Chapter 3: Rebirth (Part 3)

Le Wuya walked through the dark, cold prison corridor, feeling as if an entire lifetime had passed.

Before he closed his eyes, he had been a prisoner awaiting death.

After a great dream, when he opened them again, the world had changed entirely.

On his way to the cell where "Scholar Ming" was held, Le Wuya took a moment to ponder why he had been reborn in the body of a low-ranking county magistrate who had sought death.

If Heaven had done this intentionally, it only proved that Heaven was truly blind, never looking upon the suffering masses of the world, instead favoring a worthless man like me.

Before Le Wuya could reach a conclusion, Warden Chen, who was leading the way with a lantern, stopped and barked, "Hey, Ming! Get up! His Honor is here to see you!"

The cell was at the deepest part of the prison, surrounded by empty cages, windowless and pitch-black. The paper lantern in Warden Chen's hand barely illuminated three feet of gray ground.

A pair of pale feet caught in the light shrank back like light-fearing insects, curling in fright.

Le Wuya heard a hoarse voice coming from the deepest darkness: "This humble one... this humble one is guilty. But please spare my mother's life..."

Warden Chen turned around and said, "You see, he's already confessed..."

Before he could finish, Le Wuya took the lantern from his hand. "Get out."

Warden Chen froze, clearly unwilling to go, but unable to think of a reason to stay. After stammering for a moment, he withdrew reluctantly.

Once he was gone, Le Wuya raised the lantern and walked around, tapping the walls to ensure there were no hidden listening chambers. Then he crouched down and said slowly, "The crime you've committed is high treason. If you confess, your mother will be exiled three thousand miles."

He lifted the lantern higher, fully illuminating Scholar Ming, who was hidden in the shadows.

Scholar Ming's hair was disheveled, his appearance haggard, yet beneath the tangled hair, his face was surprisingly handsome—more so than Le Wuya had imagined.

Had he not committed a grave crime, with his stature and looks, he would have been a spirited young man with a bright future.

But his spirit had clearly suffered a severe blow. His eyes were vacant, and with a tearful voice, he muttered like someone in a dream: "Better that than being locked up here until she dies..."

He tried to turn over and kowtow, but lacked the strength. Helplessly, he pressed his forehead to the dirty floor and whispered weakly, "I am an unfilial son... Mother... I have failed you..."

Le Wuya had seen too many dying men; he knew this one was truly at death's door.

He looked at Wenren Yue, who stood silently by Scholar Ming's side with his hands hanging, and gestured for him to possess the man quickly.

He wasn't sure if Wenren Yue could still possess the man once he was truly dead.

Wenren Yue crouched down, but hesitated to act. He gently patted Scholar Ming's shoulder, as if trying to comfort him.

Scholar Ming seemed to sense something. He fluttered his grimy eyelids, trying to see who was beside him.

Through his blurred vision, he saw two "Wenren Yues."

One stood holding a lantern, his face calm; the other crouched beside him, his face full of pity.

The living can't see ghosts—only the dying can.

Scholar Ming closed his eyes, dismissing it as a deathbed hallucination.

Just as his awareness was slipping, he heard someone ask him, "Scholar Ming, are you truly innocent?"

Scholar Ming breathed faintly, offering no answer.

Le Wuya's face remained impassive.

Under the lantern light, his face showed no pity; he merely stated the facts:

"I know you are about to die. But with your talent wasted and your mother still alive, can you die in peace?"

Scholar Ming remained silent.

From the slight motion of Scholar Ming's eyes under his lids, Le Wuya knew he was listening.

He lowered his voice, his tone teasing but venomous: "Do you think that by confessing readily and not letting your mother die in jail, you are being filial? Rebellion and treason are not as simple as you think. Your mother will be exiled, and there's a good chance she'll die on the road, her spirit unable to find its way home. You will be struck from the family register, and your father will be removed from the ancestral grave. He's been dead for years—what crime did he commit, to be dug up and left for stray dogs because of you? What will people say? That this family wore itself out sending their son to school, only for his education to go to waste, and now they themselves are thrown into a dog's belly. What excellent filial piety, really."

Wenren Yue had never expected to hear such a sharp, cruel, and cutting speech. Flustered, he gestured frantically at Le Wuya, motioning for him to stop.

