Chapter 33: Relatives (2)

Le Wuya first saw the name the Qi girl on the list of death row prisoners awaiting execution at the Dali Temple.

The case file stated: the Qi girl, aged twenty-two, from Tonglu County, a hereditary gardener. Her mother, née Liu, had been widowed for many years and engaged in an illicit relationship with the local county clerk Ji Tiancai. She requested to become his concubine, but Ji refused. In anger and indignation, her mother struck her head against a pillar at home and died.

The Qi girl harbored resentment and silently waited by the road. In broad daylight, she took an axe and killed Ji Tiancai in a fight.

Everyone saw it, the evidence was solid, and she was sentenced to death.

When the case file traveled from Tonglu to the capital, it was just the height of summer.

Le Wuya cut a watermelon and shared it with his colleagues.

When he saw the words "killed with an axe in a fight," he paid particular attention to her age and asked his colleagues, "What do you all think?"

Several colleagues drank tea, fanned themselves, or ate watermelon, none speaking directly.

Only one replied vaguely, "Killing a county clerk means the death penalty, according to law."

Le Wuya understood perfectly why his colleagues reacted this way.

Tonglu was under the jurisdiction of Jiangzhou.

The governor there, Huang Ziying, courtesy name Gongxie, was a trusted minister of the current emperor. During the emperor's time as crown prince, Huang had served him devotedly.

His power was at its peak, like the sun at high noon. Since it was a case under his jurisdiction, it was better to steer clear of trouble.

Among them, two or three pairs of eyes secretly fixed on Le Wuya, gauging his reaction.

Someone asked, "Le Wuya, what do you make of this case?"

They were all on good terms with Huang Ziying.

Everyone knew that Le Wuya had recently gained the emperor's favor. If this rising star wanted to climb higher, he'd likely have to step on the old guard.

If he intended to make an issue of this case, they needed to keep a close watch on him for Lord Huang.

Le Wuya pondered for a moment, then tapped his palm with his soft fan, grinning cheekily, "The case file doesn't mention her husband or her in-laws at all. The Qi girl is twenty-two—hasn't she married yet?"

This joke lightened the mood.

The colleagues began to discuss:

"With a widowed mother, maybe she wanted to bring a husband into the family?"

"For a poor family, who would agree unless they were destitute refugees?"

"Maybe she's ugly?"

Amid the laughter, Le Wuya smiled and rested his chin on his hand, lost in thought.

Women have different ways of killing themselves.

The gentler ones might hang themselves or take poison; the fiercer ones would rather die fighting than live in silence, so they dash their heads in public.

How could there be a case like the Qi girl's mother, née Liu, who quietly bashed her head against a pillar at home?

This case didn't add up.

At that time, Le Wuya wasn't so weak that he couldn't travel far back then. So he submitted a memorial to the emperor, briefly outlining the suspicious points of the Qi girl case, planning to go to Tonglu himself.

At that time, the Empress Dowager was gravely ill, and the emperor put filial piety above everything else, attending to her. He only wrote back a quick "Approved."

Le Wuya held the returned memorial in his hands; his confidence, at first fifty percent, swelled to eighty percent.

He requested five days of leave, traveled fast on horseback and by boat, in disguise to Tonglu.

Just after he settled in Tonglu and was having breakfast, Le Wuya overheard a waiter telling the story in great detail to the traveling merchants.

He eavesdropped.

Local folks always know the real story. But since a commoner can't take an official to court, and the Qi girl only had her mother née Liu to rely on, with no relative willing to risk everything and die to file an appeal, regular folks could only shake their heads and sigh.

Née Liu was a beauty and had two daughters.

The older daughter was quiet and cold, while the younger was livelier and more cheerful.

After her husband died, she worked her fingers to the bone raising her two kids—tending flowers during the day and spinning and weaving at night. When the girls came of age, she got sick.

During her illness, she suddenly craved fish soup.

The younger daughter went into the river to catch fish but got swept away by a strong current and drowned.

When née Liu received the news, she was crushed by guilt and regret. Her illness worsened, and she almost died from that sickness.

Six months later, she got better physically, but her mind was never the same—she became slow and simple, just kept her head down and worked, understanding nothing else.

The Qi girl in the file was her only surviving daughter, the older one.

