Chapter 222: The Storm Breaks (I)

Chapter 222: The Storm Breaks (I)

Zhang Kai was at home listening to opera when the shocking news reached him.

When the news arrived, the gongs and drums on stage were still clanging merrily, the singing voice seductive, the water sleeves fluttering.

A young male dan performer on the waterside stage was swaying his sinuous waist with great effort, his eyes brimming with charm, his movements coquettish.

He knew the master of this household was generous with his money, so he didn't aim to sing beautifully—only to flaunt his charms a bit more, hoping to earn a few extra tips to brag about to his fellow apprentices afterward.

Before going on stage, the troupe leader had specifically warned him to sing well today and not to cut corners, but the young dan performer was so fixated on making a name for himself that he paid no heed.

Unfortunately, his luck was poor today.

Zhang Kai slammed the table and rose to his feet, bellowing furiously: "Get off the stage! What the hell is this caterwauling?!"

The young dan performer's shrill aria died in his throat, and he stood frozen on stage, completely lost.

The gongs and drums came to an abrupt halt.

Everyone exchanged helpless glances, not knowing what to do.

The troupe leader hurried onto the stage with an apologetic smile, grabbed the young dan performer without a word, gave him two hard slaps, and dragged him off.

The young dan performer was dazed for a long moment before slowly coming to his senses, hiding backstage and sobbing pitifully: his senior fellow apprentices sang the closing number in the same coquettish, off-key style—why did he alone have such bad luck today?

There was no way the opera could go on. The troupe leader didn't even dare ask for payment, hastily directing everyone to pack up their things. Glancing back, he saw the young dan performer, his makeup smeared and two red handprints still visible on his face, sniffling in a corner. He strode over and hauled him to his feet.

Two big, calloused hands roughly wiped the tears from the young performer's face, then rubbed his swollen cheeks, a bit gentler now.

The troupe leader lowered his voice: "Boy, in this line of work, you've gotta have eyes in the back of your head and ears everywhere. They don't hit the hard workers, they don't hit the lazy ones—they only hit the ones who don't read the room! These past two days, the rumors about the Zhang family have been spreading like wildfire all over town, and sooner or later they'll get back to the master. I told you to keep your head down, but you wouldn't listen. If I hadn't gone up there and slapped you twice today, and the master had taken his anger out on you, you'd be in serious trouble!"

The young dan performer was still young, only thirteen or fourteen. His ears perked up at the word "rumors," and he sniffled, dying to hear the gossip: "What rumors?"

"..." The troupe leader kept his face stern and didn't answer. "Fix your face! Go out there looking sharp and proper—don't let anyone see you looking like a wreck, and don't you dare smile either. If someone catches you slipping again, even your master won't be able to save you!"

The young dan performer rubbed his eyes, still feeling wronged.

He had a handsome face and a good singing voice. If he hadn't been trying so hard to please the host family, he wouldn't have phoned it in and embarrassed himself like this.

Tears poured down his face as he muttered to himself: "This is so embarrassing. Why am I so cursed?"

"Who's lucky enough to be in this line of work?"

The troupe leader sighed, his broad palm landing on the boy's head: "But at least we've got a skill to fall back on."

"Heaven decides your fate, but your skill is yours. Master it well, and maybe you can change your fate. That's better than those high-and-mighty immortals. When they screw up, they get kicked down to earth, exposed for what they really are, without even a skill to survive."

The young dan performer, tears still in his eyes, mulled over these words, only half understanding them.

He got another light smack on the back of the head: "Quit daydreaming! Get moving! Clean yourself up!"

...

The opera broke up in a hurry. Zhang Kai sat in his grand armchair, his chest heaving. The more he thought, the angrier he grew. He felt like a clot of black blood was stuck in his chest—he could neither swallow it nor cough it up.

His fists were clenched so tight that his veins bulged, writhing like little snakes about to burst through his skin.

He replayed the whole thing in his head, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got:

If Wen Ren Ming Ke hadn't come to his door uninvited, delivering that fatal tip, he would never have sent word to his uncle!

But that information was about life, death, wealth, and honor—and since he had no idea why Wen Ren Ming Ke had brought it to him, how could he dare not report it to his uncle?

It was all over.

His grandfather's good name, the Zhang family's glory—all of it, gone.

He was so consumed with hatred that his eyes turned bloodshot and his ears rang. It took him a long moment to register Steward Zhan calling anxiously at his side: "Master? ... Master!"

