Chapter 78: Imperial Trial

Rong Fuyue had a dream.

It was the early spring of the ninth year of Tianyou, the eve before the Wenren family’s father and four sons led their troops north.

Pear blossoms drifted like snow in the breeze. Wenren Cang, dressed in rugged attire, leaned against a wall, a strand of hair falling over his nose. His youthful face, when not smiling, carried a cold, stern edge.

“Is the Rong household really breaking off the engagement? Is there something wrong with me, or… do you still find me displeasing?”

Rong Fuyue, in a flowing pale lotus-colored dress, swayed gently like an orchid in a secluded valley. A faint blush spread across her cheeks at his words.

Betrothed in their youth by their parents’ arrangement, he found her delicate, she found him coarse, and their early interactions were far from pleasant. But everything changed two years ago when Rong Fuyue was kidnapped by bandits, and Wenren Cang, alone with his spear, rode to her rescue, risking his life to save her.

“It’s my father’s decision. I haven’t agreed to it… and I won’t.”

Rong Fuyue lowered her head, presenting a small wooden box she had prepared. Her voice was soft, gentle, like the spring breeze brushing warmly against the face.

“May the Young Master return victorious.”

Wenren Cang straightened, accepting the box with both hands. Inside was a polished, gleaming heart-protecting mirror.

Born in the year of the tiger, the mirror’s back was engraved with a majestic tiger pattern.

Worn over the heart, it was both a talisman for his safety and a token of her feelings.

Wenren Cang’s stern expression softened, a trace of warmth in his eyes. He rubbed his nose, glancing at the flower shadows reflected on the mirror, and asked softly, “This mirror is of fine material. Did it take long to choose?”

Rong Fuyue tucked a strand of hair, scattered by the northern wind, behind her ear and smiled. “I heard the copper from Jianzhai in the west city is the best, but forging requires months of advance booking. I nearly missed the chance, but Young Lord Wei pulled some strings to have it crafted in time.”

At the mention of Wei Yan’s name, Wenren Cang’s faint smile faded.

“What’s he doing, lingering around you like a ghost?”

Rong Fuyue paused, instinctively replying, “He’s not lingering. We just happened to meet at Jianzhai.”

“Happened to meet? What’s a scholar like him doing at Jianzhai? You believe that was a coincidence?”

“Young Master, Young Lord Wei has never offended you. Why do you always hold such prejudice against him?”

“I don’t hold prejudice. I just plain dislike him.”

Wenren Cang’s face darkened at the thought of Wei Yan’s warm, welcoming smile, his tone growing sharp. “I speak plainly. I don’t like him, and I don’t care for his favors! Stay away from him in the future, and don’t act like a saint with a bleeding heart for everyone.”

Rong Fuyue froze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. After a long pause, her chest heaved as she said, “Wenren Cang, can’t you… speak kindly?”

Seeing her pale face, Wenren Cang fell silent.

“Just assume I’ve done something wrong…”

Rong Fuyue’s slender shoulders trembled as she lowered her head. “If I’ve upset you, why not return the gift?”

Wenren Cang’s fingers gripped the edge of the wooden box as soft pear blossoms fell inside.

With a snap, he closed the lid and handed the box, mirror and all, back to her.

Rong Fuyue hadn’t expected him to truly return the token. She stood frozen, unable to react.

Silently, Wenren Cang took her hand and placed the box in her palm.

Rong Fuyue’s eyes reddened, caught between shame and hurt.

Wenren Cang strode several paces away, then stopped by the high wall, pear blossoms falling endlessly around him.

Rong Fuyue knew that if she called out, he would turn back.

But pride held her back. Her lips parted several times, yet no sound came.

Wenren Cang walked away, and that was their final parting.

The scene shifted abruptly. In her dream, Rong Fuyue saw the Battle of Yanluo Pass, where enemy forces swept in like dark clouds. Wenren Cang led a small team to lure the enemy out of the city.

After days of defending the border city, the soldiers were exhausted, their horses spent. Wenren Cang’s team was blood-soaked, their war robes and cloaks tattered with holes from swords and blades.

