“I’m from Suzhou. I entered the academy after Mid-Autumn last year. I was eleven then, leaving home to study for the first time, and it was hard to adjust. When the dormitories were assigned, I happened to share a room with Brother Chang Qing. He looked after me well. He said he had a younger brother back home, so he treated me like his own.”
Standing at the door of Chang Qing’s quarters, Jian Hong spoke, still choking with sobs. “I hadn’t been here long before I noticed Liu Xi and the others bullying Brother Chang. They didn’t just bully him—they made others join in too. Anyone who grew close to him would be bullied as well.”
“I lived with Brother Chang at first, but one day my bedding was soaked with water. Brother Chang knew who did it, and he advised me to move to another room. After that, he only dared to look after me secretly.”
The attendants lit the lamps. Qi Xun stepped into the room. Chang Qing’s bed was in the western section. On the desk lay the classics and histories, while the brush rack held brushes long dried out. Two of them had been used so much that their tips were thin and frayed.
Qi Xun walked past the desk and bookcase, then went to inspect the bed.
At the doorway, Jian Hong continued: “Liu Xi and the others relied on their privileged backgrounds and wealthy families to constantly mock Brother Chang with cold words. Gradually, he was isolated by everyone. Brother Chang himself didn’t care much, but Liu Xi and the others grew worse. They even went to the headmaster, claiming Brother Chang’s playwriting disgraced the academy’s reputation.”
“The academy has two slots each year for recommendation to the Imperial Academy. Brother Chang was originally among those to be selected. But because of Liu Xi and Yang Jun’s words, Headmaster Qi reconsidered and excluded him. Brother Chang knew of this and was despondent for several days.”
Fu Jue and Qi Xun listened, each with their own thoughts.
Fu Jue asked: “If he was bullied by Yang Jun and Liu Xi, and even lost his chance at the Imperial Academy, then if he bore resentment and wanted to kill them, it wouldn’t be impossible.”
Jian Hong shook his head repeatedly: “Impossible. Brother Chang was not that kind of ruthless person. His situation at the academy was already difficult, and he had decided to give up studying here, planning to return home to attend a private school. His father had died early, and he still had his mother and younger brother. Whenever Liu Xi and the others bullied him, he endured it silently. How could he kill someone and then commit suicide?”
“He knew the laws of Great Zhou. He knew killing meant losing his head. He couldn’t bear to leave his mother and brother, so he would never take that path, nor would he take his own life.”
Fu Jue asked again: “When did he say he would leave the capital and return home?”
“Before the New Year, in the early days of the twelfth month. He wanted to leave before the festival, but he was still writing a play. He hoped to earn money from it before going back.”
When Jian Hong mentioned the play, Fu Jue thought of The Qilin Record. “Was it The Qilin Record he was writing? Have you read it? Who was closest to him in daily life?”
Jian Hong shook his head: “I haven’t read it. I only know he believed the play would sell for a good price. Around the New Year, he stopped reading essays altogether, focusing only on finishing the play quickly. Because of the ridicule he faced, he always wrote in secret—going to the library when it was empty, or the qin hall when no one was there, or some pavilion in the garden. He didn’t want anyone to see. Even with me, he never spoke of the play’s content.”
“As for who was close to him—on the surface, no one was. In secret, perhaps only me. Originally, Brother Zeng treated him well, too, but because of Liu Xi and the others, Brother Zeng grew cold toward him.”
“You mean Zeng Wenhe?”
Jian Hong nodded. “Yes. They were from the same hometown. In the past, he looked after Brother Chang.”
Fu Jue sensed something odd. “In the academy, was Chang Qing the only one writing plays? Was that why Liu Xi and the others bullied him?”
Jian Hong hesitated. “Actually… I don’t know. When I arrived, Liu Xi and the others were already treating Brother Chang poorly. I asked him why, but he never told me the reason.”
Fu Jue thought for a moment. “Bring He Youwei here.”
The attendants obeyed, and soon He Youwei arrived, looking nervous.
Fu Jue fixed his gaze on him. “Chang Qing was isolated and bullied in the academy. Did you know of this?”
He Youwei’s eyes flickered, as if he wanted to brush it off. But under Fu Jue’s sharp stare, he dared not conceal it. He lowered his voice: “Yes… yes, that’s true…”
“Why was he bullied? Who led it?”
