Jiao Niang’s Medical Record Chapter 442

In September, a rainfall had brought a touch of chill to the capital.

Along the main road came a group of riders. Spotting a signboard by the roadside ahead, one of them reined in his horse.

“Look, that’s Tai Ping Residence! Their tofu is one of a kind,” he called out. “Let’s stop there for a bite.”

The others, intrigued, nodded in agreement and were just about to head over when someone by the roadside hurriedly shouted to stop them.

“Don’t go – don’t go there now!” the passerby warned, waving his hand.

The group looked surprised and puzzled.

“Why not?” they asked.

“You must be from out of town,” the man said. “Tai Ping Residence is caught up in a lawsuit right now.”

One of the riders laughed.

“Oh, just a lawsuit – what’s there to be afraid of?” he said.

His companions looked at him in astonishment.

“Not afraid, even of a lawsuit?” they asked.

“You don’t know,” the man replied. “Tai Ping Residence has a ‘Vajra’ guarding it. This isn’t the first time they’ve been sued – every time, they’ve come out fine.”

The companions nodded in understanding.

“This time might be different,” the passerby said, shaking his head. “This time, the Vajra is up against the Emperor.”

The Emperor?

The group exchanged shocked looks. After listening to a few more words from the passerby, they immediately wheeled their horses around and galloped off down the road without hesitation.

Although the crowds passing along the main road no longer flocked to Tai Ping Residence as they once did, the place was far from deserted.

Inside the main hall, several tables were occupied – common folk with cropped hair, merchants, and even a few scholars – all eating, drinking, and chatting merrily. Though their stations in life differed, their talk all revolved around the same thing: the head owner of Tai Ping Residence, and the ongoing clash between the brothers of Maoyuan Mountain and the imperial court.

Because of the rumor that Lady Cheng was a disciple of True Master Li, the common people naturally took her side.

“Think about it – she’s the personal disciple of True Master Li! How could someone like that possibly lie?”

“Exactly! But the court, honestly – if they can scheme against even a disciple of an immortal, then what chance do we ordinary folk have left?”

Hearing the nearby commoners whispering and chuckling, a few merchants at another table shook their heads.

“…Why couldn’t they scheme against her? Just think how many secret techniques an immortal’s disciple must have in her hands – that’s all money, you know…”
“…Exactly. No matter how grand the reputation, what’s the use if you’ve got no solid backing…”
“…Well, it’s not as if she has no backing. She’s the daughter of an official family, after all…”
“…There are plenty of official families. What’s her lineage worth? The moment trouble comes, none of them can help – not even one person to stand up for her. Instead, they all get dragged down with her…”

Hearing the merchants’ discussion, the few scholars nearby nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s true enough,” one of them said. “A person without deep roots or backing – their fame becomes a blade hanging above them. When it falls, it only wounds themselves.”

“But what’s the truth of this whole affair, really?” another asked.

“The truth?” a man said with a smile, lifting his teacup. “It’s all a matter of how you spin the story.”

“Still, judging by things now…” the first scholar went on, tilting his chin slightly to indicate the rest of the busy hall, “the streets and alleys are full of people cursing the court. I wonder whether all those mouths together will make any difference.”

“It’s not just the common folk,” another added. “Plenty of officials have spoken in that Lady Cheng’s defense too. I’d wager her stay in the censors’ prison is quite a comfortable one. As for why they do it – it’s simple. They’re hoping for favors from the so-called immortal’s disciple. That’s how the world works: receive someone’s kindness, and you’ll praise them in return. There’s no reasoning to it.”

The noise and laughter from the hall below drifted up through the windows to the second floor, making Zhou Liu-lang all the more irritable.

“We might as well shut the place down – why keep it open just to let those people spout nonsense?” he said angrily, tossing the wine bowl in his hand onto the table.

“At the time, we already said the shop was closing for three days due to family matters,” Qin Shi’san replied. “If we go back on our word now, wouldn’t that make it look like we really are trying to pressure the authorities?”

Zhou Liu-lang snorted.

“You think keeping the doors open doesn’t make it look that way?” he retorted.

“Of course not,” Qin Shi’san said calmly, pouring him a cup of tea. “As long as you don’t admit it yourself, it will always remain nothing more than what others say.”

Zhou Liu-lang gloomily lifted his teacup again, his gaze drifting once more to the main road outside the window.

