Chapter 100: Old Affairs

Buzheng Street, Wanan County Government Office.

At dawn, the three divisions of government office runners had already been dispatched to search for the other murderer in the dried corpse case.

Inside the western precinct office, County Commandant Fei Ji stood before the desk, speaking with solemn gravity:

“Three years ago, your father sat here, but now this seat has passed to me—according to feng shui, this is called the wheel of fortune turning…”

“Gujī~”

Meiqiu squatted atop the County Commandant’s high-backed chair; though she couldn’t speak, her gaze clearly conveyed—stay by the desk, it’s more natural for you.

Beside the tea table, Linghu Qingmo sat in a white dress, her sword resting at her side; though her expression was icy and exquisite, radiating formality and seriousness, her thoughts were entirely focused on:

No one is a sage who never errs—he’s merely been entangled by emotional tribulation and is a bit shameless with girls; he hasn’t done anything else wrong…

Don’t be angry, don’t be angry…

You kissed me and ran off to Lin the Physician’s house, didn’t come home all night, hmph…

It’s already past noon—could he still be lounging at Lin the Physician’s?

Soft arms and tender beds are heroes’ graves; there’s truth to that saying…

A woman who only sleeps with men is a concubine…

…

Yang Dabiao stood at the door, arms crossed, gazing expectantly, deeply pondering:

“Fei Ji, do you think Jinhuan has gone off again to slay demons and exterminate evils? If he comes back carrying the other murderer’s head…”

“Then Magistrate Wu will still be exiled to Lingnan!”

Unable to coax Meiqiu down, Fei Ji walked over with his hands behind his back:

“But this matter is difficult. Yesterday, the Cult of the Ming God assassinated Jinhuan—this means the other murderer is one of them.

“These heretical cultists hide deep; the Imperial Astronomical Bureau and the Crimson Lin Guard are both searching, yet they’ve uncovered not a single clue…”

After a few casual exchanges, Fei Ji noticed Linghu Qingmo was distracted.

With Fei Ji’s exceptional experience, a single glance told him the girl had fallen in love; he lowered his voice and asked:

“Miss Linghu and Jinhuan…”

Yang Dabiao, fearing a beating, immediately adopted a secretive expression:

“Just know it in your heart—don’t ask further.”

Bam—

Linghu Qingmo snapped back to attention, her eyebrows furrowed as she slammed her palm onto the tea table, startling Meiqiu into a hop.

But before she could formulate an explanation, a figure landed in a leap at the doorway.

Hū~

Fei Ji saw Xie Jin coming and hurried forward to inspect him:

“Jinhuan, you’re here? How did you sleep last night? Are your wounds alright?”

Xie Jin had slept curled up with the girl with glasses last night—especially refreshing—but he couldn’t say that aloud; he merely smiled faintly:

“Fine. I’m just a bit late, Uncle Fei, don’t worry.”

“Ah, what nonsense—you may arrive at night, but you’ve got your own plans. Come, come—this is Magistrate Wu’s prized ‘Pre-Rain Silver Spike’ tea. I filched two taels, never dared to drink it…”

As Fei Ji spoke, he lifted the tea cabinet, pulled out a small bamboo tube, and began brewing tea.

Yang Dabiao, seeing this, immediately dumped the coarse leaf tea from his cup outside the door:

“Hey! I knew the cabinet was full of leaves—so you’ve been hoarding the good stuff? Fei Ji, you’re not being fair…”

“With your character, you deserve good tea? I’m being generous not serving you pot-scrub water…”

…

Xie Jin returned to his father’s office, seeing familiar faces bickering as they always had; he couldn’t help feeling nostalgic. Spotting Meiqiu still perched on the high-backed chair, he asked:

“Why are you squatting here?”

“Gujī~”

Meiqiu bounced slightly—clearly meaning: I’m holding your seat, son inheriting father’s post.

Xie Jin thought Meiqiu was thoughtful, but he had no intention of becoming a slave to the county commandant; after taking the tea cup from Uncle Fei, he sat beside the tea table and turned to the icy beauty beside him.

Linghu Qingmo had barely slept after being kissed yesterday; she naturally wouldn’t initiate conversation with Xie Jin now, merely maintaining her cold, formidable female constable demeanor.