Dust swirled under the sky as Wenren Cang and his few remaining guards successfully drew the enemy’s main force toward the mining heartland. They were moments from escape when a sharp whistle cut through the air.

Wenren Cang turned, his pupils reflecting the glint of an arrowhead. His vision tilted, horses screamed, and a lone eagle circling above let out a mournful cry.

A bloodstained, half-worn handkerchief drifted from the saddle, like a snowflake, swallowed by the churning yellow sand of galloping hooves.

Rong Fuyue awoke from the dream, clutching her aching chest, trembling like a flower wilting in the wind.

“Madam.”

A maid, hastily dressed, rushed to pour calming pills and offered water.

Rong Fuyue, breathless, pushed the empty cup aside and glanced out the window, asking weakly, “What time is it?”

“Madam, it’s the hour of zi (11 PM–1 AM).”

“Has the Marquis not returned?”

The maid hesitated.

Earlier, a guard had rushed back with news that the Marquis had been detained at Taiji Hall for unknown reasons, sending the household into a panic.

“Not yet… Perhaps His Majesty summoned him to discuss state affairs, delaying his return.”

The maid’s timid reply lacked conviction.

Rong Fuyue recalled the words the Crown Prince had spoken to her outside Qifeng Pavilion, from within her sedan.

“Aunt, will you trust me this once?”

“I have a plan to test Uncle, but there may be spies watching, so I need your cooperation…”

“After deceiving everyone, I will secretly escort you back to the residence. If Uncle returns home on time, all is well. But if he is detained in the palace, it will confirm our suspicions.”

At the hour of zi, with no sign of his return, Rong Fuyue had her answer. She hugged her arms and slowly closed her eyes.

Eighteen years of acquaintance, eight years of marriage, and yet… she did not know the man beside her.

The dream’s images flooded back, her heart pierced by a sharp, searing pain.

In the palace, moonlight cast a layer of frost on the rooftops.

The banquet at Yonglin Hall had ended, but Taiji Hall’s warm chamber blazed with light, the atmosphere heavy.

When the Dengwen Drum sounded, Zhao Yan knew Wenren Lin had made his move.

To avoid suspicion, she deliberately arrived at Taiji Hall ahead of Wenren Lin.

The officials of the Three Judicial Offices were nearly all present. Wei Yan entered with the imperial guards, gracefully kneeling to beg the Emperor’s forgiveness.

With nobles and officials present at the banquet, the commotion forced the Emperor to hold an imperial trial.

He sat less formally than usual, one elbow propped on his knee, the other hand on his hip, leaning slightly forward. His robe trailed on the floor as he spoke evenly, “Where is Duke Su?”

As the words fell, Wenren Lin entered unhurriedly from outside, his tall shadow stretching across the floor tiles.

He passed Wei Yan, bowing slightly. “Your servant is late. May Your Majesty forgive me.”

The Emperor waved a hand. “All are here. Bring in the one who struck the drum.”

Liu Baiwei escorted the witness into the hall, exchanging a brief, knowing glance with Zhao Yan.

At the sight of the witness, Zhao Yan froze slightly.

The figure wore drab monk’s robes, a scar slashing across his eyes, limping forward—the same lame old monk who had hosted Wenren Lin at a remote temple during the Mid-Autumn Festival.

The monk struggled to bend his crippled leg, saluting the Emperor with a military fist. “This humble one, Yu Sui, pays respects to Your Majesty!”

The Emperor clenched his jaw. “You are Yu Sui, the deputy general under Wenren Cang?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“You struck the Dengwen Drum to accuse Marquis Ningyang, Wei Yan?”

“Yes.”

“Marquis Ningyang.”

The Emperor gestured to the scarred, limping monk. “Do you know this man?”

Wei Yan glanced at Yu Sui, replying warmly, “Your servant’s eyes fail him. I do not recognize this esteemed monk.”

“Marquis Ningyang may not know me, but I cannot forget the deeds he committed in the shadows.”

