He had, in truth, already talked himself into letting it go. She had deceived him — but hadn’t he himself entertained the thought of deceiving her in return? Between the two of them, they cancelled each other out. Neither of them had an easy life; there was no point in staying stuck on this grievance.
But then she had gotten tangled in the Princess Imperial’s murky waters. Clearly she had been put in a difficult position, clearly she had had no choice — and yet she had never once thought to speak with him plainly and honestly, simply turning around to engage in another round of empty pleasantries with him.
She trusted him that little.
“Still bothered that I hid the killing from you?” Chen Baoxiang reflected on herself for a moment, then sighed. “But when you think about it, Lu Shouhuai was someone you wanted removed as well. I kept things from you, yet I was also acting on your behalf.”
“On my behalf?” Zhang Zhixu looked at her. “He broke the law — there are imperial statutes to punish such offenses. You killed outside the law and you dare call it acting on my behalf?”
“Imperial statutes.” Chen Baoxiang turned those two words over in her mouth. “If they were truly fair, I wouldn’t have needed to take such risks.”
“Is it for you to decide whether the law is fair or not?”
“Naturally, what I say doesn’t count.” She looked up at him. “But, my lord — can a crooked ruler draw a straight line?”
Zhang Zhixu was momentarily stunned.
The person before him had shed that mask of foolish ignorance. Her eyes were calm as a lake — but beneath the surface, dark currents moved.
“Lu Shouhuai had the lives of tens of thousands on his hands. A hundred deaths couldn’t begin to repay his debt. Making him pay with his life was the most basic measure of justice.” She spoke. “I did nothing wrong.”
The wind swept in from behind her, black hair falling loose at her shoulders, white gauze veiling her face. Zhang Zhixu felt as though he were looking at endless paper offerings and a long procession of mourners in white — desolate, grief-stricken, and burning with resentment that could find no release.
Yet those who serve as officials must rely on solid evidence and act according to the law. Decisions cannot be made on emotion alone — that was an iron rule.
He asked: “This catastrophe you speak of — do you have any evidence?”
Chen Baoxiang pulled her lips into a thin smile: “Of course not.”
“I know — you’re going to say that everything requires evidence. If everyone convicted others based on feeling alone, the world would fall into chaos.” She scratched at her chin, a trace of restless frustration surfacing. “But I was there. I lived through it. He destroyed the evidence, yet I survived. When the chance finally came, of course I was going to demand he pay that blood debt.”
The trailing edge of her voice carried a fury she could not fully suppress — like water brought to a boil, surging up once more against the walls of his chest.
Reason told Zhang Zhixu that what she had done was against the rules, not something to be encouraged.
But after sitting with his thoughts for only a short while, he found that he understood Chen Baoxiang.
When the law offered no justice and the world offered no reckoning, how could he reproach a victim for not retaliating within the system? Reporting to the authorities from inside a black market workshop was useless. Reporting from a remote village swallowed by floodwaters was equally useless.
She had indeed had no authority to privately execute an official — but just like Lu Shouhuai, she had left behind not a shred of evidence.
No evidence. No conviction.
He shifted his gaze and reached out once more for the liquor vessel she had pushed away.
“Hey — you’re still drinking? Look at the state of your back.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why were you beaten like this?”
Ningsu, who had been silent throughout, finally spoke: “The master’s elders wanted him to have no further contact with you. The master was unwilling.”
Zhang Zhixu shot him a sideways glance.
Chen Baoxiang’s eyes went wide. She stared at him for a moment, and then the smooth, fluent tongue that had never faltered from the moment she stepped through the door suddenly stumbled: “For — for that?”
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