Echoes of My Heart Throughout the Court

[Speaking of which, grave robbing is legally equivalent to premeditated murder. Even during a general amnesty, those who maliciously destroy others’ tombs are not pardoned.]

[Then, what if someone digs up their own ancestral grave?]

Xu Lang was puzzled.

However, many present who were well-versed in the law instinctively recalled: If a descendant, whether due to poverty or being misled by sorcerers, excavates their ancestral tomb, steals its valuables, or sells the burial land, the severity of the crime shall be assessed and punished accordingly.

In other words, even if you dig up your own family’s grave, it is still considered a grave crime.

The good news, though, is that those who excavate their own ancestral graves qualify for a reduced sentence under a general amnesty—execution could be reduced to tattooing and exile to a remote area for agricultural labor.

An official sitting next to Assistant Prefect Su sincerely comforted him, “Would you like to have a proper meal? His Majesty likely wouldn’t mind if you started eating as if no one else were here.”

—After all, it might be your last good meal. Prison food is not pleasant.

Then, they saw Assistant Prefect Su looking confused. “What do you mean by ‘eat properly’?”

The official glanced at him twice, rubbed his chin, and spoke with certainty, “You must have already planned how to escape after being exposed.” Then, with curiosity, he asked, “How will you do it?”

No matter what, this act could still be condemned as unfilial—and in the political world, once you’re labeled as unfilial, climbing back up becomes exceedingly difficult.

The Great Xia Dynasty rules through filial piety!

“Why weren’t my ancestors this farsighted?” the old emperor muttered under his breath from the main seat.

Of course, he would never maliciously desecrate his ancestors’ remains—he would first take the gold, and when he became wealthy in the future, he would build a new tomb to put them back in!

Assistant Prefect Su smiled at the well-meaning official, then quietly requested paper and ink from the nearby Jinyiwei guards. Once the materials arrived, he bent over the table and began writing.

The well-meaning official muttered to himself: Hmm? Is he planning to turn himself in? That would indeed be one way to handle this… though not a very clever one.

Then he leaned in for a look—

“……”

His expression shifted from blank confusion to wide-eyed shock, and then to a slightly open mouth.

On the paper, Su Tongzhi had written a story—with himself as the protagonist, of course.

It vividly described how, during wartime, Su Tongzhi, in order to provide for his aging mother, decided to bury his son to support his mother. Moved by his great filial piety, his ancestors appeared to him in a dream that very night, instructing this devoted son to dig up their tomb.

So, Su Tongzhi dug up the grave and opened the coffin, only to find that his ancestors’ bones had transformed into golden remains. As a dutiful son, he naturally refused to take his ancestors’ sacred remains. Instead, he reburied them immediately.

That night, his ancestors appeared again in a dream, expressing their deep gratification while also scolding him—if he didn’t take their golden bodies, was he planning to starve his mother and bury his own son alive?!

Left with no choice, Su Tongzhi wept as he melted down his ancestors’ golden remains—thus creating a heart-wrenching tale of filial piety so great that it moved the heavens.

The well-meaning official: “……”

Absurd?

Absolutely.

Fake?

Obviously.

But in the Great Xia, stories of extreme filial piety were everywhere, often even more outlandish than this—

For instance, a devoted son, too poor to support his parents, was visited by an immortal descending on a cloud, who rewarded him with gold so he could care for them properly.

Or a grieving son, whose father drowned, wailed on the riverbank for three days, overcome with sorrow, until he threw himself into the water—only for the Dragon King to be moved by his filial piety and revive his father.

Stories like weeping at a grave until thunder strikes, crying over bamboo until it sprouts, lying on ice to catch carp, or strangling a tiger to save one’s father—as long as you dared to make up a story and it spread far enough, you could become famous for your filial devotion and even be rewarded by the court.

——After all, loyal ministers and filial sons were always promoted together. The court’s encouragement of filial piety was, in truth, a means to reinforce loyalty to the state and consolidate power.

In short, as long as His Majesty didn’t insist on punishing Su Tongzhi, this Burying a Son to Support a Mother tale would provide a convenient excuse for the emperor to let the matter slide without directly addressing the offense of desecrating ancestral remains.