Yu Sui bowed deeply, his voice hoarse. “In the tenth year of Tianyou, at Yanluo Pass, Marquis Ningyang secretly bribed a traitor among General Cang’s men. During the general’s mission to lure the enemy, he was ambushed with a cold arrow, dying unjustly… I beg Your Majesty to investigate!”

Zhao Yan hadn’t expected her counterstrike tonight to unearth such a massive hidden case. The hall erupted in gasps.

“What?!”

“Wasn’t General Wenren Cang trampled by enemy horses? How could this involve Marquis Ningyang?”

The Minister of the Court of Judicial Review and the Minister of Justice stared, dumbfounded, turning to the Emperor.

The Emperor took a deep breath, addressing Yu Sui. “Explain in detail.”

“In the tenth year of Tianyou, on the night of September 17, the enemy pressed in, our arrows spent, provisions gone. To buy time for the city’s remnants to resist, General Cang led a small team to lure the enemy. After fierce fighting, with heavy losses, he successfully drew the enemy’s main force to the northwest mining heartland. One more mile, and tens of thousands of enemies would have been buried in a mine collapse, turning the tide…”

Yu Sui’s voice choked, growing hoarse. “But just as victory was within reach, that traitor shot a cold arrow from behind! General Cang, caught off guard, was pierced through the heart and fell beneath the horses’ hooves!”

The enemy, laughing cruelly, rode over him, leaving not even a complete body in the rolling yellow sand.

The irony was that the traitor, a coward fearing death, had once been saved by General Cang’s lone charge. Who could have imagined he’d rescued a venomous snake?

Each word dripped with blood and grief.

Zhao Yan’s fingers tightened, her gaze shifting to Wenren Lin.

Wenren Lin stood quietly, his expression unreadable.

“My eldest brother, Wenren Cang, was a valiant warrior. At sixteen, clad in battle armor, he stormed the enemy camp and made his name in a single fight.”

Zhao Yan recalled Wenren Lin’s seemingly casual words under the August sun, her heart aching dully.

A rare young general, killed by his own people’s conspiracy, an arrow through his heart.

Zhao Yan suddenly thought of the heart-protecting mirror her aunt kept in a box, never delivered.

If Wenren Cang had accepted it, worn it close… would he have survived?

The answer was bleak.

“Deputy General Yu, do you have evidence for these claims?” the Minister of Justice asked.

“The traitor, knowing the plot’s success or failure meant his death, secretly kept a letter from Marquis Ningyang, intending to use it for blackmail to save himself. I escaped death, slew the traitor, and took this letter.”

Yu Sui’s bloodshot eyes burned as he produced a bloodstained letter, his rough hands trembling as he presented it. “I lost my face, my leg, and hid for years, all to bring this letter forth today and reveal the truth to the world!”

In his agitation, Yu Sui coughed violently, nearly spitting blood.

His tragic words moved all who heard them.

The Emperor took the letter, unfolding it against the light.

Worn from years of travel, the letter was tattered, yet Wei Yan’s handwriting was unmistakable.

His calligraphy was masterful, nearly impossible to forge, and the letter bore the private seal of the Ningyang Marquisate.

The traitor, a compulsive gambler drowning in debt, was coerced by Wei Yan, who held his wife and children hostage and promised unattainable wealth and rank. The traitor had no reason to refuse.

The evidence was irrefutable.

The Emperor looked up from the letter, fixing his gaze on the serene Wei Yan.

“Marquis Ningyang, what do you have to say?”

Wei Yan paused, then said calmly, “If they wish to pin crimes on me, I have no defense. Only one thing.”

“Speak.”

Wei Yan glanced at Wenren Lin, smiling faintly. “If Deputy General Yu’s evidence is true, why didn’t he present it seven years ago? Why wait until now?”

The Emperor’s jaw twitched, exhaling heavily through his nose.

The tense atmosphere froze for a moment.

Her uncle, adept at reading hearts, had planted a seed of doubt in the Emperor’s mind with that question. Once suspicion took root, he might escape punishment.

