Beside the gates of Dali Temple, a stone stele had been erected bearing the inscription: Office of the Joint Investigation Team.
Standing by the stele, Left Shaoqing Wen Zhengyin squinted at the personally written characters and muttered sourly, “Young upstart, courting attention through theatrics.”
“What is Lord Wen muttering about?” came Su Yan’s voice, drifting ghost-like from behind.
Wen Zhengyin immediately turned around, beaming: “I was just saying how brilliant Lord Su’s idea was. This special joint investigation team—truly unprecedented in history!”
“So long as someone comes after, that’s enough.” Su Yan clasped his hands in farewell. “I must proceed with the investigation now—excuse me.” With that, he mounted his horse and departed, followed by several dozen imperial guards assigned to protect him.
As soon as Su Yan left, Wen Zhengyin’s smile vanished. He turned to the Dali Temple Minister Guan Pan, who was descending the steps, and said, “Lord Guan, you see? Su Shaoqing is really quite busy—he shows no interest in the affairs of our own yamen, only taking on those personally assigned by His Majesty. Forget us peers—even you, his direct superior, seem beneath his regard.”
Guan Pan gave a noncommittal “Mm.”
Wen Zhengyin knew Guan Pan was an honest man who disliked trouble. But Su Yan’s arrogance had crossed a line—he couldn’t believe even a clay figurine wouldn’t show some fire eventually.
Seeing that Wen Zhengyin seemed to be waiting for a response, Guan Pan adjusted his belt and asked: “You didn’t attend the sixth day’s court assembly?”
“I did,” Wen Zhengyin replied.
“Then you didn’t understand what you saw?”
“I understood. Perfectly,” Wen Zhengyin said. “Su Shaoqing is an expert at seizing others’ weaknesses. Whoever he wants to bring down, he’ll find a way.”
Guan Pan asked again, “In that case, why challenge him? Hoping to take over my position as Minister of Dali Temple someday?”
Wen Zhengyin looked awkward: “I have no such ambition. I merely couldn’t stand by while Lord Guan is disrespected…”
Guan Pan patted his shoulder and said with grave sincerity, “Linzhong, do you really think he even wants this ministerial position?”
Wen Zhengyin was stunned.
“Su Yan may appear cultured and elegant, but he acts decisively, favors unconventional methods, and pulls tricks no one sees coming. A man like that—he either climbs high or falls hard. Either way, he’s not someone like you or me.”
Before stepping into his sedan chair, Guan Pan left him with one final remark: “Better to do as I do—watch from the sidelines. When the tower rises, don’t rush to bask in its glow; when it collapses, don’t be buried in its rubble. Either way, it has nothing to do with us.”
Wen Zhengyin stood there pondering for a while, then thought, That makes sense! I don’t like him, sure, but why go head-to-head? If he rises, I’ll latch onto his leg. If he falls, I’ll enjoy stepping on him. Old Guan may look like he can’t squeeze out a word with three pokes, but he’s got his own philosophy of self-preservation.
—
At the street corner, Su Yan ran into Embroidered Uniform Guard commanders Shi Yanshuang and Wei Ying, who had just turned out of a nearby alley.
“Everything ready?” Su Yan asked.
Shi Yanshuang quickly replied, “All prepared according to your instructions. Not a single detail overlooked.”
A few days earlier, they had traced a flour purchase to a grain merchant from another region. Following the money trail led to a moneyhouse, whose owner turned out to be the brother-in-law of Fengan Marquis, Wei Jun.
Wei Jun was infamous for his lust, but his wife was wise and tactful, which was why she had never been dismissed. Her brother, a merchant, was close to the Marquis’ household.
“As you instructed, we quietly kidnapped Wei Jun’s brother-in-law, Wan Xin, and left a note in his handwriting saying he’d gone to Tianjin for business,” Wei Ying had reported earlier. “So the Wei family still hasn’t noticed. He’s locked away in a secret cell in the imperial prison—no one will find him.”
They hadn’t even used the full range of the infamous Eighteen Tortures—just a few lashes, and Wan Xin was already sobbing and spilling everything.
He confessed that the money was his and had come at the behest of the Wei household’s two Marquises. As for why so much flour was purchased—he didn’t know.
Wan Xin himself had joined the Void Sect and even spent a fortune to become a incense leader—a mid-level leader. Below him were ordinary members, above him were head preacher, and at the top sat the sect master.
He’d never seen the sect master’s face, but once caught a distant glimpse of one head preacher—robed in red, masked, gender and age indiscernible.
This description matched exactly what Ah Zhui had provided, and it made Su Yan think of one person—the commander of the Seven Kill Camp.
The connection between Seven Kill Camp and the Void Sect was becoming clearer.
Wan Xin could serve as a witness—on one hand proving that someone else was behind the Baizhifang explosion, on the other tying the Wei family to the Seven Kill Camp and the Void Sect. But his rank in the sect was low, and he knew little. If the Wei family simply sacrificed him and disavowed his branch, saying “we knew nothing, we are devastated, and we denounce our kin for justice,” they’d likely shake off suspicion.
