◎Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don’t◎
“Another corpse?” In the square courtyard of the Second Hall of the County Government Office, Sun Zhixian felt his head swelling to the size of a bucket.
Liu Bu Kuai said to Sun Zhixian, “Your Honor, do you remember the newlywed woman who died in Chen Family Alley two years ago?”
A female corpse, six toes, sharp weapon wounds on the chest and ribs… It was exactly the same as the female corpse found during the Chen family search. The only difference was that the female corpse from two years ago was a four-month pregnant woman, while the skeleton before them was not.
“Meng.” Sun Zhixian certainly remembered.
His once bright official career had been ruined by this case. He wouldn’t forget it even if he became a ghost.
For two years, he had suspected that the pregnant female corpse wasn’t the real Meng. He had sent Detective Liu to search for her in secret. Now that she had truly been found, he didn’t know what to do.
Over these two years, he had seen too many who embezzled and bent the law roam free, and those who sucked up to those in power rise rapidly through the ranks. Time had extinguished his anger and softened his temper. The drive to fight for justice for the victims as he did when he first entered officialdom had long since vanished.
Under the bright daylight, the courtyard was eerily quiet. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts, digesting this massive amount of information.
“Take the body to the Lianfang first,” Sun Zhixian said.
The Clerk of the Penal Affairs Office asked for instructions, “County Magistrate, how should the case file be written? Should it be handled together with Liu Gui’s corpse?”
“Take it to the Lianfang first. We’ll discuss it later.”
As everyone dispersed, only Chen Yan remained in the courtyard. He looked at Sun Zhixian with a complicated gaze.
“Yan Zhang, you go back first. Don’t speak of this matter,” Sun Zhixian said.
“County Magistrate, the skeleton has been exposed to the public. You can’t cover it up,” Chen Yan saw through his thoughts.
“There are countless unresolved cases in this world. Not every unidentified corpse can have its cause of death determined,” Sun Zhixian said quietly. “Don’t get involved. Don’t follow your uncle’s old path.”
Chen Yan’s fist clenched in his sleeve, then relaxed. He wanted to say something but ultimately remained silent. He gave a slight bow and left the Shengan County Government Office.
“Dongweng,” Song Shiye frowned and said, “Now this matter has become even more difficult to handle.”
“Of course I know,” Sun Zhixian said. “If I reopen Meng’s case, I’ll offend the Prefect and Judicial Commissioner, and my career will be ruined. If I don’t reopen Meng’s case, South Chen and the Meng Family will accuse me of protecting wealthy households, and I’ll be dismissed from my position.”
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Sun Zhixian decided to lie down for a while first.
…
Chen Yan skipped dinner and went out alone without telling anyone where he was going. No one in the family knew his whereabouts.
Lin Yuebai warmed a pot of wine and beckoned Ping’an over. She whispered a few words in his ear, and Ping’an secretly slipped into his uncle’s vacant residence.
Sure enough, Chen Yan was sitting alone in the courtyard.
He was still wearing that moon-white Zhiduo, watching the bright moonlight spill across the ground, gazing at the overgrown courtyard, unable to resolve his complicated emotions.
Ping’an, wearing only a set of plain cotton white underwear with his hair disheveled, crawled out from under the stone table.
“Daddy~ Daddy~ I’m a ghost~~~~”
Chen Yan: …
“Did you sneak out again?”
“I told Mother,” Ping’an said with bright eyes, producing a small wine pot from behind his back. “Mother gave me this to bring to you.”
Chen Yan smiled knowingly, a warmth rising in his heart.
“Daddy is in a bad mood today.” It wasn’t a question.
Chen Yan responded casually.
Ping’an stopped speaking and simply sat nearby, propping his chin in his hands to quietly keep his father company. When Old Dad gazed at the moon, he too gazed at the moon; when Old Dad looked at the eaves, he too looked at the eaves.
Chen Yan began speaking slowly: “Two years ago, in our Chen Family Alley, someone took a life and then used two innocent lives to cover it up. Your granduncle appealed for justice on their behalf, and ten years of arduous study for the Imperial Exam came to nothing.”
