In a province of the Great Qian Dynasty, the Administrative Commissioner, the Judicial Commissioner, and the Military Commander were collectively known as the "Three Offices," governing civil administration, justice, and military affairs respectively.
The three held equal rank and standing.
On the surface, there was no hierarchy among them.
In practice, however, the Administrative Commissioner, as head of the Provincial Administration Office, was responsible for conveying imperial decrees and managing the province’s civil affairs and finances, and was often regarded as first among the three.
In official circles, he subtly overshadowed the other two.
But this night.
Qi Wei, the Military Commander of Beihe, and Lin Yong, the Judicial Commissioner of Beihe—two high officials who were ordinarily eclipsed by Sun Youde—had rarely found themselves together, seated in the same room, with the same list spread before them, waiting to do the same thing.
Outside the house, the night was as dark as ink; inside, candlelight blazed bright.
Qi Wei was a sturdy man in his mid-forties, tall and powerful, with a rugged, resolute face. Years spent in the military had bronzed his skin under wind and sun. His palms were broad and rough, with thick calluses at the base of his thumbs—marks left by decades of gripping a blade.
Lin Yong was more refined, in his fifties, with a lean face and three wisps of long beard, dressed in a crimson official robe. He sat with his back ramrod straight, the very picture of a proper civil official who had risen through the examination system.
The list spread before them was densely packed with names, each followed by official title, place of origin, and the crimes alleged—every detail written out clearly, stroke by stroke.
Qi Wei finished reading the last line, set the list down, and lifted the teacup on the table to take a large gulp. The tea had gone cold, but he didn’t seem to mind. He merely let out a long breath and said, with a hint of emotion in his voice: “I never would have guessed.”
Lin Yong glanced at him. “Guessed what?”
“Never guessed Sun Youde had so many tricks up his sleeve.” Qi Wei set the cup back down with a thud and tapped his finger on the list. “Look here—the Right Administration Vice Commissioner and advisors in his office, then the prefects, sub-prefects, and county magistrates below them, and even people in the Salt Transport Bureau and the Judicial Office—altogether nearly a hundred men.”
He paused, and his tone carried a complicated note: “Several of them are my own subordinates.”
Lin Yong said nothing, only gave a slight nod.
His situation was hardly better. Several deputy and assistant commissioners under the Judicial Office, along with the magistrate’s aides in the prefectures below—many had been drawn into the affair.
Some of those officials he had personally promoted. Some were juniors he had held in high regard. Some had followed him for over a decade.
In ordinary times, they were diligent, capable, polite to his face, calling him “Excellency” with warmth and deference. But behind closed doors?
How many elixirs had they consumed? How much silver had they pocketed? How deeply were they entangled with the White Cloud Temple?
Lin Yong didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know.
He simply felt a chill in his heart, and a trace of lingering fear—if this case had never been uncovered, if these men had been allowed to keep building their networks in Beihe’s officialdom, then in another few years, or ten or twenty, would Beihe still belong to the court?
“But come to think of it,” Qi Wei spoke again, pulling Lin Yong back from his thoughts, “the court arranged this quite thoroughly. They haven’t even made the arrests yet, and the replacements are already in place.”
Lin Yong nodded, his gaze falling on the annotations at the end of the list.
The position of Administrative Commissioner, held by Sun Youde, was to be temporarily filled by the Left Administration Vice Commissioner of Beihe—a man Lin Yong knew to be honest in office, steady in handling affairs, and well regarded within the Administration Office.
Crucially, he had no connection whatsoever with the White Cloud Temple.
The Left Vice Commissioner’s post would be filled by a promotion from one of the prefects below, and the prefect’s vacancy would be filled by someone dispatched from the capital. Layer upon layer, link upon link, like a precisely tuned machine—every gear already adjusted, just waiting for the button to be pressed.
The other vacancies were likewise arranged: some filled from various departments, some by promoting honest local officials. The Ministry of Personnel had already planned everything out—names, resumes, appointment documents—all ready. The old emperor had approved and stamped the seals.
Indeed, the people had already arrived.
They were waiting in the neighboring compound, ready to assume their posts the moment the arrests were made.
Qi Wei looked at that dense list, at the rows of small characters noting “temporary appointment,” “promotion,” “dispatch,” and “transfer,” and he couldn’t help but marvel inwardly.
That Minister Shen at the Ministry of Personnel—he was truly a man of talent.
Such a massive operation, involving so many officials, and he had managed, without a sound, to settle on every candidate, prepare every document, and make every arrangement.
And with extraordinary thoroughness.
Extraordinary precision.
