Chapter 452 — Hard to Be the One

Chen Jia at once found himself in a difficult position.

Knowing Jiang Yan's temperament, she must already have explained herself to Lady Dou. Yet Lady Dou had still hurriedly sent word over—which meant she did not believe a word of it.

If he himself confirmed that he harbored no improper designs on Jiang Yan, would Lady Dou then misconstrue Jiang Yan instead?

Jiang Yan had grown up in the Li household. Though she shared blood with Song Yantang, their bond was thin; the Duke of Ying had refused to acknowledge her, and then the Wei He affair had befallen her. Staying in the Song house as she did, without proper name or standing, was awkward enough to begin with—it rested entirely on Song Yantang's and Lady Dou's protection. If Lady Dou were to misunderstand her, her situation would be worse than merely awkward; one misstep, and she might lose even the barest place to shelter herself.

And yet to let Song Yantang pin this filth on his head without a word... that was more than he could stomach.

He had clawed his way to where he stood today—was he to throw away his prospects over a charge with no basis at all?

Chen Jia paced the room until the third watch drum sounded; only then did he undress and get into bed.

But once in bed, sleep was no closer.

One moment he thought: Shao Wenji is locked in the imperial prison, and Song Yantang must be anxious to know what he has revealed. I could use that as an excuse to call on Song Yantang privately, and mention in passing that I have taken a fancy to some family's daughter and would like him to play the matchmaker for me—and the crisis would dissolve of its own accord. The next moment he thought: if Jiang Yan knew how eagerly I was cutting myself loose from her, would she think me a man who fawned on her while he found her useful and drew away the instant he soured—too worldly, too calculating, a man beneath her contempt?

Truly, both roads led nowhere.

He clearly had a fine way to extricate himself, and yet his heart would not settle—as though he had done something shameful.

No—when he had done shameful things before, he need only recall the cold looks he had met in his days of poverty, and that little unease would pass. This time, though, he truly could not make up his mind.

Chen Jia pulled the quilt over his head. The matter was what it was; even if he thought himself blind tonight, he could not see Song Yantang before morning, and so nothing could be settled until then. Better to wait for tomorrow and decide his course then.

Besides, he had no settled match in view to propose. However clever his plan, it still needed a living, breathing girl to make it work.

He forced his eyes shut.

But when he rose the next day, his trusted man at the Embroidered Uniform Guard's office came running to report: "Lord Shi has gone quietly to the imperial prison!"

"Lord Shi" meant Shi Chuan, commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

The imperial prison fell under the Guard's own office. That Shi Chuan should slip in there without a word gave Chen Jia a violent start. He pulled on his flying-fish robe and rushed to the prison.

But by the time he arrived, Shi Chuan had already gone.

He drew his trusted man aside and asked softly, "Whom did Lord Shi come to see?"

The man lowered his voice: "Shao Wenji."

As far as Chen Jia knew, there was no particular friendship between Shao Wenji and Shi Chuan.

A sense of foreboding crept over him. He ordered his man: "Quick—search Shao Wenji inside and out. Don't spare the gaps between his teeth."

The Emperor had grown more and more unpredictable these past years. He might throw a man into the imperial prison today and release him tomorrow. And anyone who rated a cell there was at least a great minister of one of the Six Ministries—no telling when someone might remember you. Once out, a man need do nothing but settle a few scores first. Until an edict of exile or degradation to commoner came down, the Guard's office would not lightly offend such a man, let alone subject him to the humiliation of a body search.

His man had long admired Chen Jia's foresight and asked no questions; he took men himself to search Shao Wenji.

They found a small, sharp blade hidden in Shao Wenji's crotch.

The man's face changed color. He brought the blade to Chen Jia.

Chen Jia ran his fingertip along the edge, his face blank—while inside, his mind churned like boiling water.

Why would Lord Shi do such a thing?

Who had set him to it?

A thought surfaced dimly in his mind. He felt as though his great patron, Song Yantang, were standing at the edge of a cliff.

Great beads of sweat stood out on Chen Jia's forehead.

He ordered his man: "Tell no one of this. Keep Shao Wenji under quiet watch—let no one notice. I'll be back shortly."

The man thought: Lord Chen has surely gone to someone for advice.

He assented respectfully.

Chen Jia went to a close friend of his, but sent Huzi to see Du Wei.

Within two hours, word came back from Du Wei: give Shao Wenji a single chopstick.

Chen Jia understood at once and returned to the imperial prison.

At the midday meal, Shao Wenji drove the broken chopstick into his own throat.

When Chen Jia sent men to save him, he smiled faintly at Chen Jia and breathed his last.

In the pool of blood, he looked ghastly beyond words.

Chen Jia gently closed his eyes and walked out of the cell.

What did Song Yantang know?

Why was it that a man several years younger than himself could conduct affairs with such seasoned ease?

As though all things under heaven lay in his palm—utterly assured, commanding with perfect calm.

When would he himself ever stand as tall and see as far as Song Yantang did?

Chen Jia's thoughts turned to Jiang Yan again.

What was he to do?

He had just done Song Yantang a good turn; if he asked for an audience now, Song Yantang would surely hear him out, at least for a few words.

This was a fine opportunity!

But if he went, what would become of Jiang Yan?

A man might have his romantic escapades, and a prodigal who mended his ways was worth more than gold; but a woman who exchanged ambiguous words and looks with another was guilty of private dealings, of wantonness and lewdness...

To go, or not to go?

Because of Shao Wenji's death, Chen Jia had been busy at the Zhenfu Division office until midnight before he returned home.

Once he entered Yuqiao Alley, he heard a clamor from outside.

He lifted the curtain and looked.

It was the young Lord Ji of the Ji family, seeing off his guests.

They were dressed in fine clothes, laughing and teasing one another.

The glow of the great red lanterns fell on their faces, and every brow bespoke smug satisfaction.

He could not help looking a few more times.

Huzi, who accompanied the sedan, hurried to explain: "It's the young Lord Ji of the Ji family. Before the Hanlin probationary period was even over, he was appointed censor of the Censorate, in charge of the grain and salt administration of the thirteen circuits of Jiangnan."

Chen Jia nodded and let the sedan curtain fall.

Yet in his heart he suddenly felt a little envy of Ji Yong.

A man like him, who studied steadily, earned his degree, and rose through the triennial examinations safely and surely to high office and the Grand Secretariat—surely he never had to rack his brains to curry favor with his superiors as Chen Jia did?

Men like them—even if they offended a superior, they could fling their seals in his face and stalk off, return to Jiangnan, and still be celebrated scholars, in bright clothes and fine horses, drinking and making merry as they pleased, losing themselves in mountains and rivers.

Chen Jia felt strangely weary.

He stepped down from the sedan a little unsteadily and made his way slowly toward the inner courtyard.

Let the matter of Jiang Yan be as it is!

He could not be bothered to explain or defend himself!

If Song Yantang wanted to misunderstand, then let him misunderstand!