Before dawn had fully broken, Qi Xun rose from bed. She tossed a handful of meat scraps into the turtle basin, then left with a piece of date cake in hand. By the time she urged her horse to the gates of Bailu Academy, the first rays of morning light had only just pierced the clouds.
She thought she was the earliest to arrive, but as soon as she entered through the side gate, she saw Lin Wei coming out. Surprised, she asked:
“Guard Lin, you’re here so early?”
Lin Wei hadn’t expected Qi Xun to be so diligent either. “In the army, we’re used to rising early. I didn’t expect Coroner Qi to be the same.”
Hearing him say *we*, Qi Xun asked: “The heir is here too?”
“Yes, at the place where the bodies are kept.” Lin Wei then remembered something. “Ah, the manuscript has already been brought for you. Last night we went to the capital’s yamen. My lord took the manuscript back to the Marquis’s residence, and this morning he brought it here.”
Qi Xun’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful!”
Lin Wei smiled. “My lord went to the yamen yesterday just to fetch the manuscript for you. He values you highly, Coroner Qi. Don’t let his regard go to waste.”
Qi Xun looked astonished, almost flattered. “Of course, I’ll give my utmost effort!”
Lin Wei said: “I have other duties. You should go in quickly.”
Qi Xun agreed. Once Lin Wei left, her smile faded slightly. She did not truly believe Fu Jue valued her so highly. Their stations were worlds apart. To him, she was merely a convenient subordinate. As long as the case was resolved, the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review would remain within their respective spheres. But if Fu Jue chose to settle accounts over the incident at Furong Post, she would be the first to bear the blame.
Still, Fu Jue had praised her before Wei Qian and had spoken up for her when He Youwei slighted her. Remembering those moments, Qi Xun felt a sense of gratitude. She resolved to devote her full strength to solving the case, repaying favor with diligence.
Just as she reached the hall where the bodies were kept, Qi Xun saw Chu Qian speaking with Fu Jue under the eaves. When they noticed her arrival, both men stopped their conversation and looked her way.
Qi Xun’s face lit with a respectful smile as she bowed properly: “Greetings, Your Lordship.”
Fu Jue studied her. Seeing her wear a polite smile and carry herself with obedient composure, he found it amusing. “Why are you here so early?”
Qi Xun quickly replied: “Yesterday, I didn’t know there was a case, and I arrived late at the yamen, nearly delaying matters. Fortunately, Your Lordship and Lord Wei were generous and did not reprimand me. So today, of course, I must come earlier.”
Her brows curved, her tone sincere. Though she seemed to be playing the dutiful subordinate before her superior, it did not feel forced. Her every expression seemed genuine, lively and capable, stirring a sense of closeness and sympathy. And with her unmatched skill in examining corpses, what superior would not appreciate such a subordinate?
Fu Jue said warmly, “The manuscript has been brought. Take a look first.”
Chu Qian drew a booklet from his robe and handed it to Qi Xun. She thanked him, then opened it and leaned to the side to read by the morning light. Today she wore a dark blue cloak, with a plain indigo cotton robe beneath. The old, worn fabric muted her natural grace, yet her eyes—focused intently on the play—were deep, intelligent, and captivating.
“The Qilin Record runs to twenty‑eight chapters. By then, the three scholars are all dead. In the twenty‑ninth chapter, their ghosts go to seek justice from the treacherous minister. The rest must be about their path to vindication.”
“These three deaths match the manner of Liu Xi and the others. In the play, the treacherous minister kills them because they refuse to join him in corruption. Since Chang Qing wrote it this way, could it be connected to the murders?”
She quickly finished reading, then examined the manuscript for traces. Aside from a few accidental ink smudges, the handwriting was consistent throughout, with nothing suspicious.
Fu Jue said: “He never showed his later plays to anyone. Last night, Jian Hong also said he didn’t know what Chang Qing was writing. If so, then no one knew his motive for writing.”
