In the devastated fire site, clerks and officers of the Court of Judicial Review searched among the ruins. Registrar Qian Mingli reported: “Three years’ worth of ledgers were stored here, along with unused furniture and utensils. Everyone in the station knew of it. Since they were unimportant, the room was usually just locked.”
Liu Yishan added: “I have managed Furong Station for eleven years. To my recollection, I never saw Lord Yu here. Each year, many officials pass through. Sometimes military supplies are transferred here, and in busy times, I cannot personally greet everyone. If I misremember, it is possible. The longest‑serving laborers have worked fifteen and fourteen years. I asked them just now—they too do not recall Lord Yu.”
Song Huaijin frowned deeply. “Laborers do not enter the main hall. They often cannot distinguish ranks. Forgetting is normal. Their testimony cannot be relied upon.”
Liu Yishan nodded. Yang Fei and Qi Ran exchanged glances.
Yang Fei said: “So you mean Lord Yu once came here, and someone bore him a grudge, leading to murder? But after so many years, what kind of enmity would warrant this?”
Song Huaijin agreed. “At first, I did not think of it. But last night’s fire revealed the killer’s intent. Some matters are hard to judge. What seems trivial to us may be a blood feud to the killer.”
“My lord, two chests found—” From inside, Xie Nanke called out.
Song Huaijin’s spirit lifted. He hurried in. Yang Fei and Qi Ran hesitated at the sight of snow and ash mingling with black mud, then followed. Lin Wei pushed Fu Jue’s wheelchair, watching from the edge.
Beside Xie Nanke stood Qi Xun, sleeves rolled to her elbows, rummaging through debris, hands blackened with soot yet unconcerned. When Song Huaijin approached, she said: “This room had no floor heating. This corner leaked rain, and the collapsed roof shielded it. So these two chests survived mostly intact.”
The chests were blackened, one corner burned. Inside lay ledgers and records, half destroyed, half legible.
“Ledgers!” Xie Nanke examined the first chest. The result disappointed Song Huaijin. But when he opened the second, his voice rose. “My lord! These are records of officials lodging here!”
Pages rustled. “This one is from the 27th year of Jianyuan.”
Now it was the 5th year of Jianzhang. The 27th year of Jianyuan was six years ago. Song Huaijin saw a dozen more volumes. “This is seven years ago. Below must be earlier still. Quickly—bring them all out!”
With evidence found, spirits rose. Yang Fei and Qi Ran brightened. Song Huaijin exhaled. “Nanke, take two men and search the records. We will go to the back mountain.”
Xie Nanke obeyed, leaving Zhou Wei, skilled with writing, to assist. Qi Xun clapped the soot from her hands, scooped snow to wash them, unconcerned. Song Huaijin shook his head at her casualness, then beckoned her along.
Yang Fei and Qi Ran followed. Liu Yishan led the way. Fu Jue pulled his cloak tighter, and Lin Wei wheeled him back.
From the west gate, a short path led to the back mountain. Qi Xun walked last, listening as the officials discussed the Guanyin Temple.
Qi Ran said: “This is not my first time here. I knew of the temple’s reputation but never worshiped there. Such things, once believed, entangle you. Better to trust oneself than Buddha.”
Yang Fei said: “This Guanyin Temple only gained its reputation in recent years. The nearby villages and towns have even built small businesses around it, so in a way, it has benefited the people. I came here once before. General Xin and Prefect Liu have never visited—it would be proper to bring them along.”
Liu Yishan, hearing this, added quietly: “General Xin and Prefect Liu may not have come, but the heir did. Three years ago, when the heir returned to the capital with his father’s coffin, he went up to the Guanyin Temple that very night to offer incense.”
Song Huaijin and Qi Xun exchanged a glance.
Fu Jue—the god of slaughter on the northern battlefield—he actually believed in Buddha?
After crossing a ridge of fields, they reached the back mountain. At the foot were ordinary shrubs. The path was rugged. After climbing for the time of two cups of tea, panting, they arrived at the Guanyin Temple.
The temple was modest, only two courtyards deep, nestled in a grove of black pines. With the year’s end approaching, many had come to offer incense.
Liu Yishan explained: “Festivals draw the most worshippers. This temple was once dilapidated. Five years ago, lightning struck and set it ablaze. Half of the main hall was destroyed. Of six Guanyin statues, only one survived intact. Later, as its fame grew, the temple was rebuilt and expanded.”
Entering the main hall, Qi Xun saw the six vivid, lifelike tantric Guanyin statues. Most striking was the Horse‑Head Guanyin—entirely crimson, three faces, eight arms, glaring eyes, exposed fangs. It inspired awe at a glance.
Liu Yishan pointed to it. “This Horse‑Head Guanyin was the one left standing. Though the temple was rebuilt and the other statues recast, this one survived lightning and fire. People say the temple is protected by it. The Horse‑Head Guanyin subdues demons and dispels ignorance. So later, all the good and ill events nearby were attributed to its power—especially the tales of curses and punishment.”
