Chapter 295: Breaking the Deadlock (2)

Zhou Wenchang rushed over to the county jail.

Just as he was about to step through the prison gates, he slammed to a halt mid-step.

In the scorching heat of midsummer, cold sweat soaked his back in a flood.

...This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

In Zhou Wenchang's original plan, he'd hold down the fort at the mine and wrap things up fast; Wen Huan would guard the city, scrutinize all who came and went, and put You the Second and the other three on public display at the city gate as bait to stall the envoys from the capital.

Any imperial censor was duty-bound to look into grievances.

Zhou Wenchang had started his official career as an imperial censor.

He'd seen plenty of this kind of dirty business.

In times of disaster, people's hearts went every which way—there would always be greedy merchants driven by profit who jacked up prices by any means necessary, and there would always be officials who, taking advantage of the calamity, framed honest merchants who wouldn't pay "tribute," or used disaster relief as an excuse to plant their uncles and cousins in every local chamber of commerce. They'd collude and scheme to raise prices on the sly, joining forces to line their own pockets, and anyone who wouldn't play ball got slapped with the big label of "obstructing disaster relief."

All he had to do was arrest a few people and leave them sitting there—any censor would come sniffing around.

That'd buy him enough time to tear Mount Xiaolian apart.

Even if he found nothing, the miners, under heavy guard and baking in the heat with no water, would eventually starve to death.

And on top of that, he had Zhou Wenhuan.

"Blood brothers in the fight"—the saying rang true.

Wen Huan, a licentiate in name, was supposedly staying with him to study for the imperial exams, but in reality he was his top right-hand man, running all the informants in the city. He was his eyes across a thousand miles and his ears that caught every whisper.

He knew the ins and outs of every merchant in the city, big or small, and picked the easiest mark—a silk merchant named You the Second who hadn't yet put down deep roots—and had him arrested.

You the Second's silk price hike didn't really hurt the common folk.

Silk was pricey to begin with; it wasn't something regular folks could afford. With Dansui hit by disaster and roads cut off, bumping prices a bit to make up for losses was only fair.

But since he was in the cloth trade, they could tie him to "people's livelihood."

Looked at lightly, it was a case of "no complaint, no case."

But taken seriously, it was defying the government's order to "strictly prohibit price hikes." If they wanted to make an example of him, it wasn't exactly unfair.

Unlike the infamous Yan the Third and Blackie Liu, You the Second had no deep roots and prized his business reputation above everything.

When You the Second's wife saw her husband displayed alongside those two whose names stank to high heaven, she was beside herself with worry. She pulled every string she had to beg for his release, desperate to keep the business she'd poured a lifetime into from going under.

Zhou Wenhuan had zeroed in on their weakness. He waited until You the Second's wife had hit one dead end after another and was about to cry, then sent someone to her door. The messenger spoke softly and at length, saying they understood You the Second hadn't meant any harm, that he was nothing like hopeless scum like Yan the Third and Blackie Liu. It was just that You the Second had acted like the county's ban didn't exist and hiked prices right in their faces—the impact was just too bad, so they had no choice but to punish him. This was just a slap on the wrist, and afterward they'd hook him up with a few business deals to make up for it.

After working her over with a mix of carrot and stick until she was crying with gratitude, the messenger changed gears and said: "Please be advised, Madam You—with your husband away, there might be lowlifes who come knocking, trying to shake down a widow and her kids over You the Second's punishment. So if any stranger comes around asking about your husband's business, don't be nice to them. Report them to the authorities right away—the government will have your back."

In business, You the Second played the heavy and his wife played the sweetheart, so to outsiders, Madam You came off as a sweet, capable woman.

But she'd been around the business world for years and seen plenty—she was no fool who couldn't read between the lines. When she heard Zhou Wenhuan's offhand mention of "someone coming to extort," she mulled it over, got the hint, and readily agreed: "Understood, understood! Thank you for the guidance, sir! If anyone dares come knocking, I won't let them off easy!"

And that was how Wang Cheng ended up mobbed by the You family the second he showed up.

Zhou Wenhuan's scheme was meant to flush out the undercover censor.

When the time came, explaining it away would be easy enough—they could just call it a "misunderstanding." An imperial censor wouldn't dare throw his weight around with regular merchants, and most of the time the whole thing would just fizzle out.

Even if Madam You realized she'd offended a big shot and tried to backtrack by pointing fingers, Zhou Wenhuan could easily say he had merely warned her to beware of fraud and had never instigated anything.

Madam You had no proof against him, so in the end she'd have to eat the loss.

Either way, they were in the clear.

Unfortunately, there was one hitch: Madam You, in her eagerness to prove her loyalty, had gone overboard and cracked Wang Cheng's skull.

Wang Cheng, bleeding from the head, was thrown into jail, where he lay down and grandly pretended to be at death's door.

When the report came in, Zhou Wenhuan was speechless. When he discussed it with Zhou Wenchang, who had returned to Dansui, he was indignant: "Stupid woman! Foolish hag! She actually dared to swing a weapon at someone's head!"

Zhou Wenchang was more concerned about another matter: "You suspected a censor had entered the city the day before yesterday. Why didn't you report it to me?"

