Chapter 23#
As he stepped out from the dappled shadows of the locust tree, Gong Zhiyuan’s face emerged in the moonlight.#
Only after the small red-lacquered sedan chair disappeared into the alley did he speak: “Did you see the expression on Academician Wen’s face just now?”
“He looked startled.” A slender figure wrapped in a pink cloak emerged from beneath the tree, pulling back its hood to reveal a face full of anxiety and unease.
“A place like the Dali Temple prison—how could it frighten him?” Gong Zhiyuan was baffled, unable to make sense of it.
Gong Yuwen said, “Father, let’s go see Master Xie first.”
Gong Zhiyuan withdrew his gaze and strode toward the vermilion gate, over ten feet high.
Logically, non-presiding or non-assisting officials had no right to visit at this time. But as Chief Grand Secretary, he had an intricate web of connections across the court—such a small matter was a mere lift of the hand.
Before entering, he left a remark: “It’s filthy inside. Wait here.”
Gong Yuwen seemed about to speak but stopped herself, and ultimately did not argue.
The prison corridor was deep and cold. Gong Zhiyuan was led to Xie Langyang’s cell, where he found Xie already in a state of panic and dejection.
His clothes were thin, his lips tinged blue from cold, and his clean garments now smeared with a few stains.
“Hengze,” Gong Zhiyuan called.
Xie Langyang looked up in disbelief at the voice, but then found it unsurprising.
“Master,” he hurriedly stood up, gripping the railings, and bowed.
Gong Zhiyuan nodded. Xie Langyang had always been proper and measured. In his years of marriage to Yuwen, he had remained disciplined and courteous. Gong’s judgment had been correct.
“Time is short, so I’ll be direct. Do you have any leads on today’s events?”
Before coming, he had consulted repeatedly with members of the Crown Prince’s faction. Some said Xie Langyang had deliberately lured the Eight Veins into a trap, but he immediately dismissed that.
Xie Langyang was a direct descendant of the Xie clan—a vested interest. Why would he make enemies of the great families?
Moreover, if he truly wanted to harm the Eight Veins, why would he drag himself into it, bearing the crime of framing a prince?
After much thought, Gong Zhiyuan decided the problem likely lay with the Emperor.
Though he could not fathom the imperial will as keenly as Eunuch Liu Quan, his years of experience in officialdom had given him a decent grasp of the Emperor’s character.
The Fifth Prince should have been the prime suspect—but how had he won such trust?
Xie Langyang hung his head, his voice tinged with bitterness: “Perhaps it was Academician Wen’s handiwork.”
Gong Zhiyuan frowned. “Wen Zhuo? Impossible. These days he’s been busy at Huiyang Gate as a living advertisement, enchanting painters like mad. He has never met His Majesty in private. Besides, he’s a solitary minister—what would he gain from this?”
Xie Langyang slowly raised his eyes to look at Gong Zhiyuan’s stern, high-cheekboned face.
In his heart, he thought: In the previous life, if you had shown Wen Zhuo even a shred of mercy during the trial, preserving his last shred of dignity, perhaps he would have been more lenient toward you. But you are precisely the kind who will not stop until the enemy is utterly destroyed.
“I cannot explain the specific reasons,” Xie Langyang said, avoiding Gong’s gaze. “But when Academician Wen interrogated me just now, he indeed implied as much.”
“Wen Zhuo… Wen Zhuo…” Gong Zhiyuan repeated the name, more confused than ever.
Was Wen Zhuo trying to harm them, or to help the Fifth Prince?
Or had the Emperor long harbored intentions to move against the great families, and so gave Wen Zhuo a hint?
“I will investigate as quickly as possible what really happened in the palace today,” Gong Zhiyuan said, steadying himself. “Right now, the most important thing is how you face the court trial in three days.”
He intended to protect Xie Langyang. First, Xie was his secret pawn in the Ministry of Personnel. Second, Xie had married his daughter.
If Xie Langyang fell, the crime of framing a prince would warrant execution of the entire clan—and the Gong family would be implicated as well.
Xie Langyang also knew that tomorrow was his trial. But he was too agitated to calmly devise a strategy.
