Love in Red Dust – CH 083

Chapter 83.

Rujian’s death was not in vain after all. The case had gone cold, but someone at court submitted a memorial urging the conclusion of the Jilantai case. If not for this resurgence, Hongce would have had no means to delay further. Now, it presented an opportunity for him—and for the Emperor as well. The witness who had testified against High King Zhuang had died a miserable death in prison. Since an imperial relative was implicated in a murder case, the court now had grounds for severe punishment.

The Emperor was furious. He suspended Hongzan from all duties at the Grand Council and the Imperial Study, placed him under house arrest, and ordered the Ministry of Justice to investigate jointly with the Censorate and the Court of Judicial Review. Every record of income, expenditure, and social connections from High King Zhuang’s residence over the years was to be meticulously documented and submitted for imperial review at the Palace of Heavenly Purity.

What member of the Imperial Clan could withstand such scrutiny? The vast Kingly estate was turned upside down—practically raided. Whether or not Hongzan was involved in the case of Wen Lu and his son, he could no longer escape unscathed. One must believe that the world was full of those who kick a man when he was down. Seeing his impending downfall, anonymous impeachment memorials flooded in from all directions. The Emperor, seated in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, could foresee everything. Any one of these accusations, if proven true, would be enough to ensure he never rose again.

When the Empress received the news, she was deeply distressed. Dabbing her tears with a handkerchief, she said, “The rest does not matter, but poor Dingyi… We all know she’s Wen Lu’s daughter. You’ve kept silent, so no one beneath dares to speak of it. Now, with her only brother killed by Hongzan, how can she bear it?”

The Emperor twisted the jade thumb ring on his finger and said mildly, “A great house should not be mismatched. Those two were never suited—why force them together? If the old man found out, he’d be furious. I pity the Twelfth Master and understand him. If he says Wen Dingyi has nothing to do with Wen Lu, then so be it! But look—that girl arranged Rujian’s funeral rites. Would an outsider go to such lengths? It is only because I’ve kept it under wraps that outsiders pretend not to know.”

The Empress clenched her teeth. “Blame Hongzan for being too ruthless—plucking the last sprout from the family. He’s well-versed in such matters. A man locked in the Ministry of Justice, and he could have him killed just like that. Quite the accomplishment.”

The Emperor nodded and paced leisurely around the gilded incense burner, half his height. “So his cleverness was his undoing. If he had not lost his composure, I might never have caught him.”

“What about Dingyi?” the Empress asked, following behind him. “What’s to be done about her marriage to the Twelfth Master?”

The Emperor glanced back at her. “Your old weakness acting up again? A woman’s compassion… misleads a ruler.”

The Empress pursed her lips and lowered her head. “I just cannot stand it. Later, I will speak to my father. Once this matter is settled, if Dingyi is willing, she can stay at our residence for a few days. We can adopt her as a goddaughter and arrange the marriage. After all, you’ve been cutting corners on this matter—what’s one more oversight?”

The Emperor scoffed, wanting to argue but ultimately relenting. He turned to examine the painted eaves and pointed. “Why is this patch bare? Send someone to fix it immediately… If the two of them are willing, then do as you say.”

The Empress sighed. In truth, women understood women best. Whether Dingyi and the Twelfth Master could have a future together was truly uncertain. She was not a girl raised in the inner chambers, nor did she possess that habitual dependence. If you set her free, she’d find her own way to survive—she could live without a man. The deaths of her parents and brothers were like thorns in her heart, embedded too deeply to ever be removed. As for herself, as an outsider, she could only do her best to create favorable conditions for her, but whether Dingyi would accept them was up to her.

In the distance, remnants of snow clung to the rooftops. She leaned against the window and gazed outside. Someone had flown a beautiful kite high above the Forbidden City, its fluttering growing fainter as it soared higher, slowly turning into an indistinct black dot before disappearing entirely.

While the imperial palace basked in tranquil days, the Ministry of Justice prison remained perpetually grim and terrifying.