The well-meaning official stared in stunned silence for a moment before sincerely saying, “Your Excellency is truly a paragon of filial piety.”

Su Tongzhi continued writing furiously, embellishing Su the Filial Son’s tale in vivid detail, ready to spread it across the land the moment he got out—

——And quietly relocate the ancestral tomb before real grave robbers found it.

Meanwhile, Brother Golden Pheasant remained unaware that he had failed to implicate Su Tongzhi.

So, he moved on to a second target.

“Besides,” he declared, “I hoarded such a massive amount of grain—there had to be an outlet for it. Su Tongzhi issued travel permits for my grain caravans, making everything easier for me. At the time, the governors of various Shaanxi provinces were all involved!”

“For example—Xuan Xuan, former governor of Qingzhou!”

[False. He wasn’t involved.]

The Jinyiwei noted it down and circled the name.

“Gao Jujing, governor of Pingliang!”

[False. He didn’t do it either.]

The Jinyiwei noted it down and circled the name again.

“And Song Zhao, governor of Fengxiang!”

[This one! This one is true!]

The Jinyiwei swiftly noted it down, happily marking a red check next to their growing list of achievements.

“And Censorate Inspector Wu Zhenshu.”

[True! This one is also true!]

Back when Brother Golden Pheasant was still active in his official position, Wu Zhenshu had been a Censorate Inspector. However, he had since been promoted to Governor of the Capital and Imperial Tutor to the Crown Prince. At this moment, he looked as if he had been struck by lightning.

Under the strange gazes of his colleagues, his mind whirred frantically, trying to find a way to exonerate himself.

“I only turned a blind eye to them seizing public land… that’s not a big deal. If I handle this properly, at most, it’ll just be dereliction of duty…”

[Tsk. What a scumbag—he once kicked his eight-month pregnant wife, causing a miscarriage after an argument. This kind of person really deserves to die.]

[Luckily, the saying “seven-month-borns survive, eight-month-borns don’t” didn’t hold true this time. The mother survived.**]

His colleagues’ expressions grew even stranger.

Wu Zhenshu crossed his arms and maintained a composed look.

—So what if I hit my wife? Officials aren’t judged by personal morals. At worst, I’ll be gossip fodder for three to five months.

It was just a pity… the doctor had said that child was likely a boy.

[But seriously, the Old Emperor still trusted this man to be the Crown Prince’s tutor? To teach the prince court etiquette and correct his mistakes? What exactly is he supposed to teach? How to kick the Crown Princess into a miscarriage?]

Wu Zhenshu’s expression instantly darkened.

He instinctively glanced at the Old Emperor—and sure enough, His Majesty was frowning at him, as if scrutinizing and contemplating something.

In reality, the Old Emperor was simply thinking: Given the way my son is, do you really think he’s capable of being influenced by etiquette? Does he even have etiquette?

But Wu Zhenshu didn’t know that. His heart dropped.

No way… No, no, no…

The Old Emperor gave him a brief glance, deciding he had wasted enough time on this, and abruptly cut off Brother Golden Pheasant mid-sentence.

“Wu Zhenshu? Is what he’s saying true?”

Brother Golden Pheasant’s eyes lit up. Without hesitation, he declared, “Your Majesty! Everything I have said is the absolute truth!”

The Old Emperor let out a low huff, neither confirming nor denying it. Instead, he seized the opportunity to swiftly and decisively act:

“Pass down the decree—Wu Zhenshu is stripped of his titles as Governor of the Capital and Imperial Tutor to the Crown Prince!”

Wu Zhenshu: “Your Majesty!!!”

As he reflexively shouted, his three layers of belly fat jiggled in response.

But this once powerful and well-connected official immediately shut his mouth upon meeting the Old Emperor’s calm yet piercing gaze. He didn’t dare say another word. Trembling, he dropped to his knees, the sound of his kneecaps cracking audibly.

“Tsk.”

The Old Emperor’s dark pupils reflected the red-painted doors of the Grand Chancellor’s residence, their iron locks gleaming coldly.

“For his crimes of shielding nobles who embezzled public land—he shall be executed! On the spot! At the gates!”

Prime Minister Dou: “?!”