Gong Zhiyuan spoke again: “I will tell Xie Pingzheng to confess the crime himself.”
Xie Langyang’s eyes shot wide, his pupils contracting in shock, as if Gong’s words had seized his heart, choking him.
Gong Zhiyuan said, almost coldly: “Xie Pingzheng is on the Nanping envoy list. He’s doomed either way. Let him take on another charge to save you—it’s only right. Besides, you had no part in the Xie clan’s affairs, making it easier for you to escape.”
Gong’s greatest regret was that, in the panic, he had been one step behind—he had failed to negotiate terms with Wukan at Huiyang Gate.
Now it was too late. The Emperor had trapped them in the Wuying Hall, ordered Liu Quan to rush the man back to the palace for an urgent interrogation at Qingliang Hall. Wukan had confessed without much struggle. Gong feared he could not save a single person on the list.
What baffled him more was this: Nanping had already won. Why didn’t Wukan take his flawless victory back to Nanping? Why offer everything up, creating a lose-lose outcome?
Seeing Xie Langyang still frozen, as if his soul had fled, Gong Zhiyuan added: “Don’t worry about this. I will talk to Xie Pingzheng. It’s for the greater good.”
Xie Langyang suddenly realized that Wen Zhuo had foreseen this outcome. That was not a reminder to prepare for trial—it was another push into a dilemma, step by step severing his path to becoming an upright minister.
Xie Langyang collapsed onto the straw mat, his entire body cold.
At that moment, he sadly discovered that he could not bring himself to utter a single word of refusal. In the face of life and death, he too was a coward. His humanity and conscience were equally fragile.
Gong Zhiyuan saw this and felt a twinge of dissatisfaction. This student was good in every way, except sometimes too righteous to the point of stubbornness.
Integrity was fine—it made him trust his daughter’s marriage—but in the cutthroat world of court politics, it was a liability.
A life-or-death game of winners and kings left no room for so much conscience.
“Furthermore, I have contacted various court officials and officials from the great families. Tomorrow they will jointly beg His Majesty for leniency. This matter doesn’t involve state secrets—just a few go manuals. If it leaks, it will damage the court’s reputation. Perhaps His Majesty will want to downplay it and impose only minor punishment.”
Xie Langyang murmured: “Master intends to pressure His Majesty?”
Gong Zhiyuan: “The Eight Veins are deeply rooted. If the Emperor wants to move against them, he must consider whether it will stir up turmoil at court and destabilize morale. Besides, I have already asked the Crown Prince to write a letter and invite the Grand Tutor from Taiqing Villa to intervene.”
“Grand Tutor Liu Changbai?!”
Liu Changbai had once been Emperor Shunyuan’s teacher and later tutored the Crown Prince. A few years ago, due to poor health, he had requested to retire to Taiqing Villa and stopped meddling in court affairs.
Outsiders saw Liu Changbai as a man of high principles—detached from fame and wealth, humble and open-minded.
But alas, who in this mortal world could be entirely selfless?
In the previous life, when Emperor Shunyuan planned to depose the Crown Prince, Liu Changbai intervened, vociferously opposing the deposition, even dashing his own head against the pillar in Wuying Hall.
His death nearly caused Wen Zhuo’s plans to fall apart. Though everything turned out all right in the end, it had nearly given the Crown Prince a chance to turn the tables.
Xie Langyang’s eyes brightened slightly, a flicker of hope mixed with anxiety: “If the Grand Tutor steps in, His Majesty will naturally show him face. Then my uncle and the rest of the Xie family…”
Gong Zhiyuan’s voice turned somber: “Your uncle is the mastermind of the Xie clan’s conspiracy, and he also framed a prince. I can only try to prevent the rest of the Xie family from being implicated.”
Xie Langyang’s eyes dimmed.
Now the Spring Terrace Go Tournament case had turned into an uproar. The timing for Liu Changbai’s involvement had come even earlier than before. Who knew how things would unfold next?
Gong Zhiyuan spent even less time with Xie Pingzheng—just a few words. Xie Pingzheng seemed to have anticipated his fate; his face showed no surprise. He merely said, with world-weariness: “If I don’t confess, who will? Winners are kings, losers are bandits. I’ll accept the wager.”