Without a word, she shouldered the burden of supporting the family, working day and night, almost never at home.

She was a natural with flowers and plants. No matter how rare or delicate the flowers, they thrived under her care, would fill the entire garden with fragrance.

But her weaving was rough, never matching her younger sister's.

She had reached the age for marriage, and it wasn't that no one wanted to arrange a match.

But the Qi girl had just one request: she had to bring her mother to her husband's home to take care of her—her filial duty.

Other families in the same trade, just as poor, most could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone take care of a simple-minded mother-in-law who might live God knows how long.

Richer men could marry a softer, prettier girl and didn't want the Qi girl.

Besides, she always had a cold face and a wild streak—not the kind to win anyone's heart.

So her marriage got put off.

In the past, née Liu had been beautiful and shrewd. She knew remarrying wasn't hard, but finding someone who would accept her two daughters was. Afraid that if she had new children, she might favor them, she gave up the idea altogether and focused solely on raising her daughters.

Now that she was simple, she became the subject of gossip.

Take the county clerk, Ji Tiancai, for example.

Many knew that Ji Tiancai was a lecher, but also a coward who feared his wife. Since he was in charge of the area where née Liu lived, he often hung around her house and brought gifts like bacon, firewood, and rice—all of which the Qi girl politely returned.

Since he had no intention of properly taking her mother in as a concubine, she would not accept any favors and give people a handle on her.

That spring, the Qi girl went to a local Squire's estate to tend the camellias and was to stay there for a few days with several other female gardeners.

One night, her neighbor, Elder Li, was weaving late into the night to meet a deadline when she suddenly heard Widow Liu shouting for help and calling for her mother in a hoarse voice.

After just two cries, there was a loud crash, as if something had hit a hard object, and then silence fell.

Elder Li was terrified, thinking that robbers had broken into the neighbor's house.

Her husband wasn't home, and she didn't dare step out easily. She only peered through the crack of the locked back door and happened to see Ji Tiancai frantically fastening his belt as he fled from the Liu residence.

At first glance, Elder Li thought she had stumbled upon an illicit affair between Widow Liu and Ji Tiancai.

But the noise seemed off. After Ji Tiancai disappeared from sight, she finally gathered her courage, unlocked the door, and crept next door, only to be horrified to find Widow Liu with her head smashed against the loom, already dead.

Besides her, three or four other neighbors had also seen Ji Tiancai fleeing in a panic.

But the matter was too private, and the neighbors weren't sure if it counted as breaking into a home to commit rape or a consensual rendezvous.

Ji Tiancai was also the brother-in-law of the magistrate of Tonglu County, so no one dared to report such an unproven affair.

By the time Qi's daughter returned after hearing the news, the neighbors had already tidied up Widow Liu's remains.

They had their suspicions but were too afraid to voice them, so they simply offered their condolences to Qi's daughter.

To put it cruelly, without her burden of a mother, she, a capable orphan, might actually live more easily.

Among the neighbors, only Elder Li had heard Widow Liu's cries for help, and she couldn't shake the unease. When she saw Qi's daughter, her expression was unnatural.

This woman had such sharp eyes—she picked Elder Li out from the neighbors at a glance.

She visited Elder Li at night, and after a few questions, Elder Li, already burdened with guilt, broke down and tearfully recounted what she had seen.

But after confessing, she was still afraid and grabbed Qi's daughter, repeatedly begging her, saying she didn't dare to go to the authorities.

On the day Widow Liu died, Elder Li had been home alone, and no one could verify her story.

She truly dared not offend Ji Tiancai.

Qi's daughter pondered for a long time and told her not to worry.

Qi's daughter stepped on her mother's small loom and spent two days and one night weaving two bolts of cloth.

On the morning after finishing the cloth, she stole an axe from a neighbor's house, wrapped it in linen, covered her hair, smeared her face with coal ash, changed into men's clothing, and crouched near Ji Tiancai's home, waiting silently for two days.

Ji Tiancai, guilt-ridden, had taken a few days off and stayed home. Hearing that Qi's daughter hadn't gone to the authorities to file a complaint, he assumed she had resigned herself to fate.

After all, a lone orphan like her couldn't cause much trouble.

He relaxed and prepared to report for duty at the county office.

