Chapter 105: How to Drown One's Sorrows?
As his fervor gradually faded, during the torture sessions, it became rare to hear his resounding curses or his recitations of the Zhou Code from within the prison cell. But Yang Xiushen's spirit remained unbroken. Though he was on the verge of death, breathing more out than in, his breath as thin as a silk thread, his bones were still hard—even though over a dozen of his ribs had long been shattered.
Yang Xiushen had never participated in the Grand Imperial Examination. He had entered officialdom through the ordinary civil service exams, and after years of diligent governance, he earned the favor of Her Holiness the Saint Empress, who directly appointed him as a civil recorder within the palace. In everyone's eyes, he should have been grateful for the Saint Empress's grace and trust. Yet he remained as he always was, quietly attending to his own duties, recording everything that happened within the imperial palace.
It wasn't until the autumn of the fourth year after the bloody incident at the National Academy that he suddenly submitted a memorial.
This memorial impeached Zhou Tong and, in the end, also criticized the Saint Empress.
The Saint Empress was greatly displeased and had him thrown into Zhou Prison. He endured countless tortures there but ultimately managed to hold on, survive, and was eventually pardoned and released, then transferred to the Ministry of Rites.
That was already over a decade ago.
Ten years later, he was once again imprisoned in Zhou Prison. This time, no colleagues in the court spoke up for him, and the Saint Empress seemed to have forgotten his existence.
Zhou Tong stood outside the iron bars, gazing at the bloodied, mangled body lying on the scattered straw. He squinted for a long time before confirming that this was his greatest enemy from years past.
"Minister Yang is truly a man of unwavering loyalty. After enduring so much torture, you still refuse to utter a single word," Zhou Tong said. "But you're not the only one who knows about what happened back then."
Hearing his voice, Yang Xiushen stirred with difficulty on the dry straw.
"Director Sun has spoken," Zhou Tong said, rising to his feet and clasping his hands behind his back as he walked toward the prison exit. "I came today only to bid you farewell."
At these words, Yang Xiushen's body tensed, then suddenly relaxed.
He had held on until now, and finally, there was a reason to let go. Of course, this didn't mean he would say anything; it only meant he could rest.
In the gloomy, dark prison cell, the sound of heavy objects being moved echoed. Over a dozen sandbags filled with earth were carried in by officials from the Ministry of Justice and then piled onto Yang Xiushen's body.
At first, Yang Xiushen's body twitched a couple of times, emitting indistinct sounds. Then his voice grew fainter and fainter until it stopped altogether.
Dark, almost coagulated blood seeped from his eyes and nostrils. He could no longer breathe, yet his eyes remained open.
Even in death, he kept his eyes open, staring wide, as if to see whether there was any Heavenly Way or justice in this world.
Autumn sunlight fell upon the courtyard. The crabapple tree bore no flowers, yet it remained elegantly beautiful.
Zhou Tong stood beneath the crabapple tree, his complexion slightly pale, likely from years of little exposure to sunlight.
An official from the Ministry of Justice stood behind him, feeling a chill in both body and soul, a coldness that even the sunlight could not warm.
A court official had just died in Zhou Prison.
In principle, this was a normal occurrence; similar events had happened many times before. But this official was Zhou Tong's most trusted subordinate, having followed him for decades. He knew that this time was different from before. In the past, the court officials who died in Zhou Prison had not undergone proper trials. In principle, this severely violated the Zhou Code, but it did not defy the will of the Saint Empress.
Her Holiness the Saint Empress no longer wished to see those officials, so they would quietly disappear.
But this time was different. He knew clearly that Lord Zhou Tong was investigating something privately, without the Saint Empress's knowledge, and she was unaware of Yang Xiushen's death.
He looked at Zhou Tong, his gaze falling on that bright red official robe. Instead of seeing the usual boundless sea of blood and overwhelming murderous intent, he vaguely sensed a hint of unease, even fear.
Why was Lord Zhou Tong doing this? Risking the Empress's fury to secretly interrogate so many people—what exactly did he want to know? What was he afraid of?
...
...
If the Black Robe was the person with the most secrets in this world, then Zhou Tong could be said to be the person who held the most secrets.
To him, secrets were like gold and silver treasures, or like power and status—the more he had, the safer he felt.
