Su Yan glanced out the window. The eastern sky was still dark, a deep indigo hue shrouded the horizon. It was roughly the beginning of the fifth watch.
Today marked a regular court assembly, also known as Audience at the Gate, where the Emperor personally listened to petitions from officials seated on the jade steps of the Fengtian Gate.
Apart from the duty-bound Embroidered Uniform Guards and the influential censors, only capital officials of rank three and above or provincial officials of rank four and above were allowed to attend. Su Yan, being merely a minor fifth-rank capital official, naturally had no right to participate.
Yet, he was determined to defy convention and wield his “seven-foot celestial ribbon” to shake the rigid hierarchical court, turning heaven and earth on its head.
During the imperial examination, his actions had been unintentional; this time, they were entirely premeditated—planting a dangerous, man-eating flower.
Su Yan said to Shen Qi, “I can’t rest now; this matter requires swift and decisive action. It’s been two days since I returned from the Eastern Garden. The assassins Feng Que sent after me have been dealt with, their bodies hidden by Yu Wang without alarming anyone. But since the assassins haven’t reported back, Feng Que will grow suspicious. If we delay any longer, we risk alarming the snake and jeopardizing everything. I’m leaving now for Fengtian Gate.”
Shen Qi said, “You’re barging into the morning court at Fengtian Gate? Aren’t you afraid of disrupting protocol, offending the Emperor, and provoking his wrath?”
Su Yan raised an eyebrow calmly. “Just wait and see.”
“…If you’ve made up your mind, I trust you’ve thought it through, so I won’t stop you,” Shen Qi said. Though he appeared indifferent, he couldn’t hide his worry. After a pause, he added, “But the evidence in your hands isn’t enough to strike a fatal blow. Behind that wardrobe, there’s a hidden mechanism in the wall. I’ll teach you how to open it—go retrieve what’s inside.”
Following his instructions, Su Yan pushed aside the heavy rosewood wardrobe, activated the mechanism on the wall, and retrieved a two-foot-square concealed box. He placed it on the floor by the bed.
The box required aligning all the intricate patterns of the mechanisms in the correct sequence to open. Under Shen Qi’s guidance, Su Yan unlocked it, revealing stacks of documents—maps, ledgers, handwritten letters, secret orders—all neatly organized.
Picking up a few handwritten pages, Su Yan quickly skimmed through them and praised, “You really came prepared!”
Shen Qi replied, “I served under him for ten years, always walking on thin ice. If I didn’t take precautions, how could I protect myself when it mattered most?”
Su Yan chuckled. “Your idea of self-preservation involves taking his life instead.”
Shen Qi remained silent but met Su Yan’s gaze with a hint of pride in his eyes. Su Yan humored him, “Qilang, this is like sending me charcoal in a snowstorm—it’ll determine everything. If we manage to topple Feng Que, the credit will be yours, and I’ll be sure to report it truthfully to Emperor Jinglong.”
“This box contains a wealth of evidence, but you don’t have time to review it all before the morning court. Come closer, and I’ll summarize the key points for you.”
Noticing Shen Qi’s breathlessness from speaking too much, Su Yan leaned over the bed and brought his face closer.
Shen Qi concisely outlined several charges against Feng Que. Su Yan nodded, “Got it. Lend me a carriage. I’ll review this evidence on the way.”
“But I still feel like time is too tight. Why not wait until tomorrow?”
Su Yan shook his head. “This matter is like an arrow on a drawn bow—it must be released. Delaying now will only lead to unforeseen changes.”
Seeing Su Yan’s calm and resolute demeanor, Shen Qi couldn’t help but admire his unwavering courage and confidence. His steady gaze radiated a captivating brilliance that stirred Shen Qi’s heart even further.
Kissing Su Yan’s cheek softly, Shen Qi whispered, “Be careful in everything you do.”
The concern was palpable. Su Yan had no time to dwell on Shen Qi’s impropriety. Clutching the dark lacquered box, he stood tall, thinking that success or failure hinged on this moment. A wave of heroism surged in his heart, and he gave Shen Qi a carefree smile before stepping out the door.
***
The fourth watch was nearing its end, and the sky remained cloaked in darkness. Officials were already waiting outside the Meridian Gate, signing in for the early morning court session.
At the fifth watch, the palace gates opened. Bells chimed from the tower above the Meridian Gate as civil and military officials entered in orderly ranks through the side gates. They crossed the Golden Water Bridge and lined up in tiers outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony according to their rank. The ceremonial protocol was stringent; any missteps, such as coughing, spitting, or improper gait, would be recorded by the overseeing censors and penalized as breaches of decorum.
The emperor ascended to the throne, the ceremonial whip cracked, and the officials performed a kneeling and kowtowing ritual thrice. The ministers then presented memorials or addressed issues in sequence, with the emperor issuing decrees and decisions.
Half an hour into the session, as officials convened in the square before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, a carriage rumbled across the stone pavement and halted before the “Dismounting Stele” near the Meridian Gate.
