Poets and Murder

That same day the Censor opened the investigation. All courtiers who had been cognisant of the scheme and all other accomplices of the prince were summarily executed. For although the Emperor had been willing to forgive the prince because of his sick mind, there was no excuse for the other plotters. During the hectic days that followed a number of false accusations were filed — evil people trying to utilize the opportunity for ridding themselves of personal enemies, as often happens in such serious cases with wide ramifications. The Censor had sifted these accusations, most of them anony­mous, with meticulous care. Among them was a long, un­signed letter, stating that the retired General Mo Te-ling had been in the plot, and that incriminating correspondence with the Ninth Prince could be found hidden in such and such a place, in the general's women's quarters. The Censor had the general's mansion searched, the letters were indeed found in the place indicated, and he was arrested on a charge of high treason. The general denied everything, maintaining that the letters were forged and planted in his mansion by some old enemy. Now the Censor knew that General Mo, thinking he had been passed over for promotion, had resigned from the service before his time and gone into retirement in his native district of Chin-hwa, brooding over his wrongs. Former associates of the general testified that he had often talked to them about impending changes, that would give all able men a chance to come into their own. The Censor studied the letters and found them perfectly authentic. The general was convicted and executed together with his two adult sons, as dictated by the harsh law on high treason. All his posses­sions were confiscated by the State.

Judge Dee leaned back into his chair. It was a fascinating account, and the fact that he was studying it here in the same tribunal where the sensational trial had been enacted gave it an immediacy that most old legal documents lacked. The judge selected the file listing the members of the general's household and his confiscated possessions. Suddenly he sucked in his breath. The general had had three wives, and two con­cubines. The surname of the second concubine was Soong. There were no further details about her, for she had not been questioned: she had committed suicide by hanging herself on the evening of the third day of the second month, one day before the Censor had arrived in Chin-hwa. She had given the general one son, named I-wen, who had been five years old when disaster struck the Mo household. Everything fitted! This was, at long last, the clue he had been hoping to find! He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile.

Suddenly, however, the smile froze on his face. The student had come back to avenge his father. This could only mean that Soong had discovered proof that General Mo had been inno­cent, that he suspected the writer of the anonymous letter of having planted the evidence, and therefore considered him as his father's murderer. And the fact that this unknown man had murdered the student was irrefutable proof that the student had been right. Heavens, there had been a terrible miscarriage of justice, eighteen years ago!

The judge took the dossier with the record of the hearing of the case. Slowly tugging at his whiskers, he read it through. There was but one point in General Mo's favour, namely that none of the other plotters had known that the Ninth Prince had won the general to his cause. The Censor, however, had dismissed this on the grounds that the Ninth Prince had been over-suspicious, and distrusted his own confederates. He had based his case on the letters found in the general's residence. These were in the handwriting of the prince, on his own private letter-paper, and provided with his own personal seal.

Shaking his head, Judge Dee selected the text of the anony­mous letter. It was a chancery copy in the indifferent hand­writing of a clerk, all original documentary evidence having been forwarded to the capital. But judging by the impeccable style, it must have been written by an accomplished man of letters. In the margin was a copy of the Censor's personal comment: 'This letter probably emanates from a disgruntled courtier. Check content and handwriting at once.' Reading the next document, Judge Dee found that despite all efforts by the Censor's men the writer had not been identified. The government had issued a proclamation promising him a sub­stantial reward, but no one had come forward to claim it.