At this, Zhou Wenhuan's head throbbed even harder: "Brother, don't even mention it. I saw the man had striking looks and assumed he must be the Wen Ren mentioned by Lord Wang. But when he registered at the Niu Family Inn, he used a surname of Qin. And when that Wang fellow was paraded through the streets, they didn't react at all. Yesterday this man didn't leave his room all day—I had people watching him. Who knew they'd come to blows this morning?"

Their original intention was to prevent the capital's censor from investigating undercover, forcing everything out into the open.

Open confrontation they did not fear.

Because they were indeed walking the straight and narrow.

From officials to commoners, everyone in Dansui sang Zhou Wenchang's praises.

As for those who didn't—they were already dead and gone, with no mouths left to accuse anyone.

But now, five visitors of questionable identity from the capital had all landed in Dansui's jail at once, and the nature of the matter had changed.

Perfectly fine people come to Dansui, and within barely two days and nights, they're all arrested?

If these people really were imperial censors, just reporting this one fact back to the capital—that Dansui's officialdom had no problems—would be a hard sell. Even ghosts wouldn't believe it.

Zhou Wenchang suppressed his inner agitation. He did not barge in recklessly but peered through a hidden window into the jail.

Wang Cheng leaned against the wall, as still as if he were dead.

Ji Zhun was still brooding over the fact that his Changmen Guard identity had been exposed by Le Wuya, and had no idea how to explain his unjust imprisonment to his direct superior, Qiu Sinian. He huddled in a corner, his brows furrowed so tightly they could crush a fly.

Le Wuya, utterly bored, was playing a game of grass-wrestling with Qin Xingyue.

The loser had to stick ten blades of grass in his hair.

Qin Xingyue had strength, but Le Wuya had finesse.

At this moment, Qin Xingyue's head looked like a candied hawthorn stick covered in grass.

Le Wuya was skilled at concealment, tucking himself neatly into the blind spots of others' vision, while Qin Xingyue, tall and broad with a conspicuous head, blocked him completely from view.

Zhou Wenchang's gaze swept past Qin Xingyue's back and landed on Zhong Piaoping.

He sat there quietly, his eyes vacant, his fingers absently twisting the fabric of his prison uniform, his mind seemingly wandering somewhere far away.

A thought struck Zhou Wenchang. He asked the Chief Jailer, "Which two accused A Shun of murder?"

The Chief Jailer hastily pointed at Zhong Piaoping, then at Ji Zhun.

Zhou Wenchang pondered for a moment, then through the hidden window, pointed at Zhong Piaoping from afar: "Bring him out."

Zhou Wenchang had his plan all figured out:

Every one of these capital visitors was suspect.

In case they really were imperial censors, he had to come up with a way out of this bind.

The way he saw it now, the best move was to hit them at their weakest spot.

Among them, only Zhong Piaoping was tangled up in the murder case.

And only Zhong Piaoping had vaguely brushed against the truth behind the Xiaolian Mountain mudslide.

If he could make the charges stick, he'd have plenty of room to work with.

When the two jailers barged in and hauled Zhong Piaoping up without a word, Le Wuya just cracked one eye open, lazy as could be.

He had a straw clamped between his teeth.

Soaked like this, the straw got softer and more pliable.

He lowered his head.

Good choice.

Every one of his crew was a steel plate that could snap a man's toes.

Hmm, now that he thought about it, Qin Xingyue was a bit slower than the rest.

But he had Le Wuya to cover his back, so no worries there.

...

While Zhou Wenchang was busy interrogating Zhong Piaoping at the Dansa County yamen, Zhou Wenhuan had already led his men to the foot of Xiaolian Mountain, seamlessly picking up where Zhou Wenchang left off, pushing the soldiers to clear the road as fast as they could.

It was hot out, and the dug-up miners' bodies lay out in the open, the smell nothing short of foul.

In a place so thick with death, everyone kept their mouths shut without thinking, heads down, hauling rocks, shoveling mud, digging pits.

Under the collapsed half of the mountain, all that echoed was the clang of metal on stone, along with the hushed murmurs of the dark figures.

"You guys hear? The head of Pit Three is dead!"

"Heard he died nasty—arrow straight through the neck, from mountain bandits!"

"Where'd these bandits come from? We've turned this whole mountain inside out—did the guy just crawl up out of the earth?"

"Hmph, I say he wasn't no bandit—he was a miner!"

"Ain't all the miners on this mountain dead already?"

"No, no—yesterday I was right there, saw it with my own eyes. When that guy came tearing down the mountain, he was wearing the same rags as the miners!"

"That's weird—a dead man back from the grave?"

"Speaking of which, didn't the magistrate bring some crack archers? How the hell couldn't they put him down?"

"But the foreman and his boys did get shot dead..."

Zhou Wenhuan sat on a camp stool by the foreman's shed, waving a fan to keep the rotten stench at bay. Seeing these guys slacking off and muttering to each other, he snapped his fan shut with a crack and shot his aide a look.

His right-hand man got the hint and barked out: "Hey, you lot over there! What are you doing!"

The men spun around, all of them wearing the same leftover wariness, fear, and unease.

At that, Zhou Wenhuan narrowed his eyes, sat up straight, and bored into them with a sharp look.

The men ducked their heads and went back to hacking at the rocks like their lives depended on it, the clanging suddenly sharp and grating.

Silent ghosts, on that wreckage, spread like weeds.