Chapter Sixty-Seven: Provocation

Qingliu gently combed Wen Jing’s long, black, lustrous hair, gazing at her reflection in the bronze mirror. The girl smiled charmingly, her eyes lively and bright, prompting Qingliu to silently marvel—her young mistress was growing more and more like Lady Wen of old, even their expressions were strikingly similar. Yet, Wen Jing’s gaze held a firmer resolve, less tenderness than her mother’s.

“Qingliu, are you afraid of the dead?” Wen Jing spoke to Qingliu through the mirror, noticing the maid had been staring at her in a daze.

“Huh? The dead?” Qingliu was momentarily confused.

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not. The dead can’t harm us. It’s the living who are frightening,” Qingliu replied honestly, though she didn’t know why Wen Jing had suddenly raised the question.

“Good. Then bring that chest and come with me,” Wen Jing said with a smile.

Qingliu hefted the chest, surprised by its weight. She had assumed it contained herbs, but evidently, it was not just medicine.

Wen Qiran had already prepared the carriage and waited outside. The three boarded, and the carriage headed toward the Prince’s Residence.

Qingliu glanced nervously at her master, whose face was clouded with worry. Where could they be going?

The carriage stopped before Scholar Wang’s mansion. They alighted.

Ji Changge awaited them at the temporary investigation office—really just a previously unused courtyard in the mansion. Zou Ming’s corpse lay in a room next door.

Seeing the Wen family approach, Ji Changge’s lips curved into a smile. His plan had worked; Wen Qiran had indeed brought Wen Jing.

Wen Jing met Ji Changge’s smiling gaze, thinking, It’s that sly fox again.

“Sir, there’s another commotion at Carp Garden,” a guard reported.

Ji Changge rubbed his forehead—how many times had it happened today?

“Take me there.”

Wen Jing and her father followed.

“Go and confess! We’ve waited three years for the provincial exam—we don’t want to lose our qualifications because of you.”

“Go back to Jinling! Even if you pass, you’ll never be an official.”

“Yeah, you’re getting us locked up in this garden because of you!”

As soon as they entered, Wen Jing heard the examinees clamoring outside Wang Jue’s door, one man’s voice rising above the rest. He was broad-shouldered, with thick brows and large eyes—a fierce look that seemed more suited to a martial artist than a scholar.

“You people stop slandering! Our master is not the murderer!” shouted a young attendant, his face flushed, eyes blazing.

“There are so many of us here, and only your master had a grudge with Zou Ming. If it wasn’t him, who else?” retorted a scholar.

“How many times must I say it? My master was in his room the whole time. Alone, he couldn’t possibly have entered Zou Ming’s room, let alone killed such a strong man.”

“Sixi,” Wang Jue called gently, but the attendant was too agitated to notice.

“Only you know if you have trouble walking, right?” the burly man pressed.

“Exactly. Someone saw you up late, moving about inside. You’re obviously not crippled, but insist on sitting in a wheelchair. Isn’t that suspicious?” another man chimed in.

“What nonsense!” Sixi grabbed the speaker’s collar.

“Let go!” Ji Changge ordered.

Sixi released him, still furious.

“If you’re really crippled, stand up and walk a few steps for us!” the burly man persisted.

Wang Jue lifted his gaze, icy as a thousand-year glacier. The man’s eyelid twitched, a chill creeping into his heart. But he reassured himself—he’s only a cripple, what could he do?

“You’re making things difficult on purpose!” Sixi fumed. If his master tried to stand, he’d surely fall—these men just wanted to humiliate him.

“Sixi,” Wang Jue called again.

Sixi turned. Wang Jue gave him a look—these men only sought advantage in words; ignore them and let it be.

“If everyone doubts, let the physician examine him. If Wang Jue truly has trouble walking, you mustn’t harass him further,” Ji Changge suddenly said.

Wang Jue cast Ji Changge a long, shadowed glance. They stared at each other for several seconds.

“Qiniang, please step forward and examine him,” Ji Changge said, turning to Wen Jing.

Me? Wen Jing was startled, then shot Ji Changge a glare and forced a smile, “Thank you, indeed. Always thinking of me for the troublesome tasks.”

Ji Changge replied with a “no need to thank me” smile.

Wang Jue glanced expressionlessly at Wen Jing beside Ji Changge; Wen Jing happened to look up at him. Both felt the other was far too presumptuous.

Wen Jing approached slowly, while Wang Jue stared at her.

“Are you certain you want to examine me?” Wang Jue narrowed his eyes.

Wen Jing smiled faintly. “Lord Ji’s orders—I dare not disobey.”

She reached out, pushing aside the robe covering his legs, her hands pressing into Wang Jue’s thighs. He looked startled, clearly not expecting such boldness from a seemingly frail young lady.

Even Wen Qiran was surprised—his daughter was growing ever more...

Ji Changge raised an eyebrow. Was this karma for his own schemes?

Wen Jing pressed and palpated, probing left and right, up and down. Curiously, Wang Jue’s muscles showed only minor atrophy, unlike most paralyzed patients; his muscles still had elasticity, likely from regular exercise preventing further deterioration. This might explain why someone had seen him moving about in his room.

“Are you finished?” Wang Jue asked coldly, danger radiating from his expression.

“Finished,” Wen Jing replied, wiping her hands, quite satisfied as Wang Jue’s gaze grew colder.

“Well?” Ji Changge inquired.

“He is indeed physically impaired,” Wen Jing said.

The examinees exchanged skeptical glances, clearly doubtful of her conclusion.

“You all heard her. Do not harass him again. The investigation is the responsibility of the Imperial Court, not yours. Should anyone cause trouble, I will revoke your qualifications,” Wen Qiran warned.

“Yes, sir,” they replied, one after another.

Wang Jue watched Wen Jing’s figure disappear through the door, the sensation of her hands still lingering on his legs. He frowned slightly.

“If you already knew he was disabled, why have me examine him?” Wen Jing asked Ji Changge.

Ji Changge smiled, “One cannot overlook any suspicious detail in an investigation. Who knows if he might have recovered?”

Wen Qiran nodded, “Lord Ji’s thoroughness is admirable.”

Wen Jing raised an eyebrow—clearly, this was vengeance disguised as duty, yet he made himself out to be so noble. Truly a cunning fox.