Chapter 85 : Chapter 85

Chapter 85: The Succession

A buried case from the Ceremonial Directorate. A vicious killer. The Heir of Prince Jing's manor.

The threads wove together, but instead of sharpening the picture, they blurred it further.

Did the Heir have something to hide or not?

What had driven the Wu family massacre, and why had the killer been so savage to the matriarch?

Who was the killer?

A full night of investigation, and he'd found no answers -- only more questions.

The Inner Prison archives were deathly still. The oil lamp's flame stood straight as a needle, as though the air itself had stopped circulating.

A tiny spark popped from the wick before West Wind spoke quietly. "Sir, perhaps we should set this case aside for now. We can revisit it when Lord Jinzhu returns."

Chen Ji sat across the table and nodded with a smile. "You're right -- this isn't something the two of us should be touching. Let's call it the work of spirits and leave it at that."

As the words left his mouth, the oil lamp's flame shuddered. A cold wind surged up from the depths of the Inner Prison.

Chen Ji felt ice flow rolling toward him from below, just as before -- the longer he stayed in the Inner Prison, the more it came seeking him of its own accord.

West Wind felt the draft and leapt to his feet, drawing his saber. His eyes were cold and fixed on the source of the wind. "Sir, did you feel that gust?"

Chen Ji grinned. "I thought you said you didn't believe in ghosts."

West Wind looked sheepish for a moment. "Everyone says they exist. I've never seen one, but you can't help wondering. There are immortals in this world -- what if there really are ghosts too?"

Now it was Chen Ji's turn to pause. "There really are immortals? You've seen one?"

West Wind lowered his voice. "Our Ning Dynasty's Imperial Observatory has a Deputy Director named Xu Shu. He's a reincarnated immortal."

"Oh?" Chen Ji was startled. He'd heard the name before.

During the Double Ninth Festival, when the Buddhist procession had passed the Taiping Clinic, his master had mentioned this Xu Shu. Supposedly the only son of Chief Grand Secretary Xu Gong, who had died unexpectedly. The Chief Grand Secretary had then spent a fortune to have the abbot of Yuanjue Temple fashion a new body for his son using the Seven-Treasure Lotus Lamp, granting him a second life.

Yet in West Wind's telling, the man had become a reincarnated immortal.

Chen Ji asked, puzzled, "I thought he was Chief Grand Secretary Xu's son. How did he become an immortal?"

West Wind thought before answering. "I don't know how it happened, but Wu Xiu himself told Lord Jinzhu, and plenty of people in the Ceremonial Directorate overheard. Wu Xiu wouldn't say such things lightly."

"Wu Xiu?"

"The Ceremonial Directorate's Chief Secretary Eunuch. He serves at His Majesty's side. One of the most powerful figures in the entire Inner Court. Let's go, sir -- it's getting late. I'll take you back."

Chen Ji thought for a moment. "Would you mind stepping out for a moment, West Wind? I'd like to use the ink and paper here to write a letter to a friend."

"Of course, sir. I'll wait outside."

Chen Ji picked up the writing brush from the table, deliberated over the tone, and composed a letter on a sheet of paper.

Once the ink dried, he folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve.

After leaving the Inner Prison, West Wind helped him into the carriage.

The carriage swayed for what felt like an age before depositing him at the edge of the East Market.

It rolled away. Chen Ji removed the blindfold and watched its receding silhouette, his thin frame turning in the dark.

He walked for a long time, confirming no one was following, before finding a small beggar curled up by the roadside.

He crouched beside the child and gave a soft call.

The beggar boy opened his eyes. Seeing the masked Chen Ji, he scrambled back in terror. "Don't take me..."

Chen Ji held out his open palm, revealing twenty copper coins.

The boy's hand shot out to grab them, but Chen Ji closed his fist and pulled back. He drew the letter from his sleeve and held it out. "Deliver this to the Taiping Clinic tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I'll give you twenty copper coins. Remember -- the Taiping Clinic."

The boy nodded frantically. "Yes, sir! First thing tomorrow!"

Faint snowflakes drifted down again, settling in Chen Ji's hair.

The boy spoke up. "Sir, could I have one coin now to buy a flatcake? Otherwise I won't make it through the night."

In the dim predawn light, Chen Ji dropped two coins and turned away, hands tucked into his sleeves, walking west.

...

...

Morning. Anxi Street came alive early.

Liang Mao'er padded to the clinic door in his cotton jacket, still drowsy, and saw the Prince's manor servants carrying bucket after bucket of salt, scattering it by the handful across the snow-covered flagstones.

He wondered: yesterday they'd only swept the snow from their own doorstep. Why were they now spreading salt -- at thirty wen per jin -- across the entire street?

Not only that, the servants were also handing out baskets of bright red Yanmen dates to every household, adding a festive touch.

From inside the clinic, someone called curiously, "What's going on out there?"

Liang Mao'er turned and saw Chen Ji and Liu Quxing, now dressed, coming to the door.

Just then, Xibing walked past the Taiping Clinic with her basket. She smiled and sidled up. "Chen Ji, hold out your robe -- I'll pour you extra dates."

Chen Ji grinned and gathered his robe into a pouch. Xibing upended half her basket into it.

