Chapter 67

Proofreader : Mim

The day after Winter Solstice, the festive spirit still lingered over the capital city.

Traces of burned charcoal from the previous night’s celebrations dotted doorways, and mutton-stuffed flatbreads at bakeries sold out faster than anything else. Shops reopened one by one, and street vendors called out to passersby.

On the city’s main thoroughfare, a dense crowd gathered, their attention fixed on a single figure walking out of a narrow alleyway.

Yinhuan emerged, clad in stark white mourning clothes. Her appearance drew curious and startled gazes from those around her.

At the center of the main road stood a massive, centuries-old tree whose sprawling canopy seemed to touch the heavens. Beneath the ancient tree stood a giant crimson drum, its imposing presence radiating authority and solemnity.

Yinhuan approached the drum without hesitation. Picking up the mallet, she struck with all her might.

“Dong, dong, dong—”

The resonating sound of the Dengwen Drum, a mechanism for delivering petitions to the emperor, echoed through the streets. It was the first time since the founding of the Yan dynasty that this drum had been sounded.

In less than the time it takes to finish a cup of tea, a group of officers armed with punishment batons surrounded Yinhuan.

The magistrate of the capital, Jing Zhaoyin, squeezed his portly frame through the crowd, his face still shiny with grease from an interrupted meal. His irritation was evident.

“Who are you, and do you even know what you’re doing?” he barked.

Yinhuan knelt gracefully, bowing in submission, but when she lifted her head, her gaze was unflinchingly resolute as it met the magistrate’s.

“This commoner knows exactly what she’s doing. I wish to submit a grievance to the emperor,” she stated firmly, her tone unwavering.

Gasps rippled through the assembled crowd, their shock palpable.

“Nonsense!” the magistrate roared. “Do you think anyone can simply lodge a grievance with the emperor? If you have complaints, report them to the local magistrate at your place of registration. Do you even know what you’re asking for? Petitioning the emperor will cost you fifty lashes with the baton. Are you not afraid of losing your life?”

The magistrate’s tone carried both scorn and genuine concern.

His attempt to dissuade her wasn’t without reason.

The Yan dynasty’s legal system, inherited from its predecessor, was strict. Citizens were required to follow a hierarchy when appealing grievances—jumping levels not only punished the petitioner, but also implicated the officials responsible for failing to resolve the issue.

For someone under his jurisdiction to lodge a grievance directly with the emperor was effectively a declaration of his incompetence. No wonder he had hurried from his half-finished lunch as soon as he heard the news.

Yet no matter how he threatened or cajoled, Yinhuan remained unmoved.

Enraged, the magistrate shouted, “Then by the law, she shall receive fifty lashes with the baton!”

A long bench borrowed from a nearby tea stall was promptly turned into an impromptu punishment platform.

Yinhuan bit down on a cloth handkerchief, her body trembling but her determination unbroken as the lashes began. By the second strike, her sweat-soaked face was as pale as death, but her bloodshot eyes remained fixed and resolute.

The magistrate grew restless, waiting for her to cry out for mercy. Yet she endured in silence. Even as the thirtieth strike fell, Yinhuan’s lips did not utter a single word of surrender.

A subordinate returned to the magistrate’s side and whispered urgently, “I found out—she’s the maid of the merchant’s daughter Bai Xiuxiu, who’s accused of conspiring with a lover to murder the Ministry of Rites official’s heir. She’s locked up in the Ministry of Justice prison, awaiting execution.”

The magistrate’s eyes widened at the mention of the Minister of Rites, Zhu Qinghai.

The difference between a third-rank official like himself and a second-rank minister like Zhu Qinghai was like that between heaven and earth. In a city where noble families were as numerous as the stars, his position was thankless and precarious—he bowed to nearly everyone.

If he failed to deal with this maid properly, his own career might be forfeit.

He shot a meaningful glance at the two officers administering the punishment. Understanding his silent command, they put their full strength into the remaining twenty lashes.

If he couldn’t resolve the issue, the least he could do was eliminate the petitioner. After all, no petitioner, no problem.

