Lucky?

Zhù Ying was not particularly fond of that characterization, though she did not correct it, nor did she allow her inner displeasure to spill onto the Left Rectifier.

“Old Zuo,” she said, “wait a moment.”

“What?” said the Left Rectifier.

Zhù Ying quickened her pace and caught up with Pei Qing. “Vice Prefect, a moment, please.”

Pei Qing stopped at once. “What is it? Have you spotted something else?”

“I have a few words to pass on to them,” Zhù Ying said.

“Go ahead,” said Pei Qing. He stood quietly to one side, waiting to see what she would say.

Zhù Ying gathered the female wardens and female guards together. “This is the first time you have received prisoners. I will walk you through it once.” She looked at Cui and Wu in turn and continued, “From here on, this case will require you to know certain things. But for now — keep all female prisoners separated in individual cells. Have all your cells been cleaned? Good preparation.”

The female wardens and guards could not help feeling a little pleased, then immediately grew tense.

“Remember one rule,” Zhù Ying said. “You are not permitted to speak with any of them — especially Bi Shi. Whoever speaks with her, no matter what is said, if even one word is exchanged — if a warden speaks, the warden is dismissed; if a guard speaks, the guard is dismissed. Their bathing, food, and waste disposal — manage it all as normal. The few maids and older servants have injuries; dress their wounds. And for Bi Shi — add an extra quilt and have her rest and tend to her pregnancy.”

The women were at a complete loss, responding in a scattered, dazed manner. They had done a little preparation beforehand — Wu Shi in particular had thought: The Court of Judicial Review prison has no such rule. I have only heard of something like this being done for the Gong traitor and his wife. Can this young woman truly be so capable?

But none of them dared say a word, for though Zhù Ying’s expression had not changed, there was something about her that gave off an indefinable sense of unease. Even Pei Qing felt a slight discomfort. When he looked more carefully, however, Zhù Ying had already returned to her usual composed look.

Only the Left Rectifier, rattled by the atmosphere, asked uneasily, “L-little Zhù — w-what is this all about?”

“Let us talk outside,” Zhù Ying said.

“The male ward should follow the same rules,” said Pei Qing.

Zhù Ying bowed. “Yes.”

The Left Rectifier, ever perceptive, relayed the instructions to the male ward. Given the upheaval over Bi Shi, the warden of the male ward was also a seasoned hand, and he cooperated readily. “Understood! If we have anything to say, can we not simply speak among ourselves outside? Who says one must chat with the prisoners?”

To Cui and Wu, Zhù Ying said, “Keep your people in order.”

Both women bowed. “Yes.”

After seeing Pei Qing and his party off from the Court prison, Wu Xiang and Cui Jiacheng exchanged a glance. “Did everyone hear what Chief Zhù just said?” Wu Xiang asked.

“Yes!”

“Then do as instructed. First, separate the maids and older servants and hold them in individual cells — and no talking to them. Then come to our room; we have things to discuss.”

“Yes.”

Managing the prisoners was not overly difficult. The largest cell was already a single room; all that was needed now was an extra quilt. Cui Jiacheng, trusting no one else to do it reliably, carried the quilt in herself. The guards removed the maids and older servants to separate cells. Even the more seasoned Wu Shi, who might otherwise have made some offhand remark about single rooms being a luxury, said not a single word.

Once they had finished, locked the cell doors, and assembled in the female warden’s room, the initial excitement had given way to unease and apprehension. “We all know what happened just now,” Wu Xiang said. “This is not ordinary. And it goes to show that having us — a female ward — does have its uses.”

“The hot potato has landed in our hands,” said Cui Jiacheng. “All the more reason to be careful. I believe that is also Chief Zhù’s meaning.”

The two of them drew up a duty roster. With prisoners now on hand, night shifts had to be staffed; Wu Xiang and Cui Jiacheng would take turns leading a shift each night, with no dispute. They divided the female guards into two groups, separating those with known conflicts as best they could to prevent trouble during the long nights. One group: Wu Shi, Che Shi, Gan, and Xu. The other: Huo, Zhou, Zhao, and Fu. Cui Jiacheng led the first group; Wu Xiang led the second.

Cui Jiacheng then kept Wu Shi behind.

Everyone understood: this was to ask Wu Shi about the standard practices of the Court of Judicial Review.