Suddenly, he shot to his feet so abruptly that he forgot to set the cup down – tea splashed across his clothes.

“They’re here!” he shouted.

Qin Shi’san immediately looked out as well. On the broad road, two riders sped past; their movements were swift, but even from a distance it was clear – they were imperial couriers on urgent delivery.

“Faster than expected,” Qin Shi-san said slowly. “It seems someone has already taken charge of the matter.”

Zhou Liu-lang froze, turning to look at him.

What matter? Someone’s taken charge? Taken charge of what?

Could it be that they weren’t even worrying about the same thing?

The couriers soon passed through the city gate unhindered. Pedestrians along the street quickly stepped aside, their retreat making the surrounding clamor even louder.

The Zhang household, situated in an alley near the busy marketplace, also heard the commotion.

“Go find out – quickly! Go see what’s happening out there,” the old gatekeeper urged the servant boy.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into the old man lately – he’s so fond of excitement,” the boy muttered, but still trotted off toward the street.

Not long after, he came running back.

“An imperial courier just passed by,” he reported.

The words had barely left his mouth before the old gatekeeper shot to his feet.

“Thank heaven – it’s finally here!” he exclaimed, and before the servant could even react, the old man was already hurrying off toward the back courtyard.

In the back courtyard, beneath the veranda outside the old master’s quarters, a maid stood with her head bowed, wiping away tears.

“Ban Qin,” said Old Master Zhang, standing in the courtyard pruning a camellia bush, “this isn’t something just anyone can help with.”

“Your mistress really acted a bit foolishly this time,” he went on. “Even if the grievance were as great as heaven itself, bringing it out in this manner is, in the Emperor’s eyes, a grave mistake.”

At his words, the maid wept even harder.

“The master doesn’t care for talk of the supernatural,” Old Master Zhang continued. “And as for matters of fame and deceit – of misleading the people and the throne – don’t expect him to speak up for her.”

“But if my lady insists on doing this,” the maid sobbed, “she really will…”

Her words broke off abruptly.

Old Master Zhang’s hand, bent over the bonsai shears, paused for a brief moment.

So it was true – she really was going to summon heavenly thunder upon herself.

He had long suspected as much, but today he had finally heard it confirmed.

That young lady…

Old Master Zhang shook his head and straightened up.

“Ban Qin, don’t worry,” was all he said.

Your mistress can deceive heaven and men alike. Though she keeps to form and propriety, she’s no gentle soul. Back then, even when she intended to give you, a mere maid, a decent future, she still made sure to trade it for something more to her advantage. It may sound heartless, but one can hardly fault her for it.

Someone like her is never the kind to throw her life away recklessly. Whatever consequences others can imagine, she has surely already foreseen them herself. How could she possibly leap willingly into a pit of no return?

There must be a backup plan in place.

But such words could hardly be explained to a little maid.

“Ban Qin, Ban Qin! The imperial courier’s here – the courier’s here!” the old gatekeeper’s voice rang loudly through the courtyard.

Then we’ll just wait and see, Old Master Zhang thought. The outcome will soon be clear enough.

He smiled faintly, turned back around, and went on trimming his bonsai.

As the imperial couriers galloped down the main street, the regular morning court session was underway inside the palace.

“How can matters of military and state affairs be left for the public to speculate upon? The entire city is in chaos now, all gossiping about the Maoyuan Mountain affair, spreading all kinds of absurd rumors,” one censor said.

On the throne, the Emperor’s expression remained calm and unreadable.

Ever since Lu Zheng’s memorial had been submitted, talk of the Maoyuan Mountain incident had spread throughout the capital. With the Emperor’s approval for an investigation in the northwest, the entire Censorate had grown busy – each censor seizing the opportunity to unearth related cases and launch new impeachments in court.

Today’s stack was not even the worst of it; glancing back, one could see all manner of memorials and indictments piled high on the desks.

But the Emperor seemed increasingly impatient.

“To silence the people’s voice is more perilous than damming a river,” he said. “Now that the matter has arisen, how could we possibly forbid the common folk from speaking of it?”

“This is all because of that wretch Lu Zheng – defying imperial orders, falsifying decrees, bringing chaos to the state…”

The censor, pleased that the Emperor had spoken, took it as leave to continue his tirade.

