Chapter 80

Chapter 80

Twilight was settling in, and lamps had already been lit in the duty room of the Listening Terrace, casting a dim yellow glow. Wen Buchi held a reply, lost in thought for a long time before raising his head.

After a moment more, he rubbed his forehead, stood up, adjusted his robes, and got ready to head out.

But just as he rounded the desk and headed for the door, his eyes couldn’t help wandering to the bamboo birdcage by the window.

The little budgerigar was pecking at millet, its tiny head bobbing, occasionally letting out a few "chirps."

Wen Buchi paused in his steps, his heart softening, and a ridiculous notion arose—he wanted to carry the birdcage out with him.

The idea kept popping into his head, and he couldn’t make up his mind.

To be honest, he had grown genuinely fond of the little creature. Ever since it had entered his home, he had treated it like a precious treasure, doting on it down to the smallest detail, unwilling to let it out of his sight for even a moment.

But he also knew that today's meeting with Su Zhanyu was about matters of life and death and the treacherous currents of court politics. After a fierce internal struggle, he finally regained his composure and got his rational self back.

In the end, he merely approached the cage, watched silently for a while, and, seeing that the food and water were sufficient, opened the cage door to let the little bird fly freely around the duty room.

The door shut, sealing off that tiny spark of life, and he was once again swallowed by the heavy dusk of the capital.

It was still the "Evening Fragrance Teahouse," and the private room remained quiet, with only the quiet bubbling of tea.

Su Zhanyu had already arrived, still dressed in a plain-colored long robe, sitting by the window overlooking the river. When he saw Wen Buchi lift the bamboo curtain and enter, he nodded slightly, his expression as calm as ever.

In the fragrant steam from the tea, the two sat facing each other, silent for a long time.

Finally, Wen Buchi broke the silence. "Ge Dahai's autopsy report has been reviewed by the Three Judicial Offices. It's confirmed as drowning, but there are pressing marks on the back of his neck. It's undoubtedly murder."

Su Zhanyu had never known Ge Dahai, had never even heard of him. Upon hearing this, he picked up the pot and poured Wen Buchi a full cup of hot tea, nodding slightly and speaking slowly: "Thank you for telling me, Lord Wen."

Wen Buchi picked up the teacup but didn't drink, just stared at the clear tea, saying nothing.

After a moment of thought, he no longer dwelled on the case itself but shifted his tone slightly, describing Ge Dahai as a person in an objective manner.

"This man was from Bozhou. In his youth, he had some reputation for talent, but unfortunately, fate was unkind. From the age of twenty, he came to the capital for the imperial examinations, failing repeatedly, over forty years. His family was destitute, his parents died early, he never married, and lived alone all his life. He made a meager living by copying texts and writing letters for others. Now that he is dead, no one can even pay for his funeral."

He spoke deliberately, each word crisp and clear. He also intentionally omitted any direct exhortations that might have led Su Zhanyu to think of his own situation—the plight of scholars, the justice of the court. Such words might have been suitable coming from Chao Cheyun, but from him, Wen Buchi, they would have seemed utterly hypocritical.

Wen Buchi knew well that for someone as perceptive as Su Zhanyu, possessed of both profound pride and hidden compassion, the most compelling argument wasn't big ideals but the harsh, buried reality itself. Therefore, he only needed to lay bare the miserable plight of Ge Dahai, a small man crushed by power, right before Su Zhanyu's eyes. Su Zhanyu might disdain power struggles, might transcend rumors and slander, but he couldn't turn a blind eye to a poor scholar who had died innocently because of the Su family and this political game.

This was not about the Su family's innocence, but about Su Zhanyu's inner "Way."

Sure enough, Su Zhanyu's fingers gripping the teacup tightened. But still, he did not look at Wen Buchi; instead, his gaze fixed on the boundless darkness outside the window.

After a long silence, he finally uttered a very faint sentence: "A lifetime stuck in the exam halls, only to die at the hands of the people pulling the strings... this world... is truly ridiculous."

His voice held no anger, no resentment, only deep weariness and sorrow. Indeed, he didn't really care about the mud being thrown at the Su family. The innocent stay innocent, the guilty stay guilty—he believed in that principle.

But Ge Dahai's death—he couldn't just move past it.

An old man who studied hard for decades, never did anything wrong in his life, was so casually sacrificed in a power struggle, and after death used to frame someone else. This filled Su Zhanyu with a profound disgust and a sense of powerlessness.

Maybe Su Zhanyu wasn't cut out for politics, or maybe he was too cut out for it. One or two lives are nothing before imperial power—even less than nothing in the grand scheme of heaven and earth. In this world, people have no human rights. Who would remember? Who would care?