Qi Xun frowned: “I’ve never seen a play. Is the plot of a corrupt minister murdering poor scholars a common trope?”
This question stumped Fu Jue. “I don’t know.” He turned his gaze to Chu Qian, who scratched his head. “If my lord doesn’t know, then I certainly don’t.”
Qi Xun recalled what Song Huaiyin had said—that Fu Jue grew up on the battlefield and rarely returned to the capital, so he likely never visited a theater.
Fu Jue added: “Today Lin Wei will go to the theater to inquire. Perhaps he can discover something unusual about this play.”
Qi Xun agreed, then handed the manuscript back to Chu Qian. “I plan to re‑examine the bodies of Yang Jun and Zeng Wenhe, then later check the qin hall and the library, to see if anything was overlooked.”
Fu Jue approved. Qi Xun entered the hall, removed her cloak, put on her gloves, and approached Yang Jun’s body. Outside, Fu Jue gave a few instructions, then watched her examination.
Yang Jun’s neck bore clear bruises, his face was purple, and his eyes were bloodshot. The cause of death was indeed suffocation. But aside from the ligature marks on his neck and bruises on his arms and back, there were no other injuries. If Yang Jun had been playing the qin in the hall, how had the killer cut the string before his eyes?
As Qi Xun examined the body, she also studied the qin string used as the murder weapon. Fu Jue asked nearby: “Anything unusual?”
Qi Xun replied: “This is a *gong* string, twisted from eighty‑one fine silken threads. Its tone is deep and dignified—the thickest string on a yaoqin. It came from Yang Jun’s own instrument. But he was obsessed with his qin. The killer could not possibly have cut the string right in front of him.”
She looked at the cut of the qin string. “The break is clean—clearly cut deliberately. And the ligature marks on Yang Jun’s neck are especially fine, even showing the texture of the silk threads. It was indeed something like a qin string that strangled him.”
Fu Jue’s gaze sharpened. “So the killer prepared a string in advance?”
Qi Xun nodded. “The marks only reveal what kind of object was used, not the quality of the string. Yang Jun’s yaoqin were all of fine make. But I suspect many students here own a qin, and they must have spare strings. If the killer wanted to imitate The Qilin Record, they could either use their own spare string or steal someone else’s. First, they strangle him with their own string, then cut Yang Jun’s string afterward, creating the illusion that his own qin string was used.”
Fu Jue narrowed his eyes. “Yesterday, you said Liu Xi’s killer was left‑handed. Today, you’ve determined the killer brought their own string. Then we only need to check which students lost a string. If none did, then it was the killer’s own. That means the killer most likely owns a qin. If not, then they must have bought a string, which would leave traces.”
After saying this, Fu Jue looked toward Zeng Wenhe’s body. “But there’s no need to rush. We don’t want to alert the snake. Continue examining the third victim.”
Zeng Wenhe had been attacked in the library, then suffocated with wet pages pressed over his face.
Qi Xun approached the body, carefully examining the head, face, hands, and feet. Then she said: “Zeng Wenhe died of suffocation. The injury on the back of his neck was not severe—enough only to weaken or stun him. He was struck with something like a paperweight. And I recall this method of killing—it resembles a form of punishment.”
Fu Jue agreed. “Yes, *Tiejiaguan*—a torture method used in interrogations. Jailers would press wet mulberry paper onto a prisoner’s face. The victim would suffer and suffocate, but the body would bear no visible wounds, sparing the torturers from blame.”
Qi Xun examined the pages used in the killing. Once wet and dried, they were now wrinkled and stiff. They were ordinary cotton‑fiber paper used for printing books—a type of white xuan paper. Such paper was fine for printing, but when wet, it became fragile, far less resilient than mulberry‑bark paper used for fans. If a person struggled or breathed heavily, it would easily tear. Yet the seven or eight sheets she saw, stuck together, remained intact.