“You ask why Father must pursue the Imperial Exam?” Chen Yan said: “Because two years ago someone told me: Common folks should not speak of justice. If you truly wish to discuss it, become the one who administers justice. If you have neither power nor influence, waiting idly for others to uphold justice for you is like being fish on a chopping block awaiting slaughter.”
Chen Yan didn’t expect such a young child to understand – it was merely the righteous indignation accumulated in his chest finding no outlet, needing a vent for his thoughts.
Chen Yan still remembered Magistrate Sun’s demeanor back then – not the dejection after being struck down, but the numb despair of being completely crushed. He was actually quite grateful for Magistrate Sun’s guidance, which made him recognize the treacherous nature of officialdom while still in his capping age.
Ping’an said: “Father is already a Jie Yuan.”
Chen Yan shook his head with a light laugh: “That’s still far from enough.”
The Meng case had already been turned into an ironclad verdict by both the prefectural and provincial offices. If it were overturned, everyone from the Provincial Judicial Commissioner to the Prefectural Government Office would face consequences. These people would undoubtedly spare no effort to conceal the truth and maintain the original judgment. Coroner Liu’s death was a perfect example. What would be the fate of a mere provincial graduate like himself, stubbornly opposing these powerful figures?
Ping’an looked at him with great concern.
“Father is fine, just sitting here for a while. You go back to sleep first,” Chen Yan said.
After sending Ping’an away, he poured himself a cup of wine. The wine was still warm, and as the warm liquid flowed down his throat, his chilled body gradually warmed up.
But then he saw Ping’an come bouncing back, completely out of breath.
“I told Mother about this. Mother told me: if Father wants to be an official, she’ll be an official’s wife; if Father wants to do business, she’ll be a shopkeeper’s wife; if Father wants to farm, she’ll be a farmer’s wife; but if Father wants to be a coward, she can’t bear that shame!”
Chen Yan: …
He pinched his son’s chubby little cheek hard: “What exactly did you tell your mother?”
Ping’an grinned mischievously: “I didn’t say Father was scared – Mother guessed that herself.”
Chen Yan pinched him again: “You’ve truly become a little imp.”
Ping’an rubbed his cheek and continued: “Mother also said that they killed people, and if they’re not punished, more people will bully the weak. Sooner or later, we too will be bullied by stronger people. This is called the rabbit… rabbit…”
“When the rabbit dies, the fox grieves,” Chen Yan supplied.
Ping’an nodded.
Chen Yan patted his head and stood up to walk toward the main hall. Two years after Chen Jingshi’s departure, spiderwebs hung everywhere in the room, and thick dust covered all surfaces.
Chen Yan lit a lamp, casually grabbed a cloth cover, and wiped a small table and chair clean. He said to Ping’an: “Help Father fetch the writing brush and ink.”
Ping’an ran back home on his short little legs, returning moments later carrying a set of writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone somewhat unsteadily.
“It’s too dark – help Father hold the lamp.”
Ping’an stepped on a stool again, climbed onto the long table, and took down an oil lamp with a lampshade.
“Be careful,” Chen Yan reminded him.
He was still young and not particularly steady with his hands and feet, but as he approached the age of literacy education, he would inevitably have to deal with candle flames. Chen Yan watched him closely, intentionally training him to fetch writing brushes and ink himself and hold the oil lamp.
For scholars cultivating their character and temperament, the key lies in the word “steadiness”—hands, speech, body, and mind must all be steady. Only then can one avoid losing their sanity and ruining their future upon achieving minor successes.
The flame in Ping’an’s hand gradually drew closer, inch by inch, slowly illuminating the desk before Chen Yan. Right there in the square-shaped hall, Chen Yan spread out paper, ground ink, and personally drafted the legal complaint for Meng Wan.
Ping’an vaguely understood the weight carried by this single sheet of complaint.
Any scholar who valued their reputation looked down upon those Juren and Students who monopolized litigation. They leveraged their scholarly titles and familiarity with the law to engage in activities like representing others in lawsuits to resolve disasters and distorting the truth.
Currently, both official circles and literary communities were vigorously opposing this trend. His granduncle had stumbled over this very issue.
