The night was deep, yet the Ministry of Justice was still brightly lit and packed with people.
The joint trial of the military supplies counterfeit medicine case had been ongoing since the day before. Because so many officials at various levels were implicated, the proceedings had already lasted two days. Witnesses and evidence had been presented multiple times, yet the case remained unfinished.
Inside the Ministry of Justice at this hour, aside from the regular staff of the Three Judicial Offices—the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate—crowds of onlookers had also gathered.
Acting on the Empress Dowager’s orders to oversee the case and ensure the desired outcome of condemning the Tan family, Gu Zhao knew the key was to find someone who could deliver the final, decisive blow. So he had summoned several influential figures to the scene.
The first was the Eldest Grand Princess, the greatest victim of the counterfeit medicine scandal.
As a member of the imperial family, the Eldest Grand Princess had few people in this world she deemed worthy of her notice. She was also bold enough to charge into the palace and confront the Emperor directly. Since the counterfeit medicine case had harmed the fundamental interests of the northern frontier and endangered the lives and safety of its soldiers, she agreed without hesitation when Gu Zhao invited her. Arriving with full imperial grandeur, she swept into the Ministry of Justice.
The moment she took her seat, anyone who tried to speak, even slightly, in favor of letting the Tan family off the hook would feel the weight of her gaze. That single look was enough to shrink the most daring intentions of bending the rules, leaving them too afraid to speak further—lest the Eldest Grand Princess’s guards rush forward and cut them down.
The second was Lord Du, the victim connected to the Liu Family Medical Clinic, which had supplied the counterfeit medicine.
Lord Du had submitted petitions denouncing Administrator Liu in an endless stream, but before he could fully vent his fury, his rival Administrator Liu had died—leaving him with a deep, unsettled resentment. As a Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, supervising major trials fell within his duties. Now, having pursued the case to the Ministry of Justice, he was determined to see justice served.
Few in this world could withstand the pressure of the Eldest Grand Princess’s gaze, and even fewer could engage Lord Du in a fierce debate and come out victorious.
With the Eldest Grand Princess and Lord Du taking the lead, Gu Zhao never even had a chance to step in.
Most of the implicated figures had already been interrogated, but the trial dragged on because it had stalled on the last and highest-ranking suspect: the Tan Grand Secretary.
Whether the Tan Grand Secretary could be convicted depended on one key question: was he aware that the Liu family was supplying counterfeit medicine, and did any of the profits from the Liu family end up in his coffers? If so, how much had he taken, and had it reached the threshold for the death penalty?
Perhaps the pregnancy of Consort Tan had given the Tan Grand Secretary’s faction a glimmer of hope. They were counting on protecting him long enough for Consort Tan to give birth to a prince, which would give them a chance to turn the tide.
That was why several key witnesses had retracted their testimonies that day, insistently claiming that the Tan Grand Secretary was ignorant of the matter and had taken no money.
But one by one, piece by piece, Lord Du interrogated them until they were backed into corners.
And right now, the one being hounded by Lord Du until his forehead dripped with sweat, his words stumbling and contradictory, his story riddled with holes, and approaching the point of collapse, was Shopkeeper Liu from the Liu Family Medical Clinic.
As the manager, Shopkeeper Liu had kept the Liu family’s account books. Naturally, he was the one who knew best where the Liu family’s silver had gone.
Gu Zhao listened as Lord Du questioned him, watching Shopkeeper Liu—the same man who had once kowtowed to Zhu Qingyu and begged for his life—and found that his own questions were even more pressing than Lord Du’s.
One question after another surged in Gu Zhao’s mind, making him want to corner Shopkeeper Liu and ask:
Why did you call her a Bodhisattva?
Back in Bianzhou back then, did you know something?
Did you… see something?
These questions had lingered in Gu Zhao’s thoughts, his heart, and even his dreams every day, spinning endlessly and troubling him so fiercely that he could barely find peace.
Shopkeeper Liu had only been temporarily transferred from the Imperial Prison earlier that day by Shen Xu. In the days prior, he had been locked up there.
If Gu Zhao had wanted to enter the Imperial Prison and question Shopkeeper Liu, he had had countless opportunities over the past few days—and even after today’s trial ended, once Shopkeeper Liu was returned to his cell, Gu Zhao could still go there anytime.
It would have taken less than a quarter of an hour to get his answer.
But Gu Zhao dared not. He feared going, feared facing the possibility that the truth might be exactly what he suspected.
Gu Zhao rarely felt fear in his life, yet on this matter, his courage had failed him time and again. Countless times, he had been on the verge of rushing into the Imperial Prison to ask Shopkeeper Liu, and just as many times, he had backed away, choosing to flee instead.
As if not asking would make the possibility cease to exist.
She had once said she came from the heavens.
At the time, he had dismissed it as a flippant excuse to brush him off.
But what if it were true?
