Chapter 39: Calming the Waves (Part 2)
Judge Tan, assuming Wu Ji Kang had suffered a seizure, and with the sudden snowfall disrupting the proceedings, postponed the trial.
But the news of thirty-six scholars and Ni Su enduring torture at the Dengwen Drum Court to seek justice for Ni Qinglan spread throughout Yun Jing.
Many had witnessed the snow, and the cries for justice on the Double Ninth Festival couldn’t be ignored.
Many scholars and successful candidates from the winter examination joined the public outcry against Wu Ji Kang.
“Are you waiting for the Emperor?” Zhang Jing asked, leaning on his cane.
“As ministers, what else can we do but wait?” Meng Yun Xian said, holding his teacup and watching the rain. There were few officials in the Hall of State Affairs.
Even Chief Censor Jiang Xian Ming, despite the Emperor’s favor, had been repeatedly denied an audience.
“He Tong said Ni Qinglan’s essay was excellent. He was a rare talent,” Zhang Jing said, rubbing his knee.
“Indeed,” Meng Yun Xian nodded, then smiled at him. “You know, despite the conflict between the Censorate and the Hanlin Academy, your student, He Tong, is a righteous man. He truly mourns Ni Qinglan’s death.”
“I know my student,” Zhang Jing said calmly.
As they were speaking, a eunuch arrived, drenched in rain. Meng Yun Xian recognized Liang Shen Fu, the Chief Eunuch.
“Minister Meng, Minister Zhang,” Liang Shen Fu bowed. “The Emperor summons Minister Meng to the Qing He Palace.”
Meng Yun Xian exchanged a glance with Zhang Jing, then stood up. “Lead the way, Eunuch Liang. I’ll follow shortly.”
After Liang Shen Fu left, Zhang Jing remained seated. “You’ve been waiting for the Emperor’s summons. Aren’t you going?”
Meng Yun Xian turned to him. “Your beard is a bit messy. After I see the Emperor, shall we go to East Street for a shave?”
Zhang Jing ignored him and took a sip of tea.
Meng Yun Xian, slightly embarrassed, put on his official hat, adjusted his clothes, and left.
The rain made the sky gloomy. The Forbidden Palace, washed clean by the rain, seemed cold and austere. Meng Yun Xian walked through the rain and mist, lifting his robes as he ascended the white jade steps.
He saw Chief Censor Jiang Xian Ming, drenched, standing in the distance.
“Minister Meng,” Jiang Xian Ming said, approaching him.
“You’ve worked hard on the winter examination case, Chief Censor. I heard you’ve been requesting an audience with the Emperor every day. Will he see you today?” Meng Yun Xian handed his umbrella to a young eunuch.
“I’m waiting for Minister Meng to join me,” Jiang Xian Ming said, lowering his voice and wiping the rain from his face. “The winter examination case is now public knowledge. The cries for justice on the Double Ninth Festival haven’t subsided. Minister Meng must have heard about it. I implore you to speak up for justice before the Emperor.”
“The Emperor has summoned us both. Chief Censor, you can say whatever you wish.”
“That’s true,” Jiang Xian Ming said, slightly embarrassed, “but I believe the Emperor is tired of hearing from me.”
He had spoken too much, annoying the Emperor. And with the constant bickering between the Censorate and the Hanlin Academy, the Emperor was even less inclined to listen to them. That’s why he had summoned Meng Yun Xian, who had been busy with the new policies and hadn’t been involved in the case. The Emperor wanted to hear from someone who hadn’t spoken yet.
“The Emperor summons you both,” Liang Shen Fu said, emerging from the palace.
The scent of incense in the Qing He Palace mingled with the bitter smell of medicine. Golden lamps, their branches like trees, illuminated the hall.
“Your Majesty,” Meng Yun Xian and Jiang Xian Ming bowed.
“Liang Shen Fu,” the Emperor’s raspy voice called out.
Liang Shen Fu gestured for a chair to be placed behind Meng Yun Xian. Jiang Xian Ming glanced behind him, but there was no chair.