Wu Shi, though she considered herself quite capable, now adopted a slightly reserved air in front of her superiors — though she spoke with reasonable candor. “As far as I know, only the Gong traitor and his wife were ever treated this way. I heard that at the time, even Chief Zheng would not permit anyone to speak privately with Gong’s man, because he was a formidable person. His wife was fierce as well — she could even reduce interrogating officials to tears!”

Wu Xiang asked, curious, “Had Chief Zhù never met the Gong traitor?”

Wu Shi’s expression shifted slightly, turning a touch mysterious. “I heard that the first time Chief Zhù met Gong, the case was all but resolved not long afterward. As if nothing had been done — and yet the case was broken.”

Cui Jiacheng, watching Wu Shi’s face light up the moment Zhù Ying’s name came up, thought to herself: Secondhand gossip ought not to be taken as fact.

Still, the situation at hand was genuinely awkward. Forbidding the women from asking too many questions or getting too involved — that was, in its way, the safest approach. Even if they had wanted to participate, there was currently nothing for them to get a foothold on. They had thought about whether they might first exchange a few words with the female prisoners, probing indirectly to earn a little credit. But now it seemed wiser not to move rashly.

“Since Chief Zhù has given instructions,” Cui Jiacheng said, “let us do as he says.”

Wu Xiang asked Wu Shi, “What do you think will happen on the male ward side?”

“They behave themselves over there,” Wu Shi said. “If you have done something you shouldn’t, you need not say a word — Chief Zhù takes one look and knows. That whole lot of them — do you think they’re behaving themselves out of the goodness of their hearts? It’s because every time they try something, they get caught out. That’s what keeps them in line. Without that, treat them well and they’d just see you as easy prey!”

She was off on another bout of praise again. Cui Jiacheng, with admirable patience, listened to the end and said, “Thank you for all of that. Tonight is the first shift; you and I will be on duty together, and I trust you to stay alert.”

“Yes! Don’t worry — I will follow your lead entirely.”

Cui Jiacheng finally managed to send Wu Shi on her way. She and Wu Xiang looked at each other and smiled ruefully. “Of all the people here, she is the one who understands this place best,” Cui Jiacheng said.

“It would be nice if we could ask one of the male guards,” Wu Xiang mused.

“Absolutely not! Do not act rashly!”

“Don’t worry, A’Jie — I was only saying it in passing. Since Chief Zhù gave those instructions, there must be a reason.”

——

“What is your actual reasoning for doing all this?” The Left Rectifier had been grumbling the whole way back. “A woman of no particular standing, and she is being given the same treatment as the Gong traitor?”

“She may not be so very formidable,” Zhù Ying said, “but our female ward staff are all complete novices. Besides, this case has people watching.”

The Left Rectifier understood at once. This sort of case was, in itself, not particularly weighty — an aging man taking a young wife was, by its nature, a high-risk arrangement. Whether he lived or died — at his age, he should have died already! But if an important figure was asking questions, the situation was rather different.

Pei Qing simply found it remarkable. He could not quite fathom how Zhù Ying had thought to bring in a woman to take the female prisoner’s pulse. Was that something an ordinary person would think to do?

But he was patient, and held his question until they were back before Zheng Xi, making their report.

By then, because a formal request had been sent to the Imperial Medical Office and Pei Qing himself had gone to handle it, quite a few people at the Court of Judicial Review had already heard that something had gone slightly off course. People were murmuring among themselves. Bao, the evaluating official, said, “There must be something else going on — it doesn’t look like Sanlang made a mistake. He never makes mistakes.” The listeners all agreed, and went on speculating about what the “something else” might be.

Seeing Pei Qing and the other two return without incident only deepened the mystery. Even the Court President, who rarely involved himself in such matters, came out to ask Hu Lian, “What is the matter?”

“Only that a physician was requested,” Hu Lian said. “Surely the prisoner is not gravely ill?”

The Court President gave a small cough and said to Hu Lian, “Go fetch the ones who accompanied Zhù Ying when she received the prisoners and ask them.”

Hu Lian thought: I was just going to do that myself! He did as told and summoned them; after questioning, a remarkable story came to light. The Court President’s curiosity was satisfied, and he thought: Not a matter of our Court of Judicial Review’s doing — no concern of mine, then.

