Chapter 28: Death Row Test Subjects

Jiang Mingyu, wearing his new blue official robe and black gauze cap, left the palace under the escort of Tukesulu; by the time they returned to the Tang residence, it was evening.

Master Zhang had long hoped Jiang Mingyu would be successfully promoted, so when he returned, he was naturally delighted.

Upon seeing the blue official robe in Jiang Mingyu’s hands, Master Zhang knew the Emperor had not disappointed him—he had been promoted—and this filled him with genuine joy.

Yet when Master Zhang noticed a member of the Embroidered Uniform Guard following Jiang Mingyu behind him, he froze in surprise.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard was established solely to protect the Emperor’s safety—why would one be assigned to Jiang Mingyu’s side?

Jiang Mingyu had returned, yet Master Zhang still felt too many mysteries remained unsolved.

What had Jiang Mingyu encountered that, despite his promotion, now required the escort of an Embroidered Uniform Guard?

Everything seemed too mysterious, leaving no clear trail to follow.

This made Master Zhang begin to worry: could Jiang Mingyu’s promotion conceal some hidden danger, quietly surging beneath the surface?

Before Master Zhang could speak, Tang Yuci asked first: “May I ask, sir, who is this officer?”

Tukesulu bowed and introduced himself: “Your servant, Tukesulu, of Mongol descent, Deputy Commander of the Imperial Bodyguard, ordered by imperial decree to provide close protection to Lord Jiang.”

Upon hearing Tukesulu claimed he was sent by imperial order to protect Jiang Mingyu, Master Zhang’s heart filled with suspicion.

The Emperor had entrusted Jiang Mingyu with this investigation, seemingly full of trust—why then did he need a personal guard? This defied logic and was hard to comprehend.

Moreover, Tukesulu was Mongol, yet held the post of Deputy Commander of the Imperial Bodyguard—this too seemed unusual.

The Emperor traditionally favored Han officials and rarely entrusted key roles to ethnic minorities.

Thus, Tukesulu’s very identity stirred unease in Master Zhang.

Altogether, Master Zhang concluded Tukesulu’s true mission was most likely to monitor Jiang Mingyu’s words and actions—not to protect him.

The Emperor’s outward display of trust in Jiang Mingyu concealed, in secret, a spy—this made Master Zhang suspect the matter was far more complex, hiding unknown truths.

“Hahaha… Lord Tuk, please come inside.”

Jiang Mingyu said politely: “My home is large, but few in number—I’ll have someone prepare a vacant room for you…”

With that, Jiang Mingyu ordered Master Xie to select an empty room in the annex, tidy it up, and prepare it for Tukesulu’s stay.

“No!” Tukesulu said firmly: “I am ordered to provide close protection—I must not stray more than ten paces from Lord Tang! Staying in the annex… would be too far.”

Tukesulu’s insistence on close protection left Jiang Mingyu embarrassed.

He had never been under constant surveillance before, so he had no experience with it—and naturally felt flustered.

The Emperor, raised with lifelong bodyguards, took such arrangements for granted, and this difference made Jiang Mingyu feel even more awkward.

Master Zhang suggested: “There’s a small storage room beside the study, separated from Lord Tang by only one wall. If Lord Tuk doesn’t mind, he may stay there—what do you think?” Tukesulu immediately nodded in agreement.

Though Master Zhang’s proposal eased the immediate awkwardness, Jiang Mingyu’s inner unease remained hard to dispel.

He was still unaccustomed to constant surveillance, and Tukesulu’s presence introduced too many unknowns.

This inevitably made Jiang Mingyu doubt whether he could truly relax—or whether he could even judge that yet.

That night, after settling Tukesulu, Jiang Mingyu discussed the case with Master Zhang in the study.

Though he had spent the entire day at the Ministry of Justice, Jiang Mingyu remained utterly baffled by the case.

He had never dealt with criminal investigations, knew nothing of the field, and faced with the sudden death of the late Emperor and the fall of Chancellor Mei, he was completely lost.

Fortunately, he had Master Zhang beside him.

