Chapter 565: Unconventional Methods

The county magistrate watched the black masses drifting wildly before him, his gaping mouth slowly closing as he gave up: "Is this what you call unconventional methods?"

Pan Yun nodded.

Old Man Li stared wide-eyed and asked: "What can you see from this?"

The county magistrate: "Yes, what can you see from this?"

Pan Yun swept them with a glance; her face, half-hidden in the dim lamplight, looked eerie amid the pile of bones.

She snorted: "There's plenty you can see."

She snapped her fingers; the swirling black mists froze mid-air. A fist-sized clump directly before the magistrate slowly rolled and dispersed, spreading out like ink—black smoke surging into gray mist…

Finally, the gray mist drifted, forming the delicate face of a young woman—seemingly a phantom, woven from gray vapor.

Before their wide eyes, she slowly curled her lips upward, then turned her back.

It seemed another world—she ran away from them, as if hearing something, then suddenly turned back with a sweet smile, her eyes filled with starlight.

"This…" Her liveliness, her joy, seemed ready to burst through the gray mist— the magistrate involuntarily stepped forward, but the mist suddenly blurred into a single clump, like ink falling from nowhere, staining the vapor black.

The gray mist rapidly coalesced before his eyes, reforming into a black mass.

The black mist condensed into a single blob, shot out with a hiss, and vanished into a white skeleton.

Pan Yun walked to the skeleton and said to the stunned group: "This is her."

The county magistrate croaked: "The woman we just saw—was she her? That vision, like a mirage replaying—was that…?"

"It's her lingering memory," Pan Yun said. "I told you: after death, most ghosts cannot recall everything—some forget recent events, others forget distant ones."

"What you're seeing now—these black mists—are residual souls. They persist longer, have forgotten more memories, so you can't directly extract answers from them. But that doesn't mean you get nothing."

"The painter!" the magistrate suddenly shouted. "Bring the painter! Draw every single one of their faces!"

The county constable: "…My lord, where do we find a painter on short notice?"

After a pause, the magistrate said: "Bring ink and brush—I'll draw them myself!"

The coroner immediately presented ink and brush.

Young Master Li said solemnly: "My lord, let me assist you."

Too bad, there was only one brush in the room.

Pan Yun looked disgusted, but finally reached into her sleeve, pulled out a brush, and handed it to him.

She gave one to the constable, one to the coroner, one to Li Wenying, and kept one for herself.

Everyone stared at her sleeve—except Li Wenying.

Pan Yun regarded them coolly: "I've shown you the dead souls. What's so strange about a few brushes in my sleeve?"

They found her logic sound and nodded in agreement.

Those present were either scholars, Daoist Priests, or seasoned investigators from the county office—all of whom, except the constable's mediocre drawing skills, could draw well.

But it didn't matter—they paired up. Besides drawing, they could also record details of the scenes they saw.

Even constables Jia, Yi, and Bing were assigned into teams.

Constable Jia was paired with Pan Yun.

Pan Yun snapped her fingers; the frozen black mists instantly came alive, darting wildly around the room, occasionally colliding with thuds and emitting wails like ghosts and wolves.

The magistrate and the others stood stiffly, clutching brushes, huddling together and trembling.

Yet the black mists followed rules—only four clumps at a time dissolved into gray mist, revealing their forms and replaying their most vivid memories.

The magistrate's group immediately chose one to record.

The coroner was busiest—he recorded when each gray mist reformed into black mist and merged back into its skeleton.

He numbered them and placed each group's drawn portraits atop the corresponding skeletons, so they could later identify which bones belonged to whom.

Later, matching the death methods with these identities would make investigations and interrogations far easier, yielding far more information.

The ten people locked in the room worked all night; only Old Man Li was useless, cowering behind Pan Yun in terror.

When the door opened, the constables who had been eavesdropping outside nearly tumbled into the room.

Seeing the ten with haggard faces and dark circles under their eyes, the constables nervously asked: "My lord, were you haunted by vengeful spirits all night?"

"Nonsense," the magistrate said, handing them a stack of drawings. "Go to every brothel and pleasure house—find out if anyone recognizes these faces."

The constables flipped through them and exclaimed: "Isn't this Taohong from Wan Chun Pavilion?"