He turned and went back to studying his chess notation. He left Hu Lian deeply vexed — in that brief window, he had missed the chance to slip inside and listen in. If he had been present from the start and his superior had simply forgotten to send him away, he might have heard everything. Now that it had already begun, there was no inserting himself mid-way.

In the room beyond, Pei Qing had already reported to Zheng Xi. “She is indeed with child.”

Leng Yun, who had come purely for the entertainment, sat up straight. “So there really was an affair?”

Zheng Xi paid him no mind and turned to Zhù Ying. “Tell me from the beginning.”

Pei Qing added, “And how did you think to take her pulse?”

Zhù Ying’s first words were an apology. “It was excessive of this subordinate — an unnecessary complication. I await whatever punishment you see fit.”

Both Leng Yun and Pei Qing looked to Zheng Xi. As far as they were concerned, they had no objections — in fact, they thought Zhù Ying had handled it admirably. Zheng Xi raised one hand and said to Zhù Ying, “Tell me about the case.”

Zhù Ying had long since prepared her explanation. “With certain people taking an interest in this case — though nothing has been committed to paper — it seemed better to be thorough. My original thought was to check for any old ailments or hidden injuries, so that she would not die in our custody and cause us further trouble. It turned out to be a lucky guess.”

Zheng Xi gave no direct response and asked, “And now — what is your plan?”

“Pursue both lines simultaneously and work to uncover the full truth,” Zhù Ying said.

There was something she could not say aloud: Having come this far, if the favor cannot be repaid, then at least I will pursue what is right.

“Oh?” Leng Yun made a curious sound.

Zheng Xi said nothing, only watching Zhù Ying steadily. She continued, “True, the moment the case arrived in our hands, a three-month pregnancy was discovered — we cannot be blamed for it, the Ministry of Justice cannot fault us for negligence, nor can the Censorate hold us responsible. We need not cover it up on anyone’s behalf; we should first send a formal dispatch to the local authorities and let them conduct their own investigation — that is the proper procedure. But we cannot simply do nothing. The matter is connected to Bi Shi. She may not be the murderer in the homicide case, but the pregnancy is real. Following that thread may allow us to reverse-investigate and find the truth of the homicide.”

Leng Yun asked, “Can we not simply send someone now to investigate the homicide?”

“We can,” Zhù Ying said. “But it would be very difficult, and it would take considerable time — we may not have the leisure to see it through at a measured pace. Sending someone to the locality would be a last resort. Bi Shi remains a suspect in the homicide — if not the principal offender, then at least a witness. Starting from her is the best approach.”

“How so?”

The superior, not appearing particularly sharp, obliged Zhù Ying to explain in detail.

An official of Li Zang’s rank — even in a murder case — could not simply be left unburied after the local investigation concluded. Once the verdict was in, the family would have been permitted to claim the body for burial. His rank demanded a more elaborate ritual preparation than that of a commoner: his body would have been cleansed and robed, then laid out in full funeral attire. By the time of burial, his appearance would have been nothing like that at the moment of death. And after so many months, who knew in what state of decay the body now lay — save for the matter of the arsenic poisoning, any other physical traces would by now be long gone. The fact that the old man had been using arsenic as a remedy while he was alive also provided a perfectly plausible explanation, whether for acute or chronic poisoning.

The same logic applied to the family residence. The funeral had already been held, which meant the house had certainly been thoroughly cleaned — what traces could possibly remain? And one could hardly just force one’s way into an official’s home.

The local officials had not handled the case recklessly. Li Zang’s death was indeed due to poisoning — that much was established. Given his age and the fact that his young wife had been taken on precisely to attend to his daily needs and lived with him for easy access to care for him, she was naturally the primary suspect. What made the situation particularly damning was that the poison was arsenic. Because the old man was elderly, suffered from sores, and had a wheezing condition, arsenic could be used to treat sores and respiratory ailments. A physician had prescribed it, which was why the substance was kept in the household.

As for Bi Shi — she had not been subjected to torture, so nothing could be attributed to extraction under duress.

All of her maids and the older servants in her household had been brought in — three maids, since a fourth had died from torture. Their confessions confirmed that the arsenic had indeed been managed by Bi Shi and the old head steward, and that it was typically Bi Shi who personally attended to Li Zang’s meals and medication.

