Hongzhi Year 18, Twenty-Sixth Day of the First Month.
I spent the night flipping through the ledger.
That account book from Henghe Hall was scribbled messily, but had everything it should—purchases, sales, prices, quantities, item by item, actually quite clear. I used charcoal to list the key entries on paper: Astragalus, Atractylodes, Angelica, purchase price a full thirty percent lower than market price, supplier only signed "Liu Ji." No address, no seal, not even a signature.
But the dates matched. The month the Imperial Hospital changed medicines, Henghe Hall took in this batch. That same month, soldiers at the Jingjiao Great Camp started falling ill in batches.
I spread that paper on the table, staring at the two characters "Liu Ji" for a long time. Bureau Director of the Military Selection Bureau of the Ministry of War, Liu An. Liu.
Zhu Houzhao sat opposite me, holding a teacup, but didn't drink for a long time. His gaze fell on those few papers, expression calm, like looking at something he already expected.
"Liu Ji, is that Liu An?" I asked.
"Not necessarily." he said. "But can follow the trail."
"How to investigate?"
He didn't answer. Put down the teacup, stood up. "Go."
"Where to?"
"Ministry of War."
The Ministry of War office was on the south side of the Imperial City, only two arrow flights from the Eastern Palace. When we arrived, the sky had just fully brightened. The main gate was open, several clerks were moving documents, catching sight of Zhu Houzhao, the things in their hands nearly dropped.
"Your, Your Highness—"
Zhu Houzhao paid no mind, walking straight in. I followed behind, steps hurried. It was my first time at the Ministry of War, corridors deep and dark, side rooms arranged neatly, plaques hanging above doors—Military Selection Bureau, Bureau of Operations, Carriage Bureau, Arsenal Bureau. Zhu Houzhao stopped at the door of the Military Selection Bureau.
The door was open. Three or four people sat inside, drinking tea and chatting. Seeing Zhu Houzhao, they all froze. A middle-aged man in a sixth-rank official uniform stood up, face suddenly changing color.
"Your Highness—"
"Where is Liu An?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
That man's Adam's apple bobbed. "Bureau Director Liu… Bureau Director Liu requested leave today, not in the office."
"Where is he?"
"This humble official… this humble official does not know—"
Zhu Houzhao asked no more, turned and left. I followed out, to the main gate, he stood on the steps, looking at the carriages and pedestrians on the street, silent for a moment.
"Go to his house." he said.
Liu An's residence was in the east city, not far from the Ministry of War. A three-courtyard compound, the plaque above the gate with the two characters "Liu Residence" still freshly painted. Two servants at the door saw us coming, reached out to block.
"Who are you looking for?"
Zhu Houzhao didn't stop. He just walked over, looked at them. That look wasn't heavy, wasn't light, and the two servants' hands shrank back, stepping aside to let us pass.
I followed in. The courtyard was actually quite refined—rockery, fish pond, a few neatly trimmed pine trees. A butler-like person came to meet us, face piled with smiles.
"You two are—"
"Where is Liu An?" Zhu Houzhao asked.
The butler's smile froze for an instant. "Master… Master is not receiving guests today—"
"Where is he?"
The butler's gaze flickered, glancing behind. Zhu Houzhao saw it, walked around him toward the backyard. The butler wanted to block, but ultimately didn't dare reach out, only followed behind, mouth不停 (不停) saying: "Master truly is not here—"
The backyard study door was closed. Zhu Houzhao pushed, didn't budge—locked from the inside. He stepped back half a step, lifted his foot and kicked.
The door panel peng slammed against the wall, shaking dust falling down.
A person sat inside. Forty-something, white-faced with a slight beard, in casual clothes, holding a scroll of book. He looked up, seeing Zhu Houzhao, the blood drained from his face completely in an instant.
"Your… Your Highness?"
Zhu Houzhao walked in, sat opposite him, posture natural like sitting in his own Eastern Palace.
"Bureau Director Liu," he said. "Requested leave?"
Liu An's fingers trembled, pages rustling. "I… I was unwell, requested leave to recuperate at home—"
"Then it's perfect." Zhu Houzhao cut off his words. "I also have a matter, want to ask Bureau Director Liu."
Liu An's face went a few shades whiter.
Zhu Houzhao pulled those few papers from his sleeve, placed them on the table, pushed them in front of Liu An.
"Henghe Hall. Liu Ji. Is it you?"
Liu An looked down at those few papers, lips trembling, not speaking.
"Bureau Director Liu," Zhu Houzhao's voice neither high nor low, like talking about something unimportant. "Seventeen soldiers at the Jingjiao Great Camp fell ill last month. Four died. They used Henghe Hall's fake medicine."
He paused.
"Liu Ji. Is it you or not?"
The book scroll in Liu An's hand fell to the ground. He猛地 (suddenly) stood up, chair kuang overturned.
