“His Highness truly gave His Majesty…”

Pei Zhiyuan sat by the brazier, yet felt that no matter how red-hot the charcoal burned, it couldn’t warm his ice-cold legs and feet. He didn’t finish his words, cautiously raising his head.

“Some things you ministers dare not do,” Prince Jia hadn’t bound his hair. He wore a loose robe trimmed with beast fur at the edges. The wound on his shoulder pained him until his face was deathly pale. He first glanced at Pei Zhiyuan, then looked at Meng Yunxian sitting nearby. “Even Prime Minister Meng—as a minister, you ultimately have things you cannot do.”

Whether the sovereign father was benevolent or not, as ministers, from the moment they entered officialdom, few could escape the bounds of ministerial duty. The more capable the minister, the less he could escape the Three Bonds and Five Constants of “when the ruler orders a minister to die, the minister must die; when a father orders a son to perish, the son must perish.”

Ministers were loyal to the nation and served the ruler. Even Meng Yunxian, though he clearly understood the fundamental reason for the new policies’ failure, could only “wait”—wait for the sovereign father to remember him again, use him again, and try his best to live longer, endure the harsh winter, and hope for spring’s arrival.

“There’s also Miao Jingzhen. Even with his entire family’s lives held in his hands alone, he found it difficult to be more decisive.”

If Miao Jingzhen weren’t bound by ministerial ethics, his methods would be more decisive. That bowl of medicinal soup mixed with golden elixir fragments wouldn’t have waited for Prince Jia to personally feed it.

“You’re all abiding by that set of ruler-minister, father-son relationships. I originally was the same.”

Prince Jia extended his hand. The brazier’s heat warmed his ice-cold palm. “But if I didn’t do this, more than just I would die. General Ge, Ge Rang would die. Grand Commandant Miao would die. Prime Minister Meng, you would die too. Everyone connected to me, or connected to Ziling, would all die.”

“I’m not afraid of being exposed, nor afraid of criticism. This is the path I chose—not clean,” Prince Jia’s pale lips curved slightly. “Then let it be unclean.”

Pale sunlight illuminated the accumulated snow on the eaves. Outside the hall, the wind howled fiercely. The brazier crackled. Meng Yunxian held his tea bowl, hot steam rising before his face. After a long while he said: “Your Highness, you’ve indeed saved many lives.”

“However, there’s still one thorny matter. Though the Consort has been confined, before that palace maid who was always by the Consort’s side was disposed of, she mentioned Wu Qingru. Duke Luguo is now seizing on this point. If he finds Wu Qingru…”

Pei Zhiyuan, discussing this matter, couldn’t help saying: “Your Highness, keeping Wu Qingru alive is a disaster. Why didn’t you kill her beforehand, but instead sent her away?”

Personal guard Yuan Gang standing nearby couldn’t help but speak: “Master Pei, His Highness originally held a death wish to avenge General Yujie. If not for His Majesty’s apoplexy, I’m afraid His Highness wouldn’t have survived…”

Yuan Gang suddenly stopped, paused, then said instead: “His Highness spared her because of compassion.”

“But in court, compassion is useless.”

Pei Zhiyuan’s words were tactful, but Prince Jia understood clearly. In their eyes, sparing the Consort’s niece Wu Qingru was womanly kindness.

“At that time I didn’t know I’d live. I used the golden hairpin matter against the Consort only because I wanted to make her suffer the bitterness of rumors before my death. With doubt about the bloodline in her womb, everyone would re-examine her. Even if she bore a prince, whether that prince could ascend the throne would be unknown.”

“Moreover, Wu Qingru is only fifteen years old. She can’t hide much. I knew long ago she wasn’t the legitimate daughter of the Wu family’s second branch’s legal wife. Only because the Consort wanted a useful niece did they pass off a concubine’s daughter as a legitimate daughter, sending her to Yun Jing to be betrothed to me.”

“Her birth mother is a discarded concubine, now in Yuan Gang’s hands.”

This way, even if Prince Jia died that night, Wu Qingru would absolutely not dare appear to speak a single honest word for the Consort.

After that, however the court fought and struggled over selecting the heir apparent, Prince Jia didn’t care. As long as the Consort had no peace, he would have peace beneath the Nine Springs.

The sky showed no falling snow, but it was still bitterly cold. Meng Yunxian and Pei Zhiyuan left Chongming Hall. Palace servants in the corridors were sweeping snow water.

“Minister Meng, we currently lack a pretext to prosecute Duke Luguo.”

Pei Zhiyuan sighed. “He’s imperial clan. Even though His Majesty is now ill to the point of being unable to speak, we still cannot easily move against him.”