Lin Yong clearly had the same thought. He exchanged a glance with Qi Wei, and both saw the same understanding in each other’s eyes—this matter, His Majesty and the Ministry had been planning for a long time.
“In that case,” Qi Wei rose to his feet, adjusted his robes, and straightened the saber at his waist, “what are we waiting for? Let’s move.”
Lin Yong also stood, folding the list and tucking it into his sleeve. He nodded: “Let’s move.”
The two walked out of the house one after the other.
Outside, the courtyard was packed with people in the darkness.
On the left stood the troops of the Military Commander’s office, in full armor, with spears and blades standing at attention, gleaming coldly in the night. They stood straight, eyes fixed ahead, radiating an air of grim readiness.
On the right were the constables of the Judicial Office, in black attire and black boots, iron rods hanging at their belts, holding torches that cast flickering orange light across their sharp-featured faces.
The two groups stood in formation with a clear passage down the middle. Qi Wei and Lin Yong walked side by side through that passage, their steps steady, their faces stern.
The torchlight leaped across their faces, making their eyes burn bright.
Qi Wei mounted his horse, swept his gaze over the assembled troops, and spoke in a voice not loud, yet carrying the fierce edge of a seasoned battlefield commander: “You all know what tonight is about. Not a single name on the list gets away. Anyone who resists—kill on sight.”
“Yes!” The troops answered in unison, low and disciplined, carrying far into the night.
Lin Yong also mounted his horse. He lacked Qi Wei’s sharpness, but he simply gave the constables a slight nod: “Let’s go.”
The two columns filed out of the courtyard, splitting into several groups in the darkness, each racing toward its assigned target.
The pounding of hooves shattered the stillness of midnight, and the torchlight trailed ribbons of moving flame down the long streets, like rivers of fire threading through the dark.
Qi Wei personally led a detachment straight for the office of the Beihe Administrative Commissioner.
Sun Youde’s official residence lay in the large compound behind the office—a three-courtyard mansion with gray brick and dark tiles, upturned eaves and carved rafters, standing out conspicuously in this district of government buildings.
Qi Wei, riding at the head, gazed at the two stone lions at the mansion’s gate and gave a faint curl of his lip.
A relative of the imperial family.
So what?
His old superior, the Duke of Qin—father of Her Majesty the Empress—was a true imperial kinsman. But did the Duke ever put on airs?
He never used his rank to lord it over the officers beneath him, approachable as an old neighbor.
Who the hell did Sun Youde think he was?
He was merely the father of a consort, the maternal grandfather of the Eighth Prince. In terms of family standing, status, and seniority, how could he compare to the Duke of Qin?
Yet he was the one who put on the greatest airs. Every time he met his colleagues, his chin was lifted high, his eyes fixed on the sky above, with an expression that screamed, "You are all nothing but a pack of lowlifes."
Qi Wei had long found him insufferable.
He had only held back because of the rules of officialdom, enduring it all without giving vent to his anger.
But tonight.
There was no need to endure any longer.
He reined in his horse before the gates of Sun Youde's residence, raised a hand, and the soldiers behind him surged forward like a tide, surrounding the entire estate so tightly that not even water could have seeped through.
Qi Wei dismounted and strode up the steps, leading his men to slam open the vermilion-painted gates.
The crack of the door bar snapping was startlingly sharp in the night, like a clap of thunder that shattered the last remnants of peace in the estate.
"Go in! Search!" he commanded, and the soldiers filed through, the sounds of footsteps, shouts, and upturned furniture erupting from every corner of the residence simultaneously.
Sun Youde was dragged out of bed.
He was in his nightclothes, hair disheveled, sleep still clinging to his face. But the moment he saw Qi Wei standing before him, his face turned white as a sheet.
"Qi Wei! You... you have some nerve!" he struggled, his voice sharp and shrill. "I am a court official! I am a Provincial Administration Commissioner! What right do you have to arrest me?!"
Qi Wei looked at him, offering no reply. He simply withdrew a bright yellow silk decree from his sleeve and unrolled it.
"Imperial edict delivered."
Sun Youde went rigid.
Qi Wei did not look at him, but recited the contents of the edict word by word, his voice not loud yet steady, each syllable landing on Sun Youde's chest like a stone.
Misappropriation of river-conservation funds, collusion with the White Cloud Temple, trafficking in proscribed drugs, sowing chaos in the provinces—crimes for which no pardon could be given.
Sun Youde's face went from white to gray, from gray to green. His lips trembled, as if he wanted to speak, but not a single word came out.
Qi Wei finished reading the edict, tucked the silk away, and looked at the man before him—the one who had once walked with such arrogance and now cowered like a dying dog. The corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Take him away."
