Acquittal

Cui Zhenji’s steps felt weightless as he emerged from the Cabinet.

The afternoon sunlight fell upon him, carrying a hint of warmth, yet he couldn’t shake the chill creeping down his spine. Beads of sweat clung to his temples; the wind caught them, and he couldn’t help shivering.

Whom had he just met?

Cui Shifan.

What did he say?

He reported the progress of the joint trial by the Three Judicial Offices, and the peculiar collusion he suspected between Gu Chengyin and Jiang Jianli.

And then?

Then Cui Shifan patted his shoulder, using that perpetually gentle tone of his, and spoke a few words that left Cui Zhenji still reeling:

“Zhenji, in the upcoming proceedings, lean toward leniency wherever possible.”

“The Great Luo Code has no charge for usurping the clan hierarchy, and Gu Chengyin is the Crown Prince’s Junior Mentor—his dignity must be preserved.”

Cui Zhenji recalled freezing in place.

What did he mean, “lean toward severity”…

No, wait—lean toward leniency?

Opening his mouth, Cui Zhenji started to say that wasn’t what you told me earlier. But the words caught in his throat and died there.

Because the look in Cui Shifan’s eyes was calm as still water, utterly devoid of any surplus emotion. That look plainly told him: Just do it. No need for questions.

Yet the confusion churning in Cui Zhenji’s chest bubbled up like boiling water, burbling relentlessly.

Who had told him earlier to lean toward severity whenever possible?

Cui Shifan.

He had followed through, even if the execution wasn’t elegant—at least he’d done it.

Now, in this halftime lull, how had the wind suddenly shifted?

From severity to leniency.

Cui Zhenji couldn’t fathom it.

But he knew this much: anything capable of making Cui Shifan do a one-eighty turn was no small matter.

Standing on the steps outside the Cabinet, gazing at the layered palace halls in the distance, Cui Zhenji suddenly felt like a speck of dust within this vast Imperial City.

Forget it.

Since he couldn’t figure it out, let it go.

Just follow orders.

Drawing a deep breath, he straightened his official robe and stepped toward the Censorate.

Halfway there, he slowed his pace.

Because another thought struck him.

Earlier in the Cabinet, he had fully reported his suspicion that Gu Chengyin and Jiang Jianli were likely in league.

He had assumed the Grand Secretary would be shocked, outraged, pressing him for more details. After all, that kind of revelation made this case far more complicated than it appeared on the surface.

But Cui Shifan hadn’t reacted at all.

He simply nodded slightly, his expression betraying not a trace of surprise—as if it were exactly what he had expected.

“Understood.”

Three words. That was it.

Then Cui Shifan had clapped his shoulder, abruptly changing the subject to something completely unrelated:

“By the way, Zhenji. Your youngest son will be taking the imperial exams this year, isn’t that right?”

“I hear he’s gifted in his studies—a promising talent.”

“A father like you shouldn’t be so buried in official work all the time; you ought to pay more attention to family matters.”

At the time, Cui Zhenji took it as the clan head showing concern for a junior, so he felt a warmth in his heart and hurriedly expressed his thanks.

But now, chewing on those words, the more he pondered them, the more uneasy he grew.

Out of nowhere, why bring up his youngest son?

And what was that about not getting too wrapped up in public affairs? That was clearly a veiled hint!

Could it be that Cui Shifan had struck some deal with Gu Chengyin…

And made him—the Minister of Rites—the bargaining chip?

Cui Zhenji knew how absurd that suspicion was.

Minister of Rites. One of the six ministries—a top-tier official.

How could a post like that be casually traded away?

Yet Cui Zhenji also understood that in the Imperial Court, nothing was truly impossible.

What mattered within the court often came from forces outside it.

Gu Chengyin must have sent someone to meet Cui Shifan, made some exchange, and Cui Shifan agreed.

That was why his stance had done a one-eighty—from “lean toward severity” to “lean toward leniency.”

And he, Cui Zhenji—Minister of Rites, one of the presiding judges of the joint court—had been nothing but a bargaining chip in that deal the entire time.

