LBLCPCB C15

Chapter 15

 

By afternoon, Qu Zhoubai had procured the documents Zhu Song requested.

Zhang Feng, age twenty‑eight. Three years ago, his uncle had taken a liking to a farmer’s daughter in Xiliu Village. When her family refused his betrothal gifts, he kidnapped the girl outright. The farmer appealed to the Capital Prefecture (Jingzhao Fu). Fortunately, intervention came in time—the girl had not yet been violated. Zhang’s uncle was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment for forcible abduction of a maiden.

But with some “arrangement” behind the scenes, the punishment was altered: a fine of three hundred taels plus compensation, the farmer family agreed to a settlement, and the uncle walked free.

Zhu Song raised his brows at the casefile. “Some arrangement? He was just a petty guard in the Eastern Palace. How did his reach extend to your office?”

Qu raised a finger and wagged it knowingly. “You don’t understand. No one may care about Wen Fengxuan—but the Eastern Palace is under every eye. Even the smallest soldier there has some mighty tree at his back.”

That caught Zhu off‑guard. “Who?”

Qu lowered his voice. “You know the man: Chen Yurong.”

“The steward of the Imperial Uncle’s household? Hardly worth such respect from you.”

Qu rapped his fingers lightly on the desk—and when Zhu looked down, Qu finally muttered: “He carried the seal of Prince Jin himself.”

“Click,” Zhu sucked coldly at his teeth. “And what of the farmer family—did they actually sign withdrawal papers?”

“Of course,” Qu replied smoothly… then paused. “No. They didn’t.”

“You dared to release him without signed papers? And risk Dali Si’s review?” Zhu pressed.

Qu only shrugged with irony. “The Capital Prefecture fears Prince Jin. If Dali Si didn’t, you could always fight me for it.”

Zhu lifted the files from the table and stood. “Tonight I’ll buy you dinner.”

Qu tilted his head curiously. “And just what did Zhang Feng do to earn your wrath?”

Zhu smirked. “Pure dislike.” Then he strode out.

Qu called after him: “Don’t go too far!”

Zhu didn’t turn back. “Relax. I know my limits.”

Back at the Judicial Court, Gu Huaiyu was sipping tea in the front hall. He waved Zhu over. “I thought you weren’t coming today.”

“As if I could skip. The Censorate would slap a memorial right across my face tomorrow.”

Noting the documents in his hand, Gu asked, “From the Prefecture?”

“Mm. Idle time, just checked their cases.”

Though Dali Si had authority to re‑review cases tried by Jingzhao Fu, it was usually Gu who went. Zhu never did—so Gu didn’t quite believe him. Still, he asked: “And what did you find?”

“A small irregularity. Nothing large, but I must go resolve it. When the shift ends, you should go home.”

“Alright.”

Zhu led runners to the Eastern Palace. He hammered at the gate. As expected, Zhang Feng himself opened it.

At first his face showed its usual impatience. But when he saw Zhu Song flanked by rows of officers, his expression flipped in panic. “I—I don’t know what business brings you here?”

Zhu tilted his head, gaze amused. “So—you are Zhang Feng?”

Zhang Feng shuddered. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

With one hand, Zhu waved lazily. “Take him.”

Officers seized him. He shrieked, “My lord, what is my crime?”

Zhu didn’t answer. He cast his gaze into the depths of the Eastern Palace. Servants pretended to work, maids peered shyly. For a flash, their faces flushed red at his smile.

But of Wen Fengxuan, no trace.

“Withdraw,” Zhu commanded.

Zhang still howled until a runner gagged him with a cloth.

Back at the Court, Zhu seated himself in judgment. Zhang was thrown to his knees. Zhu slammed down the judge’s block (jingtang mu).

“Zhang Feng! Do you know your crimes?”

The gag muffled his protests. Zhu ignored it. “Contempt of court! Defiance! That alone adds to your sentence.”

Desperate, Zhang writhed the gag loose. “My lord! I know nothing! I am law‑abiding, I don’t even step on ants! Please, spare me—”

Zhu opened the dossier. “Zhang Ze. Your uncle. You know him?”

