At the execution grounds at Qingyuan Post Station, Ye Huai'an was dragged from the prison cart and forced to kneel before an old straw mat. His sentence was stamped, and he was to be executed by waist chop that very day. Yet from the date written in the corner of the paper, he could tell it was half a day earlier than the time the military dispatch had arrived at the post station. All three verification marks were blank. Eighteen years ago, his father, Ye Yan, had knelt in this very spot and been executed the same way. Since the age of ten, Ye Huai'an had pored over old case files. Now, before everyone, he forced the interrogating official, Zuo Qingshan, to admit that the sentence had not been verified, the tally had not been issued, and the final review had not been completed. If Zuo Qingshan executed him, he would have to bear responsibility for all three missing checks alone. With the annual assessment approaching and post officials from the Xinyang Relay Station Alliance watching Qingyuan, Ye Huai'an was not gambling on whether he was innocent, but on who had handled the case. Zuo Qingshan rolled up the sentence, tucked it into his sleeve, and changed the order to detention pending review for three days. But who had drawn the vermilion mark on that half sheet of ink-blotted draft paper? And who now held the page that had been removed from his father's case file eighteen years ago? If the reply to the review did not arrive in three days, Ye Huai'an would have to appear in court again. This time, he intended to reopen more than just his own case.
