Chapter Sixty-Eight: Fourfold Joy

Several people walked toward the back courtyard, and from a distance, a foul, rotten smell reached them.

Qingliu sniffed the air, her confusion deepening. Why had her mistress come to the residence of Scholar Wang? Where exactly were they headed, and why was it so unbearably odorous?

A guard pushed open the door, and the stench assaulted everyone’s senses.

Qingliu was startled, recalling that her mistress had asked earlier if she feared the dead. Now the reason was clear—they had truly come to see a corpse. Glancing at the body, she was terrified: three of her seven spirits seemed to abandon her. Zou Ming had died unnaturally, not like an ordinary elder succumbing to age. The wounds were gruesome, blood everywhere, and the room swarmed with buzzing flies.

To Wen Jing’s surprise, there were several unfamiliar people at the scene.

“This is Magistrate Cao of Shuntian Prefecture,” Ji Changge introduced.

Wen Qiran, who had often crossed paths with Cao Tai during his time at the Ministry of Justice, recognized him as an old acquaintance.

“And who is this?” Cao Tai looked at Wen Jing with suspicion, puzzled why Ji Changge and Wen Qiran had brought a young lady with them.

“She is my daughter, Qiuniang,” Wen Qiran interjected.

Before Cao Tai could respond, Ji Changge asked, “Magistrate Cao, have you gleaned anything from the autopsy?”

Cao Tai glanced at the coroner from Shuntian Prefecture. “What did you find?”

The coroner’s report was much the same as that given earlier by the coroner from the Court of Judicial Review: the knife wounds were fatal, but nothing further could be determined.

“How are we to proceed? The emperor has decreed the case must be solved by tomorrow—yet we have not the slightest clue. If we fail, all three of us will suffer,” Cao Tai wiped sweat from his brow, clearly anxious.

Wen Qiran and Ji Changge exchanged glances. Now he was frantic, but yesterday he hadn’t even bothered to come; only when the imperial edict arrived did he get worried.

“Magistrate Cao, since you are here, we should leave this matter in your hands. By rights, Shuntian Prefecture should take over. It would be improper for us to overstep,” Ji Changge smiled.

Cao Tai’s smile faltered, sweat pouring faster down his face. He hurriedly replied, “Nephew, what are you saying? You’ve already begun the investigation and questioned witnesses. It’s best you continue. I won’t meddle.”

Ji Changge sighed, “You’re right. If we wasted time re-interviewing witnesses, we’d never make the deadline. Please return, sir. I’ll inform you as soon as we have news.”

Cao Tai quickly responded, “That is best. I leave it to you, nephew.”

Watching Cao Tai and the coroner depart in a whirlwind, Ji Changge and Wen Qiran exchanged wry smiles. In truth, this was just what Ji Changge wanted: with Cao Tai gone, Qiuniang would be free to examine the body—after all, she lacked official status as a coroner and could not do so publicly.

“Qiuniang, begin the autopsy,” Wen Qiran said, curious how his daughter would proceed. The last time, in Hanjiang County, Qiuniang had examined the body from behind a screen, and he saw nothing. He still didn’t understand how, from childhood, Wen Qiuniang had never dared to slaughter a chicken or gut a fish, yet now faced a foul, gruesome corpse without flinching.

Autopsy? Qingliu was utterly lost; she had never heard the term before.

Wen Jing took the box from Qingliu, placed it on the ground, and opened it. She donned gloves, then stripped the clothing from Zou Ming’s corpse. The earlier coroner had only removed the upper garments, not the trousers, apparently certain that the fatal wounds were the knife stabs to the abdomen, and had not examined the lower body.

Wen Jing felt the dead man’s skull, and heard a faint crack. “The deceased’s skull is severely fractured, and there is a contusion at the back of the head, likely caused by an attack from behind.”

Ji Changge instructed a nearby guard to take notes.

The guard wrote a line, then paused and asked, “Sir, how do you write ‘contusion’?”

Ji Changge was momentarily at a loss—he hadn’t heard the term before either. He frowned, “Just write it for now; we’ll clarify later.”

“Oh,” the guard muttered, scratching his head and scribbling “contusion” on the paper.

Wen Jing continued the examination. “There are no defensive wounds or signs of restraint on the arms, suggesting the victim was killed unawares, or perhaps knocked unconscious first.”

“No wonder no one heard anything, and there are no signs of a struggle in the room. It must have been someone familiar to the victim. If it were a stranger, Zou Ming could not have been so defenseless and allowed himself to be struck from behind,” Ji Changge analyzed.

“I agree with Lord Ji. The murderer must have had access to the Carp Garden, and was someone Zou Ming knew well,” Wen Qiran added.

Wen Jing examined the seven wounds on Zou Ming’s chest. “These wounds are similar in shape, direction, and depth, indicating the killer stabbed methodically, each thrust calm and deliberate, and the victim did not resist.”

Ji Changge and Wen Qiran were shocked. What hatred could drive the murderer to stab Zou Ming so many times even after death?

“The wound on the head is the fatal blow. It appears to have been struck more than once; the fracture lines cover the entire back of the skull. If it were merely to stun him, the subsequent stabs would not have been so neatly executed, and the victim would have resisted, not submitting passively,” Wen Jing said.

Ji Changge nodded. If this were a vengeance killing, why choose the busy Carp Garden? Wouldn’t the road to the capital have been a better opportunity? All valuables were intact, so it couldn’t be a crime of passion; there were no women among the guests, apart from a few servant girls.

Wen Jing continued to scrutinize the head wound. Why was the injury on the left side?

“Have you discovered anything?” Wen Qiran inquired.

“The killer may be left-handed. Normally, if the victim is struck from behind, the wound should be central or on the right. From a mechanical standpoint, this wound’s location would be awkward for a right-handed person; if the blow missed, the victim would turn and resist,” Wen Jing explained.

Left-handed... this was an important clue. Ji Changge’s eyes lit up. He recalled that Wang Jue’s page, Sixi, had used his left hand to grind ink for his master. Wang Jue, being crippled, could not have committed the murder himself, but it did not preclude him from instructing Sixi to do so.

“Bring Sixi to me—I need to interrogate him,” Ji Changge ordered the guard.

“Yes, sir,” the guard replied.

“This wound seems to have been inflicted with a special object, resulting in an irregular shape. I cannot identify the weapon,” Wen Jing said.

“Wasn’t a dagger found?” Wen Qiran asked.

“Yes, a dagger was found. We’ll know more once Sixi is questioned,” Ji Changge replied.

“Sir, we have brought him.”

“Why have you arrested me? I didn’t kill anyone!” Sixi cried out as he was led in.

“Is this dagger yours?” Ji Changge produced the weapon and asked. “Don’t deny it; I saw the character ‘Xi’ engraved on the hilt.”

“It is mine. I lost it a few days ago, and now it turns out you found it,” Sixi answered in surprise.

Ji Changge smiled, stepping forward. “You admit it, then. This is the murder weapon.”