Zhao Yan pursed her lips, stepping forward to retort, but Liu Baiwei subtly raised a hand, signaling her to hold back.

“Marquis Ningyang, Deputy General Yu isn’t foolish. If he’d surfaced during the storm, the letter would’ve been intercepted before reaching the capital. Since Marquis Ningyang doubts the evidence from seven years ago, let’s hear something more recent.”

Liu Baiwei stepped forward, bowing to the Emperor. “Your servant requests permission to summon a witness in the case of Duke Yong’s assassination attempt on the Crown Prince.”

The Emperor, silent for a long moment, finally said, “Granted.”

The second witness was a young maid in green.

As she entered, she collapsed to her knees, trembling, and pressed her forehead to the floor, too afraid to face the Emperor.

“What is your purpose?” the Emperor asked.

“This… this servant accuses Marquis Ningyang of… instigating Duke Yong’s alchemist to incite Duke Yong to… assassinate the Crown Prince.”

Her stammering drew a frown from the Emperor.

“What connection does the alchemist have to Marquis Ningyang?”

“The alchemist was… secretly recommended by Marquis Ningyang, planted as a spy in Duke Yong’s household.”

The maid, nearly prostrate, spoke humbly. “Duke Yong locked me in the woodshed, using my brother as leverage to force me to attempt the assassination at the birthday banquet… In the woodshed, I overheard the alchemist and Marquis Ningyang’s aide discussing how, if Duke Yong was persuaded to act, everything would end. I heard it clearly and swear not a word is false.”

Had someone not rescued her, she would have been silenced after Duke Yong’s failure.

The Emperor stood, addressing Wei Yan. “Marquis Ningyang, what do you have to say?”

Wei Yan met the Emperor’s gaze, still calm and mild.

Their eyes locked, and he repeated, “Your servant has no words. I ask only for Your Majesty’s discernment.”

The Emperor nodded, saying “Good” twice.

Pointing at Wei Yan, he ordered the guards,Jonah “Strip Wei Yan of his title and escort him to the celestial prison to await trial.”

Zhao Yan’s heart sank slightly: Another trial? Was the Emperor being cautious, or was he still uncertain?

Before she could ponder further, the Emperor waved a hand, weary. “All of you, leave. I am tired.”

Zhao Yan joined the ministers in bowing and exited the hall.

“Duke Su.”

The Emperor called Wenren Lin back, his voice hoarse. “Tonight’s matters are grave. Do you have anything to say?”

What Wenren Lin replied, Zhao Yan did not hear.

It was the hour of yin (3–5 AM), nearing dawn. Even the wind lay still, the entire imperial city silent as a vast tomb.

Liu Baiwei approached from behind, rubbing eyes bleary from a sleepless night. “The witnesses are with the Ministry of Justice, guarded by Duke Su’s men. They’ll be safe. Will Your Highness return to the Eastern Palace?”

Zhao Yan shook her head. “You go ahead. I’m waiting for someone.”

Liu Baiwei opened his mouth but said nothing, leaving with reluctant glances back.

A cloak for warmth arrived from Kunning Palace. Liu Ying draped it over Zhao Yan, securing the ties.

Zhao Yan walked to the Taiji Gate, found a clean stone step, and sat, tucking the cloak beneath her.

She kept thinking of her uncle’s words: “Why didn’t he present it seven years ago? Why wait until now?”

And despite overwhelming evidence, he remained silent.

What was the deeper meaning behind his words?

If her uncle targeted Wenren Cang because of her aunt, then why poison Zhao Yan?

Lost in thought, hand propping her chin, she didn’t notice someone approach from behind. A figure leaned down, lips near hers, and whispered:

“Bang!”

Caught off guard, Zhao Yan jumped, yelping as the low “bang” startled her.

Looking up, Wenren Lin’s pale, handsome face was inches away, a faint, triumphant smile on his lips.

He stood alone in the dark night, without kin or friend.

Zhao Yan met his dark, confident eyes, and for reasons she couldn’t name, her nose stung with a faint ache.

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