MWC – Chapter 204 Da Hong Pao

I AM DROPPING THIS NOVEL. IF ANYONE WANTS TO CONTINUE THEY CAN. IF POSSIBLE PLEASE SHARE THE LINK SO I CAN BINGE READ TOO.

At the service station, Lu Ming arrived early in the morning to take his post.

Looking at the list of judges and attorneys for the special military tribunal hastily finalized the night before, Lu Ming couldn’t help but shake his head.

There were three judges. He was one of them. The other two were Brigadier General Shefton, vice-principal of the Internal Security Military Academy, and Major General Brown, deputy chief of staff of the National Guard.

The defense lawyer for Cynthia was Liu Hanming.

The prosecutor was military attorney Kanhala.

Both Lu Ming and the defense attorney Liu Hanming worked for the same law firm.

Sometimes, military tribunals were just this informal.

The East Sea’s three types of military court systems were somewhat similar to those of a certain major Western country from his previous life, but in some ways, the East Sea system was slightly better. In that Western country’s military courts, the commanding officer of the personnel involved in the case had final decision-making power. In other words, regardless of the court’s judgment, the commanding officer still had broad discretion to reduce punishment or even overturn the conviction.

This deep-seated loophole explained why scandals frequently erupted in that country’s military.

As for the current case, due to the numerous crimes of the deceased, the higher-ups in the East Sea military already had an intention to protect the accused parties.

The scattered reports in the media also subtly implied that the victim deserved their fate, which was one reason why this special military tribunal was established so carelessly.

In the school’s records, Cynthia had casually used “recon training” as an excuse when she skipped the third group class, and this excuse had been tacitly approved. That meant Cynthia had harmed civilians during a military operation, thus avoiding the possibility of the victim applying for civil court involvement.

According to East Sea law, even military personnel could be tried in civil court if they committed crimes against civilians outside of military operations.

Legally, although Cynthia and the others had used “recon training” as an excuse for skipping class, since it had been officially reported to the instructor and received Mary’s approval at the time, there was no procedural issue.

Lu Ming studied the case files, pondering: if the prosecutor focused on this point, how would he rule?

Would he declare the case outside the jurisdiction of the military court?

Hard to say. It would depend on whether the prosecutor could convince him of a clear distinction between the military academy’s procedures and the students’ act of skipping class.

They would have to prove the students were indeed skipping class.

As for what he had learned beforehand, once seated on the judge’s bench, he had to act as if he had never heard what Mary or the students told him, and rely solely on the evidence presented by both sides in court to make a judgment.

In truth, he already knew a lot of inside information and had even done a preliminary evaluation of the case. This alone should have disqualified him from being one of the three judges. But military courts were often just this lax. It wasn’t a problem formed overnight, nor something that could be changed overnight.

While still mulling things over, the wall clock struck on the hour and began playing its chime.

Lu Ming looked up at the time and said, “Remind me at eleven—I have to attend a wedding banquet.”

Today was February 29th, the grand wedding day of Old Liu, the wealthy man.

“Yes, sir!” the two junior clerks answered crisply.

“Huh? Come in!” Lu Ming waved with a smile to someone peeking nervously at the door.

Wearing a denim blue spaghetti strap dress over pale pencil pants that hugged her slender legs, and a baseball cap, the young girl looked vibrant and full of youthful charm—it was Jin Meiyan.

They hadn’t seen each other in months, and she seemed to have shed more of her childishness, radiating a fresh, girlish glow.

“Oh…” Jin Meiyan pushed open the glass door, bowed politely to the two clerks, and walked up to Lu Ming. “Uncle…”

Lu Ming asked, “You here to see me? Or visiting relatives?” Jin Meiyan used to live here, and the relatives she stayed with still resided in the community.

“I signed up as a volunteer. It’s my day off today, so I came by to see if there was any work to help with,” she said cautiously.

“Oh…” Lu Ming nodded. He hadn’t paid attention to the volunteer list.

Looking at Jin Meiyan, it was clear she hadn’t come to see him specifically. She probably noticed he was there and got nervous about coming in.

Lu Ming hesitated a moment before finally asking, “Your sister—how is she doing now?” He hadn’t visited the school in a long time. She had even missed the final exams before the holiday, right when the senator had just won the election and everything was hectic. Then came the new year and a trip to the Western Regions.

