When the investigation began in the Northwest, in the capital’s Censorate as well people were constantly being brought in.
“…Well? Did he confess yet?”
“…Still full of spirit. Yesterday he even composed a poem…”
“…Didn’t expect that kid to be so tough. I thought at most three days and he’d be crying while writing his last words.”
Many people in the Censorate were gathered together joking and chatting. Just as they were talking, a few men came in quickly with grim faces. Everyone hastily stopped their chatter, stood up straight, and adjusted their expressions, their eyes following the men as they entered the hall.
“Who have they caught this time?” they whispered among themselves. They had barely exchanged a few words before seeing several people come out again.
“Bring them in,” one censor said sternly to a clerk.
“Yes, sir.” The clerk hurried out, while all eyes followed him, tinged with curiosity and excitement.
Outside the imperial city, the carriage moved slowly along the streets lined with government offices and provincial temples. The gates here were by no means splendid; rather, they looked somewhat worn and dilapidated, yet carried an air of solemnity and dignity. Along the way, most of the compounds were built much the same, except for the one where they stopped – its gate opened to the north, unlike the others which faced south.
Fan Jianglin jumped down from his horse, glanced back at the carriage, and helped Ban Qin down, who in turn supported Cheng Jiao-niang as she alighted.
“Sister, you’d better not go in,” Fan Jianglin said. “Just tell me what you want said – I can handle it.”
Cheng Jiao-niang reached up and lifted a corner of her veil, revealing her face with a faint smile.
“Brother, fighting bloody battles on the battlefield – that was what you did, so you should speak of it. As for welcoming elder brother home for burial, that is what I do. Since it is my part, naturally I must be the one to speak,” she said. “We tell of the things we have done. We are not afraid for them to know; there’s nothing to worry about.”
Fan Jianglin nodded.
“Very well. Then stay close to me,” he said.
The two of them had just lifted their feet to step forward when, all of a sudden, several men rushed over from the side and forcibly shoved them aside.
Fan Jianglin, quick-eyed and swift-handed, caught Cheng Jiao-niang to steady her, his other hand already raised in anger. But Cheng Jiao-niang lifted her own hand to hold his arm back.
“What are you doing? Do you know where this is? Why are you blocking the gate?” those men were already shouting sharply.
They were palace eunuchs.
Fan Jianglin and Cheng Jiao-niang both stepped back, watching them pass by.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” Fan Jianglin asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang gave a soft “Mm.” Inside her veil, her hand opened to reveal a slip of paper that had been shoved to her. Without hesitation, she unfolded it.
Cheng Fang, don’t be sad.
“Sister?” Fan Jianglin’s voice sounded at her ear, tinged with concern and puzzlement.
Cheng Jiao-niang folded the slip of paper and tucked it into her sleeve, then lifted her head.
“Let’s go,” she said.
…
“Master.”
Outside Master Zhou’s study came the sound of hurried footsteps. With a shout, the door was suddenly flung open, and Madam Zhou stepped inside, visibly agitated, cutting off the conversation between Master Zhou and Zhou Liu-lang.
Her gaze fell on the desk, where a memorial was laid out, and in Master Zhou’s hand was still a brush.
“What are you writing? What are you writing?” Madam Zhou rushed forward, asking in rapid succession.
“What business is that of a woman?” Master Zhou said darkly.
“You’re writing an impeachment memorial, aren’t you? What are you doing that for? Right now the whole city is in a panic, afraid of being implicated with Lu Zheng, afraid of the Censorate men knocking on their doors. I’ve already inquired – everyone says it was that girl’s doing, our family has been left out of it. Why are you insisting on courting death?” Madam Zhou cried.
“Mother, it’s not that serious…” Zhou Liu-lang began.
Before he could finish, Madam Zhou raised her hand and slapped him across the face.
The blow left even Master Zhou stunned.
Silence fell over the room.
“I sent you to the Northwest so you could win merit and make a career, not so you’d abandon your family and livelihood for a girl!” Madam Zhou cried.
“What do you know?” Master Zhou said, a little ashamed and angry – the slap to his son felt like a slap to himself. He reached out and pounded the desk.
“I don’t know everything,” Madam Zhou sobbed, “but I do know why Liu-lang did this! Be honest with your conscience.”
She turned to Zhou Liu-lang.
“If it weren’t for that girl, would you have stepped forward to speak up in the first place?”
Zhou Liu-lang was silent for a moment.
“No,” he said.
“You see – you still say it wasn’t because of her…” Madam Zhou began, anger in her voice.
But Zhou Liu-lang cut her off.
