Chapter 43: Into a Political Intrigue Novel, Day 21

Chapter 43: Day Twenty-One in a Political Intrigue Novel

"I wouldn't dare make false claims; the evidence is here!"

Ge Lian stood up abruptly, his armor clanking. He opened the bundle from his chest, taking out a thick stack of edge-worn account books and several letters sealed with wax but already opened. He raised them high above his head:

"These are the secret ledgers of the Southern Revenue Bureau—the actual transaction records of all taxes, grain transport, and river works funds over the years! What is recorded here differs vastly from the files in the Ministry of Revenue! The numbers of false reports, withheld funds, and embezzled sums are shocking!"

"And here are the secret correspondences between the Jiangnan Administrative Commissioner, Surveillance Commissioner, several prefects, and Chief Grand Secretary Duan Mingde! They detail how relief funds were divided, how accounts were falsified, how dissenters were suppressed, and how the enormous deficit caused by the embezzlement of the Southern River Works was covered up! Every word and every line bears Duan Mingde’s personal seal or secret mark as proof!"

A eunuch trotted down, tremblingly took the stack of evidence, and scurried to present it on the imperial desk.

Duan Mingde involuntarily swayed.

He lifted his head abruptly. Those eyes, weathered by years of experience and accustomed to manipulating events, now stared fixedly at the account books and letters. Deep in his pupils, cracks of sheer shock reflected clearly.

How could this be... so detailed?!

The accounts of the Southern provinces had long been managed by him into an impenetrable fortress, airtight and unbreachable!

These core secret documents—no one but him and a few absolute confidants even knew of their existence! Who?!

His gaze swept sharply over the assembled officials below the steps. Who had betrayed him?! Who?!

The Old Emperor kept flipping through the evidence in his hands; the more he saw, the more furious he became.

Mine! All of it is mine!

The Old Emperor’s withered fingers trembled as he leafed through the account books and letters on the imperial desk. The more he turned, the more an unhealthy flush spread across his sallow face, and a terrifying glint flared in his clouded eyes.

This old cur! How dare he?!

"Duan! Ming! De!" The Old Emperor’s voice was twisted with extreme fury: "You... what do you have to say for yourself?!"

Duan Mingde’s body shook violently, as if all his vitality had been drained in an instant.

The spine he had kept straight all his life now irreversibly stooped at this moment.

"Your subject... your subject..."

Just then, a warm, even voice sounded not far behind him, not loud but clearly reaching every corner:

"Your Majesty."

An Yi stepped forward, bowing deeply with clasped hands before the throne, his face wearing an expression of measured solemnity and pain: "Your subject, as Director of the Imperial Secretariat, in charge of finances and grain allocations, failed to detect such a vast corruption in the Southern provinces in time, causing the people to suffer and the state treasury to be depleted. Your subject... is guilty of neglect, ashamed before Your Majesty and the realm!"

He turned slightly and cast a complex look at Duan Mingde, his voice heavy with inexpressible sorrow, continuing:

"The evidence presented by the Young Marquis Ge, though I have not yet examined it closely, shows a format and seals that could not have been forged on short notice! The disaster in the Southern provinces has reached such a dire state, with popular resentment exploding into a wildfire of rebellion—all because corruption has run rampant, hollowing out the nation’s foundation!"

"This case is shocking and undermines the very basis of the state! Your subject... earnestly petitions Your Majesty to investigate thoroughly! No matter who is implicated, they should be brought to justice as a warning to others, to rectify court governance and console the people!"

As An Yi’s words fell, several courtiers immediately stepped forward to echo: "We earnestly petition Your Majesty to investigate thoroughly! To rectify court governance and console the people!"

Duan Mingde’s gaze froze on An Yi’s face.

That face was still clean and refined, with features like a painting—his own creation, the masterpiece he was proud of.

The sorrow in those eyes was performed so convincingly.

No one else! It was him! It had to be An Yi!

"Junheng..." Duan Mingde’s throat bobbed, and he forced out two words, filled with overwhelming hatred.

The power network he had painstakingly built for decades, the exclusive domain of power he guarded jealously—it was from within, bitten through by the very snake he had raised with his own hands!

"Guards!" The Old Emperor’s voice rang out: "Strip him of his official robes! Remove his cap! Throw him into the imperial prison! Keep him under tight guard! This case... investigate it to the end! All involved shall be punished according to the law!"

"As you command!" Several fierce imperial guards answered in unison and stepped forward.

The crimson crane-embroidered official robe, symbol of the pinnacle of civil officialdom, was roughly torn off. The heavy first-rank official cap, representing supreme authority, was hurled to the ground, its gold-and-jade top ornament rolling away, making a crisp and piercing sound of lament on the silent golden bricks.

Duan Mingde had his arms twisted behind him by two iron-tower-like guards and was dragged out like a torn sack.

He did not struggle. But those eyes, once capable of steering the currents of power and reading human hearts, as they passed An Yi, pinned him with a deadly, venomous glare.

An Yi still stood with hands lowered, his eyelids downcast, long lashes casting a deep shadow beneath his eyes, hiding all possible emotions.

Only his tightly pressed thin lips showed a hint of an imperceptible, cold firmness.

A storm had come quickly and passed just as quickly.

Ge Lian stood solemnly at the foot of the steps, his black armor menacingly dark, his gaze heavy as it swept over the petrified officials. Finally, it landed on the seemingly calm profile of An Yi. The corners of his mouth slowly curled into a faint smile.

Deep within the imperial prison.

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This place never saw a ray of sunlight. Only a few inferior torches on the walls burned stubbornly, casting flickering, twisted, ghost-like shadows that leaped and danced.

The dancing flames could not even dispel the darkness; instead, they threw huge, jagged shadows onto the damp, slippery stone walls, adding to the gloom and uncanny eeriness.

The air was thick and suffocating, a dense mixture of mold, blood, excrement, and the rusty smell of iron—a nauseating, suffocating aura of death that pressed heavily on the chest; each breath came with a viscous, clinging despair.

Duan Mingde sat with his back to the narrow cell door, his withered body curled in a corner atop a pile of moldy-stinking straw.

The prison uniform hung baggily on him, looking far too large.

The once meticulously combed grizzled hair and beard were now scattered, sticking to his sweaty forehead and cheeks, covered with straw and filth.

In just a few days, this Chief Grand Secretary, who had dominated the court for decades, had been drained of all vitality and spirit, like a rotten tree gnawed by wind and rain, now a hollow shell at death’s door.

Footsteps—light, steady, with a composed air utterly out of place in this filthy place, coming from far to near, finally halting outside the bars of this death cell.

Duan Mingde’s withered body tensed almost imperceptibly, but he did not turn around.

His murky eyes shifted painfully in the darkness. In the deathly silence of the cell, only his own labored, rasping breaths and the irritating, faint crackle of the torches could be heard.