Wang Dachun lived in a mixed courtyard on the west side of the city. The courtyard had six rooms, housing more than ten people. When Yao Shu and her companions arrived, they saw an aunt chasing a boy with a cane, the yard filled with children’s cries, chickens flying and dogs barking.
Deng Xunfeng, who had friends from all walks of life, was familiar with such environments. He walked over cheerfully, greeted the aunt, and asked if Wang Dachun lived there.
“You’re looking for Dachun? Don’t mention him—bad luck.”
From her reply, they knew they were in the right place.
Deng Xunfeng pulled out a small piece of silver from his sleeve, handed it to her with a smile, and apologized for disturbing her. Seeing the money, her attitude changed instantly, and she warmly invited them inside.
“You’re clearly from wealthy families—how could you know Dachun? Did he commit some crime and offend you? If so, serves him right!”
The aunt introduced herself as Madam Chen. Her family of five lived in one room, while Wang Dachun had lived next door.
“He was greedy, loved gambling, and lustful. Sometimes he brought lowly prostitutes into the courtyard, making noise all night so my grandson couldn’t sleep. Luckily, he struck it rich gambling and moved out. Otherwise, he’d have corrupted my grandson. Bah!”
From this short exchange, Yao Shu grasped the key points: Wang Dachun no longer lived there, and he had come into money.
Deng Xunfeng whispered with Fu Xiujin, then gave Madam Chen more silver to prepare refreshments. She happily took her grandson out to buy snacks, leaving the house quiet.
“Wang Dachun gambled, suddenly got rich, quit his job, and moved away. Now he’s missing. The body in the wine jar is almost certainly his,” Yao Shu reasoned, adding, “Most likely a money dispute.”
Fu Xiujin nodded in agreement. “And the killer could freely enter Zhidian Hall’s kitchen and wine cellar, and knew Wang Dachun had wealth. The last person to see him is crucial.”
When Madam Chen returned with pastries, a middle-aged man followed—likely her son, resembling her somewhat. He greeted them nervously and introduced himself. Deng Xunfeng asked if they could meet others who had lived near Wang Dachun. Madam Chen agreed and led them next door.
After knocking for a while, an old man with a white beard peeked out, leaning on a cane.
“Grandfather, do you know where Wang Dachun went?” Yao Shu asked politely.
The old man shook his head. “He moved out more than ten days ago, said he was going back to the countryside to marry.”
Again with the countryside excuse. Yao Shu muttered inwardly—why did ancient people always use that as a cover?
Fu Xiujin gently asked if the old man had seen Wang Dachun with anyone before leaving. The old man denied it, saying Wang Dachun was always solitary, bringing only prostitutes home.
No useful answers. Yet Yao Shu felt certain his death was tied to that sudden fortune. She tugged Fu Xiujin’s sleeve, whispering in his ear, “Should we find the prostitute he brought back? Men often boast in front of women, especially pretty ones—they might reveal secrets.”
Fu Xiujin, still unused to her sudden closeness, leaned back slightly to hide his reddening ears, then calmly agreed.
But finding an unnamed prostitute wasn’t easy. The old man only knew she was about thirty, plump, nothing more.
Leaving the house, Yao Shu sighed. “This is harder than finding a needle in a haystack. A thirty-year-old plump prostitute? There must be hundreds in the capital.”
Her words were overheard by Madam Chen’s son, He Zhu, as they passed her door. He hurried out as they were about to board the carriage.
“Honored guests, wait! Are you looking for Wang Dachun’s prostitute lover?”
“You know her?” Fu Xiujin asked sharply, making He Zhu tremble.
“Yes, I know her. Her name is Hu Yu. I saw her a few times when my wife was pregnant. They met in Wang Dachun’s room, never in mine. Please don’t spread this—my wife would quarrel with me. Give me some silver, and I’ll tell you where she is. I also know the gambling den Wang Dachun frequented.”