Su Yan disembarked, cradling a black lacquer box in his arms. Under the faint glow of dawn, he looked up at the imperial Drum of Appeals.
This drum, established by the founding emperor, remained a symbol of justice. Civilians and officials, even distant subjects of the empire, could strike it to appeal directly to the throne. It was a beacon of hope for those with grievances, even permitting families of condemned prisoners to petition on their behalf.
However, strict rules governed its use: only matters of grave injustice or critical secrecy warranted its strike. The Six Ministries’ supervisors and the Embroidered Uniform Guard alternated guard duty, screening petitioners and recording grievances. If the drum sounded, an appointed censor would investigate and decide whether to escalate the case to the emperor.
Su Yan had set his sights on this drum.
Dressed in plain white mourning attire, a filial sash adorning his head, he ascended the steps with the lacquer box in hand. Under the watchful eyes of the Embroidered Guard officers, he grasped the mallet and struck the drum, each beat measured and resonant.
Twelve firm strikes reverberated before he paused.
The guard on duty, a stocky man with a dark complexion, rushed out from the colonnade. His impatience was evident as he chided, “That’s enough! How many times do you intend to hit it? If you break it, can you afford to pay for it?”
Slamming a ledger on the table beside the drum, he barked, “Who are you? What is your grievance? Do you have a written petition? If so, fill out this form. If not, dictate it, and I’ll write it down for you.”
Unperturbed, Su Yan calmly set down the box and wrote fluently on the “Petitioner” line: Su Yan, Shidu to the Crown Prince and Xianma of the Directorate of Ceremonies.
The guard’s expression shifted as he read. The drum was usually struck by commoners, low-ranking officials, or families of disgraced individuals. Rarely did a fifth-rank official—especially one tied to the Crown Prince—stoop to such means. Why bypass the Eastern Palace and escalate this through the Drum of Appeals?
His unease deepened as he glanced at the “Accused” column: Commandant of the Embroidered Guard and Chief Overseer, Feng Que.
A minor fifth-rank official, dressed in mourning clothes, barging into the Meridian Gate to accuse the Emperor’s own personal guards—a third-rank Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard—and insisting on using the Drum of Appeals to make his complaint, a spectacle guaranteed to attract the eyes of the entire court… No matter how you looked at it, this screamed of a sensational case, the kind capable of shaking the court and setting off political upheaval. Worst case scenario, it might even cost the life of the humble drummer himself….
The burly black-faced man grew increasingly apprehensive as he thought about it.
But he couldn’t allow this young official to push the case to the Emperor—regardless of whether the accusation succeeded, he would be the one flayed alive by the Commandant!
The Embroidered Uniform Guard wasn’t just the Emperor’s ceremonial guard; its Southern and Northern Supervision Bureaus wielded powers of espionage and arrests, while the dreaded “Eighteen Punishments of the Imperial Prison” struck terror into all who heard of them. Commandant Feng Que had held power for years, with deep roots in the court. How could he be shaken by a mere scholar-official not yet even twenty?
The best course was to get rid of this troublemaker immediately. If he wanted to lodge a complaint, he should go to the proper judicial offices, not stir up trouble here!
“What nonsense is this? You must be out of your mind!” The black-faced man tore the paper Su Yan was writing on, ripping it to shreds. He immediately barked at the guards on either side, “You two! Drag him out of the Meridian Gate and toss him onto the street! If he dares come back and make trouble, break his legs!”
Without hesitation, the two Embroidered Uniform Guard officers rushed forward and grabbed Su Yan, dragging him outside.
Su Yan was no match for the two hulking men—this was truly a case of a scholar meeting soldiers, logic utterly useless. As he was being hauled off, Su Yan scanned the surroundings, frowning in frustration. The drum had been sounded long ago; why hadn’t the censor responsible for handling petitions shown up yet?
Just as he was despairing, he suddenly spotted a fourth-rank official in court dress, adorned with a crimson cloud-and-goose insignia, leisurely exiting from the side gate. Su Yan’s sharp eyes recognized the figure instantly—it was none other than an acquaintance: Censor Jia Gongji of the Imperial Censorate.
“Lord Jia!” Su Yan shouted loudly. “This lowly official has a sensational and unjust case! A sen-sa-tion-al and un-just case!”
In that moment, it was as though he was possessed by the spirit of an opera singer. The last four words were delivered in a powerful tenor voice that resonated through the air, carrying clearly across a hundred meters and catching the ears of Censor Jia.
Lord Jia’s vision wasn’t great, and from that distance, he hadn’t yet recognized the drummer as Su Yan, whom he’d once shared cramped quarters with in the small southern courtyard. But the words “sensational and unjust case” were like a potent stimulant, sending a surge of excitement through his veins and lighting up his face with fervor.
As a famously outspoken censor, Lord Jia’s greatest aspiration in life was to be immortalized in history as a paragon of righteousness, surpassing even the legendary Bao Zheng as a symbol of fearless integrity. While he hadn’t quite managed the “clean sleeves” ideal of incorruptibility, he prided himself on at least being “impartial and unswayed.”