The amount of arsenic used medicinally was limited, and was not administered daily; a proper dosage for treatment would not have been enough to kill Li Zang. Someone must have administered poison deliberately. The reason the maids and servants had to be tortured at all was because they had separately purchased arsenic on Bi Shi’s instructions. Each of them had bought it at different times, with the excuse that the arsenic prescribed for Li Zang’s treatment had been accidentally spilled and they feared punishment — plus, it was for rat poison. The combined quantity they had purchased was enough to kill not one but two old men, let alone rats.

The old man being held in the male ward was Li Zang’s head steward. At the time the incident occurred, the head steward had been ill and was not present — he was no young man himself — and had sent his sons and grandsons to fill in for him. Because they were not the usual attendants, they had not been permitted to personally serve their master. But regardless, they had been present and had failed to notice or intervene, so they had all been brought along to serve as witnesses.

Compared to the head steward, the charge of an ill-matched marriage — an old husband and a young wife — simply added one more mark against Bi Shi. If not her, then who? No one else had purchased arsenic.

In summary, the local officials had handled the case with sound reasoning. Everything that could be investigated, they had investigated — they could not be called negligent. Going all the way there to investigate would signal distrust of the local authorities. They might greet the inspection with anxious deference, but how they would truly feel behind closed doors — and how they might try to manage the situation — was another matter entirely.

To uncover the truth without sparing anyone’s face was the ideal outcome. But confronting the local officials head-on was clearly not the right approach.

That was not his concern, in any case. Leng Yun asked with interest, “Do you think… could there be a lover? The eldest son, perhaps? The pregnancy, hmm…”

Seeing his manner, Zheng Xi gave a loud cough — but said nothing to reprove Leng Yun. For though he spoke flippantly, what he said was not without merit. The Court of Judicial Review reviewed all manner of extraordinary cases throughout the year — every conceivable human calamity had passed before them. With so much exposure, they developed a habit of suspecting the worst. In a case like this — an old husband and a young wife, a stepmother-stepson dynamic — one almost automatically began by suspecting an illicit relationship.

Zhù Ying said, “Li Zang was over seventy. Though he married late in life, his wife was ten years his junior, which means the eldest son is close to forty by now. One cannot judge by age alone, but a man of his years is typically one who cares about managing household affairs. People like that tend to value one thing above all else: keeping family disgrace from becoming public. These are all this subordinate’s speculations — the particulars will depend on how the interrogation unfolds. Therefore, the plan is to hold them all in isolation for now and see who breaks first.”

“With the current prisoners and witnesses and the materials transferred from below — we interrogate from what we have, and if something comes of it, good. If there is no progress, then we can make a trip there; it won’t be too late. As for the guards and constables who escorted them — once we have taken their statements, the timing and distance suggest it was not them. But if the crime was committed locally and they were then assigned to escort duty, that is not impossible either. So even if they are eventually released, they must wait for the local authorities to send an official request.”

Zheng Xi listened to her organized account and said, “This case was already assigned to you. I am leaving it with you still.”

“Yes.”

——

After seeing to the superior, Zhù Ying walked out with the Left Rectifier.

The Left Rectifier, turning the matter over and over in his mind, found it increasingly suspicious. “Are you truly going to make another trip there? From the way Chief Zheng was acting, whoever is pressing for this inquiry must carry considerable weight.”

“Chancellor Chen. Li Zang was Chancellor Chen’s former superior — he had no choice but to ask.”

“Oh no…”

“Quite.”

The Left Rectifier solemnly shook his head. “That’s a bit of trouble. But if that is the situation, must you really make that trip in the dead of winter? Even if you go, you may well find nothing. I am not questioning your ability — it is just that, as with our own cases, we would not welcome someone coming to re-examine them. If they do not actively obstruct you, that is already good fortune. And there would be no benefit to speak of either. If you make this trip, your current work here will fall behind.”

“That is not a worry,” Zhù Ying said. “Are you not all still here?”

“But we are rather inadequate,” the Left Rectifier said, deeply concerned. “And there is something else you must think through: Chancellor Chen has asked about this. He may want the truth — or he may want to save face. If he wanted the truth, why bother making inquiries at all? Saving face seems the more likely motive. But now, with the concubine in this condition — you had better think carefully about how you will speak to Chancellor Chen.”

“I will simply tell him the truth,” Zhù Ying said.

“Do not take this lightly. You are the one who stirred this up.”

“Heh,” Zhù Ying said. “If he wants to be angry, let him be angry. I have my own grievances too!”