Just as he stepped out of his door, Qi's daughter, disguised as a young beggar, approached soundlessly from the side with a sharp axe and struck his neck with one blow.

Blood spurted three feet!

Fearing he might not die, Qi's daughter struck his neck again with the axe as he convulsed on the ground.

After killing him, she made no attempt to flee.

She stayed at the scene until the panicked county constables arrived on the scene.

Calmly and indifferently, she told the constables, "I have two bolts of cloth at home. They aren't woven well, but they can still fetch some money. Please give those bolts of cloth to my neighbor, Madame Zheng. I took her axe, and this cloth is my compensation for her."

Qi's daughter had killed someone in broad daylight, witnessed by all. She had no intention of denying it and readily signed her confession.

The magistrate had no reason to resort to torture even if he wanted to.

The magistrate's sister, having suddenly lost her husband, was naturally furious. She came to the magistrate the next day to make a scene, claiming that her husband must have been seduced by the widow Liu. Liu, failing to secure her position, had killed herself out of shame, and it was utterly unreasonable that her daughter had killed her husband!

Though the magistrate was exasperated by his sister's relentless pestering, he had to admit that according to the neighbors' testimonies, Qi's daughter had acted to avenge her mother. Under the current emperor's policy of filial piety, she might even be acquitted.

If she was acquitted, then his dead brother-in-law, and by extension himself, would become the laughingstock of Tonglu County!

So, following his sister's account, he drafted a false confession, alleging that Widow Liu had been having an affair with Ji Tiancai, and ordered Qi's daughter to sign it.

If she refused and caused a scene, he could resort to torture to vent his frustration.

To his surprise, after calmly listening to him reading the confession, Qi's daughter showed no objection and was about to sign it.

The magistrate couldn't help but ask, "Qi's daughter, did you hear clearly?"

Qi's daughter retorted in court, "My mother is dead. What use is her reputation? I only need to know that I've sent that Ji down to accompany her in the afterlife, and that's enough."

...

Le Wuya marveled at how outspoken this woman was.

Interesting.

Such a remarkable person dying for a piece of human refuse would be a terrible waste.

Le Wuya, presenting himself as an imperial envoy, summoned Elder Li and a few other key witnesses, revealed his identity as an official of the Court of Judicial Review, and claimed to have detected irregularities in the case file, offering to overturn the case of Qi's daughter.

Now that the case had been decided, the previously timid townsfolk found the courage to speak a few fair words for Qi's daughter.

With the magistrate's verdict, even someone as timid as Elder Li felt it was too unfair to this mother and daughter. Out of righteous indignation, she pressed her thumbprint on the written statement drafted by Le Wuya.

Le Wuya returned to the capital with multiple corroborating testimonies but did not immediately present them to the emperor. Instead, as if back from a vacation, he asked his colleagues, "How is the Empress Dowager faring?"

A colleague, who knew some news from the palace, sighed with a grim expression, "The Empress Dowager is blessed with great blessings and will surely overcome this crisis."

From his attitude, Le Wuya knew it would probably be within a day or two.

He kept the testimonies hidden for several days. Not until the Empress Dowager passed away, the whole nation mourned, the emperor halted court for seven days and then reconvened, did he submit the case of Qi's daughter along with the evidence, arguing that the case was suspicious and requesting a retrial.

Le Wuya timed it just right.

Just as he predicted, everything unfolded as he had anticipated.

If he had submitted immediately, the emperor would likely have ordered a retrial anyway.

But by delaying until after the Empress Dowager's death, when the emperor was grieving his mother, seeing a fierce woman who avenged her mother risking her own life—how would he react?

This was the ideal moment to make his move.

Indeed, upon seeing the case files, the emperor was greatly affected and immediately ordered the verdict to be overturned. He sent Le Wuya to Tonglu again to retry the case.

Le Wuya did not arrive with fanfare. Instead, he took his men, following the shortcut he found on his previous trip, and arrived in Tonglu three full days early, posing as a merchant, mingling with the townspeople.

He circulated word that a royal commissioner had received orders from the emperor to investigate the case of Qi's daughter.

Sure enough, the Tonglu magistrate panicked.

He rushed to silence anyone who knew too much, sending men to visit them, either warning them or bribing them.