If the killer hadn’t used the pages from *Su Yu Ci*, then what had they used?
Zeng Wenhe’s face bore no bruises, and the signs on the body matched death by suffocation. Could it be that the killer had prepared mulberry‑bark paper?
Mulberry paper, made from mulberry bark, was usually yellowish‑brown. It lacked the elegance of white xuan but was cheaper. Qi Xun believed that in the academy, someone must have used such paper for writing or painting. She put on a face covering and carefully inspected the nose and mouth of the corpse.
Fu Jue watched her lean closer and closer, her lashes nearly brushing the dead man’s cheek. Suddenly, she turned and fetched a bamboo tweezer from the chest.
The tweezer was small. She inserted it into the dead man’s nasal cavity and soon drew out a tiny thread.
Fu Jue saw it and raised his hand, signaling Chu Qian to push him closer. When they reached the long table where the body lay, he asked: “What is it?”
“Silk thread.” She glanced around, as if searching for something.
Fu Jue asked: “What are you going to do?”
“I want to wash it clean.”
Fu Jue lifted his hand, and Chu Qian immediately went out. Soon, he returned carrying a bowl of clear water. Qi Xun placed the thread inside. The dirt clinging to it dissolved, revealing its true color. It was a short piece of crow‑blue silk, barely an inch long, as if snagged from somewhere.
Qi Xun said: “Silk. I can’t yet tell what fabric it came from. But I suspect it was from something like a soft pillow.”
“The victim’s face bore no bruises. Aside from the Tiejiaguan method, there is another way—the killer could have used a soft pillow to suffocate him. That method also leaves no marks.”
Qi Xun thought for a moment. “The killer must have read Chang Qing’s *Qilin Record*. Since it was a play, it had to be written with some dramatic flair. The three murder weapons chosen were strange and unusual. He wanted to perfectly imitate *Qilin Record*, but when he tried to carry it out, he found it was difficult to kill smoothly by following the play. So he changed his methods.”
“In *Qilin Record*, the victims were killed with their own qin strings. But in reality, he used his own. In the play, wet pages were used for *Tiejiaguan*. He instead used something like a soft pillow. And for Liu Xi, who was killed with a brush—perhaps the killer prepared one himself! Everyone in the academy has similar brushes. He could have prepared a sharp one capable of killing, then swapped it with Liu Xi’s.”
Fu Jue’s eyes glimmered. “So the killer is left‑handed, had a qin string, a crow‑blue pillow, and may have swapped brushes.”
Qi Xun organized her thoughts and nodded. “From the evidence so far, that seems to be the case.”
Fu Jue immediately ordered Chu Qian to summon Li Lian. Once he left, only the two of them and the four corpses remained in the hall.
Qi Xun continued examining the bodies, worried she might miss something. Fu Jue couldn’t help asking: “I heard Lord Song mention your background. At what age did you take a coroner as your master?”
Qi Xun wasn’t surprised that Fu Jue knew. Without lifting her head, she replied: “I apprenticed at ten.”
Fu Jue asked again: “And when you sought apprenticeship, did the master accept you right away?”
Qi Xun paused at that, then looked up. Fu Jue’s gaze was gentle, without disdain—only curiosity about how she had learned her skills. She exhaled, deciding not to hide it, and while arranging the corpse’s features, said: “Of course not.”
“I was born into a criminal clan. At the time, I was just a menial worker at the *yizhuang*, helping the old caretaker prepare corpses. My master had also fallen on hard times. At first, he feared that my family’s crimes hadn’t been fully accounted for and that taking me in might bring him trouble. But as I came to the *yizhuang* more often, he gradually learned what my family had done. Seeing my sincerity, after half a year, he finally accepted me.”
Fu Jue pressed further: “You were only seven or eight then. How did you dare handle corpses?”
