Chapter 121: The Punishment

Chapter 121: The Indictment

Song Zhizhang’s memorial reached the capital two days later and was delivered into Shen Que’s hands.

Shen Que read late into the night, the candlelight illuminating his refined features, his eyelashes casting a faint shadow. His expression was grave as he pored over the letter, though barely a few thousand words long, reading it again and again, his brows furrowing and relaxing intermittently.

Shen Xiu snuffed the candlewick and added more oil to the lamp beside him, asking curiously, “Uncle, what are you reading?”

Shen Que replied, “A memorial from the Two Lakes region, reporting that a capable man from the capital sent him a letter detailing methods for flood control and water management.”

He handed the memorial to Shen Xiu, which included Jiang Xun’s original letter. Song Zhizhang had copied it for reference but sent the original back intact.

Shen Xiu remarked, “The handwriting is bold and carefree.”

He read word by word, his brows rising higher and higher. When he reached the end, he flipped the letter to check the signature. “Uncle, who wrote this? Every word cuts to the heart of the matter.”

Shen Que shook his head. “No full name was given—just a single character.”

Shen Xiu mused, “…‘Xun’?”

He pondered carefully. “In the capital now, I’ve truly never heard of anyone named ‘Xun.’ Such talent left unrecognized is a pity. If you can find out who he is, Uncle, recruiting him isn’t urgent.”

Shen Que took back the letter. “Recruiting can wait. First, we must submit a memorial.”

Building canals and managing water—Jiang Xun had provided diagrams, but manpower and resources were still needed. Labor could be recruited locally, but funds had to be allocated by the central government. Yet Great Wei, in its current state, was in dire need of rebuilding everywhere. Officials quarreled like dogs over scraps—how much and where—and the final decision rested with the emperor.

At this thought, Shen Que rubbed his temples.

Shen Xiu also realized this and muttered, “The current emperor is volatile, his whims as changeable as the wind. Getting him to approve funding might be like squeezing blood from a stone.”

Shen Que lowered his gaze in contemplation and said nothing. After a moment, he blew out the candle. “It’s late. You should leave.”

Shen Xiu tucked his records under his arm and prepared to depart.

Shen Que now resided in the palace, separate from the rest of the family, so Shen Xiu had to return to the Shen residence alone.

A sedan chair was already prepared at the door. Shen Xiu glanced back and saw Shen Que standing alone by the window, his hands clasped behind him. Moonlight streamed through the lattice, bathing him in solitary light.

Shen Xiu couldn’t help but wonder, *What is Uncle thinking about?*

Was it concern for the nation’s future, the rise and fall of the family, or his own uncertain fate?

—Shen Que was thinking about how to get Jiang Xun to summon him.

Since their last meeting, the emperor hadn’t summoned him for six or seven days. The braziers burned endlessly in Yaoguang Palace, and every comfort was provided, yet Jiang Xun seemed to have forgotten him, leaving him alone without a single summons.

Xue Jin was still imprisoned, the Northern Di threat remained unresolved, and now this memorial from the Two Lakes region had arrived. Shen Que was troubled, constantly thinking of ways to meet Jiang Xun. But without the emperor’s summons, he couldn’t force his way into the inner palace. Day after day, he gazed from Yaoguang Palace toward Qianqing Palace, almost like a neglected palace consort.

Yet before he could secure an audience with the emperor, the accusation landed first.

In the spring of the first year of Jingming (‘Luminous Prosperity,’ the era name), during the morning court session, Xu Ping, eldest son of the Xuanping Marquis, submitted a memorial accusing Censor Shen Xiu of contempt for the throne. He claimed Shen Xiu had repeatedly disparaged the household of the Xuanping Marquis and Emperor Jiang Xun on various occasions, demanding the emperor investigate and punish him severely to uphold propriety.

Moreover, Shen Xiu’s colleagues in the Censorate testified publicly that Shen Xiu had long held grievances against the emperor, smacking of treason.

That morning, the court officials remained silent, heads bowed, while Shen Xiu knelt in the center of the hall, knees knocking.

Many stole glances at Jiang Xun’s expression. Seeing the emperor’s face impassive as stone, they couldn’t help but sweat for Shen Xiu, inwardly lamenting, *This newly appointed young man from the Shen family might have his head roll before sunset.*

Xu Ping thrust the scroll forward, pointing at Shen Xiu and demanding loudly, “On the fourteenth day of the seventh month, did you not, soaked in wine, slander the emperor as a witless fool? Deny it if you dare!” Song Zhizhang had testified...

"On the eighteenth of September, you called the Emperor cowardly and inept while chatting with colleagues at the Guozijian*—is that not so?"

"On the first day of the New Year..."

"On the third of February..."

Every charge—dates, locations, witnesses, evidence—was laid out clearly, leaving no room for denial. Shen Xiu had spoken carelessly, barely remembering his own words. Sweat dripped like beans from his forehead, his lips bloodless as he glanced around. All his once-friendly colleagues now kept their heads bowed in silence. In panic, he looked to Shen Que, whose fingers clutching the jade tablet so hard his knuckles whitened. His eyes were tightly shut, refusing to meet Shen Xiu’s gaze, standing motionless without uttering a word.

In this situation, no one could save Shen Xiu.

Trembling, Shen Xiu lifted his eyes to the Emperor. Jiang Xun’s face was hidden behind his twelve-beaded crown, his expression dark and unreadable.

