by Jeannie Lin
The Censorate was responsible for investigating corruption and the conduct of imperial officials including the Emperor. An imperial order didn’t simply go out unquestioned. Each one was scrutinized and officiated and archived.
She wrote hastily, not taking the time to consider her brush strokes. Her heart pounded.
Who is responsible for approving all official communications from the Emperor?
Imperial Chief Censor Zheng Shi.
Zheng had been so complimentary of her, so willing to listen to a naive young woman’s assumptions about conspiracy and power when it served his purposes. Wei-wei finished the last brush strokes and waited for the ink to dry.
Accusing the chief censor would have many consequences. Wei-wei was, so very much, out of her place.
Chapter 23
The assassin never spoke another word. The last breath left him before the hour was done.
Only four of them remained to witness the suspect’s death. Gao and Magistrate Li were there along with Mingyu and Wu Kaifeng, the unfortunate proprietors who’d had a dying man dragged into their establishment. They looked upon the body, laid out and forever still, with a long silence. Death itself deserved an air of respect. With his passing, the man was no longer an assassin or a killer or anything else. Only his spirit remained to atone for his actions in the next life.
“I need to send a message to the patrols and blockades,” the magistrate said. “There had to be more in league with this one.”
Li instructed his constables to transport the suspect to the morgue and gave his apologies to Wu and Mingyu for the unfortunate turn of events. Mingyu appeared relieved to be free of them. Wu Kaifeng looked perhaps even more unwelcoming than he typically did.
Gao found himself in the street beside Li Chen. Some odd fate had tied to the two of them together.
“Your friend’s death was sudden,” Li said after a long silence. “I hope that your grief is not overwhelming.”
Li was so formal. So proper. The assassin never spoke another word. The last breath left him before the hour was done.
Only four of them remained to witness the suspect’s death. Gao and Magistrate Li were there along with Mingyu and Wu Kaifeng, the unfortunate proprietors who’d had a dying man dragged into their establishment. They looked upon the body, laid out and forever still, with a long silence. Death itself deserved an air of respect. With his passing, the man was no longer an assassin or a killer or anything else. Only his spirit remained to atone for his actions in the next life.
“I need to send a message to the patrols and blockades,” the magistrate said. “There had to be more in league with this one.”
Li instructed his constables to transport the suspect to the morgue and gave his apologies to Wu and Mingyu for the unfortunate turn of events. Mingyu appeared relieved to be free of them. Wu Kaifeng looked perhaps even more unwelcoming than he typically did.
Gao found himself in the street beside Li Chen. Some odd fate had tied to the two of them together.
“Your friend’s death was sudden,” Li said after a long silence. “I hope that your grief is not overwhelming.”
Li was so formal. So proper.
“The same for you,” Gao said brusquely. “For Constable Ma.”
The magistrate nodded slowly. They looked down the empty lane at nothing.
“I want to catch these killers,” Li said.
“Not all killers can be caught.”
“I know, but I want to catch these killers.”
The magistrate had never stopped investigating the crime. Even when he had orders to withhold the truth and when the palace had tried to declare the case closed and the killers punished, Li Chen had never wavered from his duties.
Was it possible? Li Chen, who would soon be betrothed to Wei-wei, was an honest magistrate after all.
Li Chen and Wei-wei were alike in that way. Wei-wei cared about whether Lin Yijin lived or died and whether justice was served. To Gao, those were matters that were far beyond him. He was one to keep his focus on what was immediately in front of his face.
Gao wanted to think of Li as a rival, but to do that would mean he’d have to admit he was sorely outmatched. At least in the ways that mattered to Wei-wei’s family. Family was everything to Wei-wei.
But he was something to her as well, his stubborn head insisted.
“With this curfew in effect, they know they’re being hunted,” Gao surmised. “The killers would be in hiding now.”
“What do you imagine they’ll do next?”
It wasn’t long ago when he’d been advising Hui, the local crime lord, in the very same manner. Strange fate, indeed.
“If I were them, I’d flee the city. Or—” Gao considered what he knew of these assassins. “Mercenaries aren’t loyal to their employers, but these assassins seem to be loyal to one another. They targeted Constable Ma and Fu Lin possibly in retaliation.”
Li raised an eyebrow at Fu’s nickname. Gao looked downward, digging at the dirt with his toe. He hadn’t expected to be so bothered by the boy’s death. Fu Lin’s killer had just breathed his last, yet the boy’s ghost remained.
“I would say if you truly want to lure these men out of hiding, you have to consider what they want,” Gao suggested.
“What is that?”
“Your head.” He looked up to meet the magistrate’s questioning gaze. “Or mine.”
“We can bring these men to justice,” Li proposed.
Gao shook his head. He had no interest in pursuing justice. It wouldn’t keep him warm or fed. Or win him what his heart desired.
He turned to walk away. Together, the two of them presented too obvious a target. The magistrate would be shielded by his constables and the thick walls that surrounded his compound. For Gao, there was only his wits and his knife. He knew better than to keep playing this game, and he wasn’t impressing anyone.