That night, Beihe did not sleep.
It was not just Sun Youde. One by one, the officials on the list were plucked from their homes, from their offices, from all manner of unexpected places.
Some were reviewing official documents in their studies when they were lifted from their chairs, the writing brushes still in their hands. Some were in their reception halls consulting with aides when they saw armored soldiers rushing in—their faces drained of color, porcelain tea cups slipping from their fingers and shattering on the floor. Some were already asleep and were hauled out of their beds, barefoot on the cold ground, trembling all over.
Some tried to resist, shouting, "Who are you people?" "On what grounds do you arrest me?" "I want to see the Emperor!"
But all their resistance was futile.
Some, hearing the wind, attempted to flee—scaling walls, crawling through dog holes, disguising themselves as servants, hiding in carriages—every trick imaginable.
But the soldiers had sealed off every road and pass so tightly that not one of them got away. A few were caught the moment they dropped off the wall, tackled by the waiting guards.
By dawn, everyone on the list had been taken into custody, except for two who had received advance warning and taken their own lives.
Nearly a hundred people were locked up in the great jail of the Provincial Judicial Commission. Chains clanged, and the sounds of weeping, pleading, and bodies slamming against walls mingled into a cacophony that turned the previously cold, quiet prison into a boiling cauldron.
Qi Wei stood in the corridor outside the cells, listening to the noise within, his face impassive.
He turned to Lin Yong, who was beside him, and said, "The arrests are done. Now it's your turn."
Lin Yong gave a slight nod. "Leave the interrogations to me. The evidence is conclusive—witnesses and physical proof are all in hand. They won't be able to deny it."
Qi Wei nodded. "Good."
The two walked out of the prison side by side.
Morning light crept over the eastern horizon, bathing the entire city in a hazy gold. Smoke from kitchen chimneys rose into the sky, and early-rising common folk were already starting their day.
The great roundup that had shaken all of Beihe the night before was, to them, nothing more than a distant sound of hoofbeats and commotion. They heard it, wondered for a moment, then turned over and went back to sleep.
They did not know that, in the span of a single short night, the entire officialdom of Beihe had been turned over and replaced.
Those who had embezzled, who had sold elixirs, who had formed factions for private gain—every last one was rooted out; while those who were clean, competent, and trustworthy had already stepped into their positions and begun taking up the reins of government.
Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion.
No upheaval, no chaos, no vacuum of power, no one seizing the moment to raise trouble.
...
Yunyang Commandery.
Zhao Wenhuan stood outside the city gates, gazing at the familiar walls before him, a strange, unnameable feeling rising in his chest.
The walls were the same walls.
The gates were the same gates.
But everything had changed.
Two months ago, he had been led out of this city in shackles.
Back then, he had worn a dingy gray prison uniform, a heavy wooden cangue around his neck, cold iron fetters dragging at his feet. He had been pulled from a holding tent, shoved onto a prisoner's cart, and taken away from this city where he had lived for several years, amidst a hail of spittle and contempt.
He had thought he would never return.
He had thought those insults, those stones, those contemptuous glares would be the final memories of his life.
He had even prepared himself for death.
To be escorted back to the capital, thrown into prison, interrogated, beaten into a confession, then taken to the execution ground—to kneel in that small patch of open ground at Caishikou, waiting for the executioner's blade to fall.
Head rolls, and it all ends.
He had run through every possible ending in his mind, and every one of them was bleak, every one of them filled him with resentment—but what could he do?
He had even considered killing himself in prison.
An end to it all.
To avoid the humiliation, to avoid the ugly faces, to avoid being gawked at, mocked, and cursed on the execution ground.
But in the end, he had not died.
Not because he was afraid of death, but because he refused to accept it.
He had not done those things. He had not embezzled, had not built shoddy dikes, had not taken a single coin that was not rightfully his.
His innocence—he knew it himself.
But what good did that do?
Nothing in this world is more useless than a man nailed to the pillar of shame who alone believes in his own innocence.
No one would believe him.
No one would care.
But what he had not expected was that there could still be a turn of fortune.
From the capital to Yunyang, six hundred li. He had been jostled in that prisoner's cart for over ten days and nights, then thrown into the great prison of the Court of Judicial Review, locked in a pitch-dark cell, day and night, with no idea what was happening beyond the walls.
He had expected interrogations, tortures, being forced to sign a confession.
But none of that came.
Nothing at all.
The judges of the Court did not interrogate him, did not beat him, did not even ask him a single question. They simply kept him locked up, sending him meals three times a day, enough to keep him alive—nothing more.
