Chapter Twelve: The Law Shows No Mercy

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the meticulously manicured garden stretched like a painting, and within the room, beside the Sovereign, stood Nangong Lin—a woman of unparalleled grace and beauty. Yet the Prime Minister did not dare shift his gaze even slightly.

As the chief civil official of the Great Han, he was well versed in protocol. Without the Sovereign’s permission, to look directly upon the celestial face would be an act of presumption. He fixed his eyes firmly on the steady desktop computer on the desk and bowed slightly.

“Your Majesty, the search for the demonic beings continues with all our might. So far, we have screened one thousand three hundred and sixty-two suspects, with two thousand one hundred and thirteen remaining to be investigated. I have requested this audience to present another major corruption case. The details are fully documented here, respectfully submitted for Your Majesty’s perusal.”

With that, he offered a carefully prepared dossier with both hands.

Hearing that it was unrelated to the demonic beings, Nangong Lin’s interest waned. She gracefully moved to the single armchair nearby and seated herself. With a delicate touch in midair, a book silently flew from the bookshelf into her palms, and she lowered her gaze to leaf through it.

Bai Yujing took the document. From tearful accusations by petitioners to formal complaints from the Public Opinion Bureau, from covert investigations by imperial commissioners to testimonies recorded from local officials, every piece of evidence pointed to one conclusion:

Mayor Zhao Yinglong of Manaus had abused his power, exploiting a series of government projects—constructing floating docks, promoting industrial development, supporting agricultural initiatives—to amass illegal gains totaling two billion three hundred million. He lived decadently and shamelessly, even gathering all the female instructors of Manaus Art University as his mistresses.

Having finished the document, Bai Yujing set it down and cast a sweeping glance ahead.

The Prime Minister was about fifty years old, his hair dyed jet black in a vain attempt to conceal the marks of time. Now, standing before the imperial desk, he looked humble as if before a deity.

“What year is it by the Imperial Calendar now?” Bai Yujing suddenly asked, unrelated to the paperwork.

The Prime Minister’s heart tightened. He quickly replied, “Your Majesty, it is now the five-thousandth year of the Imperial Calendar.”

“So much time has passed already,” Bai Yujing leaned back into the broad chair, a rare flicker of reminiscence rippling through his eyes. “As one ages, one cannot help but recall the past. I am no exception.”

The Prime Minister’s pulse raced as he frantically sought the deeper meaning behind the Sovereign’s musing.

“The histories are true. Though Jingxing and I were not brothers by blood, we were closer than brothers.”

Bai Yujing rose and slowly paced to the window, turning his back to the Prime Minister as his gaze swept over the garden outside.

“Now, his descendants have committed such grave crimes. Tell me, how should I deal with this?”

A chill surged from the Prime Minister’s feet to the crown of his head. Cold sweat drenched his inner robes. He rapidly considered the Sovereign’s true intent: Was he to comprehend the imperial will and hint at leniency? Or was he to speak honestly and endorse severe punishment?

He felt as though he were walking on the edge of an abyss, one misstep away from utter destruction.

Before he could fully gather his thoughts, Bai Yujing’s voice, calm and unreadable, floated again: “You, and your cabinet, what do you wish for me to do?”

Thud!

The Prime Minister’s legs gave way; his knees struck the cold, hard floor, and his forehead followed with a heavy thud.

“All matters under Heaven are decided by Your Majesty’s word alone. We are but humble vessels for Your Majesty’s great wisdom, how dare we presume to influence the divine judgment!”

His voice quivered uncontrollably.

“At the founding of the Great Han, I abolished the custom of kneeling,” Bai Yujing’s tone was devoid of emotion, “but you all still take to kneeling at every turn.”

“Your servant... I kneel not out of ceremony!” The Prime Minister’s voice cracked with sobs, his forehead pressed to the floor. “It is because the Sovereign’s heavenly might is overwhelming, like the sun and moon in the sky! A mere mortal like myself dares not look directly upon the celestial face, much less bear the slightest chance of incurring divine wrath!”

He trembled, summoning all his strength to rise, sweat pouring like rain, yet he lacked the courage even to wipe it away, letting the drops fall freely.

