Chapter 18: Su Qiong

Su Qiong was forty years old this year. Although dressed in official robes, his lean and upright figure, along with his sparse and stiff short beard, made him resemble a frontier guard rather than a sixth-rank court official.

The Court of Judicial Review was the highest court in the Qi Kingdom, responsible for handling criminal cases. Its chief officer was the Minister of Judicial Review, followed in rank by the Deputy Minister, Assistant Minister, Director, Supervisor, and Judge—one each—totaling sixty-nine officials on record.

Because the department fulfilling this role in the Qin and Han dynasties was the Court Marshal, the Minister of Judicial Review was also referred to as the Court Marshal Minister.

Though the Minister of Judicial Review was the top official, the most renowned figure in the Court was the Judge Su Qiong.

Su Qiong was a rare upright official in the Qi Kingdom, famed throughout the land as a savior of its justice system. Like a detective, wherever he was assigned, he could discern the truth clearly. When he served as the governor of Nanqinghe Commandery, no crimes occurred there. Even thieves from neighboring regions who passed through Nanqinghe were promptly apprehended after receiving a harsh reprimand.

What was more astonishing was that over a hundred former thieves in Nanqinghe voluntarily became Su Qiong’s informants. He had ears and eyes everywhere, knowing every detail of local affairs—even if an official shared a single cup of wine with a commoner, Su Qiong would know it clearly.

Thanks to his exemplary achievements, Su Qiong ranked top in four consecutive evaluations. Although he left his post as governor of Nanqinghe to observe a mourning period, he soon resumed office as Judge and Supervisor at the Court of Judicial Review, effectively serving as the chief justice and deputy inspector of Qi’s highest court.

The Deputy Censor Bi Yiyun was notorious for his fierce and brutal methods, and all court officials feared him—except Su Qiong, who boldly investigated cases involving the Censorate. He overturned many verdicts, to the extent that it became customary for the Court of Judicial Review to reexamine cases from the Censorate.

Su Qiong also helped exonerate many accused of treason. Even the Minister of Military Affairs, Cui Ang, advised him to be cautious: “Better to execute a thousand innocents than to let one traitor slip by, lest you be implicated. Why risk your own life so lightly?”

Su Qiong replied, “I have neither wronged a single innocent person nor spared a single traitor.” Hence, he earned the epithet “The Judge Who Leaves No Doubt,” and it could be said he changed the Qi Kingdom, if only slightly.

Yet even this incorruptible Judge Su Qiong dared not confront the true darkness of Qi. Prisoners were taken away in batches by Prime Minister Yang, and the emperor executed them one after another. Though he despised his colleagues who fabricated false charges to please the emperor, Su Qiong was powerless against this grim reality.

Thus, he was quite surprised when he learned that the crown prince had spared the lives of four hundred prisoners. Knowing the prince was coming today, Su Qiong waited at the Court to personally greet him.

“I am your humble servant, Su Qiong, paying respects to the Eastern Palace.”

“No need for formalities,” Gao Yin said, reaching out to steady Su Qiong as he rose. “What has become of those prisoners from a few days ago?”

“They have been returned. I will proceed with trials according to the law.”

Gao Yin frowned. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

Though Su Qiong’s review found no innocents among them, these prisoners should be lawfully tried and justly punished. However, the Qi Kingdom had its own realities. These were sacrifices presented by Yang Yin to Gao Yang, and being spared by Gao Yin was considered a divine mercy warranting their release.

Su Qiong, however, did not share this view. Originally, they were death-row inmates; the emperor’s brutal treatment was inhumane, but it did not change their guilt. Though he felt pity, Su Qiong still believed the law must be upheld.

“I hold that criminals must be punished according to the law, without alteration due to other matters.”

“Heh… I find that amusing coming from you,” Gao Yin laughed. “Do you follow the Old Wei Code or the ‘Lin Zhi Code’?”

Su Qiong stiffened. “Naturally, the ‘Lin Zhi Code’.”

“Well then, there’s much to discuss there.”