Fei Ji poured a fine cup of tea for his niece-in-law, then withdrew a case file from his robe and handed it to Xie Jin:

“This was delivered by Magistrate Chen’s messenger. Over the years, I’ve quietly inquired a bit—anything you don’t understand, ask me anytime.”

Xie Jin opened the file and saw it detailed the “Imperial Palace Ghost Incident” and the “Assault on Xie Wen”—the seals indicated it had just been retrieved from the magistrate’s archives.

Yang Dabiao sneaked off to brew himself a cup of fine tea and moved behind the chair:

“Master Xie raised both me and Jinhuan—how could he be a corrupt official? There must’ve been something wrong with this case three years ago…”

Concerned with Xie Jin’s past injustice, Linghu Qingmo leaned in to inspect it too, adding:

“Forget Yang Dabiao. Master Xie raised a son like you—he must’ve been a truly upright official himself…”

Fei Ji blew away floating tea leaves from his cup, smiling warmly but saying nothing.

After all, Fei Ji was Xie Wen’s childhood friend—they studied together, served together, worked side by side for decades; he knew Xie Wen better than Xie Jin did.

Thanks to Xie Jin’s recent conduct, Xie Wen had gained “glory through his son,” silently deemed by many strangers as “an upright official, a strict father, a capable minister.”

But in truth, Xie Wen and Fei Ji were both minor figures who clawed their way up in the capital—barely ninth or eighth rank, insignificant in the eyes of court ministers.

Fei Ji was smooth-tongued, always flattering others—standard court behavior. He boasted when rewarded, never embezzled when there was no gain; his only goal was to do his duty, earn enough to feed his family, and enjoy a few drinks at the brothel in his spare time—that was perfect fulfillment.

Xie Wen was the same: do what must be done, take what he could, decades without major faults, yet no outstanding achievements—just a low-ranking county commandant who climbed from the bottom.

Precisely because he was so ordinary and had no connections, when security failed at the imperial palace, Xie Wen was chosen by the Crimson Lin Guard to take the blame.

When the incident occurred three years ago, Xie Jin didn’t know the details—but Fei Ji knew them well.

The Imperial Palace Ghost Incident began in the third month of Jingning Fifth Year, when Emperor Gan, accompanied by his concubines and Crown Prince, performed spring plowing at Yùgēng Mountain according to ancestral custom, residing in the imperial lodge.

On the night of the fifth day of the third month, yin-evil energy suddenly appeared in the lodge; many palace maids saw ghostly shadows, and Emperor Gan, his concubines, the Crown Prince, and He Guozhang were all startled—but the accompanying immortals caught no culprit.

At the time, Han Jingchuan led the Crimson Lin Guard on duty within the lodge, while Xie Wen and his runners maintained order at the foot of Yùgēng Mountain.

After the incident, Han Jingchuan naturally bore primary responsibility; after repeated investigations yielded nothing, he blamed Xie Wen for drinking on duty, causing a breach in the rear mountain that allowed demons to infiltrate.

Xie Wen was likely framed: several runners testified he drank, and even produced evidence.

Then, the Chief Justice of the Dali Temple, Zhou Ming’an, concluded Xie Wen secretly colluded with demons, intending to assassinate the emperor.

This was a crime punishable by extermination of nine clans—no verdict could be made on a whim. The Dali Temple Minister, the Censorate, the Ministry of Justice, and even Xie Wen’s direct superior, Magistrate Chen Ping, all rejected the charge for insufficient evidence.

Zhou Ming’an then claimed Xie Wen was negligent in duty, disturbing the emperor and his concubines, and must be severely punished as an example—death by immediate beheading. Many supported this.

But the Dali Temple Minister Hou Jiye, a famed upright judge of the capital, still rejected it for insufficient evidence.

Yet whether or not Xie Wen had drunk that night had witnesses and physical proof—he could not prove his innocence, violating regulations; after deliberation among senior officials, the sentence was changed to demotion to Ruizhou’s Nanning, approved by Emperor Gan.

The case was hastily closed; the true cause of the palace ghosts remains unknown to this day.

Fei Ji knew Xie Wen loved wine, but whether he secretly drank that night, he truly didn’t know—he only remembered losing sight of him for fifteen minutes.

Xie Wen, seeing only demotion, accepted the punishment without further protest.