“Do not say things in anger!”

“This matter would have been traced back to me whether or not I had anything to do with it,” Zhù Ying said. “As things stand, I might as well hold my ground. Besides — given this unexpected development, continuing to sell this favor is no longer worthwhile. I will say the same to Chief Zheng: what were we selling this favor for in the first place? Chancellor Chen would not promise Chief Zheng much for the sake of one dead man. For Chief Zheng to continue with this would not be in his interest either.”

“Not bad!” the Left Rectifier said. “Continuing to trade favors would end up a losing deal. What about those in the prison, then?”

“Leave them to sit for now. If you wish to conduct interrogations, go question the male prisoners — leave the female prisoners alone. No talking to them. Let them sit and wait for a while; keep them fed. Just do not beat anyone to death.”

“Not bad! I will go question the male prisoners — what if it really was them, after all? How much time does it take to administer poison?”

“Do you not want to review the case files first?” Zhù Ying asked.

“No need — I will ask the routine questions first. There will still be time to go over the details after I return. If the superiors ask, at least there will be some testimony to show for it. Since we are not questioning the female prisoners, the male prisoners will have to do as a substitute.” The Left Rectifier headed off.

Zhù Ying parted ways with him to carefully re-read the case files. If she could glean something from the files alone, all the better — she truly had no desire to make a trip out of the capital for Li Zang’s sake. Talk of making the trip was merely something she had said to sound good before her superior. What matter could possibly be resolved only by having a young woman marry a half-dead old man? Laughable. It was not as though she were marrying a dead emperor to become Empress Dowager.

She had already committed the case files to memory, but she spread them open before her and read them again, word by word. She went through each person’s testimony in turn, and a clear pattern emerged: the testimony of the maids and servants stated that they had purchased arsenic on Bi Shi’s orders, but none of them claimed to have personally witnessed Bi Shi administer the poison. The male servants, meanwhile, did nothing but protest their own innocence. The Li family members were even more revealing. Li Ze, the eldest son, maintained that there had been no foul play — it was simply an accidental overdose of medication, and Bi Shi herself had said the same: Li Zang had been unwell and had insisted on increasing his dosage.

But Li Ze’s second and third sons, along with two married daughters, were adamant that their stepmother had killed their father. They even claimed Bi Shi was deeply calculating. Several years ago, after the Bi family fell into ruin, she had come to depend on Li Zang, and because of her youth and beauty, Li Ze’s mother had “taken her in as a companion.” The first wife had not yet died before she arranged for Bi Shi to succeed her.

At the time, everyone had strongly objected — the whole situation was far too scandalous to speak of! And yet it had actually come to pass. From their testimony, one could feel unmistakable outrage. Words like “deceived,” “coaxed,” and “tricked” appeared again and again. They also stated that their father had never mentioned his condition worsening, nor any unbearable pain that would have prompted an increase in dosage — and the head steward’s testimony corroborated this. As for why the eldest son’s account differed from theirs, they had an explanation: Our eldest brother is a fool! Putting on airs of propriety! He simply does not care about our parents! A piece of wood, nothing more!

Because of their testimony, no one was willing to simply believe that the old man had died from an accidental overdose. They had independently engaged their own physicians and coroner, and signed their statements. It was precisely this comparison of accounts that led Zhù Ying to give more credence to the local investigation.

Looking more closely at the eldest son’s own testimony, the language was strikingly calm — none of those words appeared. Nor, however, were there any words of praise. The entire statement was composed, measured, and oddly flat.

Then there was Bi Shi’s testimony. Regarding her marriage to an elderly man, she described it as an act of “repaying a debt of gratitude.” She stated she would never harm her “husband,” because her family was utterly destitute and still depended on this “husband” for support. If the stepsons were to take over, she would certainly not live as comfortably as she did now.

“Interesting…” Zhù Ying murmured. “She is not a ‘Madam.'”

Li Zang had never petitioned for Bi Shi to receive an official title. She was not a furen.

She had read to the halfway point when Cui Jiacheng and Wu Xiang arrived again. Zhù Ying’s standing rule was that no one should be received alone — but since there were two of them, and Zhù Ying also had clerks and Hu Lian present, it could not be said to be a private meeting.

She put down the case file and asked, “What is it?”

The two exchanged a glance, and Wu Xiang spoke. “Chief, we were wondering whether we might look at the roster files of the female guards.”

