Xin Yuanshou lay motionless, sunk inside the great cauldron of the boiler room.
The firewood in the hearth crackled, the cauldron nearly full of boiling water, steam rising thick. At first glance, Qi Xun felt as though Xin Yuanshou had been cooked alive.
“Put out the fire—get him out!”
Song Huaijin directed the men as he climbed the wooden ladder himself to haul the body. Outside, hurried footsteps approached—Liu Yishan arrived with others. Seeing Xin Yuanshou lifted from the cauldron, his knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed. Clerks steadied him. One glance at the corpse and the cauldron made them all suppress nausea.
Outside, Tian Wanchun and Yang Fei were equally stunned. They looked again at the clerk who had reported it—he had collapsed on the ground, muttering incoherently, terrified.
Yang Fei stepped forward. “When you arrived, was he already inside? Did you see the killer?”
The clerk hugged his knees, shaking his head, unable to speak. Yang Fei raised his voice. “This was a fourth‑rank general! If you do not tell us what you saw, the court will punish you!”
Inside, Xin Yuanshou’s body had been laid on the floor. His skin was scalded red, eyes shut, lifeless. Hearing Yang Fei’s threats, Song Huaijin stepped to the doorway. The sight seemed to terrify the clerk further—he cried out: “It was Guanyin! The Horse‑Head King! He cursed them—”
“Lord Yu was dismembered, now another boiled alive—this is the Horse‑Head King condemning them to hell, punishing them with hell’s torments! The Horse‑Head King! The Horse‑Head King—”
The clerk sobbed in fear. Yang Fei was about to scold him again, but Song Huaijin raised a hand. “Enough. Do not press him now. Postmaster Liu, take him away to calm down. We’ll question him later.”
Liu Yishan himself was barely steady, but quickly ordered men to escort the clerk.
Qi Xun listened thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on Xin Yuanshou’s corpse. When he was first found, he had been face down in the water. She bent to begin her preliminary examination.
Song Huaijin asked: “Well?”
“The chest and abdomen are bloated. The face is purplish, with slight froth at the mouth and nose. Faint red livor marks appear at the neck and wrists. My initial judgment: drowning.”
Qi Xun had just uncovered a link to Xin Yuanshou, and now—by coincidence—he was dead in this cauldron. She spoke gravely: “There is no gooseflesh pattern on his skin. That means when he entered the water, it was already hot. He had inhaled a lot of water, so when we arrived, he was submerged. Normally, drowned bodies float after decay. In rivers, cold water slows livor mortis. But here, in boiling water, livor appeared quickly.”
“At present, the livor is pale and fades under pressure. Time of death should be within the last hour. There are slight hemorrhages on the eye membranes, and wounds on both hands—”
She showed Xin Yuanshou’s hands to Song Huaijin. “Both palms have severe abrasions. The right index and middle fingernails are broken, with a cut across the middle fingertip. These injuries suggest he struggled, scraping against the rim of the cauldron. They are enough to prove he drowned—and drowned here, in this cauldron.”
The hearth stood half a man’s height, the cauldron nearly ten feet around, its water deep enough to reach a grown man’s chest. Yet Xin Yuanshou was tall, strong, and a seasoned soldier. Who could have forced him into the cauldron so easily?
Qi Xun lifted his soaked sleeve. On his wrist, she saw purplish bruises, dotted with blood—abrasions from rough binding. Her eyes swept the room, and in a corner she spotted a coil of hemp rope.
Song Huaijin picked it up. Soon, he found faint traces of blood. He looked upward. The boiler room was spacious, with a beam running across the ceiling above the cauldron, supported by cross‑timbers. That beam passed directly over where Xin Yuanshou had drowned.
Song Huaijin tied a knot, tossed the rope over the beam, and let it fall. Testing the length of the bloodstained section, he said: “He was hoisted with a rope. General Xin was no weakling. The killer must have great strength. It resembles the murderer of Lord Yu—”
At that moment, Zhu Yun called from the hearth: “My lord, there is blood on the cauldron rim.”
Qi Xun examined Xin Yuanshou’s clothing. At the back of his waist, she found a black stain—ash from the hearth. But Xin Yuanshou would not have been bound without resistance. She checked his head and neck and indeed found a swollen lump at the back of his skull.
“The victim suffered a blow to the back of the head, likely knocked unconscious. He was then brought here, hoisted with a rope into the cauldron. When he revived, his hands were bound. In boiling water, even if he struggled, a single force pressing him down would prevent escape. He drowned.”
Because the hearth was wide, ladders stood on either side, and ladles of varying lengths were kept nearby. Song Huaijin picked up several long‑handled ladles, finding one still wet. He summoned Liu Yishan to question him.
