Open the skull!
Qi Xun spoke as if it were routine, but Qi Ran and the others turned pale. Yu Ming had already died a gruesome death—must his head be split open as well? And these words came from the lips of a young girl, barely past childhood!
Fu Jue had not expected her methods to be so bold. His gaze grew deeper as he watched her.
Song Huaijin hesitated. Yu Ming’s family was far away in Yanzhou, unreachable in the short term. Normally, dissection required the consent of kin. Yet he quickly decided: “Do it. If he truly froze to death, then the place of murder was not this room.”
Qi Xun received the order, turned, and selected a blade—finally choosing a thin knife the size of a willow leaf. Standing before the case, she raised her hand, then glanced at the men outside. None showed any intention of withdrawing.
Song Huaijin added, “The sight of an autopsy is unpleasant. If you wish only for the result, you may wait outside.”
The two prefects were accustomed to criminal trials; Xin Yuanshou and Fu Jue were soldiers, hardened to such scenes. Qi Ran forced composure, while Tian Wanchun covered his nose and mouth, fearful yet unable to look away.
No one left. Beyond pride, they all wanted to see how this female coroner worked.
Song Huaijin said no more. Turning back, he saw Qi Xun cut along the line of the skull. The room was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Her nimble fingers shifted the blade’s angle again and again. Soon half of Yu Ming’s scalp was peeled back. The onlookers, standing at a distance, could not see details, but the thought alone made their stomachs churn and their scalps prickle.
Yet Qi Xun remained utterly calm, absorbed in her task. She did not seem to be dissecting a corpse, but rather embroidering like a lady, or writing like a scholar—serene, precise, unhurried.
After the time of two cups of tea, she finally said: “My lord, come and see.”
Song Huaijin stepped forward. Qi Xun pointed to the exposed skull.
“There are no external wounds, yet the bone bears fine cracks. They are too small to be caused by a blow.”
“Why then?”
“Because Lord Yu died of freezing. The fluids within his brain froze and expanded, forcing the skull to fracture. This explains why the east wing showed no other traces.”
“In weather like this, a man lightly clothed outdoors would freeze to death within an hour. Longer still, and his blood and fluids would congeal. The killer dismembered him outside, while most of the blood remained frozen within. Later, the killer carried the pieces back to Yu Ming’s room and arranged them into human form. With the floor heating, the body thawed, softened, and blood seeped from the wounds—”
She finished her deduction, then looked toward Liu Yishan. “If I am right, when Post Master Liu entered that night, Yu Ming’s face already bore frostbite.”
Liu Yishan thought back quickly. “It was already dark. We saw only blood everywhere. But yes—his face seemed to have red patches. The light was dim, and we were horrified by the blood and the corpse. We did not examine closely.”
Song Huaijin said: “That was the killer’s intent! To terrify everyone, so they would overlook the details.”
Qi Xun added: “There were no blood spatters in the room. And dismemberment, no matter how skilled, should leave marks beneath the body. Yet the floor tiles are clean. This proves the dismemberment was not done here.”
Song Huaijin frowned with new doubts. “So the killer first murdered him, then dismembered him, then carried the pieces back? Leaving aside how he transported them unnoticed—if he wished to avoid suspicion, he should have left the body outside, staged an accident, or erased all traces. Why go to such lengths? Was it only to frighten us with gore?”
He could not fathom who would kill Yu Ming in such a way. The men sent to question the station clerks had not yet returned. The truth of the case seemed ever more tangled.
“Perhaps it was to exploit the rumors of the Guanyin Temple,” Qi Xun said.
As she spoke, she had already restored Yu Ming’s skull. At a glance, one could hardly see the incision. She continued: “The killer went to great pains to create a scene that defied explanation, so that outsiders would believe it the work of spirits—just as the temple’s curse is said to punish evil men.”
Song Huaijin also found the reasoning sound. “Curses that kill—such tricks of feigned spirits we’ve seen many times.” Suddenly, his mind stirred. “Whoever plotted this must have already known of the temple’s rumor.”
He fixed his gaze on Liu Yishan. “After the crime, who was the first to think of this?”
Liu Yishan tensed at once. “Th—the first… that would be me…” He stammered, fear written across his face. “I did not mean to mislead anyone. The rumor had long spread through the surrounding villages. The Guanyin Temple is close to the station, just behind the mountain. I often go there to offer incense. And that day I was the first to see Lord Yu’s corpse—so naturally my thoughts strayed.”
