After this day of weathering wind and rain, Su Jin was truly exhausted. Since Liu Chaoming had said so, she no longer declined and simply sat on the green bamboo couch to rest for a moment.
Her lips bore not a trace of color. Liu Chaoming glanced at her again, silently poured a cup of tea and handed it to her.
The tea flavor spread across her tongue with a hint of bitterness—it was actually medicinal tea specially brewed with white peony root.
The wind was somewhat chilly. Liu Chaoming closed the corner window, then turned to see Su Jin still sitting properly upright. Thinking she remained uneasy, he said: “Half an hour ago, the Grand Secretariat drafted another directive, submitting a memorial listing ten great crimes of Elder Qiu and Yan Ziyan, moving the execution date to two days hence, and ordering all ministries to investigate themselves—those implicated will be severely punished.”
The implication was that everyone was currently in danger for themselves. No one would think of you, so rest at ease.
Emperor Jingyuan had been murderously brutal in his early years. Since this matter had already been judged, it should naturally be settled.
Yet hearing these words, Su Jin asked: “Lord Liu, is there truly no room for reconsideration in this case?”
Liu Chaoming glanced at her: “What do you mean?”
Su Jin recalled what the man in the ivory-white robe had said on the day of the marketplace riot—”Not even the Heavenly Emperor concerns himself with this business, yet you want to interfere—aren’t you afraid of forfeiting your life?”
The man in the ivory-white robe was merely a failed examination candidate, with neither official position nor ancestral favor. Even if backed by a few northern officials, most were of low rank. What gave him the confidence to say that not even the Heavenly Emperor would interfere?
And who was this Heavenly Emperor?
Su Jin said: “This subordinate heard these words and found them extremely suspicious. My intuition tells me there must be someone hiding behind him, otherwise he wouldn’t be so brazenly confident.”
Liu Chaoming also recalled Zhao Yan’s earlier words—the Assistant Minister of the Court of Imperial Entertainments was just a fifth-rank position, wasn’t he?
Different people performing different acts, yet remarkably similar in effect.
This could not be coincidence.
He couldn’t help glancing at Su Jin again. A pearl covered in dust, wasted for years—such a pity.
No wonder the old Censor had been determined to protect her back then.
Liu Chaoming’s tone was calm as still water: “Do you know why your injury has never healed?”
Su Jin was puzzled.
“Excessive worry—that’s one reason. Two, you’re too good at creating trouble.”
Su Jin paused, then understood his meaning. The pallor of desolation between her brows actually dispersed considerably in that instant.
“The trouble this subordinate has caused my lord is far more than one or two instances. The capable must work harder—this subordinate is counting on my lord to accept it all with a smile.”
Liu Chaoming said neither yes nor no. He glanced at the sky, stood up and prepared to leave.
Su Jin added: “My lord, this subordinate believes that expressing gratitude loses its flavor if said too often. I trouble my lord to keep a ledger for this subordinate. Whatever troubles my lord, just add a few notes and marks. This subordinate will also remember it in my heart and will certainly repay double in the future.”
Liu Chaoming knew she was habitually skilled at honeyed words and diplomatic evasion, and didn’t take it seriously. Yet when he turned back, he discerned a solemnity in Su Jin’s clear and composed expression.
He fell silent for a moment. After a while, a hint of a smile, barely perceptible, floated at the corners of his lips: “I fear you won’t be able to repay it.”
Su Jin had rested for less than half a quarter-hour when a knock came at the door.
It was an unfamiliar palace servant holding a tray, who said to Su Jin: “Magistrate, Lord Liu just said you have injuries and specially ordered this servant to brew a bowl of medicine and bring it.”
Su Jin said: “Thank you for the trouble.” She accepted the tray and placed it on the table.
The palace servant paused, then added: “Magistrate, don’t blame this servant for being talkative, but this medicine should be taken while hot. Once it cools, it won’t be nearly as effective.”
Su Jin nodded and picked up the medicine bowl, suddenly feeling something wasn’t quite right.
By rights, she had arrived at the Imperial Censorate two hours ago. Few people knew of this. If Liu Chaoming wanted to order medicine brewed for her, why wouldn’t he find someone from the Imperial Censorate but instead find a palace servant?
She and this palace servant were meeting for the first time. This palace servant should first ask “Are you Magistrate Su from the capital’s government office?” Yet not only did he not ask, he acted as if he recognized her.
Su Jin said: “Just now I mentioned to Lord Liu that my chest felt congested and I thought I had contracted a heat ailment. Lord Liu said he would use coptis root to treat it—is it brewed in this bowl of medicine?”
The palace servant smiled obsequiously: “Precisely so. Good medicine tastes bitter. Once you drink the medicine, my lord, you won’t feel congested anymore.”
Su Jin’s heart sank. She slowly brought the medicine to her lips, then suddenly looked troubled: “I trouble you, Eunuch—since childhood my tongue has been unusual and I cannot tolerate bitter flavors. I beg you, Eunuch, to help me find two preserved fruits.”
The palace servant hesitated for a moment, then said: “Alright then, this servant will go and return promptly.”
Su Jin silently approached the door. Once that palace servant disappeared at the end of the corridor, she immediately slipped out and hurried in another direction.
Su Jin didn’t know who wanted to harm her.
But she knew that a mere minor palace servant could not freely come and go in this heavily guarded Imperial Censorate.
Behind this palace servant, there must be someone giving orders. To be able to plant someone in the Imperial Censorate, it should be someone of considerable power.
She could not remain in the palace. Since “that person” could send a palace servant into the Imperial Censorate, they could send people into every corner of the palace to search for her.
What if she deliberately ran into patrolling guards to seek safety through danger?
That wouldn’t work, Su Jin thought. Who knew which guard might be a hidden stake? If she ran into them, wouldn’t she be walking into a trap?
The only fortunate thing was that the person who wanted to harm her probably also feared the Imperial Censorate. Otherwise they would have sent someone to act on the spot rather than poison her.
Since they feared the Imperial Censorate, why did they choose to poison her at the Imperial Censorate?
She was merely a magistrate in the capital’s government office. If someone wanted to kill her, wouldn’t it be better to do so when she was outside the palace?
Was there something that compelled them to act at this very moment?
Her overextended body had begun to disobey her. Each step felt like treading on clouds. Exhaustion pulled out the pain hidden in her bones like drawn silk, permeating every inch of bone and blood vessel.
Yet Su Jin couldn’t care about these things. She carefully recalled everything that had happened from yesterday until this morning.