Chapter 120.

After leaving the palace, Xie Yunchuan led Xue Shu to his modest rental residence.

Despite holding the position of a mere sixth-rank scholar-official, Xie Yunchuan served in the Hanlin Academy, a place of prestige but scant pay. His home was a small, quiet courtyard far from the Imperial City. It wasn’t grand, but the serene solitude suited him.

Once they entered the study, Xie Yunchuan ordered the servant to guard the gate and ensured the doors and windows were thrown open. Only after confirming there was no one eavesdropping did he invite Xue Shu to sit. Meanwhile, he knelt under his desk, prying open two dusty green bricks. From beneath them, he retrieved a package wrapped tightly in oilpaper.

“These things have been hidden for six long years,” Xie Yunchuan murmured as he carefully peeled back the dirt-covered wrapping, revealing a flat, aged wooden box with scuffed corners—worn enough to bear the weight of its years.

He pulled a key from inside his robe and unlocked it, exposing another layer of oilpaper. Removing it revealed a stack of yellowed papers.

Xue Shu’s sharp gaze landed on the documents. “The case files from the Imperial Examination scandal?”

He’d heard of the infamous Xie family incident, a sordid affair dating back seven years, during the 12th year of Emperor Longfeng’s reign.

That year’s metropolitan exams had been a mess, a scandal unlike any other. A record-breaking 121 jinshi were awarded their degrees, but the chaos that ensued would be remembered far longer than their accomplishments.

After the results were announced, dozens of failed scholars gathered outside the examination compound in protest. Furious at the perceived injustice, they tore down the imperial placard in a public show of defiance.

The outrage was fueled by four individuals whose names topped the list of successful candidates—men who were widely known as lazy, talentless, and unqualified. These men had openly bragged about securing exam materials in advance, claiming their guaranteed success long before the exams even took place. Their arrogance was common knowledge among their peers, who had witnessed them struggle with the basics of the Four Books and Five Classics.

When the exam results confirmed their claims—one even taking first place—it ignited a firestorm. The four celebrated by hosting lavish banquets, flaunting their ill-gotten success. But their provocations pushed the disgruntled scholars too far, sparking the riot outside the examination hall.

The scandal was too massive to ignore. News quickly reached Emperor Longfeng, whose fury was palpable. The Great Yan dynasty treated the imperial examination system as sacred, and cheating was a capital offense.

Prime Minister Yu Huai'an petitioned the Emperor to order a re-examination and a thorough investigation. The second round of exams, designed by Yu Huai'an himself, laid bare the truth: the four top scholars submitted incoherent gibberish. Their failure was immediate and damning.

The fallout was swift. The four were thrown into prison, and investigators traced their fraud back to their earlier county and provincial exams, dragging a host of officials into the fray.

Under relentless interrogation, the culprits confessed: they had purchased the exam questions before the metropolitan exam. This damning revelation pointed directly to the examiners responsible for setting the questions: Chief Examiner Shao Tian, then Minister of Rites, and Deputy Examiner Xie Wendao, a prestigious Hanlin scholar—and Xie Yunchuan’s father.

Both men were immediately detained. The trail of evidence soon led to Xie Wendao’s personal servant, who had acted as the middleman in selling the questions. With nowhere to hide, Xie Wendao confessed, sealing his fate. He was sentenced to death by beheading, a punishment carried out swiftly.

As for Shao Tian, he emerged from the ordeal unscathed, claiming ignorance. Released from prison, he quickly ascended the ranks, eventually becoming Minister of Personnel and even a cabinet minister.

Xie Yunchuan’s face hardened as he ran his fingers over the papers. The truth was buried deep, and he had kept it hidden all these years. But now, it was time to let the skeletons out of the closet.

The truth is, this case is riddled with suspicious holes that no one bothered to fill.

Take the imperial examination, for instance. Seven questions in total. Five came from the chief examiner, two from the deputy.

Protocol was clear: the deputy’s questions had to pass through the chief for review, but the chief’s questions? Untouchable. Locked down tight to avoid leaks. And yet, those four damn students somehow knew every single question—down to the last damn detail. Not one slipped past them.

What happened next? A quick accusation from Xie Wendao’s loyal servant, a hasty confession, and a rushed resolution. Case closed, just like that.

"My father was a man of integrity," Xie Yunchuan said, his voice heavy with shadowed memories. "Neither my mother nor my elder brother ever believed he’d leak exam questions. They pleaded his case, fought tooth and nail to see him, but before they even got close, word came: my father confessed and was sentenced to immediate execution. My brother smelled something foul. He pulled strings, got his hands on the court records, and uncovered layer upon layer of discrepancies. He planned to petition Yu Shoufu directly but never got the chance. The night before his audience, my family was wiped out—twelve lives, not one spared. The Xie family was erased. If not for my brother’s foresight in hiding the evidence where only the two of us could find it, even that sliver of truth would’ve been burned to ash."

His gaze darkened as his fingertips brushed over the brittle, yellowed pages. With careful deliberation, he handed the dossier to Xue Shu. "When I returned to the capital, I heard the Ministry of Justice had conveniently ‘lost’ records in a fire—many files, including this one, supposedly destroyed. I retrieved my brother’s hidden dossier and started tracking those involved. The servant? Dead—‘suicide in prison,’ they said. Of the four students, three had ‘accidents.’ Only one remains unaccounted for. It took me years, but I’ve finally found a trail."

