When Cheng Chang arrived at the Ministry of Justice, a clerk from the office came out to greet him, saying, “Third young master, you’re here so early? Lord Chai from the Censorate only just arrived himself.”
Cheng Chang knew of Chai Ping—among officials of his generation, he was an outstanding one, having already reached the rank of Attendant Censor before the age of thirty. When the Yao Susu case had broken and the court had shifted to a joint trial by the three tribunals, it was Chai Ping who’d helped smooth the way for Cheng Chang to go question Luo Shu in the Ministry of Justice’s prison.
Cheng Chang asked, “What’s Lord Chai here for?”
The clerk smiled obligingly. “Seems to be about the case. The end of the year’s approaching, and the higher-ups are pressing hard for it to be closed.”
Cheng Chang nodded, and following the clerk, went down to the prison. Chai Ping was in the outer chamber of the prison, reviewing newly submitted testimonies. Seeing Cheng Chang, he stepped forward first and bowed. “Third young master.”
Perhaps thinking that Cheng Chang, having been missing for nearly three months, knew little of the case’s current progress, he gave him a general summary first, then finished with a rueful laugh. “I’d assumed that with so many capable men across the three tribunals, the second young lady of the Yao household’s case would be resolved swiftly. Who could have known it would drag on this long and turn into such a dead end—no matter how much evidence we chased down, the original suspects have all been cleared. And there were so many bandits causing trouble that night of the Autumn Festival—no telling if one of them harbored ill intent and did the killing, but none of those rogues have confessed to a thing. Fortunately, the Privy Council Commissioner has finally relented, and this one here”—he glanced toward the cells—”can be released for now.”
This was the women’s section of the prison, and “this one here” referred to Luo Shu.
Cheng Chang asked, “Why is that?”
Chai Ping said, “Well, to be fair, the fourth young lady of the Luo household did have motive, and there is evidence. But this particular piece of evidence isn’t enough to prove she’s the true culprit.”
As he spoke, he took Luo Shu’s case file and a small wooden box from a nearby cabinet. Inside the box was a woman’s ear pendant.
Cheng Chang remembered—at the original hearing at the Capital Prefecture, the coroner had found this ear pendant lodged in Yao Susu’s jaw, and that was how Luo Shu had ended up in prison.
“This ear pendant does indeed belong to the fourth young lady of the Luo household, that much is certain. But why would it be found lodged in the second young lady Yao’s jaw? Consider this—if the second young lady Yao’s death truly was the fourth young lady’s doing, then if the second young lady had, in her death throes, torn the pendant from her attacker to leave evidence behind, the pendant ought to have ended up clutched in her hand, not lodged in her jaw—because by that point, struggling for breath, she’d have been utterly spent, without the strength to force it between her own teeth. Therefore, this ear pendant isn’t sufficient to prove that the fourth young lady of the Luo household killed her,” Chai Ping explained.
Cheng Chang understood this—the principle that in cases of doubt, the benefit goes to the accused. For fear of wrongly convicting an innocent person, any flaw in the evidence renders it invalid; this has long been the standard in the law.
“Furthermore, though the second young lady Yao’s body was found by the water’s edge, she actually died by strangulation. The second young lady and the fourth young lady were roughly equal in strength, so it seems unlikely the fourth young lady alone could have overpowered her to the point of death. What’s more, according to the fourth young lady’s testimony, the time of their confrontation and the time the second young lady’s beloved cat Snowball went missing both match up with the testimony given by the Yao household’s maid and your own testimony, third young master—which suggests she’s telling the truth. Given all this, we can no longer conclude that the fourth young lady of the Luo household is the true culprit behind the second young lady’s death.”
At this point, Chai Ping smiled and added teasingly, “I hear that precious cat, Snowball, was later taken in by you, third young master. Aside from that one time it went missing, it should have been with the second young lady Yao the whole time. If only it could talk, it might have provided some crucial clues.”
Cheng Chang said, “I actually did take Snowball down to the Qinhuai riverside afterward, but aside from sniffing around a bit, it showed nothing unusual.”
Chai Ping’s mouth fell open in surprise, then he nodded. “The third young master has truly gone to great lengths for this case.”
With that, he let out a long sigh. “Whatever the case, the fourth young lady is still the beloved daughter of Lord Luo of the Privy Council, and with insufficient evidence, it’s simply untenable to keep her locked up any longer. The Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review have already jointly issued a formal document to release her—all that remains is for our Censorate to sign off on it. But there’s one thing about that ear pendant that genuinely puzzles me.”
Chai Ping paused, brow furrowed. “If the second young lady Yao wasn’t killed by the fourth young lady, then why would the true culprit place the ear pendant in the second young lady’s mouth in the first place? If the culprit meant to frame the fourth young lady, there were surely better ways to do it—so what was the point of leaving such an ambiguous, half-convincing piece of evidence?”
As Chai Ping spoke, Cheng Chang’s gaze fell thoughtfully on the smooth, lustrous ear pendant in the wooden box.
