Xing Muzheng stood silently for a while before turning to leave the mountain. The eagle on his shoulder suddenly soared into the sky. Chen Zhuo quickly shrank back into his hiding spot—he didn’t dare underestimate an eagle personally trained by Xing Muzheng. From its appearance, it looked very much like the legendary king of eagles—an eagle falcon.
Chen Zhuo waited for the length of an incense stick, and only when he was certain Xing Muzheng had truly left did he step out and return to the Xing family tomb. He bowed three times before squatting in the spot where Xing Muzheng had just stood. There was nothing there—only a pile of burnt paper offerings.
Earlier, when Chen Zhuo commented on the wind, it was because he’d noticed the paper ashes were scattered—but not as if by wind. It looked more like someone had deliberately disturbed them.
He picked up a small twig and gently poked through the charred bits, but all it did was shred the remains further. He found nothing else.
Tossing the twig aside, Chen Zhuo clapped the ash from his hands and stood. He paused in thought for a moment in front of the tomb, then turned to leave. Glancing over at the place where the rooster had lain, he saw it was now completely gone. He thought for a moment, then smiled meaningfully and walked down the mountain the way he came.
Not far from the Xing family tomb, under a centuries-old tree, the rooster’s corpse lay stiff on the ground. Lielei perched on a branch above, its large eyes gleaming as it cooed softly.
Xing Muzheng leaned quietly against the thick trunk, calm and still, taking in every movement and action of Chen Zhuo from beginning to end.
Once Chen Zhuo was gone, Xing Muzheng took out a handkerchief from his robe. Wrapped inside was a blackened needle the length of a fingertip. It had clearly once been a thin silver needle—burned by fire until it turned black.
If Chen Zhuo had found and taken it, that would have been evidence.
Xing Muzheng slowly ground it into powder between his thumb and forefinger.
The secret letter brought by Lielei was precisely about the past incident he had sent someone to investigate in Zizhou.
[Year 12 of Chengping. Winter. Heavy snow. The Old Madam, Madam, and young master were driven out of the Tian household.]
Year 12 of Chengping. That winter had been unbearably cold—Xing Muzheng remembered it clearly. Snow had fallen in thick flakes like goose feathers. The military was short on winter clothing, and even he, a grown man, could barely endure it. How could women and children possibly survive? In unfamiliar Zizhou, they had been thrown out of their residence—where did they even find shelter? How did they survive?
The thought of his mother and Jiaoniang huddling with ugly little Chou’er in that freezing blizzard made Xing Muzheng deeply regret cremating the Tian couple’s bodies so quickly. He should have skinned them alive, torn out their tendons, and dug out their hearts to feed to the dogs! That shameless couple, daring to commit such inhuman deeds, still had the gall to bring their children and come seeking refuge from him!
Xing Muzheng snapped a tree branch as thick as an arm clean in half.
To a proud woman like his mother, this was an unbearable humiliation. Her death must be linked to this incident. And Jiaoniang—wasn’t she just as proud? After suffering such disgrace, what must she have felt? But his mother had always been frail and ill, and Chou’er was a naive child—there had been no room for Jiaoniang to catch her breath. She, a weak woman, had borne the burden of the entire household alone. How much hardship and bitterness must she have endured?
It was his birth mother—and yet Jiaoniang had chosen not to tell him anything. She would rather dirty her own hands to avenge his mother than trust him. She didn’t believe he would stand by her. That wary look in her eyes today—perhaps she even feared he’d take the chance to retaliate against her. Maybe she still believed he would side with the Tian family against her.
Xing Muzheng clutched at the pain in his chest and silently gazed at the sky.
***
Chen Zhuo rode back to Gui County, but passed by his own home without entering, heading straight to the county office instead. On duty that night was Scribe Gao, who had served under several county magistrates without ever being replaced. He knew everything about the affairs of Gui County like the back of his hand.
Chen Zhuo asked him to pull out the Xing family’s household records. Since Marquis Xing had joined the military, his household should still be registered in Gui County. Chen Zhuo figured that understanding the Marquis’s wife’s background might shed light on this puzzling case. But the moment Scribe Gao heard he wanted the Xing family’s records, his expression changed as if facing a great enemy. He kept asking why Chen Zhuo was suddenly requesting such files.
Left with no choice, Chen Zhuo explained the morning’s events. Scribe Gao was shocked and slapped his thigh. “You say Dingxi Marquis returned home to pay respects to his ancestors? This very morning? Ai-ya, Constable Chen, why didn’t you tell me or Magistrate Zhang!”