The magistrate spun around: "You know her?"

The constable said: "My lord, I dare not visit brothels, but during patrols, I've heard of many. This is Taohong of Wan Chun Pavilion—six years ago, she was a famed courtesan of Ji'an. Later, I heard she was bought out by a northern merchant and taken away to live in comfort. How…?"

The magistrate immediately understood and ordered: "Search every pleasure house—especially those from the last twenty years. Find every famous courtesan, singer, dancer, or young male entertainer who was bought out or redeemed themselves and left!"

The constables bowed and departed.

The magistrate turned to the constable and said gravely: "Constable Zhou, I've only been here a few years, but you're a native of Ji'an. Of these men and women in the drawings, how many do you recognize?"

The constable swallowed hard and whispered: "Your humble servant recognizes seven."

The magistrate looked at Old Man Li.

Old Man Li also swallowed hard and murmured: "My lord, I… I recognize fewer—five."

The magistrate nodded: "Good. Now let's go to the front hall and discuss what you know."

The magistrate truly didn't know—foreign monks struggle to chant sutras, and foreign dragons have their ears and eyes covered.

He'd learned of some of Yang Ji's crimes because he openly committed them.

For example, he smashed skulls to seize land and killed men.

Even if others took the blame, the magistrate initially held a favorable bias toward Yang Shiqi's son—but after one or two years, he'd pieced together the truth.

But this mass grave—he truly had no knowledge of it.

He didn't know, but the local-born constable and the secretly involved Old Man Li might well have known.

The magistrate still showed them face—he didn't summon other officials to the hearing, only the coroner and a clerk were present.

Oh, and the magistrate's secretary who vanished all night.

The secretary took yesterday off to accompany Lady for the entire night; upon returning, half the sky fell.

"What? A mass grave has appeared in Ji'an County, with over a dozen corpses inside?"

"What? These corpses are connected to Yang Ji?" "What—" The secretary's voice cracked: "Even the County Sergeant and Lord Li are involved in this!"

The County Sergeant and Lord Li immediately protested: "No, we had nothing to do with it!"

The secretary's face turned pale; he muttered: "This doesn't matter, none of this matters—my lord, such a heinous crime has occurred under your jurisdiction; this, this will destroy your career~~"

After one night, the magistrate had calmed down and could accept his future fate calmly: "So Zishu must prepare early. After this case, you must leave."

The secretary burst into tears: "My Lord!"

As a secretary, choosing the right lord is like a bird choosing a tree to build its nest—perhaps only once in a lifetime.

This magistrate was the one he selected from over a hundred Metropolitan Graduate candidates, more carefully and seriously than he chose his wife.

They had just survived a great crisis, clung to a powerful patron, and their future was bright—when the sky fell!

How could the secretary bear it?

It hurt ten times more than his failure in the provincial examination.

The secretary hugged the magistrate and wailed uncontrollably.

!

Pan Yun saw a grown man weep like this for the first time—tears and snot streaming together.

She couldn't bear it; she tried several times to go comfort him, but couldn't get a word in.

Li Wenying said: "Don't comfort him. Let him cry. The magistrate only cares about face—if not for that, he would've screamed like this yesterday."

Pan Yun: "A grown man, what's there to cry about?"

"All your years of effort destroyed in an instant. Imagine: you spent decades striving, finally reaching the First Marquis rank—then a sudden disaster drops you to a state with no Wu Gong at all. How would you feel?"

Pan Yun's eyes instantly reddened.

Li Wenying didn't notice, continuing to sigh: "A true man doesn't shed tears easily—only when his heart is broken."

"I understand." Pan Yun said heavily.

"What?" Li Wenying stared at her in surprise: "You understand?"

Pan Yun nodded heavily, her gaze fixed on Pan Xiaohei hiding in the corner: "I understand too well!"

Because she had experienced it herself!

Twenty years of effort vanished overnight. In her past life, she was nearly at the Second Marquis realm; all her saved wealth was stripped away, and she was thrown back to infancy—truly starting from scratch.

That wasn't the worst. The key was, she had endured eight years where no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't even begin again.

When Pan Yun looked at the secretary again, she could now empathize with him.

