The military archives were located in the western section of the palace, behind three guarded courtyards and a thick stone wall. Shen Rui counted the gates as they passed. One. Two. Three. If the emperor wants to imprison someone, he doesn’t need chains. He can simply send them to the archives and let the architecture do the work. Xiao Jingyuan walked ahead of him, surrounded by Black Guard officers. Shen Rui followed reluctantly, his attention drifting toward the sky. The sun was already high. His nap had been delayed. His lunch was uncertain. His mood was deteriorating. “Shen Rui.” He looked up. “Your Majesty?” “Stop walking so slowly.” “I am conserving energy.” “For what?” “Survival.” One of the guards coughed. Xiao Jingyuan did not turn around. “You seem to have plenty of energy when speaking.” “Speaking requires less effort than walking.” Especially when the person walking is being dragged toward another dangerous location. The emperor’s steps did not slow. Shen Rui sighed and followed. The chief archivist was waiting at the entrance. He was a thin, elderly man with gray eyebrows and ink-stained fingers. His name was Qin Shou, and his nervous expression suggested that he had already heard about the emperor’s arrival. He bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, the military archives have been prepared.” “Bring out every record concerning the East Depot.” Qin Shou’s face paled. “Every record?” “Is there a problem?” “No, Your Majesty. However, the relevant documents were damaged several years ago.” “Damaged how?” “A fire.” Shen Rui stopped walking. Of course. The missing documents were burned. How original. Xiao Jingyuan’s voice turned cold. “When?” “Seven years ago, shortly after the northern campaign.” “Was the fire investigated?” Qin Shou hesitated. “An investigation was conducted. It was determined to be an accident.” Shen Rui glanced at the old man. “An accident that burned only the records related to one depot?” Qin Shou’s lips parted, but no answer came. Xiao Jingyuan turned his head slightly. “Take us inside.” The archive smelled of dust, old paper, and damp wood. Rows of shelves stretched into the darkness. Every document was wrapped in cloth and labeled with a date, department, and category. Shen Rui moved slowly between the shelves, examining the arrangement. The damaged records were stored at the back. He crouched beside a cabinet and inspected the wood. The cabinet had been replaced recently. The shelves around it were old, their edges worn smooth by years of use. But this cabinet was newer, with clean hinges and fresh nails. “Who replaced this?” he asked. Qin Shou swallowed. “The previous archivist.” “When?” “Three years ago.” “Why?” “The old cabinet had been damaged by moisture.” Shen Rui knocked gently against the side. The wood sounded hollow. He looked at Xiao Jingyuan. “May I?” The emperor nodded. Shen Rui removed a small hairpin from his sleeve and slipped it into the narrow gap beneath the cabinet’s base. A hidden latch clicked. The back panel opened. Inside was a narrow compartment containing a bundle of folded documents. The Black Guard officers immediately drew their weapons. Shen Rui stared at the papers. I knew it. People who hide documents inside cabinets always forget that cabinets have backs. He carefully removed the bundle. The outer document was marked: East Depot—Supplementary Transfer Records. Xiao Jingyuan’s expression became severe. “Why were these not included in the official archive?” Qin Shou dropped to his knees. “Your Majesty, I swear I did not know about the hidden compartment.” “Who had access to this cabinet?” “The former archivist, Minister Han’s office, and the military records supervisors.” “Names.” Qin Shou immediately listed them. Shen Rui unfolded the first document. It contained a shipment record, but the numbers were different from those in the official register. The original document recorded six thousand sacks of grain. The official version recorded two thousand. Shen Rui turned to the next page. Another shipment had been reduced by half. The third had disappeared completely. But the most important detail was written in the margin. Transferred under emergency military order. Destination: Black River Auxiliary Camp. Shen Rui’s eyes narrowed. “Your Majesty, look at this.” Xiao Jingyuan stepped closer. “The Black River Auxiliary Camp was never listed in the military maps,” Shen Rui said. “But it received supplies from the East Depot.” “Could it have been a temporary camp?” “Possibly. But temporary camps still require personnel, commanders, and expenditure records.” He flipped through the bundle. “There are none.” Xiao Jingyuan’s gaze settled on the final document. It was a list of names. Dozens of soldiers. Beside each name was a salary amount, a grain allowance, and a mark indicating whether the payment had been collected. Shen Rui scanned