Hu Lian let out an amused snort. “Took you long enough.”

Zhù Ying sent a clerk to help them access the files, instructing, “Read them here. Court documents may not be removed from the premises. Return them when you are done.”

She turned back to her work. The combined records of eight women amounted to very little — only the most basic information about their origins and family circumstances; nothing more. It was difficult to say whether the two women were disappointed or otherwise. They returned the files and came to bid Zhù Ying farewell.

Wu Xiang asked, “When will the female prisoners be summoned for questioning? We would like to be prepared.”

“Do not concern yourselves with that,” Zhù Ying said.

“Yes.”

After they had gone, Hu Lian said, “These women — they think just a little more slowly than most.”

“The fact that they thought of it at all is what counts,” Zhù Ying said.

“True — and with them here, at least we won’t end up with a pregnant woman on our hands.”

Zhù Ying smiled and set the matter aside, turning to the routine administrative work of the Court of Judicial Review. Her original intention had been to follow Chancellor Chen’s wishes and exonerate Bi Shi: “the elderly man could not endure the pain and accidentally increased his dosage” — it could have been explained away quite plausibly. Without being caught in the act, with one maid already beaten to death, if one were determined to push back against the local verdict, it could be done. Both Zheng Xi and Zhù Ying had originally been prepared to muddle through it just like that — the eldest son did not even want to pursue it further, asking only for “face” to be maintained. Li Zang’s death held no sorrow for her. Whatever Bi Shi’s character may have been, it did not matter. She had no desire to investigate.

But the unexpected development of a pregnancy changed everything. It was like placing Zhù Ying over a fire to roast. Now she wanted to examine the matter thoroughly — to have something solid in her hands.

If it came to it, she would leave the capital to investigate in person. If she had to go, she needed to manage her current affairs first — ideally, she would make all the arrangements even through the New Year. She could not have people taking out their frustrations on her household while she was away…

Wait.

Once she had finished what was on her desk, she stopped by several merchants after leaving the office, instructing them to “deliver to the addresses listed, each household in turn.” The allowances she supplemented for her colleagues at the Court took various forms — some were distributed directly at the office as goods or cash, while others were delivered by merchants to their homes, for which she naturally needed her colleagues’ home addresses. If anyone preferred delivery to a location other than home, they were welcome to provide that address instead. In this way, she could effortlessly collect a great deal of information she needed.

Having seen to all of this, she finally returned home. Hua Jie and Nanny Du were waiting with considerable anxiety. Zhang Xiangu asked Hua Jie what had happened; Hua Jie said only, “Someone brought in to the Court of Judicial Review — she was beaten up.” Zhang Xiangu assumed Hua Jie had been summoned to treat injuries, and said, “Old Third should not just use her for nothing — keep a ledger and charge a consultation fee; it is not as though taking pay is misusing family connections!”

Hua Jie forced a small smile. Zhang Xiangu assumed she was shaken — Zhù Da had mentioned that beatings inside a prison were quite a frightening sight.

Hua Jie waited until Zhù Ying arrived, then stepped forward to ask in a low voice, “How did it go?”

“Still left with me to handle…” Zhù Ying began.

“Eat first and talk later!” Zhang Xiangu cut in.

After dinner, Hua Jie came to Zhù Ying’s room. Zhù Ying said, “Everything is fine — I can manage. My original plan was to muddle through it and call it done, but now it looks like I may have to leave the capital.”

“What?”

“I cannot let them get away with a cover-up.”

“Why not?”

“Chancellor Chen,” Zhù Ying said, “you know what he is like — he wants everything to look perfect on the surface. With what has happened now, he cannot paper it over. But I have to be the one who can.”

“What is his interest in this?”

“He cannot afford to be said to be cold-hearted. His old superior — he can grumble about him privately and call it moral high ground. But he still has to at least appear to look after the matter.”

“Very well. I will look after things at home.”

“Yes. And if anything comes up, do not worry about our belongings — just take the people and go to the Zheng household.”

“Is it that serious?”

“Only the worst case. Nothing more.”

——

The next day, Zhù Ying busied herself with the administrative affairs of the Court of Judicial Review and did not go to question the prisoners. But the Left Rectifier came to find her, wearing a look of perplexity. “Something about this situation may not be right,” he said.