“If we could move against him, would we allow him to openly dispatch people to search for Wu Qingru? That Erlang at his home serves in the Military Records Office of the Palace Command with considerable connections. Those rumors currently spreading through the three Imperial Guard divisions unfavorable to Prince Jia—they’re the work of that father and son. That mute Wang Gong refuses to see you, which shows he also harbors thoughts of waiting for the Consort to give birth.”

Rumors were ultimately rumors. The Consort was guilty and couldn’t turn things around. But the child in her womb was still the lifeline the court’s old faction wanted to grasp.

Prince Jia was Zhang Jing’s student. Meng Yunxian was Zhang Jing’s friend. Moreover, Prince Jia had youthful friendship with Jade Commander General Xu Hexue. Whether officials opposing the new policies or officials opposing Xu Hexue’s vindication, each and every one didn’t want to see Prince Jia ascend the throne.

This was the fundamental reason they stood with Duke Luguo, using every means to wash away the rumors about the child in the Consort’s womb.

“What’s to fear? We still have Huang Zongyu. Now he can’t help but join forces with us even if he doesn’t want to. He’s dealt with Wang Gong before. Many things we don’t know, but he knows. Even if he wears his mouth out, he must approach Wang Gong.”

Even in such urgent circumstances, hearing Meng Yunxian’s words, Pei Zhiyuan couldn’t help but laugh. “Minister Meng, you’ve truly planned to bind Prime Minister Huang together with us. He’s far better than I am at protecting himself wisely. Now he’s like a mute eating bitter herbs—suffering he cannot speak of.”

“Hey, where are you going?”

Speaking thus, Pei Zhiyuan saw him change direction and asked: “Not returning to the Hall of Government Affairs?”

“You go ahead. I’m going to the Censorate.”

Since He Tong and Jiang Xianming were successively confined to the Censorate’s prison, Meng Yunxian hadn’t yet visited. The prison was damp and cold, very dark, with a strong odor.

The Censorate’s Master Liu carefully invited Meng Yunxian inside. Braziers burned in the prison. Some places had some warmth. At the innermost area, more braziers were set up, making it brighter.

Meng Yunxian first saw He Tong sleeping peacefully on a straw mat inside the cell door. He wasn’t wearing his outer robe. His clean white inner robe seemed padded with cotton, looking somewhat thick, but staying in prison made it look rather dirty.

He Tong was sleeping, snoring loudly. Meng Yunxian saw the fine cloth wrapped around his head nearly soaked through with mottled bloodstains. He lowered his voice: “How did you beat him like this?”

“…Oh my,”

Master Liu lowered his voice, his expression somewhat helpless. “Prime Minister Meng, you didn’t see Master Chen—the one who interrogated Academician He that day. When Master Chen mentioned the late Lord Zhang, speaking of Lord Zhang’s crimes, Academician He directly picked up a stool and smashed it on Master Chen’s head…”

“I don’t know where Academician He got such strength. You only see Academician He’s head is injured, but you haven’t seen Master Chen. He’s currently black and blue with a broken left arm!”

“If not for this, how would Academician He end up confined in this prison?”

Meng Yunxian started, looking again at He Tong—snoring like thunder, sleeping soundly. He was about to ask more about Master Chen’s condition when he heard the sound of iron chains scraping the ground from the adjacent cell, followed by the rustling of withered grass.

He turned his face and saw in the cell next to He Tong’s, stripped of official robes with only an inner robe remaining—Jiang Xianming. His circumstances were far more wretched than He Tong’s.

Shackles on both ankles and hands. The clothing on his body wasn’t padded with cotton either. In such a cold and damp cell, his frame looked extremely emaciated.

“He was your superior in the past. How can you treat him like this? Wearing shackles, not even willing to give him padded clothing?”

Meng Yunxian frowned, questioning those beside him.

“Prime Minister Meng,”

Master Liu broke into a cold sweat and lowered his head. “We didn’t want it this way either. It’s… it’s Master Jiang who… insisted we treat him thus.”

With these words spoken, Meng Yunxian immediately fell silent.

His eyes met Jiang Xianming’s. After a moment: “Master Liu, allow me to speak privately with Master Jiang.”

“Yes.”

Master Liu didn’t hesitate at all and immediately led everyone out.

Firelight danced in the iron basin. He Tong’s snoring continued. Meng Yunxian walked very lightly to Jiang Xianming’s cell door, scrutinizing him. “Jiang Jingnian, you’re punishing yourself.”

“What I’ve committed is a capital crime.”

Jiang Xianming’s voice clearly hadn’t had much water or food. It was extremely hoarse and dry.

Meng Yunxian asked: “His Majesty is gravely ill. Do you know?”

“I know. But someone who’s committed a capital crime has only this one outcome no matter what. Even if His Majesty doesn’t have time to convict me, afterward there’s still you all to convict me.”