From day one, he had known: victory would bring merit and boundless riches, glorifying the family; defeat would bring total loss, a severed head, and dust.
As Gong Zhiyuan emerged from the Dali Temple prison, mist had gathered around the moon, hazy and indistinct, like the fog shrouding every heart.
“Father, how is Master Xie?” Gong Yuwen asked urgently.
Gong Zhiyuan clasped his hands behind his back, tone flat: “Everything is arranged. In the future, you and he must work harder for our Gong family. Now that you’ve joined the Crown Prince’s camp, keep your distance from that useless woman—you don’t want to arouse suspicion.”
Gong Yuwen bowed slightly: “Yuwen will not be as blind to the times as my sister. I will do my utmost for the Gong family, for eldest brother, and for younger brother.”
Gong Zhiyuan walked toward the sedan chair at the alley’s entrance, leaving behind a remark: “I should have betrothed you to the Crown Prince instead.”
A leaf drifted down from the old locust tree, landing in the filthy black mud. Gong Yuwen slowly raised her eyes, a cold, murky current flowing within them, dark as the mire.
The next day, the Dali Temple held its trial.
Xue Chongnian sat in the chief seat. Wen Zhuo sat to his left—the left being the seat of honor, indicating his status in this trial was even higher than Xue’s.
Over eighty people could not fit all at once, so they were tried in batches.
Just yesterday, they had been colleagues of equal standing at court; today, they were defendants before the judge. Many officials still could not wrap their heads around it, acting insolently in court and stalling in every way.
Xue Chongnian, mindful of past friendships, tried to be civil, urging them to confess early to avoid suffering and to spare the Emperor’s anger.
He had heard the rumors yesterday: the Eight Veins, the Crown Prince, and the Wise Prince were all working behind the scenes, likely trying to save these people.
Xue Chongnian had to weigh his options.
What if Emperor Shunyuan could not withstand the pressure and relented, imposing only minor punishments? How could Xue continue to work with these colleagues in the future?
Besides, by law, trials fell under the Ministry of Justice; the Dali Temple was only responsible for review and correction. But because this case involved high-ranking officials and there was solid evidence, it had been handed to the Dali Temple .
Xue Chongnian had never been fond of using torture, so he patiently dragged out the trial.
Wen Zhuo sat to the side, watching for half a day before losing patience.
He gently fluttered his folding fan and said casually: “Grand Secretary Xue, at this pace, I’m afraid we won’t finish even in thirty days.”
Xue Chongnian caught his meaning and hurriedly cupped his hands with a smile: “I cannot bear to be too harsh on my former colleagues. I was hoping they might remember His Majesty’s grace and redeem themselves. But these stubborn souls seem incorrigible. What suggestions does Academician Wen have?”
Wen Zhuo rubbed the papers on the desk with his fingers, say: “Since they are incorrigible, what’s the use of keeping your Dali Temple ’s instruments? I think those finger-crushers look quite promising. A scholar cherishes his hands, doesn’t he? If the bones break, he can neither write nor play go.”
“That… seems rather improper, doesn’t it?”
“What are you afraid of, Grand Secretary Xue?” Wen Zhuo tapped the table lightly with the tip of his fan. “I’m the one suggesting it, and I’m the Emperor’s envoy. Even if they resent anyone, they’ll resent me first.”
“Not at all, not at all. We all serve His Majesty, purging the court of traitors.” Xue Chongnian wiped the sweat from his brow. He feared Wen Zhuo might suddenly add, “Even resentment will first be toward His Majesty,” but Wen Zhuo dared to say it, and Xue dared not hear it.
With Wen Zhuo urging him on, Xue Chongnian dared not show leniency any longer. He slammed the gavel and barked: “Drag these obstinate fools away! Apply the torture and then bring them back to speak!”
The Dali Temple erupted into howls and screams. These high-born, proud aristocrats, when weeping and wailing, were no more elegant than common folk.
After a round of punishment, the trial sped up significantly.
The scribe wrote furiously, recording confessions one by one.
A few did have strong spines, refusing to yield even after torture. They cursed Xue Chongnian: “Xue Chongnian, this is torture to extract confessions! Once I get out, I will impeach you!”