He bowed even lower.
The Emperor’s displeasure with Jiang Xian Ming was evident. Meng Yun Xian, unfazed, sat down. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Minister Meng, I didn’t summon you here to discuss the new policies,” the Emperor said, leaning against his pillows, holding a scroll. He wore a simple red robe. “I want to know your opinion on the case the Censorate and the Hanlin Academy are arguing about.”
Hidden behind a gauze curtain, the Emperor’s figure wasn’t clear, and his tone revealed nothing of his thoughts.
“Your Majesty, this case involves both the imperial examination and public sentiment. It cannot be ignored,” Meng Yun Xian said, his hands on his knees.
The Emperor remained silent.
“On the Double Ninth Festival, it snowed briefly, a strange occurrence. Rumors are spreading in the city, claiming a grave injustice, that the snow in September was a sign of Ni Qinglan’s restless spirit.”
“Although the talk of restless spirits is absurd, this case concerns the fairness of the imperial examination. If it’s not handled properly, it will discourage commoner scholars,” Meng Yun Xian continued.
A scholar’s brush was his weapon, and those thirty-six young scholars, passionate and idealistic, wouldn’t be easily silenced.
“It seems Minister Meng agrees with the Hanlin Academy,” the Emperor said calmly.
Jiang Xian Ming’s heart sank. He looked at Meng Yun Xian, who stood up and bowed to the Emperor behind the curtain.
“Your Majesty, I don’t necessarily agree with the Hanlin Academy. But public sentiment is strong. If the Censorate and the Hanlin Academy continue to argue, it will be difficult to reach a conclusion.”
“Your Majesty intends to perform the Mount Tai ceremony. This should be a time of national celebration.”
At the mention of the Mount Tai ceremony, the Emperor looked up, his gaze fixed on Meng Yun Xian. Silence filled the hall. Jiang Xian Ming didn’t dare wipe the sweat from his forehead, and Meng Yun Xian remained bowed, silent.
Jiang Xian Ming understood the importance of the Mount Tai ceremony to the Emperor. Meng Yun Xian had cleverly mentioned it to subtly remind the Emperor to consider public opinion.
Throughout history, few emperors had performed the Mount Tai ceremony. The Emperor desired it, but without public support, how could it be a true celebration?
And Meng Yun Xian had distanced himself from both the Censorate and the Hanlin Academy, presenting himself as solely concerned with the Emperor’s ceremony.
“Minister Meng is right,” the Emperor said, his voice warmer now.
“I have one more matter to report, Your Majesty,” Meng Yun Xian said.
“What is it?”
“I was tasked with re-implementing the new policies. The salary increase proposal was approved, and funds for the construction of the Ling Hua Palace were diverted to provide raises for officials, resulting in the suspension of the palace’s construction. I’m deeply grateful for Your Majesty’s grace and understand your commitment to the new policies. However, upon examining the national treasury, I discovered that these funds… weren’t necessary.”
Meng Yun Xian took a memorial from his sleeve and looked at Liang Shen Fu, standing beside the Emperor.
Jiang Xian Ming admired Meng Yun Xian’s eloquent words. Liang Shen Fu emerged from behind the curtain and took the memorial.
“Why were so many funds allocated for dredging the river?” the Emperor asked, his face darkening as he read the memorial. He looked up sharply. “This doesn’t match the previously reported amount!”
“Only a small portion of the allocated funds was actually used for dredging. I’ve sent people to Zezhou to investigate. Please continue reading, Your Majesty,” Meng Yun Xian said, his eyes downcast, his expression unreadable.
The Emperor’s face grew darker with each line. He threw the memorial down and stood up abruptly, then swayed dizzily.
Liang Shen Fu quickly supported him. “Your Majesty…”
“So, I suspended the construction of the Ling Hua Palace to line the pockets of these corrupt officials! And I even gave them raises?! Are their lives not better than mine?!”
The memorial lay open on the floor. Jiang Xian Ming saw Grand Mentor Wu Dai’s name among the list of officials on the last page.