Liu Quxing was immediately jealous. "Miss Xibing, why are you so generous with Chen Ji? Give me some too!"

Xibing rolled her eyes at him. "These are for all of you. Go grab some from Chen Ji. I've still got a lot of houses to visit." She hurried off.

Chen Ji watched her go. "Is there a celebration at the manor?"

Liu Quxing thought about it. "Probably means the Prince is coming home. The neighbors on Anxi Street all say the manor is very generous when the Prince is around, and much tighter-fisted when he's away..."

As they spoke, the servants returned with bamboo brooms and swept the street spotless, as though it had never snowed.

From the back courtyard came the sound of someone scrabbling over the wall. Baili's voice called out: "Who took the ladder away? Help! Bring it over!"

Liu Quxing ran to help. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Chen Ji looked back. Baili climbed down the ladder, then untied a small pouch from her waist, fished out a piece of broken silver, and handed it to Liu Quxing. "Buy six baskets of meat buns and four baskets of vegetable buns. I saw Brother Mao'er eat four baskets by himself yesterday and still wasn't full. Get more today."

Liang Mao'er smiled bashfully. "The Princess really is a bodhisattva."

No sooner had she finished speaking than a filthy little beggar, ragged from head to toe, tried to dart into the clinic clutching a letter.

Liang Mao'er caught him by the scruff of the neck. "Hey -- what do you think you're doing?"

The boy blurted, "Someone told me to deliver a letter here! There's a reward!"

Chen Ji took the letter, unfolded it, and read aloud: "'Dear Brother, the Heir -- your kind letter received with gratitude...' A letter for the Heir?"

He carried it to the back courtyard, his expression perfectly neutral, and handed it over. "A letter for you, Your Highness."

"For me?" The Heir took it, puzzled. He'd barely read two lines before his face fell.

Chen Ji studied his reaction carefully. "Who's it from? You don't look happy."

The Heir sighed. "It's from Zhang Ping, Wang Quan, Wang Wu, and Li Bo -- the ones we used to drink with. They... have to leave Luocheng. No more drinking together."

In that moment, Chen Ji felt fairly certain the Heir didn't know these four were dead.

The letter was Chen Ji's own handiwork. He had written it specifically to observe how the Heir would react upon receiving a message from men who were already corpses.

If the Heir knew they were dead, then no matter how skilled his acting, there would be at least a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

But the Heir's first reaction held no confusion. Only sadness.

Baili leaned over to read. Her lip curled with contempt. "They left because they're too ashamed to face us. Why are you sad about that?"

The Heir said quietly, "We were friends for a while, at least."

Chen Ji found himself increasingly convinced: the Heir was clean.

First, consider the timing. When Jinzhu and the Trouble-Solver Guards had surrounded Red Cloth Lane, the Jing Dynasty's Military Intelligence Division had clearly received advance warning -- even Jin Fang's madam and Yan'er had fled. Yet the Heir had walked straight into the trap. That alone didn't fit.

Second, the Heir had spent three years at Donglin Academy. If he truly harbored ambition and cunning, he should have spent that time cultivating relationships with scholars and officials, not drinking with jianghu drifters in the taverns at the foot of the hill.

Wait.

Chen Ji suddenly realized he might have been looking at this from the wrong angle entirely. The Heir's visit to Jin Fang may not have been his own idea. The four jianghu swordsmen might have known about the impending raid and deliberately lured the Heir there.

If the Heir were dragged into the Inner Prison, who inside the Prince's manor stood to gain? Obviously -- Consort Jing and Consort Yun.

Prince Jing was clearly still capable of fathering children. If his only son were removed, he would naturally seek to produce another heir. And the one to inherit the hereditary princedom would be a child of Consort Jing or Consort Yun.

And who inside the Prince's manor would have had advance knowledge that Jin Fang was about to be raided?

Consort Yun.

A chill crept through Chen Ji's chest.

Consort Yun.

If this entire affair had been orchestrated by Consort Yun -- engineering the Heir's arrest to clear the way for succession, then dispatching someone to silence the four swordsmen -- suddenly, a great many things fell into place.

He'd read about the savagery of ancient succession struggles, but always as stories in novels, never as something he might witness firsthand.

Now he felt its cruelty with absolute clarity.

No. Wait.

Chen Ji caught himself and almost laughed at his own wild speculation. Baili had been at Jin Fang that night too. Baili was Consort Yun's own daughter. Even if Consort Yun wanted the succession, she wouldn't sacrifice her own child.

And if the Heir were taken to the Inner Prison, the entire manor could be implicated. How would that benefit anyone?

Chen Ji abandoned the theory.

Baili drifted over. Seeing him lost in thought, she asked, "What's on your mind? You don't look happy."

Chen Ji broke into a smile. "Nothing. I'm in a great mood. The best."

Just then, Liang Mao'er came trotting back with a tall stack of steamer baskets balanced in his arms, white steam trailing behind him. "Chen Ji! Princess! Come eat buns!"

Chen Ji called back cheerfully, "On my way."

He glanced at the Heir, then at Baili. As long as the Heir wasn't the kind of man who hid a viper's heart behind a sunny face, that was good enough.