PCA Chapter 188

After coming to his senses, Su Cen frowned and looked around. Confirming no one was nearby, he pulled Cui Hao up and whispered, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

 

Cui Hao’s hands tightly gripped Su Cen’s arms, “Prime Minister Liu, he…”

 

Su Cen winced from the grip and nodded toward his front door, “Let’s go inside to talk.”

 

After entering and barring the door, and instructing Ah Fu to refuse all visitors, Su Cen finally relaxed and turned to look at Cui Hao, “Weren’t you supposed to have left already?”

 

For an exiled official to return to the capital without permission was a serious crime, and harboring such a person would also implicate the host. Cui Hao didn’t care about himself—losing such a powerless position in the wilderness was no great loss—but he didn’t want to implicate Su Cen, so he said guiltily, “Don’t worry, no one saw me.”

 

Su Cen wasn’t really afraid of being implicated, but given today’s events, he was uncertain about the exact relationship between Cui Hao and Liu Cheng, and how much Cui Hao knew about Liu Cheng’s affairs.

 

After hesitating, he said, “Let’s talk inside.”

 

Once they were seated in the room, before Su Cen could ask anything, Cui Hao spoke first: “Has something happened to Prime Minister Liu?”

 

Su Cen shifted focus, asking pointedly: “Where is your mother?”

 

Cui Hao was momentarily confused, then understood that Su Cen was concerned for him, worried that if his unauthorized return was discovered, it would implicate his elderly mother. He lowered his head and replied, “Don’t worry, I’ve arranged for her to be in a safe place where no one can find her.”

 

Only then did Su Cen feel somewhat relieved. He narrowed his eyes, “I heard you just called Prime Minister Liu—Zhongpei?”

 

Only close associates would address each other by courtesy names. Even though Liu Cheng and Cui Hao were colleagues, their ranks differed greatly, making such address somewhat presumptuous. But the person seemed genuinely sincere, so Su Cen asked directly, “What is your relationship with Prime Minister Liu?”

 

Cui Hao realized he had blurted this out in his urgency. After hesitating, realizing he was here to ask Su Cen for help and that insufficient sincerity could get him thrown out at any moment, he tilted his head and said vaguely, “Whatever relationship you have with Prince Ning, that’s the relationship I have with Zhongpei.”

 

Su Cen suddenly understood.

 

No wonder Cui Hao had angrily struck the person who spoke ill of Liu Cheng at the Moon Worship Ceremony, no wonder he had argued passionately for Liu Cheng in court, and no wonder Liu Cheng, as Prime Minister, had condescended to see Cui Hao off at the city gates.

 

Moreover, as soon as Cui Hao left, Liu Cheng went to the Dali Temple to confess.

 

Looking at Cui Hao’s current state, he apparently didn’t yet know about Liu Cheng’s situation. Su Cen asked, “How did you know Prime Minister Liu was in trouble?”

 

“He really is in trouble?!” Cui Hao’s fingers stiffened as they twisted together, “I knew he was lying to me. Otherwise, otherwise…”

 

Otherwise, how could he bear to send him so far away? If it were truly important retention in court, how could he have no real power at all?

 

“He went to the Dali Temple,” Su Cen looked at Cui Hao intently, “He said he killed Tian Pingzhi.”

 

“Impossible!” Cui Hao shot up from his seat.

 

Su Cen’s eyes flickered slightly, “You know about Tian Pingzhi?”

 

Cui Hao paced back and forth in the room, “He… he once admired Zhongpei, so I know about him.”

 

“How do you know he admired Prime Minister Liu?”

 

“He wrote a poem for Zhongpei, which I found,” Cui Hao lowered his head hesitantly, then continued, “I confronted Zhongpei with that poem, demanding to know who Tian Pingzhi was. After much persistence, he finally told me that the person named Tian Pingzhi was already dead.”

 

Su Cen said, “‘All sounds harmonize to startle the phoenix pendant, the thoroughfare of nine provinces descends from heaven’—was that the poem?”

 

Cui Hao looked at Su Cen in shock, “How do you know?”

