Volume One: The Overseer and the Scholar Chapter Four: Am I Really a Prime Suspect?

Zhengyangmen Avenue stretched south from Zhengyangmen itself all the way to the banks of the Sanli River, marking out the liveliest part of the southern city of Beijing. Usually, this broad thoroughfare, more than two hundred paces wide, teemed with people and carriages, a constant flow of traffic, and the shops on either side were always bustling with visitors. But now it was the dead of night.

Under the strict curfew, the city of Beijing had already sunk into silence; scarcely a soul could be seen, and this place was no exception. At the far end of the empty avenue by the Sanli River, only Huang Ming and a few others stood holding lanterns, pausing to examine their surroundings.

The curfew bound only ordinary citizens, not officials.

Standing by the riverbank, Huang Ming gazed at the stone bridge ahead, which spanned the Sanli River but had several gaping holes along its sides. A shudder ran through his body, and his brow furrowed.

Just as he had suspected, coming to the scene of the incident had restored even more of his memory.

Where before, in the prison cell, the images that had flooded his mind were scattered and indistinct, like glimpses from a trailer, now the scenes flashing through his head were as sharp as a finished film in high definition.

Moreover, it was as if he were living it—an action sequence, fraught with peril.

He could see it clearly: the carriage he was in had not lost control by accident; the coachman had deliberately swung the reins, sending the carriage careening across the bridge.

The carriage, with him inside, hurtled straight into a squad of soldiers escorting a prison wagon, smashing their formation. It struck the side of the prison wagon at the center, knocking it—and the prisoners inside—out of the guards’ hands and crashing through the railings into the river below.

His own carriage spun and crashed through another section of railing. Though it did not fall into the water, inertia flung him out of the carriage.

Now, seeing everything that had happened so clearly in his mind, Huang Ming’s heart clenched. He realized he hadn’t been wrongly accused at all; the prisoner’s escape had truly been orchestrated by his own actions—perhaps even…

“Young Master Huang…”

Huang Bingkun’s voice beside him finally drew Huang Ming back from his unease. He realized his forehead was damp with sweat.

He heard Bingkun ask cautiously, “Have you remembered anything?”

“I…” Just as Huang Ming hesitated to tell the truth, two new images flashed through his mind.

But these memories were not as continuous as the ones before.

In one, he climbed into the carriage, face alight with joy. “Brother Ying, you finally came to find me.”

Inside the carriage sat a handsome, genial man, who greeted him with a warm smile. “How have you been in the capital, Brother Huang? Come, I’ll take you somewhere today—there’s something I need your help with.”

The next instant, the scene shifted. The same Brother Ying, who had just been all warmth and friendliness, suddenly changed his expression. Before Huang Ming could react, the man chopped him sharply on the neck, and everything went black.

This last memory was sharper and more vivid than anything before—like a virtual reality so immersive that Huang Ming could almost feel his neck crack beneath that blow.

The sudden, visceral recollection made him stagger and cry out softly.

Luckily, Huang Bingkun reached out to steady him, keeping him upright. “Young Master Huang, what’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

Huang Ming pulled himself together, drew a deep breath, and spoke in a low voice, “It’s nothing. I just remembered something important… It was my carriage that crashed into the soldiers and caused the prisoner to fall into the river, but I was set up. Someone used me as a pawn!”

“What?” Huang Bingkun and the two other Embroidered Guards paled instantly.

…

Southern City Command.

A minor official in blue robes stood before Censor Zhou, his expression shifting rapidly before he burst out, “What did you say? He’s gone? How could a principal suspect in a prison-break case just walk out of your custody, Lord Zhou?”

“Please, Lord Feng, be patient. There are reasons—it was the Embroidered Guards…” Censor Zhou hurried to explain.

“Since when would a man of your rank fear a few Embroidered Guards? Besides, this case is deeply tied to the White Lotus rebels—the Embroidered Guards are implicated too. How could they act so brazenly?”

“But he was only one of the witnesses—and related to an imperial eunuch’s household…”

Lord Feng fixed Zhou with a long, searching look, then said gravely, “Do you realize he’s not just any witness? He is very likely the true culprit responsible for the White Lotus traitor’s escape!”

“What? Is that true?” Zhou’s face changed again.

“Would I joke about something this serious? Other witnesses have already confessed at my Ministry of Justice. Someone saw his carriage suddenly go out of control, crash across the bridge, disrupt the scene, and finally ram into the soldiers escorting the prisoners, sending the prison wagon into the river!”

Lord Feng’s tone grew even more severe. “And that was the only anomaly. More importantly, there are not just one or two witnesses—over a dozen people on and around the bridge saw everything clearly, including both ordinary citizens and the escorting soldiers.

“Tell me, just how great is the suspicion upon him? Would it be wrong to call him the mastermind behind the prison break?

“And now, you’ve let him…”

Censor Zhou’s whole body trembled. “Why didn’t you inform me earlier?”

“I came as soon as I had definite proof! This concerns the White Lotus traitors, the authority of the court, and the dignity of my ministry. This man must be strictly interrogated!”

Lord Feng added anxiously, “If he gets away, neither of us can bear the consequences.”

Zhou’s face grew paler by the moment. After a pause, he said firmly, “Don’t worry, Lord Feng. Since he left from my hands, I’ll be the one to bring him back. His identity is now clear, and the Embroidered Guards took him by force—they can’t hide him forever. Let’s go to his residence, and then to the Northern Embroidered Guard Headquarters to demand his return!”

Hearing the shift from “I” to “we,” Lord Feng’s mouth twitched, but he nodded. “Then let’s not delay.”

As the two officials hastily assembled their men and left the yamen despite the late hour, several men in the Southern City Command’s prison, acting on Lord Zhou’s secret orders, quickly set to work.

Within the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the burly prisoner who had nearly taken Huang Ming’s life was found hanging from the prison rafters by his own trouser belt—“driven to suicide by guilt.”

And that, in truth, ought to have been Huang Ming’s final fate…