Chapter 124: Questioning the Ghost (Part 1)

Chapter 124: Questioning the Ghost (Part 1)

After the new coroner of Nanting and Le Wuya examined the body together, the cause of Zhong Junxiong's death was quickly determined.

He'd taken mercury, and that was what did him in.

Fire-calcined cinnabar yields this poison.

Cinnabar isn't exactly easy to come by, but since Hou Peng ran a pharmacy, it wouldn't have been hard for him to get his hands on it.

Still, Hou Peng and Shi Liangyuan had always been on good terms with Zhong Junxiong, and on the face of it, they had no motive for murder.

Even if they had indeed sought out Zhong Guotai to pry out when the Zhong family would depart and from which dock they'd board, it could easily be explained away as "uncles looking out for their nephew."

What's more, Zhong Junxiong seemed perfectly normal when he was drinking that day.

Plenty of folks saw him board the boat hale and hearty.

The mercury only kicked in after the boat set sail.

A month had passed—any evidence that needed destroying was long gone.

With just one corpse, there was no way to pin the crime on Hou Peng and Shi Liangyuan.

Hou and Shi could just as easily claim the boatman saw the money, got greedy, and killed Zhong Junxiong for it.

If Le Wuya hauled the boatman into court, the guy would deny it to his last breath.

It'd just turn into a messy he-said-she-said, with both sides slinging mud.

Men who live on the water have a wild, stubborn streak. He'd not only cry foul but probably curse out the county magistrate to boot.

Since he knew he'd catch hell anyway, Le Wuya wasn't about to go looking for it.

As for the Zhong family's old steward, Le Wuya had already sent men to track him down.

But he'd be of little use, if any.

Whether he'd even tell the truth was anyone's guess.

If he copped to Zhong Junxiong's crime of "conspiring with outsiders to murder a court official," he'd be in trouble himself.

...

"So that's where things stand."

Soaking up the blazing sun after the snow, Le Wuya sat under the eaves, eating the noodle soup Wen Ren had made for him, sitting cross-legged, totally lacking in dignity, breaking down the case for Zhong Guotai.

Wen Ren dried his hands on a soft cloth, watching the two of them—one on the steps, one below—with utter exasperation.

Roughly two months back, Le Wuya and Wen Ren had a huge fight over "knowing one's worth."

After the fight, Le Wuya did some soul-searching, realized his words had cut Wen Ren deep, and was mulling over whether to go to Nanting Academy in person, make a big spectacle, save Wen Ren's face, and win him back—when Wen Ren showed up at the county office with a box of pastries, just like always.

He stood at the study door, back ramrod straight, and spoke clearly: "I've thought it over. At first, I did mean to use Brother Gu. But I swear on heaven, I never saw Brother Gu as a pawn. Brother Gu is my..."

He dropped his head, his thoughts churning in circles.

Before he could find the right word to sum up their tangled relationship, Le Wuya, limping, hopped over and flung himself straight at Wen Ren: "Ha! Walked right into my trap!"

That tackle from Le Wuya scattered every thought in Wen Ren's head, leaving nothing but plain, simple joy.

And just like that, they made up.

But just now, before Zhong Guotai showed up, they'd had another spat.

The reason was simple: Wen Ren wouldn't let him keep Zhong Guotai around.

Wen Ren figured that, whatever the cause, the Zhong family's ruin was Le Wuya's handiwork.

If you really dug into it, the deaths of Zhong's parents weren't entirely unconnected to Le Wuya.

Keeping a landmine like that around—Wen Ren worried that one night Zhong Guotai might dream of his folks, have a change of heart, and sneak in to strangle Le Wuya.

Le Wuya's take: if the kid had such thoughts, he'd happily send him to meet his maker—and since the New Year just passed, throw in a family reunion.

Wen Ren still held that you can play thief for a thousand days, but you can't play guard for a thousand.

What if Zhong Guotai was tough-minded, biding his time by Le Wuya's side just to sink his teeth in when the moment came?

