Registrar Xing finally stepped down from the carriage, carefully straightening his clothes before entering through the rear gate. No one came to guide him; he walked quickly, as if by habit, to a side chamber still lit. He knocked lightly, then opened the door and stepped inside.
Within was only a single table. Behind it sat Zong Chuke, staring expressionlessly at the registrar who had just entered.
Registrar Xing’s heart jolted. He lowered his head, hurried forward, and knelt: “This humble one greets the Minister.”
Zong Chuke fixed him with a cold gaze for a moment before speaking, “Rise.”
Registrar Xing stood as if pardoned, murmuring: “Thank you, my lord.”
Nervous, he glanced repeatedly at Zong Chuke. “May I ask, my lord, why you summon me at this hour?”
Zong Chuke’s eyes bore into him: “That brat—has he suspected you?”
Registrar Xing’s face shifted, then he bowed his head: “This humble one has always followed your orders, never acted rashly. Even if Pei Tan is sharp, he cannot detect me.”
The Court of Judicial Review had changed ministers several times, including Pei Tan, yet Registrar Xing had remained registrar throughout—thanks to Zong Chuke’s influence. Because of his long tenure, each new minister relied heavily on him.
“What has that brat been doing lately?” Zong Chuke asked coldly. After ruthlessly “killing” his son, what further hateful acts had Pei Tan committed?
Registrar Xing recalled: “Recently, Pei Tan opened the archive of case files. Starting from five years ago, he has reviewed each old case. He has even summoned some of those involved back to the Court for questioning.”
Zong Chuke’s expression hardened: “What is he trying to do?”
Registrar Xing looked up: “This humble one does not know.”
Pei Tan’s behavior was strange. He did not seem intent on reopening cases, for those summoned were released the same day. If he meant to retry them, he would not act so.
But Zong Chuke cared only for one matter. His hand clenched on his knee: “Tell me—has he paid any attention to Huo’er’s case?”
Whether Pei Tan still pursued that case was crucial. Old files were irrelevant; what mattered was whether he still cared about Zong Huo’s “death.”
In the minds of Chang’an’s people, Zong Huo was already dead. For Pei Tan not to pursue a dead man’s case was proper. But if he still focused on it, then—at least to Zong Chuke—it was suspicious.
Registrar Xing studied his face and said slowly: “From my observation, Pei Tan has not been watching the case of Young Master Zong Huo.”
Though Pei Tan’s actions were unusual, outwardly, they had nothing to do with Zong Huo.
Zong Chuke’s grip tightened: “Are you certain?”
Registrar Xing’s eyes glinted darkly: “This humble one is confident Pei Tan harbors no suspicion of me. His mind is absorbed in old case files, not in Zong Huo’s matter.”
If Pei Tan wished to pursue Zong Huo’s case, he would have asked Registrar Xing to fetch the file. Since he had not, his attention was clearly elsewhere.
The room fell into long silence.
Zong Chuke seemed convinced, though his expression remained shadowed. Then his eyes deepened: “Two nights ago, Pei Tan entered the palace. When he returned, did he bring anyone?”
If someone were hidden in the Court, Pei Tan would be less adept than Registrar Xing, who knew the place intimately.
Registrar Xing narrowed his eyes, thought briefly, then said: “I saw no one else. Pei Tan was accompanied only by Pei Xian.”
Zong Chuke stared at him: “Truly?”
Registrar Xing’s gaze was steady: “I would stake my head on it.”
Pei Tan had shown no unusual behavior. His entry and exit from the palace seemed normal.
Zong Chuke looked out at the night. Had he overthought?
Pei Tan was still just a youth. Newly appointed as Minister, he had dared petition for his son’s execution—merely youthful arrogance.
Slowly, Zong Chuke unclenched his hand. His voice was low and heavy: “Continue watching that brat. If you see anything amiss, report to me at once.”
Registar Xing bowed his head: “Yes.”
The next day, the prisoners Pei Tan had requested were brought to the Court.
Pei Xian asked: “My lord, shall we convene court to hear the case?”
Pei Tan did not even lift his head: “No. Keep them in the rear courtyard for half an hour, then release them.”
Pei Xian was astonished: “My lord, you don’t wish to question them?”
Pei Tan replied: “Their cases have long passed the period for retrial, and all clues have faded with time. There is no need to investigate further.”
It was not about whether those cases had injustices, nor about Pei Tan acting as a righteous official to uphold justice. These were matters that had already lost all meaning—cases even the parties themselves would no longer revisit.