In short, it wasn’t enough. The evidence wasn’t solid.
Shi Yanshuang and Wei Ying grew worried.
Su Yan said, “What’s there to worry about? A guy like Wan Xin, a street merchant in over his head, might not reach the upper ranks—but he must know a ton of the lower-level believers. Thousands of members means thousands of leads. If I were him, I’d trick every last one into buying a cane.”
The “trick them all into buying canes” part puzzled the two commanders, but they understood Lord Su’s point—if you can’t go up, dig down. The common believers were grunts, but they were still the roots of the sect.
So the interrogation of Wan Xin continued. As Su Yan put it, “Use both soft and hard tactics—hollow him out.”
They collected piles of messy, trivial, and chaotic intelligence.
Since Shen Tongzhi—who was good at intel analysis—was still recovering at home, Lord Su had to personally step in and categorize everything by priority.
One seemingly minor detail caught his eye:
Wan Xin had once received an internal sect order to buy an ordination certificate from the Ritual Department’s clerical division. The dharma name on the certificate was “Jiyao.” It was bought for a newly arrived monk in the capital, over three years ago.
…Was that demonic monk Jiyao also part of Void Sect?
Over three years ago, Jiyao came to the capital. After gaining a foothold at Lingguang Temple, he found an opportunity to enter the palace. With his handsome appearance and sleight-of-hand illusions, he climbed aboard the Empress Dowager’s ship.
If he hadn’t been too greedy, trying to pass himself off as a living Buddha and got exposed by Shen Qi for faking miracles at Lingguang Temple, leading to his death at the Northern Surveillance Bureau, he might’ve even gained control of the Empress Dowager.
If that had happened… the chaos he could’ve caused in the palace was almost too terrifying to imagine.
—This also meant that, apart from the court and the public, the Void Sect had already set its sights on the inner palace and had planted their agents there long ago!
—Fortunately, Qilang acted swiftly!
—No wonder the Void Sect hated Shen Qi so much, sending a whole group of Blood Eye assassins to ambush him and beat him nearly to death.
Connecting all the dots, Su Yan’s mind suddenly cleared—everything now made perfect sense.
This was yet another solid piece of evidence of the Void Sect’s sinister intentions.
Apart from that, there were plenty of trivial, miscellaneous details about the sect members. But from those scraps, Su Yan still managed to identify a breakthrough point—he picked out a list of names and handed them to the two Qianhus.
Wei Ying looked at the list and said, “My lord, these… they’re all commoners. Can they really be of use?”
Su Yan said, “The Void Sect spreads through underground gatherings among the common people. Its wide reach relies precisely on these ordinary folk as followers. The saying goes, ‘Water can carry a boat, but it can also overturn it.’ Surely you understand this.”
Wei Ying clasped his fists and said, “Understood. I’ll go find them right away.”
Su Yan reminded him, “Whatever you do, don’t resort to force. Speak to them with reason. If that fails, offer them money. These people were deceived and misled—they are victims.”
Wei Ying and Shi Yanshuang both nodded. “Lord Su, rest assured.”
A few days later, once all arrangements had been made, Su Yan—under the name of the “Joint Special Investigation Taskforce”—set up a high platform at the bustling Dongshi Street intersection in the capital. Notices were posted across the city, inviting the public to attend an “open trial assembly,” which claimed it would reveal the truth behind the Baizhifang explosion.
From the name to the format, everything about this event was novel and unheard of, quickly piquing the curiosity of the capital’s citizens.
With their entertainment options so scarce, the common people would show up en masse for any official commotion—be it a parade of new scholars or a public execution. Naturally, this new “open trial assembly” attracted a huge crowd.
Over an hour before the scheduled start time, the area around the venue was packed several rows deep with onlookers. It took great effort from the Five-City Troops to maintain order.
As the ceremonial guards beat gongs to clear the way, official sedan chairs entered the scene. Presiding officer Su Yan, along with two assistant judges, took their seats on the platform. The much-anticipated “open trial assembly” officially began.
Strangely, although it was billed as a public trial, no suspects were brought forth. Instead, something quite unexpected began to unfold in the large cleared space.
A structure resembling a tall, translucent screen was erected using wooden frames covered in white paper—like a freestanding cube about two zhang (approx. 6–7 meters) wide, placed at the center of the area. Inside the enclosure, soldiers poured a thick layer of white powder onto the ground.
Someone in the crowd called out, “What’s that stuff?”
A soldier picked up a bit with his fingers and tasted it, then handed some over. The man tasted it and laughed, “It’s flour!”
Immediately, others clamored for a sample. Su Yan motioned for the soldiers to distribute it to a dozen or so people to confirm—it really was flour.
Amid cries of “What a waste! Perfectly good flour, just dumped on the ground,” the soldiers emptied several sacks of it into the enclosure. Then, in the center of the space, they placed a lit oil lamp.
