Qi Xun carried her traveling chest as she walked in the middle of the procession, her sharp gaze sweeping over the Furong Post Station.
This station, built in the previous dynasty, lay beneath the Yanxing Mountains at the border of Tanzhou and the capital. Expanded several times, it had grown into a grand establishment. Officials and military couriers traveling south from Tanzhou, Youzhou, and Suzou often lodged here.
It was the twelfth lunar month, and the snow had just cleared. Passing through the archway inscribed with “Furong Post,” Qi Xun first saw, to her right, a row of warehouses with wide doors and narrow windows. Beyond them stretched the inn buildings, scattered like a mountain market town.
Snow on the road reached ankle-deep. After only a few steps, frost had already gathered on her long lashes. She breathed warmth into her hands and pulled her slightly worn crow-blue cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Surrounding her were staff from the Court of Judicial Review. Their official robes gleamed, embroidered blades at their waists, their presence imposing. Even though Qi Xun’s figure was graceful and her features exquisite, their grandeur overshadowed her. Only up close could one glimpse the lively, bright eyes beneath her hood—keen and alert, as though they could catch every clue hidden in this frozen world.
At the head of the group walked Vice Minister Song Huaijin of the Court of Judicial Review, alongside Liu Yishan, the station master.
Liu Yishan, a native of Tanzhou, had managed Furong Post for over ten years, his family living within its walls. He now recounted the incident: “Lord Yu arrived on the seventh day of the twelfth month, returning to the capital to report on his duties. He brought only a servant. He had planned to depart the next morning, but that very night, snow began to fall heavily.”
“To reach the capital, one must cross Yanxing Mountain. Lord Yu knows well how treacherous those roads are. By the eighth morning, with the snow unceasing, Lord Yu and several other officials here decided not to leave.”
Liu Yishan’s face grew more troubled. Had the snow not trapped Yu Ming, he would not have died within his jurisdiction. Yu Ming was the Prefect of Yanzhou, a third-rank official—how could Liu Yishan bear such responsibility?
“During the day, all was well. That evening, wishing the officials a good festival, I prepared a banquet in Minghua Hall. The others arrived, but Lord Yu did not. The courier sent to fetch him reported silence from his room, no light within. I found it strange and ordered food and wine brought personally to him.”
“When I reached his door, there was still no response. The door was locked from the inside. I summoned his servant, but the boy was drinking with others in the side courtyard. He said he had not seen Lord Yu since the afternoon.”
“Fearing Lord Yu was unwell, I ordered the door broken open. The moment it opened, I sensed something was wrong—”
Terror flickered in Liu Yishan’s eyes. “The room was pitch dark. I lit a lantern and entered the east chamber. There I saw Lord Yu lying on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
“The tiles were drenched red. I had never seen so much blood—as if every drop in his body had been spilled. And his corpse… his corpse was—”
Song Huaijin’s gaze sharpened. “How?”
Liu Yishan’s voice shook. “His body had been cut into four parts—”
“You mean dismembered?!” Song Huaijin, thirty-five, had served many years as Vice Minister, handling countless cases. The twelve clerks with him were seasoned investigators. They had seen dismemberment before—but for a third-rank prefect to be butchered inside a government post, that was shocking indeed.
“Yes. His head severed, his torso cut through the waist, his legs broken at the knees. Yet the body had been reassembled, so from a distance one might not notice anything amiss…”
Liu Yishan’s lips trembled. “I was utterly panicked. I notified the other officials. After discussion, we agreed to send word at once to both the capital and Tanzhou.”
Furong Post lay two days from the capital. The message arrived on the tenth day of the twelfth month. The emperor ordered the Court of Judicial Review to investigate. Song Huaijin was dispatched with his men, arriving on the twelfth.
Having finished his account, Liu Yishan looked pleadingly at Song Huaijin. “My lord, though the crime occurred within the post, it has nothing to do with my staff or me. I beg you to judge fairly.”
Song Huaijin lifted his head, confidence in his voice: “Rest assured. I am known for strict fairness. No case under my supervision has ever failed to reveal the true culprit.”