“You ordered the offerings to be placed?”
Liu Yishan nodded nervously. “Yes… yes, I gave the order.”
Song Huaijin studied him from head to toe.
Liu Yishan nearly dropped to his knees. “My lord, it truly was not me! With this case, I fear I cannot remain postmaster. Why would I ruin my own career?”
Yu Ming was a high‑ranking official, and his death within the station indeed threw everyone into crisis. The killer acted with planning and cruelty, suggesting he knew Yu Ming and bore deep enmity. Yu Ming served in Yanzhou, not Tanzhou—he was only passing through. Thus, those most likely to harbor old grudges were fellow officials of the court.
In officialdom, rivalry and hidden feuds abound. Perhaps there was some old enmity unknown to outsiders?
Song Huaijin did not speak his thoughts, but inwardly resolved to investigate the officials present. Yet he hesitated. He asked instead:
“You all said you had only brief encounters with Lord Yu. Could you describe them?”
Qi Ran and the others exchanged glances. He answered: “Before you arrived, we compared notes. None of us ever served in the same place as him. I last saw Yu Ming five years ago, when he returned to the capital to report. Prefects Liu and Wu met him twice, also years ago. General Xin saw him once three years past, while on duty in Yanzhou.”
Though colleagues in the same dynasty, their contact was indeed minimal. Song Huaijin pressed further: “Then do any of you know if Lord Yu ever wronged someone? The temple’s tale says Guanyin curses evildoers. If the killer used this, he must have known Yu Ming had done harm. Yet I checked—his record was excellent.”
The officials looked even more bewildered. Qi Ran said: “Lord Yu returned to the capital with hopes of promotion. When we dined together at Minghua Hall, we even congratulated him in advance. We truly know nothing of any misdeeds.”
The others agreed.
Song Huaijin then noticed Fu Jue remained silent. “And you, heir?”
Fu Jue replied coolly: “I have not returned to the capital in three years. I have never met Yu Ming.”
Fu Jue was a general, Yu Ming a civil official—their paths were far apart. Yet how to explain the human blood on his blade? And his strange conduct upon entering the station?
Fu Jue seemed to read his thoughts. Before all, he said: “A month ago, I was gravely wounded. The northern cold hindered recovery, so I had no choice but to return to the capital. As the war continues, it would not do for word to spread that the commander had left camp. Thus, I concealed my identity. The official station is quieter than other lodgings. Ten days ago my old wound flared again, so I remained here to recuperate.”
He coughed twice, his weakness plain. Anyone could see he was truly injured. And as commander of ten thousand troops, if he had wished to torment Yu Ming, there were countless ways—why commit murder here, knowing it would draw the court’s scrutiny?
Yet from another angle, precisely because he was commander, accustomed to life and death, Yu Ming’s rank might mean little to him. But what motive?
Song Huaijin’s mind wrestled with doubt. Fu Jue raised his hand. Lin Wei understood. “It is time for the heir’s medicine. We have lingered here long enough. At most we will remain three more days. Whether or not you uncover the truth, we must depart for the capital.”
With that, Lin Wei pushed the wheelchair away.
Song Huaijin gripped the hilt at his waist. Earlier, when Fu Jue ordered his men to surrender the blade, he had thought him easy to deal with. But he nearly forgot the heir’s fearsome reputation beyond these walls.
Qi Ran sighed. “Vice Minister Song, this case is no simple matter. Three days may not suffice. But rest assured—I will remain until it is solved. Eunuch Tian may leave first, since he is pressed for palace duties. General Xin must return to Suzhou before the year’s end—let him depart as well. As for the heir, he cannot be detained. If the truth is not found within three days, he too must go.”
Xin Yuanshou nodded. “I thought staying a day or two more would suffice to solve the case. But now it seems more complicated. I would like to remain and help, but I truly have official duties. I must return to Suzhou before year’s end, and I am already pressed for time.”
If urgent duty called, he could not be forced to stay. Song Huaijin drew a deep breath. “Rest assured, once the investigation clears you of suspicion, you will not be detained.”
Tian Wanchun and Xin Yuanshou were satisfied. Seeing nothing more to be done and unwilling to linger beside Yu Ming’s corpse, the group soon took their leave. Once they were gone, Qi Xun could not help but ask Song Huaijin: “My lord, that heir just now—who was he?”
“The heir of Marquis Linjiang.”