“The situation in the northwest is still unsettled,” someone interjected. “It’s far from certain who has deceived the throne and brought harm to the realm.”

“The affairs of the northwest – military matters of great importance – are being toyed with by a mere charlatan!” the censor shot back, his anger rising. “And you, Chen Shao, as a senior councillor, knew yet failed to remonstrate! Instead, to suppress rival factions and curry favor, you neglected the emperor’s grace and the welfare of the state, abetted the coercion of His Majesty into investigating baseless rumors, and misled the people of the realm. You are no different from a Li Linfu!”

Standing at the side of the court, Chen Shao’s expression remained impassive. Censors, empowered by the Emperor’s mandate to report whatever they heard, faced no limits of truth or falsehood; and for officials of his rank, there was no room to refute an impeachment. They could only respond after the accusation had run its course.

Because of this one affair, both the court and the common folk had been thrown into turmoil, countless proper matters delayed.

The Emperor’s gaze darkened.

Attendant Scholar Gao noticed and smiled faintly, then gave a subtle glance to another court official. The man immediately understood and stepped forward.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “the Ministry of Rites reports that in the western part of the capital, commoners are planning to build a shrine to the divine doctor at the Taiyi Palace – they mean to place a statue of Lady Cheng beside that of the True Master, to serve as his disciple in eternal attendance…”

At these words, the court erupted in uproar. The Emperor let out a sharp “Ha!” – though he said nothing further, that single exhalation was enough to reveal his anger.

“Report!”

A voice called from outside the hall.

“An express dispatch from the Northwest, delivered by the Secretariat!”

The Northwest!

The clamor within the hall ceased instantly. So soon? Everyone had assumed it would take at least ten days, perhaps more, before word could arrive.

“Bring it forward,” the Emperor said.

Under the gaze of everyone in the hall, he took from the eunuch’s hands the sealed dispatch – its cover marked with fire lacquer and the great seal of the Northwestern Command – and broke it open. His eyes skimmed the contents, and his expression darkened slightly.

It’s done, Chen Shao thought, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

Everyone else in the hall understood as well.

So, there would be no miraculous display of thunder and lightning striking a human being after all… More than half the officials present felt a faint, disappointed regret.

A pack of useless fools! Attendant Scholar Gao thought bitterly. Yet his face showed little anger; after all, he had already succeeded in turning the emperor’s heart against that woman. Even if the news from the northwest proved that her claims were true and well-founded, it would no longer stir up any great waves.

The Emperor finished reading quickly. He had looked through only one of the dispatches before glancing at the other documents beside it, covered densely with red handprints, but he did not pick them up.

“Li Ziwen,” he said.

The Imperial Censorate Deputy immediately stepped forward in response.

“The Censorate may render its conclusion,” the Emperor said, tapping the dispatch before him and motioning to the eunuch. “Have it circulated for review.”

The First Prince took the dispatch in hand, then glanced toward the papers held by Attendant Scholar Gao beside him, a faint furrow of confusion crossing his brow.

“…So what it says is that this Fang Zhonghe ordered the troops to hold the city for one hour, but before the time was up, he withdrew first. That’s why those Maoyuan Mountain brothers left behind had such a hard time defending it…” Attendant Scholar Gao explained in a low voice.

Beside him, Chen Shao let out a cold laugh.

“Master Gao, what do you mean withdrew before the time was up?” he said. “That’s called cowardice in battle and desertion.”

“Cowardice in battle? If he were truly a coward, he would’ve ordered the retreat from the start,” Attendant Scholar Gao replied with a cold laugh of his own. “The enemy outnumbered them heavily to begin with – there was no need to fight to the death.”

“No need to fight to the death? So when the odds are against us, we should just abandon the city and flee?” Chen Shao retorted with another cold smile. “Master Gao, if you say that, the generals in the northwest will lose heart indeed.”

The Imperial Censorate Deputy, standing in the hall, gave a loud, deliberate cough. Everyone fell silent and turned to see a eunuch leading Lady Cheng into the hall from the side chamber.

Attendant Scholar Gao and Chen Shao exchanged a brief glance, then both looked away without a word.

The young lady knelt on the floor and offered her salute. The Emperor’s expression was far from pleasant; a flicker of irritation and embarrassment crossed his eyes, though he quickly masked it.