He asked, “Where is the body?”
“In the chamber, untouched. Prefect Wu Han of Yunzhou instructed me not to move it, lest examination be hindered.”
Song Huaijin’s thick brows, drawn tight all the way, finally eased a little.
The group followed a stone-paved path. To the west, a drum tower stood beside the main gate, guarded by two couriers. Opposite lay snow-covered warehouse walls. From behind them came the neighing of horses.
Liu Yishan explained: “This path divides the station. West is the lodging quarters; east are stables, warehouses, and the watering pool. Fifty fast horses are kept here for officials and couriers.”
Song Huaijin’s gaze swept over the high wall. “And the people within?”
“All remain here. None dares leave. With the year’s end approaching, they are not pressed to depart. Lord Yu’s strange death makes any hasty departure suspicious. To murder a court official is a grave crime—none wishes to be implicated. They are in their rooms. Shall I summon them for questioning?”
“Not yet. First, the crime scene.” Song Huaijin’s eyes swept the courtyard. His hand rose in command. “From this moment, the Court of Judicial Review takes charge. No one moves without permission.”
They entered the gate into a snow-laden courtyard. Liu Yishan led them along a corridor northwest, past Minghua Hall, deeper into the lodging quarters.
This was one of the largest northern posts, built with precision to host officials and supply the military. After half a circuit through winding corridors, they reached a row of chambers. Qi Xun noticed white mourning cloth hung above the door.
“My lord, this is the place. After the incident, I hung a mourning banner and offered a small sacrifice. Nothing else has been touched.” Trembling, Liu Yishan drew out a key and unlocked the door.
There were three rooms: the central room for guests, the west a warm chamber, and the east the sleeping quarters. Song Huaijin gripped the hilt of his sword and scanned the rooms before heading straight to the east chamber. Several officers followed.
Qi Xun did not rush inside. Instead, she lingered, intrigued by the incense sticks protruding from the snow beyond the railing.
For several nights, snow had fallen, covering the courtyard’s withered trees and plants. Yet a few sticks of incense still stood upright, clearly placed for worship. They had not burned out naturally, but had been extinguished by the snow.
Qi Xun recognized them as temple incense—different from the elegant sandalwood used at home, and more costly than the common sticks for ancestral rites. Who would deliberately purchase such incense for offerings here?
As she pondered, a sudden cry came from inside. Moments later, a young officer rushed out, hand over his mouth, retching violently against the railing.
Qi Xun clicked her tongue lightly. “Mr. Xie, shall I give you a suhexiang pill?”
Xie Nanke, handsome and gentle, had only recently joined the Court of Judicial Review. Still unaccustomed, his face was pale as paper. He waved her off weakly. “No need… I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine—”
Just then, Song Huaijin’s voice rang from within: “Qi Xun—”
“Coming!” Her reply was crisp and clear, unmistakably feminine.
Liu Yishan turned at the sound, just in time to see Qi Xun remove her hood. His eyes widened, jaw nearly dropping.
Until now, with her hood drawn low, her bearing brisk and spirited, everyone had assumed she was a young male officer. Never had Liu Yishan imagined she was a woman!
Her face shone like autumn moonlight, almond eyes bright as spring blossoms. Her black hair was tied in a simple knot, adorned only with a plain white jade pin. She pulled off her cloak with one hand as she strode in, her movements brisk, unrestrained.
Catching Liu Yishan’s stunned expression, she gave a knowing smile—quick, lively, making her features all the more animated. Before he could recover, she had already passed him and joined Song Huaijin’s side.
Seeing the scene inside, she frowned. On the road, she had imagined what the crime scene might look like, but the reality was far more shocking. No wonder Xie Nanke had been overcome.
The chamber was modest but well-furnished: a curtained bed to the north, a set of huanghuali table and chairs to the east, offerings laid upon the table. From bed to desk, there were no signs of struggle. The victim, Yu Ming, lay on the floor in front of the bed. His body sprawled in the shape of a great “X,” facing the southern lattice window. Blood had spread across half the room, reaching the doorway, frozen into a frosted lake.
