Lu Shi raised his head, looking at the emperor before him, his lips slowly curving up.

“This minister thanks Your Majesty for your grace.”

His voice held no fear, instead carrying some joy, as if the words “grant your wish” were something he’d waited for and anticipated for so long.

Cold sweat broke out on the Emperor’s back as he instantly calmed down.

“I forgot—you’re the great censor who corrects disorder and speaks for the common people; the great incorruptible official with empty sleeves and solitary nobility.

If I kill you, I bear the crime of killing an incorruptible official. When brush meets history in the future, I become a tyrant, while you, Minister Lu, will be immortalized.”

Lu Shi prostrated on the ground, saying nothing. His bent body, stripped of that layer of imposing official robes, looked nothing more than an ordinary old man.

The Emperor felt all his bones and meridians aching faintly.

He’d experienced countless storms in his life, fought countless battles, encountered countless enemies and opponents—never had anyone forced him to this extent.

This man had forced him into a narrow crevice with no way forward, no way back, unable even to draw his blade.

The Emperor sat down wearily. “Lu Shi, oh Lu Shi—I cannot keep you, cannot kill you. What deep scheming.”

Lu Shi remained silent.

Seeing him thus, the Emperor instead wanted to laugh. “You’ve come to avenge him, haven’t you?”

Him was the Former Crown Prince.

Only then did Lu Shi straighten up: “Not for him—only for the Tang family.”

The Emperor sneered: “What difference does it make?”

“There is!”

Lu Shi smiled faintly: “The Tang family showed me kindness. Receiving kindness from another, one repays like a flowing spring.”

“What about me?”

The Emperor demanded: “Back then with your status, many advised me to dismiss you. Not only did I not dismiss you, I helped you rise step by step. Haven’t I shown you kindness?”

Lu Shi: “While Your Majesty helped me rise, I cleared thorns and brambles for Your Majesty. This isn’t kindness—this is mutual consent, the tacit understanding between ruler and minister.”

What fine ruler-minister understanding.

The Emperor sneered continuously.

“The Tang family had to fall, Tang Qiling had to die. That person’s temperament couldn’t secure this empire.

Tang Qiling was his teacher, his most important behind-the-scenes strategist, his right and left arm. If he didn’t die by my hand, he’d die by another’s.”

“Your Majesty speaks correctly.”

Lu Shi’s eyes held mocking laughter.

“Tang Qiling deserved death, but not that kind of death; the Tang family had to fall, but not that kind of fall. A general dies in a hundred battles—there’s only one death he cannot have: being framed as a traitor. Such a death leaves eyes unclosed.”

The Emperor sneered: “So all these years, you’ve lived as a solitary person just for today?”

“Not so.”

Lu Shi said calmly: “In this world, there are good people, evil people, treacherous ministers, loyal ministers, incorruptible officials, corrupt officials… Straight as a bowstring, die by the roadside; bent as a hook, receive titles and fiefs.

Zhong Kui lived a life of righteous path, subduing all demons under heaven. My life…”

Lu Shi paused.

“My teacher once said my temperament was perfect material for a censor. All these years, I’ve had private intentions but also original intentions. Besides wanting to seek justice for the Tang family, I also wanted to try not to disappoint my teacher’s words.”

“Lu Shi, where is justice in this world?”

The Emperor leaned forward, staring directly into Lu Shi’s eyes.

“He was born legitimate, I was born of a concubine. Though you carry the Lu surname, you were born nothing but a bastard son. Where is the justice?”

Lu Shi’s eyes slowly kindled a roaring fire.

“When heaven lacks its season, sun and moon have no light; when earth lacks its season, vegetation doesn’t grow; when water lacks its season, wind and waves aren’t calm.

Fate has already arranged everything—no one has room to choose. The only thing we can choose is whether we live up to the heart in our chest.”

He looked quietly at the emperor before him—

Decisive in killing, skilled in both civil and military arts, pacifying the four seas, knowing and employing people well—the Hua Kingdom under his hand rivaled the prosperity of Han and Tang.

But too much blood on his hands, flowing endlessly; too many wronged souls under his blade—even King Yama’s hall couldn’t contain them all.

“Your Majesty is not a good person, but is a good emperor.”

Lu Shi slowly prostrated, his forehead touching the ground.

“This minister was fortunate to accompany Your Majesty for eighteen years without regret. But this minister wished to seek justice for the Tang family—eighteen years also without regret. This minister requests Your Majesty to grant death!”