However, even after the final blow, when her white mourning attire was soaked red, Yinhuan somehow remained alive, though barely.

“I advise you to give up. If you insist on continuing, you’ll have to walk the Thousand Needles Rug. Do you really think you can survive that?” The magistrate’s voice betrayed both exasperation and unease. “What’s the point of justice if you die trying to get it?”

Sweat had long since undone Yinhuan’s carefully tied hair, and her blood and tears blurred the features of her once-pristine face.

Clutched tightly in her hand was Bai Xiuxiu’s blood-stained earring, the sole artifact of her mistress’s suffering.

Though trembling and ghostly pale, Yinhuan’s eyes still burned with fierce determination.

“This commoner… will petition… the emperor…” she gasped.

The magistrate, furious yet powerless, shouted, “Lay out the Thousand Needles Rug!”

As the name implied, the Thousand Needles Rug was a mat studded with a thousand gleaming silver needles. To reach the emperor, one had to walk across this treacherous path after enduring the fifty lashes.

The rug was laid across the avenue leading to the imperial palace. Hundreds of onlookers crowded around, holding their breath as the scene unfolded.

Yinhuan struggled to her feet. The pain was excruciating, yet her gaze remained fixed on the golden splendor of the imperial palace in the distance.

So radiant. So majestic.

And so utterly unreachable.

She and her mistress had yearned for nothing more than an ordinary, peaceful life. But even such a simple wish had been stolen from them.

A collective gasp arose from the crowd as Yinhuan took her first step onto the Thousand Needles Rug.

Step by step, she moved forward, her trembling body leaving bloodstains with each faltering movement. She wavered and fell, only to push herself up again, her knees and palms riddled with needle wounds.

Her tears mingled with her sweat, indistinguishable as they fell to the ground. One agonizing step at a time, she advanced toward her destination.

From a short distance away, inside a concealed carriage, two individuals silently watched.

“So this is what true loyalty between servant and master looks like,” Xie Lanxu remarked, his tone carrying an air of detached curiosity.

There was a hint of condescension in his words that made Li Zhi uncomfortable.

“Ah-Li, you’re mistaken,” she said coldly.

Xie Lanxu turned to look at her.

Li Zhi’s unwavering gaze remained fixed on Yinhuan. Her face held an expression of stoic resilience, as though she and Yinhuan were enduring the same pain.

“This isn’t merely servant loyalty,” she said firmly.

“It’s the bond of sisters.”

Xie Lanxu appeared thoughtful, his gaze shifting back to the struggling figure on the needle-studded path.

“If one day I find myself in a desperate situation…”

Li Zhi waited for him to finish his hypothetical, but instead, he simply smiled faintly.

“Never mind.”

——

By the time Yinhuan reached the end of the Thousand Needles Rug, she collapsed to her knees. Yet her upper body remained defiantly upright.

Even the magistrate, hardened by years of bureaucratic battles, felt a pang of fear before this seemingly indomitable woman.

“Now… may this commoner… present her petition…?”

“Who… who are you accusing?” the magistrate stammered.

“This commoner accuses… Minister of Rites Zhu Qinghai… of murdering his legitimate son and framing his daughter-in-law… such depravity is an affront to both heaven and earth…”

Having survived the rod and the rug, nothing could now prevent Yinhuan from presenting her case to the emperor.

Not even the furious Minister Zhu Qinghai himself, who arrived moments later, could stop her.

The Judicial Censor rode straight to the imperial palace, clutching Yinhuan’s petition for a royal appeal. The process of enduring the fifty blows of the baton and the thousand-needle mat was a strict protocol, and no officials along the route were allowed to obstruct the passage of a petition to the emperor—this, too, was part of the rules.

The Judicial Censor rode through the city, arriving directly in front of the Ziwei Palace.

The Chief Eunuch Gao, stationed outside the palace, gestured for the Judicial Censor to wait briefly, explaining that the Emperor was meeting with the Peony Envoy. While waiting in the outer halls, the Judicial Censor faintly overheard the Emperor’s voice within, tinged with displeasure.