“She… she went to college in Hanzhou…” Jin Meiyan said softly, sneaking a glance at Lu Ming’s expression.

Lu Ming was stunned: “She’s only finished the first year of middle school—how is she in college? Special recruitment? It’s not a scam, is it?”

“It shouldn’t be a scam. It was recommended by Mrs. Fernard. Hanzhou University—a special seven-year program they recruited for just before the New Year. Only thirty students were selected across the empire. I heard they’re all quite young,” Jin Meiyan answered nervously, afraid of saying the wrong thing and getting blamed. She had tried to persuade her sister to consult Uncle Qianxing, but once her sister made up her mind, no one could change it.

Lu Ming frowned. “That old lady Fernard!” Then he let out a helpless laugh. It was actually a good thing—his reaction was just a bit over the top due to the surprise. He still had a few things he wanted to say to that little girl but hadn’t had the chance.

Hanzhou University was a prestigious name—one of the top ten universities in the empire and the only one among them located outside of the capital and East Sea.

Of the top ten, five were in the imperial capital, four in East Sea, and the last was Hanzhou University.

However, Hanzhou was a bit chaotic. It had once been the frontline between the Western Kingdom and the Central Empire, and now it had a highly mixed population with a large number of people of mixed heritage. It was known for its unique cultural blend within the empire.

But as a hub connecting north and south, its economy was quite strong—especially since the empire’s railway system had linked east, west, north, and south. As a transportation hub city, Hanzhou developed rapidly.

Its capital, Hanzhou City, was the third-largest city in the empire.

Of course, East Sea was still the leading metropolitan area in terms of economic scale—it simply couldn’t be compared to an individual city under a province or district.

“She called or wrote to you? Is she doing okay?” Lu Ming asked.

“She’s doing well. When my sister calls, she sounds really happy…” Jin Meiyan trailed off, then glanced at Lu Ming cautiously.

Lu Ming smiled wryly—did she think he’d feel abandoned by her sister? But he couldn’t be bothered to get upset with a little girl and was about to say something when—

Jin Meiyan added, “My sister left a letter for you. She told me that if I ever saw you and you asked about her, I should give it to you. If you didn’t ask, then forget it. I brought it with me today. I was originally going to give it to the clerks to pass on to you, regardless.”

She pulled a pink envelope from her small backpack and handed it to Lu Ming.

Lu Ming took it, amused by the cute cartoon print on the envelope. But when he thought about the little girl thousands of miles away—brave, optimistic, and cheerful, yet who might have suffered something terrible because of him—he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

“Send her 10,000 yuan later. Oh, don’t send it all at once—it’s dangerous for a girl to carry that much cash. Send 500 yuan each month. At the start of each month, I’ll have someone prepare a check for you.”

Before Jin Meiyan could respond, the door chime rang. The two clerks stood and bowed respectfully. “Third Madam!”

The graceful woman entering was Pamela, dressed in a dazzling, seductive black gauze evening gown that hugged her alluring curves. A sapphire necklace shimmered between her snowy-white collarbones. Her tall figure was accentuated by black stiletto heels, and her golden hair and blue eyes made every other color in the room seem to fade away.

Lu Ming instinctively stuffed the letter into his pocket and waved to dismiss Jin Meiyan.

Jin Meiyan, who feared Pamela the most, quickly retreated to the side and slipped out quietly, not even daring to offer a greeting.

“You’re a bit early!” Lu Ming smiled. They had agreed to attend Old Liu’s wedding together.

“Interrupting your little rendezvous?” Pamela teased, half-smiling.

Lu Ming waved dismissively. “What rendezvous?”

As they walked out together, Pamela naturally took his arm, her head held high and neck elegantly arched. Her heels clicked with confidence and grace as she walked beside him.

The two junior clerks looked on with stars in their eyes. This was truly a perfect couple—talented man and beautiful woman, a golden boy and jade girl—making others green with envy.

But there was a rumor that the boss’s second wife was even more beautiful. She was rarely seen in public and was said to be a very traditional aristocratic lady of the East.

No one knew why, but thinking of all this didn’t make them feel the boss was unfaithful. Perhaps it was because the boss and his wives lived in a world so high above the rest, at such a level that ordinary people simply couldn’t comprehend their lives.

Old Liu’s wedding was held at the Wolong Pavilion, with only a few close friends invited. Still, the ceremony was grand. Following modern trends, he even hired photographers, bought advertising space, and had the announcement published in the newspaper.