"Dead men don’t talk," Xue Shu remarked coldly, sliding the dossier into his sleeve. "Leave the last one to me. There’s nowhere safer than the Eastern Bureau. If I don’t let him die, he won’t."

Seeing Xue Shu’s confidence, Xie Yunchuan’s anxiety eased a fraction. Still, he couldn’t help but warn, "This case reached the emperor himself. My father’s immediate execution—it was His Majesty’s personal decree."

An ordinary wrongful conviction could be overturned. But an imperial decree? That was a direct challenge to the emperor’s authority—something no one dared to risk. That’s why Xie Yunchuan had stayed silent for so long.

Xue Shu shot him a sidelong glance, smirking. "Relax, Xie Daren. Don’t lose sleep over this."

The emperor’s pride? Worthless to the Crown Prince.

Xie Yunchuan didn’t press further. He silently escorted Xue Shu to the door. As Xue Shu stepped outside, Xie Yunchuan dropped into a deep bow. "I owe you more than words can express. For your help today, Overseer Xue, I will forever be in your debt."

Xue Shu turned back briefly, his eyes glinting with amusement. With uncharacteristic warmth, he helped Xie to his feet. "No need to be so formal, Xie Daren," he said with a genuine laugh. This time, his smile wasn’t feigned.

*

When the spies from the Eastern Bureau get to work, they don't waste time. Following Xie Yunchuan's precise intel, they quickly tracked down the scholar who had been hiding in fear.

This man, ever since discovering the "accidental" deaths of three of his closest friends, had been living on edge. His family had disguised him and stashed him away on a secluded farm, where he spent his days trembling in paranoia, terrified that his existence might be uncovered and silenced for good. The once-arrogant and carefree youth was now a shadow of himself, trembling through a pitiful existence.

Years of fear had aged him well beyond his years. When the agents came knocking, he didn’t even bother resisting. He allowed himself to be taken away like a lamb to slaughter.

From there, things only unraveled faster. While Shao Tian laid low at home under the guise of "avoiding suspicion," a group of upright censors joined forces to reopen the infamous corruption case from years ago. The case hadn’t just been forgotten—it had been buried, burned to ash, or so they thought.

When officials from the Censorate went to retrieve the files, they were met with an unsurprising "accident": the archives had gone up in flames long ago.

Shao Tian, smug and unbothered, smirked when the news reached him. Of course, they were gone. He wasn’t the type to leave loose ends, and this precaution was already paying dividends.

The lead investigator, Xue Shu, wasn’t so easily deterred. As the Grand Judge of the Dali Temple smiled apologetically, playing dumb about the missing files, Xue Shu reached into his sleeve and pulled out a stack of old, yellowing documents. He slapped them onto the table with deliberate force and pointed to the seal at the bottom.

"How convenient," Xue Shu drawled, his sharp gaze cutting through the room. "Turns out, I just happened to find a full set of the original records on Xie Wendao’s corruption case. Care to verify their authenticity, my lord?"

The Grand Judge's face drained of color the moment his eyes landed on the files.

It was over.

With the evidence and witnesses all lined up, the old case burst wide open. Shao Tian, already in hot water for harboring private soldiers, now found himself tangled in an exam corruption scandal. His "break to avoid suspicion" dragged on, but this time, the calm façade he had carefully maintained began to crack.

Meanwhile, word of these revelations reached the ears of Emperor Longfeng. By then, the retrial of the Xie Wendao case was already underway, and the emperor’s memory of the events was rusty. But when he finally recalled the details, his expression darkened.

This was one of his rulings, bearing his imperial endorsement. And now the Crown Prince wanted to overturn it? The brazenness of it all—it was a direct challenge to his authority.

Rage bubbled up in the emperor, but before he could explode, dizziness hit him like a wave. Under Yin Ciguang's care, he reluctantly swallowed another bowl of medicine and slumped weakly against the bedpost, too frail to sustain his anger. Still, his resentment simmered. The Crown Prince was becoming far too bold, far too unrestrained. Something had to be done to rein him in.

The emperor’s wavering gaze landed on his eldest son. After a long pause, a decision seemed to crystallize. Dismissing the attendants, he reached for a hidden blank edict sealed beneath his pillow. Ink and brush in hand, he began to write with deliberate care, the weight of his thoughts pressing into every stroke.

Just as he finished, a eunuch announced the arrival of Consort De. The emperor hesitated at first but ultimately relented. “Let her in,” he commanded, slipping the edict back under the pillow. A subtle gesture to the guards stationed four eunuchs outside the chamber ensured the conversation would remain private.

When Consort De entered, the emperor frowned. Her appearance startled him. Normally modest and unassuming, she had painted her face thickly and adorned herself in an elaborate outfit that overwhelmed her otherwise plain features. The result was almost comical—gaudy, mismatched, and trying far too hard.

“This… doesn’t suit you,” the emperor said bluntly, his distaste evident.

Consort De stiffened but quickly masked her discomfort with a practiced smile, casting aside her usual deference. “Today is a day of great joy,” she replied, her tone light but pointed. “It calls for celebration, doesn’t it?”