“Yes,” Zhang admitted. “He’s my uncle.”

“Your uncle was sentenced—ten years. Yet three months later, released. I traced the strings. You pulled them, yes?”

SLAM! The block cracked down again. Zhang flinched, soul quivering under Zhu’s icy voice.

“You dare say you are blameless?”

Zhang’s mouth opened—then closed. To name Prince Jin here was suicide. He stammered instead: “No, not me! It was the farm family—they withdrew their case!”

“Proof? Where is the withdrawal affidavit? No signature from the farmer was ever filed.”

“They… they surely signed! I’ll find them! They’ll say so!” Zhang panicked.

“You dare free the guilty without proof, and say you did not meddle?”

Realization dawned—this all traced back to the visiting card he had refused earlier. Terrified, he bowed flat. “I was wrong! Lord spare me! I’ll be careful from now on—spare me once!”

Zhu leaned back at last, voice easing. “Knowing error and amending is greatest virtue.”

Zhang gasped relief. “Thank you, lord, thank you.”

“But…” Zhu’s gaze sharpened, “…you still erred. Errors must bear punishment.”

Zhang stiffened. “My lord, what—”

“Only ten strokes of the board. A lesson. Unless you prefer three months prison, or a fine of a hundred taels. Choose.”

Sweat poured. Prison? Never. Money? Too dear! Ten strokes? Painful, but survivable.

“I accept ten strokes.”

“Take him.”

In the courtyard, Zhang was strapped to the bench. The paddle fell.

“BAM! BAM!” His screams filled the air. Soft skin, pampered flesh—each strike a lash of fire.

After ten, he croaked, “Enough! It’s ten!”

But the executioner replied stolidly: “Contempt of court. Twice the sentence. Twenty.”

Zhang cried hopelessly, yet endured. By the end, he lay limp as carrion.

Zhu crouched, patted his flushed cheek. “Boy. Don’t be so servile next time. Or it will be worse than twenty.”

“Yes… yes…” Zhang wheezed.

Zhu’s smile crooked. “Anyone to escort you?”

“No, my lord. I’ll manage.”

“Hardly. Bleeding through the streets, you’ll scare folk. For the capital’s peace, I shall escort you myself.”

Zhang’s sweat chilled. He dared not argue. “T‑thank… you.”

“Stand. Walk.”

“Walk?!” he blurted foolishly.

Zhu’s brows rose. “Why, shall I carry you?”

“N‑no, no. I walk.”

And so, he limped beside Zhu. Yet slow—the journey to the Eastern Palace stretched till midnight.

At the gates, Zhang looked drowned. He bowed. “Thank you, lord.”

But Zhu only squinted. “I escort for two hours, and am not even offered tea?”

Zhang blinked—then scrambled. “Tea! Of course, tea!”

He knocked. Another young man opened, panicked: “Brother Zhang! Are you—oh!” He saw Zhu’s robes, bowed low. “My lord.”

“Tea,” Zhang croaked.

“Yes!” The servant scurried off.

Zhu waved kindly. “Rest yourself. Once I drink, I’ll leave.”

Relieved, Zhang fled to bed.

Deep night. The Eastern Palace lay hushed. Zhu strolled at leisure.

His wandering steps carried him to a familiar courtyard. He recognized it at once as Wen Fengxuan’s.

Something drew him through the gate.

There—beneath the moonlight—the Crown Prince himself, dressed only in thin robes, tipping flower petals into his lips.

And those were oleander blossoms².

In the moon’s glow Wen Fengxuan was divine, like a spirit descending. But Zhu’s heart clenched in exasperation.

Why is it that every time I see him, he’s bent on courting death?

Footnotes

1. Dali Si / 京兆府 — structure of imperial law: the Judicial Court (Dali Si) had power to review and retry serious cases judged first in the Capital Prefecture (Jingzhao Fu).

2. 夹竹桃 (Oleander) — a striking flowering plant, but highly toxic. Ingesting its blossoms was renowned as poison. Zhu’s horror was not mere fuss: Wen Fengxuan in truth could die from it.