He had been confused, had doubted, had even wondered—had they already decided his guilt, too lazy to hold another trial, just waiting for the autumn execution?
Until that day, when the cell door was opened and a young official walked in, placing a document before him.
"Zhao Wenhuan, your case has been investigated. You are innocent."
He thought he had misheard.
"What did you say?" His voice was hoarse and rough, because he had not spoken for so long.
"You are innocent." The young official repeated, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. "The one who embezzled the river-works funds was Chen Qiming. The masterminds behind it were Sun Youde, the Northern River Provincial Administrator, and Xuan Qingzi, the abbot of Baiyun Temple. You are cleared of all charges."
Zhao Wenhuan sat on the pile of straw in his cell, clutching the document in his hand, and did not move for a long while.
He did not cry, did not laugh, did not proclaim his innocence, did not rage. He did nothing at all.
He simply sat there, quiet and still, reading through the document from beginning to end three times. Then he looked up and asked, "Can I leave?"
The young official was taken aback for a moment, then nodded. "Of course. You may go now."
Zhao Wenhuan rose to his feet, shook the straw scraps off his prison garb, and walked out of the cell that had held him for who knew how long.
The sunlight stung his eyes, and he squinted.
He stood in the courtyard of the Grand Court, tilting his head up at the vast blue sky above, and took a deep, long breath.
The air smelled of earth, of flowers and grass, and of freedom.
He had come back to life.
Not only had he come back to life, but he had also been appointed the new Prefect of Yunyang.
The appointment decree from the court had been delivered to him on the very day he was released from prison.
The seal of the Ministry of Personnel, bright crimson, was stamped on the paper, clearly bearing his name, his office, and his rank.
Zhao Wenhuan.
Promoted to Prefect of Yunyang.
From the sixth rank to the fifth rank, a double promotion. He did not decline, nor did he say any polite nonsense like "I am unworthy of such a favor." He simply tucked the document away, bowed to the official who had delivered the decree, said "Your servant accepts the order and thanks the emperor," and then packed his belongings and set out on the road back.
Six hundred li. He walked that road again.
This time.
There were no prison carts, no iron chains, no wooden cangues, no curses and contemptuous stares.
Instead, there was the official highway, a carriage, soft cushions, attendants and guards accompanying him, and hot tea and hot meals at every waystation.
Freedom.
A clear name.
Everything he was owed.
Zhao Wenhuan stood outside the gates of Yunyang City, shook off his reverie, and stepped inside.
The soldiers guarding the gate saw him, froze, and upon noticing his official robe and the badge at his waist, hurriedly clasped their fists in salute: "Greetings, Lord Zhao."
Zhao Wenhuan gave a slight nod, said nothing, and walked through the gate arch, onto the long street in the city that he had walked countless times before.
The floodwaters had receded by now.
The people on the streets were either clearing mud or patching up damaged buildings.
When they saw him, some recognized him and whispered among themselves. Their eyes held surprise, curiosity, and awe—but none of the disgust or contempt from before.
Those who had cursed him now, seeing him, would only lower their heads and hurry past, not daring to meet his gaze.
Because they knew they had accused the wrong man.
Zhao Wenhuan did not dwell on any of that. He just walked quietly, along that long street, all the way to the gates of the county office.
The gate was ajar, and two people stood at the entrance.
One was the old gatekeeper of the county office. When he saw Zhao Wenhuan, his eyes reddened instantly, and his lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but he only bowed deeply, his voice choked with emotion: "Lord Zhao, you're back."
Zhao Wenhuan glanced at him and nodded. "I'm back."
The other stood inside the gate.
It was Sun Qian. The former Prefect of Yunyang, now the Deputy Prefect.
He stood there with a complicated look on his face. When he saw Zhao Wenhuan approaching, he hesitated for a moment, then clasped his fists and bowed his head slightly. "Lord Zhao, congratulations."
Not "Prefect Zhao," but "Lord Zhao."
Not a greeting between equals, but the deference of a subordinate to a superior.
Zhao Wenhuan looked at him silently for a moment.
He knew why Sun Qian had been demoted—during the flood siege, Sun Qian had fled in fear, abandoning the people and running first. If Zhao Wenhuan had not stepped up to hold the city together and steady the people, Sun Qian's fate would not have been a demotion to Deputy Prefect but dismissal and criminal prosecution.
"Deputy Sun," he said, clasping his fists in return, and without another word, walked into the county office.
Zhao Wenhuan settled himself behind the desk that belonged to him, leaned back against the chair, and let out a long breath. He looked out the window, where the sunlight was just right...