Le Wuya spread his men out, keeping a close watch on those key witnesses.

No sooner had the magistrate's messenger delivered the silver or issued threats and stepped out the door, the ambushers jumped out, gagged the messenger, tied him up, dragged him away, seized the bribe, and temporarily detained the witnesses—all in one smooth sequence.

Before the retrial even officially began, the Tonglu magistrate was thrown straight into prison by Le Wuya for bribing and threatening witnesses.

Le Wuya took over the case as acting magistrate, and in the main hall of the Tonglu County yamen, he saw Qi Shi's daughter for the first time in person.

She was just as Le Wuya had imagined: monolids, phoenix eyes, thin and tall, with a pale complexion. Her gaze was indifferent but forceful.

When she noticed that the interrogator had been replaced by Le Wuya, she merely frowned, locked eyes with him for a moment, then looked away.

Since the emperor had ordered a retrial, more witnesses and evidence flooded in.

Liu Shi's fingernails had traces of flesh, and there were fresh scratch marks on Ji Tiancai's neck.

The coroner had recorded all these findings truthfully during the examination, but in the case files submitted to higher authorities, both details had been deleted.

Fortunately, the Tonglu coroner was diligent enough to have kept the original examination records.

The owner of a medicine shop came forward to testify that the day after Liu Shi's death, Ji Tiancai had secretly come to buy wound medicine.

And the shop assistant who prepared the medicine said that Ji Tiancai's neck was scraped and bleeding, with torn flesh curling outward, looking like a fresh wound.

Even the chief clerk came forward to testify that the magistrate had ordered him to alter the testimony.

All these testimonies and evidence, along with the irrefutable proof of the Tonglu magistrate bribing witnesses, were sent to the capital by express courier.

When the case files were presented to the emperor, he flew into a rage and sneered, "Huang Gongxie has done a fine job in Jiangzhou, raising such a fiendish beast!"

Under the emperor's fearsome authority, the entire Tonglu trembled.

The Tonglu magistrate was stripped of all his titles and cast into prison, awaiting trial.

Le Wuya received the emperor's oral decree to personally reprimand Huang Ziying for lax governance.

From then on, Huang Ziying seemed to have fallen into bad luck; he was blamed for everything and repeatedly demoted.

Such a once-prominent figure thus faded into obscurity, and in his depression and frustration, he fell ill and died at the age of forty-five.

The reason Le Wuya dared to take on the case of Qi Shi's daughter was that he guessed the emperor had long been fed up with the powerful minister Huang Ziying and wanted to deal with him but had no opportunity.

The matter of Qi Shi's daughter was merely a pretext to act.

He guessed the emperor's immediate intentions, but there were things he did not anticipate.

First, the emperor's generous treatment of Qi Shi's daughter was truly astonishing.

He personally pronounced her not only innocent but meritorious, granted her a memorial arch, adopted her as his adopted daughter, and bestowed upon her the title of Princess Xiaoshu.

In the emperor's words, a person of utmost filial piety should be a model for the nation and be supported by the realm.

Second, he did not expect that the next time he would see Qi Shi's daughter would be at his own wedding.

The emperor decreed the betrothal of Qi Shi's daughter to him.

At that time, he was twenty-one years old, the most favored young talent after Huang Ziying, and was granted marriage to the princess by the emperor, enjoying unmatched favor.

Now, at twenty-five, he was a low-ranking County Vice Magistrate in a remote border area, living a second life with no grand ambitions—he just wanted to get from Sister Qi some special techniques for cultivating camellias.

He had gathered quite a bit of information by asking probing questions through the nun sent by Qi Shi's daughter.

After Sister Qi died, she was demoted to County Mistress and still returned to live in Tonglu.

She cultivated a good relationship with the wife of the new local magistrate, and leveraging her network of connections with ladies from prestigious families, she started a silk business.

She didn't know how to raise silkworms or reel silk, and her weaving skills were terrible; the way she patched Le Wuya's clothes was downright atrocious.

But thanks to the few years Le Wuya taught her to read and understand the ways of the world, coupled with her own decisiveness and efficiency, she made a fortune in silk and is now a well-known businesswoman far and wide.

As for gardening, it became her daily pastime.

Upon hearing this, Le Wuya was overjoyed. He was dead set on living off her wealth!