Before Lai Fu’s enquiries bore fruit, messengers from the county‑yamen arrived.
It was Magistrate Wang Fulai’s secretary, Master Qian, a tall thin man with a permanent smile.
He bowed upon entering the courtyard.
“Young Master Shen, my master requests your presence.”
“What business?”
“You shall learn when you arrive.” Master Qian smiled and said no more.
“Also, my master mentioned: bring the writing‑tools you used for the Zhao Si case — or rather, just bring yourself.”
Shen Xian pondered all the way to the yamen.
The Zhao Si case had concluded five days prior: the grain‑warehouse manager could not refute those three piercing questions in the petition and had confessed voluntarily.
Zhao Si had been released without charge.
The grateful wife had brought him fifty copper coins plus a string of cured meat, which still hung in his kitchen.
Yet Magistrate Wang, a county‑ranking official, would hardly summon him merely over one minor theft case.
In the rear‑hall of the county‑yamen, Wang Fulai sipped sweet‑sugar syrup.
Seeing Shen Xian enter he grinned broadly.
“Come, sit, sit.”
“Your Honour summoned this student.
May I ask the reason?”
“Two matters.” Magistrate Wang set down his bowl and held up two fingers.
“First: that petition you wrote for the Zhao Si case was brilliant.
Those three questions stripped the grain‑warehouse manager of every means to plead innocence.
I have read case‑files for ten years and have never seen anything written like it.”
“This student merely… spoke plain truths wrapped in formal writing.”
“Second matter.” Wang Fulai leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Let me ask you.
Do you believe demons and monsters truly walk the world?”
Shen Xian blinked.
“Because truly strange things have been happening in town.” The smile vanished from Wang Fulai’s face.
“Wealthy Master Li’s western compound: three hundred chickens all died overnight.
The henhouse doors and windows remained intact, no trace of beasts breaking in.
Not one feather ruffled.
Every chicken simply perished, eyes bulging, as though frightened to death.”
Shen Xian recalled old Wang’s dead watchdog.
“More.” Wang Fulai’s voice sank even lower.
“Three nights ago after midnight, the whole river turned pitch‑black for the span of one incense‑stick burn.
Fishermen say while the water was black, strings of green lights glowed on the river‑bed, like countless eyes.”
Silence filled the hall.
“That is why I wish you to investigate.” Wang Fulai forced his grin back, eyes glinting with shrewdness.
“Naturally, no free labour.
If you succeed, the yamen will commend you, reward fifty taels silver.
If you accomplish nothing… think of it as me treating you to sweet‑sugar drink.”
Fifty taels.
Shen Xian’s inner abacus clicked.
But monsters are no trivial joke.
I am merely a mortal who has not even reached Qi‑Refining realm.
Survival comes first…
“Your Honour,” he chose his words carefully.
“May I speak frankly?”
“Speak.”
“If monsters are truly responsible, you ought to summon those so‑called immortal priests from town instead of me.” Shen Xian spoke slowly.
“But if this is no monster‑caused incident —”
“Oh? You are reading on g.com, the official source.
You suspect it is not a monster?”
“Monsters that eat chickens would carry a few chickens away, not slaughter three hundred and leave every corpse behind.
A monster crossing a river would stride over waves, it would not light up the whole river bed.” Shen Xian stood and cupped his hands.
“Your Honour, I dare assert: this work is done by human hands.”
Magistrate Wang’s narrowed eyes widened a crack.
“Human hands?
What motive?”
“I do not know.” Shen Xian answered frankly.
“That is precisely why I need to investigate.
Inspect the crime‑scenes, interview witnesses, examine the dead chickens.
Fifty‑tael work cannot rely on guess‑work alone.”
“Hahaha!” Wang Fulai slapped his thigh.
“Excellent!
Yamen runners shall be at your disposal tomorrow at dawn.
Shen Xian, Shen Xian… I see it clearly now.
Your talents are wasted running a ghost‑writing stall.”
Shen Xian bowed to take his leave.
At the doorway he was called back.
“One more thing.” Wang Fulai lifted his sweet‑syrup bowl and grinned.
“Could your ‘Shen’s Ghost‑Writing Service’ take official yamen commissions in future?
Generous fees, government settlement, fair for all customers.”
Shen Xian glanced back at the magistrate whose grand vision for exploitation surpassed even his old boss back in his past life.
“That can be arranged.” He replied sincerely.
“But I require advance payment.”