Chapter 122: A Tangled Mess

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Thank you to "Dreamy Undersea" for the pink ticket~~

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“Have you finished searching the entire Taoist temple? Any other findings?” Ji Changge asked Ding Wu.

“Reporting, sir, no other discoveries,” Ding Wu replied.

Ji Changge pondered for a moment and said, “Gather all the Taoist priestesses in the courtyard before the hall—none must be missing.”

Ding Wu acknowledged and left promptly.

Dong Sheng looked at Wen Jing, whose face was full of satisfaction, and clicked his tongue again. He glanced at Qing Liu beside Wen Jing, who barely ate a few bites.

All the Taoist priestesses were assembled in front of Lingyun Hall.

“Pick out the plump priestesses around four feet four inches tall and have them stand aside,” Ji Changge instructed Ding Wu.

Wen Jing scanned the priestesses. Their appearances were sharply divided—either beautiful or ugly. The beautiful priestesses seemed listless, their eyes slightly glazed, their figures somewhat thin.

“Sir, they have all been selected,” Ding Wu reported.

Wen Jing roughly counted—there were fifty or sixty. Except for a few robust ones like Ming Qing, Ming Xiu, and Ming Xin, the others weren’t overly stout, just plumper compared to the others who were as skinny as bamboo sticks.

“There are fifty-six in total,” Ding Wu said.

“Have each of them write a statement detailing where they were between the hour of the dog and the hour of the rat last night, who can verify it, and if they have recently seen anyone who had conflicts with the temple master—write down that person’s name,” Ji Changge instructed Ding Wu.

“What about the group of skinny priestesses?” Ding Wu asked.

“Have them write statements too, but separately,” Ji Changge glanced at Ding Wu and raised an eyebrow. Even such a small matter needed to be asked? No wonder he had wasted so many years following him.

Realizing he had spoken unnecessarily, Ding Wu hurried away.

Several guards brought bundles of paper and distributed them to over two hundred people.

“Write your own statement! Don’t you know what you did yourself? Why ask others?” a guard barked.

Two priestesses quickly bowed their heads.

“Sir, I can’t write,” one priestess said timidly.

The guard frowned slightly. “You say it, I’ll write for you.”

“Name—no, Taoist name,” she replied.

“I am Mingzhi,” the priestess whispered.

“Tell me where you were between the hour of the dog and the hour of the rat last night. What did you see?” The guard asked expressionlessly, looking at the priestess’s dull, foolish expression. She probably wouldn’t say anything useful.

“After dinner yesterday, I saw the temple master walk into a room with a man. They looked very close. The man said he wanted to taste the glutinous rice wine she brewed with her own hands tonight. Then...” The plump priestess’s face suddenly turned horrified.

The guard quickly wrote on the paper, his gaze burning with intensity—this was an important clue. That man might be the murderer; this was a chance to shine. Seeing the priestess pause, he urged, “Keep going, what else did you see?”

“I... I saw the man close the door, and inside came the temple master’s screams... murder!” the priestess suddenly screamed.

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The guard jumped back, half in disbelief. “You really saw that?”

The priestess nodded, her voice strange. “I stood outside the room, lit by the lamp, and saw someone inside pick up a knife and stab it into the temple master’s head.”

The guard swallowed hard and hurriedly asked, “Do you remember what the man looked like?”

The priestess nodded firmly, “I remember. I’ll never forget.”

Wen Jing and Ji Changge stepped forward to look at this priestess named Mingzhi.

Ji Changge took the paper from the guard and handed it to Dong Sheng.

Dong Sheng’s eyes lit up with joy. “Find a painter and have him draw the man according to this priestess’s description. Then we’ll know who the murderer is.”

Ji Changge glanced at Wen Jing, but Wen Jing only stared silently into the distance, unwilling to comment.

“Well, well, I don’t even know where to find a painter right now. Even if we do, it would be tomorrow. Today, let me paint it myself,” Dong Sheng said to Ji Changge, a gleam in his eyes.

Seeing Dong Sheng so enthusiastic, Ji Changge looked at him suspiciously. Could it be that he wanted to prove the culprit was a man, not the short, plump woman Wen Jing had mentioned, and so decided to paint the portrait himself? Really...

Dong Sheng ordered someone to bring ink, brush, paper, and inkstone, and then smiled at Mingzhi. “Priestess, please describe the man’s height and appearance in detail so I can paint him.”

Wen Jing watched Dong Sheng with interest, a faint smile playing on her lips. Ji Changge’s expression darkened slightly. He opened his mouth but said nothing—he knew Dong Sheng’s temper. Once he decided to do something, he never listened to advice.

“That man had a square face, thick eyebrows, big eyes, a prominent nose, thick lips, a mole above his philtrum, a beard, and was five feet two inches tall,” the priestess recalled.

