Back to the Imperial Palace (2)
The door scraped open, and the Grand Madam stepped inside.
"It has been some time, honored heroes. This old woman offers her prayers for the souls of your three young masters. But to speak of sealing this house and interrogating every guest is to tell me — and every sister of Yuwol Pavilion — to go sleep in the street."
Her face was dark with anger, and she drove the point home without the slightest varnish: the demand was outrageous.
Martial artists prized honor and pride above all else. Treat men like that as murderers on suspicion alone, and not one of them would sit still for it. One wrong word and the blades would come out. In Hangzhou or Suzhou, where the most renowned figures of the martial world gathered in droves, no one in their right mind would even dream of attempting such a thing.
"Madam, is this truly the stance you mean to take? There is nothing more to say. We shall wait for His Excellency the Surveillance Commissioner."
"Hnn…! To summon His Excellency merely because you three young heroes happened to be in this house — you put this old woman and this establishment in a most difficult position."
In truth, the Grand Madam looked more than a little shaken. She would have heard, just before entering the room, that Jong Jin-su had already sent for the Surveillance Commissioner. No one understood better than she what a man of that office could do — a provincial official of the highest rank, vested with authority to match — and the discomfort sat plain on her face.
One word from the Surveillance Commissioner that an investigation was to proceed, and the entire pavilion would have to be thrown open. The martial artists lodging here would revolt, kicking up a tangled, ugly disturbance, and the Commissioner would shove his way in regardless, leaning on the full weight of his office and the prestige of the state. The result would be chaos, pure and simple — a complete shambles.
Once word spread that the authorities had meddled here, the men of the martial world — who accounted for more than half the house's income — would stop coming overnight. The Grand Madam and Zheng Hui would be seething. They probably wanted to beat these three into the floor right then and there.
Worse, there was a chance some guest had seen the three of them following me out of Yuwol Pavilion last night. If that came out, things would get considerably more complicated.
Which meant it was time for me to step in.
An investigation of that kind could not be allowed — not for Yuwol Pavilion's sake, and not for mine. Absolutely not.
"Then by all means, let him come. Will he be here soon? I wonder how far along he is."
"And who are you supposed to be? How dare a mere servant of singing girls interrupt his elders? Madam! As expected of a pleasure house — your underlings have no discipline whatsoever! Throw him out at once!"
The moment I looked Jong Jin-su in the eye and asked the question, he whipped around toward the Grand Madam, bristling.
My mood was already taking a serious turn for the worse. How dare? Mere? As expected of a pleasure house?
Those few words told me exactly what they thought of us. Those few words also decided how they would be treated today. I fully intended to make sure they left this room in utter disgrace.
"This child is my grandson, and the son of Zheng Hui here."
"He is my son. What possible objection could there be to a son remaining at his mother's side out of concern for her?"
The Grand Madam and Zheng Hui were of the same mind as I was. These men had contributed nothing to the business, yet they stood here flinging open insults. Of course, it was hardly the first or second time anyone in this house had heard such talk — but hearing it often did not make it any less infuriating. They simply kept the anger in check. There was no point demanding a reasoned conversation from animals.
"If anyone here has a problem with discipline, perhaps it's the men who come sniffing after my sisters."
"What? You insolent little—! If you're so eager to be taught a lesson—!"
I had taken the matter of discipline he himself had raised and thrown it straight back in his face. Jong Jin-su surged to his feet in a towering rage, drawing up his inner force — and in that hair-trigger instant, I was already prepared to strike back.
"Grand Madam. His Excellency the Surveillance Commissioner has arrived."
From beyond the door, Sister Shanghua announced the Commissioner's arrival.
Everyone rose in a hurry. Jong Jin-su swallowed the fury he had been about to unleash and composed his face. The sight of him forcing a smile over that mottled red-and-purple complexion was a spectacle. Truly a spectacle.
And then the door scraped open once more, and the Surveillance Commissioner entered.
A man I knew all too well.
A textbook corrupt official. The very model of a rotten bureaucrat.
Gao Yousong, head of the Southern Zhili Surveillance Commission, walked into the room.
