Chapter 249: The Great Crime (Part 1)

Chapter 249: The Great Crime (Part 1)

Jie Jitong knelt with fluid grace, his robes sweeping the floor: "Your Majesty..."

He had always known this day would come.

From the moment Wen Ren entered the capital, he had rehearsed this exchange in his mind a thousand times.

Yet when the moment arrived, he inexplicably found himself answering with the truth: "Wen Ren does bear some resemblance to Le Wuya. However, he possesses the spine of a pine, the soul of a bright moon, and the talent to govern the realm... I could not bear to see a jewel of flawless jade shattered because of this."

Xiang Zheng chuckled: "Do you take me for a doddering old fool who only sees faces, not talent?"

"Your Majesty's wisdom shines like a candle in the dark," Jie Jitong replied. "But back then, Le Wuya was charged with eighty-two crimes, shaking the court and the realm. Yet he never faced public execution—he simply died in prison. Those who hated him wished to devour his flesh; those who feared him could not sleep at night. If a man bore such a striking resemblance to him, he would inevitably invite gossip and slander, even baseless attacks. I feared that before Your Majesty could witness his true talent, the pearl would already be tarnished. After careful deliberation, I resolved to remain silent."

He paused: "Moreover... I had my own selfish motives."

Xiang Zheng perceived his hesitation and struggle, his tone still unhurried, impossible to read: "Yuheng, you and I share a bond of mutual trust as sovereign and minister. Speak plainly—no need for hedging."

"In years past, the fifteen great crimes of Le Wuya were personally reported by me. If I were now to point out another man's resemblance to him... it would seem like I was stirring up trouble, as if I bore a grudge against all who look like him."

At this, he added a touch of self-deprecation to his tone: "Though I serve at Your Majesty's side day and night, I am but a mortal man. I cling to my reputation and would not wish to earn the infamy of a sycophant through careless words."

Silence fell over the Shouren Hall.

Jie Jitong lowered his eyes, utterly weary.

The words "I don't want to" had been twisted into such convoluted complexity.

Even he himself found it exhausting, let alone anyone else.

His Majesty was, of course, unmatched in wisdom.

So Jie Jitong had to shift the blame for "rejecting talent" onto the jealousy of other officials.

He also had to defame himself, claiming he was too attached to his reputation to bear the burden.

Every word was a knife twisting into his own heart.

Amid the suffocating silence, Jie Jitong found his mind wandering—a rare lapse.

Merely fielding His Majesty's capricious daily questions was enough to drain him.

And Le Wuya—he had not only handled official affairs and courtly duties, not only curried favor with the emperor, but had also single-handedly established the Changmen Guard and the Huan Prison, the royal family's private torture institution. He had poured his heart and soul into it all, only to be devoured by the Changmen Guard and die in the Huan Prison. The irony was biting.

Xiang Zheng spoke slowly: "...Zheng Miao did tell me the truth."

Jie Jitong's breath caught.

His Majesty's meaning was clear—a deliberate rebuke:

Not everyone had kept him in the dark.

The Dayu dynasty had loyal ministers, upright ministers.

...

If Le Wuya could hear this conversation, he would surely throw his head back and laugh three times.

Le Wuya had, after all, shared a rapport with Zheng Miao and had tipped him off beforehand, telling him to mention in his report that "Wen Ren bears an extreme resemblance to Le Wuya." Zheng Miao had paved the road in advance.

As for Jie Jitong—whether he lived or died was of no concern.

He was merely a pawn.

Back then, when that man had pushed him from behind onto the death path already laid out for him, he had shown not a shred of mercy.

Jie Jitong was silent for a moment, then replied: "Zheng Sanshui is loyal and upright by nature—a first-rate straight minister, a pillar of the court."

He said only half of what he meant.

Since Your Majesty favors straight ministers, then use them more—best to bring them close to your side, let them berate you daily, saying precisely the things you least wish to hear.

But I fear you want Wei Zheng's tongue without Emperor Taizong's breadth of heart.

Indeed, His Majesty did not praise Zheng Miao further, but changed the subject: "Yuheng, do you know why Le Wuya met his end?"

Jie Jitong immediately gave the standard answer: "That man was unfilial and disloyal, betraying love and honor, spurning Your Majesty's nurturing grace. His crimes warranted death, and his heart deserved execution."

"Not only that," Xiang Zheng said lightly. "He plotted regicide."

Jie Jitong shuddered violently.

Outside the window, newly emerged cicadas began their first chorus, rising and falling in relentless clamor.

A gust of summer-laden wind slipped through the half-open window crack, rustling the pages on the desk.

At that moment, the soft whisper of pages falling upon Jie Jitong's ears transformed into peals of muffled thunder.

"Your Majesty, this..."

Jie Jitong was stunned: "I... this humble minister truly did not know!"

"Yuheng, do not panic." Xiang Zheng rose from the couch and helped up the sweat-soaked Jie Jitong, patting his arm reassuringly: "You truly did not know."

"He was always meticulous in his work. I placed him under house arrest and searched thoroughly, yet could not find a single shred of evidence."

At this, Xiang Zheng lowered his eyelashes.

From his youth, he had been praised for his dragon-like bearing and phoenix-like grace.

