The twenty-second year of the Yongle era, ninth month, Beijing.
When that man arrived, I was hiding behind a screen. It wasn't really "hiding"—it was arranged by Zhu Zhanji. He asked me to watch from here, so I watched. The screen was wooden, carved with flowers, the gaps very fine, but I could see the person outside clearly. He sat before the table, in black robes, sharp, the same as yesterday. That person sat opposite him, in his forties, square face, short beard, very small eyes, narrowed, as if smiling, or as if calculating. Exactly like the portrait. When he entered, his steps were steady, he clasped his hands and bowed, his voice neither humble nor arrogant. He looked very normal. But I noticed—his fingers clenched once inside his sleeve. Very light, very fast, so fast that the people beside him probably didn't notice. I noticed. That clenching motion was like a person grabbing for something while falling, but grabbing nothing.
Zhu Zhanji didn't speak. He sat there, looking at that person. No offering a seat, no serving tea, no pleasantries. Just looking. The hall was very quiet. I stood behind the screen, could hear my own heartbeat. That person stood, the smile still on his face, but the curve of his mouth was a little smaller than when he first entered. He clasped his hands and bowed again. "Your Highness summoned this subject, may I ask for what purpose?" Zhu Zhanji still didn't speak. He picked up his tea bowl, drank a sip, and put it down. The movement was very slow. The sound of the tea bowl landing on the table was very light, but in the quiet hall, everyone heard it. That person stood, the smile on his face grew a little smaller. His fingers clenched again inside his sleeve. This time the clench lasted longer than before.
"Sit," Zhu Zhanji said. That person sat down. I noticed his knees bent quickly, as if he had been waiting a long time for these words. After he sat, his fingers placed on his knees for a moment, then retracted, rested on the armrest, then took down again, placed on his knees. His hands didn't know where to put them. Zhu Zhanji looked at him, his gaze very even, like looking at a piece of paper, a bowl of tea, something unimportant. But that evenness wasn't without ripples, the ripples were pressed very deep, you couldn't see the bottom.
"What has Official Zhao been busy with lately?"
That person—Official Zhao—smiled. "Replying to Your Highness, just some trivial matters. The criminal division's case files, going over them repeatedly, nothing new." His voice was very steady, as steady as his smile. But his eyes were moving. He glanced at Zhu Zhanji, then glanced at the door, then glanced at the tabletop. Very fast, like he was counting. What was he counting? I stood behind the screen, fingers clutching my sleeve. He was counting how much longer he could hold on.
Zhu Zhanji nodded. He picked up his tea bowl, drank another sip. Put it down. His fingers paused for a moment on the rim of the bowl. That movement was very slow, so slow it was like waiting for something to fall. Official Zhao's smile remained, but it had started to stiffen. The curve of his mouth was still there, but the smile in his eyes was gone.
"The criminal division's case files," Zhu Zhanji repeated. His tone was very even, like confirming something.
"Yes," Official Zhao said. His voice was a little tighter than before. Not obviously tight, but like a string stretched to a certain point, when you pluck it again, its rebound speed slows down.
"From the north?"
The hall fell silent for a moment. Official Zhao's smile paused. Just for a moment, quickly recovered. "Yes. Case files from several northern prefectures, sent to the criminal division for review as per regulations."
Zhu Zhanji nodded. "Are you familiar with northern affairs?"
"This subject—" Official Zhao paused. That pause was very short, short like tripping over something, immediately regaining balance. "This subject is not familiar. Just handling them as per regulations."
"Not familiar." Zhu Zhanji repeated again. He chewed these two words in his mouth, like tasting the flavor. Official Zhao didn't speak. His fingers moved on his knees, then flattened. His lips parted slightly, then closed. Like something wanted to come out, but he swallowed it back himself.
Zhu Zhanji looked at him, suddenly asked: "How many years has Official Zhao been in the criminal division?"
"Replying to Your Highness, eleven years."
"Eleven years." Zhu Zhanji nodded. "Then you've also been looking at northern case files for eleven years?"
Official Zhao's smile finally couldn't hold. It didn't disappear slowly, but like being torn off his face by someone. His lips moved, wanting to say something, then swallowed it back. His eyes were shaking, from Zhu Zhanji's face to the tabletop, from the tabletop to his own hands, from his hands to the door. He was looking for an exit.
Zhu Zhanji didn't pursue. He picked up his tea bowl, drank a sip. Put it down. The same as every time. The sound of the tea bowl landing on the table was very light, but in the quiet hall, like a stone砸ing on the ground.