His two sons also showed up uninvited, acting very filial, bustling about busily, and treating Hasan with great respect.

The entire Wolong Pavilion club was adorned with red decorations and filled with joyous festivity.

A stage was erected on the open space in front of the pavilion. Liu had invited well-known northern opera performers to stage several major performances from the afternoon into the evening.

Wolong Pavilion had expanded—now over twenty courtyards—and the several thousand acres of hilly wasteland by the riverside had been bought to build a golf course and an equestrian club.

Lu Ming’s little dream of having a private club of his own had once again been mercilessly crushed.

However, the consultant who submitted the planning proposal had the right idea. Currently, this land was practically worthless.

But with the development of the Wolong Bay area around the Liberty Tower, a large population would soon flood in. Wide roads were being laid, and once they were complete, it would only take a short ten-plus kilometer road from the main thoroughfare to transform the Wolong Pavilion into a highly accessible yet secluded and beautiful club. And the northern district lacked exactly such a golf and equestrian club.

In fact, as long as transportation remained convenient and service quality was raised, the excellent environment here could gradually attract wealthy people from the city to treat it as their personal playground.

If you don’t buy land now, then when?

And so, the Wolong Pavilion project was launched at lightning speed.

However, the No. 1 courtyard was of course always reserved for the big boss.

Lu Ming was now reclining on a soft couch in the main room of that very courtyard, preparing for a nap before the afternoon opera.

It was also a rare chance to spend time with Pamela. After all, he could see Hanzhu anytime at home, but Pamela was truly busy—hardly ever in the northern district, mostly stationed at the Huaxia Group’s city office, and frequently traveling for business.

Nowadays, her every entrance and exit was surrounded by bodyguards—she had more than ten female ones alone.

Lu Ming glanced at the newly changed white silk sleepwear-clad Pamela, lying cozily under a thin blanket beside him. Then he looked over at the clothes rack below the couch, where a purple qipao hung. It was what Pamela planned to wear to the opera later.

She had always been like this. When he first met her, the moment she had any income, she would change clothes eight times a day. Now, she’d toned it down a bit, but still changed three to four outfits daily for different occasions.

He reached out, wanting to pinch her soft cheek. With such a stunning beauty lying beside him, he had absolutely no desire to sleep.

But seeing her long, beautifully dyed brown lashes flutter rhythmically, clearly already deep in sleep, he didn’t have the heart to disturb her.

She always seemed to sleep especially peacefully beside him.

From the outer room came the soft sound of footsteps and Luo Sixteen’s quiet voice: “Master, the leader of the Sansheng Opera Troupe is here to ask you to select the performance pieces.”

Luo Sixteen was one of the Ditolonu, permanently stationed in the No. 1 courtyard, acting as its steward in charge of daily affairs.

Hearing this, Lu Ming opened his mouth to speak but glanced at the sleeping Pamela beside him.

He slowly got up, slipped on his shoes, walked to the door, put on his coat, and stepped out, frowning. “That Liu Laocai, always fussing about something. Go tell the troupe leader to perform whatever they like. If they can’t decide, ask Old Liu.”

He could easily guess—Liu had probably told them that Lu Ming was the most honored guest and asked the troupe leader to consult him about the repertoire.

Disturbing the sweet nap with his third wife—truly infuriating. Although, he supposed it was just a daydream on his part.

Just as he was about to turn back, he suddenly paused. He remembered Pamela didn’t particularly enjoy Central Opera, but once, while listening to records with Hanzhu, she said that The Ever-Victorious Army sounded nice, though she didn’t quite understand the lyrics.

Lu Ming signaled with his chin: “Lead the way!”

Beside the moon gate was a small side room that was Luo Sixteen’s quarters. Outside the gate stood a petite, charming figure.

The screen wall in front of the main hall was tall and grand—completely obscuring the view of what lay beyond.

By the wall stood a dark-skinned, strong woman, her hands behind her back, carrying a case for a short cannon.

Before Lu Ming even reached the door, a beautiful married woman had hurried up to him. Wearing a blue floral jacket with plum blossom buttons, a green skirt, and blue undershorts—a very traditional outfit—she slightly curtsied. “Greetings, Master Lu! This humble woman is Li Yumei, the leader of the Sansheng Troupe.” Her voice was sweet and soft.

