Chapter 64
Before long, the time for the morning court session arrived.
Chi Zhou exited the rear hall and entered the throne room through the main entrance alongside the other officials. They each took their designated places, standing inside the hall and waiting for the young emperor and Li Zhan to appear.
Ji Qingzhou glanced at Ji Qinglan, who gave him a reassuring smile.
Naturally, he wouldn’t allow Ji Qinglan, as a young lady, to stand beside him in facing all the civil and military officials. Although in his eyes, Ji Qinglan certainly had the courage and could handle such a scene, as her elder brother, he could never let his sister shield him.
“Everything is arranged. No need to worry,” Li Zhan said calmly to Ji Qingzhou.
Ji Qingzhou nodded. At this point, he actually wasn’t all that nervous anymore. He knew Li Zhan wouldn’t have let him come forward to face all this unless he was absolutely certain of the outcome.
Inside the throne room, the officials waited in silence.
The young emperor entered from the rear hall, with Li Zhan and Ji Qingzhou by his side.
The court officials seemed to have caught wind of something—each of their expressions looked grave.
Normally, before morning court began, it was common for them to whisper and chat while waiting, but today, the hall was so quiet that even the drop of a pin could be heard.
Once the officials had completed their ceremonial bows, Chi Zhou stepped out from his position, walked to the center of the hall, and bowed to both the emperor and Li Zhan. “Your Majesty, Wang Ye. The two cases that I, along with the officials from the Ministry of Justice, have re-investigated—namely the case of the current Commander of Western camp colluding with foreign enemies, and the case of the former Commander conspiring with the Second Prince—now have conclusive results. I have come today to report them formally.”
“Mm,” Li Zhan responded simply. “Assistant Minister Chi, proceed.”
“Yes,” Chi Zhou gave Li Zhan another bow before continuing. “These two cases are also tied to the charges against the former Grand Tutor Ji Wencheng. With Your Majesties’ permission, I will report them together.”
As soon as he said this, many gazes—some intentional, some not—fell upon Ji Qingzhou.
But Ji Qingzhou remained calm, standing properly behind the young emperor with a composed expression.
“Granted,” Li Zhan replied.
“The first case concerns Commander Xiao Tengyun of the current Western camp, who was accused of conspiring with foreign enemies to assassinate the Liang Kingdom’s princess,” Chi Zhou began, while ordering several letters to be presented. “At the time, both physical and witness evidence existed, but Commander Xiao refused to admit guilt, insisting he had been framed.”
It was precisely because of the controversy surrounding this case that the re-investigation into the Second Prince and the Ji family had followed…
Chi Zhou then ordered several witnesses to be brought in. He pointed to one of them and said to the gathered officials, “This is Liu Qi, who works at the Dali Temple and specializes in analyzing handwriting and seals. Here are records of twenty-one cases over the years in which he assisted the Dali Temple and the Ministry of Justice. He verified the authenticity of fifty-one letters and eighty-nine seals. His rate of error is—zero.”
As soon as Chi Zhou finished speaking, murmurs broke out among the court.
Liu Qi wasn’t known for much else, but his skills in authentication were widely recognized. Many in the Dali Temple and the Ministry of Justice had heard of him.
“If we have Liu Qi authenticate the evidence, I trust no one has any objections?” Chi Zhou asked.
At this point, naturally no one objected. The evidence was laid out plainly—if Liu Qi lied and was exposed, the consequences would be dire.
“Liu Qi, you were responsible for authenticating the letters in the case involving Commander Xiao Tengyun. What were your findings?” Chi Zhou asked.
Liu Qi gave a respectful cupped-hand salute to Chi Zhou and bowed to both the young emperor and Li Zhan before answering, “I lack other talents, but this craft was passed down in my family. I have never made an error. Regarding the letters in Commander Xiao’s case—the handwriting differed greatly from his own, and the seals were forged.”
As he spoke, he opened the letters and compared them with Xiao Tengyun’s handwriting. Though the officials weren’t experts in handwriting analysis, Liu Qi explained it clearly enough that even they could spot the differences.
