This was Zhang Minggui's official rice paper, approximately four inches long and merely two inches wide. Under the cover of night, the inscriptions were indecipherable, yet each sheet bore six lines with eighteen characters per line, arranged with meticulous precision—an exemplar of the standard memorial format. Such dimensions indicated not only a memorial but a secret memorial, one meant to be sealed within a leather case for discreet delivery. How could a Tang Dynasty memorial have fallen into the hands of the Tibetan delegation, and worse, been stolen by a thief?
The Imperial Guards who apprehended Sang Qing sensed the gravity of the matter. They confiscated the memorial and the scroll, bound Sang Qing tightly, and dispatched a report to Deputy Commander Yan Congzheng. Meanwhile, the commotion within Daxuexi Lane drew the attention of the patrolling Martial Marquis. Lin Jing hurried over with a blade in hand and exchanged a glance with Sang Qing. Sang Qing feigned ignorance, his eyes darting nervously as he lowered his gaze, a tumultuous mixture of fear and fury coiling within him. Where had Feng Ming, assigned to stand watch, gone? He was supposed to uphold his promise and rescue him.
Feng Ming had already fled Daxuexi Lane, skillfully evading the Imperial Guards and the Martial Marquis, escaping unscathed. The painting by Dao Xuan, "The Birth of Shakyamuni," was a replica purchased by the Tibetan delegation the day before—an imitation. Yet the memorial concerning Tibetan troop strength and military affairs was genuine. This was a matter of utmost importance, touching on the sanctity of the ancestral temple and the stability of the realm, far more precious than any renowned masterpiece.
That very evening, Feng Ming had personally placed the memorial—an exact replica of the one in the Privy Council—inside the painting and then directed Sang Qing to steal it. Upon Sang Qing's successful retrieval, a loud cry of "Thief!" would follow. According to their master's design, three messages would emerge the next day:—The Tibetan delegation spying on Tang military secrets, resulting in a breakdown of peace talks;—Ye Changgeng of the Duke An'guo's residence betraying state secrets and defecting to the enemy;—The Martial Marquis Chang Ye Jiao colluding with thieves for personal gain.
These charges would compel Prince Jin, Li Zhang, to remain stationed in the northern territories and expand his forces, bringing ruin upon the Duke An'guo's household, forever extinguishing its hopes. Beyond these three, there might yet be unforeseen gains—for instance, Chu Wang Li Ce, newly favored by the Emperor and overseeing disaster relief in Ganzhou.
However, Feng Ming found Baili Xi's machinations troublesome. Why not simply assassinate? The highest tribute to an enemy is to personally erase them from this world.
Since his promotion to Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guards, Yan Congzheng no longer needed to patrol at night. This evening, he was roused from sleep by a servant: "Young Master, the Imperial Guards request an audience." Yan sprang up abruptly, already on his feet before the servant finished. Wearing a light robe, he quickly prepared to meet them. "What's the matter?" he asked, walking briskly yet maintaining a composed expression. Such a midnight summons surely signaled grave news.
The Guards hastened to present the scroll and memorial. Yan glanced over the text and found the characters vaguely familiar. Yet, having reviewed countless documents from various ministries in the capital, he was not immediately alarmed. Only upon closer scrutiny of two lines did he realize this was a secret memorial from the Ministry of War.
"Where did this come from?" His gaze fixed intently on his subordinate, seeking truth from every word.
"We caught a thief," the subordinate replied, "who stole it from the Tibetan embassy. I deemed this matter serious enough to disturb you, General."
Yan carefully stored the memorial and nodded gravely: "You acted correctly. Take these to Jingzhao Prefecture immediately."
Neither Yan Congzheng nor Liu Yan, Prefect of Jingzhao who had barely settled for the night, dared treat this lightly. Upon receiving the stolen items, Liu opened the memorial briefly before closing it quickly: "This is a matter of great consequence. I fear I must summon officials from the Ministry of War for investigation."
Catching a petty thief was trivial; the authenticity of this memorial was paramount. Hence, Jiang Min, Vice Minister of War, was roused from sleep to rush to Jingzhao Prefecture. This memorial was penned by Jiang himself after compiling the Ministry's records, submitted to the Minister of War for endorsement before delivery to the Privy Council. Jiang Min, in his forties, was slender with a long face, broad eyebrows, and bright eyes—a scholar more refined than most Ministry officials. Though lacking in martial prowess, he was reputedly a descendant of Jiang Ziya, well-versed in military strategy and sagacious judgment.
Jiang read the memorial from start to finish, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow, before lifting his eyes: "This is not my handwriting."
Liu exhaled deeply, relief washing over him: "That's good."
But Jiang continued, "Yet the content is genuine."
