Chapter 98

After finishing his shift, Chen Guanlou took Xiao Jin to the place where Hong Zhuangshi had died.

Hong Zhuangshi’s home was outside the city, but for convenience on duty, he rented a small courtyard inside the city.

The courtyard was tiny, with only three rooms total; once you entered the gate, you could see the entire layout at a glance: one main house, one side room, and one kitchen.

The fight had taken place in the main house; tables and chairs lay overturned on the ground, and a pool of blood still stained the floor.

Xiao Jin looked puzzled. “Chen Tou, what are we looking for?”

Chen Guanlou stared at the ceiling. “Guess where Hong Zhuangshi might have hidden his valuables.”

Xiao Jin blinked in surprise. “Isn’t the rafters too obvious? If I were hiding something, I’d either dig a hole in the bedroom wall, stash it in the kitchen, or bury it in the courtyard.”

“Fine. Search according to your logic.”

What?

Xiao Jin was stunned.

He scratched his head. “Chen Tou, you’re serious? But Hong Zhuangshi didn’t have much money, did he?”

“Don’t worry about whether he had money or not. Just search the place the way you’d hide something. I’ll explain later.”

“Oh!”

Xiao Jin obediently began searching the rooms.

Chen Guanlou went into the courtyard and climbed over the wall onto the rooftop.

He indeed spotted a faint footprint.

He crouched on the wall, thinking, when his gaze accidentally swept over the messy pile of firewood beneath the eaves. A slant of sunset light struck his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

He immediately jumped down and rushed to the firewood pile, rummaging through it.

Found it!

A purse!

Three plump purses.

“Found it.”

Xiao Jin heard the noise and hurried out of the house.

Chen Guanlou picked up one purse, opened it—it was full of silver. He picked up another—it held various gold and silver ornaments. The third purse contained both silver and gold nuggets.

Xiao Jin’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Th-these… together, they must be at least a few hundred taels of silver!”

“Two or three hundred taels, for sure. Maybe more.” Chen Guanlou weighed them in his hand and estimated their value.

“Where did Hong Ergou get this much money? His death…” Xiao Jin’s face turned ashen, his pupils dilated—he was terrified.

Chen Guanlou signaled him to calm down. “Without doubt, he was killed for this money. You need only know this. I know you’re tight-lipped—you won’t leak a word.”

“Chen Tou, rest assured—I won’t say a single word. Hong Ergou never said a thing, yet he secretly hoarded so much wealth. Truly, you can’t judge a man by his appearance.” Xiao Jin sighed repeatedly. He’d never suspected Hong Ergou had such ability.

But Chen Guanlou said, “To die over a few hundred taels? Not worth it.”

He knew who gave the money. He knew who killed Hong Ergou. But he had no proof. He had no idea when or how Hong Ergou had made contact with Yu Zhaoan.

Even if he had proof, the death of a single jailer wouldn’t harm Yu Zhaoan in the slightest. Reality was this cruel.

Yu Zhaoan’s ruthlessness and cunning were plain to see. Though confined in the Heavenly Prison, he still manipulated politics, seeking to be the unseen hand stirring chaos and twisting minds.

“Chen Tou, what do we do with this money?” Xiao Jin whispered.

Chen Guanlou snapped back to himself. “Give it all to Hong’s family. You know how to explain it.”

Xiao Jin nodded. “Chen Tou, leave this to me—I’ll handle it perfectly.” He promised, yet his expression was hesitant.

Chen Guanlou looked at him. “Say what’s on your mind.”

“Chen Tou, should we keep investigating Hong Ergou’s case?”

“No.”

“Oh!” Xiao Jin’s face relaxed visibly—he exhaled deeply. As a veteran jailer of the Heavenly Prison, though uneducated, he knew well: the less you knew, the fewer questions you asked, the longer you lived. And never miss a chance to take what’s yours—but never touch what isn’t.

Don’t think that officials locked in the Heavenly Prison are fish on a chopping block, at the mercy of lowly jailers. If you sneakily reach out, your fate will be like Hong Ergou’s—dead without reason. Take the officials’ money, but only through proper channels. Money gained through secret means—those officials are greedy enough; they’d never willingly let go. Trouble would come sooner or later.

Hong Ergou was too greedy, thinking he was an exception. But in the eyes of officials, every lowly jailer was no different—they all deserved to die.

Xiao Jin sighed quietly. He was a veteran—he didn’t need Chen Guanlou to explain. The money alone told him everything.

“Hong Ergou was foolish! He replaced his elder brother’s position in the Heavenly Prison—he’d been here longer than you, Chen Tou. Five or six years, a true veteran. Still, he couldn’t escape the trap of greed.”

Xiao Jin sighed again.

“Tomorrow, when I go to Hong’s house, I’ll burn him extra paper money.”

Chen Guanlou handed him five taels of silver. “This is my offering. Deliver it to Hong’s family.”

“Won’t Chen Tou go yourself?”

“I won’t go.”

“Ah, so many deaths lately—it’s hard on you, Chen Tou.”

Chen Guanlou glanced around, shut the courtyard gate himself, and left. On the way, he parted from Xiao Jin, bought a bundle of braised meats—braised beef, braised pig’s head, braised pig’s ears, braised pig’s tail—and a flask of wine. He strolled lazily to Du Fuzi’s house.

Du Fuzi’s old servant was preparing dinner—only vegetables, no meat. Seeing the bundle of braised meats, he beamed from ear to ear and warmly ushered Chen Guanlou inside.

Du Fuzi was grading students’ essays. Seeing him, he invited him to tea and complained, “What nonsense these kids write! I must’ve done terrible things in my past life to be stuck with this useless lot.”

“As long as they have money,” Chen Guanlou replied offhandedly.

He had studied at the Chen clan school himself—he knew the situation. Parents sent their children there not expecting brilliance. Just learning to read, write, and do basic arithmetic—to avoid being illiterate—was enough. If they wanted to take the imperial exams, they had to go to proper academies; those were the places for real learning.

Du Fuzi threw down his brush. “I’m done. Not a single essay is worth reading. The younger generation of the Chen clan—truly hopeless. Not one of them can read properly.”

“What about the young masters of Hou Fu?”

Du Fuzi chuckled bitterly. “Hopeless! All spoiled brats—never expected to take the exams. A few days ago, I mentioned to the Master that the boys should resume their martial training, not let it go to waste. He agreed—he’s been thinking the same. Hou Fu rose through military merit; that’s the foundation. Reading? Only so they can sit in court and understand what the civil officials say. Occasionally, they can quote classics to argue back.”

Chen Guanlou burst out laughing—the happiest he’d been in days.

He grinned. “The Master is a true pragmatist. He’s right: Hou Fu’s young masters don’t need the imperial exams to become officials—but they still must study, just so they’re not seen as illiterates who can’t even understand a conversation.”