Fortunately, those who become secretaries have some brains and can still control their emotions.

He quickly stopped crying, wiped his tears, and asked solemnly: "My Lord, how do you intend to handle this?"

"This may be the last case I handle before my resignation. No matter who is involved, I will arrest them all and bring them to justice!" the magistrate declared angrily.

The secretary bowed deeply, his voice loud and resolute: "Yes! Zishu will surely assist My Lord in resolving this case and not disappoint your expectations!"

The magistrate pointed toward the autopsy room: "Not to disappoint them!"

The secretary bowed again.

After listening, Pan Yun stepped lightly over to the Young Master and whispered: "What's this magistrate's name?"

The Young Master: "... Wu Zhihong, from Zhending."

Pan Yun sighed: "Hebei produces so many righteous men~~"

The Young Master:...

The Young Master lowered his eyes and spoke softly: "Aren't you always looking down on him?"

"Nonsense," Pan Yun said sternly: "I always respect the magistrate..."

The Young Master snorted: "From yesterday to last night, you scared plenty of people. I saw how you looked at him—just like you look at my father."

"That was yesterday's me seeing yesterday's magistrate. Now I am today's me, and the magistrate is today's magistrate." Pan Yun nudged him and asked: "By the way, will your father confess?"

The Young Master said nothing, ignoring her.

Under everyone's gaze, Lord Li's forehead dripped with cold sweat. The secretary first threatened him: "Lord Li, our master's career is about to be ruined. If you keep silent, we won't be so polite anymore."

Then he soothed him gently: "Lord Li, those people hid the corpses in your mountains. Everyone knows their intentions. They don't care about your life—why should you care about theirs?"

The magistrate snorted beside him: "You fear their revenge on your Li family—do you not fear me?"

Lord Li quickly waved his hands: "No, no!"

"Do you think if you stay silent, they'll spare your Li family?" the magistrate said. "They were once close to Yang Ji. Yang Ji used his family's power to benefit them. But when Yang Ji fell, how many of them stood up for him? Those who kicked him while he was down outnumbered them all. Do you think you've given them more than Yang Ji did?"

Lord Li thought to himself: I certainly didn't give them as much as Yang Ji did—but I never demanded things from them like Yang Ji did~~

Still, Lord Li couldn't be sure that if he stayed silent, those people would spare his family.

As Pan Yun said, those people's hearts were black. If they couldn't be certain of sparing the Li family, they'd drag everyone down—let everyone fall together; then the Li family would be safer.

And then there were those wronged souls.

He was terrified of them too.

So Lord Li gritted his teeth, stamped his foot, lowered his head, and confessed everything.

"My Lord, I swear I had no part in this. I didn't even know the details—I never participated."

The magistrate said sternly: "Then how did you learn of this mass grave?"

"About nine years ago, after finishing an audit in the county, I left the city gate as night fell. My carriage's wheel broke at the foot of the mountain, and the cart tipped into the woods. I wasn't hurt, but I was terrified."

"My driver and I sat in the woods to catch our breath—when suddenly, another carriage approached. We heard the sound and were about to call for help—when we saw them stop nearby and drag a corpse out of the cart."

Everyone held their breath.

Old Master Li recalled the danger of that night and swallowed hard: "The moonlight was dim at the time, but I still saw it — it was a woman, with very long hair, wrapped in a straw mat. The shoulders and arms that were exposed were Bai Huahua-white, covered in many bloodstains, and she appeared to be wearing not a stitch."

"It was clearly a murder case. The three of them looked like big, burly men. Both the coachman and I were scared out of our wits and didn't dare make a sound."

The magistrate slammed the gavel in fury and roared: "You didn't dare speak up at the time, but why didn't you report it to the authorities afterward? If you had reported it, so many people could have been spared from being harmed later!"

The magistrate was so angry he paced in circles around the hall: "Nine years, nine whole years! Who knows how many people were harmed in those nine years!?"

Old Master Li lowered his head in silence.

The magistrate took a deep breath and asked in a low voice: "Continue!"

Old Master Li said, aggrieved: "I recognized one of them on the spot — he was someone by Yang Ji's side. How could I dare report it to the authorities?" (End of this chapter)