He Youwei swallowed with difficulty. “It was Liu Xi. And Yang Jun, too. Before last year’s spring exam, we discovered that Chang Qing was writing plays. At first, we only mocked him a little. Later, Liu Xi failed the spring exam. Perhaps he was already frustrated, and Chang Qing happened to cross his path.”
“I remember the first quarrel was in the library. Chang Qing was inside writing a play, and Liu Xi saw him. Liu Xi was furious, scolding him, calling him corrupt and debased, and saying he disgraced the academy. Chang Qing was timid and didn’t talk back. Later, we persuaded Liu Xi to stop, and the matter was dropped.”
He Youwei glanced at Fu Jue, seeing him listening intently, and continued:
“After that, Liu Xi grew increasingly disdainful of Chang Qing. Yang Jun was close to Liu Xi, so perhaps for that reason, he disliked Chang Qing. Later, there were more quarrels, though nothing major. Then one day, when he discovered Chang Qing was writing another play, he poured an entire inkstone of ink over him.”
With Liu Xi and Yang Jun not yet seven days buried, He Youwei felt uneasy and dared not say more. “There were many such frictions. Liu Xi and Yang Jun came from prominent families—especially Liu Xi, whose learning was respected. Everyone looked to him as a leader. Since he disliked Chang Qing, naturally, others treated Chang Qing with coldness as well.”
He Youwei spoke cautiously, and Fu Jue could tell he was holding back.
Still, the fact that Liu Xi, having failed the exam, vented his anger on Chang Qing—especially despising his playwriting—was not unreasonable.
Fu Jue dismissed He Youwei, then asked Qi Xun: “Coroner Qi, have you discovered anything?”
Qi Xun was examining Chang Qing’s desk cabinet. Hearing this, she shook her head. “No abnormalities. Chang Qing died from poisoning. What he ate that night is most important. His quarters are simple, his robes plain. Only his brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones show some expense. His desk and shelves are filled with classics and histories. He seems a very diligent student.”
She thought for a moment. “Why did he begin writing plays? And why insist on finishing one before returning home? Was it only for money, or was there another reason?”
Jian Hong knew the answer and spoke quickly: “Brother Chang began writing plays just to earn money. He was skilled at essays, but his calligraphy and painting were ordinary. Among the academy students, he had no reputation. Most copied the works of past masters to sell for silver. He wasn’t good at that, so he took another path. His first play was about two years ago. Returning home to study at a private school would also require money. Back in his hometown, he couldn’t sell plays.”
Qi Xun nodded, finding it reasonable. “Do you know how much silver he earned?”
Jian Hong replied: “Ordinary plays sold for only one or two taels of silver. Even the best wouldn’t fetch more than three. Yet writing a play took him at least half a year. The academy’s annual tuition alone was three taels. Studying at a private school back home would also cost money. Naturally, he didn’t want to give up this last sum.”
Qi Xun calculated: “If he wrote four plays a year, that would be ten taels. In two years, twenty taels. For an ordinary family, twenty taels is already a considerable amount.”
Jian Hong nodded repeatedly.
Just then, footsteps sounded along the path—it was Song Huaiyin, returning after questioning witnesses. When he reached the doorway, he said: “The questioning is nearly complete. Since it is year-end recess, aside from Headmaster Qi, there are only two tutors at the academy. The remaining ten are students. In addition, there are four guards and two kitchen workers responsible for cooking and purchasing supplies.”
“Liu Xi returned on the fifth day of the new year, Yang Jun on the seventh. Zeng Wenhe and Chang Qing stayed in the academy over the holiday. On the nights of the eighth and ninth, the guards noticed nothing unusual. Zeng Wenhe died on the tenth day, in the daytime. He entered the library in the morning, and by afternoon, his companions found him dead. The night before, the kitchen had served mung bean porridge.”
“When Chang Qing went alone to the kitchen, only one worker remained. The worker urged him to hurry, so he ladled a bowl of porridge and returned to his dormitory. After that, the kitchen was locked.”
Qi Xun stepped forward: “But on the morning of his death, no one found the porridge bowl.”
Song Huaiyin nodded. “Exactly. When his body was discovered yesterday morning, everyone said it was suicide. The authorities did not investigate carefully. Only today, after questioning, did we learn of this suspicious detail.”
Qi Xun thought aloud: “The missing bowl means it was poisoned. The killer wanted to create the illusion of suicide, so naturally, they erased the evidence. To poison his food, it must have been someone familiar to him. I suspect that after returning to his dormitory, he met the killer.”