Song Huaijin glanced at Zhu Yun, who led men out to question witnesses. Liu Yishan continued: “Beyond here lies a forest of stone steles carved with Buddhist verses, left from the previous dynasty. Many come to see it.”
Since they had come, they naturally went to look. Exiting the temple’s back gate, they soon saw among the pines twenty or thirty stone steles, each as tall as a man. The winding paths between them formed a maze.
Liu Yishan said: “There is a saying here: everyone enters the stele forest from the same entrance, but there are many exits. The verse carved on the stone at the exit is said to be the Dharma words bestowed upon you by Guanyin Bodhisattva. My lords, you may try it.”
Song Huaijin looked at Yang Fei and Qi Ran. “Since we are here, why not walk a bit?”
Yang Fei smiled. “Then let’s go—”
The other clerks followed into the stele forest. Qi Xun did not move. She had little faith in such things and no desire to try. She remained outside, gazing at the snow‑covered ground in thought.
From the foot of the mountain upward, only near the temple did the black pines grow dense. Yu Ming must have come to this temple. That he visited the temple was not strange. As an official, seeking fortune and rank was natural. But what was odd was that no one in the station knew he had come—why conceal it?
And the mountain path was rugged. Even by day, it was difficult. At night, lamps would be needed. Yet she recalled Yu Ming’s room had all its lamps intact. Suddenly, she wondered—perhaps Yu Ming had not come alone?
She had stood outside for less than half a cup of tea when someone emerged from the forest. Looking closely, it was Minister Qi Ran. She stood respectfully. He seemed surprised. “Coroner Qi, you did not go in?”
She replied quickly: “I do not believe in Buddha, so I did not enter.”
Qi Ran smiled kindly. “Yesterday I saw you at the autopsy—very skillful. You are but a young girl. How did your family allow you to take this trade?”
Qi Xun pressed her lips shyly. “My family is gone. And I am of a criminal clan. There were few trades open to me. I was fortunate to learn this craft. To live by it is already a blessing.”
Qi Ran was not surprised. Coroners were lowly, often drawn from criminal families, accustomed to corpses. As a minister, he did not truly care about her background and asked no more. Just then, Song Huaijin came out muttering.
Seeing Qi Ran, Song Huaijin said: “Lord Qi, how did you come out so quickly? I chose the nearest path, yet it was slower. What Dharma words did you see? Mine was: ‘The Tathāgata comes from nowhere.’ I cannot fathom its meaning.”
Qi Ran smiled. “Mine was: ‘All is for sentient beings; delusion fades of itself.’”
Song Huaijin praised: “Truly full of Buddhist spirit.”
At that moment, Zhu Yun returned with men. “My lord, we questioned them. The temple has one abbot and four monks. By day, the gates are open; at night, they are locked. They never saw Lord Yu. After the incident, no one from the station came to worship. They did not even know of the crime.”
Song Huaijin was disappointed. He glanced around the temple. “No matter. Our best hope lies in those records. Let us return.”
When Liu Yishan and Yang Fei came out, Song Huaijin reported the investigation fruitless. Spirits fell. They circled back down the mountain. As they passed the temple’s eastern rear, Qi Xun noticed a newly cleared patch of ground. Elsewhere, snow and dead branches lay thick, but here, freshly cut, green pine needles had fallen. At once, she thought of the one found on Yu Ming’s shoe.
Liu Yishan explained: “With more pilgrims, they plan to expand with meditation huts.”
Qi Xun kept the detail in mind. Together they descended the mountain.
Back at the station, before finding Xie Nanke and the others, they saw new arrivals. Asking, they learned it was Tian Wanchun’s wool shipment. The bales were stored in the granary. Twenty men had brought them, staying one night before returning to the capital.
Tian Wanchun was determined to leave, and with Xin Yuanshou also hurrying back to Suzhou, Song Huaijin could not force them to stay—there was no evidence against either man. Soon, he found Xie Nanke in the newly prepared side room.
Xie Nanke, with Zhou Wei and four or five others, was poring over the books. Their brows were furrowed. Seeing Song Huaijin, they came forward.
“My lord,” Xie Nanke said, “only two volumes can be read. The rest were already damp and moldy. After the smoke and fire, they turned black. Most of the writing is illegible.”
Song Huaijin asked: “How far back have you checked?”
“Only to the 24th year of Jianyuan.”
“So only nine years ago.” Song Huaijin stepped forward to inspect the volumes himself. Indeed, the writing was blurred throughout. He slammed his fist on the table. “These were our best hope for clues.”
Qi Xun also came forward to examine them. “The middle pages of a few volumes are still legible. As for the rest—it is not impossible—”
Song Huaijin’s eyes lit with a spark of hope. “What do you mean?”
“Use plant ash, mixed with the bones of chickens and ducks from the kitchen, burned crisp and ground to powder. Add water and soak the paper. It will fade the smoke stains, perhaps revealing the original writing.”