Bai Yujing turned around, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “Heh, you old fox.”

But the smile vanished like a breath in the cold wind, his face instantly hardening as if carved by knife and axe, his gaze sharp as ice.

“Every year, there are always some reckless fools who dare to test my limits. But I have long declared: whoever breaks the law shall be severely punished without mercy!”

His words rang with the force of a hammer striking an anvil:

“Order my edict: arrest Zhao Yinglong immediately, along with every member involved in the Manaus municipal administration, without exception! Once guilt is confirmed, those who deserve death shall be executed; those who deserve dismissal shall be removed! Furthermore, all those implicated, along with their immediate family within three generations, shall be barred from politics and commerce!”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I obey!”

The Prime Minister bowed deeply.

Bai Yujing waved his hand dismissively, no longer looking his way. “You may leave.”

Lowering his head in utmost deference, the Prime Minister took slow, cautious steps out of the imperial study, as if treading on cotton.

Outside the door stood Lucia, watching the Prime Minister’s sweat-drenched, unsteady gait—like a bedraggled wolf dragged from water—and silently sighed: the Sovereign’s heavenly might is truly unfathomable.

Judging by the scene inside, the Sovereign’s thunderous wrath had surely been unleashed many times over. It was wise not to get involved.

Yet as commander of the Imperial Guard, if the Sovereign intended to reside long within the palace, would she not have to be constantly at his side, ready to obey orders?

Lucia paused, trying to recall the Imperial Guard commander’s duties. Aside from “protecting the safety of the Sovereign’s palace,” there seemed to be no explicit requirement to serve always nearby.

She resolved to ask Mary about it later.

But for now, the more pressing question was: how long would she have to stand guard at this door before she could finish her shift?

Lucia stood straight by the door, pondering this important matter with growing seriousness.

...

Within the imperial study, silence settled once more.

Bai Yujing was lost in memories.

Zhao Jingxing had been a man whose everyday speech was tinged with scholarly refinement, but once drunk, he was another person entirely—wild and uninhibited, even prone to drunken antics. Bai Yujing clearly recalled a game of “King’s Cup” where the man, inebriated, had poured an entire cup of wine over his own head.

Of course, fortunes reversed; when Bai Yujing himself was “king” in the game later, he had mercilessly ordered his old comrade to strip naked and run a lap through the palace halls.

Those reckless, carefree bursts of laughter seemed to echo still in his ears.

“Do you regret punishing Zhao Yinglong?” Nangong Lin’s soft voice drifted like a feather from the armchair, breaking the silence.

Bai Yujing was pulled back to the present. He shook his head slowly.

“No. If Jingxing were still alive, he would surely have punished him far more harshly. He was the kind of man who would scold even me to my face when I erred.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Nangong Lin’s cool eyes. “You are the Sovereign, yet he dared to reprimand you? Was he not afraid to die?”

“Of course he was afraid of death.” Bai Yujing’s lips curved in a warm smile. “But he feared losing the original conviction and faith to speak for the people even more.”

At the founding of the Great Han, the thirteen legion commanders held power far beyond that of today’s military leaders—commanding troops, meddling in local official appointments, ruling almost like feudal lords.

Because they were not Bai Yujing’s subordinates but friends, comrades willing to pour their blood and lives into the future he envisioned.

In that era when ideals burned bright, there was no rigid hierarchy among comrades, only differences in roles.

Nangong Lin gazed at the rare tenderness on his face and softly inquired, “If it were today, would you still be willing to share supreme authority with them?”

Bai Yujing glanced at her coolly. “If I said yes, you wouldn’t believe me. If I said no, you would be convinced beyond doubt. Since that’s the case, why ask at all?”

He knew Nangong Lin could never understand the bond between him and Jingxing and the others.

No outsider could.

It was precisely for this reason that those who believed Zhao Yinglong might be spared imperial justice were gravely mistaken from the start.

“Nangong, there should be fortune-telling methods in Shenzhou, right?”

Instantly understanding his meaning, she nodded. “I know a little about divination.”

“Then help me divine who led Zhao Yinglong step by step into corruption.”