Chang Yuncheng let out a breath of relief upon hearing the voices from inside. He pulled out the last remaining silver note from his sleeve, earned during his journey, and slipped it into the eunuchs’ robes as he helped them lift the chests.

“Thank you for your hard work,” he murmured. It was unclear whether he was thanking the two eunuchs for carrying the heavy chests or for facilitating his passage.

The two eunuchs, their faces blank, carried the boxes inward, but Chang Yuncheng noticed one of them subtly tighten his grip on his sleeve. Chang Yuncheng stood watching them go, his face etched with fatigue, his eyes bloodshot, yet his expression was one of ease.

Good, I made it in time…. Footsteps approached, drawing the attention of everyone in the grand hall.

The two eunuchs hurried in, bearing a wooden chest. So many of them!

A wave of astonishment swept through the hall, while the Emperor’s face was clouded with suppressed fury. “Just put it there!” he suddenly commanded.

The eunuchs froze in place. “You speak of excitement, but see what others say,” the Emperor stated coldly.

This was directed at him, and Qi Yue instinctively looked up toward the central throne. The Emperor was looking at her.

It was the first time Qi Yue had clearly seen the Emperor. Even from this distance… Her eyes widened instantly.

Wait a moment… isn't that…? “Look more closely,” the Emperor said blandly.

Was he referring to seeing him more clearly, or…? With a heavy thud, the two eunuchs set the chest down directly in front of Qi Yue, effectively blocking her view of the Emperor.

The sudden noise jolted Qi Yue back to her senses. A sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead.

It wasn’t from fear, but from surprise. Oh, heavens, this is truly melodramatic, a chance encounter with someone she doesn't recognize!

Pah, chance encounter my foot! There are no such coincidences in this world!

She quickly reviewed their previous meetings, checking if anything had been amiss; thankfully, everything seemed normal. “Look now.” The Emperor’s voice drifted down from above.

Qi Yue hastily dismissed her wandering thoughts and reached into the box, picking up the topmost memorial. “…These are all memorials impeaching you.

One or two might be a misunderstanding or folly, but three, four, five, six—are they all just mistakes and nonsense? Where there’s smoke, there’s fire; a fly never bites a seamless egg…” The Emperor sneered.

His anger, which had not fully subsided, was only stoked further by the sudden realization that this Lady Qi was not the one he had imagined, or perhaps, that this Lady Qi was exactly the one he had been contemplating. In any case, the jumbled thoughts only made his rage blaze hotter.

He abruptly stood and began pacing the dais, speaking as he walked, and soon descended into outright cursing. The ministers fell silent.

Since the Emperor was angry, these two fools were now taking the brunt of it; they might as well wait for the show to unfold. After cursing for a while, the Emperor couldn't resist glancing at the woman again, wondering if she maintained her composure or if she had finally burst into tears.

This time, his wish was granted; the woman’s expression was indeed unusual, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The Emperor let out a heavy snort.

If you knew this day would come, why act as you did before! Now you know how to cry?

It’s too late! Zhou Maochun also noticed Qi Yue’s distress and sighed deeply.

Ignoring the Emperor’s presence, he walked over to her. “You foolish girl, what was the need for all this?” he lamented, “Was it worth it…” “It was worth it,” Qi Yue choked out.

Zhou Maochun shook his head. “It was worth it,” Qi Yue repeated, this time genuine tears falling onto the memorial.

Seeming startled, she quickly unfolded the memorial, handling it with delicate care lest she damage even a corner. Then she reached for another memorial.

“Stop looking; they write things here that even you can’t understand,” Zhou Maochun said, reaching out to stop her. His gaze fell upon the document in her hand, and he paused slightly.

This didn't look like an official memorial; it resembled a simple ledger. What was this?

Qi Yue was flipping through the newly retrieved booklet. “…Third month, sixth day, Clear skies, cold wind.

Following Lady Qi’s protocols, ward rounds were conducted. Five rooms for minor injuries, one hundred patients.

Thirty-two with high fever; administered the reserved decoction twice. The rest were fine; thirteen eligible for discharge…” She sniffled and turned to the next page.

“…Wang Dahu, a severe case with a chest impalement from a long spear, wound is red and swollen, high fever delirium, dressing change shows no improvement. Following Lady Qi’s protocols, administered two doses of Penicillin, observe effects tomorrow…” As she read through the entries, images of the field hospital began to materialize before her eyes.

In the absence of herself and the disciples from the Thousand Gold Hall, the military surgeons moving back and forth had not diminished in number. “…I’m responsible for the minor injury ward.

Do you have enough hands? Should I help out in Ward Full?” “No, no, don’t disrupt things… don’t mess up the… the department?” “Hurry, hurry… The disinfectant solution for this area hasn't even been sprinkled yet…” “…These medicines are for oral consumption…” “…I’ll change the dressing; try to bear the pain…” They rushed between different wards, clumsily yet steadfastly adhering to the rules she had laid down.

“…My name is Sun San’niu, I cannot write. Military Surgeon Kuang Peng will transcribe for me.

I belong to the Seventh Company, Squad A, under Garrison Commander Miao Dazhuang of Bailiuguan. I was wounded in the leg by an Eastern Slave’s sabre while defending the pass.

Initially treated by Thousand Gold Hall disciple Guo Rong who wrapped the wound, then sent to the minor injury camp. Later, Thousand Gold Hall disciple Wu Wei flushed the wound, reapplied dressing, and prescribed one pill daily.

Today is the tenth of the third month; I can walk already, and the wound is healing…” In a small room, a timid soldier sat on a cot, dictating while watching the military surgeon in front of him write furiously. Then, he clumsily pressed his red seal onto the paper.