“Routine questioning,” Zhù Ying replied. “What could be off?”

“The constables said the Li household was a complete mess — nothing would surprise you there. And they said the funeral caused an uproar.”

“That is what you would expect. Father is dead, eldest son and younger brothers all contradicting each other — it would be strange if there were no commotion.”

“That is what I thought too — but once I started asking questions, something curious turned up!”

“What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of a grandfather’s funeral where the eldest grandson does not appear?” asked the Left Rectifier.

“Ill, perhaps?”

“Even if he were ill, if the uncles and aunts were making a fuss, could he simply not come? One look and it would all be clear. Even if he could not come, would he not be pointed at for not appearing? He simply did not appear — which gave them something to complain about from start to finish.”

“You mean…?”

“There really is something strange here… By age, Li Zang’s sons are no longer young, but the grandson might truly be…” The Left Rectifier trailed off with an exclamation.

“We cannot go making hasty guesses,” Zhù Ying said. “It looks as though I really will have to make the trip.”

“Why does it have to be you? Besides, on what grounds could we even detain the person? Just on our unsupported speculation? That works with some people — but without a solid confession, arresting a young gentleman would be very hard to justify. And that the local officials interrogated for all those days without surfacing this particular matter is itself very strange. How could the maids have kept their mouths so tightly shut? You would do better to keep clear of this affair.”

“Unfortunately, I am already involved.”

Both of them fell into hesitation. The Left Rectifier’s discovery was not without value, but making use of it was another matter.

While they were deliberating, those who needed to know about the new development had already been informed.

Zheng Xi moved first, going ahead to see Chancellor Chen and seizing the initiative, complaining to him that he had been handed such an enormous complication: “Had I known the situation involved matters like this, I would never have agreed to take it on, no matter the request!” He genuinely had some regret, for knowing of the connection between Li Zang and Chancellor Chen, he had taken the extra step of hinting to Chancellor Chen about it — only to have this result brought upon himself.

Taking the matter in hand would cost Zheng Xi considerably. He still had to deal with the local officials, and then there was the Ministry of Justice’s final review to contend with. He had passed this case to Zhù Ying — someone he was cultivating — and if she ended up being censured for mishandling it, that would be a serious loss for him. The situation had, after all, been exposed precisely because Zhù Ying had arranged for someone to take the pulse. Whether Chancellor Chen bore a grudge, there was truly no telling.

To blame Zhù Ying for the complication, however, was genuinely not something he could bring himself to do. Bi Shi was no pushover — it had been careless of him to accept the case in the first place!

He would have been far better off being honest and upright from the very beginning.

As things now stood, with more to lose than to gain, he decided it was time to cut his losses.

Chancellor Chen was visibly shaken. “Was this truly what happened?”

“A physician from the Imperial Medical Office confirmed it by pulse.”

“Then the local authorities must investigate!”

“The formal dispatch has already been sent,” Zheng Xi said. This was the standard procedure — cases were first referred back for self-investigation. Only when the local inquiry was deemed unsatisfactory, or when the higher authorities took a different view, would someone else be sent.

A vein in Chancellor Chen’s temple throbbed twice. He said darkly, “Understood.”

“You must give me a clear indication of your intentions,” Zheng Xi said. “In this junior’s humble view… I fear the matter can no longer be contained.”

“Investigate!” said Chancellor Chen. “I want the truth! The harm — has the truth not yet come to light?”

“Then I will proceed with all urgency,” Zheng Xi said.

“Ah — how I envy Marquess Zheng!”

——

Marquess Zheng was indeed enviable, for Chancellor Chen’s own son, Chen Meng, had gone and done something foolish.

He arrived at Zhù Ying’s door with a man surnamed Li.

Zhù Ying’s address was no secret, but Chen Meng coming there in person was unusual. The one who opened the door was Nanny Du, and in the middle of her questioning, both Hua Jie and Zhang Xiangu leaned out to look. Hua Jie and Chen Meng came face to face; Chen Meng said, “Guanqun — oh, you are here? Well — not surprising, I suppose.”

Hua Jie dipped in a small bow and retreated to her own room, a little flustered.

Zhang Xiangu and Zhù Da welcomed Chen Meng inside. Knowing he was looking for Zhù Ying, they said, “Master Chen, please sit — Old Third will be back any moment now.”

Chen Meng had timed his arrival precisely. “Has she been busy? Does she come home on time each day?”

