Chapter Forty-Three: Cries of Injustice and Words of Complaint

Although His Majesty appeared to hold Di Ying in high regard, even if this matter were reported, at most the emperor would only order the imperial physicians to save him. Even if Di Ying were to die, he might be posthumously honored, but it would have nothing to do with anyone else...

Song Wen’s eyes darted shrewdly.

Along their journey, Lord Di had spoken to the common people about daily life, about the issues they cared about most. Song Wen remembered his words clearly: "If you ever wish to appeal for justice or report a crime, you may come to me at any time. As long as I, Di Ying, am here, you need not even write a petition, nor will you be beaten—I will ensure justice is done for you."

Song Wen had dreamed of saying such things himself, but had never dared. Now that someone had spoken them so forthrightly on his behalf, Song Wen, who already felt a sense of being truly understood by Lord Di, found himself filled with even greater admiration and respect.

He could not let Lord Di die in vain...

No, no, not die—just have some bad luck.

It was merely a bit of misfortune, a touch of poison—not fatal, certainly not fatal.

But even so, he could not suffer poison for nothing!

Having made up his mind, Song Wen spurred his horse, galloped back to the capital, stormed into the Prefecture Office, and dashed straight to his superior Wu Desen’s study.

Leaping from his horse, he let out a wail.

He began to howl, wiping his tears as he burst inside, and then knelt before Wu Desen.

The sudden commotion startled Wu Desen and all who heard and saw it.

Before anyone could ask what had happened, Song Wen cried out, “My lord, Prefect, please save your humble subordinate, save me! Lord Di Ying was poisoned in Left Minister Wu Jianhui’s country garden—his life hangs in the balance!

You sent me to follow Lord Di, it was you who ordered it, and now this has happened—what should I do? His Majesty will have my head! But this truly has nothing to do with me—I was only present, how could I have known there was poison in the hothouse?

Prefect, you cannot stand by and do nothing. Please, save me, your loyal subordinate who has worked so hard for you! My children are still young, my parents already old—they cannot do without me!”

When Wu Desen heard that Di Ying had been poisoned, he was so shocked he leapt to his feet.

This was someone the emperor had just begun to favor and entrust with responsibility. On his very first case after his appointment, such a major incident had occurred...

Wu Desen dared not think further.

Pressing his hands to the desk, he urgently asked Song Wen, “Where is Lord Di now? Is there still hope?”

At these words, Song Wen wailed even louder, sniveling and sobbing, but gave no answer.

Wu Desen was so anxious that sweat broke out on his forehead.

He slammed his hand on the desk and rebuked, “Enough wailing! If Lord Di comes to harm, even I might not be able to save myself—who would have the leisure to trouble you? Speak!”

Hearing this, Song Wen immediately stifled his cries, hiccuped, and shook his head. “I don’t know, hic... Lord Di was carried back to the city by his personal guard. Hic... I don’t know where they took him.”

“Then what good are you?” Wu Desen glared furiously at this timid official and strode out, ordering his servants to prepare his horse. He had to enter the palace at once.

In fact, Wu Desen found Song Wen quite useful. Song Wen was skilled at enduring hardship and rarely complained, and was obedient most of the time. It was just that his handling of affairs was lacking—always hesitant and indecisive, never possessing his own opinion. Sometimes Wu Desen needed just such a subordinate; at other times, he found him infuriating.

Now, Wu Desen was so angry at Song Wen’s timidity that he ground his teeth. That wail had ensured everyone knew: Di Ying’s poisoning was now inseparable from the Wu family...

Wu Desen had to hurry to the palace and explain to His Majesty.

...

Meanwhile—

Earlier that day, while Peng Liang was dashing madly along the road, praying desperately, he suddenly saw—

His lord opened his eyes, and spat out a mouthful of chewed grass and green juice.

Peng Liang was stunned.

He skidded to a halt, set his master down, and handed over his water pouch.

Di Ying took it, rinsed his mouth several times, then took a small packet of medicinal powder from his sleeve and swallowed it.

He lay flat, closed his eyes, and rested.

Peng Liang watched as his lord’s complexion shifted from blue to pale, then let out a deep breath of relief.

Still full of grievance, he said, “My lord, could you warn me in advance next time?”

He’d been frightened nearly to death—truly terrified. Was it really all right to spring such things on him?

Di Ying made no reply.

Just as Peng Liang’s heart began to pound anxiously again, Di Ying smiled.

With a faint smile, he replied, “If I told you in advance, would you have carried me away at full speed and shaken off those people?”

Peng Liang conceded, “You have a point.”

Had he known in advance, he certainly wouldn’t have been so frantic.

In officialdom, every official was astute and sharp.

If any of them had caught the slightest hint of something amiss on his lord’s face, they would have guessed the entire plot of the day, and all his lord’s efforts would have been for naught.

Understanding was one thing—complaints were another.

“But if you wanted the poisonous plants discovered, did you have to eat them yourself? What if something had gone wrong? Even if you were prepared, it’s still harmful, isn’t it? Why do you always insist on risking yourself? How many lives do you think you have?”

On and on he nagged, until Di Ying could only rub his brow.

Sitting up, he interrupted, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Let’s hurry—while I still look dreadful, we must get back to see His Majesty.”

Peng Liang sighed, “You really are something.”

He picked up his lord and started running.

Di Ying urged, “Faster! Otherwise, all this poisoning would be for nothing.”

Peng Liang muttered, “You’re getting a bit heavy.”

Di Ying reminded him, “Don’t forget, as soon as you reach the palace walls, shout, ‘Lord Di has been poisoned! Where are the imperial physicians?’”

Peng Liang fell silent.

He decided to end this exhausting, cross-purposed conversation and focus on the journey.

But his lord continued, “Remember, your expression must be anxious—the more anxious, the better. When the imperial physicians arrive, leave in grand fashion. Announce you’re going to arrest Wu Jianhui, the culprit. Grit your teeth and make it clear. If anyone tries to stop you, say you must make him pay compensation—no less than one or two hundred thousand taels of silver. Swear you’ll risk your life to make Wu Jianhui pay with his own. Remember to shout—loudly! The more people know, the better.”

Peng Liang nodded solemnly and ran even faster.

At last, he understood why his lord had risked himself.

His eyes grew hot, his heart sour.

This was the Di Ying to whom he was loyal...

He would not let his lord’s efforts go to waste.