She asked Jian Hong: “Did you see anyone visit Chang Qing that night?”
Jian Hong shook his head. “No. I saw him go to the kitchen, but it took him the time of two incense sticks to return. And when he came back, he wasn’t carrying a bowl. At midnight, I did hear some noise next door, but I was too deeply asleep. It was cold, so I didn’t think much and went back to sleep.” He began to cry again. “If I had known Brother Chang was in trouble, I would have gotten up to help him.”
Qi Xun and Fu Jue both frowned.
Qi Xun said: “If he returned without a bowl, then he must have eaten elsewhere and met the killer there. Perhaps the killer kept the dishes. He was isolated by everyone—so that night, was he bullied again, or did he meet someone close to him?”
Song Huaiyin also found it strange. “I asked everyone earlier. That night, aside from the kitchen worker, no one saw Chang Qing, nor saw him eat.”
Thus, where Chang Qing ate that night remained a mystery.
Qi Xun set the matter aside for now and asked: “What about the rat poison?”
Song Huaiyin replied: “The rat poison was stored in the academy’s warehouse. In the twelfth month, the academy had a rat infestation. The headmaster sent people to buy poison, and each dormitory was given some. The students worked together to eradicate the rats, and after a month they were cleared. The remaining poison was locked in the warehouse. I checked just now—the door is locked, and the poison is still there.”
Qi Xun’s eyes grew solemn. “Then the killer must have bought the rat poison themselves?”
“Most likely,” Song Huaiyin replied, then turned to Fu Jue. “Liu Xi was one of the academy’s more accomplished students. Headmaster Qi said that last year, he was the most promising candidate to pass the exams. But when he failed, Liu Xi was deeply troubled. His family had placed great hopes on him. Lord Liu even came to the academy to make arrangements on his behalf. After Liu Xi’s failure, Lord Liu was furious and even struck him.”
“After that, Liu Xi’s temper grew volatile. Headmaster Qi had heard of his quarrels with Chang Qing, but considered them mere disputes among students—not matters worth intervention by the tutors.”
Song Huaiyin continued: “Yang Jun came from a merchant family. Naturally, they wanted him to earn scholarly honors, but he himself was obsessed with the qin. He failed the autumn exam the year before last. Yang Jun was close to Liu Xi and also had minor quarrels with Chang Qing. The third victim, Zeng Wenhe, likewise failed last year’s spring exam. His family was poor, and it was uncertain whether he could continue studying this year. He had once cared for Chang Qing greatly.”
Fu Jue listened, committing it all to memory. “These are Headmaster Qi’s words. What of the others?”
“The two tutors said much the same. As for Liu Xi and Chang Qing’s quarrels, the students knew more. They said that after Liu Xi failed, his temper changed drastically. He treated Chang Qing harshly and was difficult with others as well. When reading, he demanded absolute silence from his roommates, and quarreled with them over it. But since his father was an official, everyone feared him somewhat.”
At this, both Fu Jue and Qi Xun had their own conclusions.
Qi Xun said: “It seems Liu Xi’s failure struck him hard, changing his temperament. He treated Chang Qing badly, and others as well. Could he have made enemies elsewhere?”
She asked Song Huaiyin: “Was there any competition for benefits within the academy?”
Song Huaiyin nodded. “Yes, indeed. Each year, the academy has two recommendation slots for the Imperial Academy. This year’s choices are already set. Liu Xi is one of them. Chang Qing was originally a candidate too, but was later excluded.”
Jian Hong couldn’t help but interject: “That was because Liu Xi and the others reported him!”
Song Huaiyin recognized Jian Hong from earlier questioning and said:
“Headmaster Qi did not put it that way. He said that although Liu Xi did report him, the reason Chang Qing was excluded was because another student’s learning was superior to his and the other candidates. That student had been a candidate for two years already, and they wanted to give him the chance this year.”
Jian Hong muttered: “It was Luo Chen. I know…”
Seeing Fu Jue and Qi Xun unfamiliar with the name, Song Huaiyin explained: “Luo Chen also stayed at the academy this year. He is from Qiongzhou, comes from a good family, and is well-learned. He is close to Liu Xi and Yang Jun. He was chosen as a recommendation, and no one else objected.”
