WNST - 141

Chapter 141: The Scholar’s Final Remonstration

As Nan Yi prepared to leave, Hu Ruhai bid her farewell with a solemn, “Lady, take care.” His demeanor had changed entirely from when they first met. He performed a respectful bow, befitting a gentleman, and personally escorted her to the door. 

Upon returning to the inn, Nan Yi discovered someone had been waiting for her for quite some time. 

Qiujie’s eyes welled up with tears the moment she saw Nan Yi. Calling her “Sister-in-law,” she threw herself into Nan Yi’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Recalling the Lantern Festival, when Nan Yi had seen Qiujie’s family off from Lidu Prefecture, barely four months had passed since their parting. Yet, reuniting now felt like an eternity had elapsed, as though everything had changed beyond recognition. Overcome by emotion, Nan Yi too began to weep, and the two women clung to each other, crying bitterly. 

After finally composing themselves, Nan Yi tried to guide Qiujie to sit down, but Qiujie suddenly dropped to her knees before her. 

“Sister-in-law… I’m sorry…” 

Startled, Nan Yi exclaimed, “Qiujie?” 

“It’s my father… He betrayed the Xie family, betrayed the court… He is Da Man.” 

This shocking revelation left Nan Yi frozen, her body trembling involuntarily. 

From Qiujie’s account, Nan Yi learned many things that had previously been concealed. 

Besides Xie Zhu, several others in the court had long since defected to Daqi. The dire situation in Lidu Prefecture had been exacerbated by these individuals stirring trouble behind the scenes, complicating matters immensely. By now, all the other conspirators had been apprehended, except for Xie Zhu, who had fled north, cruelly abandoning his family in Jinling. 

“Did he know about Chaoyun’s death?” Nan Yi asked bitterly. 

Qiujie nodded through her tears, her sobs growing heavier. 

Xie Zhu had been Xie Queshan’s uncle—a father figure in his life. Back then, Xie Queshan had paid a tremendous price to save his uncle and bring him safely to Jinling. Because of this, no one had ever suspected Xie Zhu when speculating about the identity of Da Man. 

For Nan Yi, the revelation struck even deeper. This had been her very first mission—something of immense importance to her. And yet, it had all been manipulated by Xie Zhu. She had believed she was saving the integrity of a scholar, admiring the straight spine of righteousness, learning what it meant to uphold justice. 

Could all of that have been an act? Had his plan begun even then? 

How depraved could the human heart be? 

Nan Yi sank into a chair, overwhelmed with regret. She should have made a mistake during that mission, allowed Xie Zhu to perish, exposed his treachery—perhaps then the outcome would have been different. 

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her: “Did any of the conspirators confess anything related to Chaoyun?” 

At this, Qiujie’s expression grew complex as she nodded, but there was no joy in her eyes. 

Nan Yi understood immediately—there was more to the story. 

Among the conspirators, some had cracked under torture and confessed. Their testimonies detailed how they had fanned the flames in Lidu Prefecture and framed Xie Queshan. However, the emperor had hesitated and ultimately decided to seal away these confessions. The reason was clear: once revealed, while Xie Queshan’s innocence would be proven, Xie Zhu’s betrayal would also come to light, endangering the entire Xie family. 

The Xie family had escaped involvement in Xie Queshan’s case because they had clearly severed ties with him years ago. With Shen Zhizhong’s efforts to protect them, the former emperor had agreed not to implicate the Xie clan. But Xie Zhu and Xie Jun had never formally separated households; in the eyes of the public, they were inseparably linked. If the truth came out, it would be nearly impossible for the emperor to justify sparing the Xie family.

Though Nan Yi was determined to clear Xie Queshan’s name, faced with such a choice, she couldn’t bring herself to endanger the entire Xie family. The most tragic irony lay here: she knew who the true culprit was, and she knew which path would surely lead to justice—but under the weight of countless considerations, she could only remain silent. 

Her thoughts were shrouded in a bleak gray fog. The deeper she ventured, the more the enemy’s swords and spears seemed to vanish, replaced by insidious arrows from the shadows and ubiquitous taboos. 

The successive blows left her speechless for a long time. She didn’t know what else she could do. Though she had only just begun this journey, it already felt endless. 

