Chapter 317: Battle of Wits (12)

After sending the letter, Le Wuya left everything to fate.

He'd done everything a man could do.

As for what fate had in store, he'd leave that to the heavenly folks like Little Dumpling to sort out.

Le Wuya pushed himself to the absolute limit.

He didn't implicate Secretary Lin or Deputy Magistrate Jian, but instead used their help to mobilize personnel, clearing the roads blocked by Little Linked Mountain's second collapse as fast as possible.

He personally led two officials from the Mining Bureau, along with several mine soldiers who'd owned up to their crimes, up the mountain to investigate, confirming that the mountain's ore had run dry long ago.

He gathered up and buried all the remains, including that leg from a mine soldier Qiu Sinian brought back.

Accompanied by the coroner from the county office, he went through the piles of bones and bloated corpses again and again, meticulously checking each one, verifying the marks left on the dead.

Back then, to make sure nothing went wrong, Zhou Wenchang had gathered these people together and locked them up.

However, the mudslide didn't, as he'd hoped, take all their lives in an instant.

Many were buried alive underground, struggling in the dark, choking, but not dying right away.

When they were dug out, a good number were still breathing.

From the sealed transfer orders Zhou Wenchang had left behind, Le Wuya saw through his sordid little scheme.

He'd first rushed to order the mine soldiers to "save people," then approved transfer orders, calling for county constables to stand by and scramble to gather supplies, so that upon arriving at the scene, nothing would be lacking and they wouldn't be caught short-handed.

This back-and-forth kept them busy for fourteen to sixteen hours before the clueless constables and local soldiers were dispatched to Little Linked Mountain.

In this way, he could look like he'd thought of everything—even if higher-ups checked, they'd only praise his thoroughness—while also giving the mine soldiers at the disaster site plenty of time to silence witnesses.

These mine soldiers worked as fast as they could to wipe out every survivor.

As for those who slipped through the cracks, they were hauled back by scheming types like A Shun, who meant to kill them on the way.

But in the end, you can't hide everything.

Although Zhou Wenchang had told them to use stones when killing, aiming for a single fatal blow to create the illusion of being crushed by falling rocks, things never go exactly as planned.

Some soldiers, seeing the groaning, begging, cursing survivors, got scared. Finding no suitable stones at hand and fearing the victims' cries might be heard by passersby, four were strangled to death.

As for those who did find stones, not all of them were quick about it.

Some were nervous, some had shaky hands, some feared a single blow wouldn't kill and struck repeatedly...

The marks they left on the bodies went way beyond anything that could pass for an accident.

After doing the dirty work, the soldiers smeared thick mud back over the bodies, trying to cover it up.

After all, these were hundreds of corpses.

A pile of unlucky nobodies—who'd give a damn about them? Who'd really go to the trouble of checking every single body?

Le Wuya cared.

Not only did he care, but he also singled out a total of thirty-six corpses with suspicious causes of death and set them aside, stored carefully.

At the same time, he told the coroner that the other miners' bodies needed to be washed clean, one by one, to wash the mud off and see what they really looked like.

The coroner was already exhausted, his legs about to give out. Hearing there was yet another grueling task, his heart sank, and he cautiously advised: "Sir, this... this really isn't necessary, is it? Even if we wash them clean, they'll still end up in the ground in the end. Why go to all this trouble?"

Le Wuya was tired too—so tired his hair was a mess, most of his face hidden behind a thick cloth mask, his eyes the only thing showing, and they were bright enough to make you jump: "Go get some rest."

The coroner was startled, thinking he'd pissed off his boss. He pulled himself together and put on a smile: "Sir, it's not that I'm complaining, it's just—"

"This is rough, I know." Le Wuya said calmly. "You've been through a lot with me these past days. You're worn out. Good job. Go on, get out of here, and let my people take over. Find a man named Wang Cheng, and tell him to log these thirty-six corpses one by one and store them properly. If even one goes missing, I'll use your corpse to make up the difference."

Then, looking at the sweat-soaked coroner, he patted his shoulder and said lightly: "...Just kidding."

The coroner wiped his sweat and stammered a yes.

But when he loaded all the corpses onto carts, intending to transport them back to the Dansui county office, he turned around and found Le Wuya was gone.

He went looking for him and was shocked to see Le Wuya had jumped into the massive burial pit that Zhou Wenchang had dug in advance for the three hundred miners but hadn't used yet.

He lay on his back in the center of the pit, eyes closed, spread-eagled.

There had been no rain in recent days, so the water in the pit had dried up, leaving only soft dirt.

Seeing this, the coroner was startled and cried out: "Sir! Sir—"

"What are you yelling about?" Le Wuya opened his eyes in displeasure. "You trying to raise the dead?"

The coroner was at a loss for words: "Sir... what are you doing?"

Le Wuya gazed at the blue sky, stretching his body: "Tired. Taking a rest."

Then he muttered to himself: "Since we're all going to be bunking together in this big bed anyway, I'll test it out for them first—see if it's soft enough."

The coroner took a second to get what he meant.

A strange ache welled up in his chest, and without meaning to, he lowered his voice: "Sir, rest here for a while. There's a large pot for boiling water at the office. I'll have someone bring it over right away. You can boil a pot first, warm yourself up—it'll help you unwind, and you can test the temperature. If it's good, we'll use it to wash these people's bodies."