This ambition drove him to find fault with everyone: accusing eunuchs of abusing power, criticizing imperial relatives for arrogance, denouncing princes for drawing salaries without doing any work, and lambasting officials for occupying positions without fulfilling their duties. Once, he had even written a memorial condemning the Crown Prince’s stash of illicit books—a matter that had nothing to do with him—after receiving a tip-off.
Since the Crown Prince was still young and the heir apparent, Censor Jia had been relatively restrained in his criticism. However, the scholars of the Hanlin Academy who served as the Crown Prince’s tutors, particularly Su Qinghe, who was with him daily, were not spared. Censor Jia’s harsh words in his memorial had so angered the Emperor that Su Yan had been punished with a public flogging in court.
Though the emperor’s deeper intention was to make a show of punishment to stabilize forces attempting to undermine the Crown Prince, ultimately setting a long trap to catch bigger fish, Wei Jun’s instigation of Feng Que’s interference nearly cost Su Yan his life under the court staff.
Ultimately, even Censor Jia had a hand in that debacle.
However, Su Yan had no intention of settling old scores with him now, as he needed him for this endeavor. As Jia Gongji approached swiftly, Su Yan called out, “Lord Jia, this subordinate struck the drum and had yet to finish filling out the form when the drummer tore it up without a word and tried to expel me from the Meridian Gate. I do not know what rule I’ve violated. Is the drum forbidden now?”
It was only then that Jia Gongji recognized the young man being restrained by the guards—it was none other than Su Qinghe, the very scholar he had previously impeached and mocked in person.
And what’s with the mourning attire? For whom was he observing this light filial piety?
Judging by his demeanor…he was planning something big!
At that moment, Jia Gongji set aside past grievances for the excitement of a new challenge. He eagerly asked, “Whom is Su Xianma accusing?”
Su Yan replied boldly, “Feng Que!”
Like a thunderclap, the name jolted Jia Yushi to the core, sending a surge of excitement through his veins.
—The thought of adding another resounding case to his history of impeachment filled him with giddy anticipation.
What of Feng Que, the commandant of the Embroidered Uniform Guard? The more tyrannical and overbearing the target, the more righteous his own stance as an outspoken critic of corruption. Even the emperor’s wrath would pale before the glory of his bold integrity. And if it led to another beating for Su Yan, wouldn’t it only enhance his unparalleled moral standing, ensuring his name resounded through history?
Jia Gongji slapped his thigh and declared, “I’ll take this case!”
He turned to the black-faced drummer and scolded, “You, as the drummer, were supposed to record the complaint honestly. Instead, you shirked your duty out of fear of authority, obstructed justice, and even manhandled an official. This is outrageous! I will report your misconduct to His Majesty during the court assembly.”
The drummer’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, crying out repeatedly, “I didn’t rough him up! Just a gentle shove!”
Ignoring the protests, Jia Gongji turned to Su Yan, now fully immersed in the spirit of justice. “Is that wooden box evidence? It seems a bit small to hold much.”
“There’s a larger one,” Su Yan said. “My carriage is at the Stele of Dismount. In it is a concealed chest filled with irrefutable evidence. But I cannot carry both items alone.”
“Let me help,” Jia Gongji offered, rolling up his sleeves. True to his word, he fetched a two-foot-square chest from the carriage. “Follow me,” he said. “Let us wait by the Golden Water Bridge while I present this to His Majesty. You will be summoned to plead your case before the emperor and confront Feng Que face-to-face.”
“Is Feng Que at the Fengtian Gate?” Su Yan asked.
“Yes,” Jia Gongji replied. “During court sessions, a senior Embroidered Uniform Guard officer is customarily stationed at the emperor’s side to relay orders. Today, it is Feng Que’s turn. Why? Do you fear confronting him?”
Su Yan’s expression remained composed. “Why should I fear? With irrefutable evidence in hand, each piece a fatal blow, I welcome his rebuttal. The more he speaks, the more mistakes he will make. Where is the flaw I can’t exploit?”
Jia Gongji nodded appreciatively. “Indeed. Su Xianma, with your eloquence and daring, you show great potential for the role of a censor. His Majesty assigned you to manage the imperial archives, which is beneath your abilities.”
Su Yan smiled faintly. “Your praise is too generous. I deeply admire the integrity of you and your fellow censors. The path to passing exams is open to all who study, but the role of an admonisher demands exceptional character, akin to the Four Subjects and Ten Philosophers of Confucian tradition—not something everyone can achieve.”
Buoyed by Su Yan’s artful flattery, Jia Gongji swelled with pride. “Though our rank is not high, we bear immense responsibility—scrutinizing officials, rectifying grievances, and overseeing local governance on behalf of the emperor. With our powers of impeachment, examination oversight, and judicial review, even regional assignments as inspectors, governors, or provincial overseers may fall to us. It is an unparalleled honor.”
Finally, he added, “If this case succeeds, I will recommend to His Majesty that you also take up the post of a seventh-ranked censor.”
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