Lu Ming nodded and sat down on the chair Luo Sixteen brought over. He accepted the red velvet-bound program list that Li Yumei handed him and flipped through it.

“Besides The Ever-Victorious Army, what other pieces are your specialties?” Lu Ming asked casually.

Li Yumei replied softly, “Sir, most of our troupe hails from Andong Province. There’s a well-known play from our hometown called The Crimson Robe. It tells the story of the Crimson-Robed Judge delivering justice for a loyal subject and fiercely punishing a corrupt official…”

Lu Ming nodded. Andong Province was the northernmost province in the Kingdom of Gryphene, separated from the Northern Domain’s four provinces by just a river.

The southern provinces closest to the Northern Domain were all designated as “provinces” administratively, meaning they had very limited autonomy—virtually none—being more like extensions of the central government. This likely stemmed from the early imperial rulers’ lingering fears of a Northern Domain uprising to restore the Zhongzhou Dynasty.

Farther south, even regions heavily populated by traditional Zhongzhou people were organized as “states,” akin to U.S.-style federal entities, with local autonomy. Many, like Donghai, were formerly feudal principalities or duchies and retained their semi-autonomous powers.

Andong, lying just across the river from the Northern Domain, had customs very similar to its northern neighbors. From Li Yumei’s speech and manners, Lu Ming could clearly sense it.

This troupe had been specially invited by Liu Laocai from Andong Province.

Thinking for a moment, Lu Ming said casually, “The Crimson Robe? Interesting. My hometown has a type of tea with the same name.”

Li Yumei sighed gently. “Then your hometown must be a pure and bright place. Even its tea can ward off evil spirits.”

Lu Ming glanced at her, thinking—what an articulate woman.

But unexpectedly, this beautiful married woman was already in tears. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees. “Sir, my husband was wrongly imprisoned three years ago and is still suffering in jail. I beg you to help him!”

Lu Ming froze for a moment and said helplessly, “What are you doing? This isn’t part of the play. I’m not the Crimson-Robed Judge. I can’t just overturn verdicts. Let me tell you, in our legal system, once the jury finds someone guilty, appeals are almost never successful—unless there were procedural errors during the trial…”

Li Yumei didn’t seem to hear him. She pulled a piece of paper from her bosom and offered it with both hands. The bold title at the top read: Petition for Appeal.

“Get up!” Lu Ming sighed, accepting the document and signaling Luo Sixteen to help her up.

He glanced over the petition. Her husband, Meng Xiaolou, was a leading man in their troupe, performing the equivalent of leading female roles—graceful and refined. Three years ago, at the birthday celebration of the mayor of Jinyang City in Andong Province, the mayor invited him for a drink and tried to assault him. In the struggle, Meng pushed him out of a window. The mayor died from the fall.

Meng was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to life imprisonment.

Lu Ming shook his head. “And it’s an Andong case… I’m even more powerless in that case.”

Li Yumei remained kneeling, Luo Sixteen unable to lift her. Tearfully, she looked up. “Sir, I was advised by a prominent lawyer in Andong. He recently found me and said my husband might have a sliver of hope. He mentioned you by name—said you’re a rare legal genius. He’s studied all your cases and admires you immensely. He said that if you’d be willing to help, there might just be a chance to reverse the verdict.”

“I was already planning to come to Donghai, but then, as luck would have it, Mr. Liu invited our Sansheng Troupe. Isn’t that fate? I’d already retired from the troupe, but this time, I came just to see you. Please, sir, have mercy. Pity my husband—he suffers terribly in prison…” She broke down sobbing.

Lu Ming considered the case. It could arguably fall under the principles of self-defense. But… Andong?

It was too close to the Northern Four Provinces.

And he didn’t have time to run around. There were far too many wrongful convictions in the world—how could he possibly take care of them all?

Besides, he was only a Tier-2 advocate in Donghai. In places like the Western Union, even junior imperial lawyers could practice law. But within the Kingdom of Gryphene, until he advanced to Tier-4 Senior Advocate, he wasn’t qualified to handle cross-province legal representation.

Even if he wanted to help, it would have to be behind the scenes.

“I’ll think about it. Don’t cry here—it’s unseemly. What would others think?” Saying this, Lu Ming rose and walked toward the backyard.

Still, it seemed that his reputation in legal circles was growing by the day. Some even saw him as a righteous force correcting the chaos—a good thing, perhaps.