“Mother, she is not ‘that girl.’ She is Cheng Jiao-niang. She is Aunt’s daughter – a relation of our Zhou family. For the rest of our lives we can only follow her; if she prospers, we prosper, and if she falls, we won’t fare well. Now that this has already happened, it’s not something we can simply disclaim. Even if things seem fine now, we will still be held to account in the future.”
“It’s not that serious. You’re the ones insisting on drawing close to her,” Madam Zhou said, wiping her tears. “It’s your own unwillingness to let go. If you just let go, then it’s done with.”
“Mother, don’t worry. Nothing will happen,” Zhou Liu-lang said, stepping forward a few paces and kneeling at her side.
“How could nothing happen? With such a huge commotion, being used as someone else’s knife – no matter who wins, she won’t escape being branded with the infamy of defiance and of inciting the people. How could the court tolerate someone like that?” Madam Zhou wept.
Zhou Liu-lang chuckled.
“Mother, so you do understand this,” he said with a smile.
“And you can still laugh! Do you take me for a fool?” Madam Zhou cried. “I’ve at least lived in the capital for many years.”
Zhou Liu-lang smiled again.
“Don’t worry, Mother. She is not a knife – she is the one who forges the knives,” he said. “She would never allow the blade to wound herself.”
Compared with the Zhou family’s anxiety and worry, the atmosphere in the imperial palace was as calm as ever; in Duke Jin’an’s residence it was even more tranquil and gentle.
Because he had gone to bed late the previous night, and after breakfast had run around the courtyard chasing a ball, Prince Qing grew drowsy again and went to sleep.
Whenever Prince Qing slept, it was when Duke Jin’an seized the time to study.
But this time, although he sat at the desk with a book in his hands, he did not turn a page for a long while. Each time he heard footsteps outside the hall, he straightened his posture – until at last, he simply tossed the book aside and walked out to stand under the corridor.
“Your Highness, are you going out?” asked the attendant eunuch outside the door.
Duke Jin’an shook his head. He said nothing, didn’t move, just stood there gazing outward.
Whenever the duke was alone, he was always this silent and strange. The attendants lowered their heads and spoke no more.
At the turn of August to September, the cool, stuffy wind circled quietly in and around the palace halls.
Outside the palace gate, a eunuch appeared, holding a memorial in his hand, walking over with a broad smile.
He was a sixth-rank eunuch official close to the Emperor. Seeing him arrive, Duke Jin’an immediately broke into a smile.
“Your Highness, His Majesty has a memorial he wants you to look over,” the eunuch said with a grin.
Duke Jin’an nodded, turned back into the hall, and the eunuch followed him inside. The doors were pulled shut from outside by the attendants.
“Did you see her?” Duke Jin’an asked as soon as he turned around.
The eunuch still wore his usual smile.
“Your Highness, do you still not trust me to handle things properly?” he said, while presenting the memorial in his hands. “Don’t worry, don’t worry – take this first.”
At the same time, he fussed on with his reminders. “Your Highness, you mustn’t let others see you like this. Last time you spoke too freely before His Majesty and offended him… If someone seizes on such a weakness again, that would be no small matter…”
Duke Jin’an smiled and reached out to take the memorial.
“If it’s no small matter, then so be it. What of it?” he said, and pressed again, “Well? Did you see her or not?”
“I did,” the eunuch replied.
“And did you give it to her?” Duke Jin’an’s eyes lit up as he asked.
The eunuch nodded with a smile.
“How is she then? Was she sad? No – no, even if she were sad, she wouldn’t show it. Then she… she… what was she like?”
Looking at the young duke’s bright face, hearing his somewhat incoherent questions, the eunuch could only smile helplessly.
“Your Highness, a young lady going out, especially to the Censorate – how could she not keep herself tightly veiled?” he said.
Duke Jin’an was taken aback, then broke into a laugh.
“Thank you for your trouble,” he said, and did not bring it up again.
The eunuch, however, grew a bit curious.
“Your Highness, shouldn’t you be asking whether she was afraid? After all, that’s the Censorate.”
Duke Jin’an smiled, sat back down at the desk, and opened the memorial.
“She wouldn’t be afraid. There really isn’t anything in this world to fear. Only… perhaps, from time to time, she might feel sorrow.”
The eunuch quietly withdrew, and the palace doors closed behind him.
At that moment, inside the Censorate, the presiding censor looked down at the people standing below, a faint smile appearing on his face.
“For commoners like you with no official rank, this must be the first time you’ve ever stood here,” he said. “This is a place only those with office may enter – so today, you should count yourselves truly fortunate.”
But this was a kind of fortune no one would wish for.
The censor’s smile vanished. With a sharp crack, he struck the wooden block on the desk.
“Fan Jianglin, do you know your crime!” he bellowed.