Qiujie, her eyes red and swollen with guilt, murmured, “If only I had noticed Father’s abnormalities sooner… maybe it wouldn’t have been too late…” 

Her voice broke, choking on the words that followed. 

If only the turning point in Lidu Prefecture had come a few days earlier, Xie Queshan might not have been driven to his death. 

But what was the use of dwelling on these “ifs” now? 

The two women sat silently across from each other, helpless. The one silver lining in their misfortune was that they now had plenty of time to waste. 

Waiting—was waiting all they could do? 

From outside the window came the faint sounds of commotion, muffled through layers of doors and windows, distant like the wind at the edge of a cliff. Gradually, the wind seemed to draw closer, growing louder until suddenly, someone began pounding on the door. 

A servant from the inn shouted, “Ladies, hurry to the palace gates!” 

Nan Yi and Qiujie exchanged glances and rushed out. 

A crowd had gathered at the palace gates but was being held back by the imperial guards. Amidst the murmurs, Nan Yi and Qiujie learned that Hu Ruhai had removed his hat and robe, prostrating himself every three steps as he made his way from the palace gates to the outer hall of the Taiji Palace. 

As he crawled forward, he cried out repeatedly: “I wronged a loyal minister and misled His Majesty! I am guilty! I am willing to die ten thousand deaths to beg Your Majesty to reopen the case of Xie Queshan!” 

Hu Ruhai’s voice grew fainter, drowned out by the clamor of the crowd. Suddenly, a gasp erupted from those at the front, and the wave of sound finally reached Nan Yi’s ears. 

“Lord Hu has struck the pillar and taken his own life!” 

Nan Yi gripped Qiujie’s hand tightly. She should have felt some relief—that Hu Ruhai, whom she thought could do nothing but lament Xie Queshan’s fate, had instead chosen to atone for his mistakes and set things right through such a dramatic act of remonstration. This grand gesture of dying to expose the truth would surely shake both the court and the common people. 

Yet she felt no joy. The wound in her heart tore wider, the wind howling into it mercilessly. 

Those lives, fleeting as fireworks, illuminated her path with cruel brilliance. 

No matter how broken the world was, there were always those who would step forward fearlessly, sacrificing everything for loyalty and righteousness. 

Lord Hu was dead. 

When death became a statement, it finally carried weight. 

With this, public sentiment surged even higher. Every day, crowds gathered to demand that the court thoroughly investigate Xie Queshan’s case and give the people an explanation. It seemed both absurd and reasonable—overnight, the tide of public opinion shifted, and after his death, people began to revere him once more. 

Three days later, the emperor issued an edict: the case would be reopened, and its records transferred to the Three Departments for joint review. 

Finally, things were moving in the right direction—but it was far from enough. 

In the courtroom, words alone held no weight. 

Had there been even half a page of documentation about Xie Queshan in Bingzhu Division’s archives, this task wouldn’t have been so arduous. But “Wild Goose” was a top-secret identity, and Shen Zhizhong had left behind no records of him. 

It was Xu Kouyue who came to tell Nan Yi about a possible lead: “After Zhang Zhicun escaped back from Bianjing, he had a private meeting with Lord Shen. Lord Shen, who was also his teacher, told him that he would write a memorial detailing their deeds and submit it to the court to request commendation for them. That was the first time Zhang Zhicun learned of Xie Queshan’s identity. However, when we searched Lord Shen’s residence thoroughly afterward, we couldn’t find that memorial… Some of Bingzhu Division’s archives also disappeared without a trace.” 

Nan Yi’s heart leapt with a flicker of hope. A memorial written by Shen Zhizhong himself—this would be the most powerful piece of evidence! If they could obtain it, Xie Queshan’s innocence would become undeniable. 

Qiujie recalled seeing her father carrying a bundle during their last encounter. The items inside had sharp edges, unlike clothes or valuables—more like books or documents. 

“Lord Shen was poisoned by my father. If that memorial still exists, then Father must have taken it with him…” Qiujie reasoned. 

But Xie Zhu was now in Bianjing, his whereabouts mysterious. After entering the city, he had vanished completely, likely under the tight protection of Wanyan Puruo. 