Zhang Kai jerked upright, snapping out of his daze.

He turned his head, his gaze ferocious: "I told you to go out and dig up more info—so why are you still standing here?!"

Steward Zhan was startled by his master's murderous glare and didn't dare look him in the eye, saying in a low voice: "Master, outside... Prefect Wenren has arrived."

"...Who?"

"Prefect Wenren. He's already at the door. He said, he said..." Steward Zhan's voice grew weaker with each word, "that you've had every opera troupe in Tongzhou come through these past few days, and he wanted to come listen in..."

Zhang Kai shot to his feet, incredulous: "He still dares to show his face here?!"

In a few breaths, his tone went from furious to ice-cold: "...Where's Master Xi?"

Hearing the implication in his master's words, Steward Zhan immediately panicked: "Master, you mustn't! He's the prefect—an Imperial Official!"

The crime of killing an imperial official was too great! He didn't want to die!

As Steward Zhan frantically searched for words of comfort to dissuade his master from such a course, a voice laced with laughter came from behind him: "Oh? Why has the show already ended?"

Steward Zhan turned stiffly to see Le Wuya, folding fan in hand, dressed in crimson robes, standing tall and elegant, smiling as pleasantly as ever.

But this time, he hadn't come alone.

Beside him stood Yuan Zijin, and a servant of the Zhang household who looked utterly at a loss, on the verge of tears—the master of the house hadn't come out to receive the guest, and the prefect couldn't just be left standing outside. He'd exhausted every pleasantry and smiled until his face was stiff, yet his master still hadn't come to greet them. He was caught between a rock and a hard place.

In such an awkward predicament, it was the prefect himself who rescued him, tapping his shoulder lightly with the fan: "Young man, could I trouble you for a cup of tea? I'm parched."

The servant, as if granted a pardon, acknowledged and hurried away.

Zhang Kai watched Le Wuya, then slowly sank back into his grand armchair.

Now, when he looked at Le Wuya, he still saw beauty—but it was like a painted-skin demon: beautiful, yes, but when it devoured a person's heart, flesh, and blood, it didn't even spit out the bones!

Le Wuya made himself at home, walking up with practiced ease, finding a stool nearby, and sitting down with a sigh: "Ah, passing by your esteemed residence, I'd hoped to catch a good show, but it seems the music has ended and the play is done. What a pity."

Zhang Kai had repeatedly warned himself not to lose his temper.

Yet hearing such barbed remarks, his heart felt like it had fallen into boiling oil—his fury blazed and surged straight up to his throat.

He said hoarsely: "This is Zhang Mou's failing in hospitality. There's no show here. Please, make yourself at ease and leave."

Le Wuya said nothing, merely smiling as he watched him.

Whether it was Zhang Kai's narrow-mindedness or not, he suspected the man before him was treating him like a spectacle!

Zhang Kai's heart pounded wildly in his chest, and a sweet, metallic taste flooded his mouth: "You did this on purpose?"

That he didn't rush up and beat Le Wuya to a pulp—merely speaking with cold disrespect—was already an immense exercise of restraint.

“I'm being framed!” Le Wuya, surprisingly, pressed further, “Didn't I give Brother Meng'an accurate info? Isn't there a place called Sangui Temple in Xuan County, Huangzhou? And isn't there a monk named Liaoyuan there?”

Zhang Kai was so furious his limbs went numb and he saw stars: “You... you...”

He was shaking with rage, but at this point, all he could do was deny everything: “Watch your mouth, my lord. I know I'm out of line, but you're implicated too. If I turn you in, the info came from you...”

“Then you're dead.”

Le Wuya cut him off, sounding bored.

He held up three fingers: “Brother Meng'an clearly knew about this case but hid it, and secretly passed messages, conspiring with his uncle to destroy evidence—what's that crime called?”

“You and your uncle had dealings over this case, then you burned letters, bribed your men, and covered your tracks—what's that crime?”

“You've got no proof, just your mouth, and you're trying to frame an Imperial Official—what's that crime?”

Le Wuya dragged out his words: “...Don't go looking for your own death, Brother Meng'an.”

Zhang Kai was so furious he couldn't hold it in anymore. He jumped up, ready to strangle Le Wuya.

Yuan Zijin, standing nearby, was totally confused.

Though Le Wuya's words made him grit his teeth and want to punch him, actually seeing Zhang Kai throw a punch was a whole different story.