The Censorate still had old colleagues willing to treat him well. Naturally they had all come to the prison at the first opportunity to tell him about the overnight changes.

“A person who was used is willing to use his own death to punish his own mistakes. Yet those truly bearing grave crimes use every means—even if they must pile up countless blood debts, they never punish themselves, never admit wrong,” Meng Yunxian looked at him. “I know you, Jiang Jingnian, are someone who dares to act and take responsibility. I also know that General Yujie’s wrongful case weighs on you, making you unable to breathe. You feel only being executed by lingering death would count as atonement.”

Jiang Xianming didn’t speak, didn’t raise his head either.

“But Jiang Jingnian, this isn’t atonement—it’s escape.”

Meng Yunxian saw his lifeless state, completely unlike his former upright bearing, his demeanor of being unashamed before others. “General Yujie is already dead. Even if you die ten thousand times more, you can’t bring back his life. What you’re doing is completely meaningless.”

“Minister Meng, you should hate me,”

Jiang Xianming finally spoke. “Not persuade me.”

“Do you think I’m persuading you?”

Meng Yunxian still couldn’t determine whether what he saw that night was merely a phantom dream. His hand clenched inside his sleeve. “Jiang Jingnian, someone asked me to tell you—that ledger, those fifty-three million six hundred thousand strings of cash, have already let him know you’re a good official.”

The ledger.

Fifty-three million six hundred thousand strings.

That was the sum those corrupt officials embezzled from Du Cong’s old accounts. Jiang Xianming kept this number in his heart, never forgetting for a moment.

He suddenly raised his head.

“He said he once asked you—wearing the same official robe, some are clean, some are filthy. Which do you think you are?”

Almost the moment Meng Yunxian’s words fell, Jiang Xianming immediately recalled that rainy night when he was attacked. He carried secret accounts. That young lord wearing a veiled hat and wielding a long sword had asked him this.

After Zhang Jing’s death, Jiang Xianming never saw him again.

“…Who is he?”

Jiang Xianming had seen him but didn’t know his appearance, didn’t know his name.

“He is the Master Ni who died in battle in Yongzhou, the Huaihua Commander posthumously conferred by His Majesty. The imperial edict bears his name—Xu Jing’an.”

Meng Yunxian moved closer to the cell door, grinding his teeth. “Jiang Jingnian, today I ask you to carefully examine the name Xu Jing’an. I must tell you—beneath this name is the blood debt of thirty thousand people, a general’s death.”

“Who do you say he is?”

Meng Yunxian took a deep breath. One hand reached through the cell door, gripping Jiang Xianming’s collar. The shackles collided with a soft sound. Jiang Xianming stumbled several steps, his face pressed against the door. At this moment, he heard Meng Yunxian’s suppressed, choking voice: “How useless must we living people be, that someone who’s been dead sixteen years must return to the mortal world as a remnant soul to avenge his thirty thousand soldiers?”

Each word like a blade, stabbing into Jiang Xianming’s chest, crushing his flesh and blood.

“…You,”

Jiang Xianming’s dark beard trembled. His eyes widened enormously, his voice trembling: “The Master does not speak of strange phenomena, physical exploits, disorder, or spirits!”

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t dare believe it. But I saw him. I’ve aged like this. You’re not young either. But him? He still looks nineteen years old, standing before me, telling me he hopes I can temporarily set aside his case. He doesn’t want more people to die because of him.”

Meng Yunxian stared at him intently. “Jiang Jingnian, he even had me tell you—the official robe you wear is clean.”

He suddenly released his grip. Jiang Xianming immediately fell to the ground.

Jiang Xianming felt only roaring in his ears. Someone dead sixteen years returning to life—such an absurd thing, yet the more he thought about it, the more alarmed his heart became. He even recalled that night, there was a woman wearing a veiled hat beside that lord, words she had spoken to him.

“What kind of injustice are you speaking of?”

“An injustice that leaves the person beside me covered in wounds, that though he has teachers and friends he cannot see them, though he has youthful years he cannot enjoy them, though he has old grievances he cannot redress them.”

He remembered saying to that lord: “If you have an injustice, I, Jiang Xianming, will certainly vindicate and overturn it for you.”

This memory nearly crushed all of Jiang Xianming’s internal organs. He couldn’t help but deeply recall that drenching rainy night, excavating every detail about that mysterious young man.

Rainy night, sword sounds.

Red mole.

Jiang Xianming suddenly remembered that person’s pale hand, a red mole between the gaunt bones.

On Yongzhou’s execution platform,

That young general executed by lingering death bled profusely under the blazing sun. That blood made the red mole on his hand that could no longer be raised look like blood that couldn’t be washed away.