Go to Bianjing and find Xie Zhu. 

Nan Yi made her decision immediately. 

Xu Kouyue was shocked: “No! You can’t risk yourself again! Let the emperor send a suitable spy for this mission. Stay here in Jinling with us and wait for news.” 

“A task others can complete, I can too. But no one in this world will have greater resolve than me.” 

Nan Yi refused to sit idly and wait, unable to bear the thought of receiving news of failure. She wasn’t acting rashly—the Qi forces had occupied Bianjing for less than a year, and the city was heavily guarded, with soldiers stationed everywhere. As a stranger, she might blend in more easily. 

And perhaps, deep down, she was driven by a desperate madness, cornered and unwilling to retreat. 

Xu Kouyue realized she couldn’t stop Nan Yi. 

“Are you sure you must go?” she whispered, her voice trembling. 

Privately, she feared losing another old friend. 

Nan Yi understood Xu Kouyue’s fears, and this care, reminiscent of Xie Queshan’s presence, continued to give her strength. Unexpectedly, her heart softened, and tears welled up in her eyes. 

“I’m not going to die,” she said firmly, gritting her teeth. 

Qiujie, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up: “I’m going with you.” 

Nan Yi understood Qiujie’s reasoning. As Xie Zhu’s only daughter, her identity might prove useful in critical moments. 

Though outwardly reluctant, Nan Yi agreed—but she had no intention of actually bringing Qiujie along. Qiujie was a sheltered woman who had never traveled far. Taking her into enemy territory would be far too dangerous.

When Nan Yi secretly tried to leave in the dead of night, she found Qiujie crouched beside the stables, hugging a bundle and dozing off. Hearing movement, Qiujie woke up immediately. 

She didn’t call out Nan Yi’s intention to leave her behind but simply spoke in her usual soft voice: “Sister-in-law, let’s go.” 

Nan Yi felt tears welling up again. She seemed to cry so easily these days. 

She knew that Qiujie shared the same resolve as her. Even if the road ahead was filled with blades and flames, even if their strength was minuscule, they had to set out and fight for that faint glimmer of hope. Nan Yi could no longer ignore such sincerity. She couldn’t abandon Qiujie now—she could only silently vow to protect her at all costs. 

The arduous journey took its toll on Qiujie, who rarely traveled. On the first day after dismounting, she rushed into the woods and vomited bile. 

Yet when she emerged from the forest, though her face was deathly pale, she stubbornly insisted she was fine, refusing to rest any longer for fear of holding Nan Yi back. 

Qiujie’s personality differed greatly from the rest of the Xie family, but her stubbornness was unmistakably inherited. In her, Nan Yi saw glimpses of Sixth Sister—and even Xie Queshan. 

The monotonous travel left Nan Yi often lost in thought. It was as if, by rushing forward with all her might, she could somehow bring Xie Queshan back. 

Her sleep grew shorter and shorter. 

And she no longer dreamed. She didn’t know why Xie Queshan hadn’t visited her in her dreams. 

Had he been so disappointed with this world that he crossed the River of Forgetfulness without looking back? 

But she longed to see him one more time. 

When Nan Yi sat silently lost in thought, Qiujie would quietly sit beside her, wrapped in a small blanket. Qiujie wasn’t much of a talker, and most of the time, they simply remained silent together. 

One night, heavy rain forced them to set up a tent in the wilderness. Watching the seemingly endless downpour, Qiujie suddenly asked her: “Sister-in-law, why are you walking this path?” 

Without hesitation, Nan Yi replied: “This route is shorter and more concealed.” 

Qiujie didn’t correct Nan Yi’s misunderstanding but continued speaking softly: “I don’t mean to say that Brother Chaoyun’s legacy isn’t important. Even if you didn’t act, others—Lord Song, the Yucheng soldiers, Princess Lingfu, or even the emperor—would eventually find a way to clear his name.” 

Nan Yi lay silently, her head resting on a hard rock, gazing at the deep night sky. The dense rain fell like silver threads. 

Why, then? 

A long silence followed, so long that Qiujie thought Nan Yi had fallen asleep. Finally, Nan Yi murmured: 

“I’m just thinking… how can I tell the world that every ounce of my courage and strength was his gift to me.”