This young Judicial Censor, newly appointed to his position and responsible for handling appeal cases, had never met the Emperor before. Anxiety coursed through him as he nervously glanced at Gao Shan, who stood silently at the door.

Gao Shan, hands folded serenely in front, was as expressionless as a pale stone statue, staring blankly into the empty space of the moonlit terrace.

At last, the door opened, and the Peony Envoy emerged with a downcast expression.

When the Judicial Censor was led into the audience hall, the doors behind him closed slowly. The last thing he overheard was the Peony Envoy muttering to Gao Shan, “Another round of candidates, and yet still no one chosen…”

When the Judicial Censor knelt before the imperial desk, his heart thudded anxiously, fearing that the Emperor’s irritation from earlier would extend to him. Yet, surprisingly, the Emperor’s voice was calm as he commanded, “Rise.”

The Emperor’s tone, neither joyful nor angry, came from the front. “Speak. Who is petitioning this appeal?”

The Judicial Censor recounted the matter truthfully.

A faint chuckle echoed within the imperial study, soft as if it were an illusion.

Xie Shen closed the folder containing dozens of portraits of young women, each exquisitely painted and submitted by the Peony Envoy. On top of this collection now lay Yinhuan’s petition.

“Reopen the case of Bai Xiuxiu. Assign it to the Tri-Department Review for retrial. All suspects are to be transferred to the Imperial Prison. No delays or excuses will be tolerated.”

The Judicial Censor promptly bowed and acknowledged the imperial decree: “This humble servant obeys the decree.”

“Gao Shan—”

“This servant is here.” Chief Eunuch Gao materialized within the room like a shadow.

“I appoint you to oversee this case on My behalf. Exercise full authority, as if it were Me presiding.”

“This servant accepts the decree.”

 

The Imperial Prison

Once the case was transferred there, no one’s word carried weight except for the Emperor himself.

On that very day, the Imperial guards forcibly took Bai Xiuxiu and the tutor from the custody of the Court of Judicial Review (Dali Temple).

The key officials responsible for the retrial—the Minister of Justice, the Imperial Censor-in-Chief, and a Judge of the Court of Judicial Review, were all summoned to the Imperial Prison by none other than Chief Eunuch Gao himself. These officials were effectively isolated until the case was resolved, prohibited from returning home or contacting the outside world.

Meanwhile, the Zhu family, which was implicated in the case, was granted temporary residence in the palace. As for the deceased Zhu Jing, his body was exhumed for re-examination.

The dead could not lie, unlike the living.

Zhu Jing’s autopsy confirmed that he had died from suffocation caused by strangulation. The marks of fingers around his neck were clearly visible—details impossible to overlook. Yet the original report from the Ministry of Justice claimed the cause of death was a head injury from blunt force trauma.

The Imperial Prison grew increasingly crowded.

After the Minister of Justice moved into his solitary cell within the Imperial Prison, Xie Lanxu—appointed as a Junior Minister of the Ministry of Justice —was naturally given full access to participate in the retrial.

Chief Eunuch Gao’s interrogation methods were nothing short of brutal.

His first target was the tutor, whom he interrogated by ignoring every word the man uttered. Instead, Gao Shan seemed to “experiment” with every single torture device in the room, methodically and coldly applying each one.

When the tutor finally spoke, his voice was broken and raw.

“It… it was Zhu Qinghai! He ordered me to frame Bai Xiuxiu!”

Gao Shan’s expression remained impassive. Even his ghastly pale face betrayed no change.

With a mere glance, two Imperial Guards dragged the bloodied tutor away.

Next, Gao Shan gestured toward the neighboring cell, where Bai Xiuxiu had heard the entirety of the tutor’s agonizing screams.

Bai Xiuxiu, already beaten to the point of being unrecognizable, was dragged into the interrogation room. Her broken, bloodied form was more carcass than human. Yet as she faced the stench-filled prison room and the array of bloodstained torture devices, her broken spirit seemed to rekindle with a strange, desperate resolve.