A short while later, after exchanging greetings with Surveillance Commissioner Gao Yousong, we and the unwelcome guests relocated to the adjoining room — Jong Jin-su having smashed the table in the first one. Gao Yousong took the seat of honor. We and the uninvited party sat facing each other across from him.
"…And that is how it stands. This gentleman is the director of the Cheng Medical Hall."
"This Cheng pays his respects to His Excellency the Surveillance Commissioner, whose illustrious name resounds throughout the Great Ming."
Jong Jin-su reported to Gao Yousong the circumstances under which the three good-for-nothing sons — who had departed this world the night before — had been discovered, along with everything he himself had managed to ascertain.
"The Cheng Medical Hall, you say? I have heard of it. Renowned for its distinguished medical arts, as I recall."
Gao Yousong — a short man whose official sash rode atop a generously protruding belly — turned to regard the aging Physician Cheng.
"Your Excellency is too kind."
"Ahem! So. The young masters of the three houses died during the Hour of Hai, is that the meaning?"
"That is correct, Your Excellency. Judging by the lividity and the degree of rigor in the muscles, I estimate they perished during the Hour of Hai last night."
Physician Cheng had pinned the time of death with considerable accuracy. It seemed the talk of his distinguished medical skill was no empty reputation.
"Madam. At what hour did the three young masters leave the pavilion last night?"
"Hnn… the Hour of Hai."
The Grand Madam answered with a faint sound in her throat. Gao Yousong scratched at a chin dotted with a sparse, thinning beard and nodded.
"Meaning they met with disaster not long after departing Yuwol Pavilion."
At those words, color rose in Jong Jin-su's face, as if the Commissioner had simply restated his own argument.
"Precisely so, Your Excellency. What is more, the place where our sons were found lies not even half a ke from this very pavilion."
"Half a ke? That is quite close."
"It is, Your Excellency. Is it not entirely plausible that someone from Yuwol Pavilion followed our sons out and did them harm? We made a courteous request for an investigation, yet these gentlemen have stubbornly refused, hiding behind the fact that their guests are patrons of this house. The heart of a father who cannot even find justice for a son so cruelly slain…"
Having poured out this impassioned speech, Jong Jin-su dabbed at the corners of his eyes — where not a single tear had formed.
A courteous request? And since when had we cited high-ranking guests as our excuse? It was absurd.
"Mm. I understand the sentiment. But there is also the possibility it was not so. Could the guests not simply be questioned as they leave?"
"Then we could not examine them all, Your Excellency. While one or two are being questioned, the person who holds the truth of this matter might slip away. Your Excellency, I beg you to consider the hearts of men who have lost their children."
"There is that as well. What to do…"
Gao Yousong weighed the matter for a moment. The way he pretended to deliberate, when they were in cahoots all along, was a performance worth watching.
After a pause spent stroking his beard, he turned to the Grand Madam.
"Ahem. Madam. One can scarcely imagine the grief of losing one's sons in a single night. I know the reputation and the circumstances of Yuwol Pavilion better than anyone. But considering where the bodies were found, and the estimated time of death, this is not a claim entirely without substance. On this occasion, I must ask you to yield."
"Your Excellency! You have our deepest gratitude. Your Excellency! The Jong clan, the Zhao clan, and the Chen clan will never forget this kindness."
Before the Grand Madam could even reply, Jong Jin-su and the other two clan heads were already clasping their fists in repeated salutes of thanks.
"Your Excellency! How can you subject the heroes of the martial world to investigation on suspicion alone? If this proceeds, Yuwol Pavilion will be out on the street. Your Excellency!"
The Grand Madam's face had gone ashen. Zheng Hui's too. Even Sister Shanghua had frozen, her expression gone rigid. Amid those clashing reactions, Gao Yousong pressed on.
"Come now! A house of Yuwol Pavilion's stature, starving over a single investigation? Hardly. Just this once, Madam. This is an order of the state. Ahem!"
He underscored the words, making it clear this was a command — and in that same moment, the matter I had been preparing came to completion.
"A moment, Your Excellency. Would you be so kind as to look at this?"
"Hm?"
At my sudden interjection, Gao Yousong — who had been about to rise — and everyone else in the room stopped and turned to look at me. I had been writing several things on a sheet of paper with a fine brush for some time.