And with the Ji-Tan faction staying quiet and the sighs of relief among the officials, it was clear: in power struggles, one person's death often saves a hundred.

Right now, from their point of view, Ge Dahai was that person.

Those who can't see the small, concrete suffering of individuals can never have true compassion. This is both principle and fact. Su Zhanyu saw it all too clearly. Li Sheng wanted to use him to clean up the exams and suppress the Ji-Tan faction—that was an open move. Ji Ye and Tan Huaiyuan and their kind wanted to get rid of him out of selfishness. None of these people—not one—saw what he saw. And then there was Nan Wuxie—he still hadn't figured out his role, but he was definitely no pushover. This wasn't just a simple battle between honest and corrupt officials; it was a vast web. Once you step in, you're trapped, no longer in control. Taking the chief examiner post meant he would no longer just be the literary master Su Zhanyu—he'd be fully sucked into the maelstrom of court politics, where every step might bring bloodshed.

Would that bloodshed be worth it? Hard to say, because in power struggles, there's another rule: you weigh things by value, and more often than not, you have to sacrifice a hundred to save one.

Su Zhanyu hated this kind of entanglement, and even more, he dreaded the endless killing that might come from him.

He couldn't bear to look—he was utterly exhausted.

Wen Buchi saw the flicker of complexity in Su Zhanyu's eyes and knew he had touched him. He was not in a hurry to succeed; his purpose today was not to get Su Zhanyu to nod immediately. He just needed to plant a seed of "responsibility" and "defiance" in Su Zhanyu's seemingly cold heart. When and how that seed would sprout and grow was up to the fate of this dynasty.

"Ge Dahai's body is still with the Ministry of Justice," Wen Buchi added faintly at last, like placing the final piece on the chessboard. "No one has claimed it, and no one cares. It's as if he never came to this world at all."

After saying this, he said no more, quietly sipping the tea that had already turned cool.

Su Zhanyu remained silent. The night outside the window grew heavier, shrouding him entirely in gloom.

In the private room of the teahouse, only the lingering warmth of the cooling tea remained, along with the silent confrontation of two men who, despite their different concerns, both saw the danger of this chess game.

***

The courtyard of the Listening Terrace felt especially ominous in the dark night. As soon as Wen Buchi stepped through the gate of the yamen, he noticed the guards on either side looked off.

"L-Lord..."

Sensing something amiss, Wen Buchi felt that something had happened, but he could not very well ask a gate guard. He nodded slightly and then walked toward the courtyard.

Passing through the corridor to the moon gate in the rear courtyard, he saw that every person on duty today was gathered in the courtyard, faces full of anxiety, chattering about something.

Wen Buchi coughed lightly. Everyone turned, and the moment they saw their lord had returned, from Meng Zhentang down to the most junior runner, their faces all changed dramatically. They knelt in a neat row, heads hung low, not daring to breathe.

A strong sense of dread seized Wen Buchi's heart. His face remained calm, his gaze sweeping over them, finally settling on Meng Zhentang, who was at the front.

"What happened?"

Meng Zhentang trembled all over, stuttering: "L-Lord... it... it was our fault... we deserve to die a thousand deaths—"

"Get to the point," Wen Buchi interrupted sternly.

Meng Zhentang trembled again, then steeled himself and said: "Lord... your... your parrot... it..."

Wen Buchi's heart sank.

"Go on," he said, taking two steps toward Meng Zhentang. "What happened to the parrot?"

"Lord... in the evening, a runner brought documents into the duty room... when he opened the door, he wasn't careful... and that little thing suddenly slipped out through the crack in the door and flew straight out..." Meng Zhentang's voice shook uncontrollably. "We chased after it in a panic, but though the bird was small, it flew fast, fluttering among the branches in the courtyard, hard to catch... just as we were in chaos, we suddenly saw... a white shadow, swift as lightning, swooping down from the direction of the Imperial City..."

His voice grew softer and softer. "In an instant... it snatched the parrot... and carried it away..."

"What?" Meng Zhentang's words hit Wen Buchi like a cold arrow, right between the eyes.

White shadow, direction of the Imperial City—with these key words, aside from the snowy owl that could fly freely within and outside the Imperial City, what else could it be?

In an instant, a sharp pain mixed with a profound sense of helplessness washed over him.

His little fluffy creature—the one that would tilt its head to look at him, that would gently rub its tiny yellow beak against his fingers—it had been effortlessly torn apart and devoured by that fierce bird, a symbol of imperial authority.

Before his eyes flashed the parrot's peaceful image as it preened in the cage, then the bloody scene that might have happened under the snowy owl's talons. His stomach lurched.