"Official Zhao," he said, "When was the last time you saw Vice Magistrate Zhou?"
The hall suddenly became quiet. Not the previous kind of "no one speaking" quiet, but that kind of—everyone knew something was about to happen, but no one dared to move. The air felt like it was sucked away, chest felt tight, breathing became heavy. Official Zhao's face turned pale. Not slowly turning pale, but in an instant, like someone drained his blood. His lips moved twice, no sound came out. His eyes stopped shaking, fixed on a point—Zhu Zhanji's tea bowl in front of him. He stared at that tea bowl, like staring at something that could save his life, or like staring at something that could kill him.
"This subject... this subject doesn't remember."
"Don't remember." Zhu Zhanji repeated again. He chewed these three words in his mouth, then put them down. He looked up, looking at Official Zhao. His gaze was still very even. But that evenness changed. Not looking at a piece of paper, a bowl of tea, something unimportant. But looking at prey.
"You're wrong."
Official Zhao猛地 looked up. Zhu Zhanji looked at him.
"Vice Magistrate Zhou has been dead for six days. You say you don't remember the last time you saw him. But six days ago, at the third quarter of the hour of Shen, you went to his house." He paused. "Someone saw you."
Official Zhao's hands started to tremble. Not that slight, ignorable tremble, but that kind of—even he couldn't suppress it, his knuckles were all trembling. His hand on his knees lifted, placed on the armrest, then slid down from the armrest, clutching his own sleeve. He wanted to say something, his lips were moving, but no sound came out. His throat felt like something was stuck in it, could only make some breath sounds.
"Your Highness—this subject—this subject just went—just—"
Zhu Zhanji didn't look at him. He picked up his tea bowl, looked at the tea soup inside, then put it down. Didn't drink. Official Zhao sat there, hands trembling, lips trembling, his whole body trembling. His eyes were red, not wanting to cry, but afraid. That kind of fear seeping out from the bone seams, unsuppressible, making you unable to even sit steadily. His chair was trembling, not the chair trembling, but his legs trembling, making the chair tremble together.
"This subject—this subject didn't—"
Zhu Zhanji looked at him. Just one glance. That glance was very light, light like just confirming the weather outside the window. Official Zhao's words stuck in his throat, not a single word could come out. His mouth was open, like a fish thrown ashore.
"Leave," Zhu Zhanji said. His voice wasn't loud, his tone very even. But Official Zhao was like being弹ed by something,猛地 stood up. The chair slid back a distance, making a harsh sound, in the quiet hall like something cracking. He retreated two steps, bumped into the table corner, muffled a groan, then retreated another step. Then turned around, almost fleeing out. The footsteps grew farther and farther in the corridor, finally disappeared. Like a person falling off a cliff, the sound getting smaller and smaller, until nothing could be heard.
The hall became quiet again. Zhu Zhanji sat there, picked up his tea bowl. The tea was already cold, he drank a sip, didn't frown. I stood behind the screen, hands clutching my sleeve, very tight. Fingertips ice cold. Palms had a thin layer of sweat, sticky, sticking to the skin. My breathing was heavy, so heavy I could hear it myself. I quickly suppressed it, but couldn't. That person—Official Zhao—he wasn't afraid of being exposed. He was afraid of Zhu Zhanji. Of that person sitting before the table, wearing black robes, speaking slowly, drinking tea steadily. When he entered, he thought a young man was sitting opposite, someone who could be fooled,敷衍ed, dismissed with "I don't remember". When he left, he knew it wasn't.
Did I know this person? The Zhu Zhanji I knew would cut apples in the Eastern Palace side room, uniform thickness, consistent size. Would glare and say "you hit this palace" when I slapped his hand. Would wait on the high ground in the north, saying "wait a bit more". Would wear black robes and turn over his cuffs, saying "only the outside is black". The one I knew wasn't that person just now. That person just now—very cold. Not angry, not furious, but a kind of—something that didn't need anger to make people afraid. He sat there, drank tea, repeated other people's words, then waited. Waited for the other party to collapse by themselves. He didn't speak loudly, didn't pound the table, didn't threaten. He just sat there. Then that person collapsed.
I stood behind the screen, heartbeat very fast. Not because of fear, but because—for the first time I saw this him. This him had always been there. In the Eastern Palace, in the north, in the Qianqing Palace listening to Zhu Gaochi speak. He was always there. I just didn't see. Or, he didn't want me to see.
