Chapter Sixty-Five: The Two Top Scholars

Page (1/3)

Readers who have read the previous chapter, please go back and revisit it—the last chapter was written hastily and has since been revised, though the word count remains unchanged. My apologies.

-----------------

Wen Qiran’s brows knit tightly at the news. He had only recently taken office at the Ministry of Rites, and this autumn’s provincial exam was the first he had organized since assuming his post. With the exam date fast approaching, such an incident at this critical juncture made him anxious and distraught. As a former Deputy Minister of Justice, he knew all too well that solving cases was unpredictable—sometimes resolved within hours, sometimes dragged on for months, or even left unsolved. If the case were not cracked before the exam the day after tomorrow, what would become of the candidates? If they were released, the murderer might escape; if detained, the exam would be delayed. Now, his only hope was that the case would be resolved before then.

“Seventh Daughter, why are you here?” Only now did Wen Qiran notice his daughter, having just rushed about like an ant on a hot pan.

“Master Ji asked me to come and treat Academician Wang. Upon hearing of the murder, I followed to see what had happened. I did not examine the body, so please rest assured, Father,” Wen Jing replied.

Wen Qiran nodded; the Ministry of Justice had several coroners—there was no need for her to intervene.

“Master, that man refuses to come out,” a guard reported. Since it was only suspicion, and all the residents were scholars, the court valued literature over martial prowess. Without concrete evidence, it would be improper to break in.

Ji Changge’s eyes turned cold—if even he could not “invite” the man, he would go see for himself who this distinguished person was.

“Lead the way.”

Wen Qiran stepped forward, and Wen Jing followed closely behind. She was curious—what kind of arrogant “scholar” dared ignore the Ministry of Justice’s investigation?

“Wang Jue lives in this room,” Zou Guangqi explained.

Faint music drifted from within.

Ji Changge pushed open the door, and Wen Jing saw only a man in a blue robe inside. Ten slender fingers gently brushed the strings of a zither, the notes flowing from his fingertips.

This man’s features were remarkably handsome, the corners of his lips subtly upturned, his presence as radiant as the sun melting the first snow—warm and dazzling. He was like a willow in a gentle spring rain, tranquil and mild.

The man surnamed Wang did not stop upon seeing the group, as if he had not noticed them at all, his hands unwavering, wholly absorbed in his music.

Ji Changge was momentarily stunned. He had encountered many striking individuals—and he himself was among the finest—but upon seeing this man, even as a fellow man, he was taken aback by his beauty. Such countenance, even if guilty of murder, would garner pity from the world—but not from him.

When the piece ended, the man raised his head and gazed at them with a cold, unfathomable look—his eyes as deep as midnight.

“What brings you here so abruptly?” the man asked, his voice crisp and clear as jade striking ice.

“Zou Ming is dead,” Ji Changge stated, his eyes fixed intently on Wang Jue’s face.

“Oh.”

Wang Jue merely responded, his gaze growing colder as more people gathered at the door.

“Move aside! Why are you all crowding here?” a book boy with a raspy voice called, forcing his way in and quickly moving to Wang Jue’s side.

“Master, what do they want?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s said you argued with Zou Ming yesterday—is that true?” Ji Changge pressed.

Page (2/3)

“Yes.”

“May I ask where you were and what you were doing during the past hour?”

“I was in my room, playing the zither,” Wang Jue answered.

“Any witnesses?”

“I am the witness!” the book boy exclaimed.

“You’re his book boy—you’d naturally speak in his favor,” a candidate interjected.

“Exactly! You argued with Zou Ming yesterday, and today he’s dead. Who else but you?”

“You were afraid Zou Ming would take the top spot, so you killed him!”

Ji Changge listened to the voices rising and falling around him. Clearly, Wang Jue was a prime suspect.

“Stop talking nonsense! My master’s legs are impaired—how could he possibly commit murder?” the book boy protested, nearly in tears.

Only then did Wen Jing notice the man was seated in a wheelchair, and she felt a pang of regret—such a peerless beauty, yet crippled.

Wang Jue crossed his hands before him, his gaze icy as he looked at the crowd. When he heard, “You were afraid Zou Ming would take the top spot,” he smiled slightly—his expression gentle, but his eyes cold.

“Sir, is your investigation based solely on the words of children? It’s true that Zou Ming and I had a disagreement yesterday, but that hardly makes me the murderer. If you have no evidence, please leave—I need to rest,” Wang Jue said with a faint smile, closing his eyes before Ji Changge could respond.

What an arrogant man!

But he was right—it would not do to accuse him merely for an argument. Ji Changge waved his hand, and the guards withdrew, shutting the door behind them. The crowd dispersed.

“Search the entire estate. Report immediately if you find anything,” Ji Changge ordered. Zou Ming had been stabbed many times; surely the killer bore blood stains, and no weapon had been found at the scene. In such a short time, the killer couldn’t have escaped—the culprit must still be hiding within the estate.

