Not Retreating an Inch

The death row is located in the northwest corner of Kyoto.

The entire structure is built of black stone blocks, with almost no windows, and the occasional sliver of light is barely enough to illuminate the space.

In the interrogation room, there was a long table with a prepared confession on it.

The official from the Ministry of Justice was in his thirties, with a neatly trimmed beard and a thumb ring on his hand.

He flipped through the case file, then lowered his head and said, "Su He, the former scribe of the Xun Jin Division, arbitrarily struck the Dengwen Drum, spread rumors and misled the public, made unfounded remarks about the late emperor, and disturbed the palace. Does he plead guilty?"

Su He looked up, her face pale:

"All my reports are supported by evidence."

"Ask you if you plead guilty."

"I want to meet the Emperor."

Suhe lost her balance and had to be held down by a constable to keep her from falling. "I need to see His Majesty."

The official from the Ministry of Justice raised his eyes.

You won't see it.

"According to the laws of Yan Kingdom, the Dengwen Drum is cast by the people, and the documents must be presented to the Emperor."

"Laws and regulations?"

The judge chuckled, closed the case file, and said, "The law also says that those who make false accusations will be beaten to death, and those who spread rumors will be beheaded. You certainly know how to pick the ones you like."

Suhe didn't want to argue and asked, "Where's my wooden box? There's evidence inside."

The official replied, "The items inside are fake; they have already been examined."

"Then let me see the person who will examine me!"

"It seems you still don't understand."

The interrogator placed the confession back on the table. "Su He, you've been in the Xun Jin Division for five years. You should know the rules. If they want you to live, you live. If they want you to die, a thousand pieces of evidence won't help."

Suhe stared at him: "Who's above?"

"How dare you!" The jailer's expression changed, and he kicked Su He in the shoulder.

Suhe was kicked and slammed into the iron chain, which rattled loudly. He coughed, and blood immediately came out of his mouth.

"I'll ask you one more time, do you plead guilty?"

"I don't acknowledge it!"

Suhe supported herself on the stone slab and slowly straightened her knees.

The official nodded, as if he had expected this, and put down his pen and raised his hand.

The jailer took the rattan whip down from the wall.

"Snapped!"

As the vine whip came down, Suhe's back tensed up abruptly.

The first blow hurt like my entire skin had been ripped off.

The second time, he clenched his teeth and made a sound.

On the third strike, the jailer, panting, yelled, "Speak up! Weren't you quite the talker just now?"

Suhe didn't speak; he simply pressed his forehead against the cold stone slab.

The interrogator looked at the incense on the table. After an inch of incense had burned out, he asked, "Do you plead guilty?"

Suhe lowered her head, blood flowing from under her nose to the corner of her mouth.

"I don't acknowledge it!"

Another round.

Suhe experienced dizziness several times, only to be woken up by being splashed with cold water.

The interrogator remained seated behind his desk, the tea was changed twice, and the confession was still placed in the most conspicuous position.

"Su He, you're just a lowly official, who gave you the audacity?"

Su He gasped for breath before finally managing to squeeze out a voice: "It was given to me by Yan Zu."

The jailer was stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting this guy to dare mention Yan Zu.

The interrogator narrowed his eyes: "What did you say?"

Suhe laughed, blood seeping from between his teeth: "When Yanzu established the country, he set up the Dengwen Drum to prevent petitioners from dying on the way and to prevent the people from having nowhere to appeal their grievances."

He raised his head, and his voice gradually grew louder.

"You wear the official robes of the Yan Kingdom and receive the salary of the Yan Kingdom, yet you fear that a mere clerk might pass a word to His Majesty."

"Who gave me the guts? Heh heh..."

Suhe coughed up a mouthful of blood, which splattered onto the stone slab.

The jailer's face turned red, and he raised his iron ruler to strike again.

Suhe shouted towards the back of the desk, "The decline of the Yan Kingdom is the work of you parasites! If this were three hundred years ago, the Yan Ancestor would have executed you and your entire clan!"

The shouts echoed in the torture chamber. A passing jailer paused briefly outside the door before quickly walking away.

The smile on the official's face vanished.

He stood up, walked over to Su He, bent down and looked down at him: "These words are enough to kill you three times over."

Suhe stared at the other party without backing down.

The official's eye twitched, and he flicked his sleeve: "Make him leave his handprint."