After all this effort, the one on trial was fine, while the judge was out of the game first.

What kind of reasoning was that?

When Cui Zhenji returned to his seat, the official’s chair that had always felt comfortable was now grating against him from every angle.

He lowered his eyelids, masking the turbulent thoughts beneath, his hands clasps in his sleeves, his fists clenched without his even noticing.

But what could he do?

No matter his resentment or dissatisfaction, when it came to a decision by Cui Shifan, all he could do was accept.

Because he was a man of the Cui clan.

From the day he stepped into officialdom, everything about him had been bound together with the Cui clan.

When the clan head made a decision, questions and confusion were permitted—but defiance was not.

Because the cost of defiance was something Cui Zhenji couldn’t afford.

Besides…

Cui Zhenji recalled the look in Cui Shifan’s eyes when he’d mentioned his son.

Step down as Minister of Rites, and in return, his descendants would be compensated all the more.

That was Cui Shifan’s promise—and also his warning.

Cui Zhenji closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

When he opened them again moments later, the turbulent emotions had been thoroughly concealed, leaving only a blank calm.

Accept it.

Half an hour passed in a flash.

The attending officials seated in the gallery had gradually all arrived, whispering among themselves in twos and threes, discussing the morning's proceedings.

Cui Zhenji paid them no heed, sitting upright in his seat.

Before long, footsteps sounded.

The Minister of Justice entered through the side door, his expression neutral, revealing neither pleasure nor displeasure.

He walked to his seat and gave Cui Zhenji a slight nod, a perfunctory greeting.

Another quarter-hour passed before footsteps sounded again.

This time, it was the Censor-in-Chief, along with Yuan Zhengqing, who entered.

The moment he appeared, the hall, which had been humming with murmurs, fell instantly silent.

As Yuan Zhengqing took his seat, his gaze swept coolly across the gallery and the hall.

Finally, his eyes landed on the Censor-in-Chief, and he gave a slight nod.

The Censor-in-Chief slowly rose and made a formal bow to Yuan Zhengqing.

In a voice neither too loud nor too soft—just enough for the entire hall to hear—he said: "Grand Secretary Yuan, we have already discussed the matter."

"The evidence in this case is insufficient, so our conclusion is..."

"Gu Chengyin did not usurp the position of Sect Leader of the Green Sword Sect."

Hearing this, Cui Zhenji blinked.

Discussed? With whom? When? And why hadn't he been informed?

Cui Zhenji instinctively turned his head to look at the Minister of Justice, only to find the man sitting like a stone statue, eyes on his nose, nose on his heart, as if he had long anticipated this.

Cui Zhenji's Adam's apple moved slightly. He shifted his gaze to Yuan Zhengqing. Words rose to his lips, but in the end, he did not interrupt.

Without Yuan Zhengqing’s consent, the Censor-in-Chief would never dare to speak such words.

As for why they were unafraid that he might interrupt—

Cui Zhenji lowered his eyes. Clearly, Cui Shifan had already smoothed things over behind the scenes.

Yuan Zhengqing gave a slight nod, his tone as flat as during a routine court discussion: "Then so be it."

The Censor-in-Chief nodded, then swept his gaze across the Minister of Justice and Cui Zhenji.

Seeing that neither objected, he picked up the gavel and struck it down, delivering the final verdict:

"Gu Chengyin, acquitted and released."

The gavel fell, and silence gripped the hall.

The attending officials exchanged glances. No one had expected that, having just begun, the second half of the trial was already over.

It was as if a grand drama, building momentum for its opening, had abruptly closed its curtains before the first act.

Leaving all those who had come to watch an eagerly awaited spectacle completely blindsided.

Gu Chengyin, for his part, merely brushed off his sleeves, then unhurriedly clasped his hands toward Yuan Zhengqing.

With a calm expression, he said, "Grand Secretary Yuan, I take my leave."

Yuan Zhengqing nodded, uttering only a single word: "Mm."

Gu Chengyin said no more, turned, and strode toward the exit.

Since the Three Judicial Offices had concluded their hearing,

it was time to return to the Crown Prince’s Palace.