"Your Highness, I… I was forced—" His voice trembled so much it could barely form sentences. "It was the Minister of War's order—Minister Wang said that batch of medicine was returned from the border, waste not, want not— I just handled it— I didn't know anything would happen—"
Zhu Houzhao didn't speak. He sat there, looking at Liu An. Liu An knelt down, forehead kowtowing the brick floor, shoulders trembling violently.
"Your Highness spare my life— I truly didn't know—"
Zhu Houzhao stood up. He didn't look at Liu An again, walked to the window, pushed open the window sash. That pine tree in the courtyard swayed lightly in the wind, sunlight shone in, falling all over him.
"Liu An." he said.
"I am here—"
"You knew that batch of medicine was fake."
Liu An's body suddenly stiffened.
"You procured from Henghe Hall, price seventy percent lower than market. You knew it was dregs. You took their benefits." Zhu Houzhao's voice was still plain, but every word was like a nail, one by one nailed into the brick cracks. "The Minister of War told you to switch, you switched. You didn't ask what would happen to those soldiers who ate it. You never went to the Jingjiao Great Camp. You never saw those people's wounds."
He turned around, looking down at the person kneeling on the ground.
"Four died. Thirteen more lying down. You go see them, then come back and tell me the words 'didn't know'."
Liu An lay on the ground, whole body trembling. He didn't lift his head, and didn't say another word.
Zhu Houzhao looked at him for a moment, turned and walked out.
I followed out. To the Liu Residence main gate, sunlight was at its peak, shining so bright it made people squint. Zhu Houzhao stood on the steps, looking at the carriages and pedestrians on the street, silent for a long time.
"You just now," I said. "Were very fierce."
He didn't respond.
"But different." I said again.
"How different?"
I thought about it. "Beating people at Henghe Hall was throwing a tantrum. Just now—wasn't."
He turned his head to look at me.
"Then what was it?" he asked.
I looked at his eyes. There was no anger inside, nor coldness, but something I couldn't describe clearly—heavy, like a person seeing something they shouldn't see, then could no longer pretend not to see.
"It was serious." I said.
He didn't respond, turned back, continued looking at the street.
"Before," he suddenly spoke, voice very light. "I felt these things were very far from me."
"What things?"
"Soldiers. Medicine. People dying." He paused. "They write 'four Jingying soldiers died of illness' on memorials, just one sentence. Four characters. I didn't know what they were called, what they looked like, if it hurt when they were wounded."
Wind blew over, blowing his stray hairs messy. He didn't bother, let them scatter.
"Now I know."
"That one with the leg wound," he said. "What was his name again?"
I thought back. Yesterday when changing dressings, Deputy Director Sun asked for the name, wrote it in the notebook.
"Chen Er." I said. "From Hebei, enlisted last autumn."
"Chen Er." He repeated it lowly, nodded, like wanting to carve those two characters into his heart.
We walked back. He walked by my side, pace neither fast nor slow. The sun shone from directly overhead, shrinking the two people's shadows into a small ball, stepped underfoot.
"Lizi." He suddenly called me.
"Mm?"
"You say, those officials, do they know fake medicine will kill people?"
I was silent for a moment.
"They know." I said.
"Then why still do it?"
I thought for a long time. Didn't know how to answer. Say "for profit"? Too light. Say "don't treat soldiers as human"? Too heavy.
"Because they don't have to see those people's faces." I finally said.
He didn't speak again. Walked a stretch, suddenly stopped.
"From now on," he said. "I will see."
I looked up at him. Sunlight shone on his face, his eyes were very bright.
"Every memorial, every name, every matter." he said. "I will see them all."
I suddenly remembered that day in Fengtian Hall, he sat next to the Dragon Throne, face expressionless, eyes empty. Yang Tinghe said a bunch of big principles, he didn't understand a single one.
But now—he understood. Not "state foundation," "people's livelihood," "border troubles" those empty words, but Chen Er. The leg wound. The fake medicine. The four dead soldiers.
He wasn't incapable of doing things.
He just didn't want to sit in that chair, listening to those words he didn't understand.
But he is learning. In his own way.
"Let's go." he said, turned and continued walking.
I followed behind. Sunlight stretched his shadow long, all the way dragging to my feet. I stepped on it, then stepped on it again. He didn't notice.
Arriving at the Eastern Palace entrance, he stopped.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Go to the Great Camp again."
"Okay."
"See Chen Er's leg."
"Okay."
He nodded, stepped inside.
I stood at the entrance, watching his back disappear at the end of the corridor. Sunlight shone on the empty courtyard, wind rolled up fallen leaves on the ground, spun twice, then fell down.
He wasn't incapable of doing.
He just didn't want to.
But now, he wants to.
(End of Chapter 15)