Though Master Zhang himself had no background in criminal investigations, he still offered Jiang Mingyu considerable help in strategy and planning.

With Master Zhang’s aid, Jiang Mingyu began to untangle some threads and gained a basic understanding of the case.

Though both lacked experience, their cooperation might compensate for each other’s weaknesses and ultimately unravel the mystery.

Now, they had gradually found direction; next, they needed to pursue every clue to piece together the full truth.

This required close coordination, each applying their own strengths, to achieve twice the result with half the effort. Only then might they hope to solve the case.

“I don’t understand…” Jiang Mingyu said, perplexed: “If it was an overdose, why did the Emperor initially insist on investigating it as regicide?”

“You don’t know this yet…” Master Zhang continued: “Investigating the medicine seeks the truth; but earlier, pursuing people was the Emperor’s true intent!”

“True intent?” Jiang Mingyu was even more confused.

Despite Master Zhang’s explanation, Jiang Mingyu remained baffled.

If the Emperor truly only wanted to uncover the truth of overdose, why had he so adamantly suspected regicide from the start?

This contradictory behavior left Jiang Mingyu completely unable to fathom the Emperor’s intentions.

Master Zhang: “The late Emperor died suddenly, leaving behind a nest of factional allies; the Emperor intends to use this case to purge treachery and restore order.”

“Oh… I see.” Jiang Mingyu seemed to grasp something and added: “The eunuch faction’s Nine Thousand Years fell the day after the late Emperor’s death; and Chancellor Mei of the Mei faction was removed within just this afternoon!”

“The eunuch faction must fall—I fear…” Master Zhang hesitated.

“What do you fear?” Jiang Mingyu asked.

Master Zhang: “Among factions, the Mei faction ranks second; if targeting factions, you should first dismantle the most powerful—the He Chancellor.”

Jiang Mingyu: “Then why… was Chancellor Mei removed first?”

Yet when Jiang Mingyu finally understood the Emperor’s true intent, he realized the case’s progression did not match what the Emperor desired.

The most powerful He Chancellor, who should have been removed first, had inexplicably been bypassed—Chancellor Mei fell instead.

This abnormal turn left both Jiang Mingyu and Master Zhang deeply puzzled.

Master Zhang thought a moment, then said: “Shoot the horse before the rider—I suspect… the shot missed; the Emperor meant to shoot the horse, but accidentally hit the rider!”

Jiang Mingyu: “What do you mean?”

For a moment, Jiang Mingyu felt dizzy and overwhelmed.

The case’s progression seemed unusual, with too many inconsistencies he couldn’t untangle.

The Emperor’s actions were equally incomprehensible—utterly baffling.

Now, they seemed to have glimpsed some truth, yet perhaps still far from the full picture.

Master Zhang: “Perhaps even the Emperor didn’t expect that the Mei Chancellor was the one colluding with the eunuchs over ‘One Night Seven Times Pills’!”

Master Zhang paused here, falling into a long silence.

Jiang Mingyu didn’t idle—he spread out ink, brush, paper, and began drawing a web of relationships among all involved.

Perhaps, in this labyrinth of twists, the truth lay hidden within these tangled connections.

Now was the time to slowly dismantle this maze.

“I understand!” Master Zhang said after organizing his thoughts: “The Emperor intends to use the investigation into the origin of the ‘One Night Seven Times Pills’ to redirect suspicion toward the He Chancellor!”

Now, though Master Zhang and Jiang Mingyu had grasped the Emperor’s goal—to use the case to eliminate the He Chancellor—they might not easily prevent it from happening.

“Then what should we do?” Jiang Mingyu asked hesitantly: “Should we side with the He Chancellor… or with the Emperor?”

At this, Master Zhang burst into laughter! He hadn’t expected Jiang Mingyu, after only one year in the capital, had already fully adapted to court politics—and he deeply admired him; no wonder he was the newly crowned top scholar, truly gifted.

Master Zhang: “The He Chancellor is old, his power waning; the He faction’s fall is merely a matter of time; if we must choose, we must stand with the Emperor!”