the list. Then he stopped. One name appeared twice. Xu Liang. The first entry recorded him as a cavalry soldier. The second recorded him as a supply clerk. Both payments had been collected on the same day. Shen Rui tapped the page. “This man had two positions.” The Black Guard officer leaned over the document. “That was possible during wartime.” “Not with two separate salaries and two different signatures.” Shen Rui pointed to the bottom. “The clerk’s signature was written after the soldier’s death.” Xiao Jingyuan’s face turned colder. “When did Xu Liang die?” Shen Rui checked the date. “Three months before the payment.” The room seemed to grow colder. So the dead were still receiving salaries. Convenient. I wonder whether they also received promotions. Xiao Jingyuan took the document. “Find Xu Liang’s death record.” The officer bowed and hurried away. Shen Rui continued searching through the papers. At the bottom of the bundle, he found a small sheet of thin yellow paper. Unlike the others, it had no official seal. Only a list of numbers and a single sentence: “The debt will be settled through the marquis’s gate.” Shen Rui’s fingers tightened. The Shen household again. He stared at the sentence. Someone is determined to drag my family into this. Either the marquis knows something, or someone wants him to take the blame. He folded the paper. Xiao Jingyuan noticed. “What does it say?” Shen Rui handed it over. The emperor read the sentence without speaking. His expression revealed nothing, but the air around him seemed to sharpen. “Seal this archive,” he ordered. The guards immediately moved. “No one enters or leaves without my permission. Qin Shou, you will remain here.” The archivist’s face went white. “Your Majesty, I—” “If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.” Qin Shou lowered his head. Shen Rui glanced toward the doorway. A faint sound had come from the corridor. A footstep. Then silence. He moved without thinking. His hand caught the nearest guard’s wrist and pushed him aside just as a thin needle shot through the open doorway. The needle struck the wooden shelf. A dark stain spread across the wood. Poison. “Seal the corridor!” Shen Rui shouted. The guards rushed outside. A figure dressed in gray robes sprinted toward the far exit. Shen Rui took one step after him, then stopped. No. Chasing strangers through unfamiliar corridors was how people ended up dead, lost, or assigned more work. He pointed instead. “Behind the third pillar!” A guard immediately changed direction and intercepted the fleeing figure. The attacker twisted, drew a short blade, and struck toward the guard’s throat. Before the blade could land, another Black Guard officer slammed into him from the side. The attacker fell. Three swords surrounded him. Shen Rui approached cautiously. The man was young, perhaps in his twenties. His face was ordinary, his clothes those of a low-ranking palace clerk. But his hands were calloused. Not from writing. From weapons. Xiao Jingyuan stood beside Shen Rui. “Who sent you?” The attacker smiled. Then his teeth clenched. Shen Rui reacted instantly. “Open his mouth!” A guard forced the attacker’s jaw apart, but the poison capsule had already dissolved. The man’s body convulsed. Shen Rui crouched and examined his sleeve. A black thread was stitched into the cuff. This time, there was no character. Only a small crow. Xiao Jingyuan looked at the dead man. “Search him.” The guards found a palace clerk’s token, a narrow knife, and a folded piece of paper. The paper contained only one sentence. “The seventh son must not reach the northern records.” Shen Rui stared at the message. Then he slowly turned toward Xiao Jingyuan. “Your Majesty?” The emperor looked at him. “From this moment, you will not review these records alone.” Shen Rui blinked. “Does that mean I can stop?” “No.” His expression collapsed. Xiao Jingyuan continued, “You will review them beside me.” That is not protection. That is supervised suffering. The emperor’s eyes flickered. Shen Rui did not notice. Outside the archive, hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. A Black Guard messenger appeared and knelt. “Your Majesty, an urgent report from the Marquis of Yong’an.” Xiao Jingyuan turned. “Speak.” “The marquis has submitted the household registry and the list of seal holders.” The messenger hesitated. “He also reports that one of the names on the list disappeared from the Shen Estate three days ago.” Shen Rui’s gaze sharpened. “Who?” The messenger lowered his head. “Your family’s former chief steward.” For the first time that morning, Shen Rui forgot about lunch. The emperor’s eyes turned toward him. And somewhere beyond the palace walls, a man who had served the Shen household for more than twenty years had vanished—just as the evidence began pointing toward the marquis’s gate.

The Archive That Should Have Burned