The Drum of Petition

Chengtian Prefecture, a small courtyard at the corner of the city.

Suhe didn't sleep all night.

The lamp wick on the table was burnt black, and only a thin layer of oil remained in the oil lamp. The wind squeezed in through the crack in the door, making the flame flicker.

He sat at the table with a dozen or so sheets of paper spread out in front of him.

He organized all the evidence and pressed them in order.

His eyes were bloodshot as he sorted through the papers one last time; the only sound in the room was the rustling of his fingertips across the paper.

"We're still missing some evidence..." Su He frowned.

Back when he was in Xun Jin Si, if he wanted to investigate something, he could use the excuse of organizing old files to sneak into the archives and spend half a day searching through them. Although it was a lowly position, at least he had some chance.

Nowadays, he can't access old archives, can't afford unofficial histories, and even local documents sent to him are beyond his reach.

We definitely can't go looking for Wu Huaiyi anymore; going to him would only harm him, and Su He wouldn't do something like that.

All progress was stuck like this. Suhe pressed down on each piece of paper with her hands and didn't move for a long time.

In two more days, the wanted posters from Chengtian Prefecture will be posted further and further away.

By then, even if he shouted himself hoarse, no one would believe a lowly clerk.

Su He raised his hand to rub his eyes and murmured softly, "It seems there's only one path left."

On the corner of the table was the five taels of silver that Wu Huaiyi had given him, still wrapped in a small cloth bag, pressed next to a stack of papers.

He recalled Wu Huaiyi's voice from last night.

"Suhe, listen to your brother, let's stop this for now."

"You're still young. A three-month work stoppage isn't a dead end. Just bear with it, and you can still get back into the company."

"The drum for petitioning is not for people like you. If you strike it wrong, a beating will be the least of your worries. If someone accuses you of spreading heresy, you won't even keep your head."

These words kept him sitting there all night.

Fifteen minutes later, Suhe got up and took a wooden box out of the house.

The box is old; it was brought from his hometown years ago and originally contained needles and account books.

He put the main certificates in one by one.

When you take these things apart, each one seems like a coincidence.

Together they form a single rope, extending from the old archives of Chengtian Prefecture, passing through Beiyang Prefecture, and then through Changluo County.

Suhe didn't write down who was at the other end of the rope.

Often, people are more inclined to believe their own assumptions, even if those "things" are not the truth.

Therefore, Su He did not release the deductions he had made over the years; he wanted the person on the dragon throne to make his own deductions and guesses.

"Click."

The wooden box was closed.

Suhe washed her face; the water was bone-chillingly cold.

He looked down at his reflection in the jar; his face was pale, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was disheveled.

He smiled.

"Suhe, Suhe," he said softly, "you really dare to do that."

No one answered him.

Then he added, "If you're not bold enough, you won't have the chance when you're old. It's not a loss."

A rooster crowed outside the courtyard; it was still dark.

Suhe changed into some old clothes, held the wooden box in her arms, and glanced back at the small courtyard as she opened the door.

The bedding on the bed was neatly folded, there was half a hard biscuit by the stove, and the lamp on the table was off.

Suhe closed the door, but did not lock it.

Locking it won't help.

The streets of Chengtian Prefecture were deserted at this moment. The breakfast stalls had not yet been set up, and only a few manure carts slowly passed by the alley entrance, their wheels making a dull thud as they rolled over the stone slabs.

He walked north along the street, and the further he went, the wider the street became, the flatter the stone slabs became, and the more and more high walls appeared along the roadside.

The patrolman saw him carrying the wooden box, glanced at him, and did not stop him.

There are too many people like this in Chengtian Prefecture.

Some were going to the yamen to submit petitions, some were going to the official residence to deliver gifts, and some were going to the accountant's office to settle accounts with a wealthy family. A young man in old clothes was really not conspicuous.

Until Suhe walked up to a large drum.

The drum is large, with a dark, old lacquer finish and copper nails along the sides. Guards stand on both sides of the drum stand, their armor plates polished to a shine.

People who usually pass by will take a detour, and even vendors will lower their voices when they call out their wares here.

Suhe stopped at the bottom of the stone steps.

He looked up and glanced at it.

There are old marks on the drum surface, and some areas are darker in color, as if it has been washed many times but is still not clean.

The guards who were watching the drum had noticed him long ago. One of them gripped the hilt of his sword and shouted, "Halt! What are you doing?"

Suhe grinned, then took two steps forward and walked to the stone steps.

The guard's expression changed, and he rushed down in a few steps: "Do you know this isn't a grievance drum? You've struck the wrong drum! You'll be imprisoned and punished!"

"I know."

"Who are you going to sue?"

"To report things that no one in the world dares to report."

Suhe, holding the wooden box, answered truthfully.

The guard was stunned; these words were too weighty.

It was so grand that it was hard to tell whether it was madness or something deadly.

Another guard stepped closer and said in a lower voice, "Do you know that once the drum of petition sounds, no one can pretend they didn't hear it? If you're lying, being beaten to death here would be too lenient."

"Know."

"Then why are you still banging on it?"

"I have a fire burning inside me, and I have to get it out."

After Suhe finished speaking, he reached out and picked up the drumsticks.

The drumsticks were heavier than he had expected. He gripped them with both hands, and his shoulders tensed as he lifted them.

The guards wanted to stop them, but then stopped. The rules of the Dengwen Drum were there: they could stop people and ask questions, but if someone was determined to beat it with their life on the line, the guards could not kill them first.