The corpse itself was ghastly. The head severed, torso cut clean through, entrails spilled and piled at the abdomen, legs broken at the knees with flesh and bone exposed. Yet his eyes were closed, his skin tinged gray-blue from frostbite, with only faint signs of decay. The stench was not strong.
Song Huaijin spoke gravely: “Qi Xun, this is your time to shine.”
A year ago, he would never have said such words. Back then, he had little regard for her. But over time, he had come to admire her deeply. Now she was his most trusted aide.
“I will give my utmost,” she replied. She set her cloak aside, snapped open the lock of her chest, and quickly donned gloves and a face covering before entering the east chamber.
Liu Yishan, just regaining his senses, was shaken anew.
This young woman—she was a coroner of the Court!
For over thirty years, the Great Zhou had established academies for women, and daughters of noble families could even serve as palace officials. But coroners were considered lowly, often drawn from butchers or convicts. In his forty years, Liu Yishan had never seen a woman serve as one.
Qi Xun, clad in a teal cotton robe, looked scarcely twenty. Skeptical, Liu Yishan forced himself to peer inside—and gasped.
She was crouched beside the corpse, carefully lifting Yu Ming’s head from the frozen pool of blood.
As she examined, Song Huaijin issued orders: “Nanke, Zhu Yun—question all the officials lodging here: when they arrived, their rank, their mission, companions, and whether they knew Yu Ming. Lin Ming—check how many staff are at the post, and who comes and goes daily. Wang Su—bring Yu Ming’s servant, and ask about his master’s movements since arrival.”
The officers answered and departed. Song Huaijin turned back to Qi Xun. “Well?”
She held Yu Ming’s head, raising it to inspect the neck wound. “The flesh shows no contraction—he was dismembered after death. The bone cut is clean, one stroke of a sharp blade. The blood flow is natural, preserved by the cold. The spread matches seven days past. Clearly, all this came from the wounds.”
She glanced at the floor. “On the surface, it seems he was dismembered here.”
Song Huaijin frowned. “But the floor is spotless—no splatter. Even slaughtering a pig leaves blood everywhere. How could cutting a man’s body be so clean?”
Indeed, it was strange. The blood had frozen black, spreading evenly from the wounds, yet the bed, stools, curtains, and table legs bore no trace. What kind of killer could work so cleanly?
“Perhaps the killer wiped it away,” Qi Xun suggested, though she herself doubted it. Why would someone brutal enough to dismember a corpse bother to clean the splatter?
Song Huaijin shook his head. “It makes no sense.” His eyes narrowed, anger rising. “Yu Ming was a third-rank official. To murder him was bold enough—but to treat his corpse with such cruelty! What hatred could drive this?”
He snorted, scanning the room. “The door was locked from inside. This is a sealed chamber. His servant said he hadn’t seen him since the afternoon. In broad daylight, the killer dismembered him here—yet no one outside heard a sound.”
“Post Master Liu—”
Song Huaijin turned back and saw Liu Yishan staring pale-faced at Qi Xun. His thick brows lifted as he called again.
Liu Yishan finally startled awake. “What is it, Vice Minister?”
Song Huaijin’s gaze was stern. “How are the nearby quarters arranged? Who lives closest to this place?”
“No one is near. Lord Yu arrived late, and the eastern and northern courtyards were already full, so we gave him this separate lodging. He liked it very much.”
Song Huaijin turned back to Qi Xun. “Can you determine the exact time of death?”
“Not yet,” she replied without lifting her head. “The deceased has been dead for more than four days. Rigor mortis has passed; livor mortis shows little. The room had a floor heater that was later extinguished, but the shifts between heat and cold disrupted the body’s natural changes. The precise time is difficult to judge.”
Song Huaijin thought briefly, then said, “Then focus on the cause of death and the weapon used for dismemberment.”
Qi Xun only nodded. Her brows knit tightly, her whole being absorbed, utterly different from the smiling figure she had been moments before. Her eyes were sharp as blades, missing no detail upon the corpse.