Liu Yishan explained: “At night, the boiler room fire is never extinguished. After midnight, if no one comes for water, the clerks stoke it with wood and coal before leaving. By dawn, the fire is still burning, and the water in the cauldron remains hot.”
Tian Wanchun and Xin Yuanshou had agreed to meet at dawn. The boiler room clerk discovered the body at that very hour—the timing matched exactly.
Song Huaijin said: “The boiler room is not close to the eastern quarters. The killer could not have attacked him there. Xin Yuanshou must have come here for some reason and was then ambushed. Wang Su, search the area! Zhu Yun, bring General Xin’s attendants!”
That morning, they were meant to depart for the capital. Xin Yuanshou’s two attendants had already prepared. They never imagined their master would die in the station before leaving. Pale‑faced, they were brought to the boiler room. Seeing his corpse, they fell to their knees.
One said: “After the fire, the Vice Minister ordered all officials and attendants to lodge together. We stayed with the general. He had arranged to meet Eunuch Tian at dawn. Last night we slept early. We two lay in the warm chamber. Around midnight, I heard the door creak, but I was too drowsy to check. I believe the general left then.”
The other said: “I did not hear it. But after the third watch, I rose to relieve myself. His bed was empty. I did not know where he went. I thought, since we were to depart at dawn, he would return in time. But when we rose, he had not come back. We were about to search when we heard he was dead.”
So Xin Yuanshou had indeed left his quarters in the middle of the night.
Song Huaijin asked: “Was there anything unusual last night? Why would he leave at midnight?”
The attendants exchanged glances. One stiffened his neck. “No… nothing unusual… only… only the general seemed uneasy these past two days. Lord Yu’s death frightened him. And with the audience at court ahead, he felt this journey ill‑omened. He feared the outcome would not be good. He was troubled.”
Song Huaijin narrowed his eyes. Every time he had seen Xin Yuanshou, the man appeared calm. Was it all an act?
Qi Xun asked: “How long have you served him? How many times has he returned to the capital?”
“We have followed him for six years. This is the third time.”
“Then why has he never lodged at Furong Station before?”
Last night, they had searched the records. Xin Yuanshou had never stayed at Furong Station. His last appearance in the records was twelve years ago—on the same day as Yu Ming.
One attendant explained: “The first time he entered the capital, he hurried, resting little. But the last time, three years ago, he stopped early at Qinyuan Station, a hundred li north.”
Qi Xun did not know of this Qinyuan Station. Liu Yishan explained: “Qinyuan Station is only half a day’s ride from here. It is cramped and small, mainly used for changing horses for military couriers on urgent missions.”
Song Huaijin raised his brows. “Official stations are meant for officials. Furong Station is spacious, with good food and lodging. Yet Xin Yuanshou avoided it and chose Qinyuan instead—clearly intentional!”
“Then why did he lodge here this time? Was there anything unusual?”
One attendant thought for a moment. “If anything was strange, it was that half a month ago, before we set out, the general received several letters. Five days into the journey, he said we would lodge at Furong Station. We were even pleased.”
“He received letters? Perhaps an appointment?” Song Huaijin pressed. “Do you still have them?”
The attendant shook his head. “No. Each time he read a letter, he burned it.”
That was even more suspicious. Song Huaijin asked again: “Did your general know Lord Yu? Did he ever mention him?”
“He once drank with Lord Yu in Yanzhou. They were only acquaintances. We, the attendants, saw nothing unusual. He never spoke of him otherwise.”
Even his closest attendants never heard mention of Yu Ming. Was it disdain—or concealment of a secret?
Qi Xun also considered this. She said: “Earlier, that clerk spoke of ‘hell’s punishments.’ What did he mean?”
Song Huaijin guessed the man had calmed down and ordered him brought. When asked, the clerk stammered: “The punishments of hell—those were not my words. Hu Li said them. He believes most devoutly and often goes to the Guanyin Temple to hear monks preach. He told us these things—”
Qi Xun found the name familiar. Thinking back, was this not the same Hu Li whom Zhang Xun had said was crippled by a horse’s kick?
“My lord, this Hu Li is one of those who suffered misfortune in the station. He was a gambler. Four years ago, a horse went mad and trampled on his leg. He believed it was Guanyin’s curse, punishment for his sins. Since then he quit gambling and became devout.”
Upon hearing this, Song Huaijin immediately ordered Hu Li to be brought in.
By now daylight had fully broken, and the entire station knew Xin Yuanshou was dead. Qi Ran and the others hurried over. Everyone gathered outside, whispering anxiously—far more fearful than on the day Yu Ming was killed.
As Lin Wei pushed Fu Jue forward, Hu Li was limping into the room. The crowd parted for Fu Jue, who paused at the doorway to listen to the questioning inside.
