When Chun’er entered the room carrying a stack of account books half her height, her legs were trembling.
These were the purchase records from the Guogongfu’s kitchen for the past six months. The yellowed pages carried the musty scent of old ink mixed with the distinct smell of kitchen smoke.
“Miss… are you really going to look through these?” Chun’er wiped the sweat from the tip of her nose and thumped the account books onto the table. “Aren’t we supposed to be investigating that Shopkeeper Qian from Jishi Tang? What’s the use of staring at these records for buying scallions, ginger, and garlic?”
“When investigating a case, don’t just focus on the suspect’s face. Sometimes, the flow of money is more honest than people.”
Wen Yan didn’t even look up, her slender fingertips quickly skimming over the pages.
In Chun’er’s eyes, this was a pile of headache-inducing ledgers.
But in Wen Yan’s eyes, these numbers were reorganizing and jumping. The “information sensitivity” she had developed as a top forensic examiner in her previous life instantly activated her “fault-finding mode.”
She ignored the routine entries for chicken, duck, fish, and meat. Her gaze, like a radar, locked directly onto the “rare delicacies” that sounded expensive.
“Third day of the month: three liang of premium bird’s nest, twenty taels of silver paid.”
“Eighth day of the month: one jin of snow clam from the East Sea, fifteen taels of silver paid.”
“Eleventh day of the month: two jin of tribute silver ear fungus, thirty taels of silver paid. Note: To show care for the servants, an extra meal for the entire household.”
Wen Yan’s finger paused on the line for “tribute silver ear fungus.”
She looked up, her eyes filled with a cold, penetrating insight.
“Chun’er, you’ve been in the household for almost a year now, right?”
“Yes, Miss, it’s been a year and three months.”
“In this past year, have you ever tasted ‘tribute silver ear fungus’ that costs thirty taels of silver per jin?”
Chun’er was taken aback, shaking her head like a rattle-drum. “Miss, please don’t tease me! Such precious things are only for the masters to nourish their lungs. In the servants’ quarters, we’re thankful just to have a bowl of warm red bean porridge. How could we dare dream of silver ear fungus?”
“Is that so?” Wen Yan gently tapped the numbers in the account book. “But it’s written here in black and white that you did. And not just you—everyone in the household, from top to bottom, had some.”
Chun’er’s face instantly turned pale, and she nearly jumped up in panic. “Miss! That’s slander! We servants haven’t even seen a speck of silver ear fungus!”
“Don’t panic, I’m not saying you stole it.” Wen Yan patted the back of her hand reassuringly, but her gaze drifted past the window lattice, as if looking at a dead man. “I’m saying the person who made these accounts has guts dripping with grease.”
This was the most classic and lowest-level form of financial fraud—inflating prices and passing off inferior goods as premium.
For a steward in charge of kitchen purchases, skimming a little off the top—say, a hundred or so taels of silver a month—was an unspoken rule of the trade.
But Wen Yan wasn’t interested in the money.
What intrigued her was what kind of garbage the steward would use to fool the servants in order to cover up the hole left by the “tribute” goods.
“Chun’er, let me test you. If someone wanted to use the cheapest thing possible to pass off as silver ear fungus, and make it look somewhat convincing, what would they use?”
Chun’er bit her lip and thought for a long time. “Use… ordinary white fungus? Or… maybe broken pieces?”
“Think bigger.” Wen Yan shook her head, her eyes gleaming with the cold light of logical deduction. “To squeeze every last bit of profit, they’d choose things that cost nothing at all. Like—moldy, damp, rotten, or even rat-infested old fungus from the corner of the warehouse.”
Chun’er’s stomach churned violently, and she retched dryly.
Wen Yan closed the ledger, her tone as calm as if discussing the weather rather than the impending disaster.
“Go, inform the kitchen. Tell them it’s my order: starting tomorrow, for three consecutive days, no one is to drink any soup boiled in the large pot. No matter how fragrant it smells, anyone who drinks it will die.”