Qi Xun was startled. Song Huaijin continued: “I never thought it would be him. He has long resided in Youzhou. In my years of service at the capital, I only glimpsed him once from afar. Today I nearly failed to recognize him. His appearance differs greatly from rumor, but his nature is exactly as described.”
Qi Xun looked at him in puzzlement. He lowered his voice: “That heir is Fu Jue, illegitimate son of the late Marquis Fu Yun. At ten years old, he followed his father to the battlefield, raised among corpses. Three years ago, when Marquis Fu Yun fell in Youzhou, Fu Jue carried the coffin back to the capital. He mourned less than a month before returning north, unwilling to let military power fall into another’s hands. To forsake even his father’s mourning—what ruthless ambition is that?”
“Xiliang is our mortal enemy. Each year, tens of thousands of soldiers die in the north. Since Fu Jue took command of the Northern Frontier Army, he has won victory after victory. Some say he alone annihilated ten thousand of Xiliang’s troops. Others claim he practices a sinister northern art that has altered his appearance, making him inhuman and feared by ghosts and gods alike. Though he has not returned to the capital in three years, the emperor has showered him with rewards. Now, returning to heal his wounds, he will likely inherit his father’s title.”
Qi Xun felt a chill in her heart. She nodded. “Hidden depths, a tiger feigning weakness—the more refined and gentle he appears, the heavier his power.”
Song Huaijin clicked his tongue softly. “Exactly. His promise to stay only three days was meant as pressure. If we rush and mishandle the case, only the killer benefits. And only the killer would wish to leave quickly. The blood on his blade is unexplained, and though his concealment of identity has some logic, we cannot relax our guard.”
By the time Jiang Ming and Wang Su returned, night had fallen.
Jiang Ming had investigated the station clerks. He reported: “My lord, the Furong Station has one postmaster, two registrars, ten clerks on record, and twenty laborers—handling cooking, the horse pond, the granary, and so forth. The nearest villages are Li Family Village to the east and Lotus Village to the northwest. Outsiders are not allowed in the station, except every three days when villagers deliver food. All vegetables, meat, and wine are purchased locally. On the Laba Festival, the villagers who usually delivered did not come.”
“The clerks and laborers all had witnesses that day. Apart from the postmaster and two registrars, everyone lived together in the west rear courtyard, working side by side, rarely alone. Among the clerks are men from the capital and from Tanzhou. Half the laborers are from Li Family Village and Lotus Village.”
Wang Su, who questioned Yu Ming’s servant, said: “I asked his page. He has served Yu Ming for five years, loyal to his master. Nothing unusual occurred after they lodged here. Yu Ming was not close to the other officials. On the day they met, they exchanged polite greetings.”
“On the seventh night of the twelfth month, Yu Ming dined with Lord Qi and the others at Minghua Hall, drinking wine. Before his page left, Yu Ming told him not to attend the next day. So the page slept in the west wing with the other attendants. The next day, he overslept. At noon, uneasy, he went to Yu Ming’s quarters. The door was shut. He heard Yu Ming tell him to rest, so he thanked him and left. He then drank with the others in the wing until evening, when the crime was discovered.”
Song Huaijin frowned. “You mean, on the Laba Festival, he did not see Yu Ming—only heard his voice?”
Wang Su nodded. “Correct. He said he clearly heard his master’s voice—though it sounded groggy, as if not yet awake, a little hoarse. I also asked the station servants. They said that night the officials drank until nearly midnight. Later, Yu Ming and Prefect Liu were so unsteady they had to be escorted back to their rooms by clerks.”
Song Huaijin mused aloud. “Yu Ming froze to death. But in a station full of people coming and going, where could he have been frozen? Even dismembered, he was still a man five chi tall—hardly something one could smuggle in and out under a cloak. Does the body show more clues?”
Qi Xun answered. “The wrists and ankles bear marks of binding. In addition, there are bruises on the right shoulder and behind the right knee.”
Earlier, she had applied vinegar to the corpse, making all bruises visible.
“The victim may have been attacked, but there are no other wounds. Either the assailant was skilled in arms and subdued him quickly, or else the attacker was someone he trusted—so he was caught off guard.”
Song Huaijin shook his head. “These old foxes have all been officials for years. Even if they met Yu Ming four or five times, now they claim only once or twice, eager to distance themselves. They come from different provinces—how can we trace their entire lives? Eunuch Tian and General Xin are pressing to leave. We cannot hold them. Let those two depart first.”
He sighed. “There must be some anomaly. Continue questioning. Start from Yu Ming’s arrival at the station. Leave no suspicious detail unchecked.”