“Among the letters confiscated from Commander Xiao’s residence, one which hadn’t yet been sent was written in an imitation of his handwriting. The others were made to appear as if written by people from the Di Kingdom. Since the courier was never caught, I compared the handwriting of key witnesses involved in the case,” Liu Qi continued. “The result showed that one of the witnesses had handwriting remarkably similar to that of the forged Di Kingdom letters. It can be concluded that this witness wrote the letters to frame Commander Xiao.”
Chi Zhou stepped in at the right moment. “We have already interrogated this witness alongside the Ministry of Justice. He was the former deputy under Commander Zhou Chu of Western camp. Because he firmly believed that Zhou Chu had been framed by Xiao Tengyun back then, he held a long-standing grudge and used the same tactics to take revenge.”
As soon as he finished, an official from the Ministry of Justice stepped forward and presented a written confession to Li Zhan.
“The witness is waiting outside the hall. If Your Majesty, Wang Ye, or any of the officials wish to question him directly, he can be brought in at once,” said Chi Zhou.
The hall erupted in quiet shock. Although many had suspected something was wrong, no one had imagined it was orchestrated by a subordinate of Zhou Chu.
“Then what about the attempted assassination of the Liang Kingdom’s princess?” someone asked aloud.
“That matter has also been thoroughly investigated, although the assailant was executed that very night, I and several officials from the Ministry of Justice questioned everyone present at the scene one by one. It turns out the attacker originally had a grudge against Second Young Master Qin and had intended to harm him, but accidentally injured Her Highness the Princess instead. Someone then took advantage of the situation and greatly exaggerated the incident, which led to everything that followed…” Chi Zhou replied.
That night, Qin Zheng had a dispute with some of the Western camp officers during the banquet, and afterward even physically struck someone. Many people had witnessed this.
With that, the full truth of the case was finally revealed.
“Your Majesty, Wang Ye, this is the full context and conclusion of the case,” Chi Zhou said.
“Does anyone have any questions?” Li Zhan asked.
Naturally, no one voiced any objections about this case.
In fact, once the matter of the forged letters was clarified, this case held no more real mystery.
“Then next, let us move on to the second case,” Chi Zhou continued. “This concerns the accusation made by the same person who forged the letters in the previous case to falsely incriminate Commander Xiao Tengyun…”
As soon as Chi Zhou finished speaking, someone presented the evidence related to the second case.
“Last year, then-Commander of Western camp Zhou Chu was accused by his subordinate, Xiao Tengyun, of conspiring with the Second Prince to commit treason while the late emperor was gravely ill. Enraged, the late emperor ordered Zhou Chu’s immediate arrest that very night, and these letters were discovered in his tent… Letters supposedly containing discussions of rebellion between him and the Second Prince,” Chi Zhou explained.
Chi Zhou ordered the letters to be unsealed and shown to the officials.
At that moment, Liu Qi opened another batch of letters…
“These are the Second Prince’s handwriting, and these are Zhou Chu’s…” Liu Qi laid out several documents side by side and remarked, “Such poor forgeries—if someone had come to me with these in the past, I would’ve laughed myself to death.”
Chi Zhou had his men carry the letters past the assembled officials for everyone to see. The hall instantly fell into dead silence.
Not because of anything else—just as Liu Qi had said, the handwriting was so poorly imitated that even those with a basic knowledge of calligraphy could immediately tell it was fake.
“The handwriting is one thing, but the seal used here even has Zhou Chu’s name spelled incorrectly,” Liu Qi sneered.
At his words, many of the officials lowered their heads in silence. Clearly, this case was far simpler and more straightforward than the one involving Xiao Tengyun…
“Bring in Xiao Tengyun,” Li Zhan ordered coldly.
As soon as he gave the command, Xiao Tengyun was brought forward.
Chi Zhou held the letters in his hand and walked up to him. “Commander Xiao, please explain to His Majesty, Wang Ye, and the esteemed officials—what exactly is the story behind these letters found in Zhou Chu’s tent?”
Xiao Tengyun looked pale and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. Clearly, he had endured much in the past few days.
However, this torment had not come from torture, but from the weight of knowing that the events of the past year were finally about to be exposed…
“I didn’t write the letters. I knew nothing of them. I only reported Zhou Chu to His Majesty because I was hoping for a better future,” Xiao Tengyun said hoarsely. “As for the seal of the Second Prince on those letters—it was a forgery. How could a mere military man like me possibly know what his private seal looked like?”