Though the handwriting differed, the content was identical. Someone had copied a Ministry of War memorial and delivered it to the Tibetan delegation—a capital crime of treason. This revelation shocked Jiang far more than Liu or Yan. His face drained of color, hands trembling uncontrollably as he held the memorial, glancing repeatedly at Liu yet unable to steady himself. He would have preferred if the memorial sent to the Privy Council had been lost there, so the Ministry might be absolved. Now, with the handwriting differing, an investigation into the author was inevitable. Both the Ministry of War and the Privy Council would scrutinize every detail, leaving even the innocent vulnerable to false accusations.
"What time is it?" Jiang asked abruptly.
"The fifth watch," Liu rubbed his eyes, "Time to attend court."
Such a grave matter demanded imperial briefing. How the investigation proceeded would depend on the Emperor's will—thorough and meticulous, sparing no clue. Since officials were implicated, the jurisdiction shifted away from Jingzhao Prefecture to the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate. Though not formally a tri-agency joint review, the setup resembled one, awaiting the capture of the traitorous official.
Instantly, fear pervaded the Ministry of War and Privy Council, each official dreading the executioner's blade. Typically, the Court of Judicial Review handled trials, the Censorate oversaw investigations, and the Ministry of Justice reviewed verdicts. Yet from the outset, the Censorate was especially proactive.
Deputy Chief Censor Baili Xi, upon learning the Court was comparing handwriting of officials from the Ministry and Privy Council, interjected abruptly: "What about interrogating the thief? Does he have hidden loot or accomplices? Who was his lookout?"
Court officials replied, "He is already under interrogation but has revealed nothing."
"Is it that…" Baili Xi shook his head, "The punishments aren't severe enough? These street ruffians are bred in fights; a hundred lashes wouldn't faze them."
Though displeased, the Court relented and ordered harsher punishments. The heavy hand swiftly yielded results: Lin Jing of the Martial Marquis' office was caught acting as lookout. Lin was apprehended while cleaning the office—chores he dutifully performed, from mucking out dung to sweeping yards and polishing furniture. Though aligned with Ye Jiao, no successor had been found, so he continued willingly. While polishing Ye Jiao's desk, Lin changed to a fresh rag, wiping chairs and floor spotless. When the Ministry of Justice officers arrived, Lin, informed he must accompany them, even stoked the charcoal in Ye Jiao's hand warmer, ensuring a gentle warmth upon her arrival. Unaware, this journey led Lin to the path of no return.
In the Ministry's dungeon, his clothes stripped, red-hot irons seared his flesh. His interrogators barked: "Are you allied with the thieves? Does Ye Jiao know? Is she profiting from this?"
"She doesn't know. She's not involved," Lin denied repeatedly, pain erupting within him like gunpowder igniting his insides. Yet he persisted, unwilling to betray even unto death.
Terror dawned as he realized they sought not him, but Ye Jiao.
Handwriting analysis eased the Privy Council officials' minds—the problem originated within the Ministry of War. The memorial's script was identical to Ye Changgeng's, who was apprehended en route home from court. Witnessing this, the Martial Marquis on patrol rushed to inform Ye Jiao, who was now imperiled.
Because of Lin Jing's predicament, Liu Yan advised Ye Jiao to temporarily step down and await investigation at home before returning to the Martial Marquis office. Within a day, both Ye family officials in court were embroiled in scandal.
Young maid Shui Wen was stricken with terror. "I will weep at the Duke's tomb!" she said, pale-faced. "The young master would never betray the country."
Ye Jiao stood in the cold courtyard, lips pressed tight: "Go. If you can wake our grandfather with your tears, I shall be comforted."
Shui Wen fell silent. Ye Rou urged, "Perhaps we should seek help from Chu Wang?"
Chu Wang—Li Ce. Ye Jiao felt trapped in an icy abyss, cold and helpless, angered by her own impotence. Did Li Ce often stand similarly, feeling lonely and cold? Resenting fate's cruelty, feeling powerless, yearning for a shaft of light—one that could melt the ice, warm the soul, and illuminate the path ahead.
Should she seek his aid?
This time, the Ye family was not merely suspected of rebellion but treason and collusion with the enemy. Her mother had fainted upon hearing the news. Even her stalwart mother was so frightened. Now, only Ye Jiao remained, yet she too faced moments of helplessness.
If she sought Li Ce's help, he would surely save them—but if the Ye family failed to overturn the charges, he would be implicated. His future would be ruined, the throne lost, and the Emperor would banish him to guard the tomb, condemned to eternal darkness.
Amid the Ye family's downfall, Ye Jiao suddenly understood Li Ce's dilemma, why he had defied the Emperor's marriage decree when time was short.
"Well played," Ye Jiao murmured softly.
"Jiao Jiao!" Ye Rou urged.
Ye Jiao raised her head, her tear-moist eyes burning with icy resolve.
"Do not tell him. Do not seek his help," she grasped Ye Rou's hand firmly. "One must rely on oneself. This family is ours; we shall defend it ourselves."