 

Su Cen smiled lightly, not answering but asking instead, “You say he admired Prime Minister Liu, but what about Prime Minister Liu’s feelings toward him?”

 

“Zhongpei didn’t!” Cui Hao bit his lip hard, “Before meeting me, he never knew… never knew he could be with men, and that he could… only be with men. He married and took concubines but never had children—don’t you find that strange? When he met Tian Pingzhi, he understood nothing at all. Faced with Tian Pingzhi’s bold declarations of love, he could only feel confused and avoid him. It wasn’t until I confronted him with that poem that he understood Tian Pingzhi’s feelings.”

 

“He always kept that poem as a memento of a deceased friend, and even complained when I wrinkled it,” Cui Hao pressed his lips lightly, “He may have opposed you in court a few times, but that was merely because we served different masters. He would absolutely never kill anyone!”

 

“He confessed personally,” Su Cen looked up at Cui Hao, “His testimony was detailed, and the specifics were credible. It didn’t seem false.”

 

“Impossible!” Cui Hao glared angrily, “He… he… On Tian Pingzhi’s death anniversary each year, he goes to the examination hall to pay his respects. He couldn’t have killed him!”

 

Su Cen’s heart sank. So it was paying respects.

 

Would a murderer visit his victim’s grave every year to pay respects?

 

Liu Cheng only understood Tian Pingzhi’s feelings later, so it wasn’t for love. He submitted a blank paper during the examination, so it probably wasn’t for fame either. Moreover, from Cui Hao’s words, Su Cen couldn’t sense any hatred from Liu Cheng toward Tian Pingzhi—it seemed more like guilt and remorse.

 

This also confirmed his earlier suspicion that Liu Cheng might be the blade, but someone else was wielding it.

 

Lost in thought, he heard a thud and looked up to see Cui Hao kneeling before him. Just as he was about to stop him, Cui Hao spoke earnestly: “Zhongpei must have been used by someone. I beg you, let me see him. Whatever you want to know, I’ll help you ask.”

 

The next day when Su Cen went to work, a black-clad guard followed behind him, hooded and keeping his head very low, with an air of keeping strangers at bay. But precisely because of this, he attracted even more attention.

 

Su Cen was followed by gazes all the way back to his office. After closing the door, he couldn’t help but sigh—how had he been possessed to agree to let this person follow him to the Dali Temple?

 

The hood was removed, revealing a handsome profile with a slightly furrowed brow—it was Cui Hao.

 

“Why aren’t we going to see Zhongpei?” Cui Hao asked anxiously.

 

“Be patient,” Su Cen seated himself and brewed a pot of tea. “It’s work hours now, with many people and loose tongues outside. You’ll have to wait until they’re all settled before I can take you there. Do you remember what I told you?”

 

Cui Hao nodded, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone discover me. I’ll help you find out who’s behind this.”

 

Su Cen said: “Prime Minister Liu is now determined to die, insisting he’s the murderer. First, you need to give him the will to live.”

 

Cui Hao pressed his lips together, his fingertips digging deep into his palms. Determined to die… He had the courage to die, so why didn’t he have the courage to leave with him?

 

On the way here, he had already heard plenty of gossip. The current Prime Minister, a model for scholars from humble backgrounds throughout the empire, had fallen overnight to become a rat everyone wanted to beat. Zhongpei usually cared most about his reputation—if he heard this, how heartbroken he would be.

 

After finishing the pot of tea, Su Cen slowly stood up and said to Cui Hao: “Let me be clear first—our Dali Temple reviews cases from across the empire but doesn’t manage prisons, so the cell conditions aren’t very good. You need to be mentally prepared.”

 

Avoiding work hours, the Dali Temple was much quieter. Su Cen led Cui Hao toward the temporary prison. Though Cui Hao had been eager to fly to Liu Cheng’s side immediately, the closer they got, the heavier his steps became.

 

Upon entering the prison, a chill hit them, full of dampness mixed with a faint stench—cold, dark, like a place the sun could never reach.