As Le Wuya and Wen Ren got to know each other better, Le Wuya realized this guy was a born hardhead, impossible to budge—a natural-born censor if there ever was one.

Le Wuya didn't want to fight with him again.

If he pissed the guy off again, he'd actually have to go to Nanting Academy to coax him back.

Le Wuya just changed the subject, putting on a whiny tone: "I'm hungry. I want some Suzhou-style hot noodle soup."

His game was plain as day, and Wen Ren nearly laughed in spite of himself, but he still answered truthfully: "There's no broth."

Le Wuya: "There was some leftover chicken soup from yesterday."

Wen Ren sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and headed into the kitchen to feed his dear Brother Gu.

...

Zhong Guotai listened silently as Le Wuya finished explaining all of the above.

When he'd returned to Nanting a few days ago, he'd been so thin he was almost unrecognizable. After he shaved off his messy beard, he became the spitting image of a young Zhong Junxiong.

In peaceful times, when Zhong Junxiong scolded him, he'd always say, "How could I have sired such a beast as you?"

Zhong Guotai himself had secretly wondered whether he was really their biological son.

Now he no longer doubted it.

He and his father were alike in heart and in face—true father and son by blood.

Having wandered outside for a long time, Zhong Guotai had at least learned not to say foolish things.

Things he couldn't understand, he'd keep in his heart and think over slowly, until he could piece together some thread of understanding.

He lowered his eyes, his expression half-lit, half-shadowed.

After a moment of thought, he asked Le Wuya: "So you're saying there's no way to put them on trial?"

Le Wuya ate his noodles with gusto, his lips scalded red: "The righteous path won't work, that's for sure."

"Then what about the unrighteous path?"

Le Wuya still shook his head.

Upon hearing this, Zhong Guotai immediately rushed a few steps to the foot of the steps, his eyes bloodshot, glaring straight at him: "Wen Ren, what did you promise me?!"

A fierce glint flashed in his eyes, layered with the tears of desperation: "You went after my family—why don't you go after them the same way?"

Le Wuya was not intimidated by his harsh words.

He laid his chopsticks across the noodle bowl, studied him for a moment, and gave a light, airy laugh: "I'd love to do the same to them. But the two sons of the Hou family are both promising, both studying at Nanting Academy; the Shi family's daughter never leaves the house. They haven't raised any good-for-nothings, so it's hard to find a weak spot."

Zhong Guotai felt as if he'd been kicked right in the chest, and fell silent.

His edge completely gone, he hung his head, crouching at the foot of the steps like a beaten dog. He wanted to cry, but no tears came.

He buried his head for a long while, then raised it from between his knees, his voice hoarse beyond recognition: "Framing charges isn't hard, is it? If anyone refuses to comply, a beating with the board, a turn of the screws—no one will refuse to confess!"

Le Wuya: "Oh, Master Zhong has been on a journey and certainly picked up quite a bit of worldly wisdom."

Zhong Guotai said petulantly: "Isn't that what you officials always do?"

Le Wuya rested one arm on his knee, leaning slightly forward, and asked with leisurely composure: "I built my reputation as an official through hard work, step by step, in Nanting. Your father wanted my life, and you want my reputation—neither of you shows me any respect. What nerve."

Zhong Guotai stood frozen, rendered speechless by his retort, his heart burning with rage.

Wen Ren, who had been watching from the side, could no longer stand by.

He disapproved of Le Wuya's risky decision to keep Zhong Guotai by his side, but seeing Zhong Guotai like a trapped beast on the verge of madness, he couldn't stand it either.

So he walked over to pick up Le Wuya's soup bowl.

As he passed by Zhong Guotai, Wen Ren whispered softly: "He has a plan."

Zhong Guotai mulled over those four words for a while, and his face, which had been ashen, suddenly brightened with hope.

He dropped to his knees with a thud: "My lord, I know I was wrong. Please give me a way out!"

Le Wuya gave Wen Ren a glare.

He had been about to test the young man.

His bones were sturdy now, but if his mind couldn't turn, what good would that do?

Wen Ren smiled slightly, unfazed by the glare.