"Come out," he said.
I walked out from behind the screen. Legs a bit weak, not from being scared, but from standing too long. Behind the screen was very narrow, I didn't dare move, kept tense, now relaxing, knees trembling. I held the edge of the screen, stood for a moment, then walked over. He looked at me, his gaze retracted a bit. Not that evenness from just now, but that kind of—he was letting me in. Like opening a door, saying: Come in.
"Did you understand?" he asked.
I thought about it. "That person went to the deceased's house. He lied. You knew he lied, but you didn't have evidence."
He looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitched. "You saw it."
"You said 'someone saw you'—it was fake."
He didn't speak. Picked up the tea bowl, drank a sip. The tea was already completely cold, he frowned.
"You lied to him," I said.
He put down the tea bowl. "He deserved to be lied to."
The hall fell silent for a moment. I looked at him, he sat there, black robes, sharp, brows and eyes deep. The same as yesterday. But I suddenly felt, I seemed to have never truly looked at him. In the Eastern Palace, I thought he was a gentle Crown Prince. In the north, I thought he was a general who could fight. In the Qianqing Palace, I thought he was an obedient son. Now I knew. He wasn't just these. He was that person sitting before the table, drinking tea, waiting, then making the other party collapse by themselves. He always was. Just in front of me, he put these things away. Put them inside the cuff, together with that strip of white cloth.
"Zhu Zhanji."
"Mm."
"You just now—" I paused, didn't know how to say it. "You just now, were very scary."
He looked at me. Gaze shifted slightly. No explanation, no apology, no words. Just looking at me. His fingers paused on the tea bowl, then retracted into his sleeve.
"But you're not afraid of me," he said.
I was stunned. Then I smiled. "Not afraid."
"Why?"
I thought about it. Why? Because he would cut apples for me? Because he stood in front of me in the north? Because inside his cuff was white? All of them, and none of them. I looked at him, he sat there, black robes, sharp, just scared an official half to death. But his left arm was slightly tucked in, tighter than the right. That was where my gauze had been wrapped.
"Because inside your cuff is white," I said.
He looked down at his own cuff. Black cloth, couldn't see anything. But he knew there was white inside. He looked up, at me. Suddenly smiled. Very light, very short. But different from just now. Just now he was interrogating, now he was looking at me. His eyes curved slightly, the same as when he reached out to poke Huang Tuan's head in the Eastern Palace side room.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
I was stunned. "What?"
"It's noon. Time to eat."
I looked at him. Sitting there, black robes, sharp, just scared an official half to death. Now asking if I'm hungry. I suddenly felt like laughing. Not funny, but that kind of—in a messy place, suddenly seeing something familiar. Like in the north wind and sand, he said "don't eat the mutton if it's cold". Like in the Qianqing Palace side hall, he pushed the teapot over, saying "drink tea". Like now, he sat before the table, asking if I'm hungry. He was still him.
"Hungry," I said.
He stood up, walked to the door. Steps neither fast nor slow, the same as every day. Sunlight shone in from the door, falling on him. Black robes absorbed all the light, but his outline was very clear in the light. He looked back at me. "Let's go."
I followed him out of the hall door. Sunlight warmed my face. He walked in front of me, steps very steady. Black robes were still very black in the sunlight, but inside the cuff was white.
"Zhu Zhanji."
"Mm."
"When you asked that person just now—you already knew the answer, right?"
He didn't answer. Walked a few steps, then said: "He didn't know he knew."
I was stunned. What did that mean? He didn't know he knew—he knew the answer, but he didn't know he knew. So what Zhu Zhanji needed to do wasn't ask him, but make him discover it himself. Discover that he himself knew. So he waited. Waited for that person to collapse by himself. I thought about it, didn't understand completely. But didn't ask again. He walked in front of me, steps neither fast nor slow. I stepped on his shadow, step by step.
When we reached the Eastern Palace entrance, he stopped, looked back at me.
"Next time, no need to hide behind the screen."
"Then hide where?"
He looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Stand beside me."
I was stunned. Then I smiled. "Okay."
He turned back, continued walking forward. I followed him, stepping on his shadow. Suddenly felt in my heart, that him in the hall just now, and this him walking in front of me now, were the same person. Always had been. I just didn't see before. Now I saw. But I wasn't afraid. Because inside his cuff was white. Because he would ask if I'm hungry. Because he put those scary things, in a place I couldn't see. Only let me see the white.
(End of Chapter 28)