Before dawn, the laborers from Lotus Village and Li Village were gathered in Minghua Hall—fifteen men in all, ranging from their twenties to their forties.
Song Huaijin questioned them with the Court officers. Soon, Yang Fei and Qi Ran arrived as well.
When asked about the Wu siblings twelve years ago, the younger ones remembered little, but those in their thirties and forties recalled clearly.
One man of about forty said: “The Wu parents died early. Wu Yue was frail from childhood. His sister raised him. At fourteen, he met a wandering master who felt fate bound them and took him as a disciple. His sister, worried for his future, agreed. He followed the master to the capital.”
“At fourteen? What did the master teach?”
The man thought. “Martial arts and performance. Wu Yue was sickly, small as a ten‑year‑old. Training made him stronger. When he returned, he had grown taller.”
A younger laborer added: “I was three years older. We children played in the hills and rivers, but he stayed home sickly. Later, after going to the capital, he was livelier, though he returned rarely. Now I can hardly recall his face. As for his sister, after she vanished, no bones were found. No one knows if she lived or died.”
Others said much the same. Twelve years blurred memories.
Song Huaijin asked: “Which family was closest to them? If they were murdered, who might avenge them?”
The men murmured. Li Yang said: “Perhaps Li San, who nearly married Wu Shuang. But he later wed another, lived an upright life, and never worked at the station. He cannot be the killer.”
Song Huaijin agreed—murders occurred by day or at dawn, never by outsiders. He dismissed Li San. He asked again: “Have you heard of Xue Mingli?”
Blank faces, all shook their heads.
Qi Ran asked: “Wu Yue’s sister vanished. Could she be involved?”
Song Huaijin sighed. “Villagers believe she was killed too.”
Qi Ran frowned. “Wu Yue was stabbed, then dumped in the pond. His last act was asking after his sister. That means she was already missing when he returned.”
Wu Han said: “If the killer sought revenge, he must know at least one true cause of death. Villagers thought Wu Yue had drowned. The killer knew otherwise. If Wu Shuang died, he must know where her body lies.”
Song Huaijin’s eyes sharpened. “Her bones may be hidden in the village. But the place is vast. A body buried in the woods would be impossible to find after twelve years.”
Qi Xun’s mind raced. “My lord, the killer punishes sins—killing, theft, adultery, drunkenness. If Lord Yu’s death is tied to the Wu siblings, then the killer fears the past being exposed. Yu Ming and Xin Yuanshou avoided Furong Station for years, yet both came now. That is suspicious. I found a black pine needle on Lord Yu’s boots. He must have gone to the back mountain. Could he have gone to search for Wu Shuang’s remains?”
Song Huaijin’s eyes widened. “Wu Yue was buried long ago. Did Yu Ming go to find Wu Shuang’s corpse?”
Qi Xun recalled. “The Guanyin Temple is expanding. We saw a pine forest being cleared. That forest was full of needles—the place Lord Yu most likely visited.”
Song Huaijin struck the table. “He would not wander there without reason. Did he hear of the temple’s expansion, fear Wu Shuang’s bones exposed, and rush here to check?”
Qi Ran glanced at the snow. “Shall we search the mountain? But the snow is heavy, the ground frozen. It would be futile now.”
Song Huaijin agreed. “Frozen soil, heavy snow—it is impossible today. When the snow stops, we will dig the forest. With many men, half a day will suffice.”
Though questioning the laborers yielded little, they might yet find Wu Shuang’s remains. Song Huaijin dismissed them, ordered Liu Yishan to prepare tools, and was ready to depart once the snow ceased.
But the heavens did not relent. By afternoon, snow still fell thickly. Song Huaijin knew they could not climb the mountain that day. He returned instead to the chamber where the corpses lay.
Now four corpses lay in the chamber. After discovering Wu Yue’s true cause of death the previous night, Qi Xun found no further traces on his bones. Today, she turned again to re‑examine General Xin’s body. Yet the killer’s methods had been swift and precise—no new clues emerged.
Qi Xun had only one question: “Why did General Xin leave his quarters at midnight? He was due to depart within an hour. Even if he sensed danger, surely his thought would be to flee immediately.”
Song Huaijin nodded. “He claimed urgency to return to Suzhou, but that was an excuse. His servants said he was uneasy—he must have been afraid, though he feigned calm. Perhaps the killer intends to strike again. Not as Guanyin’s punishment, but because someone else here also lodged at the station twelve years ago, and has concealed it.”
“Now only four officials remain, plus the heir…” Qi Xun said. Then her eyes fell on the strange blade. “The heir’s suspicion in Lord Yu’s death is cleared. The blood on this blade must truly be from bandits. My lord, will you return it to him?”
Song Huaijin lifted the blade. “Yes, I will. But General Xin’s death is still tied to him.” He left with the blade.
Qi Xun pondered, unresolved, then decided to inspect Xin Yuanshou’s quarters. Yu Ming had gone to the back mountain; Xin Yuanshou had left at midnight. She needed to know why.
With Zhou Wei, she hurried east to Xin Yuanshou’s room. The Court had searched it before and found nothing. She opened the window—then glimpsed swordlight flashing from the half‑open window opposite. She was startled. Who would expect Qi Ran, a gentle scholar, to practice swordplay?
Turning back, she found the room ordinary. At the bed, she noticed a lantern hanging from a wooden crane. Snowlight through the window revealed a smudge of soot on the shade. She frowned, lifted it, and found a pinch of ash by the wick.
The ash was faint—two fingers’ width of burnt paper. Xin Yuanshou must have burned it hastily, leaving soot on the shade. Who had sent him a note?
“Come. Let’s ask his servants if anyone delivered something that night. The candle was only half‑burned—likely just replaced. We should ask when it was changed.”
They went out, soon finding Xin Yuanshou’s two servants. One said: “No one delivered anything that night. Only at dusk, someone brought food, and replaced the candle then.”
Qi Xun asked: “Who brought the food?”
“A kitchen worker, named Zhou Hong.”
She and Zhou Wei hurried to the kitchen.
Zhou Hong was busy preparing supper, with five or six others. Asked about delivering food, he said: “Yes, I did. I carried a food box, left it, and returned. The servants later brought back the dishes.” He spoke calmly, washing vegetables as he answered.
Qi Xun pressed: “Who received the box? Who opened it first?”
“General Xin himself. Usually, the masters open their own meals.”
Qi Xun paused. “When you delivered, who was in the kitchen? Could anyone have tampered with the box?”
Zhou Hong grew uneasy. “All the clerks were eating outside. People came and went. No one touched it. Why? Was there something wrong with his meal?”
Qi Xun shook her head. Outside, she saw two tables where clerks ate together. With twenty men coming and going, anyone could have touched the box. The killer had hidden among them.
Frustrated, she left. The killer’s timing was flawless, leaving no trace. But what message had he sent to make Xin Yuanshou risk everything?
Dusk fell. Lost in thought, Qi Xun turned a corner and saw a familiar back—Zhu Yun. She called: “Inspector Zhu—”
The man turned. It was Wang Su. He smiled. “You came from that way? I slipped and soaked my robe. Zhu Yun, less afraid of cold, lent me his outer coat.”
Their builds were similar; in exchanged clothing, they looked alike. Qi Xun, distracted, had mistaken him. She almost teased him for stumbling in the station—but then a flash of realization struck her mind like lightning.
Her eyes shone. “So that’s it!”