Chapter 13: It Was You Who Died

“Fifth Brother, wait here for a moment. I’ll go fetch some money,” Ling Chi said to him offhandedly.

He turned and headed for the village chief’s house. The chief’s wife had died early, leaving father and son to depend on each other. In his younger years, the chief had traveled far and wide, earned some money, and settled down here with a wife and a home.

Li Wu, having received a resounding slap from Chen Mang that knocked out his teeth, lay anxiously on his bed, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t win a fight, and when he tried to poison the constables, they wouldn’t even touch what he offered.

He was racking his brain for another solution when he heard someone knocking at the door.

“Bang, bang, bang, bang.”

“Old Chief, something terrible has happened—someone’s dead! You must come quickly!” The words sent a chill through Li Wu’s heart. Who had died? Was it the female water ghost’s doing?

He hurried to open the door. Standing at the threshold was a sunny-faced youth, two swords at his side, smiling so warmly that Li Wu couldn’t help but feel a fondness for him.

“Who are you? Who’s dead?” Li Wu asked, flustered.

“It’s you who are dead!” came the answer, swift as a flash of steel. The blade moved so fast not even a drop of blood stained it.

Li Wu clutched his throat, writhing in agony on the ground as filthy blood gushed forth. Ling Chi watched him quietly, head tilted.

Li Wu was filled with regret—he hadn’t saved enough money, hadn’t unraveled his family’s secrets, hadn’t become the martial adept who could command the winds and soar through the skies.

The feedback of five streams of spiritual energy surprised Ling Chi greatly; it was more than he had gained from the water ghost. Were these the souls that had died unjustly at Li Wu’s hand?

Ling Chi wished all the more for a system to help him make sense of this, but he had none.

Careful to avoid the sticky blood, he fetched a shovel and entered the pigsty, setting his long blade aside and lifting the pigs’ feed trough.

With the shovel, he dug deep, unearthing a small chest three or four feet down. Inside were a hundred silver coins and another, smaller box.

Ling Chi eagerly opened the second box and was nearly blinded by the golden gleam within.

It was the first time he had ever seen gold coins. Heaven knew what monstrous deeds Li Wu had committed to amass so much gold.

The fiend deserved his fate; who knew what heinous crimes he had concealed?

Ling Chi took up his blade and left the pigsty, returning to search the house thoroughly. Such a seasoned thief wouldn’t have stashed all his treasures in one place.

He poked around with the scabbard—through chests, bundles, floors, walls—but found nothing more.

Just as he was starting to puzzle over it, something caught his eye.

Li Wu’s ancestral tablets were twice as large as those in other homes. Most people kept such tablets in the main hall, but here they were enshrined in the bedroom. That was odd—very odd.

But could he really bring himself to desecrate someone’s ancestral shrine? No, that was going too far.

Ling Chi looked at Li Wu’s corpse and thought, “Pardon me, old chief, but I must trouble you one more time. Please forgive me.”

With a crash, Li Wu’s body flew straight into the ancestral shrine, toppling it and smashing it to pieces. A golden silk cloth was revealed within the wreckage.

So there was treasure after all! To be hidden so well, it had to be extraordinary.

Ling Chi quickly snatched it up and examined it. On the cloth was a bird with closed eyes, surrounded by wind, fire, thunder, and lightning. He didn’t recognize the bird, but the sight left him deeply shaken.

He couldn’t guess the value of such a treasure, so he tucked it away, deciding to wait until he understood its worth before selling or using it.

He searched the house for any written records but found nothing. Before leaving, he set the house ablaze, as was his custom.

The fire in the ancestral hall had not yet died down. Constables and villagers stood around, exchanging uncertain glances.

Chen Mang and Zhou Shan were speaking to Zhao Shanhe, who waved them off and pointed to Ling Chi, who was approaching at a leisurely pace.

“Fifth Brother, the old chief slipped and fell to his death. He knocked over an oil lamp and the house burned down. That family truly has returned to dust and ashes,” Ling Chi explained, seeing Fifth Brother gesture toward him.

Zhao Shanhe rolled his eyes but didn’t expose the obvious lie. The constables needed to save face—otherwise, everyone would be embarrassed.

“Sixth Young Master, what about the ancestral hall…?” Chen Mang asked hesitantly.

“The ancestral hall? That was the work of the water ghost, Lanlan. She was dishonored here, and in a fit of rage, she set the place ablaze,” Ling Chi lied without so much as a blink.

“That female water ghost was truly brutal—she spared none. Li Shitou and his cronies were all slaughtered by her. I did what I could, but I was too late to save them. I am ashamed—deeply ashamed.”

“Fortunately, I seized the chance and slew her, lest she bring further calamity to the living.” Ling Chi continued spinning his tale, undaunted.

Chen Mang, clever as he was, believed him.

“Captain Chen, the female water ghost’s name was Zhu Lanlan. Her father is the county magistrate of Feng County in neighboring Hezhou. Please see that her ashes are returned home for burial.”

Chen Mang readily agreed; making connections with a county magistrate was always advantageous.

“Captain Chen, now that matters here are settled, my elder brother and I will return to the martial academy. If there’s anything else, you can find us there. Farewell,” Ling Chi said, eager to depart—he was impatient to divide the loot, and it wouldn’t do to let Fifth Brother leave empty-handed.

Once out of the village, Ling Chi drew a small box from his robe.

“Come, Fifth Brother, it’s quiet here—let’s split the spoils now.”

Zhao Shanhe was stunned as Ling Chi opened the box to reveal a trove of silver coins—perhaps a hundred and eighty in all.

“Fifth Brother, we’ve always been fair. This time, ninety-five silver coins: I’ll take fifty-five, you take forty. What do you say?” Their division was always equitable—they’d split spoils many times before.

As for the hundred-plus gold coins, Ling Chi kept those to himself. He couldn’t risk sharing them; if Fifth Brother grew suspicious and investigated the chief’s background, he might uncover the secret of the golden cloth, and then disaster would surely follow.

“Of course, Old Six. I didn’t do a thing this time—just held your horse. I hardly deserve this share,” Fifth Brother said, though his hands were quick to bag the silver, his face breaking into a happy smile.

“If you feel guilty, you can treat us all at Tongfu House tomorrow.”

“Deal! Let’s invite the elder brothers too and have a proper drink!”

“I want to try this year’s new tea—the very best.”

“Done, whatever you wish!”

The muffled sound of hooves echoed along the mountain road as the two left the secluded village, laughing and talking, without a backward glance.

They entered the city gates one after the other, each returning home.

In Crane County, the magistrate was named Cui Zhongsheng, who had become a top scholar during the first year of Qianwu’s reign and had served here for seven years.

Though turmoil plagued the empire, his domain in Ying Prefecture was relatively peaceful—few disasters, and though near the border mountains, there were no foreign invasions.

In the Northern City’s yamen, Cui Zhongsheng was poring over documents with the county constable, Wang Huai.

“In the past two years, the number of strange cases has only increased. Chen Mang went to Panshanwan village and hasn’t returned; Xue Li went to Willow Town and has vanished; He Quan went to the provincial capital to help and never sent word. In this grand yamen, there’s hardly anyone left to use,” Magistrate Cui lamented bitterly.