Dong Sheng quickly waved his brush, and soon a portrait appeared before everyone.

“Is this the man?” Dong Sheng held the portrait up to the priestess.

The priestess’s face lit up, nodding happily. “This is definitely him.”

A smile curved on Dong Sheng’s lips. He handed the portrait to Ji Changge. “Post this all over the city with a heavy reward. I don’t believe we can’t find him.”

Ji Changge looked at the man in the portrait and sighed deeply, his expression growing darker.

“What’s wrong?” Dong Sheng asked, surprised. The portrait was very clear, but something felt off.

Seeing Dong Sheng’s confident look turn to confusion, Ji Changge said softly, “Don’t you find him very familiar?”

“Isn’t this... Lord Zhu Chengde?” Dong Sheng suddenly realized. No wonder the portrait felt oddly strange, but he had been too eager to find the murderer to focus on the picture itself.

“Are you mocking me?” Dong Sheng glared coldly at Priestess Mingzhi.

Mingzhi looked at Dong Sheng in surprise. “Sir, why would I? This is the man.”

Seeing her serious expression, Dong Sheng was both angry and helpless, speechless for a moment.

Wen Jing stepped forward and asked Mingzhi, “What connection does this man in the portrait have with the Taoist priest?”

Mingzhi was stunned, not expecting this question from Wen Jing. After a moment, she said, “It seems like I know him, but also not.”

A priestess beside Mingzhi whispered in Wen Jing’s ear, “She used to be Lord Zhu’s concubine but somehow ended up as a Taoist priestess.”

Wen Jing nodded. It seemed Mingzhi bore some resentment toward Zhu Chengde. But this accusation was too false—Lord Zhu was thousands of miles away. How could he have personally killed the temple master? Besides, the temple master died from a severed artery and excessive bleeding, not from a knife stabbed in the head as Mingzhi claimed. Why would Mingzhi make up such nonsense? She didn’t seem to be lying but earnestly recounting what she believed to be true.

Suddenly, Mingzhi screamed, “Temple master!” Her eyes fixed intensely behind Dong Sheng.

Dong Sheng broke out in a cold sweat and turned around—but there was nothing.

“Temple master, do you have something to say to Mingzhi? Speak out, and we will avenge you!”

Mingzhi reached out as if touching something in midair.

Several timid priestesses crouched in fear.

Ji Changge gave a signal; two guards rushed forward and restrained Mingzhi.

“You murderer!” Mingzhi struggled violently, pointing to an empty spot, her face hideous.

“She most likely suffers from severe hallucinations,” Wen Jing explained. “Everything in her statement is what she sees herself but didn’t really happen. She thinks she saw it; she is not intentionally deceiving us but cannot distinguish reality from fantasy.”

Ji Changge scanned all the priestesses, his brows tightening. First, there was a plump priestess who seemed to enjoy self-harm; now another with hallucinations. How many strange priestesses were there? And among all these statements, which were true and which false?

“Release her.”

Mingzhi returned to normal, lowering her head in silence, her eyes full of confusion.

Dong Sheng threw the papers to the ground, then swept his sleeve and returned indoors. He had expected to find the murderer easily but had been played by this priestess. He felt he had made a fool of himself, losing face—it was infuriating.

Wen Jing watched Dong Sheng leave, thinking to herself: impulsive and narrow-minded. Is he really someone Ji Changge should help?

Ji Changge picked up all the statements. Now, he could only hope to find some clue among these more than two hundred testimonies. He intended to read through them all himself.

A pigeon quietly landed on the windowsill. Ji Changge untied the note from its leg. His eyes flashed with anger.

...

Back at Qinglian Residence, where Ruan Qinglian lived, Wen Jing had not noticed her going to the gathering; she assumed Ruan Qinglian had left the temple. But upon reflection, the mountain path had already been sealed off; she shouldn’t have been able to leave the temple. So why did she skip the assembly?

“Miss, please rest awhile. I’ll fetch some water for you,” Qing Liu said.

Wen Jing nodded and lay down on the couch. After a busy day, she was indeed exhausted, her eyes slowly closing.

Suddenly, she felt a chill at her neck and woke up abruptly. A knife was pressed against her throat, and a familiar voice whispered in her ear:

“Seventh Lady, we meet again.”

Looking up, a seductive face appeared just beneath her eyelids, a pair of peach-blossom eyes filled with malice.

“This isn’t exactly a proper way to meet,” Wen Jing murmured.

The young lord Liancheng’s face broke into a dazzling smile. “I have an impertinent request. I hope Seventh Lady will agree.”

Wen Jing snorted coldly. Could she refuse? (To be continued...)