Wait—

That’s my house’s gate—

[Eh? At the gates? Did His Majesty just forget to say Meridian Gate?]

Xu Yanmiao was momentarily dazed, but before he could react, Liang Rui reacted quickly—immediately covering his ears.

Xu Lang: “Eh?”

Wu Zhenshu, now limp on the ground, was dragged out by the Jinyiwei. The blade fell swiftly, and in an instant, blood sprayed into the open mouths of the two stone lions standing by the Grand Chancellor’s iron gate.

But the Jinyiwei weren’t professional executioners—so their cuts weren’t always perfect. Which meant…

“AHHH—”

Wu Zhenshu’s agonized scream sent chills crawling down everyone’s spines, goosebumps rising from their necks to the base of their ears.

Liang Youwen figured it must have taken two strikes to finish the job. His gaze turned resentful as he looked at his own father—

Dad! You’re really my dad, huh? Instead of covering your own son’s ears, you’re busy worrying about someone else’s!

—He hadn’t even processed what was happening and completely missed his chance to cover his ears.

Liang Rui calmly withdrew his hand and, upon catching his son’s accusing gaze, straightened his expression into one of strict authority.

“You’re over thirty years old and supposedly experienced. Even if you weren’t prepared for the scream, couldn’t you have learned by example when you saw me covering someone else’s ears?”

Liang Youwen’s gaze drifted away, and he silently lowered his head.

While Xu Yanmao was softly thanking Liang Rui, the main gates swung open again. The Jinyiwei strode back in, their footsteps tracking fresh, bloody prints across the moonlit floor.

“Your Majesty, the criminal has been executed.”

The Old Emperor nodded, then turned his gaze toward Brother Golden Pheasant—only to find the man’s face had turned deathly pale.

He couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of amusement.

What’s running through his mind right now?

Is he wondering why I didn’t act against the others, but only this one was dragged out and killed?

Does he suspect that I already knew who the real protector of corruption was and was merely watching him flail?

Or does he think I knew nothing, but decided to shield another capital official—Su Zhen—and so had him executed as a cover-up?

With two fingers, the Old Emperor clasped the blade of the skinning knife, then flicked it with a crisp zing. The blade sang in the air, and with an almost amused smirk, he asked:

“Is there more?”

Brother Golden Pheasant took a shaky breath but said nothing for a long moment.

Yet the other capital officials didn’t dare relax. Instead, they furtively stole glances at Xu Yanmao, their gazes filled with both fear and resignation—

As if praying he wouldn’t suddenly pop up with a bright, “Oh yes, there’s more! I know something!”

---

In a shadowed corner, Fifth Huanyu remained kneeling, maintaining an invisible presence.

He no longer hoped to turn the tables—he just prayed things wouldn’t get any worse.

Then, a fellow retired official, Xu Jingxing, the former magistrate of Changshu County, leaned in to probe:

“Fifth Scholar, you’ve served in office for years. Surely, you must have plenty of leverage on others, no?”

Fifth Huanyu’s face remained expressionless. “What are you getting at?”

Xu Jingxing opened his mouth to explain—

But Fifth Huanyu cut him off: “I don’t care what you’re plotting. Leave me out of it.”

Xu Jingxing wasn’t offended. He simply smoothed his robes and, with an air of practiced courtesy, remarked:

“So you’re just going to sit back and die quietly? You dying is one thing. Your entire clan being executed is another. But… what about your son? Hasn’t he still got so much left to enjoy?”

Fifth Huanyu’s face visibly stiffened.

Xu Jingxing pressed on: “I hear your son refuses to eat unless his rice is imported from Yangzhou, his meat must be rib cuts, his beef must be oxtail stew, and if his pork trotters have so much as a single stray hair, he throws a tantrum. A man of such refined tastes surely wouldn’t be so willing to part with this beautiful world, now would he?”

This time, Fifth Huanyu’s rejection never left his lips. He swallowed it down.

Seeing this, Xu Jingxing leaned in, lowering his voice: “His Majesty is bold, I’ll give him that. But if this case ends up implicating over ten thousand people—no, what if it reaches a hundred thousand? The law does not punish the masses. He wouldn’t be able to kill them all, would he?”

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