 

Su Cen hadn’t lied. The Dali Temple’s cells held prisoners awaiting trial for unresolved cases, with numbers determined by current caseloads. When lucky, one cell might hold just one prisoner; when unlucky, a cell of just a few square feet might be crammed with over ten people.

 

Fortunately, autumn had just passed, the weather had turned cool, and the smell wasn’t as intense as in summer. A batch of condemned prisoners had been executed, so there was no overcrowding.

 

Even so, Cui Hao couldn’t help but frown. His Zhongpei, such a refined person—how could he live in such a place?

 

“Zhongpei wouldn’t kill anyone,” Cui Hao said softly. “He usually doesn’t even dare kill a chicken—how could he dare kill a person?”

 

As soon as he finished speaking, a jailer’s alarmed cry rang out from the cells: “Prime Minister Liu has killed someone!”

 

Su Cen paused, and in his moment of confusion, felt a gust of wind pass by as a figure rushed past him.

 

Recognizing the silhouette, Su Cen stamped his foot and hurried after him, cursing inwardly as he ran—all his earlier words had fallen on deaf ears, not giving him a moment’s peace!

 

Fortunately, Cui Hao stopped himself. When Su Cen caught up, he saw Cui Hao frozen in place, just a few steps from Liu Cheng’s cell, his legs seeming filled with lead, unable to move another inch.

 

Su Cen looked at the scene before him. The cell was in chaos, with Liu Cheng pinned to the ground by several guards, still struggling fiercely, while in the adjacent cell, a gray-haired figure was hunched over, coughing desperately.

 

Su Cen frowned and asked the nearby jailer: “What happened here?”

 

“Lord Su,” the jailer said somewhat sheepishly, “we don’t know what happened either. Following your orders, we went to arrest Zhang He. We just brought him back this morning, and in the blink of an eye, these two started fighting.”

 

“Probably mutual accusations,” the jailer lowered his voice. “You didn’t see Prime Minister Liu’s demeanor just now—biting ears, strangling necks, completely undignified. The fierce look in his eyes was terrifying, as if he wouldn’t stop until he strangled Zhang He to death.”

 

Su Cen gave the jailer a cold look: “Who told you to put them together?”

 

The jailer, having his flattery rebuffed, quietly defended himself: “But they’re not together.”

 

Indeed, they were in separate cells. If not for the wooden bars between them, Zhang He would probably be dead by now.

 

Su Cen frowned: “Separate them.”

 

The jailer acknowledged the order and immediately instructed his subordinates to handle it. Only after the barely surviving Zhang He was dragged away did Su Cen raise his hand, and the guards restraining Liu Cheng carefully released him. Seeing that he had finally stopped going mad, they cautiously retreated.

 

Su Cen looked down at the man lying on the ground—disheveled hair, clothes in disarray, blood still on his lips from biting Zhang He—where was any trace of his former dignity?

 

“Why did you want to kill him?” Su Cen asked, looking down.

 

Liu Cheng seemed to have exhausted his strength and only turned his head to smile: “Why does Lord Su like asking ‘why’ so much? I found him displeasing and wanted to kill him, so I did.”

 

“You wanted to avenge Tian Pingzhi,” Su Cen said pointedly.

 

Liu Cheng stopped smiling, his lips gradually pressing together, making the blood on them appear even more strikingly red.

 

“You clearly had feelings for Tian Pingzhi. You cared about him, which is why you were so vicious toward Zhang He, who heartlessly buried Tian Pingzhi alive,” Su Cen narrowed his eyes slightly. “You hate whoever killed Tian Pingzhi, so why would you admit to being his murderer? What could be more important than life?”

 

“There is… *cough cough*…” Liu Cheng slowly leaned against the wooden bars and sat up, his eyes slightly lowered, saying softly: “There is.”

 

The jailers who had been rearranging the cells finished their work and gradually withdrew. A dark figure stepped forward from the shadows, only removing his hood when he reached the cell door. Gripping the wooden bars, his voice began to tremble: “Zhongpei…”

 

 

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