On pure instinct, he kicked Zhang Kai square in the gut, sending him flying back into his chair. The chair slid ten feet before toppling over the pavilion's edge, man and all.

Yuan Zijin spread his arms in front of Le Wuya, glaring: “What the hell are you doing?!”

But after landing that kick, he was a bit stunned himself:

...What the hell was he doing?

Seeing the two big shots throw down, Steward Zhan nearly had a heart attack and rushed over to help his master up.

Zhang Kai couldn't even talk, his teeth chattering nonstop.

Le Wuya, meanwhile, wore a smug smile, fanning himself as he walked around Yuan Zijin and stood over Zhang Kai, looking down at him: “Speaking of which, if before the joint tribunal, Zhang Yue, Lord Zhang, had dressed up nice and hanged himself at home, that'd be the cleanest way out—spare himself a lot of suffering. But after serving the emperor that long, he's gotta know that if he offs himself without a clear reason, you, his dear nephew, would get swept up too. Your Zhang family's loaded, after all—confiscating your stuff would be way too easy. Getting rid of you would just be a bonus, like killing two birds with one stone. Only if he lives to beg the emperor for your innocence, to shield you from this storm, can your Zhang family keep its one and only heir—the—only—shoot—shoot—shoot!”

When he said “only shoot,” Le Wuya bent down, tapping Zhang Kai's right shoulder with his fan, one tap per word, his tone teasing.

Zhang Kai swallowed the blood in his mouth, a flicker of fear showing on his face: “My lord... just tell me straight—what do you want me to do?”

“Now that's more like it. That's how you talk business.” Le Wuya crouched down to meet his eyes, “I forgive you for not coming to welcome me.”

He leaned in close to Zhang Kai, his voice low and coaxing: “I know a thing or two about what you did in Tongzhou, but that's water under the bridge. I'm not the type to dig up old grudges, so I'll let it slide. There's talk going around that you and I are in cahoots, that I back County Princess Qi in business and back the garrison troops with muscle, and that I'm working with you to wipe out the other pirate gangs, leaving only yours—so I can score points with the court for a promotion, and you can run Tongzhou solo...”

“I don't want to be blamed for something I didn't do. So do me a solid and work hard on this, yeah?”

Le Wuya stared at him from inches away, a sly glint in his eyes: “After all, Brother Meng'an's only backer now is me, right?”

...

After they left the Zhang mansion, Yuan Zijin—who'd been told to keep his mouth shut—waited until no one was around before blurting out: “What the hell? What's Zhang Kai got to do with that Huangzhou case?”

Le Wuya hopped on his little yellow horse and rode back to the office with him, spinning the old story like a street performer.

Yuan Zijin listened, fuming, but couldn't help asking suspiciously: “...Where did you learn all this?”

Le Wuya lied without blinking: “The Sixth Prince told me.”

Yuan Zijin bought it, just like that, and dropped the subject: “So, according to you, Zhang Yue's a piece of shit, but he was still pretty decent to his own nephew.”

Le Wuya: “Good, my ass. I was feeding him a line.”

Yuan Zijin: “...What?”

“That old bastard Zhang Yue was a spineless coward his whole life—where's he gonna get balls like that?” Le Wuya remarked, “He just knows that after all these years, most of the people tied to the Huangzhou fake treasure case are long dead. Even if a few survived by luck, they lack solid evidence like Rao Gaoming's. Even if they came forward to accuse, they'd likely gain nothing. So, the only charge that could truly stick would be Rao Gaoming's.”

Yuan Zijin was nearly beside himself with fury: “...How can he be like this?”

“Not just that.” Le Wuya looked ahead, his earlier arrogance gone, his tone calm, “Zhang Yue will also claim his subordinates were negligent in investigation, that he was merely deceived; that deaths from torture were the harsh methods of those Huangzhou officials, and he was only guilty of dereliction, not deliberate framing.”

Old cases are hard to overturn precisely because of this.

“So, he won't die. He committed this dirty deed while serving the current emperor, making a wrong decision. If the emperor, out of old loyalty, shows leniency—locking him up for a year or two, then sentencing him to confiscation and exile once the heat dies down—he'd still escape with his life. Why wouldn't he?”

Yuan Zijin would have been better off not asking; his questioning only left him stewing in anger.

He couldn't help but ask: “Then why did you come to gloat at Zhang Kai?”

“Gloat? Where?” Le Wuya looked innocent, “I'm telling the truth. Even if Zhang Yue doesn't die, he's bound to fall; without his patron, Zhang Kai's best path is to attach himself to me. I've visited twice in person—first bringing him intelligence, second offering him a lifeline. I'm practically the greatest philanthropist under heaven.”

