Wen Yan stepped out of the dim room that reeked of blood.
The midday sun was glaring, like scattered gold dust sprinkled over her eyelids.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes, feeling somewhat dazed, as if she had just struggled ashore from drowning in the deep sea.
Mo Xingchuan had been waiting at the door. Seeing her emerge, he handed her a cup of hot tea.
“How did it go?” he asked, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. His Adam’s apple bobbed, betraying a hint of barely noticeable tension.
Wen Yan took the teacup. The scalding heat transmitted through her fingertips finally dispelled the chill that had seeped into her bones.
She was in no hurry to answer. Instead, she looked toward the direction of the imperial palace with a faint, ambiguous smile:
“Lord Mo, have you ever seen a marionette?”
Mo Xingchuan frowned, not understanding her meaning.
“On stage, it acts vividly—crying and laughing—while the audience watches the spectacle. Yet no one knows that the puppet’s joints are pierced by strings. Every gesture, every movement, brings the pain of broken bones.”
Wen Yan blew away the floating tea leaves and took a sip. “Bai Wanyin is that puppet. I am, Qiu Chan is, and the eight corpses in the backyard of Jingwang Mansion—all of them are.”
“The only difference is that they have finished their performance and taken their final bow. But my play has only just begun.”
She turned her head, her eyes icy cold:
“The puppeteer thinks my performance is lacking and has given me an ultimatum. The Thousand Elders Banquet ten days from now is the execution ground prepared for me.”
“Ten days?”
Mo Xingchuan’s expression darkened abruptly as he understood the subtext of her words—that there was no turning back.
“This is practically holding a knife to your neck! The time is too short. It’s simply not enough for us to dig up ironclad evidence to bring her down.”
“Then let’s change the game.”
Wen Yan set the teacup down heavily beside the corridor pillar, the porcelain emitting a crisp clinking sound.
A nearly mad flame ignited in her eyes, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a provocative arc.
“Who said I’m going to ‘accuse’ her? I’m going to force her to ‘beg’ me.”
“Since she gave me ten days to prepare my last words, I must at least send her a return gift.”
Wen Yan turned, her robes fluttering in the wind. “Lord Mo, help me buy a ‘hot search’ tomorrow.”
“What?”
Mo Xingchuan was taken aback, clearly unfamiliar with the term.
“Spread the news. Say that Guogongfu’s eldest young lady, Gu Xiewei, has just recovered from a serious illness and is moved by compassion for the common people. Starting today, she will set up a ‘Charity Hall’ at the entrance of Dali Temple, publicly offering to ‘Rectify Injustice’! Whether it’s an old unresolved case or a family dispute, if there is injustice, I will take it on. No charge, only seeking justice.”
Mo Xingchuan drew a sharp breath, looking at her as if she were a madwoman. “You’re putting yourself on the fire to roast! At a time like this, you should keep a low profile to protect your life…”
“A low profile? A low profile is waiting for death.”
Wen Yan sneered.
“The greater the storm, the more valuable the fish. She wants me to disappear silently, but I will make sure the whole city is in an uproar, known to everyone!”
“I will use the countless mouths of the city’s common people to create a court of public opinion that even imperial power would not dare to crush lightly. When the time comes, if she wants to move against me, she’ll have to ask whether the city’s saliva will allow it!”
…
Three days later, the entrance of Dali Temple was packed with a massive crowd.
The news of “Young Lady Gu rectifying injustice” spread even faster than a popular storybook. Victims dragging their families along, idlers watching the spectacle, and spies from various factions surrounded the entrance of Dali Temple, making it impassable.
The scene was comparable to that of a top celebrity in the capital.
Wen Yan did not sit in the main hall. Instead, she set up a long table directly in the training ground, behind which hung four large characters personally written by Mo Xingchuan: “Heaven’s Justice is Clear.”
The sense of ceremony was at its peak.
The first to come forward was a wealthy merchant dressed in silk, who tearfully complained that his newly purchased hundred acres of fertile land had been seized by a local bully from a neighboring village. Although the land deed was still in his possession, it was claimed to be a forgery.
Wen Yan took the land deed and, after just one glance, asked, “Was this deed signed just last month?”
The merchant nodded vigorously.
Wen Yan then asked, “And the bully’s deed is from last year?”
The merchant nodded again.
Wen Yan placed the two deeds side by side on the table and addressed the crowd:
“Everyone, please take a look. To prevent forgery, the official seal paste used by the government each year contains a special medicinal herb. Last year’s seal paste included ‘balsam,’ which dries to a dark red hue. This year’s, however, contains ‘cockscomb,’ resulting in a brighter, vermilion red.”