The drumsticks fell.

thump.

When the first sound rang out, Suhe's ears rang.

It felt like I'd been hit in the chest.

Wherever the drumbeats sounded, everyone stopped what they were doing.

In the distance, the driver of the manure cart reined in his donkey, the wood seller put down his load, the imperial guards who were about to enter the palace gate to change their shifts turned around, and even a few old soldiers sweeping the street corner raised their faces.

Suhe raised the gavel again.

thump.

The second tone is stronger.

The pigeons by the stone platform were startled and took flight, their wings flapping wildly.

A constable came running from the street corner, shouting as he ran, "Who's beating the drum? Who's beating it?"

Early risers began to gather in this direction, craning their necks to watch from a distance.

"Sounding the petition drum?"

"Is this some kind of suicide attempt?"

"It's been six years since I last played the drums."

The third sound faded.

thump.

Suhe put down the drumsticks and knelt back down in front of the stone steps.

His arm was numb, but he still held the wooden box firmly.

The guards who were guarding the drum quickly came over, caught it, and their expressions changed again when they saw the cover of the box.

The cover had only two words: [Top Secret].

The characters were written neatly, the ink still fresh. The guard stared at the two characters and asked, "What's inside?"

Suhe said, "Evidence."

"What evidence?"

"I advise you not to watch it, watching it might easily bring you trouble."

The guard looked down at the box and then at the cover. He wasn't afraid of taking responsibility; those who guarded the drum were never afraid of anything.

But he was afraid that he might accidentally open something he shouldn't have, which would implicate his whole family.

Another guard asked in a low voice, "Should we dismantle it or not?"

"Demolish my ass."

The guard who received the box cursed, but then realized it was inappropriate and quickly shut up.

He turned to the patrolmen and said, "Clear the street, surround the stone platform, and don't allow any unauthorized personnel to approach."

The patrolman's scalp tightened: "Where should we report this?"

"According to the rules of the petition drum, report it to the authorities."

"Report to the palace gates?"

The guard glanced at Suhe.

Suhe knelt there facing the palace, her back straight, her eyes bloodshot but full of spirit, showing no intention of hiding.

The guard said, "Report to the Drum House first, then to the Office of Transmission."

The message was quickly sent out.

A minor official carrying the warrant ran through the first gate, and before he could catch his breath, he was taken away by someone else.

Inside the second gate, someone asked, "Why is the drum being beaten?"

"The clerk of the Xun Jin Division, named Su He, claims to be reporting something that no one in the world dares to report, and presents it in a top-secret wooden box."

"Who should we sue?"

"They refuse to say, only that those of lower status will lose their heads if they see this."

The person asking the question cursed it as absurd, but his eyes were already glancing at the wooden box.

The box wasn't opened, and the people at the second door didn't dare to open it either.

So we went through another door.

Inside the office of the Ministry of Justice, several clerks who were sorting through memorials from various regions stopped working as soon as they heard the words "Drum of Petition."

The person in charge emerged, wearing an outer robe, his face grim: "Who's risking their life for trouble so early in the morning?"

The messenger repeated the message.

When the person in charge heard "Seeking the Ashes," his brow twitched; when he heard "Top Secret Wooden Box," his lips fell into a deep smile.

"Sir, shall we examine the box first?"

"You'll test it?"

The clerk looked up at him, and immediately shut up.

The person in charge put his hands behind his back and took two steps around the room.

The Dengwen Drum is not something that cannot be suppressed. There have been cases of suppression over the years. Some people have gone mad, some have used the drum to extort money, and some have been tricked into coming to their deaths by their enemies. These are all easy to deal with.

But this time is different from the past.

The person who reported it to the authorities was from the Xun Jin Si (a secret police agency). The box was marked "Top Secret," and when put together, it had a strange smell.

The clerk had worked in the Office of Transmission for twenty years. He might not have many other skills, but he had a keen sense of smell when it came to getting information.

This box contains either madness or something that can drag people into deep water.

He didn't want to make a name for himself.

I just want to stay alive.

"Seal it off, do not open it."

The person in charge finally spoke, "Where are they?"

"Still kneeling under the drum."

"Bring it in."

The clerk was taken aback: "Enter the palace?"

The person in charge glanced at him as if he were a fool.

"According to the old practice of accepting petitions through the Dengwen Drum, one should first enter the Waiting Hall and wait for the Office of Transmission to verify the name."

He added another sentence.

"The wooden box goes with the person and is never handled privately."

The footsteps outside quickened.

More and more people gathered in the street to watch, and the guards herded them back, but Suhe remained kneeling in the same spot.

He heard doors open and close one after another.

Before long, a minor official in a blue robe hurried over, holding a document in his hand. When he reached the stone steps, he first looked at the succinct and then at the wooden box.

"Suhe?"

"Yes."

"The Office of Transmission issues an order: Enter the Hall of Waiting for Memorials."

Suhe raised her head.

He knew this road wouldn't get him to the emperor so quickly; the Yan Kingdom had too many gates, and the drum was only meant to shake the first one.

The palace gates were still far away, very high and very quiet. He picked up the wooden box and slowly stood up.

My legs went numb from kneeling, and I almost lost my balance on my first step. The drum guard reached out and helped me up.

"Thank you," Su He said softly.

The guard didn't reply, but simply reminded him, "Don't speak too quickly once you're inside."

Suhe smiled and said, "It's too late to slow down now."