Chapter 150: The Game (9)

Hua Rong quickly walked into the back courtyard.

Green trees hung low over the painted eaves, with ice bowls and round fans made of light silk.

Le Wuya sat under the willow tree in the back courtyard, lounging in the moonlight with a bowl of bayberries. Seeing Hua Rong approach, he offered a bowl from a distance, his eyes curving into a smile: "Little Hua Rong, this is delicious, come and try it!"

Hua Rong took him up on it, took the bowl, and nestled beside Le Wuya's feet like a cat by the stove. Holding the ice bowl covered in cold mist, the fiery anxiety in his heart eased somewhat.

Before Hua Rong could speak, Le Wuya scooped up a bayberry and brought it to his lips: "So he knows I'm the one pulling the strings?"

Hua Rong was startled: "My lord, I haven't said a word yet!"

"What would you even need to say?" Le Wuya said, holding the bayberry in his mouth as he poked Hua Rong's cheek, speaking indistinctly, "Here, here, and here—it's written all over your face."

Hua Rong's panic and unease, still half-formed, were shattered by his pokes.

He stayed curled up at his lord's feet, still uneasy.

Hua Rong had been able to handle himself so composedly and respond so properly in the cellar, all because his lord had briefed him beforehand.

Had he been unprepared and suddenly heard Registrar Zi expose his lord's identity, Hua Rong would have been so frightened that he'd have grabbed the lunchbox and knocked the guy out cold.

He let out an admiring sigh: "Registrar Zi is indeed a seasoned criminal investigator—really sharp-eyed."

Then Hua Rong looked up and asked Le Wuya: "My lord, how did you know Lord Wei would use Prefect Qian's case to stir up trouble?"

Le Wuya set down the ice bowl, relaxing into the rocking chair with his eyes lazily closed, exuding an air of effortless elegance: "To make a big deal out of something, you need a case that's got some heft to it but isn't too old—preferably from the past year or two. Otherwise, digging up some run-of-the-mill assault case from the archives, nobody would bother to investigate it, and you couldn't use it as a launching pad even if you wanted to."

Hua Rong deeply agreed and gave a slight nod.

"It also needs to be tied closely to Lord Mu—ideally a case he personally handled, so he can be easily dragged down with it."

"The case shouldn't be too complicated, and the evidence shouldn't be too tangled. Take Scholar Ming's trumped-up rebellion case in Nanting, for instance—a chain of connections involving a coal mine, a pawnshop, a coroner, and the thug Ge Erzi. If any single link sprang a leak or went wrong, the whole scheme would fall apart. Therefore, the best bet is an accidental death case with few witnesses and flimsy physical evidence."

"Running through all the criteria one by one, there aren't many cases that fit the bill."

"Only Prefect Qian's accidental drowning case fits the bill as the perfect trap."

"Oh, and one more thing—" Le Wuya leaned forward slightly and asked Hua Rong, "That registrar—he's got pretty sweaty palms, doesn't he?"

Hua Rong sat up straight in surprise at that.

Just now, after Registrar Zi had finished his meal, Hua Rong had taken out a hot towel from the food container and wiped him down.

When he'd wiped the man's palms, Hua Rong had indeed noticed that both were unusually damp and slick, clammy and cold.

He was genuinely in awe of Le Wuya: "How in the world did you know?"

Le Wuya smiled and asked Hua Rong in return: "Hey, Hua Rong, if you were that poor Registrar Zi, dragged into such a cutthroat scheme by Lord Wei—can't run, don't dare to run—what's the first thing you'd do?"

Hua Rong thought for a moment, blinked, and suddenly understood: "I'd... go find Prefect Qian's case files and read them over and over, to memorize every detail, so that if I had to answer questions later, I wouldn't slip up!"

"That's it." Le Wuya patted him on the head. "Under Dayu law, criminal case files have to be bound with green silk cords and sealed in the archives. Anyone who borrows them has to be logged in the register. Especially with our stern Lord Mu—good grief, he's like King Yan himself—who'd dare go behind his back to open the criminal case archives? Only Registrar Zi has the easiest access to the files and can skip the whole registration hassle."

"A while back, I had Mu Jiazhi send me the case files from past years in batches. You remember that, right?"

Seeing Hua Rong nod eagerly, Le Wuya continued: "Prefect Qian's drowning case happened at the start of the year. It's only been about half a year, but compared to other criminal case files from the same period, the green silk cord on that one was noticeably faded and frayed, as if someone had untied and examined it over and over. And that person must have a little quirk—like sweaty palms whenever they get nervous."

Hua Rong listened, utterly amazed, his eyes shining with admiration: "My lord, are you the Pole Star come down to earth?"

Le Wuya flicked his forehead: "Cut the flattery."

"But Hua Rong really means it!" Hua Rong clutched his forehead, totally confused, and muttered under his breath, "...Besides, my lord is always singing his own praises—why can't we get a word in?"

Le Wuya reached out and rubbed his slightly red forehead: "When I praise myself, it's because I'm exceptionally gifted and deserve it. No need for you to gild the lily."

Besides all that shameless talk, there was something else Le Wuya didn't say.

With people he wasn't close to, Le Wuya was happy to shoot the breeze and banter, even putting up with a pile of boring, insincere flattery.

But with those close to him, he only hoped they'd focus on bettering themselves rather than wasting their energy on pointless butt-kissing.

No matter how strong he, Le Wuya, was, his strength couldn't rub off on them.

Besides self-improvement and standing on your own two feet, there's no surer way to get ahead.

Since Hua Rong had started following Le Wuya, he'd seen a lot of the world and could now sort of read between the lines.

The more he understood the kindness in his lord's words, the more he curled up at Le Wuya's feet in trust and devotion, like a chick sheltering under an eagle's wing, feeling safe and snug: "Registrar Zi now knows you're the one behind all this. What are you going to do with him, my lord?"

