Morning light pierced through the window paper, falling upon Wen Yan’s pallid face.
The heavy sensation of lead poisoning had subsided slightly.
The homemade neutralizing agent had taken effect, but it was merely a temporary fix.
If the source was not cut off, this body would not last three more days.
Qiu Chan pushed the door open, carrying a copper basin. Her eyes darted about, never daring to meet the gaze from the bed.
“The room smells too musty.”
Wen Yan leaned against the headboard, her voice weak yet carrying a chill. “Take the bedding out to air in the sun, then go through the chests of summer clothes in the storeroom and take inventory.”
The workload was immense, and it required leaving the main room.
It was the perfect excuse to send her away.
“Miss, your health…”
“Go.”
Just one word.
It was not spoken harshly, yet it carried the authority of one accustomed to giving orders.
Qiu Chan stiffened, bowed her head, and retreated with murmured assent.
As the door closed with a soft click, the sickly weakness in Wen Yan’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by the sharpness of a top forensic examiner.
The hunting ground was cleared.
She threw off the covers and got out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor.
The primary crime scene often held the victim’s final cry.
She quickly divided the room into three sectors in her mind:
Sector A: The bed—the terminal point of poison ingestion.
Sector B: The tea area—the auxiliary poisoning point.
Sector C: The dressing table—the poison preparation and concealment area.
First, check the medicinal dregs.
She poured out the residue from the earthenware pot. At the bottom were clear scrape marks from metal.
Someone had deliberately scraped away the sediment at the bottom while cleaning the medicine pot.
Wen Yan pinched a nearly invisible speck of black ash between her fingertips and brought it lightly to her nose.
No smell of sulfur, only an earthy odor.
It was refined arsenic.
Next, the incense burner by the bed.
The incense ash was fine, seemingly normal at first glance.
Wen Yan leaned closer, her nostrils flaring slightly.
Beneath the sandalwood scent, there was an extremely faint trace of bitter almond.
Cyanide.
A clever method.
Arsenic to damage the organs, cyanide to harm the nerves.
A two-pronged approach—ensuring a natural-seeming death while creating the illusion of “worry-induced illness and mental confusion.”
This was certainly not a formula a mere maid could devise.
Wen Yan turned to Sector B, the tea table.
The tea set was spotless, clearly wiped meticulously.
She pulled out the silver hairpin from her hair and gently probed the fine seams of the tea tray.
A smear of oily substance came out.
Colorless, odorless.
A solubilizing agent.
This was also to ensure that the poison powders, which were difficult to dissolve in water, could dissolve instantly without leaving residue.
The murderer’s knowledge of chemistry was masterful for this era.
Finally, Sector C.
Wen Yan stood before the large brass dressing mirror.
It was the most conspicuous spot in the room, yet also the most overlooked.
Every day at the hour of Shen, when Qiu Chan brought the medicine, she would first tidy her appearance here.
The most dangerous place was often the safest.
Wen Yan placed both hands on the mirror frame. Instead of trying to move it, she traced her fingers along the intricate pearwood carvings of the mirror base.
Her fingertip touched a slightly raised lotus pattern.
Not a relief carving—a mechanism.
She pressed her thumb and pushed sideways.
There was no audible click. The base slid open silently, revealing a hidden compartment.
A precise, noiseless mechanism.
Inside the compartment lay a small white porcelain bottle.
Wen Yan retrieved the bottle but did not rush to open it.
The bottle felt smooth and warm, its glaze bearing a special water-patterned texture that faintly shimmered with a blue-green hue under the light.
This was a “Sky-Blue Glaze” medicine bottle, specially supplied by “Jishi Tang” for noble households in the capital, priceless and difficult to obtain.
No written markings were needed. The bottle itself was irrefutable evidence.
Pulling out the stopper, a pungent metallic odor assaulted her senses.
The bottle was filled with arsenic.
If left unchecked, the dosage inside was enough to poison ten oxen.
Wen Yan quickly fetched paper and brush, swiftly sketching the porcelain bottle’s shape, glaze patterns, and the hidden compartment’s structure.
