“What was the date?” Magistrate Li said calmly.
“The twenty-eighth day of the ninth month.”
Magistrate Li looked to Shao Qing. “What day were you found by the orphanage, young man?”
Shao Qing looked up, his face pale. “The twenty-ninth day of the ninth month.”
Magistrate Li withdrew a few papers from his sleeve. “In case you insist on denying this, magistrate, I have personally visited the nearest orphanage from The Peony Pagoda today. Their records indicate that an infant boy by the name of Shao Qing had indeed entered their establishment on that day.”
Magistrate Bu’s eyes bulged. “So what? Are you claiming kinship with this boy? Thiscriminal?”
“I am,” a quiet, though commanding voice said. It was the middle-aged man, who Zhi Lan figured was Li Wen Jun, Magistrate Li’s son and Shao Qing’s birth father. Wen Jun stepped up beside his alleged son.
The resemblance was uncanny—and undeniable. They had the same straight nose, angled jaw, and slanted brows. Only Wen Jun had graying hair at his temples and worry lines around his mouth.
Zhi Lan felt like she was watching an opera unfold. Shao Qing, the long-lost grandson of a magistrate? She felt her head spin, and she swallowed the absurd urge to laugh at the irony.
“And what of it?” Magistrate Bu said, scowling. “Why would this old woman confess such a thing now?”
“I am to pass soon. I wish to free my soul of sins,” the old woman croaked. “I have put your silver to good use, my lord, and it has helped my family greatly. But it is black money, and I have no wish to bear this secret any longer.”
Magistrate Bu sputtered. “This is entirely unrelated to the case of thievery!”
“Funny my lord would mention that,” Lady Bu said. “Your thief seems to have missed his trial.”
The pair of guards dragged up the dirty stranger bound in ropes. Zhi Lan didn’t recognize him at all—not that she could see much of his face past the dirt and the matted hair. Was this another long-lost relative?
“I found this man detained here last night. But he was let out again this morning to ring the bell and turn himself in,” Lady Bu said. “The guards sayhewas the thief who stole from you, and this man admitted to it when I asked him. Imagine my surprise when I heard you had found another thief this morning.”
Zhi Lan expected Magistrate Bu to rant and rave again, but he remained silent, his thin lips pressed into a trembling line.
Magistrate Li considered this. “Did you steal a prized painting from Magistrate Bu?” he asked the rope-bound man.
The man whimpered. “N-no. Yes. I...Forgive me!” He kowtowed so violently he almost crashed into the floor.
“A madwoman and now a madman,” Magistrate Bu said, his upper lip curling.
“M-my lord, you p-promised that my family will be well taken care of if I confess today,” the man stammered. “Does this still hold true?”
“What in heaven's name are you speaking of? Guards, take him away!”
None of the guards moved. The secretary continued to scribble down the proceedings, his brush flying over the page.
The man began to weep, the tears washing the dirt from his cheeks. “Please, my lord, have mercy!”
“Magistrate Bu, perhaps you will be more comfortable here on the floor,” Magistrate Li said after a minute of silence broken only by the sobbing man.
Magistrate Bu slammed his hands on his desk. “This ismytribunal.”
“According to imperial law, the nearest magistrate takes over the ruling if the current magistrate is accused of wrongdoing.”
“Who dares accuse me?” Magistrate Bu demanded.
Magistrate Li blinked. “I do. I accuse you of deceit and abuse of power.”
“You—”
“Do you disagree with imperial law? Shall we go to the capital city to face the emperor?”