Chen Zhuo frowned. Why did the scribe only latch onto that part? If there hadn’t been a murder, what business was it of theirs that the Marquis came to perform ancestral rites? The Marquis didn’t inform the officials—clearly, he didn’t want to make a public scene. “Scribe Gao,” Chen Zhuo said, grabbing Gao just as he was about to run off to notify the county magistrate, “don’t rush. First bring me the Xing family’s household records—are they still here in the office?”
Scribe Gao stopped reluctantly. “They’re here, but…”
“But what?” Chen Zhuo stepped forward when he saw the scribe hesitating.
“It’s just…”
“Scribe, we’re colleagues. Why be so secretive?”
“Sigh, Constable Chen—it’s not that I don’t want to say, it’s that I don’t dare say.”
“What is there to be afraid of?”
Scribe Gao looked around nervously before lowering his voice and whispering, “The Marchioness of the Xing household… is a fugitive wanted for murder!”
***
The next day, Chen Zhuo donned his blue-embroidered official uniform and sword at the waist, and personally visited the Xing residence to request an audience with Xing Muzheng. Behind him stood Magistrate Zhang, Scribe Gao, and several constables in full dress.
Li Qing opened the gate with the help of a cane and informed them that the Marquis was occupied with family matters and unable to receive visitors. Chen Zhuo then asked to see the Marchioness instead. Li Qing replied without missing a beat, “The Madam is devastated by the sudden deaths of the Marquis’s uncle and aunt. She’s bedridden with grief and unable to meet any guests.”
Magistrate Zhang stepped forward and said, “We came precisely upon hearing the terrible news at the Marquis’s estate, to offer our condolences.” Seeing no mourning hall had been set up at the Xing residence, he realized the deceased were not being buried in Gui County and adjusted his words accordingly.
“Our lord said he appreciates your kind intentions,” Li Qing replied, “but given the current circumstances, it would be best for you all to return.”
Magistrate Zhang didn’t dare push further. He glanced at Chen Zhuo and was about to turn back when Chen Zhuo said, “This official has come today regarding an old case—this is official business. I respectfully ask the Marquis and Marchioness to spare a moment.”
Li Qing gave Chen Zhuo a long look, then told them to wait while he went to report.
As they waited outside, Magistrate Zhang whispered urgently, “Chen Zhuo, you’re really going to bring up that old case?”
Chen Zhuo replied, “A cold case must still be solved.”
“You—sigh—you realize that’s the Marchioness!”
“Even a prince who breaks the law must face justice like a commoner. What difference does being a Marchioness make?”
Magistrate Zhang glared. He had no way of dealing with this transferred-in Chen Zhuo—he acted like Lord Bao reincarnated, refusing to drop any case until it was solved. Technically, as magistrate, Chen Zhuo should listen to him. But he had received a personal letter from Lord Hang instructing him to treat Chen Zhuo with care. He didn’t dare offend him either.
Li Qing soon returned and said to Chen Zhuo, “The Marquis said, come back at shen hour (3–5 p.m.).”
Chen Zhuo glanced through the gate into the inner courtyard, remained silent for a moment, then cupped his hands and replied, “This official will return at the appointed time.”
Once the gates closed, Magistrate Zhang said, “If you’re going back this afternoon, you’re going alone! I won’t be there!”
With that, he flung his sleeves and left. Scribe Gao quickly followed him. Chen Zhuo didn’t care. He called over a constable and told him to keep watch nearby—if anyone tried to move a coffin out, he was to report immediately.
After giving his instructions, Chen Zhuo didn’t return to the county office. Instead, he followed the street to Niu’s Coffin Shop. Inside were several coffins, one half-painted with lacquer. Niu’s wife was in the middle of giving her six-year-old troublemaking son a couple of sharp slaps. The child wailed loudly.
When she saw a customer enter, she cursed the boy into the back room and plastered a smile on her face. “Officer, what can I help you with?”
Chen Zhuo asked, “Did anyone come by yesterday to buy two ready-made coffins?”
“Sigh, how could there be such good fortune!” Two people dead at once—what great customers they were.
“Truly no one?” Gui County wasn’t large, and this was the only coffin shop around.
“Really no one, Officer! How would I dare lie to you?”
Chen Zhuo didn’t reply. After a moment, he glanced around and asked, “Where’s the man of the house?”
At that, the coffin-maker’s wife’s face fell. She answered gruffly, “No idea! He went out last night and hasn’t been seen since!”
Already past the chen hour (7–9 a.m.) and the man still wasn’t back? Chen Zhuo raised an eyebrow. “Gone all night and you’re not worried?”
The woman sneered coldly, “Let the gambling den chop him into meat paste! If he dares ask me for one more coin, not a single cent will he get!”
Chen Zhuo shook his head and left. Just as he stepped out the door, a constable came looking for him—someone had died at an inn. Without another word, Chen Zhuo followed him there.