This time, the jailer stopped trying any tricks and called over a new jailer to bring over the clamps.

The wooden stick was looped around his finger, the rope was pulled tight, and Suhe fell forward.

Many images flashed through his mind: his childhood dreams of studying in Chengtian Prefecture, the triumph of passing the imperial examinations, and the five taels of silver that Wu Huaiyi had given him that he had not yet returned.

He recalled the things he had saved up for five years, and not even a drop of water splashed on them.

He originally thought that as long as there was enough evidence and he acted justly, there would always be a place in the world where reason could prevail.

Only now do I realize how deep the waters of the imperial court are, so deep that a person sinks before even seeing the surface.

Why not let Cha Yanzu be allowed to participate?

Who is preventing it?

A powerful family? The Grand Secretary? Or even His Majesty...?

Suhe's vision grew increasingly dark.

"Do you admit it or not?" The questioner's voice seemed to fade into the distance.

His lips moved as if he wanted to say "no," but no sound came out.

"Sir, he has fainted."

"Splash it to wake me up."

The cold water was poured over Suhe, but her head remained drooping, and she didn't move.

The jailer crouched down and checked his breathing: "He's still breathing, but if we do it again, he might really be gone."

The official stared at Su He with a stern face for a long time.

He didn't want to go through the procedures anymore.

The notice only stated that the execution would take place in ten days, without specifying what kind of compelling confession was required. Although I was working for the Office of Transmission, I still had to keep a record of it.

After returning to the case, he wrote another confession.

The charges, the confessions, and the escort to the West Market ten days later—everything was settled.

The official picked up his pen, added a date at the end, and then said to the jailer, "Hand."

The jailer grabbed Suhe's right hand and pressed his thumb into the inkpad. The red inkpad was mixed with blood. The interrogating officer held Suhe's hand and pressed it onto the confession.

A crooked fingerprint fell.

The official examined it and was barely satisfied.

......

The cell had no windows, and it was pitch black all around.

When Suhe woke up again, she could no longer distinguish between day and night.

The surroundings smelled damp and rotten. Their hands and feet were shackled with iron chains, the other end of which was embedded in the wall.

Suhe's throat was so dry and tight that she wanted to shout for water, but as soon as she moved her lips, her chest ached terribly.

dying.

These three words, though seemingly insignificant, have become a reality.

Su He had previously wondered if submitting evidence would lead to suppression, loss of his position, or imprisonment.

He had also thought about dying.

But he never expected that he would be thrown into a death row cell before he could even utter a complete sentence.

Perhaps in less than ten days, his body will rot in prison.

Water droplets fell from deep within the prison cell.

One sound, one sound.

Suhe lay on the straw and tried to raise his hand, but the chains only rattled once before his hand fell back down.

How about we leave it like this...?

The sound of dripping water was like a folk song her mother used to sing when she was a child. Su He relaxed and her gaze slowly fell.

The darkness of death slowly engulfed us.

But... there's always a lingering sense of dissatisfaction.

No, I'm very unwilling to accept it.

I am unwilling to accept that all the old files I've reviewed, the unofficial histories I've copied, and the lamp oil I've burned over the years have all turned into heresies.

They were also unwilling to accept that while that person was still alive, the Yan Kingdom portrayed him as an evil cultivator from another continent.

He didn't even dare to think about what kind of look that person would have if he returned to Kyoto someday.

Suhe's eyelids twitched up little by little again.

He used his still-functioning left hand to support himself on the ground, his fingernails scraping the floor tiles with force.

The first stroke didn't leave a mark.

The second time, lift the nail up slightly.

On the third stroke, a faint white mark finally appeared on the floor tile.

Su He took a long breath and continued to draw, drawing all the clues in the dark and sunless dungeon, at least to prove that he had been there and had tried.

After writing each character, Suhe would pause for a while, her fingernails cracking, blood flowing down her fingertips and mixing with the brick dust.

He wrote very slowly, but with great effort.

Finally, he wrote four words on the wall, words that were more certain than ever before.

[The Ancestor Yan is not dead.]

The two characters "Yan Zu" were covered in blood.

Su He stared down at the two words, a smile of no regret appearing on her lips.

If he had to choose again, he would still choose the same thing.

If you're not passionate when you're young, you really won't dare to be when you're old.