In another part of the room, another wounded soldier was already impatient. As the surgeon approached him, he immediately began speaking.

“My name is Shi Gou-sheng… Why are you laughing?… That’s what my mother named me… No other name. Doctor, do you need to write that down?… Fine, write it down.

I won’t waste time… My name is Shi Gou-sheng, and I can’t write; Military Surgeon Ge Li will transcribe. I belong to the Eighth Company, Squad D, under Bailiuguan Defense Commander Miao Dazhuang.

I am the squad leader. I was struck in the head by a flying stone while defending the pass, fell from the city wall.

Zhang Tong of the Thousand Gold Hall sutured the bone setting. Today is the tenth of the third month; I still cannot walk, but my spirits are high.

I only need bone rest. Military Surgeon Qiao Minghua confirmed I will be able to walk freely in half a month…” One by one, the bright red handprints blurred Qi Yue’s vision.

“Hurry, get these recorded, and send them off with a fast rider…” A cloth pouch was tied to a soldier’s waist, and he spurred his horse into a gallop. The relay stations along the route had been alerted in advance and waited with fresh horses.

The soldier thundered up, leaped off his horse, accepted the rations handed over by the station master with one hand, took the reins with the other, and sped off again, his feet barely touching the ground. This kind of transmission happened almost daily.

Day after day, pouch after pouch accumulated, eventually forming this chestful. When they left, the injuries were in their early stages, and the results were not yet apparent.

But over the nearly month they had traveled, the fate of these wounded soldiers—whether they lived or died, how they healed—was essentially determined. That was why Chang Yuncheng visited every relay station and every pass they rode through… That was why, once he confirmed she and Zhou Maochun were safely in the capital and would not be troubled, he disappeared… This evidence, smuggled through without the formal channels of the Military Affairs Bureau, yet delivered with the utmost speed by timing their routes perfectly… It wasn't vague rhetoric; it wasn't simple description.

It was vibrant contrast, vivid numbers. When they were accused and taken away, no one offered a farewell or a word of comfort—it would be a lie to say Qi Yue felt no sting.

It turned out that acknowledgment and warmth didn't always need to be expressed in the moment. These infuriating people!

They always had to bully others like this! Qi Yue raised a hand to wipe her tears and picked up another ledger.

Seeing a familiar name, Qiao Minghua. In a small, dim room lit by an oil lamp, Qiao Minghua wrote furiously, a thick stack of ledgers piled before him.

“…Military Surgeon Qiao Minghua of Zhangye Guard, Third Year Record. The first battle of this year, Bailiuguan, six hundred wounded…” Seventh year?

Were there other years? Qi Yue put that one down, wiped her tears, and rummaged further in the box.

Sure enough, she found a thick stack of aged, yellowed ledgers. Military Surgeon Qiao Minghua of Zhangye Guard, Third Year of Baoyuan… Military Surgeon Qiao Minghua of Songshan Fortress, Second Year of Taihe… “Excellent, excellent,” Zhou Maochun said, picking up this record, his expression suddenly animated.

“This boy has spirit, recording all these years! Look, look at these casualty records, and then look at this recent one.

This isn't a battle of words; it’s ironclad proof… Wonderful, wonderful! Such dedication.” He was visibly choked up.

These military surgeons, whom he had never taken seriously—doctors he wouldn't even deign to call surgeons, whose status was lower than a common soldier, deemed entirely disposable—had actually accomplished something, something that could determine life and death at a crucial moment. What was more, they possessed such tenacious perseverance, recording these dry, dull figures.

Not only dry and dull, but steeped in despair; every entry meant reliving the helplessness witnessed before their eyes. What kind of mental fortitude must one possess to sustain that for so many years?

Zhou Maochun counted carefully. “He’s been there for over ten years,” Qi Yue noted.

Zhou Maochun finished counting the entries in Qiao Minghua’s ledger before nodding. “Thirteen years, and it includes two volumes from his master, which he organized.” Their unusual behavior confused the others.

What were they talking about? Surely these weren't impeachment memorials?

They cried, yes, but their tears didn't look like those of fear or despair—they looked like excitement? Joy?

Did being impeached actually bring excitement and joy? “Zhou Maochun, do you know your crime…” The minister whom Zhou Maochun had struck earlier couldn’t help but shout.

Before he finished speaking, Zhou Maochun casually snatched up the ledger he was holding and made a motion to hurl it. This minister was prepared this time; he raised his arm and leaped aside simultaneously.

Zhou Maochun put the ledger back down. The minister snorted, thinking, You’re facing death anyway… Before he could finish his thought, Zhou Maochun groped on the ground, snatched up an impeachment memorial, and smashed it hard against the man.

The minister was struck again, letting out an "Ouch!" “Pah, this is what’s suitable to throw at you,” Zhou Maochun muttered, carefully placing the ledger back where it belonged. The minister grew more incensed and humiliated.

“Zhou Maochun, you’re courting death…” he bellowed. Zhou Maochun jumped up.

“You’re courting death!” he roared. “You think with just these… these…” He bent down again, picking up the memorials the Emperor had thrown down, and swept them all toward the minister in a flurry.

“With these, you think you can make this old man die…” He laughed heartily. “These goddamn impeachment memorials!

These goddamn impeachment memorials are dog shit!” Without waiting for the ministers to respond, he strode forward, grabbed the stack of ledgers and memorials from the chest, and rushed toward the Emperor, holding them aloft. Oh no, the old man has gone mad!

Hitting the ministers is one thing, but does he intend to hit the Emperor too? “Your Majesty, what they say means nothing, and what I say means nothing!

I don’t fight with mere words; I fight with true evidence!” he shouted loudly, kneeling on the ground and pushing the documents forward in a rush.