Chun’er was stunned by this command and instinctively nodded. “Yes… I’ll go right away.”
At the door, she couldn’t help but turn back and timidly ask, “Miss, why is that?”
Wen Yan gazed at the gloomy sky outside the window, her voice soft yet each word striking like thunder.
“Because people are going to die.”
…
The storm arrived more violently than Wen Yan had anticipated.
Just two evenings later, chaos erupted in the servants’ quarters of Guogongfu.
First, several sweeping servants clutched their stomachs, rolling on the ground, vomiting uncontrollably, their faces turning ashen and purple like eggplants.
Soon after, several washerwomen from the laundry room foamed at the mouth and collapsed to the ground, convulsing.
In less than half an hour, over twenty people in the estate had fallen. Wails and cries for help rose one after another, turning Guogongfu into a scene of mass suffering.
The stewards were frantic, and the old physician they summoned trembled as he took pulses, finally uttering, “This… this is autumn dryness invading the body, causing a collective cold—highly contagious!”
The newly appointed chief procurement officer, Li Gui, stood at the edge of the crowd, wiping cold sweat as he shouted, “Quick! Carry them back to their rooms! Stop this howling and wailing here—disturb the masters, and you won’t have enough heads to spare!”
Just then, a clear, cold voice, like a scalpel slicing through ice, cut precisely through the clamor.
“This is not a cold.”
Wen Yan, draped in a plain cloak and surrounded by maids, walked slowly forward.
Her figure was frail, seemingly delicate, but her eyes shone with an alarming intensity, as if equipped with X-ray vision, capable of piercing all flesh and pretense.
“Blue-purple lips, convulsing limbs, vomit with a distinct sour, rotten, and moldy odor. This is typical food poisoning—specifically, Acute Mycotoxin Infection.”
The entire scene fell dead silent. The white-bearded old physician gaped, his beard trembling.
When Li Gui saw Wen Yan, his eyelids twitched violently. Steeling himself, he stepped forward. “Young Miss, this place is filthy and chaotic. Your health is precious—don’t risk catching the illness. It’s just a few servants with weak stomachs…”
“Weak stomachs?” Wen Yan scoffed, cutting off his performance. “Over twenty people, all at the same hour, with the same symptoms of ‘weak stomachs’? Manager Li, are you lacking in brains, or do you think I am?”
Li Gui flushed red to his neck, unable to utter a single word in response.
Wen Yan ignored him further. Turning, she bowed to the Duke and his wife, who were already stunned. “Father, Mother. This matter must be thoroughly investigated. Today, it’s the servants who are poisoned. Tomorrow, what’s served at our table might very well be our death warrant.”
The Duke, looking at the servants writhing on the ground, turned livid. “Investigate! Get to the bottom of this!”
This was exactly what Wen Yan had been waiting for.
She walked over to a washerwoman who was most severely poisoned, crouched down without hesitation, and used a handkerchief to dab a bit of the vomit, bringing it lightly to her nose.
“What did you eat this evening?”
The old woman was gasping her last breaths: “Just… drank what the kitchen sent… said it was Steward Li’s kindness… specially added white fungus and lotus seed soup…”
“White fungus and lotus seed soup.”
Wen Yan stood up, her gaze sharp as lightning, piercing straight at Li Gui.
Li Gui trembled all over, stubbornly trying to defend himself: “N-no mistake! This old servant saw everyone working hard and bought it with my own money! Who knew… who knew that shop sold spoiled goods! This old servant will go settle accounts with them right now!”
“With your own money? Steward Li is truly a great philanthropist.”
Wen Yan pulled out the account book she had already marked from her sleeve and slapped it onto Li Gui’s face with a sharp crack.
“If it was with your own money, why does the account book record ‘thirty taels of silver drawn from public funds’? Did these thirty taels go into the shopkeeper’s pocket, or into your waist, Steward Li?”
Li Gui staggered back a step from the blow of the account book, sweat instantly soaking through his back: “This… this was an advance… to be reimbursed later…”
“Lie, keep lying.” Wen Yan looked at him coldly. “You said you bought tribute-grade white fungus at thirty taels per catty? Chun’er, bring the evidence up for Steward Li to see.”
