And he was suddenly disgusted with the role he had played in the murder investigation. In reality, he could hardly tell what a role it exactly was. As a Confucian scholar-turned-official in the Tang Empire, he had studied nothing but Confucian classics for the civil service examination, and then as an official because of his success in the examination, he had only the vaguest ideas about being fair, just, or independent when engaged in an investigation like a judge in the shadow of the empire.

As in the Xuanji case, he wished he could have served as nothing but an independent judge, pure and simple. But that was not possible in the Great Tang Empire. The way he became involved in the investigation was nothing but politics. It was out of the question for a Confucianist official like him to contemplate the possibility of causing the prince any irreparable damage, or the possibility of hurting the interests of the Tang Empire. In fact, he had ruled out the idea from the very beginning. Politics had to be placed above law.

That was how he had come to suggest to Xuanji a scenario – the first scenario – which did not appear that convincing even to himself. It turned out to be the very scenario that served as the working basis, nevertheless, for the acceptable conclusion of the murder case to be made.

What’s more, Xuanji herself embraced the scenario, even though she was to be put on the scaffold because of it.

She was going to be executed anyway, however, as she could have rationalized the ending for herself with the cold comfort that she did something truly worthy for the prince, and for the Tang Empire as well.

And Judge Dee, too, could justify his work with the fact that the ending, whether he had suggested the scenario or not, would be the same for her.

Then, why not the ending that would have seemed more acceptable than any other to the romantic poetess in the dark, damp prison cell?

The curtain was falling for her, the order of the acts

predetermined in the shadow of the Empire …

The two lines came out of nowhere in the suffocating carriage. He tried to produce a couple of lines more for a poem while pondering on Xuanji’s tragic fate, and on his ignoble compromise made between politics and justice, but the futile effort began to wear him out.

He would never be able to write poems like Xuanji; that much he had been sure of.

And it was also true, as Yang had observed, that he had slept so little last night. It would be a long, daunting, difficult journey stretching out ahead of him, whether he wanted to think about it or not.

His heavy eyelids closing in spite of himself, Judge Dee thought he might be able to doze off for a short while in the carriage.