The examination took time. Song Huaijin did not disturb her. He inspected the rooms again: all windows locked, no signs of struggle, Yu Ming’s belongings and valuables untouched.
Not for money—was it revenge? He circled the chamber outside. Aside from the incense offerings, nothing unusual. When he returned, Qi Xun had her conclusion.
“The cause of death is not yet clear, but the weapon for dismemberment can be deduced. The cuts are clean, each wound severed in a single stroke. The neck wound shows bruising and skin tearing at the front, less at the back—meaning the killer used a broad-backed blade, chopping from the front, the blunt back pressing to cause bruising. The waist cut shows equal bruising on both sides, proving the blade was longer than the width of the torso. Thus, the weapon was a long, heavy knife with a thick back and sharp edge.”
“Ordinary cleavers or hatchets are short. Long blades are usually made light for carrying. But the executioner’s knife fits this description.”
Song Huaijin’s knuckles tightened. “Who would use an executioner’s knife?”
Qi Xun mused. “Besides that, there is another blade…”
“It is tied to our enemy, Xiliang. Their warriors are fierce, skilled in mounted combat. They wield a long-handled great blade. I have heard that the Northern Frontier Army, fighting them for years, learned its use and forged a hybrid weapon—the *mo dao*. Two feet long, less curved than the executioner’s knife, thick-backed, thin-edged, weighing dozens of pounds. Only the strong can wield it. It can even sever a horse’s head. After spreading in the frontier army, it reached other garrisons. Soldiers would know it well.”
Song Huaijin’s brows furrowed. He knew of the *mo dao*. He had even seen it himself.
Qi Xun continued: “But the blade alone is not enough. Each wound was made in a single stroke. The killer must be highly skilled. Human bones are hard—without precision, the cuts would not be so clean. That is all I can tell for now. More clues will come with further examination.” Her eyes stayed on the corpse, brows still drawn, as though something remained unresolved.
“Sir, we have questioned them—” Xie Nanke returned. “There are six officials lodging here, all with seals and travel papers.
“On the sixth day of the month, General Xin Yuanxiu of the Suzhou garrison arrived with Prefect Wu Han of Yunzhou. On the fifth, Prefect Liu Xie of Huizhou and Vice Minister Qi Ran of the Ministry of Works. On the fourth, Steward Tian from the Imperial Weaving Bureau.”
“And on the third, another man arrived. He carried only a travel document stamped with the commander’s seal of the Northern Frontier Army. The station clerks do not know his name.”
Song Huaijin looked sharply at Liu Yishan.
Liu Yishan stammered, “My lord, the document bore the commander’s seal. I dared not refuse him. He brought four attendants, lodged in the northern courtyard, and never came out. Very strange. On the eighth, they did not attend the banquet either. They rarely leave their quarters—I had nearly forgotten them!”
Song Huaijin’s suspicion deepened. “The Northern Army is stationed in Youzhou. Three months ago, Xiliang invaded, and urgent reports should have passed through here. With war raging in the north, who would travel south carrying the commander’s seal?”
Strange behavior, no name, Northern Army, *mo dao*, absent on the eighth night…
Song Huaijin made his decision. “Take me to their quarters at once. I will see who they are!”
Beside the corpse, Qi Xun had not expected such coincidences. As she lifted one severed leg onto the table, her gaze fell upon the offerings there. Fruit and cakes, and a green porcelain cup filled with liquid. At first, she thought it was wine. But now she saw a tangerine leaf floating within.
This was no offering to the dead—it was a Buddhist *offering*.
She called out, “Post Master Liu—”
He turned back. “Miss?”
Qi Xun asked, “The dead bring misfortune. You did not set offerings; you set Buddhist offerings. Tell me—who in this room are you worshipping?”
Liu Yishan’s eyes dropped, uneasy. Song Huaijin, hearing no reply, turned as well. “Post Master Liu?”
Cornered, Liu Yishan bit his lip, eyes wide with fear. “My lord, coroner… do you not think Lord Yu’s death was too strange, too cruel—unlike the work of man?”
mo dao