Le Wuya winked at him playfully, indicating he should relax.

With each biting word from Le Wuya, Scholar Ming's chest heaved more violently.

When Le Wuya finished his final sentence, Scholar Ming finally opened his eyes. In his stagnant, dead eyes, a faint spark of fire appeared: "You... you... what do you want from me by saying all this?"

"I want the truth from you." Le Wuya gripped the damp prison bars and slowly crouched down. "Did you have any intention of rebellion? Did you commit any act of treason?"

Fueled by a surge of anger, Scholar Ming mustered his last breath and looked up at Le Wuya holding the lantern.

This was the first time he saw the young magistrate's face clearly.

He vaguely remembered that before he was thrown into prison, he had helped people write legal petitions and had appeared in court a few times, dealing with this magistrate in court.

To be honest, he had always looked down on this merchant-born magistrate.

In Scholar Ming's mind, men who purchased official posts were all incompetent opportunists.

Not just him—many people saw Wenren Yue as completely lacking in authority and weak-willed, nothing more than a decorative vase, useless in real affairs.

Panting, Scholar Ming crawled forward a few steps, grabbed the bars, and torn between tears and laughter: "Lord Wenren, I am already a dead man. What's the point of telling me all this?"

Le Wuya replied calmly: "If you truly did rebel, then these words of mine were meant to disgust you, to make sure your soul finds no peace after death."

"But if you are dying wrongfully, I can finish what you couldn't, clear your name posthumously, and ensure your family has no worries. Your mother—I will find a way to provide for her until her old age."

He pressed one hand to his chest and said sincerely: "...From now on, Wenren Yue is her son."

If Le Wuya had said this with his old arrogant look, few would have believed him.

But Wenren Yue's naturally kind-looking face was truly useful.

This emotional performance by Le Wuya was not just to uncover the truth.

Le Wuya didn't buy the saying that a dying man's words are kind.

He only trusted what he had found out himself.

This final comfort on the deathbed had another goal.

Now that he knew spirits existed after death and Scholar Ming was at death's door, his greatest concern was obviously his aging mother.

He needed to use Scholar Ming's concern for his mother, to make Scholar Ming trust and rely on "Wenren Yue," so he could die peacefully.

At all costs, Scholar Ming must not die full of bitter resentment.

Otherwise, Le Wuya feared the man might turn into a vengeful ghost and come to haunt Wenren Yue, whose body he had taken over—an unpleasant prospect.

Tears streamed down Scholar Ming’s face. Gripping the cell bars, he pulled himself upright with trembling hands.

Le Wuya, through the prison gate, raised his lantern and met his gaze.

After managing to prop himself up, Scholar Ming slammed his head down hard against the ground.

With all his remaining strength, he delivered a bloody kowtow.

A piercing wail echoed through the silent dungeon:

"I am wronged—!"

The mournful, blood-soaked cry startled Warden Chen, who had been eavesdropping from a distance, so much he nearly tripped.

He hastily fetched a fresh lantern and rushed over, shouting, "What’s all this racket?"

But turning around, he assumed a respectful demeanor. "Your Honor, were you startled? This man has been feigning madness for days. I hope he didn’t offend you."

Le Wuya was well-versed in such tactics of "driving someone to madness."

Once a person was deemed mad, even truths became lies.

"Oh." Le Wuya rose, smoothing his robe. "How many men are on duty tonight?"

Warden Chen’s eyes flickered briefly. "Your Honor, six in total. Shall I summon them for inspection?"

Le Wuya said, "Since I’m here, I might as well have a look."

Warden Chen replied, "This place is foul. Please follow me to the front hall, and I’ll call them there."

"No need to summon them," Le Wuya said, extending a hand. "Just bring me the duty roster."

Warden Chen stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Tonight’s duty shift should have had seven men: one chief jailer, one stoker, and five prison guards.

He had previously sent out one guard to inform his maternal uncle, Master Chen, of the magistrate’s unexpected visit.

To avoid having the magistrate count the men, he had cunningly underreported the number.

But the duty roster clearly stated that seven men were supposed to be on duty for the night.

As a seasoned clerk, Warden Chen knew that most officials wouldn’t bother arguing with low‑level clerks over such trifles. At most, they’d gather the men, offer a reprimand, and let it go.

