sage teachings they had spent so many years studying.

The court historian stood in the corner, recording everything with solemn eyes.

This moment would be remembered for a thousand generations.

Empress Cao, who had never once received so much as a glance from her husband throughout, watched him leave. As the hall doors closed, she began to laugh, then threw herself headfirst against a pillar of Changxin Hall…

And the Emperor, leaning against the closed doors, gasped for breath, slowly sliding down to sit on the ground, clutching his chest, holding the prayer beads. After a long while he finally managed to say with great difficulty: “All the hells lie within the Great Iron Ring Mountains. Among the great hells there are eighteen, followed by five hundred more, each with its own distinct name; then a thousand more, each again with its own name. As for the hell of Unceasing Torment, its walls stretch around eighty thousand li, built entirely of iron, rising ten thousand li high, its ramparts wreathed in flame with scarcely a gap… Within this hellish city, all the prisons connect to one another, each bearing its own name. Only one stands alone, called Unceasing Torment…”