But Fei Ji never imagined that just days after Xie Wen and his son left the capital, they were both killed at Weizhou’s San Cha Gang.

Fei Ji knew something was wrong and wanted to avenge his brother’s family, but he was powerless and lowly—unable to investigate, he could only secretly inquire through every channel.

He learned that only fragments of corpses were found at San Cha Gang; no trace of Xie Wen, his son, or any demon was discovered. The Battalion Commander and immortals in charge, after failing to recover the bodies, ruled it “killed in battle against demons.”

Afterwards, the court posthumously honored Xie Wen as “Loyal Martial Colonel” under the standard for fallen military officers, erected a memorial tomb with his robes in the Loyalty Garden outside the city, granting him the same spring and autumn sacrifices as other martyred soldiers.

Most of these events were recorded in the case file.

After reading it carefully, Xie Jin felt the case had been handled sloppily—there must have been an invisible hand manipulating it.

As for the court’s verdict, there was little to say.

After all, several witnesses claimed they saw his father drinking on duty, and even found the wine bottle.

His father merely said he vanished for that fifteen minutes because he had to relieve himself—vague, impossible to prove.

The imperial palace ghost incident disturbed the emperor’s person—it was a grave matter; normally, this would mean execution.

Even if framed, with no connections, no background, and no way to prove innocence, the punishment was merely demotion for “drinking on duty”—that was already extraordinary leniency.

But what was Zhou Ming’an’s motive?

Linghu Qingmo, after reviewing it, frowned and asked:

“Did Zhou Ming’an have a grudge against Master Xie? Why did he keep pushing for harsher punishment—extermination of nine clans, immediate beheading? Even the Dali Temple Minister rejected it twice, yet he still twisted things to accuse Master Xie of colluding with demons…”

Xie Jin had no objection to lawyers favoring plaintiffs or defendants—it was their duty.

But Zhou Ming’an was a judge—his roundabout attempts to kill his father were deeply suspicious. He glanced at Fei Ji.

Since the room held only trusted people, Fei Ji now spoke freely:

“Even if the palace ghost case can’t find the culprit, there must be a resolution; if Master Xie doesn’t take full blame, Han Jingchuan must bear responsibility for negligence. But Han Jingchuan has no authority to interfere with the Dali Temple’s verdict—so to settle things, he had to use connections.”

Hearing this, Linghu Qingmo grew furious:

“These corrupt officials, accepting bribes to slander the innocent, seeking extermination of nine clans—they deserve to die ten times over.”

“Hey!”

Fei Ji glanced outside, whispering:

“Don’t say that here—it’s a government office; everything must follow the Great Gan Code. We have no proof—we can’t accuse someone of corruption just because they insist on a harsh verdict. Even if proven, we’d only get Zhou Ming’an dismissed, and we’d have to run ourselves ragged.”

Linghu Qingmo knew affairs in the capital were complicated; after thinking, she turned to Xie Jin:

“Shall I mention this to the Wang Fu?”

Xie Jin stared at the name Zhou Ming’an, then shook his head:

“This is an old case—hard to investigate. Let’s wait until we have time.”

Fei Ji had handled cases for years and knew how powerful the drive of “patricide” could be, not to mention Xie Jin had cultivated formidable martial skills; he warned:

“Jinhuang, you’ve stayed in Jingcheng long enough—you know how the government office investigates and handles affairs. If you have ideas, let’s discuss them together. By the way, Han Jingchuan’s death yesterday was utterly inexplicable…”

These two sentences seemed unrelated, but they were in fact a reminder: do everything with careful thought; even if you intend to kill, you must follow the Great Qian Code, and leave no opening for others to exploit.

Xie Jin understood these subtleties and knew Uncle Fei meant him well; he naturally nodded, they chatted for a moment, then rose to prepare for leaving to track down the Cult of the Ming God.

Fei Ji had been feeling a pang of regret, but a quick glance revealed something amiss—he shot up in an instant, darted before Yang Dabiao who was about to leave, and yanked back the bamboo tube from his waist:

“You little thief, I only had two taels of tea leaves—you’re trying to steal them too?”

Yang Dabiao blinked: “Hey? Got sharp eyes now, huh? Used to be you couldn’t catch up till I’d already stepped out the gate.”

“Get out, get out, get out…”

…

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