So Luo Chen was selected. If resentment existed, it would have been Chang Qing’s. And since Liu Xi led the bullying, it was not impossible that Chang Qing sought revenge. Yet the methods were too brutal. As Jian Hong said, he was preparing to return home—how could he have committed murder?
Qi Xun could not make sense of it. Fu Jue asked again: “Has anyone inquired about the matter of the plays?”
“I did. Everyone knows Chang Qing writes play scripts. At first, no one thought much of it. But later, when they saw he was actually making money—buying fine brushes and inkstones—people began whispering. Plays are written for the theater, and it’s hard to avoid slipping in some bawdy songs or lewd verses. That’s why he was mocked.”
“At first, he didn’t bother hiding it. But after being ridiculed, he no longer dared to write in front of others. So to this day, no one knows how many plays he wrote or how much he earned. As for his last script, people know even less. If not for the manuscript of The Qilin Record found in his book chest, no one would even know what he had written.”
Song Huaijin sighed after speaking, “I asked around—when it came to who might have killed Liu Xi and Yang Jun, everyone thought Chang Qing was the most suspicious. Zeng Wenhe, on the other hand, was always courteous, never quarreled with anyone, so no one could guess why he’d be killed. In the end, Chang Qing himself was murdered. And when it came to who might have harmed him, people were even more at a loss. He was timid by nature—if bullied, he only dared to argue back.”
“One person mentioned that Liu Xi once splashed ink on him and smashed his writing tools. Even then, Chang Qing didn’t dare fight back. People like that can sometimes be dangerous in their own way, but I heard from Headmaster Qi that Chang Qing had told him that when the weather warmed in March, he planned to return to his hometown and leave the capital. Since he openly spoke of leaving, it seems unlikely he harbored murderous intent—otherwise he’d have exposed himself too easily.”
Qi Xun repeated what Jian Hong had just said, and Song Huaijin became even more convinced that the deaths of Liu Xi and the others had nothing to do with Chang Qing. He couldn’t help but ask Jian Hong, “You were closest to him. Who do you think killed him?”
Jian Hong, eyes red, shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone. Brother Chang never fought, never schemed, never asked for anything. He only wanted to go home. Yet the killer still came for him. I can’t imagine who it could be.”
Song Huaijin looked troubled. “For now, we can’t find the killer’s motive. And though some students had no alibi at the time of the murders, there are no concrete clues pointing to anyone. We can’t just arrest people without cause.”
Fu Jue said, “Beyond the obvious quarrels, there must be other ties between these victims that we don’t yet understand. Lord Song, tomorrow visit the Liu and Yang households—see if their families harbor suspicions. Then follow the trail of the poisoned rat medicine. Since Chang Qing made his living writing plays, perhaps this case is tied to his scripts. I’ll send men to the theater to investigate whether anything was hidden there.”
Qi Xun thought it over and agreed the plays might be a lead. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “My lord, where is the manuscript of The Qilin Record?”
“At the capital prefecture,” Fu Jue replied, studying her. “You want to see it?”
Qi Xun nodded. “I already have a rough idea of how the victims died. I want to see how the manuscript was written. If the killer meant to frame Chang Qing, he must have read it—and perhaps left traces upon it.”
Fu Jue glanced at the sky. “It’s late. Tomorrow I’ll have the prefecture send the manuscript over.”
Night had long fallen, and it was time to dismiss the day’s work. Fu Jue summoned Li Lian, the constable left behind by Qin Wenzhou, ordering men to guard the academy, then told the others to rest.
Qi Xun stepped out but turned toward Zeng Wenhe’s quarters. Zeng Wenhe’s quarters were nearby, and seeing this, Zhou Wei and Song Huaijin followed. Lin Wei wanted to push Fu Jue along too, but Fu Jue raised a hand to stop him.
Lin Wen asked, “My lord, aren’t we going to look?”
Fu Jue nodded. “We’ll go to the prefecture to fetch the manuscript. I also have words for Lord Qin.”
Lin Wei assented and wheeled him away from the western dormitory.
Qi Xun inspected Zeng Wenhe’s room. Only when she came out did she realize Fu Jue had left. Her chest eased slightly—after all, Fu Jue was still a stranger and superior, and working under his gaze was hardly comfortable. Yet he wasn’t as difficult as she had imagined.
Zeng Wenhe’s room was much like Chang Qing’s. He was diligent as well, though his brushes and ink were of poorer quality. Qi Xun couldn’t help but wonder—was Chang Qing’s earnings from playwriting blocking someone else’s path?