Jiang Mingyu, hearing this, was greatly confused: “But the He Chancellor gave you your chance—how can you abandon him to die?”

“Standing with the Emperor is for your sake,” Master Zhang explained. “But from my own standpoint, I must save the He Chancellor—publicly and privately.”

Though Master Zhang advised Jiang Mingyu to side with the Emperor, he himself bore an irreplaceable duty toward the He Chancellor.

The He Chancellor was elderly, his power long faded, and the Emperor sought to use this case to trap him—this was undoubtedly the He Chancellor’s life-or-death crisis.

“How will you save him?” Jiang Mingyu asked.

Master Zhang: “This… we must return to the ‘One Night Seven Times Pills.’”

When Jiang Mingyu pressed for details on how Master Zhang planned to save the He Chancellor, the answer seemed obscure—still tied to the ‘One Night Seven Times Pills’ case.

This left Jiang Mingyu deeply puzzled: could the ‘One Night Seven Times Pills’ still be connected?

Or had Master Zhang already devised a method to rescue the He Chancellor from this disaster?

The next morning, Jiang Mingyu donned his new blue robe and, accompanied by Master Zhang and Tukesulu, arrived at the Ministry of Justice.

The blue robe symbolized Jiang Mingyu’s rank, projecting authority before all others.

The imperial gold token in his hand further affirmed his status as imperial envoy, leaving every official trembling with deference, daring not to show the slightest neglect.

Even red-robed ministers of fourth rank or higher, upon seeing Jiang Mingyu’s imperial gold token, were forced to yield three steps—demonstrating his immense, undeniable power.

His imperial envoy status placed him above all others, compelling every official to treat him with heightened reverence, fearing to offend this representative of imperial authority.

As Jiang Mingyu crossed the threshold of the Ministry of Justice, all officials rushed forward to greet him.

They bowed in unison, faces filled with profound respect, as if utterly awed by him.

Even the once arrogant, domineering red-robed ministers now trembled like ghosts, humble and courteous.

The scene took Jiang Mingyu by surprise—and stirred a flicker of pride within him.

In just a few short years, he had risen from a poor scholar to an imperial envoy; any keen observer could see his status and power had soared.

This transformation left Jiang Mingyu unprepared, yet he couldn’t help feeling a quiet pride.

Yet Jiang Mingyu knew this pride was meaningless.

All his glory came from imperial favor—if he lost the Emperor’s support, it would vanish instantly.

So though a trace of self-satisfaction lingered, Jiang Mingyu understood he was far from deserving pride.

Now, he must focus entirely, carefully fulfilling the Emperor’s orders—without the slightest lapse. That was what truly mattered.

This scene showed Jiang Mingyu the preciousness and terror of power.

Before power, no one could remain untouched—this was perhaps the first lesson of court survival: submit, or resist.

Jiang Mingyu seemed to have made his choice—but whether it was right or wrong, it was still impossible to judge.

Only time would reveal the answer.

Jiang Mingyu retrieved the evidence and examined the remaining ‘One Night Seven Times Pills’ left from the late Emperor’s final meal; after removing the one Tukesulu had tested for poison and the two the Emperor had taken, seven pills remained in the gold box.

Following Master Zhang’s plan, they first needed to prove the assumption that overdose caused death. Since Tukesulu had ingested one pill and survived, one pill’s dose was confirmed non-lethal; the next step was to find a living subject to test two pills.

So they acted immediately—the Ministry of Justice prison had no shortage of condemned prisoners; though the Emperor had granted a general amnesty upon his ascension, death row inmates were excluded, so many still languished in the cells.

To achieve maximum authenticity, the Ministry of Justice recruited a 65-year-old condemned prisoner and made him swallow two pills of One Night Seven Times!

Shortly after swallowing the first pill, the prisoner showed clear drug effects: his entire body drenched in sweat, as if an internal fire burned within him, causing unbearable heat.

Worse still, his lower body exhibited abnormal swelling, persisting for an unusually long time without subsiding.

Li Xuan, as Imperial Physician, conducted a detailed examination of the prisoner’s symptoms.

