Since ancient times, every official restored to favor has done so by stepping over the bones of his own kin. If Jing Zheren truly returned from exile, it would be a grand act of imperial grace. Such mercy would display the Tang emperor’s magnanimity and earn praise across the realm.
But would a benevolent sovereign tolerate even the smallest blemish near him—such as the daughter of a palace maid who had spent five years collecting corpses?
When the truth came to light, that daughter would become a stain.
Jing Wan’er knew the worst outcome: she might be secretly executed, leaving no trace. And when her body was gathered, it could be by anyone in the palace—perhaps even Palace Madam Cui herself.
Palace Madam Cui narrowed her eyes at Jing Wan’er, recalling the day five years ago when the girl was brought into the palace at the age of ten. Though young, her face already bore a shadowed, withdrawn look. Targeted by other maids from the start, she nevertheless carved out a place for herself within half a year, using her own hands to win her recognition.
“If Madam has no further orders, this servant will take her leave.” Jing Wan’er bowed and turned away before Palace Madam Cui could reply.
What Palace Madam Cui had never expected was that Jing Wan’er herself had volunteered to handle corpses.
On her very first day, Qiao’er and several other maids had maliciously thrown her into the firewood shed to spend the night with a corpse.
That night, Palace Madam Cui watched from outside the window. The ten-year-old girl did not cry or scream. She simply sat with her knees drawn up, expressionless, beside the corpse until dawn.
Palace Madam Cui had been ordered to ensure Jing Wan’er did not die. She thought that a pampered young lady, faced with such horror, would surely take her own life. But she endured the night without breaking.
At dawn, when the shed was opened, Jing Wan’er calmly hoisted the corpse onto her back and walked out. The stench of death drove her tormentors away. From then on, Jing Wan’er requested to handle every corpse thrown there. Not only did she refuse to be cowed, but she also chose to live among the dead. Qiao’er and the others were stunned, whispering that this girl was a monster.
Near midnight, Pei Tan was in his quarters at the Ministry, servants helping him dress. The robes of a third-rank Minister marked that he was headed somewhere no commoner could enter.
“My lord, why go to the palace so late? Would it not be better to petition His Majesty at morning court?” asked his attendant Pei Xian.
Pei Tan lowered his gaze, adjusting his robes, a shadow flickering in his eyes. “This matter cannot be raised at morning court, nor exposed to the eyes of the ministers.”
Night was the best time to report it.
Once dressed, Pei Tan said: “To enter the palace, one must pass through Xuanwu Gate. Its guards are men of the Wei clan. I will go by the southern Guangyun Gate, using the pass His Majesty granted me.”
That token had been secretly bestowed when Emperor Zhongzong appointed him. The guards at Guangyun Gate were loyal to the Emperor himself.
Pei Xian drove the carriage—he had long been Pei Tan’s trusted aide, naturally accompanying him on such a night.
At Guangyun Gate, Pei Tan presented the imperial token. The guards admitted him without question.
Since this was Emperor Zhongzong’s second enthronement, both he and his household were far more cautious than before.
Close to midnight, the lamps of the Zi Hall still burned. After announcing himself, Pei Tan waited outside the solemn palace doors for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. At last, the summons came. He stepped forward.
Within the vast hall, only Emperor Zhongzong sat alone, hand pressed to his brow, upon the central throne.
“So late, Minister Pei—what matter brings you here?” Though he had granted Pei Tan the token, this was the first time Pei Tan had sought an audience at night.
Pei Tan bowed deeply: “Your servant has urgent business to report.”
The Emperor looked weary, his fatigue genuine. “Even if you had not come, I would have summoned you in a few days.”
Pei Tan lifted his head slightly. “Does Your Majesty have need of me?”
As Minister of Judicial Review, he was exempt from morning court—a privilege granted by the Emperor himself.
Emperor Zhongzong rubbed his brow, then gestured. The eunuchs withdrew, leaving only the two of them.
Pei Tan’s expression grew grave, his eyes shadowed.
“Five years ago, there were rumors in the capital that Tibet was rebelling. The city was shaken. Zhang Rendang submitted a memorial requesting that three surrender forts be built in Xiazhou to guard against the Turks advancing south. At the time, many ministers opposed this,” Emperor Zhongzong began slowly, recalling past events.
Pei Tan was startled. Five years ago—that was precisely when the Jing family had been exiled to Hanta.
The Emperor looked down at his minister. “Pei Qing, you must remember this matter.”
Such a major affair was known to nearly everyone in Chang’an. Though Pei Tan had not yet entered official service, even within the Pei family estate, he had heard of it.
Pei Tan lowered his eyes. “At that time, Minister Zong was the only one in court who supported it.”