Xue’s face darkened: “Not enough beating. Drag him out and beat him harder!”
Once he hardened his heart, the trial became a lightning storm.
Some were merely informed, not directly involved—at most guilty of failing to report. Their confessions were just a sentence or two.
Those on the list fared worse. Unable to bear the torture, they confessed to a host of offenses, even detailing past corruption and how many political enemies they had crushed.
The trial lasted late into the night.
Wen Zhuo drank strong tea to stay awake; bloodshot veins appeared in his eyes. Xue Chongnian yawned incessantly, drowsy, but dared not slack off to meet the deadline.
“Speak! Who ordered you to frame the Fifth Prince?” This same question, asked repeatedly, had gone numb for Xue.
Every person said they didn’t know—they had just followed the crowd to clear themselves. Even after the instruments were applied, ‘don’t know’ remained ‘don’t know.’
Some falsely implicated their political enemies in obvious lies.
Xue didn’t want to beat everyone into mutually incriminating each other, which would be a farce. So when he couldn’t get a real answer, he let it go for now.
“…I don’t know.” Xie Langyang hung his head, his voice hoarse.
“‘Don’t know’ again.” Xue was so tired he saw double. He waved habitually: “Drag him off, put on the finger-crushers, and see if he still—”
“It was me!” A sudden roar startled Xue so much he nearly fell off his chair.
He jolted awake, looked closely, and saw it was Xie Pingzheng.
“Grand Master of Communications? You?”
Xie Pingzheng squeezed out a cold smile. His gray-streaked hair stuck to his face, making his one night of suffering look even more pathetic.
He closed his eyes: “Yes, it was me. I saw the Nanping player win and knew His Majesty would be furious. Great Qian’s face was lost; someone had to pay. I was afraid and panicked, so I came up with this scheme to frame the Fifth Prince, who had just returned from Nanping. I didn’t expect His Majesty’s sharp eyes to see through my plan. I deserve my punishment.”
Xue Chongnian perked up. Finally, progress. He stood up and thundered: “Xie Pingzheng, do you know the crime of framing a prince!”
Xie Pingzheng stumbled backward, legs shaking. Though terrified to the core, he still gritted his teeth: “I… I know. But I had no choice!”
“‘No choice’ cannot cover your sins! You clearly harbor treacherous intentions—deserving of death!”
Xie Langyang’s body trembled. His eyes were fixed on the ground, not daring to look up, not wanting to hear.
Wen Zhuo held his teacup and glanced sidelong at him.
So Xie Langyang had not been entirely unprepared for this result after all.
Wen Zhuo set down his cup and spoke slowly: “No choice. People always find excuses for themselves. Others’ faults are heinous crimes; when it comes to themselves, it becomes ‘no choice’ and ‘I have my difficulties.’ Don’t you agree, Vice Minister Xie?”
Xie Langyang shuddered at these words, as if his heart and soul were shattered. He fell to his knees in agony, sobbing: “Wanshan…”
He was not facing Xue Chongnian but looking toward Wen Zhuo, as if begging him to stop, or as if repenting for countless times when he himself had had ‘no choice.’
Wen Zhuo found his demeanor repulsive. If you decide to betray, then do it cleanly—stand up and declare war, go all the way. Don’t act indecisive. If you betray, betray with a righteous air, expecting others to forgive you. How hypocritical and pretentious.
“Since Grand Master of Communications Xie has voluntarily confessed and accepted his crime, Vice Minister Xie, you will be spared torture,” Wen Zhuo said with biting sarcasm. “Why don’t you thank your uncle for his profound righteousness?”
Xie Langyang banged his forehead heavily against the brick floor, thud after thud. Tears mingled with blood from his forehead, turning into voiceless sobs.
He did not want to bear the burden of his uncle’s family’s lives. Why would Wen Zhuo refuse him even a shred of mercy?
“Academician Wen, shall we proceed to the next—” Xue Chongnian’s words were cut short by a sudden rush of footsteps from outside the Dali Temple , drumming louder and louder, breaking the day’s monotony.