Le Wuya, feeling warm and full, stood up with renewed energy, stomped the ground with his healed leg, and walked briskly to Zhong Guotai. He lifted Zhong Guotai's chin and studied his face.

Zhong Guotai had just been glaring at him fiercely, wanting to tear him apart, but now that he met his gaze, his courage failed him.

He still looked like a celestial being.

But by now, Zhong Guotai had none of that lecherous, frivolous desire left.

The man before him was truly a man of the heavens; if he would only show a bit of compassion, he could grant him justice.

"The straight path won't work, the crooked path won't work either..." Zhong Guotai said softly. "Then which path do you intend to take?"

Le Wuya smiled faintly: "The ghost path, of course."

...

Before long, the New Year had passed, and Le Wuya once again gathered the village elders of Nanting.

But this time, not to the yamen—instead, to worship at the City God Temple.

Nanting County's City God Temple stood west of the city.

In matters of state, the great affairs are worship and war.

Which deity was enshrined as the City God, even many of Nanting's elders couldn't say.

Back when Dayu was at war with the Jing tribe, many common folk came to the Nanting City God Temple to pray, praying for victory in battle and the safe return of their sons.

Later, Dayu Law stipulated that any county magistrate taking office must first pay homage to the local City God.

A new year brings new beginnings, so it was perfectly reasonable for the lord to want to worship the City God, praying for further promotion and peace in the county.

Hou Peng and Shi Liangyuan put on new clothes and dutifully attended the gathering.

They had secretly schemed against the lord before, so they always felt a faint, nagging guilt in his presence, worried they might betray themselves.

As for Zhong Junxiong...

He was no longer on their minds.

They were at ease because they were certain that if Zhong Junxiong had any sense, even on his deathbed, he would take that secret to the grave.

Zhong Junxiong had no evidence whatsoever to accuse them of poisoning him.

On the contrary, he was so mired in his own filth that he couldn't wash himself clean even in the Yellow River.

If he dared to send his family back to Nanting to lodge a complaint, it would inevitably drag up that sordid affair of his attempt on the lord's life.

In other words, he could only count himself unlucky—dead and gone with no one to avenge him.

As for the recent incident of a disheveled, gaunt beggar pushing a cart with two corpses through the streets, beating the drum to cry for justice, Hou and Shi had merely heard rumors and paid it no mind.

The reason was simple enough.

Zhong Junxiong could barely count as a ruthless man, but Zhong's son had grown up under their own eyes—they knew he was useless beyond compare.

Even if his father died, he'd probably just cry and bawl for his mother.

If he'd ended up a beggar, he would have killed himself on the first day.

That guy wasn't worth worrying about at all.

The two of them strode into the City God Temple with smug satisfaction, privately thinking what a bad choice of day—why worship the City God on such a gloomy, storm-threatening afternoon?

Inside the temple was a different scene from outside—candlelight bright, incense smoke thick.

The richly adorned deity sat amidst the curling incense smoke, with fierce guardian statues and staff-wielding arhats.

The five grains—rice, millet, sorghum, wheat, and beans—were already set out as offerings.

Before entering, people had been whispering and chattering, but once inside the main hall, the solemn atmosphere subdued them. They dared not misbehave, knelt on the pre-arranged prayer mats, and one by one took incense and prayed.

In the surrounding stillness, the wind outside grew fiercer.

One of the temple's windows, likely old and worn, had some gaps, and the wind pulled at it, producing a faint, persistent rattling.

Knock, knock. Knock, knock.

It seemed as if someone was knocking at the door, tapping at the window. Or perhaps someone was pacing back and forth outside.

Le Wuya had always been talkative and cheerful by nature, but today he was unusually quiet.

The Village Elders exchanged a few discreet glances, wondering what trick the Little Master was up to this time.

Le Wuya performed the sacrificial rites flawlessly, and after completing them without a single misstep, he rose and turned to face the crowd.

Over the past year, they had seen the Little Master often, and had not noticed any great change in his appearance.

He had changed, certainly, but they couldn't quite say where—they simply figured he was a late bloomer, finally coming into his own.