At those words, a look of unease and complexity spread across the faces of the officials.
What Xiao Tengyun had just said struck at the heart of the matter—very few people in the court would have known what the Second Prince’s private seal looked like.
“Indeed, very few people knew the Second Prince’s private seal—but that doesn’t mean no one did,” Chi Zhou replied.
“Exactly,” Xiao Tengyun said. “But the late emperor was the Second Prince’s elder brother. Surely, he should have been able to recognize the authenticity of that seal?”
With that statement, Xiao Tengyun hit another crucial point.
Perhaps the letters weren’t personally planted by the late emperor, but he could not have failed to recognize the Second Prince’s seal and handwriting—so why did he still believe in the contents of those letters?
“This suspicion wasn’t left unvoiced at the time,” Chi Zhou began again. “Back then, Grand Tutor Ji submitted multiple memorials to the emperor, strongly advising against rushing to judgment. But not long after that, letters between him and the Second Prince were ‘discovered’ during a search of the Second Prince’s residence.”
As he spoke, more letters were presented by his attendants.
This time, Chi Zhou didn’t even trouble Liu Qi. He personally opened the letters and addressed the officials. “Grand Tutor Ji was a man of great learning. Among the civil officials of the Dayu Dynasty, none could match his calligraphy. Even the writing of the late emperor and Wang Ye was taught by his hand.”
Yet the handwriting on the documents sealed with Ji Wencheng’s name was utterly mediocre. There was no need for Liu Qi’s expertise—anyone present who had dealt with Ji Wencheng before could tell these letters weren’t written by him.
“After careful verification with the Ministry of Justice, we have confirmed that the letters concerning the case of Zhou Chu and the Second Prince—and likewise those used to convict Grand Tutor Ji—were all forgeries. Does Your Majesty, Wang Ye, or any of the officials have any objections?” Chi Zhou asked.
The court fell completely silent, the atmosphere dropping to a chilling low.
Everyone knew that throughout this entire presentation, Chi Zhou had never once directly named a certain person—but every word he spoke had pointed clearly to them. All the so-called evidence used to condemn Zhou Chu, the Second Prince, and the entire Ji family had been fabricated—each piece a clumsy, almost laughable forgery.
Anyone who had examined the letters even slightly back then would have known they couldn’t serve as valid evidence.
Yet, the case was still “conclusively” settled in such a smooth and tidy manner—Zhou Chu’s entire household was executed, the Second Prince was confined in the imperial mausoleum, and the entire Ji family was convicted…
“Summon the witnesses…” Chi Zhou said.
As soon as he spoke, several guards led in seven or eight people. When everyone looked closely, they were visibly surprised.
Among those brought in was none other than Yao Chang’an, the former chief steward of the Inner Attendant Department.
“The person who forged those letters was already silenced long ago, so that lead is dead, however, the people who conducted the searches of the Western camp and the Second Prince’s residence have all been found.” He paused, then added, “Of course… their testimonies don’t offer much, except to confirm that the letters were not hidden in any obscure spots. They were discovered in plain sight—right in the middle of the study.”
“Yao Chang’an,” Li Zhan said, turning to him, “You were the only one who stayed by the late emperor’s side from start to finish during the entire matter. What do you have to say about this case?”
Yao Chang’an knelt down and bowed his head to the young emperor and Li Zhan before he began to speak. “This old servant was raised in the palace since childhood and has long understood the rule of never guessing one’s master’s thoughts. As for what the late emperor thought or how he handled the case, I have no knowledge. I only remember that the day before the verdict, His Majesty summoned many people for audience.”
His words caused a few officials among the court to visibly pale.
Li Zhan swept a cold glance across the room and asked sternly, “What did the emperor summoning people have to do with the case?”
“The emperor asked them what they thought of the Second Prince and Grand Tutor Ji,” Yao Chang’an replied.
At this, the officials began to stir with unease. They all knew the late emperor’s line of questioning must have played a critical role in how the case unfolded. It was likely that at that time, the emperor still had doubts in his heart. That was why he repeatedly summoned ministers and sought their opinions.