Next, they sealed the top of the cube with another layer of white paper, forming a relatively enclosed internal space.
The crowd grew more and more curious—what was this all about? The structure looked like a summer screen used to block the sun, but even the top was covered—how was that supposed to cool anyone down? Inside was flour and a lamp… were they cooking?
Then suddenly, all the people exited the structure. A long pipe connected the bottom of the cube to a large blacksmith’s bellows a few zhang away…
What on earth were they up to?
The crowd buzzed with speculation. Then, the drummer struck the drum three times, and a hush fell over the venue.
Su Yan stood up from his seat and raised his voice: “I give this warning to all gathered elders and folks—once the bellows are pumped, a thunderclap will strike. Please be mentally prepared, and don’t go running off in fear.”
Many laughed out loud. Some said, “I’ve heard of praying for rain or sun, but is the lord trying to summon lightning?” Others joked, “Who’s afraid of thunder unless they’ve got a guilty conscience? What are we, babies?” Still others laughed, “If he could really call down lightning, he wouldn’t be an official—he’d be an immortal by now!”
One of the assistant judges—an official from the Ministry of Justice—and the other, a censorate officer, frowned at the growing irreverence and were about to order silence. But Su Yan calmed them with a glance.
He then shouted to the crowd: “Everyone see clearly—inside the cube are only flour and an oil lamp. We are about to start the bellows. All of you step back! Don’t want anyone struck down by lightning for a guilty conscience.”
The crowd burst into more laughter. The soldiers dutifully moved the perimeter back beyond a red painted line.
Several strong men began to pump the bellows vigorously—whoosh whoosh, sending air rushing through the pipe and into the cube. The flour began to swirl up from the floor, filling the enclosed space like a manufactured snowstorm.
Everyone held their breath, wondering—what was going to happen?
Then—
BOOM!
A thunderous blast erupted!
The cube exploded violently, flames shooting skyward. Shreds of paper and thin wooden slats scattered in all directions, some still burning as they hit the ground.
“It exploded!” people screamed. Instinctively, they shielded their faces and stumbled back in panic.
A few heavy drumbeats followed. Soldiers banged their staves on the ground, shouting in unison, “Stay calm! Stay calm! All is safe!”
Seeing that only the cube had been destroyed and the surrounding area was unharmed, the crowd gradually settled. Bewildered murmurs spread as they tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed.
An old man in scholar’s robes stepped forward, bowed to Su Yan on the platform, and asked, “There was no gunpowder in that structure—only flour and fire. How did it explode as soon as the bellows blew? My lord, do you perhaps possess divine powers and summoned thunder?”
Su Yan cupped his hands and replied, “This is not the work of any divine power. What you just witnessed was a small-scale dust explosion.”
He proceeded to explain the principle and consequences of dust explosions in simple terms. Though many only half-understood, the evidence was right before their eyes—when a large quantity of powder is suspended in the air within a confined or semi-confined space and encounters an open flame, it explodes with immense force.
Su Yan said, “If such destruction could be caused by a mere flour-filled cube, then what about the warehouse of the Gunpowder Bureau…?”
“Indeed, the Censorate’s investigation concluded that no one had entered the gunpowder depot, and it was even more impossible that someone had ignited the stored gunpowder. Hence, rumors spread that the explosion at Baizhifang was a divine thunderbolt—a heavenly omen of great calamity. Today, this official recreated a ‘thunderbolt’ for all to see—so we might determine whether it was truly Heaven’s will, or man-made!”
The elder in scholar’s robes and square headscarf, seemingly a man of some influence among the locals, asked again on behalf of the crowd: “Sir, do you mean to say that the explosion at Baizhifang was also caused by a dust explosion?”
Su Yan replied, “It’s simple. One only needs to sneak into an empty building near the depot and create a dust explosion ten or twenty times larger than the one you just witnessed. That would ignite the depot and cause a chain of explosions. Think back—didn’t the first explosion you heard that night sound not too loud, with the second one being deafening, followed by a rapid series of smaller booms gradually dying down?”
The crowd nodded in agreement as they recalled the event.
“That’s because the first blast was a dust explosion. It then ignited the depot’s hundred tons of gunpowder reserves—hence the shockwaves that traveled for miles. The series of smaller explosions afterward were from scattered stores outside the main depot that were caught in the blast.”
“…Your reasoning is sound,” the elder nodded, stroking his beard. “If that’s the case, then Baizhifang’s explosion was man-made. But who could be so vicious as to commit such a calamity? And for what purpose?”
“Well then, we must start by questioning those who made bulk flour purchases before the incident.” Su Yan ordered the grain merchants, who had been bound together by ropes, to be brought up and lined in front of the platform.
The merchants cried out for justice, claiming they had merely fulfilled a business transaction—purchasing flour for someone else in exchange for money—and knew nothing more.
“For whom did you make the purchase?”
“Tongji Moneyhouse!”
“And who is the owner of the moneyhouse?”
“Wan Xin—Boss Wan… the brother-in-law of Marquis Wei.”
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