His heart sank.
“Your Majesty, if you confiscate the assets of these officials, the construction of the Ling Hua Palace can resume, and the Mount Tai ceremony can be even grander,” Meng Yun Xian said, bowing deeply.
The Emperor hadn’t responded yet, but as Jiang Xian Ming left the Qing He Palace, he sighed in relief, taking an umbrella and walking down the steps with Meng Yun Xian.
“Normally, the Emperor wouldn’t punish Grand Mentor Wu, even after seeing such a memorial. But Minister Meng cleverly mentioned the Mount Tai ceremony and public sentiment. It seems you’ve persuaded him,” Jiang Xian Ming said, stopping and bowing to Meng Yun Xian. “Minister Meng, there’s hope for this case.”
Meng Yun Xian’s words had struck a chord with the Emperor. Normally, he would have protected Grand Mentor Wu, but Meng Yun Xian had mentioned the suspended palace construction and the misappropriated river dredging funds. Moreover, the Emperor had reinstated the new policies because the imperial clan had been accumulating land and wealth unchecked, while he himself struggled to fund his palace.
How could he tolerate this?
Meng Yun Xian smiled slightly, helping Jiang Xian Ming up. “Why are you so invested in this case, Chief Censor?”
“Ni Qinglan was a talented young man, likely from a good family. His sister is also courageous and righteous. He should have had a bright future, but he died because of Wu Ji Kang’s selfishness. It’s a tragedy,” Jiang Xian Ming said, walking down the steps. “I simply believe that if we don’t bring justice to Ni Qinglan, how can we give hope to other scholars and encourage them to serve the court and the people?”
The rain fell steadily.
Meng Yun Xian looked at Jiang Xian Ming, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment, he sighed. “Chief Censor, you truly are a loyal servant of the court and the people…”
***
It was said that it snowed at the Dengwen Drum Court on the Double Ninth Festival.
Ni Su hadn’t seen it. She had been unconscious.
But ever since, she had dreamt of snow, cold snowflakes falling on her face as she lay on the torture bench, enduring the beating along with the thirty-six scholars.
Tonight, her dream was a nightmare because Wu Ji Kang was there, smiling at her.
Ni Su felt like she was drowning, the edge of the blanket covering her mouth and nose, suffocating her. But she couldn’t open her eyes.
She tried to cry out, but her mouth wouldn’t open.
The more she struggled, the more difficult it became to breathe.
Suddenly, a hand pulled down the blanket and gently tucked it around her. His fingers brushed against her cheek, and he paused, then withdrew his hand.
His touch was cold, so cold that Ni Su’s eyes snapped open.
She looked down at the blanket, neatly tucked around her. The room was quiet, a single lamp burning on the desk. Yu Wen wasn’t there.
She heard voices from the courtyard.
Cai Chun Xu and Yu Wen were talking.
Cai Chun Xu had brought her back and left Yu Wen and a few other maidservants to attend to her.
Ni Su’s gaze shifted to the lamp.
She moved her lips, whispering, “Xu Zi Ling, where are you?”
Hearing no reply, she tried to sit up, but a gust of wind rattled the window. She looked up and saw mist swirling outside, quickly coalescing into a human form.
His eyes were lifeless, dark and empty. He slowly made his way to her bedside.
“You should have woken me before it got dark, so I could light the candles for you,” Ni Su said, looking at him.
“No need,” he said, shaking his head.
“Did the candles in your room burn out?” Ni Su had asked Yu Wen to light many candles and take them to his room earlier.
Yu Wen, though puzzled, had obeyed.
“Yes.”
“Then bring the lamp from the desk. The flint and steel is there too,” Ni Su said.
Xu He Xue turned and, guided by her voice, slowly made his way to the desk, his steps cautious. He found the candlestick and the flint and steel.
Ni Su blew out the lamp and quickly relit it.
The flame illuminated his eyes, a flicker of light in their depths. After a moment of confusion, he looked at her intently.
