#30: The Flowing Water of Today (I)

“Just casual acquaintances from the past—how could I remember so clearly?” Ye Tingyan replied calmly. “Why does Your Majesty ask this?”

Luo Wei studied his expression carefully: “Lord Ye just said you only met Zhang Gong today. How can you be so familiar with him?”

Ye Tingyan answered indifferently: “Zhang Gong is a man of great virtue and prestige. When I heard he had suddenly fallen ill, I came to pay my respects. Before arriving, I happened to buy a package of mung bean cakes from the street in front of Zhang Gong’s residence. At first, he didn’t want to see me, but for some reason, he changed his mind. After we met, he spoke incoherently for a while before collapsing from exhaustion, which is why Your Majesty had to wait so long.”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, and countered: “Does Your Majesty know the reason for this? I’ve thought about it repeatedly but couldn’t figure it out. Could it be that Zhang Gong mistook me for someone else?”

Who could Zhang Pingjing have mistaken him for?

Their appearances and mannerisms were entirely different. Only their eyes bore a faint resemblance. When Luo Wei first met him at Dianhong Road, she felt an inexplicable pang in her heart upon locking eyes with him.

Later, as they grew more familiar, she realized their gazes weren’t truly alike—Ye Tingyan’s eyes often reddened due to his condition, clouded by schemes and calculations, lacking the clarity and purity of the person she once knew.

In his illness-induced haze, Zhang Pingjing must have conjured up old memories. The scent of the mung bean cakes triggered his confusion, leading him to mistake Ye Tingyan for someone else.

Such things were common. After the third year of Tian Shou, hadn’t she also frequently fallen into illusions, unable to extricate herself?

Thinking of those cakes, Luo Wei’s heart ached.

Years had passed since she last saw Song Ling. Yet the bakery still stood.

Concealing her emotions, Luo Wei scrutinized Ye Tingyan’s demeanor. He met her gaze calmly, revealing nothing.

Fearing she might betray her unease, Luo Wei avoided answering his question. She steadied herself on Yan Luo’s arm and stepped into the waiting white rattan carriage.

Once seated, she composed herself and lifted the gauze curtain on one side.

Ye Tingyan still stood in the same spot, bowing respectfully to her.

Luo Wei said: “Zhang Gong is delirious from his illness. How could he recognize anyone? Lord Ye is overthinking.”

Ye Tingyan stared at her intently and suddenly asked: “It’s him, isn’t it? Otherwise, why would Your Majesty inquire about our past connection?”

Luo Wei tightened her grip on the gauze curtain, forcing a polite smile as if she didn’t understand his implication. Dodging the weight of his question, she said lightly: “Lord Ye, tomorrow’s public trial at the Ministry of Justice will address the assassination attempt. You should prepare.”

The gauze curtain brushed past his face as the carriage departed.

The empress’s carriage passed through the narrow alley, flanked by many bowed attendants. Luo Wei sat upright, lost in thought. As they reached the alley’s exit, the scent of roasted mung bean paste lingered in her nose, snapping her back to reality.

Through the gauze curtain and the crowd, she glimpsed the familiar shop. The shopkeeper and his wife had aged, and the little boy she once knew had grown into a lanky youth. Try as she might, she could no longer recall their faces.

Now, they knelt respectfully, foreheads pressed to the ground, hidden from her view.

Luo Wei withdrew her gaze and called out softly: “Yan Luo.”

The carriage halted. Yan Luo lifted the curtain and entered, responding: “Your Majesty.”

Luo Wei instructed: “Before returning to the palace, go to the old Yan residence and ask Lady He to send a letter to Youzhou for me. Request Xiao Yan’s assistance to thoroughly investigate this Ye San, particularly his recent interactions with Bianjing.”

Yan Luo replied with a quiet “Yes,” then hesitated: “What does Your Majesty suspect?”

Luo Wei shook her head: “I’m not sure. With that painting Danxiao Tasi in hand, I shouldn’t harbor such doubts… For ordinary matters, Song Lan would surely have investigated thoroughly. Xiao Yan has been in Youzhou for years and understands local affairs better than anyone Song Lan could send. Ask him to investigate meticulously. If anything amiss arises, inform me. If not, consider it mere paranoia on my part.”

She glanced back, lowering her voice further: “That bakery we just passed—their mung bean cakes are always marked with a crescent moon made of red yeast to distinguish them from red bean cakes. Buy one to taste when you visit.”

•

After the imperial carriage departed, Ye Tingyan lingered briefly at the entrance of Zhang Fu before stepping back inside.

He walked slowly, eventually reaching the hall where Zhang Pingjing lay. Just as he arrived, he encountered Madam Zhang.

Madam Zhang was arranging the mung bean cakes Ye Tingyan brought into a plate. Holding the copper tray, she prepared to enter when she spotted him, surprised: “Lord Ye?”

She glanced down at the cakes in her hands and smiled bitterly: “Lord Ye stumbled upon something quite fortuitous. Though the bakery selling these cakes is right on this street, Old Zhang, burdened by too many thoughts during his commutes, often forgot to buy them. In the past, it was always Her Majesty who bought them when she visited… Now that she reigns as empress, she no longer has the time. Servants tried buying them, but he disliked their offerings. Everyone assumed he no longer cared for them—it’s been years since he last ate them. Today, your arrival delighted him greatly. Though others may not notice, I certainly did.”