“Yes, yes, she does.”

Chen Meng let out a quiet breath. “Good. And this gentleman is Mr. Li.”

“Mr. Li” was dressed entirely in mourning white. Zhang Xiangu felt he had poor manners — a man in mourning had no business wandering into other people’s homes. She showed them into Zhù Ying’s room with some reluctance, directed Nanny Du to serve tea, and went off to fold paper ingots and prepare incense candles for later — she would need Zhù Ying to step over a lit brazier when she returned, for luck.

It was nearly New Year — good omens were needed.

But Zhang Xiangu did not dare say any of this aloud. She was somewhat intimidated by Mr. Li, who had the bearing of a man of some standing.

Chen Meng and Mr. Li had not been sitting long before Zhù Ying returned. Having heard that Chen Meng was waiting, she already understood the reason. She entered the west wing and bowed immediately. “Young Master Chen.”

“Sanlang,” Chen Meng said, “I am truly embarrassed — there is indeed a favor I need to ask.”

“This gentleman is — Mr. Li, if I am not mistaken?”

The man rose and returned the courtesy. “I am Li Ze.”

Zhù Ying hastily returned the bow. “You are my superior, sir.” Li Ze was in his forties; he was currently observing mourning for his father’s death, but his official rank was considerably higher than Zhù Ying’s — he was already at the fifth rank.

“I told you,” Chen Meng said, “Sanlang is a perceptive person.”

“This concerns the case of Bi Shi, does it not?” Zhù Ying said.

“It does,” Chen Meng said.

Zhù Ying let out a sigh. “Young Master Chen, you should not have come to me with this. Chancellor Chen has already spoken. I will not conceal it from you: the Court of Judicial Review very nearly fell into a trap over this matter. We have the Ministry of Justice above us and the local officials below — caught between pressure from above and below, we cannot sustain yet another intervention from the middle.”

Li Ze appeared deeply troubled. “It is indeed a difficult matter; otherwise I would not presume to disturb everyone like this.”

“Can you give me a frank account?” Zhù Ying asked. “What is the actual truth of this?”

Li Ze gave a rueful smile. “If you ask me, all I know is that everything in the household was harmonious.”

He bowed again and continued to express regret and apology. A man who was twice her age, with threads of silver at his temples, bowing low and making such entreaties — it was genuinely saddening.

Zhù Ying’s face showed a look of sorrow. She stepped forward quickly to support him, saying, “Mr. Li, please — Young Master Chen has treated me most unkindly, bringing you here to appeal to me this way. What am I supposed to do and still call myself courteous?”

“I know you have a way,” Chen Meng said.

“What outcome do you want?”

“To bury it all under a single quilt, of course,” Chen Meng said.

“I fear that cannot be arranged as you wish,” Zhù Ying said. “If things turn out well in this matter, it is Heaven’s blessing. If not — then it is my own inadequacy.”

Chen Meng had played a thoroughly unsuccessful intermediary. Zhù Ying saw them both to the door; Li Ze still managed to compose himself enough to exchange a bow with her. Zhù Ying, as though nothing had happened, bid him farewell in kind.

——

That same evening, Zhù Ying went to Zheng Xi’s residence.

Zheng Xi was surprised, asking Lù Chāo, “What hour is it now?”

“I know,” Zhù Ying said. “Curfew is almost upon us.”

“Say what you came to say.”

“First: the Left Rectifier has found something. Apparently Li Ze’s eldest grandson did not appear at the funeral, which caused a commotion among the other family members. Whether it is relevant remains uncertain. Second: just now, Chen Meng brought Li Ze to find me.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him for the truth. He said everything in the household was harmonious. Given that the funeral itself descended into a quarrel — ‘harmonious’? He wants to bury it; I did not take the bait.”

Zheng Xi sighed. “You will still be blamed for it.”

“Then let him blame me,” Zhù Ying said. “I never made any firm promises in the first place. As things have come to this point, there is nothing for it but to hold firm. Besides — once things went sideways like this, continuing to trade this particular favor no longer made sense.”

“Then uncover the truth completely!” Zheng Xi said.

“Pardon?”

Zheng Xi was decisive. “Since concealment is no longer worthwhile — conduct a full investigation! I will speak to Chancellor Chen. You — take this case and expose the complete truth. Make it airtight.”

“Yes.”