Yuan Zijin: “...”

Le Wuya's words weren't wrong, but that didn't stop them from being utterly infuriating, making his fists clench.

“Besides, I'm worried Zhang Yue might not die.” As Yuan Zijin struggled to suppress his urge to punch him, Le Wuya dropped another bombshell, “So I came to give his nephew a push, to send them both off to the afterlife together, nice and cozy. Isn't that good?”

That was Le Wuya's true purpose.

The “Master Xi” under Zhang Kai was Tongzhou's biggest pirate leader.

If he didn't come to provoke him, Zhang Ji, having suffered such a heavy blow, might well retreat and lie low.

And Master Xi, seeing him lose power, would scatter with his pirates like startled birds.

That wouldn't do.

He needed Zhang Kai to keep Master Xi close, not let him flee—if he scattered to other prefectures, the poison would spread endlessly.

As for how he'd manage that, Le Wuya couldn't care less.

Though Zhang Kai had lost power, he still had money.

He hadn't squeezed him dry yet—how could he stop stirring trouble?

Moreover...

With Master Xi's backing, Zhang Kai had long stood taller than his uncle, who groveled before the emperor for a living.

A man used to running rampant, now bullied to his face, treated like a drowned dog, mocked and beaten...

Le Wuya flashed a beautiful smile.

Go mad.

A little madness is good.

If you don't go mad, I won't have the heart to kill you, will I?

...

The capital.

After taking care of Le Wuya's business, Zheng Miao went to prepare for his assessment.

His track record, conduct, and abilities had always been beyond reproach, but because he had no patrons at court, he usually got "average" ratings.

However, during this year's evaluation, Tongzhou kept reporting victories—even a lone merchant ship managed to ambush the Japanese pirates and capture countless Japanese raiders, which pleased the emperor so much that he personally stamped "excellent" ratings for all three agencies under Tongzhou.

Feng Long and Ling Yingxun were beside themselves with joy, and at private gatherings, they kept calling Prefect Wenren a lucky charm.

Zheng Miao, for his part, found it pretty ridiculous.

He had worked hard for three years, only to earn an "excellent" rating thanks to a capable subordinate.

Where's the fairness in that?

The day before he was set to head back, Zhang Yuanye, the Grand Court Director, who was swamped with the joint trial of the Huangzhou counterfeit treasure case, went out of his way to invite Zheng Miao to the Court of Judicial Review, under the guise of "a visit to his old stomping grounds."

But Zheng Miao knew Zhang Yuanye's temperament all too well.

The moment they met, he cut straight to the chase: "What's the tricky issue you need my help with? Speak quickly—don't waste time. I only have half a day; I set out at dawn tomorrow."

Zhang Yuanye's face was grim; he said nothing.

He took Zheng Miao by the sleeve and led him into his office, first getting him seated, then using a key to open a compartment specially reserved for storing evidence.

Zhang Yuanye said, "We've now confirmed that Zhang Yue sent his trusted man Han Meng to Sangui Temple in Xuan County, Huangzhou, to destroy the evidence. But where that information came from, he remains tight-lipped and refuses to confess. I suspect his nephew Zhang Kai got wind of it somewhere and informed him, but the Sixth Prince personally made a trip to Tongzhou and found no evidence that Zhang Kai was also involved in this case."

Zheng Miao propped his chin on his hand and joked, "Then what can I do? Divine for you which immortal sent down divine punishment, making Zhang Yue suddenly have a flash of inspiration after all these years and travel a thousand li to destroy evidence at Sangui Temple—only to be caught red-handed?"

"...It's not about that." Zhang Yuanye sighed. "There's a piece of evidence that looks familiar to me, but I didn't dare draw conclusions, so I asked you to come take a look."

With that, he lifted a dark sable cloak from the evidence compartment: "The monks of Sangui Temple filed a complaint with the authorities, accusing Han Meng of embezzling property and committing murder for gain. This fur cloak is what he seized..."

Before Zhang Yuanye could finish, Zheng Miao abruptly rose to his feet, strode over to the cloak in three quick steps, and clutched a corner of the warm fur.

His wrist trembled faintly from the force of his grip.

Seeing his reaction, Zhang Yuanye let out a soft sigh: "That is to say, I wasn't mistaken. ...This is that gentleman's belonging, isn't it?"