A crow landed in the courtyard, cawing raucously. A servant raised a bamboo pole to chase it away. Startled, the bird flapped past the window like a dark cloud, casting a heavy shadow over the hearts of the Zheng couple.
"The King of Chu came to Jinzhou to investigate the Crown Prince's case with the crossbows. Once the truth is uncovered and the Crown Prince is deposed, it would serve Prince Wei's interests."
Lu Qingyun's gaze was blank, fixed on the window. Her tone was rigid. "But our kin demand his death."
The Lu family did not wish to uncover the full truth—or rather, they believed this much was enough.
Lu Qingyun felt herself shrinking inward, as if her very being had curled into a ball. The world around her brimmed with hidden dangers, steeped in dread.
"Husband," she asked softly, "in the struggle for the throne, is there truly no distinction between righteousness and evil?"
Schemes both overt and covert, unscrupulous methods employed without restraint—even if one's crimes were heinous and unforgivable, once crowned emperor, he could rewrite history at will. And if he could command history, why would he fear what became of his reputation?
"There is none," Zheng Feng'an replied gravely.
"But…" Lu Qingyun suddenly raised her head, two trails of tears glistening on her cheeks. Her voice trembled with sorrow. "What fault lies with the common people?"
What crime had the people committed? Why must the innocent perish in the power struggles of the mighty?
Zheng Feng'an's hand gripped the corner of the table tightly. He stared at his wife. In that fleeting moment, she seemed somehow different. Her face, still the same, not particularly beautiful—yet her eyes, brimming with compassion and grief for the masses, lent her a radiant, haunting grace.
"Qingyun," Zheng Feng'an murmured her name, shaking his head gently, "My own death I do not fear. But you… and the children…"
"Husband," Lu Qingyun said, "I am your wife. Wherever you choose to stand, I shall be by your side. Be it for Prince Wei, the Crown Prince, or simply your own conscience—I will follow."
In a treacherous world, to have someone who stands beside you through life and death is the greatest solace.
Zheng Feng'an's broad hand enveloped hers, and he let out a long, weary sigh.
Ye Jiao had never imagined she would one day stand in court, questioning the Dali Temple's judgment of Crown Prince Li Zhang, attempting to absolve him of guilt. He, too, was despicable—no different from the others.
Li Chen sat askew upon the imperial throne. Facing Ye Jiao's report, his voice was deep and solemn:
"So according to Attendant Ye, the Northwestern Army's Tiger Guard Captain Wang Botang did indeed hide crossbows. But since the Ministry of War found no issue, why do we trouble the court so?"
Ye Jiao rolled her eyes inwardly. She had been mistaken—Li Chen was by far the more loathsome.
"Your Highness, there is no need for haste," she lowered her ceremonial tablet, swept her gaze across the hall, and spoke firmly, "Wang Botang did relocate the crossbows, yes—but what evidence proves the Crown Prince ordered it?"
The hall fell even more silent. The gathered officials stood like a forest of crimson maples, motionless, emotionless. Their slightly trembling sleeves swayed like autumn leaves in the wind.
This trial was no trivial matter. If the Crown Prince was proven to have hidden weaponry, then at best he would be deposed; at worst, he might be executed. Even his three royal tutors remained silent—what could they say? Best to wait and watch.
Kneeling in the hall, Wang Botang's voice thundered.
"The case file at Dali Temple records that the order came by word of mouth."
A verbal decree. Yet Ye Jiao still pressed—was she questioning the Temple's competence?
"By word of mouth," Ye Jiao echoed, nodding slightly. She tapped her tablet against her palm, took several steps forward, and raised her voice,
"According to the file, on the twentieth of November, you received direct orders from the Crown Prince, then still Prince of Jin?"
"Yes," Wang Botang replied. He had been interrogated many times and answered with practiced ease.
"At that time," Ye Jiao continued, "did the Crown Prince speak clearly?"
"Perfectly clear," he answered without hesitation.
"I mean," Ye Jiao pressed on, "was there anything unusual in his voice? Was it truly clear?"
"No abnormalities," Wang Botang affirmed.
"Liar!" Ye Jiao suddenly bellowed.
The shout startled the entire hall. The officials, already tense, nearly stepped back.
Behind his desk, Prince Wei—Li Chen—stiffened, his calm face darkening with suspicion.
"I am no liar," Wang Botang retorted, raising his head.
"You are," Ye Jiao sneered, drawing something from her sleeve.
Only now did the court notice that her heavy sleeves were weighed down with unknown items.
First, she pulled out a cold meat bun and handed it to a nearby official. Then a strange, crude wooden toy—passed to another. Finally, a book, which she handed over as well.
The puzzled official asked, "Is there more? Can we set these down?"
Best not to be holding key evidence.
The strict-faced Prefect of Jingzhao, Liu Yan, stepped up to take the items. Ye Jiao drew out one last object: a roughly bound medical record. She flipped a few pages and began to read aloud:
"November nineteenth, Prince of Jin's voice hoarse. Diagnosis: taut and rapid pulse, heat stagnating in the Shaoyang channel, liver fire rising, scalding the throat. Unable to speak, dizzy and disoriented. Prescribed Longdan Xiegan Decoction…"
She paused and looked directly at Wang Botang. "Did you understand that?"
"What is this?" Wang Botang was bewildered. No one had ever read such things to him before. The Dali Temple had never mentioned diagnoses or prescriptions.
Ye Jiao raised the booklet, showing it to the court. "This is a copy of the military physician's pulse record. It clearly states: on November nineteenth, the Crown Prince was rendered mute by excessive liver fire. He recovered his speech ten days later. As for the cause—well, I'm sure many of you can guess. Earlier that month, the Imperial Guards' Commander Yan Jide—betrothed to the Prince—was exiled for a crime. But let us not dwell on that. Wang Botang says the Prince spoke clearly—was it truly clear? Or clearly false?"
The solemn court exploded in uproar.
"The Crown Prince would never flout the law!"
"Who dares to frame His Highness must face punishment!"
"Was there bias in the Dali Temple's investigation?"
Amid the chaos, Ye Jiao looked toward Deputy Minister Jiang Min of the Ministry of War. Her hand trembled slightly as she clutched the booklet. It was real—but every word she had just spoken was a fabrication. The Crown Prince had suffered no such ailment. She had bluffed.
Jiang Min met her gaze and nodded, calm as ever—just as he had the previous day during their discussion.
"It's just a method of interrogation. If consequences arise, I will take responsibility."
"Then why not have you lead the trial?"
"Better you do it. I'm saving my energy to argue with that old fox from Dali Temple."
As Jiang Min predicted, the moment the Ministry produced a pulse record, the first to panic was Wang Chenming, head of Dali Temple. He strode quickly to Ye Jiao.
"There was such a record? Why did the Crown Prince's men not deliver it earlier? Let me see it at once!"
Ye Jiao hesitated. If she handed it over, the deception would be exposed. If she didn't, it might appear suspicious.
At that instant, Jiang Min shouted, "Lord Wang, are you attempting to seize the evidence? Do you intend to tear it apart, swallow it when we're not looking, chew and gulp it down? Worry not! The true record is elsewhere—this is merely a copy."
Ye Jiao quickly pulled back her hand, stepped back, and shielded the booklet with mock fear—afraid Lord Wang might indeed eat it.
Wang Chenming trembled with rage, lips quivering. He pointed at Jiang Min and roared,
"Outrageous! I have presided over trials for decades, always fair and impartial—never once—"
"Never once eaten evidence?" Jiang Min interjected with a straight face.
"Well, only your family's outhouse would know."