With what little strength she had left, she glared at Gao Shan. Her mangled lips parted as she forced out three hoarse, defiant words.

“I… did… not… kill…”

—-

Elsewhere in the Imperial Prison, Xie Lanxu sat calmly across from the Zhu family’s second daughter-in-law.

The woman, known as Madam Liu, had never seen Xie Lanxu before and assumed, based on his young age, that he must be a low-ranking official of the Ministry of Justice.

“I warn you,” Madam Liu blustered, attempting to conceal her growing panic, “if you dare lay a hand on me, my father will make you regret it!”

“Madam, you misunderstand. I am here to take you home.” Xie Lanxu smiled faintly.

“Home?”

Half an hour later, Xie Lanxu and Madam Liu arrived at the Zhu family’s rear garden. He stopped in front of a simple stone pavilion, which held nothing remarkable aside from a black-and-white Go board with two lidded containers of Go pieces neatly set to one side.

“What are we doing here? I want to go home—to the Duke Liu Mansion!” Madam Liu demanded, her voice rising in panic as she took in her surroundings.

“Do not be alarmed, Madam. Would you care to play a game of Go with me first?”

At his signal, two Imperial Guards pressed Madam Liu into one of the stone chairs.

Seated across from her, Xie Lanxu leisurely picked up the black Go pieces.

“What are you playing at? I don’t play Go!” Madam Liu struggled fruitlessly against the guards.

“But you must have seen it played many times before.”

Xie Lanxu’s voice was soft, yet the weight of his words struck like a dagger.

Madam Liu’s eyes widened in shock, her bravado evaporating as realization dawned.

“And that would make sense,” Xie Lanxu continued, placing a white Go piece on the board with precision, “since you always stood at a distance, watching from the attic.”

Though Xie Lanxu did not point, Madam Liu knew exactly which attic he referred to.

“At such a distance, it’s easy to exchange glances,” Xie Lanxu sighed lightly, placing a black Go piece onto the board with deliberate precision, “but much harder to follow the details of the game.”

“What nonsense are you talking!” Madam Liu’s face went completely ashen, her voice trembling with anger.

Xie Lanxu paid her outburst no mind and continued playing Go against himself. The board soon reached a stalemate.

He gazed at the board, contemplating his next move but feeling stumped.

If only Li Zhi were here, he thought to himself.

“Every time the weather was nice, Zhu Qinghai would bring Zhu Jing here to read books and play Go,” Xie Lanxu said, his tone unhurried. “It seemed like a display of fatherly affection, but in reality, it was an opportunity to carry on an affair with his son’s wife.”

He smiled, his voice soft but cutting. “As for Zhu Jing’s death, I suspect—”

Xie Lanxu leaned back, his eyes locked onto Madam Liu.

“It happened because Zhu Jing accidentally walked in on one of your secret meetings, didn’t it?”

“You—you have the audacity to accuse me of such!” Madam Liu’s complexion alternated between pale and flushed as she shouted, visibly agitated. “I’ll have my father kill you!”

“Go ahead.”

Xie Lanxu’s faint smile didn’t falter as he rose from his seat.

“I’ll personally draft a letter requesting the Duke Liu to visit you here in the Imperial Prison. However, that will have to wait until after your crimes have been properly judged.”

“You…” Madam Liu trembled uncontrollably, her voice faltering. “Who… Who are you?”

Xie Lanxu’s warm demeanor remained unchanged, yet an invisible chill emanated from his presence, like the frigid depths of a mountain lake.

“You can save your words,” he said softly, his tone devoid of malice yet firm with finality. “Share them during the tri-department trial.”

Cultural Notes:

1. “Thousand-Needle Mat” and “Baton Punishment”: These torturous processes were designed to deter frivolous appeals and reinforce the weight of directly addressing the Emperor.
2. “Imperial Prison”: This was reserved for high-profile cases directly under the Emperor’s authority, emphasizing the seriousness and gravity of the case.