The terms law, decree, statute, and regulation represented units of Han legal code. The Northern Wei replaced statutes with ‘codes,’ and the Lin Zhi Code was a new law drafted under Emperor Xiaojing of Eastern Wei, where ministers convened in the Lin Zhi Pavilion. Among the ministers was Gao Cheng, and given Eastern Wei’s political climate, many laws prioritized military affairs and the Gao family’s interests. Thus, the Lin Zhi Code reflected Gao Cheng’s or the Jinyang Hegemony’s governing philosophy, differing greatly from the Old Wei Code.

When Gao Yang established the Qi Kingdom, he sought to suppress the Xianbei nobility and strengthen imperial power. In his first year on the throne, he ordered officials to revise the Lin Zhi Code once more.

Laws served rulers. The Northern Wei Code protected the Wei royal authority, but Eastern Wei was truly ruled by Gao Huan and Gao Cheng, father and son. The Lin Zhi Code aimed to suppress the Wei emperor and undermine the Wei house. After the Eastern Wei court settled in Ye City, rampant lawsuits and banditry, conflicting laws, and judges lacking legal foundations called for new legal reforms. Hence, the Lin Zhi Code swiftly replaced the Northern Wei Code.

This, however, posed a major problem. The Wei dynasty had unified the north for over a century, and its laws were deeply ingrained. The Lin Zhi Code was continually revised, and with the many military and state affairs, legal decrees and criminal law were inconsistent. Consequently, Qi’s judicial officials often could not strictly enforce the Lin Zhi Code, frequently adapting laws according to circumstance or reverting to the Northern Wei Code.

Therefore, though Su Qiong insisted on punishing according to law, he could not always do so. The crimes varied widely, verdicts differed, and he sometimes relied on reasoning and conjecture to reach rulings satisfactory to all.

If anyone could find the slightest legal irregularity in these near-perfect verdicts, they could bring down Su Qiong. The only reasons no one had were because the emperor kept him in place, and some protected him.

Yet the crown prince had the power to do so if he wished.

“If Your Highness wishes to review the cases, I shall accompany you!”

“Don’t worry, I’m only asking,” Gao Yin patted Su Qiong’s shoulder. “If Prime Minister Yang can take them away, why can’t I? Without me, they would be dead already. Since they are living, let me make use of them. In the future, I will still need Judge Su’s support.”

“Well then…” Though it went against his principles, Su Qiong could do nothing but compliment, “This is indeed a great fortune for these criminals.”

Such is the marvel of feudal dynasties and the source of an emperor’s joy. Officials govern by law, but the law always belongs to the royal family. When the ruler raises his scepter, the sea of statutes parts for him; after he passes, it closes again, never wetting the hem of his robe.

Occasionally, some strong edict is but an inconspicuous ripple beneath the great wheel of time.

At this time, judicial officials wielded great power. Only major cases overseen by the court required the emperor’s approval. In theory, once the Court of Judicial Review completed trials for death-row inmates, the Censorate would examine the cases before execution.

Yet only a few days had passed, and before Su Qiong could act, Gao Yin came to reclaim the prisoners. Therefore, except for four who died suddenly from illness, the remaining four hundred and seventeen were still alive.

Gao Yin ordered a meal for the death-row inmates, followed by washing their faces and tidying their appearance. After half an hour, they were to be led into the courtyard.

The unexpected meal and wash sparked small waves among the prisoners. Some saw it as a sign of release and bit their chopsticks in joy; others feared execution or being “released” again, so worried they could not eat.

When they arrived at the courtyard and saw the young noble they had met before, their anxieties lifted.

Gao Yin sat on a folding chair, selecting the strongest death-row inmates together with Kang Huer, choosing sixty-seven men.

Then, from the remainder, he sought those with various skills—even mere lock-picking counted. Former roving knights were also chosen.

In the end, Gao Yin selected one hundred thirty-six to take away, leaving the rest anxiously awaiting orders.

The young noble whispered to the bearded official, who looked somewhat helpless but still announced, “All the remaining prisoners are to be released!”

After a brief silence, the Court erupted in cheers. The prisoners wished to kneel and thank them, but they had no such privilege. Gao Yin had already departed with the one hundred thirty-six.

Such is the intricate dance of power and law in the imperial realm.