When the next set of scrolls arrived from the Ministry of Personnel, the morning deepened into late noon. The Hall of Official Records buzzed like a hive under strain—clerks rushing between desks, bamboo tubes clacking, brushes snapping against inkstones with nervous energy.
Jianyan sat casually on the corner of the long table, sipping tea like this was a garden banquet instead of a bureaucratic earthquake.
Chen Yuantai stood opposite him, sleeves already dusted in flecks of dried ink. "Open the next bundle," he ordered.
A clerk unrolled the scroll with shaking fingers. The map and testimonies spread neatly across the surface—too neatly, actually.
Jianyan tapped his teacup lightly. "Relax. Benwang hasn't bitten anyone today."
The clerk gulped. "W-wángye… this case file is from the dispute in Heishan Village."
Chen nodded. "Good. Compare it with the county archive."
Two more clerks rushed in, carrying the county's original scroll. They laid it beside the prefecture version. The difference between them was subtle at first—slightly altered word choice, a new line added, the mapping ink darker than the county's.
Normal eyes might not have noticed anything wrong.
But Jianyan and Chen did not have normal eyes.
"Look here," Jianyan said, pointing at the testimony section. "The witness line."
Chen leaned over. "The scribe's hand wavers at the ends of the strokes—someone imitating an older writing style."
The clerk blinked. "Vice Minister Chen… is imitation enough to conclude forgery?"
"No," Chen answered. "Forgery requires evidence."
His tone shifted as he motioned. "Bring the death registry."
A runner sprinted out and returned with a bamboo-bound register, breathless. "Vice Minister—here!"
Chen flipped through quickly, then slowed. "Heishan Village… witness… Lin Guang."
He found the entry.
Died: Tenth Month, Fifth Day, last year.
Chen straightened. "Good. Now check the prefecture version—when did Lin Guang allegedly testify?"
The clerk leaned over the prefecture scroll.
"'Twelfth Month, Eighth Day.'"
Everyone froze.
Even the air stopped moving.
Jianyan gently set down his teacup. "So the man rose from the grave," he said softly, "walked to Jinzhou prefecture, and testified posthumously?"
Nervous laughter flickered in the room—but no one actually found it funny.
Chen's voice sliced the silence. "Mark this as impossible. Use the red cord."
A scribe stepped forward and tied a crimson thread around the bamboo end of the scroll—formal designation for procedural contradiction of the highest order.
The room darkened with tension.
A senior clerk muttered shakily, "Vice Minister… this cannot be accidental. A man cannot testify after his death."
"No," Jianyan said, his tone warm but unyielding, "but a prefecture can make him do so."
Several clerks shivered.
Chen exhaled. "This is the cleanest proof yet. Someone in Jinzhou is manufacturing testimony."
A junior scribe whispered, "But why use a dead man…? Wouldn't someone notice?"
"No," Jianyan replied with a half-smile, "because no one ever checks the dead. Only the living argue. The dead stay quiet."
A few clerks swallowed hard. Even Chen paused at that.
It wasn't cold.
It was simply true.
"Lay the county scroll beside it again," Chen instructed.
Clerks obeyed.
Jianyan leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "See the signature? The county version—Lin Guang signs with a broad trailing stroke at the end."
Chen nodded. "He was known for it. His hand weakened in his last months."
"But the prefecture signature," Jianyan continued, "has a sharp hook."
One clerk gasped softly. "Wángye… that's the handwriting of the prefecture's Scribe Han."
Now the room nearly imploded.
Chen turned sharply. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, Vice Minister," the clerk stammered. "Scribe Han is known for finishing strokes with a hook. He calls it 'refined elegance.'"
Jianyan laughed. "Elegance is admirable. Criminal elegance is very helpful."
Chen's tone grew formal. "Record this observation. This is the first named handwriting anomaly."
The clerks wrote furiously.
"Check the courier logs," Chen said.
Two clerks scrambled for a wooden tube holding the prefecture's transmission register. They opened it, unrolled, read—and both frowned.
"This can't be right…"
"What?" Jianyan asked mildly.
The clerk looked up. "Prefecture courier logs report this testimony being carried to the capital two days before the date it was supposedly recorded."
Silence again.
This time, sharp, Clean, and Lethal.