It seemed Old Dad was about to follow in his granduncle’s footsteps, intending to confront the Provincial Public Security Department with his meager strength.
He felt he understood this future treacherous official less and less. However, if Old Dad were to have his scholarly title revoked like his granduncle and hide away in a porcelain workshop writing novels for the rest of his life, that would actually be something he’d be happy to see.
…
Early the next morning, heavy, dull drumbeats shattered the tranquility of the Sheng’an County Yamen.
The grievance drum at the county yamen entrance hadn’t been struck for many years. Commoners filing lawsuits were often directed by the Duty Hall Official to “relevant departments” to submit their petitions, because beating the grievance drum came with an unwritten rule—one had to endure the Disciplinary Rods.
The urgent drumbeats not only woke the county magistrate but also startled pedestrians on Yaqian Street. While scenes of drum-beating to appeal grievances were common in operas, they were rare in reality. Within moments, residents from nearby streets and alleys flocked to the county yamen entrance.
They saw the Strong Constable Squad rushing out, fiercely wielding their Fire and Water Staffs, with the Squad Leader following behind, displeasedly ordering: “No matter who beat the drum, find an excuse to give them a beating first!””
“Yes!” the constables responded in unison, then shouted at the drum-beater: “Who dares strike the drum here?!”
The person set down the drumstick and turned around—dressed in Juren attire, standing tall, with Master Meng, the victim from Chen Pingye’s wife-murder case two years ago, following behind him.
“Ah… First Scholar!” Feng Ban Tou pushed through the crowd, immediately changing his tone: “What brings you here causing such a scene?”
Chen Yan maintained a calm expression, his words firm as nails: “According to our dynasty’s ancestral system, when the grievance drum sounds, the court must convene immediately. This Student has grievances to present to the Lord.”
The Squad Leader didn’t dare refute a single word. Chen Yan stepped across the threshold and strode confidently into the county yamen.
A young subordinate asked him: “Boss, should we still beat him?”
The Squad Leader said irritably: “Beat your head! How many heads do we have to dare beat a Jie Yuan?”
The crowd of onlookers grew larger. Someone knowledgeable explained to everyone: “This is a Juren Lord, holding an official scholarly title. He doesn’t kneel before officials and cannot be subjected to punishment.”
The crowd showed understanding expressions, but grew even more curious. In common people’s hearts, Juren Lords were universally revered Literary Kui Xing Stars—so even stars in the sky could have grievances?
Sun Zhixian, after a whole night of inner turmoil and sleepless tossing, had been moping in the rear yamen. The sudden drumbeats made his heart race—what era was this that someone still dared to beat the grievance drum?!
He urgently ordered someone to fetch his official robe, but having neglected his duties for two years without holding court sessions, the robe had grown moldy and could only be replaced by everyday attire. Though this breached protocol, there was no time to dwell on formalities. He hastily dressed properly and prepared to ascend the tribunal.
As the cloud-shaped sounding board in the rear hall struck and the drumroll for court commencement echoed, the gate slowly opened. Commoners jostled shoulder-to-shoulder into the courtyard, vying for prime spots to witness the proceedings.
Someone shouted, “The Magistrate has arrived—”
Sun Zhixian stepped into the hall with a stern expression, settling deliberately behind the grand desk. The crowd knelt in unison like wheat bowing to the wind, kowtowing to the magistrate.
With all outside the hall prostrated, Chen Yan—standing erect with a respectful bow—became conspicuously visible.
Sun Zhixian clicked his tongue softly, murmuring, “Yan Zhang, what matter requires such ceremony between us? Couldn’t we have spoken privately?”
Chen Yan replied gravely, “Your Honor, this unannounced visit is not for personal grievances. I’ve come to submit a petition drafted on behalf of a distant cousin. I implore you to review it.”
Taking the document, Sun Zhixian scanned the pages filled with mentions of “Meng” and felt his vision darken—his worst fears had materialized…
Noticing the magistrate’s pallor, Song Shiye hurriedly reminded, “Dongweng, the people are still kneeling.”
Snapping back to awareness, Sun Zhixian instructed the crowd to rise and struck the justice block sharply: “Court is now in session.”