Hearing this, Emperor Zhongzong gave a faint smile. “Correct. He even argued that building three forts would benefit the Tang for generations, bringing countless advantages and no harm. At the time, he had the full support of the former Empress.”
At the mention of the former Empress, Pei Tan understood. He held his tongue, knowing the matter he had come to report was not yet suitable to raise.
Emperor Zhongzong rose from his chair and paced the hall. “To support Zong Chuke, the former Empress demoted many officials in one stroke. It served as a warning to all.”
This was true. Yet among those demoted, many were men with personal enmity against Zong Chuke. His proposal, backed by the former Empress, had also allowed him to eliminate rivals. Emperor Zhongzong’s words hinted at this.
At last, Pei Tan spoke, his gaze shadowed: “Why does Your Majesty bring this up now?”
Emperor Zhongzong’s eyes were deep, silent upon Pei Tan. The Emperor’s mind was said to be as fathomless as the sea—every word carried weight.
Pei Tan knew that Zong Chuke now relied upon Empress Wei. He had already been prime minister under the former Empress, suffered rises and falls, and upon Emperor Zhongzong’s second enthronement, regained power as Minister of War through the current Empress’s favor.
The Emperor and the current Empress were deeply devoted. Since Emperor Zhongzong’s return to the throne, he had showered the Wei clan with favor, making them the foremost family of the Tang. All who attached themselves to the Wei clan prospered.
After a long pause, Emperor Zhongzong finally said: “I wish to reopen… one of the cases that was implicated in that Tibetan affair.”
The Emperor’s sudden desire to revisit old cases was a signal Pei Tan could not ignore.
Pei Tan raised his head, meeting Emperor Zhongzong’s gaze. “May I ask, Your Majesty, which case you intend to investigate?”
So many officials had been implicated then. Demotion was the lightest punishment; the harshest was exile with their families to Lingnan or Hanta, condemned to penal servitude.
Emperor Zhongzong halted, his eyes fixed on Pei Tan. Pei Tan returned the look, equally grave.
Many in Chang’an believed Pei Tan owed his position as Minister of Judicial Review solely to the Pei clan’s influence. Few understood why Emperor Zhongzong had chosen such a young man for so critical a post.
But Emperor Zhongzong knew: Pei Tan held the ability.
Pei Tan’s eyes flashed suddenly, like a star in the dark. “Your Majesty… do you no longer trust Minister Zong?”
Emperor Zhongzong’s gaze was profound. After a long silence, he said: “I do not distrust a minister without cause, just as I do not appoint an official without reason.”
The Emperor had endured years under the heavy hand of the former Empress. A weak-willed emperor could not have survived that.
If Emperor Zhongzong said he did not distrust Zong Chuke without cause, then there must be reason indeed.
Pei Tan’s mind cleared.
Emperor Zhongzong picked up a case file already spread open on the desk and tossed it to Pei Tan.
Pei Tan unfolded it as Emperor Zhongzong’s voice echoed: “Jing Zheren, at that time, served as Protector General. He rose through the imperial examinations, serving in Chang’an for ten years, advancing from Sixth Rank Gentleman of Virtue to Third Rank Protector General. His career was not smooth, but he never aligned with any faction.”
Pei Tan’s thoughts sharpened. If Emperor Zhongzong wished to use an old case to strike at Zong Chuke, he could not choose someone too prominent. The official must have been innocent, untainted, and far from the power struggles of the time—only the Jing family fit.
Pei Tan had not expected his midnight audience to converge so neatly upon this coincidence.
“Your Majesty wishes to retry the Jing case?”
Emperor Zhongzong’s eyes were shadowed, offering no direct answer.
“What do you think?”
Pei Tan closed the file, lifted his gaze to the Emperor. “Your servant first wishes to report a matter recently discovered.”
Emperor Zhongzong raised his brows, signaling him to continue.
Pei Tan’s voice deepened: “Your Majesty once personally decreed the execution of Zong Huo, son of Minister Zong, for killing a commoner by reckless riding in Chang’an. His body was buried in the palace graveyard.”
Emperor Zhongzong’s eyes darkened at once. “Why do you bring this up?”
That affair had shaken Chang’an. Zong Chuke had begged for his son’s life, even sending Empress Wei to plead.
From that alone, it was clear Emperor Zhongzong had already considered moving against Zong Chuke.
Everyone believed Pei Tan had pressed for Zong Huo’s death. But without Emperor Zhongzong’s consent, no decree could have been issued.
Pei Tan stood in the hall, his figure shadowed. “Your servant discovered, just days ago, that the body buried in the palace graveyard… was not Zong Huo.”