The method was unheard of. Song Huaijin hesitated. But Qi Xun grew more resolute. “Cut out the legible pages and preserve them. Then use my method on the rest. Whatever can be recovered, we must recover.”
Song Huaijin, seeing Qi Xun speak with such conviction, said: “Then you do it. But I cannot spare you all the men.”
Qi Xun nodded. She chose Zhou Wei and Xie Nanke, leaving two to catalog the legible pages. She took Zhou Wei to gather plant ash and bone ash. Liu Yishan sent Zhang Xun to guide them to the boiler room.
The boiler room was beside the kitchen courtyard, larger than Qi Xun expected. Two great cauldrons, as tall as a man, stood in the center. Around them hung kettles, with furnaces and bellows of all sizes. The moment they entered, the heat pressed against them.
Zhang Xun explained: “When many guests arrive, even this much hot water is not enough. In winter, the wells may all freeze. Only these furnaces provide water.”
Qi Xun needed little ash, but burning bones was troublesome. By the time the mixture was ready, an hour had passed. Returning to the side room, they found all the illegible pages had been cut out. Xie Nanke said gloomily: “There are more than seven hundred sheets.”
These contained years of records, naturally numerous. The others grew discouraged. But Qi Xun was full of energy. “Only seven hundred? That’s fewer than I thought. If we work hard, we can finish tomorrow.”
Xie Nanke was encouraged. Yet once they began, it proved harder than expected. The soaking time had to be precise, or the ink itself would wash away. To read the writing, the damp paper had to be dried carefully. Each sheet took much effort.
From afternoon until night, they managed fewer than a hundred sheets. Meanwhile, Song Huaijin focused on questioning the station staff. He refused to believe Yu Ming’s stay had been without anomaly. He interrogated every detail, cross‑checking testimonies, seeking contradictions. Anxiety spread among all, except Tian Wanchun and Xin Yuanshou, who prepared to depart in the morning.
By midnight, the cold wind howled outside. After a few bowls of hot food, they resumed work. The task was tedious. The men grew weary and irritable. By the second watch, exhaustion overcame them. Even Song Huaijin returned to rest. Seeing Qi Xun still at work, he said: “Enough. Rest. Continue tomorrow.”
Qi Xun was tired, but unsettled at leaving the task unfinished. She stayed. Zhou Wei and Xie Nanke, seeing her resolve, loyally remained.
By late night, Zhou Wei, drowsy, stepped out for air. Soon, he returned, head poking in. “Eunuch Tian’s men are leaving. They’re loading wagons at the granary. The Vice Minister is up, preparing to see them off.”
Qi Xun yawned. “Dawn is near. Fine. You rest. I’ll finish these ten pages, then sleep.”
Xie Nanke and Zhou Wei exchanged a look, then retired to the next room. Qi Xun said ten pages, but read more. Through the night, they managed two more years of records, reaching the 21st year of Jianyuan—twelve years ago.
She considered Yu Ming’s age. If no clue appeared in these years, earlier records would be useless—he had not yet passed the imperial exams, and could not have lodged at the station. Drowsy, she yawned again. But then her eyes caught a character—“Yu.” She snapped awake, holding the page to the lamp. Clearer now: “Yu Ming.” The rest was blurred, but those two characters were undeniable. She quickly checked the surrounding pages, seeking the date of his stay. Then another familiar character appeared.
Her heart jolted. “Could it be such a coincidence?”
Outside, the sky shifted from black to blue. Dawn approached. Her face changed. She hurried out, opened the next room, and called loudly, heedless of the men sleeping inside: “Where is the Vice Minister?”
Half‑asleep, Wang Su answered: “He went to see Eunuch Tian off!”
Qi Xun shut the door, turned east, then thought better, and ran to the main gate. Without a cloak, the wind cut like knives. She ignored it. At the gate, she saw them standing outside.
Tian Wanchun, bundled tight, complained: “We agreed to meet at dawn. Why are we still waiting? In the capital, the court would already be in session!”
Song Huaijin and Yang Fei stood beside him, soothing him to wait.
“Vice Minister—” A figure rushed from the dim light. It was Qi Xun. Breathless, she cried: “My lord, General Xin cannot leave! He had dealings with Lord Yu before, yet concealed them!”
She ran up to Song Huaijin. “Twelve years ago, General Xin and Lord Yu lodged here together. Now Lord Yu dies here. General Xin cannot have forgotten. He hid it deliberately!”
Song Huaijin was stunned. Yang Fei and Tian Wanchun’s faces changed. After a moment’s shock, Song Huaijin said at once: “Then we must detain him for questioning!”
He strode back inside, intent on finding Xin Yuanshou. Tian Wanchun and Yang Fei exchanged glances, then followed. They hurried along the corridor toward the eastern quarters. But before they arrived, a terrified clerk burst from the kitchen direction. Pale and shaking, he cried: “A dead man! There’s a dead man in the boiler room!”