After a moment, he said, “Might I borrow this ear pendant for a while, Lord Chai? I’d like to take it and ask Luo Shu about it.”
“Of course,” Chai Ping said readily. “Since the third young master is here today to interrogate the suspect, you’re welcome to make use of any of the case files or evidence here as you see fit.” With that, he handed over Luo Shu’s case file along with the wooden box, gave a few brief instructions to the warden, and took his leave.
Since Cheng Chang had already given word beforehand that he wished to question Luo Shu alone, a wooden chair had already been set up in the cell. The scribe who’d been waiting inside quickly gathered his brush and ink and withdrew the moment he saw Cheng Chang enter.
Cheng Chang set the case file and the box containing the ear pendant aside, lifted the hem of his robe, and sat down on the wooden chair, looking at Luo Shu. “Talk.”
He wasn’t worried about eavesdroppers—the Yao Susu case was under joint trial by the three tribunals, and this particular prison currently held men from the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate all at once, each aware he was conducting the questioning and keeping an eye on one another. No one would dare approach.
Luo Shu shrank into the corner, answering with a tremble. “S-say what?”
“Say who told you to reveal the old Marquis of Zhongyong’s wrongful case to me,” Cheng Chang said, unhurried.
Luo Shu looked at Cheng Chang in alarm, then, after a moment, avoided his gaze. “I don’t understand what the third young master means…”
Cheng Chang studied Luo Shu carefully.
She was, after all, the daughter of a fourth-rank Direct Academician of the Privy Council, and even here in prison, the officials had shown her considerable consideration. Her prison garb was clean, with an extra padded jacket added against the winter cold, and the food left in the corner still looked fairly fresh. Yet she still seemed cold, wrapped in a cotton quilt, her whole demeanor listless. Over these two months, she’d grown noticeably thinner. It made sense—a delicately raised young lady, confined to this prison for so long without seeing daylight, must have been utterly terrified.
As for the fact that he’d come to question her today, someone had surely already informed her in advance—perhaps even warned her what to say and what not to say. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have looked so composed when she first saw him.
Cheng Chang said, “Your father taught you to say this? Does he serve that person too?”
“Actually, I already know, even if you don’t tell me.” Seeing Luo Shu still unresponsive, Cheng Chang continued in the same unhurried tone. “Someone approached you in your father’s name, and told you to reveal the old Marquis’s wrongful case to me. And told you that if you successfully lured me to Clearwind Court, he’d have you out of this prison before long. Isn’t that right?”
Hearing this, Luo Shu’s heart jolted violently.
She couldn’t help but recall the words that Censorate official had warned her with the night before: “The third young master has probably figured out everything by now. If he asks you about Clearwind Court at Baiyun Temple, don’t panic, and don’t answer him. Understand?”
He’d also said, “If he asks whether the Marquis’s household has an informant inside, and whether you’re that informant, don’t confirm it, and don’t deny it either. Just act afraid, that’s all you need to do.”
At the time, doubt had gnawed at her, and she’d blurted out, “The Marquis’s household… has an informant?”
But that official had simply said, “That’s none of your concern. All you need to remember is that you must make the third young master believe you are that informant. Otherwise”—he paused—”think of the lives of everyone in your household, young and old.”
Seeing Luo Shu remain silent, Cheng Chang went on, “Is the informant within the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household you?”
Luo Shu’s heart tightened. So that Censorate official had guessed right after all.
She’d been bracing herself for Cheng Chang to press further, but instead he suddenly changed tack, leaning back in his chair, his long fingers steepled together, and asked at ease, “Did someone tell you beforehand that I’d come asking about an informant within the Marquis’s household?”
“Did he also tell you that if I asked, you should neither confirm nor deny it?”
Cheng Chang said flatly, “Are you wondering right now how I could have guessed all this?”
“One look at your reaction tells me everything,” he said. “Did he tell you that as long as you said nothing and just acted frightened, I’d believe you?”
Luo Shu was utterly stunned by how precisely Cheng Chang’s words hit their mark. Not knowing how to respond, she stammered after a long pause, “I really, really don’t know anything…”
Cheng Chang said nothing at this.
After a moment, he stood, took two steps closer, and stared unblinkingly at Luo Shu. “Have you really not thought this through? He’s using you as a scapegoat. You’ve been desperate to leave this prison, but do you have any idea how much longer you’d be locked up if it were confirmed you’re the Marquis’s household informant?”
Luo Shu froze slightly, and a flash of panic and worry immediately crossed her eyes.
Cheng Chang had his answer at once: it wasn’t her.
The informant within the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household wasn’t Luo Shu.
She was, after all, just a girl of seventeen or eighteen, raised in a sheltered household with little worldly experience—easily rattled by his rapid-fire interrogation into revealing the truth.
