As Jia Daishan lay dying, he clasped the hand of his youngest son, Jia Xu. “I know you've been wronged, but the family comes first.”
Jia Xu smiled and nodded. Then he turned and burned every book of poetry and prose he owned. Now that he was entering officialdom, he would no longer live as a son of the Jia family.
Five years later, he was in charge of the Ministry of Justice. His first case was against his own second brother, who had embezzled the Zhen family's estate.
When Matriarch Shi knelt outside the mansion gates and wept for mercy, Jia Xu lightly rolled the evidence between his fingers and smiled. “Mother, have you forgotten? On the night you said a bastard son deserved to die, the snow was just as heavy as this.”
