Chapter 60 The Might of Censor Zhang

Zhao Pu certainly did not confess without being asked; instead, he shifted the entire blame onto Emperor Yuanchang.

Shen Jifeng's fingers carefully hovered around the wound in a circle. "Why hasn't this been dressed with medicine?"

Keeping his expression entirely unchanged, Zhao Pu spouted nonsense, "It has been. But the weather is too hot for bandages. Letting it air out helps it heal faster."

With just a few words, he managed to fool Shen Jifeng. Zhibai watched with a detached expression, completely accustomed to this routine. In his mind, even if the young prince claimed the sun rose from the west, the princess would likely believe him nine times out of ten.

Shen Jifeng had ridden at a gallop the entire way and hadn't had a chance to eat, so her stomach began to rumble. She instructed Zhibai, "Tell Mother Chen to wrap up some chicken broth wontons for me. Make it a large bowl, and serve it with some pickled radishes."

Zhibai smiled and retreated. Her Highness the Princess was most fond of wheaten foods, and this bowl of chicken broth wontons was her absolute favorite. Because of this preference, the kitchen always kept chicken broth on hand, though the young prince never let the princess know about this arrangement.

"Was Wu Shouyi truly involved in the illegal trafficking of iron?" This was Shen Jifeng's greatest doubt.

"Hard to say." Zhao Pu hadn't been idle after leaving the Chongzheng Hall. Right now, the Ministry of Punishments was sealed as tight as an iron bucket, making it impossible to dig out much information. However, he had leaked a hint to the Censorate, so tomorrow they would surely tear the man to shreds with their curses.

"There are two possibilities. One is that Wu Shouyi was indeed involved, and the Ministry of Punishments unraveled the clues and dragged him out during interrogation. The other scenario is that Wu Shouyi is entirely innocent and simply happened to be used as a convenient scapegoat."

"But Dongyang is not Wu Shouyi!" Shen Jifeng worried aloud. "I will go tell Imperial Grandfather at dawn tomorrow that the real Wu Shouyi died long ago. Does that mean all members of the Azure Dragon have already perished?"

The chicken broth wontons arrived. Floating in the amber-colored soup were wontons shaped like ancient ingots, their cicada-wing-thin wrappers revealing a faint pinkish hue, garnished with emerald-green scallions and coriander. The sight made Shen Jifeng swallow involuntarily.

Zhao Pu ladled a bowl for Shen Jifeng, adding a few drops of vinegar and white pepper, which was her favorite flavor profile.

"Sister, eat first. As for which situation it truly is, once we enter the prison, Dongyang will know best."

Shen Jifeng muttered indistinctly, "I'm just worried about him. In the prison of the Ministry of Punishments, guilty or not, once you step inside, you have to endure a dozen lashes."

At the thought of the physical suffering Dongyang was about to endure, the wontons in Shen Jifeng's mouth suddenly lost their appeal.

The prisoner carriage rattled all the way, not arriving outside the gates of Bianjing until the dead of night. Dongyang assumed he would have to sleep the night beneath the city gates, but he never expected the Ministry of Punishments to have dispatched men to wait for him here. The moment they spotted the transport, they immediately took him into custody.

This was Dongyang's first time inside the prison of the Ministry of Punishments. Compared to Xijing, it was far more gloomy, and the sounds of crying and wailing were much louder. In the scorching heat of the sixth lunar month, a chilling draft rose from the depths of the earth, making him shiver.

This place was heavy with yin energy—heaven only knew how many lives had been lost here!

Yan Ji, the chief official of the Ministry of Punishments, had been waiting inside the prison, growing dizzy and fuzzy-headed after dozing off fitfully through who knows how many cycles of sleep. The moment Dongyang stepped into the cell, two jailers stepped forward and bound him to a wooden pillar. Nearby lay a heated branding iron, a leather whip soaked in saltwater, and a finger-cracking press made of three sturdy wooden boards. Because it had been used so frequently, it gleamed with grease, and a faint trace of dried blood lingered on its surface.

Dongyang swallowed hard. Things had escalated considerably.

He heard Yan Ji yawn and say, "Here is a confession. If you know what's good for you and press your thumbprint, you'll suffer fewer torments. If you don't, it doesn't matter; once you make the rounds through all these instruments, even the most stubborn bones will soften."

"May I look at the confession?" Dongyang asked.

Yan Ji flashed a mocking smile. "So he's actually literate. Let him look."