He had loved that little parrot—loved the faint spark of life and warmth it brought, loved the small sounds that broke the desolation of the duty room, and especially loved that Nan Wuxie had shoved it at him with that infuriating grin.

That affection, which he had always carefully hidden beneath his cold exterior, was now completely shattered.

Even so, what could he say? Demand that the Emperor explain why he allowed his bird to commit murder? Ask the Son of Heaven to punish his own beloved pet for the sake of his little parrot?

It was too absurd, too foolish, too unreasonable. According to the "rules of officialdom," he not only shouldn't be angry—he should even praise it: "Your Majesty's divine bird is truly majestic and awe-inspiring."

How ironic.

He wasn't even supposed to show any obvious grief.

So Wen Buchi took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, burying his churning emotions deep within himself, beneath his habitual coldness.

"I see," he said flatly. "Since it was an accident and something you could not have foreseen. Everyone, rise and return to your posts."

He paused, then added cautiously, "This matter... need not be mentioned again, and must not be spoken of outside these walls."

He emphasized "must not be spoken of outside these walls" not merely to save someone's face, but because, deep down, he instinctively didn't want Nan Wuxie to know.

If that fellow learned of this...

What would Nan Wuxie do?

He dared not think about it.

That man was someone who dared to secretly oppose even the Emperor. If he stirred up trouble over this, the consequences would be unthinkable.

He wanted to swallow this bitterness and heartache himself, to avoid any more complications.

Dismissing his fearful subordinates, Wen Buchi returned alone to his office. The furnishings remained the same, but the delicate bamboo birdcage by the window stood empty, hanging there like a silent mockery.

He didn't look at it. Instead, he walked straight to his desk, sat down, and picked up a dossier, trying to numb himself with work.

But the characters blurred before his eyes; he couldn't read them at all.

Just as his mind was unsettled, footsteps sounded from outside the door—that familiar, lazy tread he knew by heart.

Wen Buchi's heart instantly leaped into his throat. He had never been so afraid to see that person before. In all his previous encounters with him, no matter how powerless he felt, he had never been as terrified as he was now.

What had to come would come. The footsteps grew louder, until they reached the doorway. Nan Wuxie pushed the door open.

"Lord Wen is still busy?" He wore his usual flippant expression. "Seems I've come at a bad time."

As he spoke, Nan Wuxie casually walked over and sat down across from Wen Buchi, his lazy demeanor showing he still didn't know about the little parrot. This let Wen Buchi breathe a sigh of relief.

Nan Wuxie's gaze swept over Wen Buchi's face and immediately could tell he wasn't feeling well. He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Why do you look so bad? Still no leads on Ge Dahai's case?"

Startled, Wen Buchi instinctively lowered his eyes to avoid his gaze, forcing his tone to remain neutral. "It's nothing. Just a bit tired."

He quickly changed the subject. "You've come at a good time. I went to see Su Zhanyu today."

Nan Wuxie's attention was indeed caught. He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How did it go?"

"Su Zhanyu didn't give a clear answer, but... he seemed to be softening." Wen Buchi briefly recounted the result of their conversation at the teahouse.

Nan Wuxie listened, nodded slightly, and became thoughtful.

The two chatted for a while longer about leads in Ge Dahai's case and the maneuvers at court. The atmosphere seemed normal.

However, Nan Wuxie was far too perceptive. He had already noticed that Wen Buchi was distracted today, his expression betraying something suppressed. He had been sidetracked by official matters earlier, but now that the topic had died down, his sharp eyes once again fixed on Wen Buchi.

"What's wrong with you today? You're acting strange. Are you unwell? Have you seen a doctor?"

A barrage of concern struck Wen Buchi, but he could only keep his eyes down, pretending to read the papers. "No, just... a bit tired."

"If you're tired, leave early and go home. Don't keep looking at those documents. Work isn't that heavy..." Nan Wuxie's words trailed off as his gaze inadvertently swept across the window and then froze.

The birdcage still hung in its place, but it was empty.

The lazy smile on Nan Wuxie's face instantly faded, replaced by a hint of confusion.

"Where's the bird?"

He turned to look at Wen Buchi, his eyes clear and pure, purely curious about why the little creature wasn't in its cage.

"Where has the bird gone?"

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Author's Note: Hmm... I'll be a workhorse today and add an extra update～

End of the year, I've been really busy, and haven't looked at comments much lately. Today was fate—by chance I opened the comments and saw everyone's urging for updates. Truly honored that you all have expectations for this story! You are my glory and my motivation, a huge gain beyond my original intention in writing. Thank you all so much for your love. I will continue to carefully shape this story, rest assured.