At that moment, morning light had just broken into the throne room.
Sunlight streamed through the eastern windows of the great hall, painting the interior in a wash of crimson red.
Bathed in the warm glow, Yao Chang’an suddenly recalled a vivid memory from the emperor’s bedchamber that day. The late emperor had already been gravely ill—too weak to rise—and could only sit upright by leaning against a stack of cushions on his bed.
That day, he summoned nearly every trusted official from the Six Ministries and asked each of them the same questions:
“What do you think of my second brother?”
“What do you think of the Grand Tutor?”
Everyone knew what was weighing on the emperor’s heart. No one dared to say the wrong thing at such a critical moment, for fear of ending up like Ji Wencheng.
“The Second Prince is still young and impulsive. He needs more tempering.”
“The Second Prince is indeed a bit rash in temperament…”
“The Second Prince, after all, is still immature and doesn’t yet understand Your Majesty’s hardships…”
“The Grand Tutor was entrusted by the late emperor; he cares equally for both Your Majesty and the Second Prince.”
“Grand Tutor Ji has always been a highly respected figure in court…”
Not one of them added fuel to the fire—but not one of them spoke up in their defense either.
The only person who truly pleaded for them—Li Zhan—had been sent out of the capital by the emperor the day before.
That night, the last people the emperor summoned were the Fourth Prince and Old Wang Ye.
Their words sealed the emperor’s decision:
The Fourth Prince said, “The Grand Tutor always favored my second brother more. When I was betrothed to the third daughter of the Ji family, he was visibly disappointed. In his heart, he always wished for Second Brother to be his son-in-law, not me.”
Old Wang Ye then said, “The Third Prince is capable and dependable. With him supporting the crown prince, the Dayu Dynasty will surely remain stable.”
Stable.
The bonds of family and mentorship weighed less in the late emperor’s mind than that single word—stability.
If he was to ensure his son’s secure reign on the throne, he had to make the choice he believed would be foolproof.
As for what had to be sacrificed—he didn’t have the time to consider it. There was so little time left for him…
“Your Majesty, Wang Ye…” Chi Zhou said, stepping forward, “This was how the case was handled back then. No evidence was ever found to prove that Zhou Chu or the Second Prince conspired in treason, nor was there any proof that Grand Tutor Ji was involved. The letters previously used to convict them have all been invalidated, and all testimonies based on those letters are inadmissible by law.”
At this point, the Minister of Justice spoke up: “According to the laws of the Dayu Dynasty, in cases of doubtful guilt, the presumption must be innocence.”
“What is the conclusion?” Li Zhan asked in a cold voice.
As soon as his words fell, the court was filled with a low murmur of voices.
At this point, everyone in the hall understood the full truth of the matter.
In truth, even before now, many of them had already guessed it.
Today, Chi Zhou brought people forward to overturn the case, clearing the names of Zhou Chu, the Second Prince, and the Ji family. This outcome was already the furthest most officials could accept. Yet Li Zhan still pressed for a conclusion. Could it be that, beyond restoring the innocence of those falsely accused, he intended to drag the late emperor into it and whip his corpse?
“Chi Zhou… the conclusion of the case is already clear. Commander Zhou, the Second Prince, and Grand Tutor Ji were all wronged,” Minister Zhang spoke up. “That Assistant Minister Chi and the officials of the Ministry of Justice were able to re-investigate the case and return their innocence today is a matter of great merit. If Commander Zhou and Grand Tutor Ji knew of it in the afterlife, I’m sure they would feel deeply comforted.”
Minister Zhang was a veteran official in court and well-versed in knowing his limits. He understood that there was no benefit in pursuing the matter any further.
Especially from Li Zhan’s current position—he had already taken on immense pressure to achieve this much, which could already be called the utmost compassion and righteousness. If he insisted on probing further, things might spiral out of control, creating a situation no one wanted to see.
“I do not think it is clear enough,” Li Zhan replied coldly.
“Chi Zhou… the late emperor has already passed. Many things can no longer be undone. Please think carefully,” another senior minister stepped forward and advised.
Li Zhan’s eyes swept over the gathered officials, cold and filled with scorn.