Shen Xiu pressed his forehead against the cold floor, finally terrified.

Meanwhile, atop the nine-tiered imperial steps, Jiang Xun mused: *Spicy take!*

66 lay curled on his lap, making happy little noises as its host stroked it like a cat. It murmured, "What’s spicy?"

Jiang Xun: "His assessment of me—incompetent, cowardly... Hmm, he went easy on me, really."

66 whispered, "Aren’t you angry, Host?"

Jiang Xun glanced down, amused. "He spoke the truth. Why should I be angry?"

He wasn’t angry in the slightest.

In his past life, while writing historical critiques, he had criticized "Jiang Xun" countless times—far more harshly and brutally than Shen Xiu’s words. Compared to those, Shen Xiu’s insults weren’t even worth a glance.

In the grand hall, Xu Ping had finished listing all of Shen Xiu’s crimes. Kneeling, he declared, "Such a treacherous villain must be severely punished by Your Majesty."

Jiang Xun grunted noncommittally.

His gaze shifted left to Shen Que, who fumbled his tablet before his knees buckled, sinking to the floor.

Yet he remained silent, his gaze begging Jiang Xun, as if to say, "If Your Majesty shows mercy, I would do anything."

But he did not beg.

—Because begging Jiang Xun historically made things worse.

Jiang Xun’s eyes flickered over Shen Que’s knees, his brow twitching slightly before settling back on Shen Xiu.

Coldly, he decreed: "Shen Xiu, for his insolent words and deeds, shall receive sixty strikes with the heavy rod and be imprisoned in the Imperial Prison."

*Another system-mandated line.*

This time, Shen Xiu went limp.

Shen Que slowly closed his eyes, unable to speak.

The palace’s disciplinary rods were no joke—as thick as a bowl’s mouth. Ten strikes could break bones, twenty would tear flesh, and sixty would cripple or kill a man. Such punishment would ruin him.

Xu Ping’s mouth curled in triumph.

Guards surged forward to drag Shen Xiu away.

By then, Shen Xiu’s legs had turned to jelly, and he couldn’t stand.

*Guozijian: The Imperial College, an ancient Chinese educational institution.*

Bloodshed in daylight is unseemly. Postpone the punishment until nightfall."

Jiang Xun had no intention of taking Shen Xiu's life. History remembers him favorably—a legendary figure like Hai Rui, known for his integrity and incorruptibility, a man who cherished his nephew and later earned widespread respect under Xue Jin's leadership. Such a good official was worth keeping.

The court session resumed, with officials proceeding as usual. No one mentioned Shen Xiu, who had been taken away. Shen Que remained kneeling in the court for a long time, unmoving. Worried about Shen Que's legs, Jiang Xun, who rarely attended court sessions anyway, quickly wrapped up the court session and left with a flick of his sleeve.

Jiang Xun rubbed his temples. "So it really is this part."

He vaguely remembered this incident from his past life. Back then, though he'd been incompetent, he wasn’t truly cruel. When Shen Xiu had spoken ill of him, he hadn’t sought the man’s death—the sixty lashes weren't delivered at full strength, leaving only minor injuries. His real motive had been to observe Shen Que’s reaction.

He had wanted to see how the Imperial Tutor, who cherished his nephew, would react while the boy suffered outside, while Shen Que himself was forced to please his most despised student indoors—touching him, kissing him tenderly. What kind of expression would Shen Que wear then?

Now, looking back, Jiang Xun could only sigh at how spiteful and perverse he had been. "Host! 85 points!"

That night, as expected, Shen Que knelt outside the Emperor’s bedchamber.

True to form, Jiang Xun waited for the right moment before instructing Wang An to bring him inside. The room still had the plush carpet from before—soft under bare feet, gentle on knees that had knelt too long.

Wang An lit the candles and bowed and withdrew. The Emperor’s face was half-hidden in the dim candlelight, indistinct.

Shen Que knelt. "Your Majesty."

He tried to force a smile, but it faltered, and he could only murmur, "Your Majesty, Shen Xiu... spoke improperly, but he is still young. The blame falls on my poor teaching. Could you... show him some mercy?"

Jiang Xun replied lightly, "Why should I show mercy without compensation?"

He wasn’t angry—his tone was casual, almost dismissive—but Shen Que failed to catch the nuance. Clenching his jaw, he lowered his head further. "If the child errs, the fault lies with the father. Shen Xiu lost his father early; I raised him. I am both his teacher and his guardian. If you would permit it... I am willing to bear his punishment in his stead—doubled."

Doubled. One hundred and twenty strokes. Would kill even the strongest man.

For Shen Xiu’s sake, he was willing to die.

Jiang Xun’s fingers, fiddling with a teacup, stilled.

In his past life, Shen Que had said the same words. Jiang Xun remembered how furious he had been—whether at the phrase "as his teacher and guardian," "bear his punishment," or "doubled," he couldn’t say. His chest had burned with an inexplicable rage, and in the end, he had ordered Shen Xiu dragged outside to be beaten in front of Shen Que.

Though the punishment had been light in the end, the effect had been achieved.

Now, hearing those words again, the same discomfort gnawed at him.

Jiang Xun repeated, his voice unreadable, "You would bear his punishment? How?"

It was late. Jiang Xun wore only a thin inner robe. Shen Que’s gaze flickered over him before darting away. He bowed properly and said, "Whatever method pleases Your Majesty... I'll submit to."