Starting a year ago, he had begun trying to uncover the secrets surrounding Chen Changsheng, but unfortunately, he had made little progress. The only breakthrough he achieved was forced to stop because it implicated the imperial palace and could potentially expose the Saint Empress's secrets. Yet no one knew that he had continued his investigation in secret.
He was the first to suspect that Chen Changsheng was the Crown Prince Zhaoming. The rumor that suddenly spread through the capital last year was deliberately released by him.
The secret he most wanted to uncover was this very matter.
At first, he only had this suspicion but couldn't be certain, because there were many puzzling aspects.
If Chen Changsheng truly was the Crown Prince Zhaoming, why would Shang Xingzhou send him to the capital, right before the Empress's eyes?
Was the most dangerous place also the safest?
Moreover, Chen Changsheng's age didn't match that of the Crown Prince Zhaoming. On the other hand, that young man named Yu Ren matched it perfectly.
When the false is taken as true, does the true become false?
Everyone who had seen Chen Changsheng said he was mature beyond his years, steady and calm, not like a youth at all.
Before his death, Melisarius was still looking at the Scroll of Time.
Many clues converged in this courtyard where the crabapple blossoms bloomed. Countless details gradually wove together in his mind.
In the end, they all pointed to a certain hard-to-believe conclusion—Chen Changsheng was the Crown Prince Zhaoming, and his age had been forcibly altered by the Scroll of Time.
This conjecture was too wild, too unbelievable. He still couldn't accept it, so he continued his secret investigation.
But he had searched through all the secret archives in the palace and found nothing. He had secretly imprisoned many people involved in the matter back then, including the midwife who delivered the child and several old retirees from the Imperial Medical Academy. It wasn't until today that he finally confirmed that when the Crown Prince Zhaoming was born, the sun wheel within his body had already shattered.
If this were the only discovery, it wouldn't have shaken him, because he knew that when the Saint Empress defied fate and sacrificed the starry sky, she had sworn a most vicious oath. She was destined to die alone, so naturally, she could not leave any offspring. Before the subtly operating yet irreversible Heavenly Way, the Crown Prince Zhaoming would surely die.
But a few days ago, he saw the secret correspondence between the Heavenly Mechanism Pavilion and the imperial palace and learned another secret.
Chen Changsheng was of imperial blood, and he was ill. His illness originated from the fact that, while still in his mother's womb, the sun wheel within him had already shattered.
—Just like the Crown Prince Zhaoming.
Zhou Tong began to feel uneasy, even fearful.
If Chen Changsheng truly was the Crown Prince Zhaoming and he was still alive, what did that mean?
It meant that the Saint Empress's defiance of fate had not been entirely successful!
As long as Chen Changsheng lived, the Saint Empress could be subject to the backlash of the Heavenly Way!
If this matter were exploited by those hidden opponents in the shadows, could the Saint Empress continue to sit securely on the throne?
Zhou Tong knew very well that if the Empress ever lost power, he would face a miserable end.
He was also loyal to the Empress, but unlike divine generals like Xue Xingchuan, those generals had their own troops. If the Chen imperial clan were to reclaim the throne, to stabilize the situation, as long as those generals were willing to switch allegiances, they would absolutely not be attacked—at least for several years, they would face no problems.
But no one would allow him to live.
Everyone knew that he was the Saint Empress's most loyal and most rabid dog.
He had bitten too many people to death for the Empress and bore too much blood debt.
He didn't want to die.
Even a dog has a desire to survive.
How to resolve this matter? It seemed very simple, as many thought—the Saint Empress only needed to kill Chen Changsheng.
In the eyes of everyone in the world, the Saint Empress was utterly ruthless and didn't care about such things at all.
But Zhou Tong had followed the Empress for many years and knew that the folk legends were not entirely true.
The Empress indeed had no bloodline heir; Princess Ping was adopted. But had she ever personally smothered her own son?
The Empress was, after all, a woman. If she truly discovered that Chen Changsheng was her own biological son, what if her heart softened?
She could not afford to be soft-hearted. She could not ignore the Heavenly Way. She could not take risks!
Zhou Tong's face grew paler and paler. His red official robe trembled slightly, stirring up waves like blood in the early autumn sunlight.
"Let me relieve Her Majesty of her worries."
He thought silently to himself.