In the vast hall, deathly silence.

…

“Imperial Physician Pei, Imperial Physician Pei.”

A small eunuch scurried over, leaning close to Pei Xiao’s ear: “The Great Elder is fine.”

Pei Xiao looked disbelieving: “Truly?”

“Absolutely true.”

“My Guanyin Bodhisattva!”

Young Master Pei immediately felt like he’d survived a catastrophe, quickly pulling out banknotes from his robe and stuffing them all into the eunuch’s hands.

“Where is he now?”

“Probably already home.”

“Amitabha!”

Young Master Pei clasped his hands toward heaven and bowed, thinking this time it finally ended peacefully, everything settled.

Wait!

Young Master Pei’s expression changed.

How was there no problem?

Why would His Majesty spare him?

This didn’t follow reason!

…

As Young Master Pei’s expression changed, Lu Shi was already walking into the courtyard holding an umbrella.

Lu Da waited under the eaves.

“Master has returned. Eat first, or bathe first?”

“Bathe and change clothes first. Have the kitchen warm two pots of wine. You’ll drink with me.”

Lu Shi handed him the umbrella. “Also, take out that water-blue direct robe from the trunk for me to wear.”

Lu Da’s hand taking the umbrella paused imperceptibly. Before he could respond, Lu Shi had already entered the room.

Bathing, changing clothes.

Lu Shi walked to the bronze mirror and found the collar slightly crooked. He reached out to straighten it again.

“She gave me these clothes. She said this color made me look younger. She hired the best embroiderer in Jinling Prefecture.”

He turned around, extending both arms: “Ah Da, how does it look?”

Ah Da said nothing, only nodded.

“You never speak the truth.”

Lu Shi pointed at him with his finger, then turned to look at himself in the bronze mirror.

“When people age, they shrink. These clothes fit me perfectly back then, but now they’re too large—I can’t fill them out. Ah Da, come stitch them up for me.”

Ah Da didn’t move, only his eyes reddened.

Lu Shi walked before him. “Come, drink with me.”

“Master?”

“You’ve always been straightforward.”

Lu Shi patted his shoulder, shaking his head with a smile: “Come!”

Ah Da followed him out. Just then servants brought wine and dishes. Lu Shi commanded: “Set out another pair of bowls and chopsticks.”

“Yes, Master.”

Two pairs of bowls and chopsticks were set. The servants closed the door and left. Lu Shi pulled Ah Da to sit at the small table.

Four small dishes, the wine was rice wine.

Lu Shi drank three cups in succession, ate a few bites of food, and set down his chopsticks.

“Master and servant all these years—I have nothing to leave you. Everything I have after death is yours.”

“Master?” Ah Da’s heart ached.

Lu Shi waved his hand, signaling him not to speak.

“After I die, His Majesty will surely have me buried near the imperial mausoleum and won’t let me wear these clothes. After the clothes are removed, bury them in her tomb—that fulfills my wish.”

Ah Da couldn’t hold back any longer, tears streaming down.

“There’s someone whose features looked somewhat familiar. You, like me, should have the same feeling.”

Ah Da’s eyes suddenly widened.

Lu Shi sighed almost inaudibly. “Not easy, Ah Da. Keep watch.”

Ah Da nodded through tears. “Alright.”

Lu Shi took out his handkerchief, wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, tucked the handkerchief into his hand, then walked into the side room and gently closed the door.

“It’s ended. Finally ended.”

He muttered to himself, walked to the washbasin, cleaned his face and hands with the cloth, rinsed his mouth with clear water, then walked to the window and stood quietly for a while before extinguishing the candle and lying on the bed, slowly closing his eyes.

After an unknown time, a hand gently caressed his forehead.

He opened his eyes and saw a girl with bright, clear eyes and petal-like red lips.

She smiled at him gracefully. “Lu Dadan, will you come with me or not?”

He grasped the hand on his forehead, holding it tightly in his palm.

He had so much to say—about longing, about hardship.

About how every morning and every evening of these twenty-six years, he wanted to wake holding her hand and sleep holding her hand.

“Tang Xiaowei, why did you take so long to come for me!”

In the end, he said only this.

In the seventeenth year of Yonghe.

The eighth day of the eighth month.

The renowned censor Lu Shi of the Hua Kingdom passed away peacefully in his sleep, aged fifty-five.