Jianyan clicked his tongue. "Magic ink again? Or did the witness testify before dying and after dying?"
Chen didn't smile. "The prefecture is not just forging; they are misdating the entire chain of custody."
He turned to the hall.
"All clerks—begin reviewing every courier date in the Jinzhou submission logs for the past two years."
"Yes, Vice Minister!"
The entire hall exploded into motion.
Scrolls slammed onto tables.
Inkstones scraped, Brushes snapped.
Lanterns brightened.
It looked less like clerical work and more like preparing for war—because in a way, it was.
Jianyan stood, stretching lazily. "Benwang hasn't seen this much panic since the palace kitchens ran out of ginger."
Chen shot him a look. "Please do not compare systemic corruption to missing ginger."
"Both cause national crises," Jianyan replied. "Benwang stands by his statement."
Several clerks nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Suddenly a voice called:
"Vice Minister! Wángye! Come see!"
A young scribe pointed at the
prefecture scroll's witness section.
Under the lantern light, faint traces appeared where the ink had been lightly scraped.
Chen narrowed his eyes. "Bring magnification stones."
A clerk rushed them over.
The scraped area revealed portions of an older text—barely visible strokes.
Jianyan tilted his head. "Someone attempted to erase the original county testimony."
"And failed," Chen said. "Ink sinks into parchment. Scraping leaves scars."
The scribe whispered, "But the prefecture stamped it anyway…"
Jianyan smiled faintly. "Of course. Stamps don't check truth. Only authority."
That sentence hit the room like a blade through silk.
Chen looked around the hall.
"Everyone, listen. This is not one forged case. This is not one overzealous scribe. We are now looking at multiple layers of falsification:"
He listed them one by one, voice steady. Testimony written after the witness's death, mismatched courier dates, handwriting mismatched, map inconsistentcy , an altered ink layers, and uniform seal tilt.
"If all six appear repeatedly," Chen said, "then Jinzhou prefecture has not followed law in years."
Several clerks trembled.
One sank to his knees.
The gravity was too large.
Jianyan reached over, patting the man's shoulder lightly. "Stand up. Benwang prefers clerks who faint later, not during evidence review."
The clerk stood abruptly, bowing a dozen times.
Chen sighed. "Wangye… try not to terrify them."
"Benwang is comforting them."
"That is not what comfort looks like."
"Semantics," Jianyan replied.
"Prepare witnesses," Chen ordered. "Tomorrow, we interrogate the couriers."
A hush fell again.
Interrogating couriers meant interrogating the transport chain.
Interrogating transport chain meant unraveling who had access to the prefectural seal room.
Which meant the prefecture would soon know the capital's eyes were on them.
Before anyone could pack up, an elderly archivist approached the table, holding another scroll.
"Vice Minister… Wángye… I believe there is something you must see."
His hands shook—not from age, but from fear.
"This… is a prefectural closure decree."
Chen frowned. "The prefecture submitted no closure decree with the Heishan case."
"That is why," the archivist said, "this is concerning."
He laid down the county's closure decree beside it.
County version: no closure. Prefecture version: case closed with final ruling.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Jianyan lifted the prefecture decree slowly, turning it toward the lanterns.
And there it was.
The same three-degree clockwise tilt.
The same ink behavior. The same handwriting nuance.
But at the very bottom— a forged signature of the county magistrate.
Jianyan sighed almost playfully. "They even forged the poor magistrate's name. Benwang should send him a condolence gift."
Chen exhaled sharply. "This is no longer suspicion. This is systemic fabrication of judicial outcomes."
The hall stirred like a shaken hive.
Chen rolled up the scrolls. "Work ends here today."
Clerks sagged with relief.
Jianyan stood, clasping his hands behind his back. "Tomorrow, couriers. Next week, the prefecture. And hopefully, someone will finally explain to benwang why Jinzhou thinks the dead can testify."
Chen rubbed his temples. "Wangye… please take this seriously."
"I am," Jianyan said, smiling. "If I took it any more seriously, the entire prefecture would be shaking already."
"They will shake soon enough."
"Oh," Jianyan replied lightly, "benwang knows."
The lanterns dimmed as the hall emptied—except for the table covered with scrolls tied in red thread.