“Master Ji, the exam is the day after tomorrow. Why must such trouble arise now? If possible, please do your utmost to find the murderer swiftly, so the exam is not delayed,” Wen Qiran said anxiously.

“Rest assured, Sir Wen. We will do our best to apprehend the killer and not hinder the examination,” Ji Changge replied, though he felt uncertain. There were only two suspects—Zou Guangqi and Wang Jue—but neither had shown any clues. Zou Guangqi was Zou Ming’s fellow villager; they had come to the exam together and appeared to be close. Wang Jue was crippled, his book boy only thirteen or fourteen, while Zou Ming was a robust man. To kill him without causing a commotion would be difficult. The investigation would have to wait for the autopsy results to see if any clues could be found.

Wang Sinian approached Ji Changge and Wen Qiran. “Nephew, have you caught the murderer?”

Ji Changge shook his head. “Not yet, Uncle Wang. May I borrow two rooms for the investigation?”

“Of course. I’ll have them prepared immediately,” Wang Sinian replied, instructing the steward to ready two rooms.

“Sir, coroner Zhong Sunyan has arrived,” a guard informed Ji Changge.

“Move the body to the backyard. Summon Coroner Zhong Sunyan for the autopsy.”

Wen Jing watched an elderly man hurriedly approach with a toolbox—presumably Coroner Zhong Sunyan.

Page (3/3)

Two guards carried Zou Ming’s body to the backyard and laid it on a wooden plank.

The Wen father and daughter followed. For Wen Qiran, the case had direct bearing on whether the Ministry of Rites could oversee the examination smoothly; for Wen Jing, it was curiosity about the Ministry of Justice’s autopsy procedures.

Coroner Zhong Sunyan began his examination with the head.

“There’s an injury to the head, and seven stab wounds on the body—two of which struck the heart, likely the cause of death. No other injuries. No flesh found under the fingernails. No signs of struggle,” the coroner reported carefully.

Ji Changge listened, glancing at Wen Jing, who watched silently, her face betraying no emotion.

Wen Qiran also looked at his daughter; seeing her unmoved, he assumed Wen Jing had lost interest in autopsy and felt relieved.

“No other useful clues?” Ji Changge asked Zhong Sunyan.

“No, sir,” Zhong Sunyan replied.

Ji Changge sighed, his expression growing heavier—the case was once again at an impasse. Who wanted Zou Ming dead? What benefit did the killer gain?

“Gather all the candidates—I want to question each one,” Ji Changge ordered. For now, he could only start by investigating their relationships.

“Oh, Uncle Wang, what is your relation to Wang Jue?” Ji Changge suddenly recalled the matter and asked.

Wang Sinian thought for a moment. “You mean Wang Seventeenth? He’s from a collateral branch of our family, here to participate in the examination this year. My father let him stay in the estate. Why?”

“Nothing—everything’s still under investigation.”

Ji Changge thought to himself—so he’s not a direct relative. If Wang Jue were truly the murderer and his mentor tried to shield him, Ji Changge would be caught in a dilemma—not out of fear of offending, but unwilling to cut ties with his mentor. Yet he had no desire to show favoritism. Since Wang Jue was from a collateral branch, it would be much easier.

“This child has been gifted since youth—proficient in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and song, with a face akin to a banished immortal. No one in the family can compare. But alas, heaven envies talent. He fell from a height at age nine, and has been unable to walk since. Despite seeking many doctors, he has remained in a wheelchair—thus, the family has lost many tales of glory,” Wang Sinian said, looking into the distance, his face full of regret.

So it was an injury—Wen Jing had thought it was polio. If it was a fall, timely treatment could have restored mobility. It must have been a severe spinal injury; otherwise, with the family’s resources, he would have been cured. Now, after so many years, recovery was nearly impossible.

“Zou Ming was a favorite to win top honors among this year’s candidates, and was one of the top three in the last imperial exam. Who could have imagined he’d die so tragically two days before the exam—a great loss to the court,” Wen Qiran remarked, looking at Zou Ming’s corpse.

Zou Ming was a gifted scholar—and so was Wang Jue. Could Wang Jue really have killed him to win the title? Though Wang Jue was crippled, murder need not be committed by his own hand. Ji Changge pondered—at this moment, Wang Jue was his chief suspect.

Wen Jing examined the wounds on Zou Ming’s chest and abdomen—the injuries were strange, numerous and chaotic. The killer must have been frantic, stabbing at random, with several wounds missing vital organs. The wounds were oddly unsettling, though she could not immediately pinpoint why.

ps:

Recommended: Xiao He’s new book—
Title: “The Grace of a Common Daughter” by Night Rain Frightens the Lotus
Synopsis: A common-born girl marries into a humble household, rises step by step, husband and wife in harmony, leaving her envious relatives far behind!

Page (3/3)