Since the completion of the grand Daming Palace, the Emperor was the very first to utter the words "Jiao Jiao" in the solemn hall of court. Though his pronunciation was flawless, enunciated with clarity and precision, the very perfection of it only magnified the absurdity. Those two words were far too tender, too intimate—belonging to the soft murmurings of family or the whispered confessions of lovers—not fit to resound in the austere and dignified Hall of Xuan Zheng.
The court fell into stunned silence.
Every minister wore an expression of disbelief. They looked up to find the Emperor holding a letter, his face a complicated blend of embarrassment, discomfort, and faint distaste. He instinctively held the letter farther from himself, yet couldn't resist another glance at it.
The Emperor noted the seal was intact—the letter had never been opened. In other words, everything written within by Li Ce, Ye Jiao had never seen. Which meant the dozen or so letters that followed were likely also unread. Was this an attempt by Li Ce, after his public rejection of the betrothal, to shamelessly pursue her once more?
How disgraceful. Not only humiliating but pitiful—and worse still, he'd fallen into someone's trap.
Glancing down at the court, the Emperor saw the officials craning their necks like a row of gaudy geese, wide-eyed and fixated on the imperial desk, their curiosity naked and unsophisticated.
"Read it—why stop now?" their expressions all seemed to say.
With a snort, the Emperor flung the letters down the steps and announced loudly, "They are but the sentiments of youth—nothing that defies authority or hints of factionalism."
The officials lowered their heads, visibly disappointed.
Just because His Majesty said so, did that make it true? Even if no treason was written, didn't they have the right to know the contents? Jiao Jiao… From the tone, it truly seemed to be Prince Chu's own hand. If it were a forgery, perhaps they could ignore it. But a genuine letter? Could it not exonerate the prince?
So what exactly was written inside? Would he not read it aloud? If not, how could they believe Li Ce? He may be the Emperor's son, but he wasn't theirs.
No one dared voice these thoughts. Instead, they all knelt, declaring their willingness to believe in Prince Chu. Yet their voices were uneven, their expressions conflicted, and their movements disorderly—an irritating sight to behold.
Especially Bai Lixi, the Deputy Censor-in-Chief, who quivered like a fly catching the scent of blood. His beard trembled as his eyes locked onto the letter, nearly leaping forth to seize and read it himself. He clearly suspected collusion between the House of Duke Anguo and Prince Chu.
Without revealing the letter's content, the court would not be appeased.
The Emperor pressed his hand to his brow in frustration, then flung his sleeve and asked, "Li Ce, did you write all of these letters?"
Li Ce bowed and replied, "Yes, they are private correspondences I wrote to the daughter of the Marquis of Wu."
"They pertain not to state affairs?"
"They do not."
He answered firmly, then turned to look at Ye Jiao. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, yet she stood upright with an air of calm. Though there was a trace of shyness, it was barely perceptible. Li Ce hoped this ordeal hadn't brought her distress. But then the Emperor asked, "Since they are unrelated to state matters, would you be willing to present one to convince the court?"
Though the Emperor's tone was gentle, it carried an unmistakable command.
Yet Li Ce disobeyed.
He feared Ye Jiao would feel humiliated, might even flee the hall in shame.
"Father, I believe it would be inappropriate."
The ministers all turned to him, their eyes clear as if saying: "Oh no, it's perfectly appropriate."
Li Ce turned again to Ye Jiao. She tilted her head and smiled, "What's wrong? Afraid?"
Her tone carried a hint of mischief—part teasing, mostly provocative.
She was fanning the flames.
The Emperor laughed heartily. "Even Ye Qing has no objections. And you, a grown man, are too shy to share your words with the court?"
This was the first time the Emperor had addressed Ye Jiao as "Qing"—a term of trust and endearment from a sovereign.
Li Ce, of course, had nothing to be ashamed of. His concern was solely for Ye Jiao.
Yet judging by her demeanor, she was resolute in clearing the House of Duke Anguo from suspicion. She was willing to forgo her dignity for her family's peace.