Did this new magistrate not know the ropes, or did he know all the tricks?

Still, Warden Chen maintained a composed expression, bowed slightly, and said, "Please wait a moment; I’ll fetch it at once."

After sending him off again, Le Wuya turned back to Wenren Yue.

By now, Scholar Ming had exhausted the last of his vitality, slumped to the ground, gasping for breath.

Wenren Yue knew time was of the essence. He clasped his hands in a bow to Scholar Ming, then bowed deeply.

In an instant, he bent down, trying to merge with this dying body.

Almost immediately, his form disappeared into the jail cell.

And Scholar Ming’s eyes slowly opened. His once-clouded, hazy vision cleared again.

Seeing this, Le Wuya let out a sigh of relief.

His guess had been correct.

As long as the possessing soul wasn’t too weak, it could still inject a spark of vitality into this broken vessel.

After all, when he first arrived, Wenren Yue had been on the verge of hanging himself from a ceiling beam.

Yet now, Le Wuya himself could think clearly and move freely. The only explanation seemed to be that his own soul was strong enough—though there was no other obvious reason.

Why he was still lively after four years dead, he had no time to wonder.

Le Wuya crouched down and said curtly, "You must live."

Wenren Yue gasped a couple of times, clutched the bars, and whispered, "Lord Gu, it all depends on you."

"No," Le Wuya said, rising to his feet. He straightened the ribbon on his hat with a single finger and smiled. "I am Wenren Yue. Lord Wenren. Don’t make that mistake again."

From behind, footsteps echoed as Warden Chen approached.

Le Wuya spoke faster: "Lord Wenren, remember this: no matter who interrogates you, don’t say another word. Play dumb and obedient. Your life will be spared. …One last question. In Nanting County, since you, the magistrate, are ineffective, who do the others defer to?"

Wenren Yue seized the last moment, speeding through his words: "Sun Ru, Deputy Magistrate Sun. …He’s from a neighboring county, studied here since childhood, a tribute scholar by imperial examination. He’s toiled for ten years, always aiming for promotion. He’s deeply entrenched here; I can’t contend with him…"

He lowered his voice until it was nearly inaudible: "…He’s also in league with the local rich man, Chen Yuanwei, Master Chen."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Warden Chen arrived behind them, accompanied by the five other night guards. He handed over the roster with a fawning smile: "Your Honor, one guard wasn’t feeling well and took temporary leave. I took the liberty of letting him go home to rest, so we’re one short. Please don’t be upset."

This was his ploy to handle Le Wuya—the same kind of perfunctory evasion petty clerks always use.

If Le Wuya lost his temper at them or insisted on pursuing the matter, he had no doubt they’d drag in a wooden door plank with the "sick" guard lying on it, making him look like a harsh and petty official.

So Le Wuya had no intention of pursuing it.

Not only that, but he even unfastened his money pouch and casually tossed it into Warden Chen’s hands, placing his hands behind his back. "Then you’ll need to take extra good care of him."

Even in front of Wenren Yue, he spent the man’s money shamelessly.

Warden Chen quickly handed the silver pouch to the eager-eyed guards behind him. "Oh, Your Honor, you’re far too kind."

"Not at all. I don’t give money for nothing." Le Wuya pointed a finger at Wenren Yue behind him, in a grave tone. "What’s wrong with him? There are no visible wounds, yet he’s so weak?"

Warden Chen protested repeatedly, "Your Honor, this scholar is a useless weakling. He withered after just a few days in custody. It’s really not our fault."

"Now, this man is suspected of treason. This is the biggest criminal case I’ve handled since taking office. If mishandled, it could go all the way to the emperor for his approval." Le Wuya stepped closer to Warden Chen, lowering his voice. "…A treason case like this will ruin my three-year evaluation. If he dies inexplicably in prison, the prefect will surely blame me for sloppiness. Worse, I could end up with a reputation as a cruel official. I still hope to climb higher—don’t let this ruin my official standing. Do you understand what I mean?"

Warden Chen’s eyes darted. He nodded quickly. "Understood. I’ll find a doctor tomorrow. What do you think?"

