Chapter Forty-Two: Scallion, Poisoned

Was it because the officials were being “taken care of” so that they could share in the profits? Otherwise, would his position as Prefect of the Capital be so difficult to hold?

Di Ying heard Song Wen mutter under his breath, “Not in the other courtyard,” and smiled slightly. He knew the other man had already realized that Wu Jianhui’s report was fraudulent. That was enough. All that remained was to let him see even more.

There were quite a few attendants in the other courtyard, so the porridge and sesame flatbreads were brought out quickly. The common folk, seeing that watching the excitement actually came with free food and drink, grew even more fond of Prefect Di. After everyone had received their portion, Di Ying called Song Wen and the others over to have some as well.

The flatbread was tough yet yielding, chewy and filling—a food that required some determination to tear apart and the patience of an ox to chew. But it was so dry it easily caught in the throat. The officials weren't fond of it, preferring to stand by the warm waters of the hot spring channel, declining Di Ying’s kind offer.

Di Ying didn’t insist. He simply fetched one for himself and began to eat. He liked this food. Song Wen also took one, eating with evident pleasure. Di Ying glanced at him and asked, “Do you eat scallions?”

Song Wen replied, “I was transferred here from the south. It’s been five years, but I still haven’t gotten used to eating raw scallions.”

“I like them. Could you help me go to the conservatory and see if there are any?” Di Ying tore a piece of flatbread with gusto, nodding toward the conservatory.

Without hesitation, Song Wen nodded. After swallowing his mouthful, he called for the other officials to join them. The conservatory was so large, and only officials were allowed inside—so they might as well all help look for scallions. Where else could you find fresh scallions in the midst of winter except in there?

The steward, seeing them head toward the conservatory, didn’t stop them. Hearing their intent, he curled his lip in disdain and followed them, his contempt reaching its peak. That was a flower house—how could there be scallions? These country bumpkins could search all they wanted; he was eager to see how they would make fools of themselves.

Di Ying paid no mind to being watched. Upon entering, he immediately saw the “brilliant achievements” he and Peng Liang had left behind.

“Tsk, tsk, the flowers really are gone. Such beautiful, delicate blossoms, and look at how they’ve been ruined—it’s a real shame.” Surveying the swath of devastation, as if a cold autumn wind had swept through, Di Ying clicked his tongue in genuine regret.

Song Wen nodded. Indeed, what a pity. To nurture such tender flowers in the dead of winter was no small feat, and now they’d been trampled and destroyed. No wonder Wu Jianhui was making such a fuss.

“Let’s split up and look. Sorry to trouble you all. Song, why don’t you help me search?” After sighing, Di Ying led Song Wen deeper into the conservatory.

Song Wen agreed and began to inspect the ground at the base of each row of flower stalks, earnestly searching for scallions. The capital city—Chang’an—though located in the northwest, was close to the Henan Road, so many people were accustomed to eating flatbread with raw scallions. Di Ying had risen from the Henan Road himself and found it hard to eat the bread without scallions. Song Wen fully understood, so he searched carefully and instructed his subordinates to do the same.

But none searched with Di Ying’s speed. Amid the flowerbeds, in a patch of earth left bare by missing plants, Di Ying stopped and pointed at the ground, calling out uncertainly, “Brother Yu, come and see—are these scallions?”

Song Wen walked over and eyed the two foot-long green shoots. They looked like scallions, but perhaps not quite. The leaves were similar, but would scallions only have two long, slender blades? Uncertain, Song Wen called the other officials to help identify them.

Unfortunately, none dared confirm whether they were scallions or not. The steward craned his neck for a look, curled his lip again, and inwardly scoffed: As expected, these officials can’t even tell scallions from weeds. He was waiting to see them make fools of themselves.

Di Ying looked hopefully at the group, but no one nodded. Disappointment showed on his face. With a resolute set to his jaw, he rolled up his sleeves, squatted down, plucked one tender shoot, and popped it into his mouth.

“Does it matter if it looks right?” he said, chewing. “You know as soon as you taste it.”

Song Wen was startled out of his wits. “Prefect Di, don’t be so reckless!” he cried, reaching out to stop him. But he was too late—Di Ying was already chewing away.

Song Wen could only sigh. But before his sigh was fully drawn, he saw—

Di Ying’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

In that instant, everyone’s soul seemed to flee their body, and chaos erupted.

Peng Liang, who had barely been noticed until now, widened his starry eyes, darted forward to catch his lord, and ran off carrying him.

No one was more frightened than Peng Liang. As he carried Di Ying, bounding forward with desperate speed, his mind raced: His lord was so skilled in medicine, so knowledgeable about herbs—how could he have been poisoned? There hadn’t been the slightest warning. All Peng Liang could hear was his own pounding heart.

He had to hurry—faster, faster still! Such a good man as Di Ying, to whom he owed so much, with so many corrupt officials still unpunished—Di Ying could not fall, must not fall!

Meanwhile, back in the other courtyard, the steward was paralyzed with fear, scrambling and stumbling back to report to Wu Jianhui what had happened.

Wu Jianhui just snorted. “In such a big flower house, a few weeds are normal, aren’t they? If Di Ying wants to eat random plants, who’s to blame? Best if it’s poisonous and kills him outright.”

Only then did the steward’s heart return to its place.

Song Wen, however, dared not relax. Seeing Di Ying carried off by his guards, he rushed after them for a dozen steps before stopping himself. Turning to the assembled officials, he barked, “Guard this spot—don’t let anyone near that plant!”

Having given his orders, Song Wen sprinted out of the conservatory, heading for the capital. After running a while, he stopped himself again and turned back toward Wu Jianhui’s estate.

He needed a horse—he had to get back to the capital and report to His Majesty as quickly as possible.

Once he’d gotten a horse without hindrance and was galloping toward the city, a sudden hesitation crept into Song Wen’s heart.

That plant—it was Di Ying who had eaten it of his own accord. None of this was Wu Jianhui’s doing, nor anyone else’s.

If he reported it to His Majesty as it was… would the emperor care? What if His Majesty, like himself, simply saw it as an accident? Then Prefect Di…