In fact, the informant within the Marquis’s household had only passed word to the “Noble One” twice, at critical junctures of the “boatman case.” At present, the “Noble One’s” identity remained entirely unconfirmed, with no solid evidence to speak of—so how could his informant possibly have been sent to prison?
The reason worry had flashed across Luo Shu’s face was simply that she had no idea what this informant had actually done.
Cheng Chang understood now—Yao Susu’s death almost certainly wasn’t Luo Shu’s doing; and as for the Marquis of Zhongyong’s wrongful case, a sheltered young lady like Luo Shu likely knew little about it either. As for his own ordeal, being lured to Clearwind Court and hunted down—Luo Shu had simply been a pawn used by someone else in that scheme.
And so his sole purpose in coming to interrogate Luo Shu here at the Ministry of Justice’s prison today had been to determine whether she truly was the informant within the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household.
That purpose had now been achieved.
But it wasn’t enough.
He turned, picked up the wooden box from the table beside him, and took out the ear pendant. “This yours?”
Luo Shu glanced at it in fear, then quickly lowered her eyes, murmuring, “Yes…” Then she hastily defended herself. “But I truly don’t know why this ear pendant ended up with Susu—I really didn’t harm Susu—”
“I know.” Cheng Chang cut her off before she could finish.
Others might not be able to guess why the true culprit would leave such an ambiguous, half-convincing piece of evidence behind. But he could.
Or rather, he’d realized it in a flash of clarity, at the very edge of life and death, hunted down at the cliffside outside Clearwind Court as dusk fell.
“In truth, you were never guilty. At the hearing at the Capital Prefecture, you were imprisoned only because the coroner found this ear pendant lodged in Yao Susu’s jaw.”
“Someone already knew I suspected an informant within the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household, and knew I suspected it was you. So he calculated in advance that once you were imprisoned, I would come to the prison to question you about the informant. He used this opportunity to turn the tables on me—using your mouth to tell me about the old Marquis’s wrongful case, and then luring me to Clearwind Court at Baiyun Temple.”
At this point, Cheng Chang leaned down, pinching the ear pendant between his long fingers, staring fixedly at Luo Shu as he said, word by word, “Do you know—it was this very pendant that nearly cost me my life.”
His tone as he said this was perfectly calm, and yet as Luo Shu glanced up, she caught, in his warm jade-like eyes, a flicker of darkness—a chilling, almost otherworldly menace lurking at the corners of those clear eyes.
The third young master’s peerless good looks were legendary throughout Jinling, but the look on his face now could no longer be described merely as “peerless.” It was as if no words in heaven or earth could capture such a person—he was an immortal of pure grace and jade-like bone, and yet also a soul-snatching specter, beautiful enough to strike fear into the heart, beautiful enough to demand a life in payment.
But he had been the one wronged, the one someone had sought to kill without cause. Even as he’d wandered disoriented through this reversal of time and space, holding his silence throughout the journey back to the capital, how could his heart not harbor hatred?
If not for having died and come back to life, if not for one life on two tracks—wouldn’t he already have drunk the broth of forgetfulness and crossed the bridge to the underworld by now?
“And he wasn’t satisfied with just that. Not only did he use this pendant to imprison you and set a trap to kill me, he even made the evidence deliberately ambiguous, so you wouldn’t be definitively convicted of Yao Susu’s murder. He wanted me to think he was protecting you—because he wanted me to believe you were his informant within the Marquis’s household.”
“You—why are you telling me all this?” Luo Shu was utterly terrified by Cheng Chang now, stammering, “It wasn’t me who harmed you…”
Even in prison, she’d heard people mention the third young master’s fall from the cliff.
They said the cliff outside Clearwind Court was a sheer drop, that falling from it would surely be a matter of nine deaths and one life—she had no idea how he’d survived, or how he’d made it back.
“Because after today, that person will send someone to find you again,” Cheng Chang said.
Since the mask was off anyway, and both sides knew exactly what the other had done, he might as well lay it all bare.
“Tell him this for me. I already know his identity, more or less. And I know, more or less, what he ultimately wants.”
“If he’d been willing to let well enough alone, I would have too. But since he can’t tolerate my existence, I see no reason to show him any courtesy.”
He lived in a society governed by rule of law, bound by legal and moral constraints in all his actions. But that didn’t mean he was willing to simply be slaughtered like livestock.
He’d lived in an age of peace, but that didn’t mean his path there had been free of hardship.
In that dazzling, kaleidoscopic twenty-first century, he’d been tempered too, in struggles without gunsmoke, had witnessed the full complexity of human nature, had honed his patience and resolve through it all, and with a clear, level head—even burdened with a heart too weak to bear much strain—had still climbed to the top.
None of that could compare to the bloodthirsty nature of imperial power, of course. But at the very least, he was going to fight properly for his own life.
If he couldn’t appeal to the law, couldn’t appeal to justice, then he’d deliver his own justice himself.
“Tell him,” Cheng Chang said, hands clasped behind his back, voice cold, “we’ll see about that.”