Chapter 993

993

In the end, Magistrate Ji reluctantly signed and affixed his seal, then swept out in a huff.

The investigation at Tianlao ended in failure.

The jailers at Tianlao all clammed up like oysters. But that didn’t matter much—so long as they found the key evidence, they could throw these jailers into the interrogation chamber and apply all one hundred and eight methods until they spoke.

The crux was the key evidence: Ma Liu’s corpse was genuine, with not a single trace of fraud to be found.

A major case had finally been cracked open—only to discover the crack was legal, legitimate, and actually proved the innocence of the Ministry of Justice. Who could bear this?

Was the entire plan collapsing now?

So frustrating! So frustrating!

Chen Guanlou led the jailers in watching Magistrate Ji’s party depart.

The jailers all spat in unison.

The Dalisi wants to meddle in the Ministry of Justice’s affairs? Dream on.

With the pressure released, Xu Fugui plopped onto the ground, looking utterly disheveled. No one mocked him; instead, they all understood him.

Chen Guanlou stepped forward and patted his shoulder. “You’ve passed the first hurdle. Rest easy!”

“Is there a second hurdle?” Xu Fugui couldn’t believe it, his face filled with terror.

“The Dalisi won’t let this go. Since they found no opening here at Tianlao, they’ll look elsewhere. A massive bureaucracy like this always has a few dark secrets. I’ve always told you: don’t be greedy. Follow the rules. The sky won’t fall. This is your lesson. If I hadn’t patched the holes in time, everyone in the Bingzi Wing—top to bottom—would be dead!”

The word “dead” silenced every jailer in the Bingzi Wing, their faces pale with dread.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging painfully.

Xu Fugui wiped his face. “What do we do now?”

“What do we do? Do your job. Don’t panic. Work when you’re supposed to work. Take leave when you’re supposed to take leave. And stay away from those useless bastards in the Liùshànmén. This mess? No doubt they leaked the information.”

Chen Guanlou looked down on the Liùshànmén brothers. Their work was sloppy, and they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Now that they’d come knocking, he hoped they’d show some backbone—don’t crack under a little intimidation and spill the truth.

“What should we do with Ma Liu’s corpse?” Medical Officer Mu stepped forward to ask.

No matter how much they tried to block the stench, in this summer heat, the odor still seeped out. The entire Tianlao reeked. Every day when he returned home, he had to wash himself two or three times just to barely rid himself of the smell.

If this kept up, life would be unbearable.

Medical Officer Mu hoped to haul the corpse outside the city and bury it quickly—no prolonged storage!

But Chen Guanlou said: “As long as the case isn’t closed, the corpse stays in the morgue. Get more ice. If there isn’t enough, tell the accounts office to spend the money to buy more.”

“This year’s heat is clearly worse than last year’s. Ice prices have gone up.”

“Buy it anyway. I’ll try to get the Ministry of Justice to reimburse us.”

He was cleaning up after the Liùshànmén. The cost of preserving the corpse should be their responsibility. He’d find a time to settle this account with Sun Daoning.

Public money must be accounted for down to the last copper. Never pretend to be generous. The more generous you act, the more the higher-ups will cut you.

Fighting for every single coin is one of the essential qualities of serving the public.

If you don’t fight for it today, tomorrow your neighbor’s department will come to shit on your head.

“We can’t keep it like this!” Medical Officer Mu hinted subtly. In this heat, such a corpse risked triggering an epidemic.

Chen Guanlou spread his hands, helpless. “What can I do? I’d love to drag it out and bury it right now. But as long as the case isn’t closed, can I bury it? Who knows when the Dalisi might show up again to inspect the body? The Censorate won’t sit idle either. Pressing me won’t help—you need to pressure the Ministry of Justice. Pressure Minister Sun. Make him find a way to shut down the Dalisi .”

Medical Officer Mu looked gloomy, then thought for a moment. “I’ll store the corpse separately and apply medicinal herbs around it to minimize decay.”

Chen Guanlou nodded vigorously. Yes, they needed herbs—no one knew how long it would have to be stored.

He added: “Also, find a skilled painter. Have him make daily realistic sketches documenting the corpse’s changes. Otherwise, after too long, the decay will obscure its original features. Remember: strip off all clothing. Clearly depict every physical trait—make it unmistakable!”

“Sketches too?” Medical Officer Mu was stunned. “Is that really necessary?”

“Absolutely necessary! After each sketch, have the coroner and you sign and seal it to verify authenticity. If we end up in a legal battle later, at least we’ll have evidence. Far better than empty words.”

Medical Officer Mu reluctantly accepted this reasoning.

After thinking it over, he decided to paint the sketches himself. No one outside would do it. The moment they heard “painting corpses,” they’d refuse—some even slap you.

In this age, anyone skilled in painting—especially portraiture—was a scholar. Scholars were respectable people. They wouldn’t even step inside Tianlao’s gates, let alone paint corpses.

Chen Guanlou was stunned. “Old Mu, you’ve been hiding your talents! You can paint?”

“Just average. Back when I studied, I dabbled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Didn’t you learn any of that during your studies?”

“Me? I’m a half-baked amateur!” Chen Guanlou admitted bluntly—he knew nothing, only knew how to spend money. He showed no shame.

Medical Officer Mu’s lip twitched. “Prepare the brushes and ink. I need the finest. Without top-quality tools, my hand grows stiff—I can’t paint well.”

“Those are minor details. I’ll send someone to buy them right away. But the key question—is realistic painting really possible?”

“Realistic painting? Easy. Even Qingshan could do it. He just dislikes painting and his skill is limited.”

Medical Officer Mu was confident.

Chen Guanlou remained skeptical.

Only when he watched Medical Officer Mu pick up the brush and paint—realistic, almost like a sketch—with clear, unmistakable physical features—did he finally believe: Old Mu never boasted. Like him, he spoke with certainty—every word a nail.

A genius!

Why hadn’t he taken the imperial exams back then? Why choose medicine instead?

“The imperial exams aren’t that easy. My level? Only good enough to fool illiterate peasants. Compared to true painting masters or those lucky enough to pass the exams? I’m nowhere near.”

“You’re being modest!”

“I’m not being modest! Do you think I never took the exams? I failed. Three times. Failed all three. Sigh…” At the memory, Old Mu’s face grew somber.

Had he passed the exams back then, his fate would have been entirely different.

Chen Guanlou: …

He’d been shallow!

He’d assumed anyone who passed the exams and became an official was just average. He dealt with corrupt officials daily—his standards were too high. Only someone like Xie Changling could be called a genius.

Now he understood: anyone who passed the imperial exams was one in ten thousand—a true talent, no trickery allowed.

Old Mu had talent, yet couldn’t even touch the edge of the exam system.

The imperial exam track was too cutthroat—so brutal it crushed humanity.