“I thank Your Majesty for discerning justice,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, bowing her head to the ground.

The Censorate had already presented its report.

“The merits and rewards of your sworn brothers will be reviewed and finalized by the Secretariat,” the Emperor said coolly.

Cheng Jiao-niang bowed again in thanks.

The room fell into a heavy silence. No one spoke the usual words of consolation – it was clear that the Emperor didn’t even wish to go through the motions. His distaste for the entire affair ran bone-deep.

Attendant Scholar Gao sneered inwardly. Ruining others without gaining a thing for herself – what was the point? Even if she’s won herself an empty reputation, what good will it do? She’s brought this upon herself.

“Withdraw,” the Emperor said at last, without another word.

Cheng Jiao-niang bowed and rose to leave.

“Cheng,” the Emperor called after her.

She immediately knelt again.

“Why did you do all this?” the Emperor asked.

“I have said it before,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “If those without merit may still claim reward, then why may those with true merit not contest for it? I do not consider it shameful to fight for what is deserved.”

The Emperor glanced at her, then waved his hand dismissively.

A eunuch hurriedly gestured for her to withdraw. Cheng Jiao-niang saluted once more and retreated from the hall. Behind her, the sound of many footsteps echoed – the ministers were entering.

“…Have the Secretariat and the Censorate handle the matter together,” the Emperor said grimly. “But don’t think that with Fang Zhonghe dead, this affair is over. What about Jiang Wenyuan? What about Zhou Fengxiang? Have them each submit memorials of self-reproach and dock their salaries…”

Those below had just opened their mouths to answer when another voice cut in ahead of them.

“Your Majesty, Zhou Fengxiang, Imperial Inspector of the Northwest, has already submitted his memorial of apology,” Chen Shao said, bowing as he presented a folded memorial.

Attendant Scholar Gao was momentarily taken aback, then let out a quiet, derisive laugh.

So he managed to be a little quicker than the rest – and what of it? It only makes his own negligence all the more certain.

At a time like this, when the Emperor’s shame over the Linguan Fort affair was still fresh, to play at petty cleverness was nothing short of courting disaster.

Sure enough, the Emperor’s face darkened further. He didn’t even bother to speak – only raised his hand slightly toward the eunuch, who hurried forward to take the memorial and present it.

The Emperor unfolded the memorial and read only a few lines before his expression changed drastically.

It was a far greater change than when he had read the earlier dispatch from the northwest. Those standing closest could see clearly that the hand holding the memorial was trembling slightly.

What happened? they wondered. How could reading a mere self-reproach memorial provoke such anger?

A flicker of confusion crossed Attendant Scholar Gao’s face, and he instinctively turned his gaze toward Chen Shao – but Chen’s expression remained solemn and unreadable.

The great hall fell utterly silent. The Emperor read for much longer this time than before. As the moments dragged on, the air in the chamber grew heavier and heavier. Both the eunuchs and the officials finally began to sense the emotion building within him.

It was… anger.

Anger?

When the Emperor had first learned of the Linguan Fort affair, he had merely shown embarrassment and irritation. Even if Zhou Fengxiang’s memorial was an attempt at clever evasion – appearing contrite while secretly shifting blame – it should have drawn nothing more than scorn or cold disdain.

So why was he truly angry now?

What on earth has happened?

“Outrageous! How dare they deceive Us so!”

The furious roar shattered the stillness of the grand hall. Even the eunuchs descending the steps outside stopped in their tracks, startled, and turned their heads in shock.

It had been many years since they had seen the Emperor this enraged. What could have happened?

A soft cough from a lady sounded beside them, breaking the eunuch’s daze. He turned his gaze toward her and saw that her expression was calm as ever – her eyes merely signaling for him to lead the way.

Unafraid before the Son of Heaven, and even unshaken when the Son of Heaven himself rages… this young woman truly isn’t ordinary, he thought.

He turned back and began walking forward. Behind the tightly shut doors and windows, voices could still be faintly heard from within the hall, though the words were no longer clear – nor did he dare to listen.

So, she had said, if those without merit dare to claim it, why can’t those with merit fight for it?

Following the eunuch, Cheng Jiao-niang walked slowly through the layers of palace corridors, while behind them other eunuchs scattered in alarm, rushing off toward the Imperial Archives and other offices.