Wang Su and Jiang Ming accepted the order and left. Qi Xun began examining Yu Ming’s clothing. His robe was soaked in blood. Apart from the cuts from dismemberment, there was no other damage. Yet as she studied the garment, a sudden thought struck her.
“My lord—doesn’t Yu Ming’s death resemble a form of punishment?”
Song Huaijin turned from speaking with Liu Yishan. “Punishment?”
“Execution by waist‑cutting.” Qi Xun lifted half of the robe. “Especially the wound across the abdomen—”
Song Huaijin raised his brows. “You mean the killer punished Yu Ming with a penal execution?”
Qi Xun shook her head. Something still eluded her. She looked toward the *mo dao*. “I wonder—though the weapon resembles a *mo dao*, perhaps it was not one at all.”
With that, she carried the blade back to the east wing, intent on scraping away the frozen blood from the floor—as though determined to clear every last shard.
Song Huaijin half‑smiled, half‑sighed. “You girl, you’ve worked all day. Rest for now. Continue tomorrow. I’ll take men to investigate outside. Lock this place—no one enters.”
He instructed Liu Yishan: “Arrange good lodging for our coroner. Send her food.”
Qi Xun was indeed famished. The frozen blood would take hours to scrape away. She obeyed, packed her tools, and soon Liu Yishan sent a clerk named Zhang Xun to escort her.
Heading north from Yu Ming’s quarters, the station was lit with lanterns. Snow glowed in the yellow light, warming Qi Xun’s eyes. “Brother Zhang, how long have you served here?”
Zhang Xun, not yet thirty, honest and upright, replied respectfully: “Seven or eight years.”
Qi Xun asked curiously: “Furong Station is the largest in the north. Has there ever been a murder before?”
“Never. This is the first.” Relieved by her easy tone, Zhang Xun relaxed.
“Our station is comfortable. Many officials stop here at Yanxing Mountain if their duties are not urgent. Lord Liu of the Ministry has stayed here three times in recent years. Lord Qi twice.”
Qi Xun’s heart stirred. If they had visited before, they must have known the temple’s rumor. “Post Master Liu said the Guanyin Temple here is very efficacious. In what way?”
Zhang Xun, unaware of how far the investigation had gone, spoke freely.
“It began five years ago. First, a woman from Lotus Village, married for years without children, prayed for two months, and soon conceived. Word spread. Villagers flocked to pray. Many ailments were cured, and businesses prospered. These were the good folk.”
“At the same time, a lazy son who neglected his parents lost his fortune. A habitual thief broke his leg. A wife‑beater fell from a cliff and died. One after another, people said Guanyin Bodhisattva had manifested—blessing the good, cursing the wicked. Faith grew. Even our station folk worship together.”
“Post Master Liu said some here suffered misfortune?”
Zhang Xun nodded. “Yes. One brother, Xu Li, loved wine. He stole a jar from the granary. Within half a month, he lost a toe—chopping wood, he cut it off himself. Another, Hu Li, was a gambler. He wasted his wages and stole from home. One day, while feeding horses, a horse went mad and trampled his leg. Both incidents were four years ago. Now they are the most devout, offering incense every festival.”
Qi Xun suddenly asked: “Do you know Marquis Linjiang?”
She dared not name Fu Jue directly. But Zhang Xun answered at once: “Of course! Marquis Linjiang guarded Youzhou, a hero of the realm. Three years ago, he died in battle. When his heir brought the coffin back to the capital, they stopped here for a night. It was winter—I remember clearly!”
So Fu Jue had already been to Furong Station. He must have known the temple’s rumor.
As she pondered, Zhang Xun said: “Here we are, miss. You’ll lodge here tonight. I’ll bring food shortly.”
It was a secluded courtyard, with locked side rooms and a furnished main hall. Qi Xun removed her cloak, washed in hot water, and rubbed her frozen face until it warmed. After a stick of incense’s time, Zhang Xun brought food. Exhausted, she ate heartily, then washed and lay down.
Outside, the wind howled. Soon, snow fell again. Qi Xun drifted into sleep, still turning over the day’s autopsy in her mind. She had traveled from the capital with Song Huaijin, riding hard. This rest should have been deep. Yet she dreamed of being chased by ten thousand soldiers, fleeing with no escape. Just as despair consumed her, noise outside woke her.
Sweating, she stumbled to the window. Her drowsy eyes widened. In the northwest sky above the station, a blaze of fire lit the heavens.