Two jailers carried a bucket, delivering meals to each cell. When they reached Duke Zhenguo’s cell, they waited but saw no bowl extended. One jailer grew impatient and peered in, saying, “What’s the matter with you? Afraid we poisoned the food? You have not eaten all day—keep this up, and you will waste away to nothing. Listen to me: if fortune comes, it comes; if disaster strikes, you cannot avoid it. Just accept it. If you are going to die, at least die with a full belly.”

The commotion last night had startled the entire prison. Suddenly, death felt so close that anyone would be terrified. Jilantai clutched the rim of his bowl with trembling fingers and hesitantly held it out. He had no energy left to care about their disrespect—only to ask, “That Wen Rujian… is he dead?”

The jailer scooped a ladle of mushy noodles into his bowl and replied casually, “Yeah, dead. They took him back to set up a memorial. What’s the point of living anyway? In the end, it is just a matter of one last breath. Before he died, he wrote the character ‘Zhuang’—was that not pointing fingers at High King Zhuang? Damn, the Twelfth Master openly impeached High King Zhuang in court. Now High King Zhuang’s luck has run out—stripped of his position and confined to his home.”

Jilantai’s eyes widened as if drenched by rain, his eyelids fluttering so much his pupils were barely visible. “You are saying High King Zhuang has been confined?”

“Yep,” the two jailers lifted their carrying pole. “Everyone who sided with High King Zhuang’s household is going down now. But he got rid of that Wen fellow—even if he took a big fall himself, it was worth it. Letting someone who holds your secrets live? That’s just asking for death. Better to strike first.”

The jailers moved to the next cell. Jilantai felt utterly drained and collapsed onto the floor. High King Zhuang had fallen—but even in his downfall, he still had remnants of power and would eliminate those who knew too much. Wen Rujian was dead. Who would be next? He did not dare think about it, clutching his head in his hands. Hongzan had promised to exonerate him, but now he could not even clean up his own mess—would he still spare him? If he were not ordered to be killed, that would already be a blessing.

He collapsed onto the pile of straw, the musty stench of rotten wheat stalks assaulting his senses. He did not even have the energy to complain, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind utterly empty.

He did not know how much time had passed when, in his daze, he heard the clinking of chains at the door. He scrambled to his feet. Two men stood there, dressed as bailiffs, their hats pulled low, obscuring their faces.

At this hour of the night, an interrogation should not be happening now. He took a step back. “Which ministry are you from?”

The two men entered, swiftly restraining him. Afraid he might shout, they covered his mouth.

“The King Yama’s department. Our master invites you for tea.”

He struggled with muffled cries as the other leisurely pulled out his belt, tying a noose on the prison door. “Yesterday, someone came by and let you off easy. But we’ve got orders—work to be done. Paid to do a job, so we will see it through. You will have to forgive us, Your Grace.”

Jilantai refused to accept his fate. Summoning all his strength, he finally broke free, clutching his pants and about to scream for help when a blade pressed against his throat. “Think this is a theater, planning to belt out a tune? How about a clean stab in, bloody stab out? Go ahead, try me.”

Tears streamed down Jilantai’s face as he cursed, “Thirty years I’ve served him, and even if there’s no credit, there’s hard work! Now he turns his back on me—Yuwen Hongzan, damn his ancestors eight generations back!”

The two exchanged a smirk. “Do not blame the wrong man. High King Zhuang did not send us.”

“Bullshit! If it is not him, then who? Got the guts to kill but scared I will haunt him in the underworld—”

His vulgar rant was cut short as the noose tightened around his neck. “When you see Censor Wen down below, do us a favor and pass along our regards. Tell him we wish him peace.” With a swift kick to his legs, he lost balance, his full weight now hanging by the neck. His eyes rolled back instantly, choking for air.

Behind a wooden partition, several Kings and high officials listened intently, brows furrowed. The guard sent out returned to report. Hongce had achieved his goal. With a wave, he ordered Jilantai cut down. Without a word, he led the group into the tea room.