In his estimation, Scholar Ming was proud and stubborn. With his mother held hostage, he’d had to swallow his pride. Rage consumed him, and illness struck hard, and he was bent on death. The cry of "injustice" just now seemed like a final flicker of vitality. He probably won’t last the night…

As Warden Chen silently schemed, Le Wuya flicked his sleeve dismissively. "Up to you. Warden Chen, we’ve had a good talk tonight—like old friends. So I won’t stand on ceremony with you. My official reputation as Lord Wenren rests on your shoulders. If he lives to stand trial, I’ll owe you a great debt. But if he dies… I’ll hold you accountable."

Warden Chen: "…"

Le Wuya took two steps, then turned back and gestured for Warden Chen to come closer.

Warden Chen smiled nervously and stepped closer.

Le Wuya lowered his voice, speaking so that no third ear could hear: "He confessed mostly because of his mother. If his mother were to die, and he suddenly changed his mind, that would be another headache, wouldn't it?"

Warden Chen understood perfectly and quickly nodded: "Tomorrow when the physician comes, I'll have him visit the women's prison too."

Le Wuya looked him up and down: "This reward isn't enough for you, is it?"

Warden Chen bowed and scraped: "Whether it's enough or not, Your Honor need not worry about it. I have some modest means, and it's only right that I do my utmost for Your Honor."

Even as he flattered and fawned on the surface, he was secretly delighted:

So all this time, Lord Wenren had been so indecisive, speaking up for that Ming fellow, even trying to exonerate him, putting on the air of a pure-minded official—it was only because he was covetous of fame and didn't want a rebellion case under his jurisdiction.

That made things a lot easier.

In the northern part of the city, at Master Chen's mansion.

A thin layer of frost covered the vermilion walls and glazed tiles, making the entire residence seem even more ancient and dignified.

A beggar who had sneaked into the city during the day tried to spend the night in a sheltered spot outside the mansion, but was driven away by servants wielding bamboo poles.

A pole struck the beggar square on the forehead. He tried to get up and flee, but staggered around in circles—dazed from the blow.

The servants found it amusing and called over their companions, each holding a pole, and toyed with this source of entertainment that had delivered itself to their doorstep, like shooing away chickens.

Blood trickled from the beggar's head and quickly froze into bloody icicles.

While the servants were amusing themselves with the beggar, deep within the courtyards, the warm fumes of wine rose. Silver-thread charcoal burned white in the copper brazier, softening even the rattan-covered warming windows.

A jailer, led by a young servant, hurried away to the rear courtyard to collect his reward.

Master Chen spoke in a gentle tone, as if he had just heard that one of his distant nephews was up to mischief again. He shook his head and sighed: "Lord Wenren has gone to the prison again. He really is stubborn."

Sun Ru, Deputy Magistrate Sun, stood up and smiled as he refilled Master Chen's cup: "The son of a merchant—what respectable methods could he have? He may walk through the prison gate, but he's still fumbling to find the door to officialdom and the yamen."

Master Chen raised his glass: "An outsider lad, ignorant of etiquette and rules. In this Nanting County, we still need you, Lord Sun, to take on the trouble."

The two exchanged smiles, clinked glasses, and drank deeply.

…

Le Wuya returned to the county yamen by the same route.

As soon as he stepped through the main gate, the penal clerk, who had disappeared earlier, rushed up to him with an eager and worried expression: "Your Honor, where did you go? I fetched the case files and prepared the horses. I've been waiting here."

He looked every bit the loyal clerk.

Le Wuya went along with his charade.

He stepped forward, put his hand on the clerk's shoulder, and said solemnly: "Secretary Zhang, you've worked hard."

The clerk had not expected to be treated so warmly despite his earlier rudeness. Caught off guard, he hesitated, about to offer a few polite words. But the moment his concentration wavered, Le Wuya smoothly took the case files from his hands.

Le Wuya patted him on the shoulder: "Go get some rest."

…That was it?

Secretary Zhang hesitated, said "Yes, sir," clasped his hands in a bow, and turned to leave.

Le Wuya tossed the archive room key he had just stolen from him into the air, caught it, and raised an eyebrow with a spirited expression.

Even though the long night stretched ahead, he had to hurry and finish all these messy affairs, so he could return this body to Wenren Yue.