But when he turned around, many noticed something amiss.

He needed no red robes to stand out—he was a man of vivid color, a striking figure.

His lips were bright red, his face pale as snow, and in the candlelight, his eyes were lost in the shadow cast by his brow and lashes, their expression unreadable—all one could see was a ghostly, eerie air about him.

"Elders."

The Village Elders instinctively held their breath. Then Le Wuya spoke.

"Worshipping the City God is an ancient rite, meant to pray for the city's protection and peace across the land. Since the founding ancestor of Dayu, revering the City God has been written into the Dayu Rites and Rituals. The City God not only protects the land but also serves as the god of justice, keeping things fair and right for the people here."

"Before this, though I paid my respects, I didn't truly believe."

With that, Le Wuya placed a single hand over his chest and said solemnly: "In Ming Ke's view, if the people put their hopes in wooden idols and clay Buddhas, it only means Ming Ke has failed as an official. It means they have no one to turn to, so they're forced to pray to heaven and earth."

Hou Peng smiled, buttering him up: "The Little Master is far too modest."

Le Wuya gave him a small nod, then continued: "But after I had a dream the night before last, where I saw an unexpected old acquaintance, I started to wonder—are there really ghosts and spirits in this world?"

Le Wuya's words sparked everyone's curiosity.

Who was it?

Le Wuya said slowly: "That person entered my dream, he looked strange—his body withered and gaunt, but his belly swollen like a basket, which he could only hold in his arms; tears streaming from his eyes, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth, and he opened his mouth as if to say something to me. But no matter what he said, I could never make it out in the dream."

Outside, the wind picked up, like a thin sobbing—plaintive and mournful, a sound of grief and lament.

Surrounded by the statues in the City God Temple, listening to Le Wuya talk about ghosts and spirits, everyone there was terrified.

Le Wuya's eyes shifted slightly, a flash of purple light flickering in them: "I figured that on my own, I might not be able to figure out his grievance or hear his complaint, so I summoned an old acquaintance of his here, and borrowed the City God's temple to ask him directly what he wants to tell me."

An old acquaintance?

Hou Peng and Shi Liangyuan exchanged a glance, both feeling a sense of dread rise in their chests.

Someone else asked what everyone was thinking: "Little Master, is the person you're talking about someone we know too?"

Le Wuya didn't answer, but spoke up, saying: "We're all here, and the City God is here too... Have you come?"

The moment he finished speaking, a strong wind kicked up outside.

The rickety window was suddenly flung open by the fierce wind, and cold air rushed in, blowing out all the candles in the temple.

The tables and chairs creaked and groaned, as if the ghost pacing outside had crashed through the window, and footsteps came from every direction.

Everyone there was terrified, and though they didn't cry out loud, each one secretly clutched their chest in fright.

Le Wuya's voice stayed steady: "Everyone, don't panic. He Qingsong, get the candles relit."

The guards stationed on both sides responded in unison.

With the guards there, the crowd slowly calmed down.

But Hou Peng, thinking of an old acquaintance, felt like thorns were pricking his back—his guilt unbearable, his eyes darting wildly around, afraid that someone might actually show up, reach over his shoulder, and ask, "Brother Hou, what wine did you bring today?"

As his thoughts ran wild, the lamp beside him was the first to light up.

Instinctively, he looked toward where the light had appeared.

He froze, stunned.

The statue of the Subduing Tiger Arhat that had been standing beside him had somehow been replaced.

A withered Zhong Junxiong sat cross-legged on that clay pedestal, glaring at him with eyes wide and burning!

A gurgle caught in Hou Peng's throat, his face went ashen with terror, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud.

He Qingsong, who was lighting the candles, got startled, his hand shaking as the just-lit match fell to the floor.

The candle wick didn't catch, and darkness once again swallowed the room in a dead, silent black.

Hou Peng couldn't cry out, as if someone had grabbed his throat.

Then Le Wuya suddenly laughed, and said gravely to the empty air:

"Zhong Junxiong... Boss Zhong."

"...So you've come."