“My lord, in this academy, only Chang Qing wrote plays, correct?”
Song Huaijin nodded. “Yes. Many sell calligraphy and paintings, but only he wrote plays.”
Qi Xun shook her head. Then her guess was wrong. Chang Qing’s silver might have stirred envy, but it hadn’t blocked anyone’s livelihood.
Finding nothing, they took another path toward the academy’s side gate. Halfway there, they noticed something odd: a rock wall by the water, crowned with tall pines. It should have been a fine view, yet the five-character quatrain carved upon the stone was half missing, leaving the scene strangely marred.
Zhou Wei, walking ahead, pointed at it. “With so many scholars here, how is this poem unfinished?”
Song Huaijin, who had already noticed it earlier, shook his head. “It was complete once. But later, when two men committed crimes, the last two lines were chiseled away.”
Zhou Wei’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Lord Song, what’s the story behind this?”
Song Huaijin hadn’t meant to explain, but seeing Zhou Wei’s interest, his own rose. “We’re all among ourselves—no harm in telling it. And in fact, it ties to what you heard recently at the foot of Mount Yu.”
Zhou Wei didn’t catch on, but Qi Xun suddenly looked at the blank space on the stone wall.
“This quatrain was written over twenty years ago by the Four Gentlemen of Bailu. They were: Sun Jun, now Duke Zhong; the late Marquis Linjiang, Fu Yun; and the two who were executed during the Yaohua rebellion—Marquis Yongxin, Wei Yang, and Marquis Changsu, Ning Yue. The first two lines you see now were written by Sun Jun and Fu Yun.”
Song Huaijin sighed with emotion. “Back then, the four studied at Bailu Academy and earned the title of the Four Gentlemen. Headmaster Qi told me this poem was composed during a contest of wit. At the time, the academy was building this scenic spot, undecided what inscription to carve. The mountain master thought the poem excellent and had it engraved here.”
All four men were of noble birth. More than twenty years ago, they were at the height of their youthful brilliance—sparring with words and splashing ink in the academy, together composing a quatrain of unmatched grandeur. Just imagining it evokes a scene of wild pride and lofty ambition.
Song Huaijin sighed softly. “The stone wall stood for several years. Later, when the four inherited titles and entered court service, students of Bailu Academy would look upon it with admiration. But when the Yaohua rebellion broke out, the Wei, Ning, and Lu clans were executed. Not long after, some students splattered dog’s blood over the lines written by Wei and Ning.”
“At the time, they were condemned for treason—plotting to kill a prince. The students were furious. The academy’s mountain master judged it improper to leave their verses, so he ordered them chiseled away. And though many students later composed poems here, none dared inscribe them upon the wall again.”
Song Huaijin turned to Zhou Wei. “That is the story of this stone wall.”
Zhou Wei gave a low hiss. “To leave the verses of traitors at the foremost academy of the realm—indeed, that should not be. Better that they were cut away. When someday the academy produces a statesman of eternal renown, then the wall can be restored.”
Night had deepened. With the tale told, the group moved on.
Zhou Wei had taken a few steps when he noticed Qi Xun still gazing at the wall, lost in thought. He chuckled. “Qi Xun, why linger—thinking of composing a poem?”
Qi Xun snapped back to herself, lips curving in a smile. “I don’t compose poems—I dissect corpses!” Laughing, she caught up with them, adding, “Those two remaining lines look ugly left alone. Better to chisel them off as well.”
Song Huaijin gave her a helpless look. “Duke Zhong now commands the Lu family’s old army. His eldest son heads the Imperial Guard. Marquis Fu died a hero on the battlefield, a national martyr. And you dare say such things? Mind your head.”
Qi Xun clutched her neck in mock fear. “Well… I only meant that a fine poem cut in half is a pity.”
Song Huaijin sighed too. “A pity indeed. Of the Four Gentlemen of Bailu, only one still lives. And more than that—I’ve heard that when the three families fell, Marquis Fu and Duke Sun were the ones who ‘cleansed the court.’ When the Wei and Ning clans were executed, Marquis Fu himself served as execution overseer.”
Zhou Wei drew in a sharp breath. Qi Xun, perhaps chilled, pulled up her cloak’s hood. Facing the cold wind, she quickened her pace, leaving Zhou Wei’s unfinished words trailing behind in the frozen night.