Standing to the side, Ji Qingzhou watched Li Zhan and immediately understood—Li Zhan had no intention of compromising this time. He wanted to thoroughly uncover the entire truth.
But he also understood the consequence Li Zhan would face for doing so.
In this era, the sovereign was the moral compass of his ministers. If Li Zhan openly set himself up to “judge” the former emperor’s actions, then even if the truth was entirely revealed in the end, Li Zhan would inevitably bear the charge of disloyalty to the throne.
Ji Qingzhou knew that Li Zhan might not care—but he cared.
He didn’t want Li Zhan to shoulder such a burden. He couldn’t bear it… and he wouldn’t allow it.
“Your Majesty, Wang Ye,” Ji Qingzhou suddenly stepped out from behind the young emperor, then knelt on the ground and bowed to them.
Everyone froze, their gazes turning to Ji Qingzhou.
“Now that the truth of the case has come to light, can the crimes pinned on the Ji family be lifted?” Ji Qingzhou asked.
Li Zhan stared at him in silence, but the Minister of Justice stepped forward and answered, “According to the law, yes. From this day on, Young Master Ji no longer needs to serve as a palace slave.”
Upon hearing this, Ji Qingzhou bowed once more to both the young emperor and Li Zhan, then turned and respectfully saluted the Minister of Justice.
After that, right before everyone’s eyes, he removed his mang robe, revealing only a pure white inner garment underneath.
Li Zhan stood in the hall and stared at the youth dressed in white, and in that moment, he suddenly realized what Ji Qingzhou was about to do.
The youth understood what he had wanted to do—and now, to prevent him from bearing the crime of disloyalty, he intended to uncover the truth himself!
At the same time, everyone’s eyes followed Ji Qingzhou as he turned to face the court officials, offered them a bow, and said, “All of you were once colleagues of my late father. Now that this old case is being reexamined, and with Commander Zhou and the Second Prince absent, I will speak on their behalf—and on behalf of my father—to seek justice from you all, as well as from His Majesty and Wang Ye.”
The moment Ji Qingzhou finished speaking, the entire hall erupted in commotion.
Just moments ago, they had been worried that Li Zhan wouldn’t let the matter go—yet just as they breathed a sigh of relief, another fire lit up: this Young Master Ji actually dared to push even further and question everything at this very moment!
“This case led to the execution of Commander Zhou’s entire family, the Second Prince’s imprisonment in the imperial tomb, and the complete downfall of my Ji family. Now that it’s been proven the letters used as evidence were forged and the charges completely baseless, shouldn’t someone be held responsible for this miscarriage of justice?” Ji Qingzhou stood in the center of the hall, calm yet firm, and demanded, “Who was responsible for judging this case back then? Was it the Ministry of Justice or the Dali Temple? Who issued the sentencing? And who carried out the execution?”
His voice wasn’t particularly loud, but when it fell upon the ears of the ministers, it was like thunder crashing down.
Li Zhan instinctively wanted to step forward to stop him.
But in that instant, Ji Qingzhou casually placed a hand on his lower abdomen.
No one else in the hall knew about Ji Qingzhou’s pregnancy, and the loose-fitting robe he wore didn’t reveal any change in his figure—but Li Zhan knew. He understood that gesture was likely meant to calm the child within.
At that moment, something stirred in Li Zhan’s heart. Suddenly, he understood what the youth was doing.
Just as he had wanted to throw everything aside to fight for the youth’s justice, wasn’t Ji Qingzhou now doing the same—fighting desperately to protect him?
In that moment, Li Zhan felt a surge of quiet contentment in his chest.
No matter the reason behind the youth’s actions, to Li Zhan, it meant nothing less than a vow to live and die together.
“This case—starting with the late emperor and down to everyone present here today—carries guilt upon all involved,” Li Zhan suddenly said.
The moment those words left his mouth, another wave of unrest swept through the hall.
But just a moment later, the nature of Li Zhan’s words had completely shifted.
Had he said this before Ji Qingzhou’s questioning, it would have been seen as a direct attempt to “judge” the late emperor. But since Ji Qingzhou had spoken first, Li Zhan’s words now served as a response to the youth’s demand for justice. The tone of “judgment” faded, and what replaced it was the weight of remorse.