"Did he say what he wants?"

"He asked for an oil lamp, some books, and a change of clothes." Hua Rong asked, "My lord, he's not gonna try to run, is he?"

Le Wuya said flatly: "No."

Hua Rong mulled it over and figured it made sense.

The reason Registrar Zi had agreed to help Wei Yixian frame Mu Jiazhi was simple: he had no money, no backing, and no leverage.

Zi Yongshou was a clerk, not an official, with a shaky foundation. Once caught in the crossfire of higher-ups' power struggles, win or lose, someone named Zi would definitely be the first to get skinned.

Wei Yixian could squash him with one thumb.

Rather than recklessly sticking his neck out to face the storm outside, it was better to lay low here and plan for the future.

Besides, Le Wuya had kidnapped him but not killed him—that meant he was willing to protect him, to save him.

If Zi Yongshou couldn't figure that out, then he deserved to get played for a fool.

"Give him the books and the oil lamp, but skip the clothes." Le Wuya waved a hand dismissively. "If this guy really doesn't know what's good for him and is dumb enough to charge out and get himself killed, then let him run out bare-assed."

...

Zi Yongshou's sudden disappearance set off a wave of speculation among the yamen staff, with everyone on edge.

In the sweltering heat of the dog days of summer, Mu Jiazhi sat in the hall, anxious as if tossed into a giant furnace, unable to sit still or rest easy.

He knew Zi Yongshou's home situation better than anyone.

The man had only his blood brother left—he'd never just up and abandon him.

But even if it were Japanese pirates or bandits who'd grabbed him out of spite, after all this time, they'd either have sent back his corpse or sent a ransom note. How could there be no word at all, as if he'd vanished into thin air?

Mu Jiazhi had handled too many criminal cases, and his mind was full of cases of roving bandits committing murder. No matter how he looked at it, none of the possibilities were good.

While burning with anxiety, he also had to put on a stern face—though not very convincingly—to comfort Zi Yongshou's equally terrified younger brother, lying that the prefect had sent him on official business elsewhere, bypassing him. He'd stall for as long as he could, lest this sickly little cat get a sudden fright and collapse completely—that would truly be doing Zi Yongshou a grave injustice.

Wei Yixian, for his part, had an even simpler take on things.

...Zi Yongshou was probably too timid to dare testify against Mu Jiazhi, so he just cut and ran.

"I thought he was a mild-mannered family man, held back by that sickly younger brother of his, unable to go anywhere. I never imagined he'd actually abandon his brother to Mu Jiazhi and just walk away." Wei Yixian sighed. "You can know a man's face, but never his heart."

His personal page boy sighed in dismay, "Doesn't that mean all your careful scheming's gone down the drain?"

At this point, Wei Yixian had to admit that this perfectly planned kill shot had been thrown off course, for no good reason and out of nowhere.

Sure, Wei Yixian had a moment of panic when he first heard Zi Yongshou was gone.

But he got a grip on himself real fast.

The neighboring case of the farmer poisoned to death was bound to lead, like a vine tracing its roots, straight back to Prefect Qian's drowning half a year ago.

At this critical moment, Zi Yongshou's sudden disappearance—whether he'd chickened out and run, or genuinely gotten unlucky—jumped by bandits on the road and left to rot in some unmarked grave—didn't change the fact that this old case was about to get dragged into the light.

Every time he thought about it, Wei Yixian couldn't help but rub his hands together in glee.

Prefect Qian's death was a stroke of luck—it hadn't happened in this prefecture's jurisdiction. Otherwise, if Wenren Mingke had just waved a hand and buried the whole thing, all his scheming would've been for nothing.

The beauty of it was that Wenren Mingke was new in town, barely on nodding terms with those prefects, and his reach didn't extend past Tongzhou Prefecture.

Even if Wenren Mingke had a prince behind him, so what?

Those prefects had grinded through their books, passed the imperial exams, suffered till they were pushing fifty with graying hair, clawed their way up through seniority and merit—and now they were supposed to stand shoulder to shoulder with some wet-behind-the-ears kid?

Putting himself in their shoes, Wei Yixian figured the neighboring prefect wouldn't do Wenren Mingke that favor and bury the case. They'd want it blown up as big as they could.

Once the truth came out, even Zi Yongshou's sudden vanishing act could be turned into ammunition.

—Prefect Qian's drowning had been handled personally by Mu Jiazhi and Zi Yongshou.

And right when the investigation was about to be reopened, Zi Yongshou—one of the guys who'd handled it—had vanished.

How could that not raise eyebrows?

The best part was, ever since he'd roped Zi Yongshou into his scheme, Wei Yixian had kept men tailing him.

Sure enough, Zi Yongshou couldn't keep his mouth shut.

The very day after Wei Yixian approached him, he went out of his way to get two days off from Mu Jiazhi and headed to Lingao County, where Prefect Qian had drowned, casually fishing around to see if that farmer-poisoning case was even real.

This timid clerk still hoped to save a life, thinking it'd earn him brownie points in the afterlife.

Alas, the dead are like snuffed-out lamps—no bringing them back.

This wasn't exactly a big deal on its own, but when they reopened the Prefect Qian case, it was bound to come up too.

By then, the missing Zi Yongshou would be the perfect trump card.

Even if Zi Yongshou were still alive and popped out of some corner to accuse him, he had no evidence, just a tongue that wasn't all that silver. What could he possibly fight with?

After all, the deeds and titles in Zi Yongshou's name weren't even in his own hands.

What could he possibly fight with?

So Wei Yixian stayed cool as a cucumber, sitting tight at his fishing spot, casting his line.

Why sweat it?

The advantage was still on his side.