Evidence secured.
She returned everything to its original position, even restoring the dust on the dressing table mirror stand exactly as it was.
The chain of evidence was complete:
Source of poison: Jishi Tang.
Executor: Qiu Chan.
Method: Oral arsenic + inhaled cyanide + masking with a solubilizing agent.
The logic was flawless.
Just then, footsteps sounded from outside the courtyard.
Wen Yan tucked the sketch into a hidden pocket in her sleeve and sat back down by the bed, her back hunched, her gaze vacant.
The door was pushed open.
“Miss, it’s ready.”
The hour of Shen had arrived.
Qiu Chan carried a tray bearing a bowl of pitch-black “calming soup.”
It wasn’t medicine; it was a death warrant.
“Time for your medicine.”
Qiu Chan’s voice trembled slightly, the dark circles under her eyes deeper than yesterday.
Wen Yan obediently took the medicine bowl.
The liquid swayed inside, reflecting her bloodless face.
Just as the rim touched her lips, Wen Yan, shielded by her wide sleeves, twisted her wrist with an incredibly tricky motion.
A hollow porcelain tube hidden in her palm extended, using the siphon principle to instantly draw away one-third of the liquid.
Simultaneously, under the cover of her sleeve, she swiftly and precisely poured the remaining majority of the medicine into a thick cotton wad prepared earlier on the inner side of the bed.
Only a single drop touched the corner of her mouth, which she immediately wiped away with a handkerchief.
“Cough, cough…”
She set down the empty bowl, coughing violently to cover the series of actions.
Qiu Chan hurried forward to take the bowl, showing no suspicion.
In the moment the maid turned away, Wen Yan’s gaze sharpened.
“Truth-Seeking Eye,” activate.
This time, the points of light in her vision suddenly became clear.
She saw clearly: on the back of Qiu Chan’s neck, a mass of viscous black mist coiled.
The black mist did not dissipate but condensed into a ferocious crimson lotus mark.
Nine blood-red threads extended from the mark, like puppet strings, deeply embedded into Qiu Chan’s brain and spine.
This aura was almost identical in energy fluctuation to that emanating from the small white porcelain bottle in the dressing table’s hidden compartment.
But eerily, she could also see beside the lotus mark a faint, flickering white soul-fire belonging to Qiu Chan herself, being frantically devoured by the black mist.
And within that white soul-fire, she “heard” silent screams and pleas: “Miss… run… don’t drink…”
The ability of the [Truth-Seeking Eye] seemed not to be seeing through truth, but allowing her to touch the final obsessions of the deceased or imprisoned souls.
Wen Yan’s pupils contracted slightly.
Not simple bribery or coercion.
A coerced person would show fear, but Qiu Chan’s physiological data revealed a deeper state… a split between “soul-terror” and “physical numbness.”
Combined with that mysterious black energy, a more terrifying speculation surfaced:
Mind control.
No wonder Qiu Chan’s gaze toward her always held struggle and terror.
That remaining 23% of her soul was imprisoned within her own body, forced to watch herself become a murder tool, day after day delivering poison to her closest mistress.
This was more cruel than simple killing.
It was a slow torture of humanity.
Wen Yan tightened her grip on the porcelain tube containing the deadly sample hidden in her sleeve.
The cold sensation pierced through her fingertips, reaching straight to her heart.
This was no longer a simple case of domestic strife and murder.
Kidnapping minds, imprisoning souls, manipulating others to kill.
This was a tightly organized criminal syndicate, weaving a vast web with a supernatural, malevolent art that defied all reason.
Wen Yan lifted her head, gazing out at the gloomy sky beyond the window.
Originally, it was just about self-preservation.
Now, the nature of the matter had changed.
As a former forensic pathologist from the Criminal Investigation Division, faced with such crimes against humanity, she had only one choice.
Destroy it.
Uproot it entirely.
“Four days.”
She silently mouthed the words into the empty air.
In four days, she would either succumb to the poison and die, or break through the trap and be reborn.
The hunt had begun.