If she truly came from the heavens and could leave at any moment, then even with the greatest power this world could offer, hunting through the skies above and the earth below, he would never find her.
Never see her again in this life.
Impossible. It was too absurd. It couldn’t be real.
On the main dais, Shopkeeper Liu ultimately failed to withstand Lord Du’s verbal assault. He was interrogated so relentlessly that he began frothing at the mouth before collapsing unconscious.
With him unconscious, what could they do?
It would have to be a lengthy affair. The presiding minister of the Ministry of Justice announced that proceedings would end for the day and resume tomorrow.
As Gu Zhao left the Ministry of Justice, he saw Shopkeeper Liu being carried away, utterly comatose and certainly beyond questioning—like a death-row inmate granted a temporary reprieve. There was an undeniable sense of relief in his heart.
Never mind today. Let it be. If I couldn’t ask now, I’ll ask tomorrow. I’ll head back for now.
At this hour, the palace gates had yet to be locked. Returning to the palace might be tight, but it was still possible.
Yet if he did go back, he feared he could not stop himself from questioning Zhu Qingyu—asking her if she was the celestial maiden he had prayed for from the Bodhisattva four years ago to cure an epidemic. Even worse, he was terrified that once he asked, like in the old operas, the celestial maiden, having had her identity discovered by a mortal, would break the heavenly rules and be forced to return at once to the heavens.
Gu Zhao’s thoughts spun uncontrollably. Over and over, he tried to summon reason and calm, rejecting his own absurd speculation.
What are you even thinking?!
You’re just too infatuated with her—so caught up in your fear of losing her that you’ve started seeing illusions.
A celestial maiden from the heavens? Ridiculous!
Absurd. Laughable. You’ve truly lost your mind!
Once again, the urge to flee won out. Just like the day before, he could not even bring himself to return to the palace and face her. Grabbing his horse’s reins, he turned toward his family mansion.
Gu Zhao dared not confront it. He only wanted to escape.
But Xiong Kun, who had just received an urgent dispatch, came galloping down the street. Leaping from his horse, he pulled a letter from his robes and presented it to Gu Zhao:
“Your Lordship—an urgent letter from Bianzhou!”
Xiong Kun was so anxious because Gu Zhao had specifically instructed him the previous evening to keep an eye out for any urgent dispatches from Bianzhou and deliver them immediately.
Fearing that Gu Zhao might miss the letter if he returned to the palace today, Xiong Kun had rushed straight to the Ministry of Justice the moment the letter arrived.
What puzzled Xiong Kun was this: His Lordship had steadily impressed upon him the importance of watching for this letter, suggesting that grave matters awaited from Bianzhou. Yet now that the letter had arrived, His Lordship only stared at it—refusing to take it.
The snow-white document lay in Xiong Kun’s outstretched hand, finding no taker. Xiong Kun himself began to doubt his own ears—wondering if he had somehow misunderstood the assignment.
No matter how much he didn’t want to face it, he had to face it—it was something he would ultimately have to confront.
But when the moment of confrontation truly arrived, his instinct to flee and his cowardice once again gained the upper hand.
Gu Zhao took the letter but did not open it. He simply tucked it into his robe and gave his orders:
“Back to the Duke’s Mansion.”
Gu Zhao mounted his horse and rode halfway before a strange, unsettling tightness seized his chest.
Something was wrong!
Something was definitely wrong!
Before he could even untangle the source of his panic, his body moved faster than his mind. Gu Zhao turned his horse around and galloped toward the Imperial Palace.
At the very last moment before the palace gates closed, Gu Zhao rushed through the Eastern Flowery Gate and sprinted all the way across the Wenyuan Pavilion.
The sense of panic in his heart grew stronger and stronger, his heartbeat quickening like war drums urging him on—faster, faster, faster, faster!
Faster, faster, faster, faster!
Gu Zhao raced almost without pause to the Palace of Heavenly Purity, roughly shoving aside several palace attendants who stepped forward to bow. He stormed straight into the Emperor’s bedchamber and flung open the tightly shut doors.
The scene inside the bedchamber nearly froze Gu Zhao’s blood.
A eunuch was pressing Zhu Qingyu to the ground, lying on top of her, his hands clamped around her throat.
The Emperor, too weak to even shout, lay sprawled at the edge of the bed, struggling to use his frail, sickness-ridden hand to pull at the eunuch’s hair.
On the floor, Zhu Qingyu’s eyes were shut tight—she had already lost consciousness.
In that moment, Gu Zhao felt as though his very soul were shattering. He practically flew across the room, seized the attacking eunuch, and flung him aside. Then he kicked the eunuch square in the cheekbone, snapping his neck.
A dagger was lodged in the eunuch’s belly, and blood pooled all around him.
From the attack, Zhu Qingyu bore a clear strangulation mark on her neck, while her abdomen and hands were covered in blood—her life or death unknown.