Now, though past fifty, he still carried an imposing presence. When his extraordinarily long lashes drooped, they effortlessly veiled his cool, shadowed gaze within his eye sockets, making them appear like two bottomless dark pools.

...Had he not been unable to find a single piece of solid evidence, why would he have mobilized the entire court to fabricate those eighty-two crimes and hound him to death?

...

In the inn, Le Wuya, lying beside Xiang Zhijie, dreamed of an old memory.

Back then, when he had crawled back from the gates of death, he had been utterly perplexed:

If heaven had eyes, why had it spared only him to live on in this world?

Later, as Le Wuya met the emperor daily and exchanged pleasantries with Xiang Zheng, he gradually pieced together the answer:

...It meant someone else was the one meant to die.

In those days, Le Wuya had been snatched from his brother's arms by Deputy General Yu.

And the Crown Prince Xiang Zheng had ordered his identity concealed, raising him by Le Qianzhang's side, to await the day to come.

When Le Wuya was eight, Xiang Zheng took the throne and proclaimed a new era name, "Tianding."

By eighteen, he came and went from the palace like it was his own backyard, and had really won the emperor over.

After all, in Xiang Zheng's eyes, Le Wuya still had no idea about his true origins.

Every scar on him had been earned fighting for Dayu.

At that time, Xiang Zheng harbored no doubts about Le Wuya's loyalty and was smug about having raised himself a tame wolfhound.

But that didn't make him any less careful.

Their emperor didn't chase women, didn't brew elixirs, didn't put stock in omens, and didn't fear karma. While he heavily relied on Le Wuya, he still had him thoroughly searched every single time he came to court.

Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, not one day missed.

As for those around Xiang Zheng, they were all carefully selected—each one picked for being careful and timid, not daring to step one inch out of line.

Killing this guy was no easy task.

...Which is a little embarrassing to admit.

Before the assassination attempt Xiang Zheng eventually got wind of, Le Wuya had actually planned another one.

Before the emperor moved his office to Shouren Hall, his old study had been called Jiusi Hall.

In the fifteenth year of Tianding, during a violent thunderstorm, the newly renovated Jiusi Hall was suddenly struck by lightning. Fire raced across the ground—a seriously eerie sight.

The emperor had been dozing in the warm pavilion. Startled by the sudden fire, he panicked momentarily, but fortunately, Le Wuya, who'd been waiting outside with memorials in hand, charged in, hauled the emperor onto his back, and got them both out.

Afterward, the emperor, grateful for being saved, showered him with praise and rewards.

But Le Wuya wasn't happy about it at all.

He'd spent a solid two or three years scheming!

When the roof of Jiusi Hall was being repaired and the tiles were to be replaced, the Minister of Revenue at the time had tried to skim a little off the top.

Le Wuya quietly egged him on from the side, listing several types of tiles and casually mentioning some kind of green-glazed tile that was cheap and looked good.

Of course, he kept his mouth shut about the fact that it contained magnetite.

Over drinks with other officials, shooting the breeze, he casually brought up the subject of ridge ornaments, remarking with a sigh: "Come to think of it, when Emperor Taizong ascended the throne, he'd loved decorating with bronze dragons. The late emperor, however, practiced frugality and favored Daoist simplicity, so he replaced the bronze dragons with ceramic chiwen. But the chiwen is but a fish—no matter how dragon-like it appears, it is not a true dragon. His Majesty, being a dutiful son, can't bear to change it, but our dynasty's prosperous and the people are at peace... Ah, His Majesty really deserves better."

An official who loved sucking up to the emperor heard this and was thrilled. Within a few days, on the pretext of "showing off dragon might and boosting scholarly luck," he petitioned to replace the ceramic chiwen on the ridge with bronze dragons, to bring back the old style and look even more majestic and impressive.

The emperor loved burning incense.

At that time, a spring epidemic was spreading outside the palace. Le Wuya specifically asked the Imperial Medical Institute to mix medicinal herbs into the incense, burning it all the time to ward off bad air and seasonal sickness.

The Imperial Medical Institute dutifully drafted a prescription.

Sure enough, on top of agarwood, frankincense, mugwort, and realgar, they threw in three qian of saltpeter soaked in bamboo sap.

...With all three measures in place, Jiusi Hall was struck by lightning.

Sounds simple enough, but pulling it all off, working every angle, had taken a ridiculous amount of effort—and he'd even risked discovery by secretly filing through the iron wire that hung from the bronze dragon's tongue down to the ground.

Yet the first bolt of lightning struck the northwest corner of Jiusi Hall.

The warm pavilion where Xiang Zheng rested was, as luck would have it, located in the southeast corner of the hall.

Though the fire blazed fiercely and spread rapidly, as long as Xiang Zheng wasn't scared senseless on the spot, he could certainly escape on his own once he came to his senses.

Seeing that the emperor could make it out on his own two feet, Le Wuya had no choice but to pinch his nose and carry him out.

...He couldn't let all that work go to waste, could he?

Watching the stream of rewards flow from the palace to the Le residence, Qi Hongzhuang knew exactly what had happened.

"A hundred taels of gold?" Qi Hongzhuang teased him. "Quite the profitable deal you've struck."

Le Wuya puffed out his cheeks, stacking the little ingots into a small tower one by one, then knocking it down with his own hands.

He lay face-down on the table strewn with ingots, muttering gloomily, "Let's try another approach."