Minister of Justice Fan Bingjun walked heavily into the Ministry of Justice, each step pressing on his heart. The Emperor’s cold, meaningful gaze at court still lingered before his eyes. “Investigate thoroughly,” “leave no stone unturned”—those words burned into his mind like iron brands.
The Crown Prince, the Third Prince, and Princess Zhaohua. This water was too deep, too murky. One misstep could mean destruction.
“Summon all officials to the main hall immediately!” Fan Bingjun’s hoarse command carried undeniable authority, dispelling the suffocating silence of the office.
Within moments, the core officials of the Ministry gathered, the atmosphere so heavy it seemed to drip.
Fan Bingjun wasted no words, swiftly relaying the Emperor’s decree and his own arrangements.
Orders given, the Ministry’s officials moved at once.
Deputy Minister Li, together with officers from the Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate, and a large force of clerks, rushed to the Ministry of Revenue.
Minister Qian of Revenue claimed illness and did not appear. They were received instead by Vice Minister Xu Chao, a pale-faced man with shifty eyes.
Deputy Li presented the imperial order, demanding that the archives be sealed immediately.
“Seal the entire archive? That is irregular!” Xu Chao tried to block them, sweat beading at his temple. “The Ministry handles countless documents daily. If all are sealed, won’t the government grind to a halt?”
“Vice Minister Xu, this is His Majesty’s command! All else is secondary. Halted operations? If your delay causes frontier secrets to leak, if the masterminds of payroll corruption escape justice—will you bear that responsibility? Stand aside!” Deputy Li barked, waving his men forward.
Xu Chao blanched, unable to resist, and watched helplessly as the Ministry of Justice, Court of Judicial Review, and Censorate officials flooded into the archive, sealing doors and taking control of the guards.
But when Deputy Li led them straight to the cabinet marked for northern payroll records, his heart sank.
The cabinet door was ajar, its contents in disarray. The stack of ledgers labeled *“Yuanqi Years 21–27 Northern Payroll”* was gone—vanished without a trace.
Only scattered, irrelevant papers remained.
“Search! Every shelf, every corner—leave nothing unchecked!” Deputy Li roared, dread rising in his chest.
The men tore through the cabinet, dismantling it piece by piece.
At last, a sharp-eyed clerk found faint fragments in a crack at the bottom—tiny, gray-black scraps not fully cleared away.
“Sir, look!” He carefully swept the fragments into his palm.
Deputy Li bent close, sniffed, and his face darkened instantly. It was ash—paper burned, and fresh. The fire had been recent.
“Xu Chao!” Deputy Li spun, eyes like blades stabbing into the pale-faced vice minister. “What is this? Where are the northern payroll ledgers? And these ashes—what are they?”
Xu Chao trembled, forcing calm. “I—I don’t know! The archive is managed by the Records Office. I only just learned the ledgers were missing. As for the ashes, perhaps rats chewed the papers and sparked a fire? Or maybe waste scraps were burned during cleaning?”
“Nonsense!” Deputy Li thundered, hair bristling. “Rats that chew only the Youzhou payroll records of these years? And burn them so neatly to ash? Xu Chao, do you take me for a child?”
He seized Xu Chao’s collar. “Speak! Who entered this cabinet today? Who last touched these ledgers? Give me the list—everyone who handled them will be arrested and interrogated!”
Xu Chao was strangled until he could barely breathe, eyes full of fear, yet he clenched his jaw and stammered: “Your servant… truly does not know… it requires… requires checking the records…”
Deputy Li exchanged glances with the Deputy Minister of the Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate’s Vice Censor-in-Chief.
All of them knew clearly—Xu Chao was stalling, deliberately erasing traces.
Deputy Li shoved him aside and roared to his men: “Check! Immediately review all entry and exit records of the archive today. Arrest every clerk on duty and interrogate them under torture! I want to see who dared destroy ironclad evidence of a major case right under His Majesty’s eyes!”
The Ministry of Revenue’s archive erupted into chaos.
The destruction of evidence dealt a fatal blow to the very first step of the investigation.
With only Princess Zhaohua’s ledger copy left, the Crown Prince’s faction could easily counterattack, claiming it was forged.
Tracing those who destroyed the records became the only possible breakthrough—but an extremely difficult one.
…
Meanwhile, in the Northern Guard Bureau’s Imperial Prison.
The air seemed frozen, thick with blood, rot, and despair.
Inspector Jiang Hui sat sternly at the head of the interrogation chamber, eyes fixed on the mangled figure bound to the rack.
Special iron chains bit deep into Sun Yun’guang’s swollen, festering flesh. His body was covered in wounds—whip marks, burns, bruises from torture devices layered upon each other. His head drooped, breath faint, only occasional spasms proving he was still alive.
“Wake him.” Jiang Hui’s voice was low, cold as an ice pick piercing bone.
A bucket of icy water mixed with salt was poured over his head.
Sun Yun’guang let out an inhuman scream, his body convulsing violently, his clouded eyes opening with unbearable pain and terror.
“Sun Yun’guang.” Jiang Hui’s voice was steady, each word heavy as a death knell. “My patience is limited. Who is the mastermind behind you? Speak!”
The executioner pressed a red-hot iron close to his face, the heat searing his skin.
“I… I…” Sun Yun’guang’s lips trembled, his throat rasping like a broken bellows. His mental defenses, battered by torture and Jiang Hui’s crushing pressure, were on the verge of collapse. The instinct to survive warred against his fear of the one behind him. He remembered the Crown Prince’s threats, his family’s lives held hostage—but the agony of his body drowned out all else.
“Crown … crown…” A broken syllable forced its way from his throat. His eyes locked on Jiang Hui, filled with pleading, desperate for release. He seemed ready to utter the name, to trade the secret for a moment’s respite—or even a merciful death.
Every guard in the chamber held their breath.
Jiang Hui’s gaze sharpened. At that moment, a prison guard carrying a basin of water stepped forward, seemingly to cool Sun Yun’guang’s wounds. His steps were steady, movements natural, arousing no suspicion. As he bent to place the basin, his fingers flicked subtly from his sleeve.
A tiny, nearly transparent wax pellet shot precisely into Sun Yun’guang’s half-open mouth—just as he tried to speak.