Jiang Xianming suddenly roared loudly. He bent down, his head striking the ground again and again.

Such commotion—even if He Tong slept deeply, he was startled awake, eyes flying open, snoring immediately stopping. He sat up and saw Meng Yunxian standing before the adjacent cell door. Inside, Jiang Xianming seemed to have gone mad.

“Prime Minister Meng?”

He Tong stood up. “Censor Jiang, what are you doing! Stop this at once!”

Meng Yunxian said coldly: “Jiang Jingnian, he wants you to live. Will you not listen even to that?”

With these words, Jiang Xianming lay prostrate on the ground for a long while before raising his head. Blood flowed down from his forehead. He looked at Meng Yunxian, his throat extremely tight.

“Since you know the deceased can see our actions, then we should examine ourselves even more closely. First correct ourselves, then correct others. This is our reverence for the dead.”

Meng Yunxian’s face was expressionless. “Right now General Yujie’s case hasn’t been retried. If you die at this moment, do you dare go beneath the Nine Springs to face him and Zhang Chongzhi!”

“Do something for him. Think about what you can still do. If not for him, you should also do it for the people of the world.”

Having spoken, Meng Yunxian didn’t wait for Jiang Xianming’s reaction. He turned to look at He Tong with his head wrapped in blood-red cloth. “You—say you’re a proper scholar, who would believe it? At the slightest disagreement you break someone’s bones and make yourself so undignified. If your teacher were here, he would definitely blow his beard, glare, and thoroughly scold you!”

Meng Yunxian didn’t linger. Now with His Majesty ill and the heir apparent not established, no one had come to handle He Tong and Jiang Xianming’s cases. He couldn’t intervene at this time and could only let them continue staying in prison.

Master Liu had someone come bandage Jiang Xianming’s head. He didn’t move at all. No matter what Master Liu said, he seemed not to hear, saying nothing.

He Tong felt he was like someone who’d lost his soul. Seeing Master Liu and others leave, he said: “Censor Jiang, what did Prime Minister Meng say to you? Why this outburst?”

Jiang Xianming still didn’t speak.

He Tong felt snubbed. He couldn’t sleep anymore either. He simply sat at the desk, poured some cold tea water into the inkstone, ground out ink, and dipped his brush.

The brush tip touched paper, rustling.

This sound of writing made Jiang Xianming slowly raise his head. He saw He Tong sitting upright at the desk, brush in hand.

“Academician He.”

Jiang Xianming suddenly spoke.

He Tong turned his face, hearing him ask: “What are you writing?”

He Tong pressed his lips together. “Xu Hexue’s poetry and prose. When I came, they told me that to protect me, they burned everything I’d compiled before. But fortunately I memorized it all. I remember every word. I want to write it all down again from memory.”

“Is it because of your teacher?”

“Not entirely.”

He Tong placed his brush on the inkstone and said solemnly: “I used to hate him. I felt he harmed my teacher. But in the end I realized—I shouldn’t hate him most of all. I’ve wronged him.”

“As his senior disciple, I feel guilty, truly unbearable. I thought about what I could still do for him? Probably only this brush in my hand. I want to preserve his traces, and also want the world to remember his traces.”

Hearing these words, Jiang Xianming looked at that brush on his inkstone, thick ink like drops. He supported himself with both hands on the wooden post. “You’re right. I can still hold a brush too.”

Just as Meng Yunxian left the Censorate prison, he heard an officer from the Bureau of Forbidden Night report: “Prime Minister Meng, Vice Commander Zhou sent me to tell you—someone has filed charges against Prince Nankang and his son.”

“What? Who?”

Meng Yunxian immediately asked.

The officer bowed respectfully and said: “Ni Su, Miss Ni. She claims her late husband Xu Jing’an was a descendant of the Jing’an Army. She files charges that Prince Nankang and his son colluded with Wu Dai and Pan Youfang to kill Jade Commander General Xu Hexue and thirty thousand soldiers of the Jing’an Army.”

“…Ni Su?”

Meng Yunxian grabbed his arm. “No! This cannot be! This cannot happen!”

“Prime Minister Meng…”

The officer said carefully: “It’s already too late. That Miss Ni has already beaten the Petition Drum and entered the Court of Judicial Review.”

Meng Yunxian’s fingers suddenly loosened.

The Court of Judicial Review’s rules—to lodge a complaint, one must first endure twenty strokes of the rod.

He remembered—

She had once endured punishment for her elder brother.

She was Ziling’s wife. Now, would she endure those twenty strokes again for Ziling and the thirty thousand soldiers of the Jing’an Army?

“Quickly! Order someone to invite Prime Minister Huang. Have him accompany me to the Court of Judicial Review!”