Eunuch Ge Wei from the Directorate of Ceremonial rushed in, panting, and squeaked: “His Majesty’s decree: Suspend the trial for now! His Majesty will issue further orders after deliberation!”
Xue Chongnian’s expression changed instantly; sweat broke out again on his forehead. “Eunuch, how can this be?”
He had feared the Emperor might change his mind, and now it had happened.
The Eight Veins officials in attendance, however, showed ecstatic faces. They sensed their turning point had come.
Xie Langyang’s sobbing gradually ceased. He raised his tear-streaked face, a glimmer of weak hope flickering in his eyes.
Even Xie Pingzheng’s ashen cheeks regained a little color.
They were like drowning men, desperately clutching the Emperor’s lifeline, even looking at Ge Wei with devotion.
Wen Zhuo looked calmly at Ge Wei.
Ge Wei had taken on this errand specifically to send word to Wen Zhuo. Having delivered the imperial decree, he hurried to Wen Zhuo’s side and lowered his voice: “Academician Wen, at this moment, Grand Tutor Liu Changbai is kneeling outside the Hall of Mental Cultivation with court officials, saying this matter is merely a dispute among Eight Veins go players, that some were possessed by the game, but it does not rise to treason. He begs His Majesty to be lenient, to avoid excessive bloodshed, lest it cause court turmoil and unrest.”
Xue Chongnian reacted first: “What do they mean, a dispute among Eight Veins go players? It’s clearly…”
Clearly, a struggle over the succession.
But those four words, Xue dared not speak aloud.
“Academician Wen, what do you think? We’ve already gotten this far in the trial. Why don’t you and I go to the palace now to see His Majesty and clarify the situation?”
No sooner had he said this than the Eight Veins officials erupted. One pointed at Xue and cursed: “Xue Chongnian, you’re scared! This was always a go dispute, and you used torture to force confessions of treason! I will not let this go!”
“Once I’m reinstated, I will impeach you!”
“And you too, Academician Wen,” another glared at Wen Zhuo. “You behave without restraint, dissolute in conduct, full of flaws yourself. What right do you have to interrogate us?”
“Hengze, stand up! Don’t kneel for them!”
The situation reversed instantly. The courtroom was in uproar. The murderous atmosphere of moments ago vanished, replaced by the arrogance and authority these officials once wielded, as if they were not prisoners awaiting trial but commissioners here to deliver justice.
Wen Zhuo ignored them. He asked in a low voice: “How long has the Grand Tutor been kneeling?”
Ge Wei: “Two hours already.”
Wen Zhuo: “How long until dawn?”
Ge Wei paused, then answered: “About an hour.”
Wen Zhuo leaned back in his chair, eyelids heavy, languidly closing them, and said absentmindedly: “Then let’s wait until dawn.”
“Academician Wen?” Xue Chongnian was stunned. “This is urgent! If His Majesty is swayed by the Grand Tutor and drops the case, won’t all our efforts be wasted?”
Wen Zhuo asked with eyes closed: “Grand Secretary Xue, on what grounds did the Grand Tutor pressure His Majesty?”
Xue Chongnian licked his dry lips: “He said handling more than eighty top officials would inevitably cause court upheaval…”
Wen Zhuo cupped his cheek, lashes lowered, as if about to succumb to sleep, yet carrying an all-knowing composure: “And what is even more frightening than court upheaval?”
Xue Chongnian stood frozen, unable to answer.
What could be more terrifying than court upheaval?
The darkest hour had passed. The east grew pale, thin clouds scraped off their gray, rushing to join the sun as it rose from the sea.
Outside the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Liu Changbai knelt on the cold brick. His long beard trembled in the morning breeze, like an old tree clinging to a cliff, cleaving the light and shadow of the majestic palace.
Emperor Shunyuan had not rested well all night. He coughed until his vision blurred. After such a stalemate, his eyes were full of exhaustion and irritation: “I have already suspended the trial! What more do they want? Are they trying to demonstrate power and pressure me?! Liu Quan, tell the Grand Tutor to leave!”
Liu Quan bowed and withdrew to relay the message.