Chun’er stepped forward carrying a tray, on which lay a pile of residue fished out from the slop bucket.
Though boiled to mush, it was still clear to see—it wasn’t white fungus at all, but blackened, moldy, foul-smelling rotten wood ear fungus.
In Wen Yan’s “Truth-Seeking Eye,” these mold spots shimmered with a deadly red light.
The Duke took only one glance and nearly vomited on the spot.
“Using moldy, rotten poisonous wood ear fungus to pass off as tribute-grade white fungus. Steward Li, your calculations are quite clever.”
Wen Yan’s voice was not loud, but each word struck at the heart.
“More than twenty lives, plus embezzlement of huge sums. According to Dazhao law, is that enough for the Dali Temple to sentence you to death by a thousand cuts? Or perhaps… flaying and stuffing with straw?”
“Thump!”
Li Gui’s knees gave way, and he collapsed on the ground like mud, his face ashen.
It’s over. All over.
…
The case was not complicated; it was practically a free point.
But with a large-scale poisoning case occurring in Guogongfu, coupled with massive corruption, family discipline could no longer cover it. According to Dazhao law, this case had to be reported to the Dali Temple for official intervention.
When the Dali Temple officers came to collect evidence, Wen Yan handed over a “supplementary document” she had worked on overnight.
The officer was initially indifferent, thinking it was just a few statements from the young lady. But when he unfolded it, he froze in place instantly.
It was not a simple statement.
It was a… “report” of a structure so rigorous it was terrifying—something he had never seen before.
Report title: “Investigation and Analysis Report on the Collective Poisoning Incident at Guogongfu on September 12.”
The content was divided into four modules, forming a logical loop that was flawless:
I. Event Overview: Detailed records of the number of poisoning victims, onset times, and clinical symptoms. Next to it was attached a hand-drawn “Distribution Map of Affected Personnel.”
II. Analysis of Poison Source: Charcoal sketches compared the forms of “normal white fungus” and “the poisonous wood ear fungus involved in the case,” with vermilion markings indicating the moldy areas. Below, small characters provided “notes” on the toxins this mold could produce and the physiological reactions.
III. Restoration of Criminal Methods: Clearly explained how Li Gui, through falsified purchases, embezzled public funds, and substituted inferior ingredients, ultimately leading to the complete criminal chain of poisoning.
IV. Legal Analysis and Sentencing Recommendation: Citing relevant statutes from the “Dazhao Code” concerning “embezzlement” and “negligent injury,” it precisely provided recommendations for handling Li Gui.
The official holding the report found his fingers trembling involuntarily.
Having handled cases for half his life, with reviewed files piled higher than himself, he had never encountered such clear, such professional, and such… spine-chilling case analysis.
From the event overview to the toxic substance diagrams, from the criminal chain to legal citations, the logic was tightly interwoven, and the evidence was airtight.
Was this merely a petition?
This was clearly a flawless dossier that could be directly presented before the emperor, a “teaching manual” that would put all judicial officials of the Dali Temple to shame! He instinctively looked up, reevaluating the young lady before him.
Beneath the frail appearance, what kind of astonishing talent lay hidden?
“Thank you, sir, for submitting this to the Chief Minister of the Dali Temple. Perhaps… it may save you all some effort.”
Wen Yan’s voice came from behind, calm as a deep pool of water.
The official snapped back to attention, gazing at this frail yet commanding young lady, his heart roiling with turbulent waves. He solemnly placed the report into the dossier pouch closest to his body and bowed deeply.
“I shall comply, my lady!”
Watching the official’s retreating figure, Wen Yan finally allowed a genuine smile to curl at the corner of her lips.
The bait had been cast.
And it was the strongest lure—barbed and smeared with the scent of blood.
Now, it was only a matter of time before the fish she intended to catch could no longer resist following that bloody trail and came knocking at her door.