Realizing she had spoken too much, she quickly added: “Forgive me, Lord Ye. Old age makes one prone to rambling.”

Ye Tingyan remained silent. Madam Zhang looked at him curiously, noticing his eyes had reddened slightly. Catching her gaze, he smiled: “It’s nothing.”

Madam Zhang didn’t understand his intentions but sensed a trace of sorrow in him. She probed further: “Did Lord Ye and my husband know each other?”

“Yes,” Ye Tingyan replied absently. “Many years ago, during a trip to the capital, I played a game of chess with Zhang Gong.”

Madam Zhang smiled gently: “Lord Ye must be mistaken. Pingjing doesn’t know how to play chess.”

Ye Tingyan chuckled: “Is that so?”

Suddenly, he lifted his deep blue robe and knelt on the uneven stone path before the hall. Startled, Madam Zhang moved to stop him, but before she could, Ye Tingyan meticulously kowtowed toward the empty space in the main hall.

The candles had extinguished, leaving the hall dimly lit. Only the plaque inscribed with “Revere Heaven, Pity Mankind” hung high and visible in the distance.

After completing the gesture, he rose silently and turned to leave without a word. Madam Zhang, filled with confusion, wanted to call out and ask more but found his retreating figure oddly familiar. For a moment, she forgot to speak and simply stood there, watching him disappear amidst the swirling willow fluff.

•

The next day, the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Punishments convened for the public trial. Luo Wei and Song Lan sat behind an ancient painted screen on the northern side of the tribunal.

To avoid bias, the emperor and empress were not required to attend personally. Even if they did, they would sit high above, rarely intervening directly.

At the forefront of the tribunal sat the Minister of Justice, the Deputy Chief Censor, and the Chief of the Court of Punishments. On the left stood Ye Tingyan, appointed by Song Lan as an investigating censor, and Chang Zhao, temporarily commissioned for the case. On the right were Yu Qiushi and officials from the Personnel and Works Ministries of the Hall of State Affairs.

During the Ming Emperor’s reign, a famous reform took place. Though the Xiaohua Decree from the reform was later abolished, the principle of “cautious punishment” endured. Thus, for cases like this, involving potential collective punishment, the emperor, the Hall of State Affairs, the three judicial departments, and all third-rank officials or higher were required to deliberate.

When Lin Zhao and the horse trainer were brought before the court, everyone was startled. Though Lin Zhao bore some faint bloodstains from flogging, his injuries were minor compared to the trainer, who was covered in blood and barely able to kneel.

As soon as Lin Zhao reached the hall, he began pounding his head against the floor and wailing: “Your Majesty, I’m innocent!”

The presiding judge of the Court of Punishments immediately barked: “Silence, prisoner!”

According to the laws of the Yin dynasty, torture was limited to one flogging within twenty days. However, Lin Zhao and the trainer had not been held in the prisons of the Ministry of Justice or the Court of Punishments but instead interrogated by Zhuque, violating legal procedures. Their current state made it clear that Zhuque’s methods disregarded the law entirely.

One of the standing censors could barely contain himself. Had the emperor been present, he would have immediately lodged a protest.

His colleague quickly restrained him, signaling with his eyes that today was not the time to disrupt the trial. Any protests could wait until the morning court session.

Luo Wei glanced at Song Lan, whose expression remained calm, betraying no sense of wrongdoing.

Song Lan likely knew of Lin Zhao’s reckless nature and dared not act rashly. Still, he tended to overthink—could Lin Zhao’s past behavior have been a cover for this incident? If so, he must be a formidable figure, unlikely to yield under torture.

In that case, interrogating the lowly, inexperienced horse trainer would be more effective.

Song Lan entered Zishan Hall relatively late and, thanks to Song Ling’s protection, was never punished by the tutors for “violating the law.” Thus, he had little regard for the severity of the censors and remonstrators enforcing the legal code.

Luo Wei let out a barely audible snort.

The presiding judge of the Court of Punishments began questioning according to the law. Lin Zhao claimed he had recently improved in archery and horsemanship and sought to show off during the event, only to be caught off guard when the horse suddenly went berserk.

The trainer sobbed, claiming he was merely performing his duty to save lives and had no idea Lin Zhao would draw the sword or that the ancient blade was sharpened.

These statements had been repeated countless times, and Song Lan, growing increasingly irritated, leaned back in his chair.

Though he intended to use this opportunity to extract funds from Marquis Fengping to fill the treasury deficit, he remained deeply curious about who orchestrated the assassination and why. The throne loomed like a sword above his head, and he knew such incidents would not be rare in the future. This being his first public encounter with an assassination attempt since ascending the throne, he believed severe punishment was necessary to instill fear.

The Ministry of Justice had thoroughly investigated the trainer’s background—he was a former palace guard dismissed for an unspecified offense. His expertise in horsemanship saved him from being expelled outright, relegating him to Muchun Field instead.

The palace records provided scant details about his transgression. According to him, it was merely breaking a noble’s teacup—a minor infraction. With the regime change and the palace staff replaced, verifying the truth was impossible.

Under such circumstances, both parties could have been charged with treason if they were commoners. However, Lin Zhao was the legitimate son of Marquis Fengping, who was closely aligned with Yu Qiushi. A misstep could offend the prime minister, so the three judicial departments deliberated repeatedly, hesitant to issue a verdict.

As the trial threatened to reach a stalemate, Ye Tingyan suddenly rose and summoned a witness to the stand.