Hu Li was calmer than the rest. When asked about “hell’s punishments,” he said: “You do not know of the Eight Hot Hells? The Black Rope Hell, the Crowded Hell, the Scorching Heat Hell, the Great Scorching Heat Hell, the Reviving Hell…”
Knowing Xin Yuanshou had died in boiling water, he continued: “When Lord Yu died, I already felt something was wrong. His death was clearly the punishment of the Black Rope Hell. In that hell, wardens bind sinners with burning iron ropes, hacking and sawing them in agony. As for General Xin’s death, it was the punishment of the Screaming Hell. In that hell, sinners are thrown into boiling cauldrons, cooked alive, or their mouths pried open to pour in molten copper that burns their organs. This is the Horse‑Head King punishing those steeped in sin!”
He suddenly half‑closed his eyes, chanting a Buddhist verse, then pressed his palms together. “They must have been deeply sinful. As a disciple, I devoutly trust the Horse‑Head King. May he dispel my ignorance and shield me from curses and evil arts—” His words were rambling.
While Qi Xun continued examining Xin Yuanshou’s body, she asked: “The Black Rope Hell and the Screaming Hell—what sins do they punish?”
Hu Li’s eyes snapped open, devout. “Those guilty of killing or theft fall into the Black Rope Hell. Those guilty of killing, theft, adultery, or drunkenness fall into the Screaming Hell. Lord Yu and General Xin must have committed one of these.”
Song Huaijin dismissed him, then mused aloud: “If what he says is true, did Yu Ming commit killing or theft? Did Xin Yuanshou commit killing, theft, adultery, or drunkenness? Twelve years ago, they both lodged at Furong Station, and never again. Did they commit something here and so avoid it ever since?”
He turned to Liu Yishan. The postmaster wiped sweat from his brow. “Twelve years ago, I had not yet taken charge here. Since I came, I have never heard of any incident. At least, no deaths or lawsuits in the station.”
The timeline stretched back twelve years. Song Huaijin thought carefully, then said: “If I recall correctly, twelve years ago was the year Yu Ming passed the imperial exam. Before coming here, I saw in the Ministry records that he was a second‑rank graduate in the 21st year of Jianyuan. He was then posted north to Chongyuan County in Yanzhou, later rising to Prefect of Yanzhou. His career was smooth.”
He looked again at Xin Yuanshou’s corpse. “General Xin was of military background. If I am right, he also passed the martial exam around the 21st year of Jianyuan. One civil, one military—what could they have done together at Furong Station? Or was it something else we do not know, and someone has pursued vengeance here?”
Yang Fei, outside, said: “There are no clerks here with more than twelve years’ service. No one knows what happened then. But the killer’s methods, meant as punishment, show he is a man deeply devoted to Buddhist doctrine.”
Qi Ran also nodded. “Not only deeply devoted to Buddhist doctrine, but to the point of madness—perhaps even imagining himself the incarnation of the Horse‑Head Guanyin, wielding the power of punishment in the mortal world.”
The killer’s cruel methods indeed carried that implication. As Song Huaijin nodded, Zhu Yun entered with a laborer named Yang Yun. “My lord, he says he saw General Xin last night at midnight.”
Everyone’s expression changed. Song Huaijin stepped to the doorway.
“Midnight? Where did you see him?”
“About the first quarter of the third watch…” Yang Yun looked honest and simple, but under everyone’s gaze, he stood awkwardly on the steps. “I saw General Xin heading toward the northernmost courtyard.”
The northernmost courtyard was where Fu Jue lodged.
Fu Jue, who had been watching like an outsider, frowned. Behind him, Lin Wei’s eyes widened. “You mean the northern courtyard?”
Yang Yun, unaware of who lived there, nodded. “Yes. I thought General Xin had an appointment with the guest inside. I work at the horse pond. These past days, I cared for General Xin’s horse. He often came to see it. I would not mistake his back.”
Lin Wei was incredulous. “This is absurd. We went to bed early last night. We never saw General Xin. A laborer’s word alone—does this mean his death is tied to us?”
“What if there is more than testimony?” Qi Xun had been examining the corpse. She now stepped out, her face grave, and opened her palm to Song Huaijin. “My lord, I found this beneath General Xin’s fingernails.”
It was a thin fragment, the size of a grain of rice. Qi Xun explained: “This is *Bai Fu Zi*—used to dispel wind‑phlegm, calm convulsions, detoxify swellings, and relieve pain. Commonly applied to external injuries.”
She looked at Fu Jue and Lin Wei. “I saw this very medicine among the dregs in the heir’s courtyard.”
Fu Jue raised his brows. Lin Wei’s eyes widened. He had seen Qi Xun examine their discarded medicine, never expecting it would become incriminating.
Song Huaijin’s voice was stern. “Both witness and evidence point to the heir. What explanation does the heir give?”