“My ears are not what they used to be—I did not catch what Jilantai said. But you all heard clearly, yes?” He clasped his hands. “For now, please return. Tomorrow, the court will deliver its verdict.”

The officials murmured assent and filed out. The Thirteenth King lingered, and Hongce pulled him aside by the doorframe. “I’ve been exhausted lately. Once Jilantai confesses tomorrow, Hongzan is yours to handle. Consider Wen Lu’s case a personal favor from your elder brother—do what you can for me. I received word yesterday: Khalkha is unstable. I will likely be sent to suppress the rebellion soon… Once I leave, who knows when I will return…” He shook his head, desolate.

Hongxun gripped his wrist. “Twelfth Brother, you are pushing yourself too hard. If the court dispatches troops, feign illness and decline.”

He sighed but shook his head again, offering no further words as he stepped into the moonlight.

Instead of returning to High King Chun’s residence, he went straight to Wine and Vinegar Bureau Alley. At the entrance, white cloth draped the eaves, the courtyard filled with paper chariots and horses, rustling softly alongside the monks’ chants and chimes.

Sha Tong approached to greet him. He glanced toward the house. “Everything prepared?”

Sha Tong nodded. “The Feng Shui master calculated the burial time—tomorrow at dusk.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “And the King’s Consort?”

Sha Tong said with a sorrowful expression, “The King’s Consort will not let us call her that anymore… Ever since the brother was laid on the deathbed, she’s been staying by his side without leaving for a moment. You were not here this afternoon, but Miss Suo came, crying so bitterly…” He patted his knee and sighed, “This servant has never seen anything so tragic. If the Suo family had not forcibly taken her away, she might have followed him by now. When you think about it, with the brother gone, leaving the King’s Consort and his wife behind, they are the most pitiful ones.”

Yes, one was his sister, the other his fiancée, who had waited faithfully for over a decade. They thought they had overcome the hardships and good days were ahead, only to have their hopes dashed.

His nose stung as he turned his face away. He was worried about Dingyi, yet somewhat afraid to see her. After hesitating for a long time, he finally stepped onto the porch.

She knelt there in mourning clothes, her slender profile looking desolate. After offering incense, he approached her and said softly, “I’ve arranged for someone to keep vigil for you. You will not last like this—go back and rest for a while.”

She did not even turn her head. He knew she blamed him, and he blamed himself too, but it was too late for words. His heart wrenched, his lips trembling uncontrollably. After composing himself slightly, he continued, “Today the court issued an edict to strip High King Zhuang of his authority, confining him to his residence pending trial. Jilantai has also confessed. The case will likely conclude tomorrow. The subsequent matters will not be handled by me—they will be entrusted to High King Rui and the Court of Judicial Review. I’ve asked Hongxun to ensure the Wen family’s name is cleared…”

“What’s the use?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, her gaze piercing through the watery veil, sharp enough to rend hearts. “Will clearing their names bring my parents and brothers back? Never mind the past—just look at what’s before us now. After all these twists and turns, he still died at the hands of your Yuwen clan. You promised to keep him safe—did you not? You told me not to worry, yet my third brother is dead. You failed to keep your word. Kneeling here all day, I’ve thought a lot. If we had not returned to the capital, he would still be alive and well. It was my greed, my selfishness that dragged him into this inferno. I can never forgive myself for this. And you—why did I ever have to meet you?”

She shook her head slowly. “I regret it. I regret it so much, I do not know what to do. I should not have dreamed of being with you. I should have left the Central Plains with Rujian, followed his advice, married someone decent, and started anew. But I…” Overcome by self-loathing, she could not continue and slapped herself hard across the face.