“Do you want some water?” he asked, his gaze falling on her dry lips.
Ni Su shook her head, watching him place the lamp back on the desk.
His form was still faint.
Perhaps it would take many candles to restore him.
She remembered her dream, the snow, his fading form, and Wu Ji Kang standing before her.
At the Dengwen Drum Court, she had told herself to remain calm, but Wu Ji Kang’s smile, his words, had almost broken her.
He had reminded her that he was powerful, while she was insignificant.
He had arrived late, surrounded by people, while she had endured the beating alone.
Xu He Xue had seen her despair, so he had humiliated Wu Ji Kang, making him look even more pathetic than her.
To comfort her helplessness.
A dead man, his blood long cold, had told her that some people’s blood was still warm.
Ni Su saw him pour a cup of water and bring it to her. “Your lips are dry. This will help,” he explained.
She hadn’t wanted any water, but she couldn’t refuse his kindness. She tried to sit up, but she was too weak.
Xu He Xue supported her, careful not to touch her skin, his hand on her shoulder, over the blanket.
Ni Su took a few sips, smelling the scent of snow and blood on him. She looked up at his jawline.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice weak.
“Are you in pain?”
“Xu Zi Ling, don’t take care of me. I should be taking care of you,” Ni Su said, fighting back tears.
“You light the candles for me. That’s enough,” he said.
Ni Su shook her head, resting her cheek against the pillow. “That’s not enough. You deserve more, and I should do more for you.”
More.
What more?
Xu He Xue held the cup, his gaze falling on her dark hair. He didn’t know what he wanted. “I am not you,” he finally said.
“Then how can I repay you?”
“Repay me for what?” he asked, the lamplight flickering.
“For your companionship, for encouraging me to live, for finding my brother, for harming yourself for me, for the food you cooked, even for this cup of water,” Ni Su said, meeting his gaze.
“Ni Su,” Xu He Xue lowered his eyelashes and shook his head slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. “Not everything in this world requires repayment. If I expected you to repay me for a cup of water, what kind of person would I be?”
“But what if I want to repay you?”
Her gaze was so earnest that Xu He Xue, after a long silence, looked up at her. “Have you finished the clothes you were making for me?”
“Almost,” Ni Su replied instinctively.
“Mmm,” he said. “That’s enough.”
Ni Su wanted to know what else she could do for him, but he always hid his past, and she couldn’t force him to reveal it.
She knew she couldn’t continue this conversation. Cai Chun Xu seemed to have left, but Yu Wen hadn’t entered the room.
He stood quietly by her bed, his pale robes swaying slightly in the breeze.
“Then… stay here,” Ni Su whispered.
Xu He Xue paused. “I can take the lamp,” he said, thinking she was worried about him being unable to see in the dark.
“No,” she said, her voice muffled. “I keep having nightmares. I dream of snow, of you avenging my brother, and then you disappear. I light candles, but I can’t find you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I know you’re in pain. There’s a couch behind the screen, and I have another blanket. Stay here. We can recuperate together. Maybe then I won’t have those nightmares.”
Xu He Xue should have refused.
He shouldn’t share a room with her, especially not at night.
But he hesitated.
What if she suffocated herself again with the blanket?
He walked behind the screen and lay down on the couch, the blanket still warm from her body. He felt strangely at peace.
“Xu Zi Ling,” Ni Su called out.
The gauze screen was close to her bed. Xu He Xue opened his eyes, the lamplight casting her shadow on the screen. He couldn’t see her clearly.
“You’re so cold. Have you forgotten what warmth feels like?” she asked.
“Mmm,” he replied, unsure why she was asking. Then he heard her say, “Reach out your hand.”
The warm, yellow candlelight illuminated the screen.
Xu He Xue saw her hand on the gauze, its shadow elongated.
“Reach out, and you’ll know,” she said.
Xu He Xue’s eyelashes fluttered. Beneath his sleeve, the bones in his hand were clearly defined. His long fingers curled, then relaxed.
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