Chapter 302: The Accomplice (Part 1)

Wang Cheng had only suffered some flesh wounds. After resting in the cell for a full two days—and since the people behind this were afraid he'd die in jail, they'd given him top-notch medicine—he was already fully recovered.

Le Wuya called him over and whispered something in his ear.

Wang Cheng froze for a second, then gave a serious, solemn nod. Then he turned and called out to Ji Zhun, looking totally calm: "...Xiao Ji, come with me."

Ji Zhun: ...Hold on, since when are we that close?

It's always easier to get on a pirate ship than to get off one.

By now, it was way too late for Ji Zhun to pretend they weren't tight. So he put on his best obedient face and followed Wang Cheng with his tail tucked between his legs.

Le Wuya turned his attention to Zhong Piaoping.

Zhong Piaoping said quietly, "Sir, I'll come with you."

Le Wuya glanced at his injury. "You sure you're okay?"

Now that he'd found his safe little nest again, Zhong Piaoping sure as hell didn't want to be left behind. "I'm fine," he said.

Le Wuya reached out, grabbed his head, and gave it a gentle shake. "Be honest—did you really want to die, or were you just faking it?"

Zhong Piaoping sucked in a sharp breath, fought off the dizziness, and answered truthfully, "To be honest, sir—faking it."

Seeing that he could still answer clearly and wasn't out of his mind, most of Le Wuya's worry melted away. "Then why the hell did you go headbutting things? You think your skull's made of iron?"

"I was pulling my punches."

Only then did Le Wuya look grudgingly satisfied. "Not bad. You're not a total idiot."

Zhong Piaoping pursed his lips.

Le Wuya gave him a sideways look. "What? There another reason?"

Since his thoughts had been seen through in one glance, Zhong Piaoping decided to stop hiding it. "Last time we went to Hongbin Tower to eat, when you stepped out to use the restroom, he put your safety in my hands."

Le Wuya raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Yuan Xiao'er?"

"Yes," Zhong Piaoping said. "He said you're especially... uh... good at attracting trouble, and told me to keep an eye on you. He also threatened me—if you so much as scraped your skin, he'd hold me responsible and beat me first, ask questions later."

"So he was basically saying I'm asking for a beating, right?"

Le Wuya mentally added another mark against Yuan Zijin, then tried to follow Zhong Piaoping's weird logic. "So what does that have to do with you smashing your head?"

Zhong Piaoping's eyes landed on the side of Le Wuya's neck. "I figured—since you were already hurt, instead of waiting for him to come chew me out, I'd hurt myself first. That way, even if he wanted to yell at me, he couldn't say a damn thing."

Le Wuya: "..."

He silently gave a thumbs-up, then hurried off.

Meanwhile, Zhou Wenchang finished giving instructions to Secretary Lin and hurried after them, dragging Deputy Magistrate Jian along. "Imperial Censor, please wait up!"

Le Wuya called back from a distance, "I don't dare slow down. I asked the miners—they're all dead. I asked Overseer Niu—he's dead. I asked A Shun—he's dead too. I'm afraid if I take one step slower, I might just go pop and die myself."

Zhou Wenchang gave a weak, sycophantic smile. "You're joking, sir. Where would Your Excellency like to start investigating?"

"Isn't there a fresh corpse in the yamen? I'll go check out the dead guy."

"Your Excellency, the important matters should come first..."

"Everything I do as an official is important. Besides—does Magistrate Zhou not know? Dead people can talk, and they're a hell of a lot more honest than the living."

Le Wuya turned halfway around.

In the daylight, there was a strange, eerie intelligence in the way he looked at people. "Magistrate Zhou, do you believe the dead have souls?"

Zhou Wenchang had no interest in discussing that with him.

Even if the dead had souls, so what?

He hadn't been haunted to death by those three hundred souls yet—so clearly, all that talk about ghosts and spirits couldn't be trusted.