Qi Xun glanced at him, surprised at his many questions. But since he was her superior, she dared not refuse. She answered casually: “My lord doesn’t know. When my clan was escorted to the capital, we traveled with refugees from a famine. At its worst, corpses littered the land—it was said the dead lay everywhere. Because of that, when I reached the *yizhuang*, I wasn’t afraid.”
Fu Jue fell silent, as if imagining such a scene.
Qi Xun looked at him again and truly saw compassion in his eyes. She smiled faintly. “It couldn’t be helped. My elders committed crimes. I was young, but I wanted to survive. Luckily, I could go to the *yizhuang*. If I had been exiled beyond the frontier, at my age and with my weak body, I would likely have died on the road.”
This had happened ten years ago. Qi Xun spoke lightly, as if telling someone else’s story. Fu Jue said softly: “You have a resilient and clear heart, never wallowing in misery. Later, you followed your master into the capital?”
Qi Xun smiled again. “Your Lordship likely doesn’t understand people like us. Yes, it was miserable, but surviving to this day—self‑pity is useless. When I apprenticed under my master, I only sought another path in life. Later, he valued me and petitioned the magistrate of Luozhou, bringing me into the capital. I treated him as a father. Unfortunately, he also had endured hardships, leaving him with a chronic illness. He passed away last year.”
Her face was covered with a veil, her voice muffled, her expression hidden. Yet whether in her bright eyes or her tone, there was a sense of resilience and freedom born of suffering, as if those hardships were truly nothing more than fleeting clouds, brushed away with ease.
“Do you enjoy examining corpses?” Fu Jue asked again.
Qi Xun was taken aback. Anyone who knew a little of her past inevitably asked how much suffering she had endured. Everyone—including Song Huaiyin—assumed she had been forced into the coroner’s trade. To them, this profession was filthy, frightening, ominous. They believed no young woman could truly wish to dissect corpses.
Fu Jue, noble and powerful at a young age, surprised her with this “extra” question. She pressed her lips together, lowered her gaze, and said: “At first, it was just a way to survive. Later, I came to feel that being a coroner was a way to accumulate merit, so I devoted myself to it.”
Fu Jue asked leisurely: “How does it accumulate merit?”
Qi Xun pointed to the four corpses before them. “Look at them. Each died without clarity, unable to speak again. Even the greatest injustice is buried under a coffin and a handful of earth. How pitiful they are. If ghosts exist, they must be weeping, crying out for justice. But in this world, who can hear them?”
Fu Jue’s gaze deepened. “You can speak for them, vindicate them.”
Qi Xun lifted her chin, her eyes shining. “That is why I say this profession accumulates merit. If their spirits remain, they must surely be grateful to me.”
Fu Jue was silent for a moment. Just then, footsteps sounded at the gate—Chu Qian and Li Lian had arrived. Fu Jue suddenly asked: “Have you told many people about your past?”
Qi Xun blinked. “Only to acquaintances who asked. There’s nothing I can’t say. If I hide it, people will think those old matters are shameful.”
Fu Jue said no more. When Li Lian entered, he ordered him to search the academy. Li Lian obeyed at once, leading the yamen officers out. At that moment, Zhou Wei finally arrived, late. He first apologized.
Fu Jue was naturally forgiving. Zhou Wei entered, came to Qi Xun’s side, and whispered: “What are we doing now?”
Qi Xun replied: “Going to check the qin hall and the library. I’ve finished examining Zeng Wenhe’s body.”
Fu Jue said: “Go and report to me if you find anything.”
Since Fu Jue did not accompany them, Qi Xun and Zhou Wei both felt more at ease. She answered crisply, then left with Zhou Wei. As they walked, Zhou Wei spoke softly behind her. She laughed in reply, then frowned and glared at him at something he said.
Once they had gone, Chu Qian asked: “Coroner Qi seems close with the men of the Court of Judicial Review. My lord, shouldn’t we follow them?”
Fu Jue shook his head, his expression gentle. “She suffered much in her youth. If others treat her warmly, that is good.”
Tiejiaguan