“The lotus pond had already dried up. Oh yes, it was just after New Year. Somehow, the young lady fell in. When she was found, she cried at the pond, saying there were ghosts inside. The Marquis was furious. Since her hysteria had not yet healed, her words were unclear. The Marquis immediately believed there was something evil in the pond, that her hysteria came from it, so he ordered the pond to be filled at once.”
The steward’s eyes showed a trace of dread. “This residence was once the mansion of a prince of the former dynasty. The estate is full of pavilions and waterside halls, lavish and noble. With such grandeur, there must have been countless servants. In such deep courtyards, lotus ponds and dry wells are often places where people have died…”
Seeing Huo Weilou listening intently, the steward continued: “Before her illness, the young lady already had the bearing of a noble daughter, though still a child. Afterward, she seemed like a different person—dull, gloomy, afraid of light and fire. Whenever she was alone, she would crawl under the bed or into cabinets, or run outside to hide in the dark caves of rockeries. Because of this, her nurses and attendants were changed several times. Later, when this habit eased, she became picky about her servants. I remember those two years; I even helped procure many young maids for her, but few remained.”
Huo Weilou frowned. “She feared fire? Yet I heard she nearly burned once. Is that true?”
The steward answered without hesitation: “Indeed. After her illness, she was extremely afraid of fire. At night, even lamplight frightened her. But after about a month, her hysteria improved slightly, and she began to love things that glowed. Near the New Year, the Old Madam wanted festivities, so she bought fireworks and firecrackers. The young lady saw them twice, and somehow, she overturned lamp oil in her room and lit it with a fire stick…”
“That time, the curtains in her room caught fire. It nearly became a disaster. The Marquis asked her why she did it, and she asked if fire could kill people. The Marquis was so shocked that he invited a Daoist priest to perform rites.”
The steward sighed. “Even now, no one knows what the young lady experienced the night she disappeared. Afterward, her behavior was strange. She was only six years old then—truly pitiful.”
Huo Weilou grew more uneasy as he listened. “How long after did her illness heal?”
The steward thought for a moment. “The fire happened at the end of the twelfth lunar month, and the lotus pond incident was after the New Year. Later, by early spring in February, the young lady grew more normal. But she still did not speak. It was nearly a year later before she spoke as usual again.”
Huo Weilou’s gaze deepened, silent. It had already been two nights since Zheng Wenyan’s death. At first, he thought the case was merely a struggle over noble titles between brothers. But now, old matters had surfaced. He asked: “You have served in the estate for many years. Have you ever heard rumors that the Marquis took a concubine, or that the Eldest Madam had more than one daughter?”
At this, the steward looked surprised. “The Marquis taking a concubine? Never. The Old Madam disliked the sons taking concubines. And the Eldest Madam herself came from a noble family. The young lady was betrothed to the Second Prince from childhood. The Marquis always sought famous physicians for the Eldest Madam’s illness and never thought of concubines. The Eldest Madam had no more children after many years, so naturally, there were no other sons or daughters.”
Fifteen years ago, the household servants had been replaced. This steward was the longest-serving since then, yet even he knew nothing. Clearly, the replacement of servants had buried the old secrets. Huo Weilou dismissed him and summoned all who had served more than ten years.
He questioned them personally. The remaining old servants answered quickly, fearful of displeasing the Marquis. Yet their recollections only repeated what the first steward had said.
Bo Ruoyou’s suspicion that the Eldest Madam had another daughter found no trace of proof. And the events of Zheng Yunni’s illness ten years ago remained shrouded in mystery.
When the last steward departed, still nothing was gained. Bo Ruoyou pressed her lips together, hesitating. “Marquis, the young lady’s troubles were ten years ago. Perhaps they are not connected to this murder case.”
She feared her suspicions might mislead Huo Weilou and waste his efforts. But he turned to her and said: “Do not doubt yourself. Though the victim is of the Marquis’s household, this case is no different from what you saw before in Qingshan County. Examining wounds, observing traces, analyzing causes, and deducing outcomes—these are your strengths. If there is doubt, you must hold firm.”
The clues were unclear. Bo Ruoyou thought of Huo Weilou’s official duties and dared not trust her instincts too much. Yet hearing his words, she felt each syllable rang with certainty, as though everything lay within his grasp. He allowed no doubt from others, nor from himself. Bo Ruoyou sighed inwardly—her own resolve could never match his.