The examination revealed that although the prisoner displayed pronounced drug reactions, there was no life-threatening danger—only symptoms induced by the drug, well within normal limits.

This confirmed the safety of the One Night Seven Times pill: though it stirred intense desire, it caused no actual harm to bodily functions and was not lethal.

Half an hour passed, and the prisoner was still alive—not dead, but jumping around shouting: “Get me a girl to satisfy me, or else… I’ll bash my head against the Ministry’s main hall!”

After swallowing two pills of One Night Seven Times, the prisoner exhibited noticeable drug symptoms but no life-threatening condition.

This proved that two pills were insufficient to cause death.

The officials breathed a collective sigh of relief—this confirmed the late Emperor likely did not die from overdose.

Yet at this moment, all officials present were stunned; they were not worried about the prisoner threatening to kill himself, but puzzled—where could they find a woman for him?

According to the principle of maximum authenticity, a female must be present with the subject to determine whether the late Emperor died from overdose—or from what is colloquially called “horse wind.”

As the prisoner’s effects began to fade by half, in desperation, the Ministry of Justice sent men to drag in a sow from somewhere and locked the prisoner and the sow back in the cell.

For a full fifteen minutes, screams from the sow echoed nonstop from the cell—loud, piercing, and agonizing.

The other prisoners in adjacent cells grew restless with fear.

When the door opened, the prisoner lay exhausted on the straw.

His condition seemed slightly improved from when he entered, but his lower body remained too grotesque to look at.

The sow’s state was even more pitiful—dazed, stumbling wildly, her body covered in wounds, as if she had endured a nightmare.

Yet even so, Li Xuan’s examination confirmed the prisoner suffered no serious physiological damage—only temporary exhaustion.

But the trauma and injuries inflicted upon the sow remained deeply regrettable.

This perhaps revealed humanity’s fatal weakness—in certain moments, reason is temporarily buried, and people do things they would never normally do; and this, precisely, is the most terrifying part.

It also deepened understanding of the One Night Seven Times pill’s effects—it seemed capable only of stirring desire, without harming bodily functions or causing death.

This experiment appeared to provide crucial clues for the ongoing investigation.

The late Emperor’s death may not be as simple as it appeared on the surface.

But the results left Zhang Guanxiang with a headache. He scratched his scalp and muttered: “Two pills didn’t kill him? What if… we try three?”

At this moment, Yu Dian stepped forward and warned: “If you keep testing, you’ll have no evidence left!” There were only five pills remaining in the lacquered box.

“Or perhaps… the sow isn’t enough? We must find a woman to test with?” Jiang Mingyu suggested.

Yu Dian suddenly had a flash of inspiration and exclaimed excitedly: “The Ministry’s prison still holds several female convicts—I can send men to fetch them; but… if we test again, we’ll have only three pills left!”

Yu Dian’s suggestion thrilled him deeply. The miraculous effects of the One Night Seven Times pill filled him with profound suspicion—and ignited an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

Now, the pills were growing scarce, making experimentation increasingly difficult.

So when he suddenly recalled the female prisoners locked in the Ministry’s jail, he felt this was a perfect opportunity.

At this moment, Li Xuan stepped forward and proposed: “We could analyze the composition of the One Night Seven Times pill, replicate it, and then re-synthesize it. That way, you’ll have more pills for testing.”

Upon hearing this, Zhang Guanxiang and Yu Dian both lit up at once.

When Li Xuan suggested analyzing the pill’s composition to mass-produce it, it was clearly the best solution.

Yu Dian felt ecstatic—this meant he could continue his exploration and uncover more secrets of the drug.

Li Xuan’s idea gave him hope; his excitement naturally spilled over.

But the difficulty lay in finding a master who could analyze the composition, replicate it, and synthesize the pills.

Li Xuan said confidently: “No problem—my master knows how.”

“May I ask, Physician, to which school do you owe your training?” Zhang Guanxiang asked.

Li Xuan: “I am unworthy, but I studied for over a decade under the True Man of the Seven Seas.”