She gently scraped the seal paste from both deeds with a silver hairpin and placed it on white paper.
“The difference in color is clear at a glance.”
“More importantly, the ink,” she pointed to the handwriting on the deeds.
“The forger, attempting to mimic the texture of official documents, used pine soot ink. But to make the ink appear aged, he added a small amount of tea. This type of ink dries slowly and may seem indistinguishable at first glance, but once lightly heated over a flame…”
She picked up the deed and quickly passed it over a candle flame.
A miracle occurred.
On the bully’s “last year’s deed,” a faint yellow watermark appeared around the edges of the characters.
“This is the reaction of tannic acid from the tea when exposed to heat.”
“The evidence is conclusive. This deed is a forgery.”
As soon as Wen Yan finished speaking, the room erupted in thunderous applause.
The merchant immediately knelt and kowtowed repeatedly.
The second, the third… With her knowledge that transcended the times, Wen Yan swiftly resolved over a dozen civil disputes that had remained unresolved for months or even years, all within half a day.
Her reputation reached its peak at this moment.
“A goddess! Truly a goddess descended to earth!”
“With Miss Gu in our Great Zhao, what injustice could remain unresolved?”
Just then, a young man dressed in mourning clothes pushed through the crowd and knelt before Wen Yan.
“Miss Gu, I beg you to seek justice for my father!”
“My father was the manager of ‘Deshengxiang’ in the east of the city. A month ago, he was found dead in his room, having taken his own life. The authorities examined the suicide note he left behind and closed the case. But I don’t believe it! My father never had any thoughts of suicide. This must be murder!”
He presented the bloodstained suicide note.
Wen Yan took it and scanned it with her eyes.
Her fingertips lightly brushed over the slightly dried bloodstains, and her gaze suddenly sharpened.
This blood… something was off.
She placed the note on the table, flattening it with two paperweights, but said nothing.
“Everyone, this is a very ‘interesting’ suicide note.”
She pointed to the note.
“First, the handwriting. In the first half, which details the family assets, the strokes are shaky and light, indicating that the writer was extremely weak or fearful at the time. But in the second half, where the ‘reason for suicide’ is explained, the strokes suddenly become smooth and forceful. Would a person experience such drastic emotional fluctuations just before taking their own life?”
“Second, the ink. Look at these areas—the ink is noticeably darker than elsewhere, indicating that the brush tip lingered too long in one spot. What does this mean? It means that when writing this part, the writer paused, hesitated, or even… was forced to continue under duress.”
“Third, and most crucially…”
Wen Yan picked up the suicide note and held it up to the sunlight.
“This paper is too clean. Wouldn’t a person who died by suicide in bitterness leave at least a tearstain or a fingerprint on their final letter? There’s nothing on this paper except ink. That doesn’t make sense.”
She set down the note and looked at the young man, asking word by word: “Has your father’s business recently had any conflicts with others?”
The young man thought for a moment and said, “Half a year ago, my father competed with ‘Qingfeng Hao’ from the west side of the city for a procurement contract with the palace. In the end, our family won. I heard that the owner of ‘Qingfeng Hao’ is Prince Jing’s brother-in-law.”
Prince Jing’s residence.
As soon as these three words were spoken, the crowd erupted into murmurs once again.
A flicker of understanding flashed in Wen Yan’s eyes.
So that’s it. This is no coincidence—it’s a trap within a trap.
She said to the young man, “I’ll take this case. Lord Mo, please reopen the case file and summon all relevant individuals from ‘Qingfeng Hao’ for questioning!”
“Yes!” Mo Xingchuan responded loudly.
…
The crowd dispersed as night deepened.
Yet Mo Xingchuan did not leave. Lowering his voice, his brow furrowed with a trace of concern, he said:
“I had someone follow that young man. He didn’t return home. Instead, he circled half the city and entered through the side gate of Prince Jing’s residence.”
Chun’er, standing nearby, gasped sharply.
But Wen Yan showed no surprise on her face, as if she had anticipated this all along.
She looked at Mo Xingchuan, a cold smile curling at the corner of her lips. “A trap within a trap. Interesting.”
“This case was deliberately delivered into my hands.”
Mo Xingchuan instantly understood.
“They want to use you to bring down ‘Qingfeng Hao’? No, that’s too simple. They want…”
“They want me to investigate.”
Wen Yan finished his sentence, her eyes gleaming with a penetrating chill.
“They want me to uncover a seemingly perfect answer, only to personally destroy it later.”
She paused, enunciating each word clearly:
“Wait and see, Lord Mo. Within three days, the owner of ‘Qingfeng Hao’ will surely ‘commit suicide out of guilt.'”
“What they want to see is my face of despair when all the clues are severed.”