Chapter Two: A Skillful Confrontation in Court

It was hard to tell whether the people of this era were especially keen on court trials, or if certain parties had deliberately fanned the flames, but at this very moment, the entire space outside the county hall was packed with onlookers, layer upon layer, all eager for a spectacle.

When word spread that today’s case concerned a particularly vile act of assault, with the victim none other than the renowned Widow Wang of Sweetwater Alley, the crowd’s fervor reached a fever pitch—outrage surged through the masses, and every cry for justice drew a hundred responses, unstoppable as a tide.

A resounding crack split the air as the judge’s wooden gavel struck the desk.

“Insolent commoner, why do you not kneel before this court?” the magistrate thundered from his seat, his eyes wide with wrath. Two rows of stern bailiffs bolstered the authority of the hall with their imposing presence.

If he had to count, it must have been in a previous life that Feng Jingzhe had watched such courtroom scenes play out over and over on television—yet now, standing within the drama itself, he couldn’t help but find it novel.

He quickly recalled the identity that came with this body: a viscount of the fourth rank, which, according to the hierarchy of nobility—duke, marquis, count, viscount, baron—conferred upon him considerable privilege.

“I am a viscount of the fourth rank. Tell me, Magistrate, does one of my standing need to kneel before you?” Feng Jingzhe could have sworn upon the plaque overhead that his question arose purely from ignorance of the contemporary rights of nobility, with not a hint of sarcasm or mockery.

But judging by the flush creeping up the magistrate’s face, it was clear the man had taken it another way entirely.

Another sharp crack resounded. “And what of your title? Did not His Majesty say: ‘Should the Son of Heaven break the law, he is subject to the same punishment as the common folk!’ Feng Jingzhe, do you recognize your crime? If you know what’s good for you, recount every detail of how you assaulted Wang Meier last night, lest you suffer for your obstinance…”

“What nonsense! How can I confess to something I never did?” Feng Jingzhe retorted at once, his voice steady and sure. In the merged memories of his soul and the body’s former owner, there was no trace of such an event. In other words, it was plain someone was framing him.

“You, even if you were reduced to ashes, I’d know you!” The voice that rang out was sweet and alluring, the kind that could melt a man’s bones at a single note. “Oh, honorable magistrate, you must grant justice to a defenseless woman…”

At the sound of that voice, Feng Jingzhe turned his head, unable to suppress a silent exclamation of admiration.

What a ripe beauty—this was a woman in her prime, her figure and features reminiscent of a modern star, almond eyes, peach-blossom cheeks, and a bosom that defied modesty. Anyone with sense could appreciate the sight.

She looked to be in her early thirties—a prime age, if born in this era, when a woman’s allure was at its zenith.

“Hold on, young lady,” Feng Jingzhe called out, “I admit you’re very beautiful, but your words carry legal weight. If you claim I violated you last night, do you have evidence to support such a serious accusation?”

Wang Meier turned, a tear glimmering at the corner of her eye, her pearly teeth biting her red lip as she glared at him with anger and grievance mingled.

By heaven, it would take more than a decade of stage training to display such vivid, compelling emotion.

“Your honor, in his haste last night, this beast left behind his personal silk belt. I ask you to bring him to justice, and restore my honor…” As she spoke, a bailiff stepped forward, presenting a white silk belt.

The magistrate’s gavel fell hard. “Feng Jingzhe, with this physical evidence before us, what more do you have to say in your defense?”

Is this for real? Feng Jingzhe cursed inwardly. Was justice in ancient times so slipshod? Just a belt, and that was enough to condemn a man?

No, it was clear from the start the magistrate had been intent on extracting a confession and pinning the crime on him. This elaborate show was merely to appease the onlookers with a semblance of due process.

As expected, the moment the belt was presented, a wave of commotion swept through the crowd outside the hall, and agitators began to stir things up.

“That scoundrel surnamed Feng ought to be cut into a thousand pieces! In the twenty-four years since the founding of Wei, there has never been such atrocity in Chang’an!”

“And he’s a viscount? Bah! Poor Wang Meier…”

“He deserves to die for defiling our Meier! Drown him in a pig cage—let him be sunk in the Bian River for his crime!”

“I say we should cut off his… let him spend the rest of his days as a eunuch! Sweetwater Alley’s Widow Wang deserves justice…”

“To hell with that! Off with his head! My heart still aches with fury…”

Bunch of fools, brainless fans—Feng Jingzhe seethed inwardly. He memorized their faces, vowing to settle accounts once he survived this ordeal.

Just as he was about to retort, a voice called out urgently from beyond the crowd.

“Master! Master, I’m here! I’ve brought reinforcements—make way, let me through…”

Through the jostling throng came a middle-aged man in a black robe bearing a quail insignia, a bullhorn belt at his waist, led hastily by Li Changsheng.

His official robes matched those of the presiding magistrate, both of the ninth rank.

“I am Fang Shaoyan, Vice Minister of Rites and Sacrificial Affairs!” the newcomer declared. “Master Dou, do you know what you’re doing? Release him at once!”

Fang Shaoyan’s face was flushed; he had rushed here as soon as he heard the news, fearing that if he was a moment too late, things would spiral out of control. He had personally brought Feng Jingzhe from Pingyang to Chang’an ahead of the imperial decree. Whether or not the Emperor ultimately bestowed the marriage, until then, the betrothed could not be condemned for such a crime. Otherwise, whose face would be lost?

At this thought, a chill ran down Fang Shaoyan’s neck. The magistrate Dou, by contrast, looked as dark as a lump of coal.

“Lord Fang, this is the Chang’an County Office. I am the magistrate presiding over this trial. It is not your place as a vice minister to interfere.”

“Ha! A trial? What sort of case is this? Is your so-called justice nothing more than condemning a man based on a woman’s word?”

Fang Shaoyan was all in—no matter what, he had to make a scene, at least until Magistrate Dou adjourned and remanded Feng Jingzhe to custody. He had already sent word to his superior, the Minister of Rites, who might at this very moment be entering the palace. As long as he could delay, there was hope things could be salvaged.

But Magistrate Dou could see right through his ploy. He had orders from high above and had no intention of letting Fang succeed. If Fang wanted to make a storm into a drizzle, then Dou would make the drizzle a deluge.

“We have the silk belt as evidence—how dare you twist the facts! Lord Fang, do not think that because the Emperor might bestow a marriage between this man and General Zhenxi, you can curry favor in advance.”

“You—you slanderous knave!”

Fang Shaoyan’s heart sank. Now that Feng Jingzhe’s identity had been revealed, there was no hope of smoothing things over quietly.

Outside, the crowd erupted into chaos at the news.

“What nonsense! Could it be? So he’s that notorious wastrel!”

“The Northern Sea General—peerless heroine, savior of the nation—how could she be wed to such scum?”

“She led eight thousand cavalry to rout a hundred thousand Western Qiang—she is a hero of Wei! Is this how the court repays its champions? No wonder the border troops will lose heart!”

“Then again, rumor has it that this wastrel was betrothed to the General since childhood…”

“Nonsense! No matter what the betrothal, I’ll be the first to oppose the General marrying such filth!”

“Yes! We all oppose it!”

“Beat him to death! Kill this scoundrel!”

No one could tell who started the outcry, but suddenly the crowd surged as one, trying to storm the hall, and the three squads of bailiffs struggled to hold them back.