Pei Xian was even more surprised: “Then why did you summon them to the Court?”
Pei Tan lifted his eyes from the book and looked at him calmly, “Previously, I had Zichan’er brought to the Court. Though her case was already clear, it was possible someone might notice something unusual. By summoning several other people from old cases at the same time, it naturally draws no suspicion.”
So it was all camouflage, a way to obscure the truth. Only now did Pei Xian understand his master’s intent.
“But my lord… why go to such lengths? Even if you did nothing, who would pursue it? Or do you believe someone will?”
Pei Tan’s gaze was deep: “It doesn’t matter what I believe. It is always best to make extra preparations to ensure safety.”
Better to do too much than too little. Better to be prepared than to face endless trouble later.
As if in response, Registrar Xing entered from outside: “My lord, the people you requested have been brought to the rear courtyard. Do you wish to question them yourself, or…?”
Pei Tan glanced at him, his expression calm: “You’ve worked hard. You may leave. I will handle it later.”
Registrar Xing bowed respectfully: “Yes, then I shall withdraw.”
After Registrar Xing left, Pei Xian instinctively glanced outside, then back at Pei Tan.
Pei Tan said nothing more. He simply picked up his book and stood: “As I instructed, watch them yourself for half an hour, then release them.”
Having Pei Xian personally oversee them prevented prying eyes. Releasing them after half an hour was safe enough.
Half an hour later, after releasing the prisoners, Pei Xian returned with a letter. It had arrived by carrier pigeon in the courtyard.
“My lord, this should be from the covert guards outside the city.” He handed the opened tube to Pei Tan.
Pei Tan unfolded it and read the report of the tragedy at the roadside inn.
A young girl, beautiful as a painting, lay dead, her eyes wide open, refusing to close.
Pei Tan slowly crushed the letter in his hand.
“Send a few trusted men to the location mentioned. Bring back the body.”
It was said that the girl had been sold to Zong Huo by her parents. The innkeepers, her parents, had remained silent, pretending she had never existed.
Pei Xian asked: “My lord, why not order the covert guards to seize Zong Huo now?”
This man, like his father, was depraved and cruel. Even while fleeing, he stained his hands with blood. If he escaped further south, who knew what calamities he might cause?
Pei Tan’s eyes were cold: “Our covert guards lack the strength to capture Zong Huo. The caravan escorting him is full of desperate men. If they fought, our guards would only die in vain.”
That was why Emperor Zhongzong had instructed Pei Tan not to act openly.
Pei Tan could not mobilize the city garrison, nor would the palace support him. All he could command were the Pei family’s few covert guards and the Court’s officers.
Such a mission, prone to failure at the slightest misstep, only Pei Tan would accept under imperial order.
After all, it was Pei Tan himself who had exposed the matter.
Sometimes, the ruthlessness of emperors had to be considered.
“For the matter of retrieving the body, you will lead the men yourself. Recently, there have been bandits near Chang’an. Pretend you are pursuing them. Pass by the inn, and bring the body back along the way.”
This way, no one would suspect Pei Xian’s purpose in leaving the city, and Pei Tan could act openly.
“But my lord, who will protect you?” Pei Xian instinctively gripped the sword at his waist. From the day he followed Pei Tan into office, he had been charged to guard him with his life.
If Zong Chuke wished to protect his son Zong Huo for the rest of his life, he would certainly have to find a way to eliminate Pei Tan, the thorn in his side. Even if Pei Tan was a son of the Pei family, what of it? Zong Chuke’s true backing was Empress Wei.
Pei Tan’s gaze was deep and shadowed. After a long pause, he said: “Go quickly and return swiftly. Do not worry. These next two days, I shall take a rest myself, and enjoy the charms of Chang’an’s taverns.”
Once Pei Tan gave an order, Pei Xian could only obey, no matter what.
The next morning, Pei Xian personally led a team of men, riding fast horses out of the northern gate to pursue bandits.
Not long after his departure, Pei Tan himself boarded a carriage and went to the most bustling district of Chang’an. He first spent the morning at Zuiqing Pavilion, the most famous establishment in the city’s pleasure quarter. He had once been one of the Pei family’s young masters who rode horses alongside the noble sons of Chang’an—poetry, wine, and romance were no strangers to him.
After leaving Zuiqing Pavilion, Pei Tan went to the most renowned tavern on Chang’an Street, listening to a storyteller from north and south recount the glories of the Tang dynasty and tales of imperial consorts and beauties.
Thus, the day passed until sunset. Just before the curfew, Pei Tan finally returned by carriage to the Court.