Chapter Nine: The People's Gratitude

Chen Jun carefully selected the most “obedient” soldiers from the city defense battalion to appear on the city streets, extinguishing the lights along the way one by one.

But…

He glanced toward the direction of the embankment.

Was Lord Di, who had initiated this massive operation tonight, still all right?

…

Di Ying was not faring well.

The wind had grown stronger, whipping the willows on either side of the riverbank into a wild dance. It also stirred the river behind him, the waves slapping against the embankment, making it hard for him to keep his balance as he was already drenched through.

The rain was easing, but the oilcloth on his torch still sizzled and crackled, occasionally spitting out tiny sparks. Di Ying had to keep raising the torch higher and higher.

Yet he paid no mind to his own discomfort, his thoughts consumed by worry over tonight’s “grain raid.”

Time was desperately short, and he was severely lacking in manpower. In desperation, he had sought out every person he had exonerated during his years of adjudicating cases—one after another, anyone who could be of use.

This was not what Di Ying had wanted.

He had “rescued” these people, only to thrust them into an even greater fire.

He truly did not wish to do so, but he had no one else to turn to.

The coachmen and stable hands had been sent out to gather the villagers from the countryside. He’d enlisted the help of friendly boatmen at the docks to help seize grain from the big ships.

But the most crucial positions were those guarding and patrolling the city.

He had no choice but to go begging at their doors, asking them to risk themselves at his side.

Such were the consequences of holding too humble an office.

He wished to protect everyone willing to help, but he did not know, even if tonight’s plan succeeded, what the world would look like come dawn.

His mood was as heavy as this rain-shrouded night.

His mind, battered by wind and rain, felt as precarious as his unsteady stance—he did not know how much longer he could hold his head up.

At that moment, amidst the cacophonous yet eerily silent air, a strange sound reached his ears.

Di Ying’s ears pricked up.

He looked toward the distant river.

There, faint and scattered, tiny sparks of light began to appear.

Di Ying’s heart clenched.

Tonight, Ma Xinggui and the others were not out for pleasure.

With the size of that pleasure boat, it could easily hold forty or fifty men carrying sacks of stone.

According to Di Ying’s plan, he should not have seen the pleasure boat at all.

Could it be that Meng Zhenyao’s part of the mission had gone awry?

…

Meng Zhenyao was the legitimate eldest son of Meng Zenglu, the chief secretary of the Bingzhou Governor’s Office.

After the death of his birth mother, his father married again; the stepmother gave birth to a son, Meng Shicheng, and a daughter, Meng Xiujuan. When the stepmother entered the household, Meng Zhenyao was already eight, and spent most of his time away from the estate, living at the academy.

At eighteen, he passed the imperial exams with high honors, and his stepmother arranged a marriage for him: the daughter of a scholar who had repeatedly failed the exams.

The girl, Dong Yani, was bewitchingly beautiful, famed for her looks.

Meng Zhenyao had not expected such kindness from his stepmother, and felt remorseful when he recalled his usual reserve toward her. He resigned from his post and devoted several years to filial piety at her knee.

His only regret was that Dong Yani bore him no children in those years.

But the young couple were deeply affectionate, and neither his father nor stepmother ever mentioned the matter, so Meng Zhenyao gave it no thought.

Not until he turned twenty-six, last year in the twelfth lunar month, did his peaceful days shatter with the sudden disappearance of his wife, Dong Yani.

Though he held no office, Meng Zhenyao read diligently every day. He intended to take the exams again at thirty and resume his career. He avoided household affairs, fearing that involvement would displease his father and stepmother.

He only occasionally drank and socialized with Ma Xinggui, She Yanbo, and others—an unavoidable social necessity, though he had little patience for men he knew to be unsavory. Yet he understood that, should he return to officialdom, most of those he dealt with would likely be such men.

It was, he told himself, practice.

When his wife disappeared, these connections proved useful.

Meng Zhenyao quickly discovered her whereabouts and pursued her to a small villa outside the city.

Dong Yani’s condition was wretched beyond description.

The culprit was none other than his half-brother, Meng Shicheng.

In a fit of righteous fury, Meng Zhenyao, usually scholarly and reserved, killed the notoriously dissolute Meng Shicheng.

His father personally sent him to the death cell.

Was he wronged? Yes, he was.

Yet, for taking a life, he felt it was not unjust.

It was only his wife he pitied—nearly beaten to death by his father and then cast away to a family temple, forced to take vows.

Meng Zhenyao awaited death in prison.

He harbored no resentment toward his father or stepmother, only blaming his own impulsiveness.

Until—

Lord Di arrived.

…

Before the case files on Meng Zhenyao’s fratricide could even reach the Ministry of Justice, Di Ying arrived.

After thorough interrogation and extensive verification, Di Ying declared Meng Zhenyao innocent and released him.

Everyone in the Meng family, including Meng Zhenyao himself, was left bewildered.

Di Ying addressed them thus:

“Meng Shicheng abducted his brother’s wife, forced himself upon her, and unlawfully imprisoned her—crimes deserving of death. Meng Zhenyao braved the tiger’s den to save his wife, risking his life—where is the fault in that? As a man, a head of household, a husband, should he not stand up with courage and defend his loved ones in their time of suffering and peril? That is his duty! Therefore: Meng Zhenyao is acquitted!”

Meng Zhenyao bowed his head deeply to the ground.

…

That afternoon, after seeking out the captain at the west gate, Di Ying hurried back to his small courtyard.

He needed to change into his official robes and retrieve his seal.

He was stopped by a breathless Meng Zhenyao, who pulled him into a deserted alley.

With both hands clasped in a formal salute, Meng Zhenyao bowed deeply.

“My lord, you must have heard about the matter of the grain seed? The commoners causing an uproar have already been thrown into the governor’s prison. Are you truly not going to intervene?”

Caught off guard, Di Ying said nothing in reply.

Though he saw promise in Meng Zhenyao, admiring his upright character, he had nothing to say regarding such a grave affair—especially as Meng’s own father was implicated.

“Lord Di, I know you do not trust me… but I have no other recourse. Of all the officials in Bingzhou, you are the only one I trust. With such a crisis, do you truly not know? Or are you waiting until the trial to acquit the peasants as you did for me? It would be useless—they would still have no grain to sow, and there would be more unrest. If that happens, even you would not be able to declare them innocent again, would you?”

Di Ying opened his mouth, but could say nothing, and closed it again.

Seeing this, Meng Zhenyao stamped his foot in frustration.

He pressed his lips together, swallowing his disappointment, and said, “Enough. If even you cannot be counted on, I know not whom to trust.

My wife, Yani, has discovered the location of the new granary. Even without your help, tonight I will board the boat with Ma Xinggui and the others, and I will do everything I can to stop them from breaking the embankment—I will, I swear…

Take care of yourself!”

With those words and a respectful salute, Meng Zhenyao turned to leave.