He was tired of bleeding.
“The same for you,” Gao said brusquely. “For Constable Ma.”
The magistrate nodded slowly. They looked down the empty lane at nothing.
“I want to catch these killers,” Li said.
“Not all killers can be caught.”
“I know, but I want to catch these killers.”
The magistrate had never stopped investigating the crime. Even when he had orders to withhold the truth and when the palace had tried to declare the case closed and the killers punished, Li Chen had never wavered from his duties.
Was it possible? Li Chen, who would soon be betrothed to Wei-wei, was an honest magistrate after all.
Li Chen and Wei-wei were alike in that way. Wei-wei cared about whether Lin Yijin lived or died and whether justice was served. To Gao, those were matters that were far beyond him. He was one to keep his focus on what was immediately in front of his face.
Gao wanted to think of Li as a rival, but to do that would mean he’d have to admit he was sorely outmatched. At least in the ways that mattered to Wei-wei’s family. Family was everything to Wei-wei.
But he was something to her as well, his stubborn head insisted.
“With this curfew in effect, they know they’re being hunted,” Gao surmised. “The killers would be in hiding now.”
“What do you imagine they’ll do next?”
It wasn’t long ago when he’d been advising Hui, the local crime lord, in the very same manner. Strange fate, indeed.
“If I were them, I’d flee the city. Or—” Gao considered what he knew of these assassins. “Mercenaries aren’t loyal to their employers, but these assassins seem to be loyal to one another. They targeted Constable Ma and Fu Lin possibly in retaliation.”
Li raised an eyebrow at Fu’s nickname. Gao looked downward, digging at the dirt with his toe. He hadn’t expected to be so bothered by the boy’s death. Fu Lin’s killer had just breathed his last, yet the boy’s ghost remained.
“I would say if you truly want to lure these men out of hiding, you have to consider what they want,�
�� Gao suggested.
“What is that?”
“Your head.” He looked up to meet the magistrate’s questioning gaze. “Or mine.”
“We can bring these men to justice,” Li proposed.
Gao shook his head. He had no interest in pursuing justice. It wouldn’t keep him warm or fed. Or win him what his heart desired.
He turned to walk away. Together, the two of them presented too obvious a target. The magistrate would be shielded by his constables and the thick walls that surrounded his compound. For Gao, there was only his wits and his knife. He knew better than to keep playing this game, and he wasn’t impressing anyone.
He was tired of bleeding.
Zhou Dan saddled their fastest horse and Wei-wei took to the road on her own, ignoring Mother’s protests.
She was out in open defiance of curfew, of her parents, of all the rules of propriety. There was no one else to carry out the task, and the carriage would be too slow.
“Imperial business,” she declared when she reached the first blockade.
She waved passes and letters and everything she had at them. None of it would withstand serious scrutiny in the light of day, but she had learned something important during her capers. The patrols were not there to stop the likes of her. She was of noble blood and beyond reproach. That was, in part, how Zheng had been able to push his plot so far unchallenged.
When questioned, she refused to waver. She had a message for Lord Bai in the Ministry of War who was in audience with the Emperor. There would be consequences for all if she didn’t get there on time.
They let her through. She was either telling the truth or mad, and the patrolmen feared both enough to let her through.
The gates of the Imperial City were shut, but the guards at the front recognized her. She’d been allowed inside before. They refused her entry this time, but she managed to push her letter into the hands of one of the functionaries.
“Take this to Lord Bai,” she instructed. “He’s in audience with the Emperor.”
She hoped her father and brother had made it that far.
And then she waited. The gong sounded for noon time and the squeezed her eyes shut. Lin Yijin was gone now, or he wasn’t. She didn’t know.
The curfew was lifted shortly afterward by imperial proclamation, but the message said nothing about the execution.
Finally, she returned home.
Mother was sitting in the inner courtyard, waiting for her. “You’re home,” she acknowledged curtly.
Her mother was livid, but she didn’t show this by scolding or fussing the way she had when Wei-wei had first returned after the city was locked down. Instead, Mother slowly rose to her feet and retreated to her chamber, leaving a cold silence in her wake. This sort of silence cut deeper than the sharpest knife.
Father returned eventually in the late part of the afternoon, but without Huang. He went in to check on Mother before taking residence in the study. More silence.
There were times when Wei-wei could have special tea brewed and used it to approach one or the other. Today was not one of those times. She remained in the courtyard, quietly reading or pretending to read.
It was her younger brother Chang—min who broke the silence. He came to her holding a notebook.
“I completed my commentary on Jia Yi’s approach to state,” he told her.
“A true king battles using righteousness,” she quoted.
“A true emperor battles using virtue,” he responded.
How fitting, considering all that had happened. Chang-min handed the notebook to her, his look tentative.
He wasn’t really here to have her read his essay, just as she wasn’t intent on ensuring Mother and Father had their special tea. It was the only way Chang-min knew to come to her.
“Come sit with me,” she offered.