Zhou Wenchang naturally wasn't about to pick a fight with the Imperial Censor. He wisely shut his mouth, and out of the corner of his eye, caught a familiar figure slipping behind a pillar in the corridor.

Zhou Wenchang pretended not to see it. He turned his gaze forward and silently followed Le Wuya.

When the group pushed open the door to A Shun's room, a suffocating wave of heat mixed with a faint stench of rot hit them.

Zhou Wenchang couldn't help holding his breath.

Deputy Magistrate Jian almost threw up.

But the picky, hard-to-please Le Wuya didn't even flinch as he stepped inside.

A Shun lay flat on his back on the bed in the inner room, on a mat woven from bamboo strips. His face was sallow, his eyes squeezed shut—clearly dead.

His face was twisted, his jaw clenched tight—he'd clearly suffered a lot before he died.

Seeing the man who'd once tried to kill him lying dead right in front of him, Zhong Piaoping felt no satisfaction.

It wasn't that he was having a sudden crisis of conscience.

What worried him were more practical things:

First, if A Shun died from the wounds he got in their fight, even with Ji Zhun as a witness, being tied to a man's death would inevitably tarnish his master's reputation.

Second, the reason this guy killed the surviving miners might now be buried with him forever.

Deputy Magistrate Jian wasn't surprised A Shun was dead.

After all, when A Shun was brought back, Zhong Piaoping had chopped him into a bloody mess—several of his finger bones were bent out of shape from the cuts. He'd developed a fever as soon as he got back, so dying from infected wounds was only natural.

Le Wuya walked closer and took a careful look.

He'd seen the injured A Shun out on the big meadow.

Now, looking again, there were no new fatal wounds, no signs of poisoning. His mouth and nose were clean, no blood in the corners of his eyes, no marks around his neck. His lips were parted, eyes closed, limbs twisted—all consistent with repeated convulsions before death, matching the symptoms of dying from an infection.

Everything seemed perfectly cut-and-dry.

Le Wuya picked up A Shun's hand.

The back of the hand was especially badly hurt. It was wrapped up like a fat dumpling, curled like a chicken claw.

Big patches of blood had soaked through the bandages.

Le Wuya peeled back the gauze and saw that he seemed to have been scratching at something like crazy—all the wounds were torn open and bleeding, and two fingernails on his right hand had been ripped clean off.

Le Wuya flung off the thin quilt covering him and searched it inside and out, as if looking for something.

Zhong Piaoping had a vague sense that something was amiss.

He had only just entered the room, yet a thin layer of sweat had already formed on his body, making his wounds sting and his breathing somewhat labored.

He noticed the room faced west, with only a small window, so air circulation was poor, making it exceptionally hot in the height of summer.

Just as Zhong Piaoping was growing suspicious, Le Wuya said without looking back, "A Shun returned to Dansui last night?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Deputy Magistrate Jian replied.

"Who arranged for him to stay in this room?"

"It was the second—" Deputy Magistrate Jian paused, then stole a glance at Zhou Wenchang and corrected himself, "It was the aide Zhou Wenhuan."

Zhou Wenchang explained softly, "It was indeed my younger brother. He studies by my side, preparing for the imperial civil service exam, and occasionally gives a hand when the office is busy."

Le Wuya got to his feet, paced around the room a few times, and opened a cabinet.

Inside were stacked various bedding items, with at least seven or eight thick quilts alone.

Le Wuya felt each one as he went: "The Juren Master surely wouldn't personally tend to the wounded, would he? Who has been caring for A Shun?"

Deputy Magistrate Jian, who had handled this matter, knew some details: "It was Qingyun, a servant in the office."

"Bring him here."

After giving the order, Le Wuya seemed to have felt something in one of the quilts, withdrew his hand, and absentmindedly rubbed his fingertips together, rephrasing his words as well:

"My mistake, let me rephrase."

"Tie him up and bring him to me."