Le Wuya's eyes crinkled into a smile, and you could hear the smile in his voice even through the mask: "Thanks."

The coroner felt a warmth in his chest and walked away with a lighter step.

And Le Wuya, lying in the big empty pit, thought—the coroner was right. Setting up a pot to boil water, steaming towels, and scrubbing each rotting corpse until it looked human again was indeed troublesome.

People die, rot, and eventually turn into dirt in the spring—isn't it all the same?

But is it really the same?

To die cleanly, versus being buried underground caked in mud and blood, like a lump of dirt—can those truly be the same?

Le Wuya told himself they were not the same.

Le Wuya did not know where his own body was buried.

He had only heard that the way he looked after death wasn't a pretty sight.

But if he could know anything after death, even in a mass grave, Le Wuya would still go take a look.

For no other reason than to see whether the few blades of wild grass on his grave grew taller and greener than those on neighboring graves.

If he could win at something like that, it would be pretty funny too.

He tilted his face to the heavens and cracked a sly grin, silent as could be.

...

Shangjing—the Hanlin Academy.

By convention, every top scholar (Zhuangyuan) of the Dayu dynasty was appointed Compiler in the Hanlin Academy, a sixth-rank, grade-B post.

This year's Zhuangyuan, Wen Ren, served under Hanlin Academician Du Tonghe, compiling the national history of Dayu, primarily responsible for the biographies of the current dynasty.

His superior, Du Tonghe, had long been quietly appraising this new Zhuangyuan.

He was diligent, gentle, self-disciplined, and humble—free from greed for wealth, fame, or worldly pleasures. Truly a top-tier talent, with limitless potential ahead.

The more Du looked at him, the more satisfied he became, itching to win him over to his side.

Unfortunately, all three of his daughters had long been married off, and no suitable young women could be found among his side branches of the family at the moment.

Day after day, Du Tonghe watched Wen Ren's handsome, obedient face floating around him, and a wicked idea took root—he almost wished he could pair him with his own eighteen- or nineteen-year-old son, who was only attracted to men, just to make do.

While Du was itching to play matchmaker, one day, Wen Ren brought him a dust-covered ledger, with a look of humble inquiry:

"Sir, please take a look. This man has no concubines in his household—only one wife and five servants, all wedding servants from the time of his marriage. Their names and identities are all recorded here. Not counting his wife, the total value of the wedding servants amounts to no more than twenty taels of silver. How could he have managed all this wealth by himself?"

...Who's that?

Du Tonghe didn't pay it much mind, but when he glanced at the confiscation register, he felt something was off.

By all logic, a corrupt official's household would be piled with money and goods, and he'd have a large household staff. He'd have at least a dozen concubines and easily a hundred servants.

Otherwise, what's the point of amassing such a mountain of gold and silver? It couldn't be eaten or drunk—just to look at?

Du Tonghe couldn't help but think proudly: this is the one I've had my eye on—really sharp-eyed, able to spot irregularities at a glance.

Thinking it was some official from a past dynasty, he casually asked, "Which official's household is this?"

Wen Ren answered crisply: "Le Wuya."

Du Tonghe recoiled like he'd been bitten by a snake, throwing the ledger away. Panicked, he lowered his voice and snapped, "What are you doing digging into his—into Rebel Le's register?!"

Wen Ren replied calmly, "I'm compiling the national history."

"You trying to get yourself killed?!" Du Tonghe, still shaken, said with unusual harshness. "Leave him alone for now. This man... his situation is complicated and can't be judged by normal rules. Don't meddle with him!"

Wen Ren nodded obediently, picked up the ledger, and returned to his seat.

But he had no intention of putting it back.

Brother Gu had never spoken to him of his past life, likely out of fear of dragging him into it.

But now that he had won the top scholar title, he could investigate on his own.

As he looked further, he found that even the embezzlement charge against Le Wuya was riddled with inconsistencies.

Embezzled goods could be fabricated, but household members were hard to fake.

Whenever people were involved, there had to be records.

Even a lowly servant who delivered vegetables had his own origins, his parents and relatives, and an indenture contract filed with the local authorities.

Once clearly recorded in the confiscation register, it became a clue for anyone to dig deeper.

So, the household figures should be accurate.

But with so few people in the Le household, lacking even a bookkeeper to manage his accounts, what was Brother Gu hoarding it all for?

Just to display it at home for show?

Wen Ren flipped back a few pages of the confiscation register.

Gold and silver vessels, jewels and jade, farmland and estates, rare relics and antiques...

The entries numbered more than a thousand, a staggering, dazzling array. Just from these alone, Le Wuya was unquestionably the dynasty's greatest corrupt official, and based on this register alone, a death sentence wouldn't be too harsh.

But Wen Ren shook his head as he read on:

Brother Gu clearly loved freshly roasted melon seeds and pastries, the fragrant chili sauce from street stalls, and pretty little trinkets that were useless—bamboo-woven pinwheels, glass lanterns, the little red garments for Er Ya...

When had he ever liked stuff like that—things you couldn't eat and that weren't any fun?