He took a seat beside her on the stone bench and waited patiently while she read through his writing. Her younger brother had brought a different element to the household when he came to them. Even as an infant, he’d rarely cried. It was as if he knew even then he was in the shadow of older, more statured siblings. Huang was metal and she was fire. Chang-min was water, the long and patient river.
“Very good,” she remarked. “You should show this to Father.”
“Mother worries whenever you’re gone,” he said after a while.
She frowned at him. “Today was an unusual set of circumstances.”
“Not just today.”
Did Mother know about her nightly excursions? Had Chang-min? She was foolish to think they’d remain oblivious. Just the other day, she saw the robe she’d worn at the House of Heavenly Peaches being laundered. It had been taken from her room by her maidservant to be treated as just another chore. Between her family and their servants, they were ten people enclosed in the same walls. Everyone knew everyone’s secrets. Everyone had silently agreed not to speak of them too loudly.
Chang-min was breaking the pact to come to her even as he had. He was making an effort to make peace.
“You do very well in your studies,” Wei-wei told him. “I’m proud of you.”
He looked away, not at all comfortable with such recognition. And now she was uncomfortable for being so complimentary. Chang-min was, after all, only seventeen and somewhat her charge. She should be careful he didn’t become self-centered. Like Huang.
And maybe like her too.
She was saved from the situation when Father summoned her. He was able to do so from within his study, his voice carried so clearly in this household.
Wei-wei handed the notebook back to her younger brother and went to her father. He was seated at the desk as she stepped inside.
“Sit,” he bid her.
Long conversation, then.
She seated herself across from him, and it immediately made her feel smaller. Father was so much taller than her as it was, she preferred to stand when talking to him. Though she loved her father, he was intimidating to her. More intimidating, she realized, than the thought of knife-wielding assassins.
“Your elder brother received your message,” he began. “Lin Yijin lives.”
Wei-wei let out a breath.
“Wei-wei—” Her father paused and it was not a good pause.
She waited, her nails dug into her palms.
“Your behavior over the last two days was reckless. You acted without thinking.”
But not disappointing. Anything, but disappointing. She couldn’t bear to disappoint her parents.
Counter-arguments hovered on her tongue. For once, she was doing something important. She was helping her brother. She was helping the empire! And she had been reckless. Danger to her was being caught and scolded. She didn’t know what true danger was.
Wei-wei knew better than to say any of this out loud. Even making her voice heard to say she was sorry would be out of line.
“Yes, Father,” was all she could say.
“You have more than overstepped your bounds.”
There it was. Boundaries. Place.
All of this had been spoken in Father’s deep, even tone, but she wanted to shout back with her eternal question. Why did you teach me all this, if you never wanted me to use any of it?
She fought back tears. The boundaries. Always the boundaries.
“Wei-wei.” His voice was gentler now. “You could have been hurt.”
“I know, Father.”
When Li Chen and Gao had come rushing into the tea house, with blood and death in their wake, Father’s first instinct was to throw out his arms to protect her. How disheartening it must be to know that one’s arms would never be wide enough.
They were silent for a long time after that. Time for her to consider what was spoken, even as few words as there were. Time enough to choose her next words carefully.
“I wanted to do what you do. What Elder Brother is able to do.”
Father’s eyes shined. “I know.”
But she wasn’t meant to do such things.
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“Will you tell me what happened to the chief censor?”
She could see how he hesitated. Father rarely discussed the details of his work with her, but in this case, she was entangled within it.
“Zheng Shi was removed from his position.”
“For treason?”
Father shot her a disapproving look. Within this study, her question was considered an outburst.
“For issuing an imperial proclamation that proved false,” he answered. “This morning’s proclamation wrongly accused Lin Shidao.”
Wei-wei made a face. “An improper proclamation? How disappointing!
Her father saw her sour expression, but tolerated it.
“General Lin and his son have been exonerated,” he continued. “Reparations will need to be made for the damage to their family name, and Zheng has been banished from Chang’an.”
“But what Zheng did was so much worse.”
“Lin Yijin’s life was spared, and Zheng has been stripped of power. Is that not the end that you desired?”
Wei-wei bit down on her lip to keep from blurting out her immediate thought. Zheng had harmed so many people. He’d abused his power, and usurped the Emperor’s authority. She didn’t wish death upon anyone — but that man had been responsible for so much death.
“Balance and compromise,” Father told her. “One takes the victory he is given, not the one he wants. Chancellor Yao was a negotiator, Zheng Shi was not. He looked upon military governors, like General Lin, as enemies of the state who needed to be defeated one by one.”
She listened carefully to her father’s every word. Her father was a negotiator as well. She was grateful Zheng hadn’t thought to target him.
“Your position is dangerous, Father.” She hadn’t realized how much before.
“Nowhere is completely safe. You need to remember that, Daughter. For your sake, and for our family’s sake.”
She bowed her head. “Yes, Father.”
He didn’t need to say more. Every time she ran to the Pingkang li, every time she ventured out in disguise was a gamble. She’d always known she was courting disaster, but she’d ignored all reason for just the slightest taste of freedom.