Descendant of the Crane(68)

But no one came through the doors, and it was the director himself who climbed the dais. “Last time, we witnessed the unprecedented act of the plaintiff’s representative volunteering as the defendant’s. In the spirit of fairness to both parties, the Investigation Bureau has decided to do a thorough debrief before proceeding with the trial. Let us review the evidence together, shall we?” he asked Akira, smiling. “We wouldn’t want you missing anything.”

So this was their play. Do away with the representative entirely, thereby allowing the director to personally oversee every beat of the session. Smart, and probably against the rules written in the Tenets, though Hesina shouldn’t have been surprised. Xia Zhong held the Tenets in lower regard than she did herself.

“Fine by me,” said Akira, unruffled. “Again, I’d like to see the maid you have listed as a witness. Please,” he said when the girl stepped to the front of the witness box, visibly trembling. She was young and scrawny, and though she was about to deliver whatever incriminating evidence Xia Zhong or the director had prepared, Hesina could commiserate. “Share your account.”

“It was morning…” Her eyes darted about before fixing on the director. “It was morning, and I was bringing the king’s breakfast to his study.”

Hesina’s mouth thinned. The first of many blatant lies to come. No one had delivered any food or drink to her father on the day of his death.

“And what might that have been?” asked Akira.

“Congee and cider.” The maid bit her lip.

“Please continue.”

“Right before I reached the hallway to the study, she…” The maid pointed at Mei. “She attacked me.”

Mei snorted, and the maid flinched. She shrank as Akira approached the half wall between them.

“Define ‘attack.’”

“W-what do you mean?”

Akira motioned for a nearby page. “Pardon me,” he said, then grabbed a fistful of the boy’s hanfu and reared a fist back. “Like this?”

“N-no.”

“Are you part of the imperial troupe?” crowed a marquis from the upper ranks.

Sanjing seethed. “How do you stand this? Do you just take it?”

“Yes,” Hesina muttered. “Even better, you pay them no mind.”

A skill Akira seemed to have mastered better than her. He released the page and faced the maid again. “Describe the attack the way it unfolded.”

Her hand fluttered to her left shoulder. “She grabbed my shoulder and tore my dress.”

“Just condemn her already, dianxia!” called one of the viscounts. “She’s the murderer!”

Sanjing touched a hand to the hilt of his liuyedao; Hesina yanked it away.

Akira scanned the witness stand. He beckoned for the page again and whispered something into his ear. “I’d like to see the ruined dress,” he said as the page hurried off.

The ruqun, torn at the left shoulder as described, was delivered to him on a gilded tray.

Akira lifted it. “Is this silk?”

“Yes. What do you wear?” jibed a baron. “Cotton?”

It was almost comical, how many officials Xia Zhong and the director had so obviously paid off. But Hesina was not amused.

The page Akira had sent off returned with someone in tow. It was none other than the imperial tailor. The cross collar of his hanfu gaped open, and his long locks flowed free. “Did you really have to enter without knocking?” He sighed as the page pushed him up the dais. “I hate leaving a partner unsatisfied.”

“Discussing his own sexual prowess in court?” muttered Lilian. “What a pretentious ass.”

The tailor’s sexual prowess was the last thing on Hesina’s mind when Akira held out the torn ruqun. “Lend me your eye on this one matter: which direction was the pull in the torn weaving?”

The tailor examined the gash. “This is no pull. Something sharp cut it.”

“How certain are you of that?”

“Everyone knows the silk looms weave one way.”

“And what would that be?”

“Double stitching, of course!” cried the tailor, brushing lint off his shoulder. “Only through double stitching can Yan silk live up to its lifetime guarantee. So it’s not going to simply tear without creating pulls in others parts of the fabric. An apprentice of mine could tell you that. Now, I’d really appreciate it if you never interrupted—”

“Thank you,” cut in Akira. “You’re free to leave.”

Still muttering, the tailor descended the dais, blowing kisses at the noblemen and women at each step. Lilian sighed, but all Hesina could hear was Akira as he spoke to the maid.

“You say she tore your gown, but you didn’t say it was with something sharp…a sword, for example.”

“I—I was surprised.” The maid sounded on the verge of tears. Hesina’s wrath toward Xia Zhong and the director bubbled. They bent these girls like saplings to a trellis.

“Yet you still managed to deliver the tray in one piece,” observed Akira.

“We’re trained never to drop things.”

“Fair enough. So you didn’t hear the unsheathing of the sword beforehand?”

“N-no.”