"This humble one has long respected and admired Your Excellency, and there is something I have dearly wished to present to you. It is the wish of a lifetime. Would Your Excellency do me the honor of looking it over?"
"…Is that so? Ahem. The Madam's grandson, was it? A sharp-looking boy. Hah hah hah! He has the physiognomy of a man destined for greatness. If it is a commoner's lifelong wish, then as an official I ought to take a look. Bring it here. A poem, is it?"
Respect. Admiration. The wish of a lifetime. The words seemed to have struck a chord; Gao Yousong looked thoroughly pleased. An incorruptible official, hearing such praise, would have grown wary. That he grinned and lapped it up was a fairly reliable sign he was nothing of the sort. Which, as it happened, he was not.
I fanned the paper a few times to dry the hastily written characters, then held it out to Gao Yousong. The moment he took the letter, every eye in the room fixed upon it.
"Let me see. Oh? What rare and excellent calligra—?"
His face, which had been unfolding the letter with a look of satisfaction, went rigid in an instant. The people around him instinctively craned their necks toward the paper —
"Enough! Sit down."
Catching it, Gao Yousong loosed a thunderous bellow. The startled, bewildered company scrambled back into their seats and stared at him, and at the letter in his hand. Gao Yousong sat there trembling, the paper still clutched in his fingers, straining with everything he had to keep his darting eyes under control.
Gao Yousong. You would do well to read this alone.
If you insist on sharing it with the others, I will not stop you. I will only promise that you will not enjoy what follows.
I know what you did last summer.
I know what you committed in the first month, two years ago.
And I know what you did three years ago, when you met privately with the Joseon diplomatic mission.
What do you suppose would happen if the Embroidered Uniform Guard were to learn of these things?
Do not entertain any foolish ideas. Should anything befall me, every matter I know — evidence included — has already been arranged to pass intact into the hands of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
The same will occur if you proceed with this pathetic little investigation, which you authorized in hopes of currying favor with the Ministry of War.
The choice is yours, Gao Yousong.
The letter Jin Myeong had handed over ended there.
This boy…
Gao Yousong was pouring every ounce of his strength into remaining calm. Gooseflesh had risen over his entire body. A chill had taken him, and a tingling numbness in his hands and feet that he could not suppress.
How does that brat know about those things?
He was a step from losing his mind. Setting everything else aside, the mere fact that Jin Myeong — who did not even look twenty — knew of the secret dealings between himself and the Joseon diplomatic mission three years ago was a shock unto itself. In fifty years of life, he could not remember a blow that had struck him harder.
He could not believe that the diversion of tribute goods destined for the Yongle Emperor had leaked.
How does he know something that neither the Embroidered Uniform Guard nor the Censorate has uncovered? Is he a Jinyiwei agent?
The Yongle Emperor was a sovereign of iron and blood, exceeding even the Taizu Hongwu Emperor. Twice he had personally led his armies north across the Gobi Desert to drive out the remnants of the Northern Yuan, and he had campaigned as far southwest as Annam. In the entire history of the Central Plains, only two emperors had ever crossed the Gobi on a personal campaign: Emperor Taiwu of the Northern Wei, more than eleven hundred years ago — and Yongle.
This was no figurehead, no bookish Son of Heaven. He was a hero of the age, a conqueror-sovereign possessed of both a vast spirit and genuine martial skill.
This is not a question of who that brat is, or whether I believe the letter.
To have siphoned off tribute goods meant for such an emperor? That was a crime for which three generations of a family would be slaughtered to the last. This was the same man who had gone beyond three generations — who had invented a tenth degree of kinship that did not even exist, and ordered more than eight hundred people put to the sword. The fate of Fang Xiaoru, who had denounced Yongle's seizure of the throne and been exterminated to the tenth degree, his own mouth torn from ear to ear as he died, remained a living terror among every official in the realm.
For Gao Yousong, then, believing or disbelieving Jin Myeong and the letter was not the question at all.
If this comes to light, I will be torn limb from limb and hung outside the city gates that very day.
A fleeting vision of himself departing this world together with three generations of his family sent a violent shudder through him.
Everything else could wait. First, he had to gather up every word he had just scattered across this room.
Every last one of them.