Dongyang scanned the document in a glance, immediately understanding. This was an attempt to extract a confession by torture, forcing Wu Shouyi to shoulder the crime of colluding with the managers of the Chaoxian iron mines to traffic iron ore. Originally, he hadn't been entirely certain whether Wu Shouyi was innocent, but seeing this setup, it was clearly a complete fabrication out of thin air.

"We checked. You still have an aging mother at home. As long as you confess, your mother will receive enough silver to last her several lifetimes—far more than you could ever earn mining iron for a lifetime. It's a profitable trade."

"Men, give him a few lashes first to let him taste the salt," Yan Ji chuckled, his tone as casual as if he were inquiring whether a dish suited his palate.

"Don't hit me, I'll sign!" Dongyang's terror at the prospect of a beating did not look feigned.

During the morning court session on the twenty-ninth day of the sixth lunar month, the young prince Zhao Pu deservingly became the target of public criticism.

The Censorate had spent over a month failing to find a suitable excuse to scold someone, and this time Zhao Pu had marched right into their crosshairs. Censor Zhang was so overjoyed his beard fluttered.

Weren't you going to solve the case in three days? Weren't you known for benevolence, filial piety, and quick-wittedness, carrying on the legacy of your esteemed father? Pah! Compared to his father, the Prince of Qi, he fell far short.

Aside from the excitement of finally having an outlet after days of not being able to curse anyone, Censor Zhang's heart also harbored a faint, indefinable sense of bitter disappointment at the boy's failure to live up to expectations.

"Solving a case should involve untangling cocoons and leaving no stone unturned. Yet, for the sake of his personal interests in the silver mines, the Prince disregarded the laws of the court and handled the case with sloppy haste. Fortunately, the Ministry of Punishments possessed discerning eyes and brought this escaping fish from the Prince's net to justice."

"The Azure Dragon is a secret organization of remnants from the former dynasty. Back then, the Prince and Princess of Qi lost their lives at their hands. Now, the murderers remain at large, yet the young prince, knowing his parents died unjustly, does not seek out clues to capture the true culprits; instead, he lets the tiger roam back to the mountains. Can such behavior still be worthy of the word 'filial'?"

Emperor Yuanchang sat upright upon the dragon throne, watching Censor Zhang's mouth open and close, spitting a fine spray of saliva against the balustrade. Then he looked at Zhao Pu not far away, whose head was slightly lowered, obscuring his expression. His long eyelashes hung like two tiny fans over his eyelids, and a patch of skin was noticeably missing from his forehead, covered by a brown scab with some residual redness around the edges.

Emperor Yuanchang's heart skipped a beat. *Did I hit him that hard yesterday? How did the child end up with broken skin?*

Hearing Censor Zhang's words next, a sour feeling welled up in the Emperor's chest. Who said the boy wasn't filial? Pu'er was the most benevolent and filial of them all. Ever since he was brought back and settled in the Chongzheng Hall, he had massaged his shoulders and beaten his legs every single day. After moving out of the palace, he came to pay his respects daily. Because the Emperor suffered from asthma, wine infused with nightshade berries could alleviate it; from summer through autumn every year, Zhao Pu scoured the capital and its outskirts for nightshade berries to send into the palace.

Not only that, but he also secretly sent money and provisions to the orphanages in the capital. Having experienced abduction and hardship just like them, he was all the more capable of sympathizing with the common people and possessed a benevolent heart. He had merely been in too much of a rush and misjudged a case—how did the Censorate manage to twist that into making him heinous and unforgivable?

Emperor Yuanchang let out a rough breath and tilted his head to the side. Lin Ping'an calmly noted the movement, knowing His Majesty was beginning to feel protective of the young prince.

People were truly strange creatures. Once they favored someone, whatever that person did would be met with understanding and tolerance. Conversely, when they detested someone, even the way that person breathed was deemed a mistake.

Standing on the imperial dais, Lin Ping'an looked at Zhao Pu's jade-like face. Putting everything else aside, based solely on this face, which bore such a striking resemblance to the late Empress Wang, the young prince's future was bound to be boundless.

Kong Sheng, the Minister of Punishments, listened with unconcealed triumph as the Censorate unleashed its barrage upon Zhao Pu. The higher he had been praised on that day, the heavier he would fall today.

When Censor Zhang had finally exhausted every drop of saliva from his curses, Zhao Pu calmly stepped out of the ranks and stated, word by word, "Imperial Grandfather, this grandson wishes to go to the Ministry of Punishments for a face-to-face confrontation in court."