“As the late emperor’s brother and minister, I failed to fulfill my duty to counsel him, and I did not stop this miscarriage of justice in time. I am willing to offer repentance on his behalf, and I will do my utmost to make amends,” Li Zhan said.
As soon as he finished speaking, the young emperor on the dragon throne suddenly spoke up: “I will stand with Imperial Uncle.”
His words shocked the entire court. It was the first time since ascending the throne that he had ever voiced his opinion in front of the ministers. And unlike his usual sleepy, inattentive demeanor during court sessions, his expression now was solemn and composed.
With the young emperor’s declaration, the entire atmosphere in the hall shifted.
First, Chi Zhou, as Assistant Minister of the Dali Temple, took responsibility for his “failure of oversight.” Then the Minister of Justice followed suit. One by one, the officials knelt down, each accepting blame.
It was like a wheel turning full circle—everything they had once avoided out of fear, they were now returning in full.
Even though the late emperor was gone, and Zhou Chu and Grand Tutor Ji had passed away, some things could not be left behind so easily.
Ji Qingzhou looked at the kneeling officials and found it all darkly ironic.
Back then, no one—except for Li Zhan—had dared speak up for fear of angering the late emperor. And now, one by one, they stepped forward to shoulder the blame, emboldened by Li Zhan and the young emperor.
Ji Qingzhou could understand it. Under imperial power, not everyone had the courage to disregard life and death. If it had been him, perhaps he wouldn’t have done any better. Still, he found it all faintly absurd. In that moment, he finally understood why Li Zhan had never once considered becoming emperor.
Even after gaining a second life and holding a hand full of winning cards, Li Zhan had never once coveted that throne.
Because to him, it held no appeal whatsoever.
In fact, Ji Qingzhou felt a flicker of relief—thank goodness Li Zhan didn’t want to be emperor, or else he would’ve had to flee in the middle of the night.
After court was dismissed, Ji Qingzhou and Li Zhan stood outside the gates of the throne room, quietly gazing at the sky. Neither of them spoke, but somehow, they both knew what the other was thinking.
The case was finally closed, but neither of them felt any relief.
Instead, there was only a hollow emptiness—because the truth they had fought so hard to uncover could never change what had already happened.
The dead would remain dead. No truth could bring them back.
“Wang Ye, Young Master Ji…” Dong Dong approached the two and said, “The Ji estate has been unsealed as of today. The Ministry of Works will be sending people to begin repairs. Young Lady Ji said she wishes to move back in today. She sent me to ask if Young Master Ji would be returning with her.”
Ji Qingzhou was briefly taken aback. Only then did it hit him—now that the Ji family’s case was over, he no longer held any official identity in the palace.
By law, he could no longer reside in Yinghui Pavilion.
He and Li Zhan had never formally discussed what would happen after the case ended. He suspected that Li Zhan hadn’t made any plans either.
Until now, Li Zhan had poured all his energy into overturning the case. Ji Qingzhou knew that although today’s trial had seemed smooth and straightforward on the surface, Li Zhan had done countless things behind the scenes. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have gone so well—without a single voice raised in objection from the court.
“Then I’ll go back with her and have a look,” Ji Qingzhou said.
Dong Dong turned to look at Li Zhan. Li Zhan frowned slightly but said nothing.
Now that Ji Qingzhou had regained his freedom and was no longer a palace attendant, there was no longer any need for him to seek Li Zhan’s approval for his decisions. Even though Li Zhan knew full well that Ji Qingzhou would listen if he offered his opinion, he still held his tongue.
Ji Qingzhou’s freedom had been hard-won—and Li Zhan valued it even more than he did.
Ji Qingzhou wore a white inner robe, draped with a cloak.
He turned and took a few steps toward the rear of the hall, then suddenly stopped and called back, “Wang Ye, would you like to come visit my home?”
Li Zhan: …
“But I might need to borrow some tea leaves from Xiao Shan first,” Ji Qingzhou added with a grin. “Can’t have Wang Ye’s first visit ending without even a cup of hot tea.”
Li Zhan looked at the youth, his eyes softening with a trace of amusement. His voice lightened too, as he replied with a smile, “Then I suppose I’ll ‘graciously’ spare the time to visit your home.”
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