Horrified, he grabbed her wrist. “Do not do this—”

She pushed him away, her shoulders slumped as she looked at him. “Back then, I thought of you every day, hoping you’d find me, even foolishly dreaming of becoming your King’s Consort. Looking back now, what have I done? My selfishness killed my third brother—a mistake I can never atone for in this lifetime. I’ve failed him, and I’ve failed Hailan too. Did you see how she looked today? Do you know the agony of having all your hopes turn to nothing?” She gave a bitter laugh. “You are a King—how could you understand? To you, common folk are just ants. What does it matter if they die?”

Her words truly wounded him deeply. For a long time, he had been striving tirelessly. Had he not met her, he would not have paid attention to Wen Lu’s case or exhausted all means to seek justice for the Wen family. Unfortunately, they were one step too late—Rujian had died, slipping through their fingers. He, too, felt sorrow and heartache, but why must she resent him so bitterly?

He could not bring himself to argue with her. Perhaps she needed someone to hate to ease the pain in her heart. Looking at Rujian’s face, he nodded. “It’s my fault. I was incompetent. I failed Third Brother. The prison had already heightened security, with patrols at night. I cannot fathom how anyone could have entered to commit murder. Fortunately, we’ve already captured Hongzan. The truth will come to light, and justice will be served in the end.”

She glared at him, grinding her teeth. “I do not care about the truth. I want to avenge my family. I want to kill the murderer with my own hands!”

He stared at her in shock. “What do you mean?”

She stood tall and unyielding, her back straight. “I’ve spent six years under my master’s tutelage, wielding blades. By all accounts, it is time for my mountain opening. High King Zhuang has so many lives on his hands—should he not be dragged to the Meridian Gate for execution?”

Was she planning to return to her old profession? That was impossible! He did not know how to dissuade her. Consumed by rage, she would not listen to reason now. He could only patiently explain, “Great Ying deals with the Imperial Clan by granting them the dignity of taking their own lives—it’s a matter of royal face. They would never execute them publicly. I know you are filled with hatred. If you need to vent, you can curse me or hit me, but do not take it out on yourself.”

Dingyi was trapped in her own stubbornness. She knew she was being unreasonable, but where else could she direct this overwhelming resentment? He was always so composed—how could he remain so calm? Her eyes fixed on him blankly. “Do you know what I am thinking right now? I am wondering—if I died, would you immediately kill High King Zhuang?”

His heart lurched, and he felt dizzy with frustration. “Must you be so reckless? If you want revenge, I will find a way to help you. Why say such things? You are not the only one grieving Rujian’s death. I always hoped you and your brother would be well—once the case was resolved, we could reclaim the Wen Family compound, Rujian could restore the family’s fortunes, and you’d have a home to return to…

But now it is all over. With Rujian gone, it is like a house we built has half-collapsed. My heart is riddled with wounds, too. I know he lies here at home, while I force myself to deal with ministers and the Emperor outside. To speak from the heart—I do not want to be involved anymore. I want to wash my hands of it all. But can I?”

Their voices had risen, and arguing in the mourning hall was inappropriate. Guan Zhaojing and Sha Tong hurried forward to mediate. “What’s done is done. Please, both of you, restrain your grief. Do not disturb the departed in his presence. King’s Consort, think of Miss Suo—your heart aches, but so does hers. You must comfort her. If you lose yourself in grief, what will become of Miss Suo?”

Her anger cooled at their words. In a frosty tone, she said, “Take your master back. Do not let him come here again. The money my Third Brother left is enough for me to live comfortably for the rest of my life…” Tears choked her voice as endless sorrow welled up. She turned away, collapsing against the bier, and burst into uncontrollable sobs.

Was she trying to draw a clear line between them? She was utterly disappointed in him and unwilling to forgive him again.

“Dingyi, give me one more chance…” He staggered forward, half-kneeling as he shook her. “I will fulfill any wish of yours; I beg you not to hate me.”

She steeled her heart, yet she was still alive and could still feel the pain. As he called out her name desperately, she clutched the burial shroud tightly, wanting to drive him away. But the moment she opened her mouth, a spasm seized her heart, leaving her feeling hollowed out before she collapsed by the bedside.