Chapter 42: Quhuisi

“Don’t wander off these days—your second uncle will probably come looking for you again. Also… the matter at Qihetai probably isn’t settled yet.”

“You mean the Pingtian Society?”

The stepmother shook her head: “The Pingtian Society won’t find you anytime soon. But with so much happening, so many dead, the Quhuisi will definitely investigate.”

Xu Yuan nodded.

The Quhuisi falls under the Qintianjian.

It is the imperial Ming dynasty’s specialized department for investigating and handling all manner of demonic and strange phenomena.

Together with the Chuyao Army and the Shanhe Si, they form the Ming dynasty’s “Three Departments of Strange Affairs.”

Their jurisdictions overlap to some degree—a common situation across all Ming bureaus—leading to constant bickering: everyone rushes in when there’s profit, and everyone shirks blame when trouble arises.

The Shanhe Si belongs to the Canal Administration and handles all strange events related to the canal, ensuring its smooth operation above all else.

Of the three, only the Quhuisi was truly established for the purpose of dealing with demons, and thus it is also the most professional.

Since two hundred years ago, the Qintianjian’s power has expanded rapidly.

And their greatest annual task is to determine the “Yellow Calendar!”

After eating, Xu Yuan took the initiative to wash the bowls.

The stepmother returned to her room and told Xu Yuan: “Go to bed early. You’ll stay in your old room—I’ve already made up the bed.”

Xu Yuan called her back, grinning: “Can you do me a favor?”

“Speak.”

Xu Yuan pulled out the three-barreled hand cannon and the “Secret Cannon Powder Formula”: “Fix it. And make some powder too.”

Lin Wan looked at the three-barreled hand cannon with a flicker of distaste, but out of respect for Xu Yuan, she picked it up and examined it. When she saw the name “Chen Wutong” engraved on it, she faintly frowned.

Xu Yuan pulled out the hammer from the Holy Mother: “I won’t let you work for free—this is for you.”

The stepmother had no illusions about what her “prodigal son” might give her—first off, the gift’s shape was perfect: a hammer.

She glanced at it casually, then her eyes brightened—she sensed something unusual, and picked it up for a closer look.

“A fine artifact of the Artisan Dao—more than sufficient for any cultivator below the Sixth Stream.” Then she accepted it without hesitation.

This item was like pearls cast before swine in the Holy Mother’s hands—she lacked the ability to unlock its power.

“This cannon can be repaired, but I’m not skilled in this area—it’ll take a few days.” The stepmother agreed. As for the “Secret Cannon Powder Formula,” she only skimmed it, then grew wary: “What are you doing with this?”

I just warned you not to cultivate cannon powder inner elixirs again.

Xu Yuan slapped the three-barreled hand cannon on the table: “For this.”

“Really?”

Xu Yuan grew impatient: “Can’t you even make it?”

“Hmph!” The stepmother scoffed. How hard could it be?

But the stepmother truly believed it was meant for the three-barreled hand cannon and had no idea this powder was designed for siege cannons.

Lin Wan was unskilled in firearms, so this mistake was inevitable.

But she wouldn’t make much for Xu Yuan—no more than enough for about twenty shots.

Even if this brat secretly continued strengthening his cannon powder inner elixir, the damage would be limited.

“Then I’ll wait.” Xu Yuan wasn’t in a hurry for either item. Then both returned to their rooms to rest.

Xu Yuan’s bedding was all freshly washed. Lying down, he felt a wave of comfort—compared to the broken wooden plank and dry straw at Qihetai, it was worlds apart.

“Home really is better.” Xu Yuan exhaled deeply, rested a moment, then took out the iron box.

Inside was twenty catties of cannon powder.

Xu Yuan swallowed it all at once.

The inner elixir, previously the size of a mung bean, rapidly grew to the size of a lychee.

He estimated its power could be used about fifteen times.

But if he wanted to increase its potency, that was another matter.

…

The city’s nights were far “quieter” than those in the town. In one night, Xu Yuan heard only two strange sounds.

As dawn broke, both ends of the alleys buzzed with activity.

Uncle Mao had already packed up and opened his door, setting out the small furniture he’d crafted.

Wang Shen’s folded-basket stall was doing brisk business: two large basins of folded-basket vegetables sat outside, steaming under a fire.

Beside them stood a large basket filled with baked buns.

One serving of vegetables and four buns cost only fifteen cash. Laborers and porters came and went without end.

Xu Yuan didn’t wake until the sun was high. He glanced at the yellow calendar on the wall: today’s prohibitions: night travel, bathing, sacrifices, temple construction.

No wonder the stepmother hadn’t woken him.

He was supposed to visit his father’s grave today—but sacrifices were forbidden.

Xu Yuan wiped his face with a damp cloth, daring not to truly wash it.

Prohibited from bathing—better to be cautious.

Just as he finished, someone knocked: “Anyone home? We’re looking for Xu Yuan.”

Xu Yuan opened the door. Outside stood a yamen runner, followed by a man and a woman.

Xu Yuan’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the man.

The man’s destiny pattern glowed brilliant gold:

Taiyin Guarding Destiny Pattern!

This man was born to serve in the Quhuisi.

The yamen runner looked reluctant—no one in the yamen wanted to come to He Gong Alley.

“I’m Xu Yuan. What do you want?”

The yamen runner stepped aside: “These two officials are here to see you.”

Both wore black satin swordsleeves, with dragon patterns embroidered in red thread along the collars and cuffs—the only difference: the man had three cloud motifs on his cuffs, the woman only two.

Almost everyone in the Ming dynasty recognized them: these were Quhuisi uniforms—their identities were obvious.

Xu Yuan silently thought: the stepmother was right—they came fast.

The man, the senior of the two, gestured to the courtyard: “Let’s go inside to talk.”

The yamen runner stood at the door, smiling nervously: “Your Excellencies, shall I…?”

The man didn’t trouble him, waving him off: “You’re dismissed. Return to the yamen.”

The yamen runner bowed and hurried away.

Xu Yuan ushered them in, pretending to brew tea for guests—but couldn’t find any tea leaves.

The man said: “No need for trouble. We’re only here to ask a few questions, then we’ll leave.”

Xu Yuan sat down: “Ask, Your Excellency.”

The man proceeded methodically: first he took paper and ink from his sleeve and laid them out on the table in strict order, preparing to record.

Then he took his official badge from his other sleeve: “Please verify this—it confirms my identity.”

“I am Fu Jingyu, Third-Class Banshipan Captain of the Quhuisi’s Jiaozhi South Office.”

He gestured to the woman beside him: “Song Lu, show him your badge too.”

Song Lu reluctantly produced hers.

Then Fu Jingyu asked Xu Yuan: “Have you verified and confirmed?”

Xu Yuan: “Confirmed. Both your identities are legitimate.”

“Good.” Fu Jingyu put away his badge and picked up his brush: “Xu Yuan, how did Qiao Zia’ang die?”

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(End of Chapter)