If that was her choice—
Li Ce took a quiet breath, descended the steps, and gathered his scattered letters.
Not one had been read.
A chill settled in his heart. Regret and remorse surged once more, and the fear of losing Ye Jiao forever constricted his throat.
All because he had once publicly rejected her hand.
Now, in front of the Emperor, the ministers, and the entire world, he would bare his heart.
"Jiao Jiao…"
His voice, clear and gentle, echoed through the palace.
"Jiao Jiao, I write to you beside a blazing fire as snow falls all around. Your reply never came, and I cannot help but feel despondent—but perhaps it is what I deserve. Today, I saw a vagrant in tears after upsetting his wife, and I thought—he is me, and I am him. Of late, the world seems drained of color. Perhaps it is because the bustling glory of Chang'an pales in comparison to your smile. Disaster relief progresses smoothly. Do not worry. —Li Ce, Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month, Year Twenty-Three of Tian'an."
A complete letter.
Really! He read it!
But… so short?
Could such a brief note win back a young lady's heart?
The ministers were stunned, dismayed, incredulous. The Emperor listened intently, suppressing his turmoil with a series of cold snorts.
His son's prose was unimpressive—far inferior to his own in his youth. But to read it aloud so boldly—his son's face must be thicker than the palace walls.
As the Emperor mocked him inwardly, Li Ce picked up another letter, tearing it open with a crisp rip and reading:
"Jiao Jiao, I write this while jostling in a moving carriage…"
It seemed those opening lines were his signature style.
"Stop! Enough!" the Emperor bellowed, cutting him off.
Would it never end?
Suppressing his mounting frustration, the Emperor surveyed the flustered expressions around him and declared, "One letter is enough. This is not your personal manor, Prince Chu. If you wish to recite love letters, do it elsewhere. Begone!"
No mention of punishment for barging into court. Just told to leave.
Li Ce immediately bowed and began collecting the scattered letters.
"Leave the letters," the Emperor said. "They are evidence."
Evidence—hence, not to be taken.
Li Ce acknowledged the order, then stole a glance at Ye Jiao before turning away.
She was biting her lip, her eyes glittering as she stared at the letters—lost in thought.
Once Li Ce had departed, the Emperor swept his gaze across the hall, his expression stern, silently reminding his officials: This is a court of governance, not a place for amusement.
The ministers quickly adopted solemn and reverent expressions.
The Emperor raised his hand, leaning on Gao Fu, and stood with a weary yet relieved sigh.
"Enough," he said, "Though the case of the House of Duke Anguo is under full investigation by the Three Judicial Offices, in my opinion, this reeks of misunderstanding—and of malicious slander from those with ulterior motives. Of course, my opinion is immaterial. The offices must conduct a proper, impartial inquiry."
At the Emperor's pointed warning, the Minister of Justice, the Censor-in-Chief, and the Prefect of the Court of Judicial Review knelt immediately, pledging their commitment to uphold justice.
Then the Emperor looked to the only one who had not joined the spectacle—Liu Yan.
"Governor Liu," he said gently, "you may lower your hat now. Holding it aloft so long—do your arms not ache? Must I place it back upon your head myself to satisfy you? Ye Jiao is unharmed, and I have no intention of taking your official cap."
Liu Yan quickly declared he would not dare.
The Emperor descended the steps, striding out with Gao Fu at his side.
The ministers knelt to bid farewell.
Thus, the chaos of today's court session came to an end.
Now it was time to leave the palace, enjoy a fine meal, and regale their wives with today's delightful farce.
What a laugh.
Ah yes—best to steer clear of certain individuals. After today, someone in the Censorate was sure to fall from grace.
The ministers filed out in order.
At last, Ye Changgen rose to his feet. Rubbing his sore knees, he turned to speak to his sister—only to find her gone.
She had gone to her superior—Liu Yan.
Still kneeling, Liu Yan raised his eyes as her shadow fell over him…