Soon, Liu Changbai’s aged but vigorous voice rang out: “Your Majesty, I cannot leave! If today, in Your Majesty’s wrath, you allow torture and purge more than eighty officials, I, as your imperial tutor, would be ashamed before the late Emperor’s trust and would fail the Great Qian’s interests!”
Emperor Shunyuan shook with rage. He pushed away Liu Quan, leaned on his dragon staff, and shouted through the palace door: “Liu Changbai, are you trying to force me?!”
Liu Changbai remained unmoved, his face carrying the resolve of someone who had chosen death: “This entire matter arose from Nanping’s insidious scheming to sow discord. Great Qian must not fall into internal strife, Your Majesty! A mere game of go—how can it justify killing talented ministers and scholars? That would precisely play into Nanping’s plan! How can we stabilize the realm and reassure the people? Though I be ground to dust and dash my head against the steps, I will not stand by and watch the court’s morale collapse and the dynasty be unsettled!”
Emperor Shunyuan’s arms shook violently; his face was as dark as water.
The sovereign and his subject faced each other across the palace gate, neither willing to yield.
The morning sun finally tore through the horizon and leaped above the sea. Its sharp rays pierced every corner of the Forbidden City, stretching the prostrate figures into strange, twisted shadows.
Liu Changbai’s legs had gone numb, but he still held his head high. Kneeling half-bent near him were Gong Zhiyuan, Bu Zhangyi, and other cabinet ministers, pretending to counsel with false concern.
Emperor Shunyuan looked at this scene, sighed deeply, and helplessly closed his eyes.
As an emperor, he had lived an ordinary life. Several times he had wanted to reform, but each time the interests of too many people blocked the way.
Thus he dragged on, ignored problems, retreated, stalled—until his reign reached its end.
How would history judge him?
Over twenty years on the throne: lost battles, sent hostages, feared capable generals, indulged the great families, accomplished nothing.
Suddenly!
The patrol censor rushed in, hat and shoes askew, and fell to his knees, drenched in sweat.
“Your Majesty! Someone has leaked the news of the Eight Veins officials colluding with Nanping! Now all the go players in the capital know! Led by the four great go academies, they are gathering and marching toward the palace walls, kneeling to beg Your Majesty to execute the traitors who conspired with the enemy—to vindicate the go players of Great Qian! Your Majesty, popular fury is boiling over; it will be uncontrollable by noon!”
Gong Zhiyuan heard this word and felt as if struck by lightning. His heart sank into the sea. He whipped his head around to Bu Zhangyi: “How could this happen? How did the common people find out?”
Bu Zhangyi’s eyes were also bloodshot: “Why are you looking at me? Do you think I would tell?”
Inside the hall, Emperor Shunyuan heard clearly. He opened his eyes wide, terrified: “How many commoners are there now?”
Censor: “A rough estimate says over ten thousand, still increasing. Your Majesty, please decide quickly!”
Emperor Shunyuan pushed open the door and pointed angrily at Liu Changbai: “Tell me, Grand Tutor! You worry about court upheaval—what about the upheaval of the people now? You say the court’s morale is unstable—what about the people’s morale? Should I obey you and your ministers, or should I obey all the people under heaven?!”
Liu Changbai swayed, his face contorting. He collapsed to the ground with a thud, instantly aged ten years.
He knew all his efforts today were futile. If the matter stayed within the court, there was still room for negotiation. But once it stirred popular fury, the first thing any emperor had to do was to quell the people’s anger.
And to quell it, he would often have to overcorrect.
The new sun shone, warm light boiling over, casting a brilliant glow on the glazed tiles.
Those in the Dali Temple had not slept all night. At last, a new decree arrived:
“Edict: Wen Zhuo and Xue Chongnian shall rigorously try the Spring Terrace Go Tournament case. Offenders shall be punished three degrees beyond the standard penalty, as a warning to others. The wrongly accused must be exonerated and not suffer injustice. All officials shall take this case as a warning. After the trial is concluded, it shall be made known to the public to quell the people’s ire and to display the court’s fairness and integrity.”
Wen Zhuo knelt to receive the decree, then slowly stood up. He turned to the still-dazed presiding judge and asked with a smile: “Grand Secretary Xue, what is more terrifying than court upheaval?”