Seeing her solemn expression, Huo Weilou thought she still feared his earlier words. He said: “It is true I dislike women meddling in official duties. Yet your skill in examining corpses is sufficient. Even if you err in reasoning through the case, I will not blame you.”*
Bo Ruoyou’s position was humble. In the past, she could speak freely with He Cheng. Now, before Marquis Wuzhao, she dared only hope for neither merit nor fault. Yet Huo Weilou had saved her life that morning. Grateful, she resolved to give her utmost, regardless of fear. At present, her hesitation was not out of fear of responsibility.
But such thoughts need not be spoken before Huo Weilou. So Bo Ruoyou answered respectfully: “This humble woman understands.”
Huo Weilou looked at her for a moment. She lowered her gaze with deference, the graceful curve of her neck exposed, a strand of dark hair falling along her cheek, setting off her skin like porcelain—smooth and fair. Without her cloak today, her slender shoulders and back appeared even more delicate and frail.
Huo Weilou withdrew his gaze. “You work diligently, and your skill in examining corpses is practiced. When this case is solved, do you have any request?”
Bo Ruoyou felt puzzled. “This humble woman has no request.”
Huo Weilou looked at her again. Even registered coroners in the yamen earned only modest stipends. And Bo Ruoyou was not an official servant of the court. With He Cheng, she might receive some travel expenses, but never abundance. Huo Weilou could not imagine why she repeatedly aided He Cheng—surely not only to seek justice for the dead, for such efforts rarely brought fame or fortune.
“Everyone has desires. You are a woman, and the path of a coroner is especially difficult. How could you truly have no request?”
His eyes seemed to pierce human hearts. Bo Ruoyou lowered her gaze, her pupils trembling violently.
Seeing her lips pressed tight in silence, Huo Weilou continued: “He Cheng said you have solved many difficult cases, bringing justice to the people of Qingzhou. Yet women cannot enter officialdom. If you have a request, I can grant you one.”
Marquis Wuzhao stood second only to the Emperor. Even high officials could not easily gain his promise. Yet she was offered this rare chance. Bo Ruoyou was silent for a moment. “Marquis saved my life. To repay you, I dare not be careless.”
Huo Weilou’s brows rose, surprised. That day had been nothing more than a casual act to him, already forgotten. For one in his position, what could she possibly offer in return?
His lips curved slightly, his tone half amused: “Repay me? Such bold words.”
His voice was light, almost reproachful, yet not arrogant. To him, even a life-saving grace was but dust, unworthy of mention, unworthy of repayment. High above, he commanded the winds. To repay him required a weight beyond her reach. Between them lay the gulf of heaven and earth. Her words of gratitude seemed almost laughable.
Bo Ruoyou’s back stiffened, her palms damp with sweat. Then Huo Weilou asked: “Do you know what would happen if you spoke such words to another?”
A beauty with snow‑white skin and flower‑like features, possessing nothing of her own, yet speaking of repayment—what else could she offer?
Bo Ruoyou’s pupils contracted. Just as Huo Weilou was about to speak further, Eunuch Fu and He Cheng entered.
Eunuch Fu’s sharp gaze caught the odd tension in the room; he blinked and asked, “What’s going on here?”
Bo Ruoyou straightened her back, keeping her head lowered. But when Eunuch Fu looked at Huo Weilou, he inexplicably sensed a trace of amusement in the man’s mood, though when his eyes shifted to the two of them, his expression grew solemn again.
In a deep voice, Huo Weiluo asked He Cheng, “And how did the Daoist calculate it?”
He Cheng’s face was grave. “Marquis, the Daoist examined every day of Jianhe’s sixteenth year, yet not a single one matched the signs of an ‘inauspicious year and hour.’ However—”
Huo Weilou’s gaze sharpened, and Bo Ruoyou looked up as well, just in time to hear He Cheng continue: “However, when the Daoist traced back another year, Jianhe’s fifteenth year did reveal several days that fit the omen.”
Jianhe’s fifteenth year?
Huo Weilou’s phoenix eyes narrowed. “Zheng Yunni; she was born in Jianhe’s fifteenth year.”