Chapter Seventy-Three: Imprisonment

During the autumn examination period, the oppressive heat persisted. Though the heavy rain chased away the summer swelter, it rendered the circumstances of the scholars participating in the provincial exams all the more arduous.

The examination cells at the examination hall were divided into four classes. The “Old Cells,” built first near Mingyuan Tower, were tall and spacious—the most desirable. The “New Cells” were later additions, hastily constructed, cramped and stifling, the most uncomfortable. The “Stench Cells” stood by the latrines, rank with foul smells, yet during rainstorms, the most miserable were the “Rain Cells,” whose dilapidated roofs let in the downpour.

Should a paper become tainted by rain, it was declared invalid—meaning three years of waiting and effort would be for naught.

A murder of a candidate within the examination hall was a grave crime. Wen Qiran dared not conceal it; he prepared a memorial and sent it up at once.

Much like the sudden rain, the emperor’s abrupt decree left Wen Qiran unprepared, though not entirely surprised. The provincial exam was the second, critical step in the nation’s process of selecting talent. The “Carp Garden Case,” the “Tongfu Inn Case,” and now the “Examination Hall Case”—three deaths in succession, all candidates, each connected in some way to the examinations. As the chief examiner, his responsibility was inescapable.

Assistant Minister Yu of the Ministry of Rites was directing the craftsmen, taking advantage of the daylight hours after the examination to repair the cells overnight. He had just been given temporary charge of the provincial exam as chief examiner. Pitiful, nearly sixty and yet forced to direct repairs in the rain. The emperor was furious over the murders—if the scholars’ examinations were further disrupted by the rain, Yu himself would not escape severe punishment. Thus, he could only resent Wen Qiran.

“Murder in the examination hall—an affront to the nation’s laws! The emperor’s rage is only natural. Wen Qiran’s negligence will surely bring him down. He was to be promoted to vice minister after this exam, but even fate will not let him rest. Still, this gives me hope to advance.” Yu’s heart beat with a little excitement; his resentment somewhat eased.

The candidates had all fallen into deep sleep; the case was closely guarded, so no one knew a death had occurred among them. Otherwise, the night would have been anything but peaceful.

...

Zou Ming, Fang Wenbin, Su Zi’an—their three bodies were preserved in the icehouse of the Court of Judicial Review. Officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Capital’s Prefecture involved in the case were all stationed at the Court, investigating through the night.

Cao Tai, Prefect of the Capital, was an old fox. Sensing the difficulty of the case, he had not wished to get involved, but was summoned and scolded by the emperor earlier that day. Now, he was dutifully reviewing the files, though investigation was never his strength.

Ji Changge, thanks to his noble status, had escaped much imperial blame—a fact that left old Cao somewhat disgruntled.

The Ministry of Justice had joined the investigation in haste. The famed constables of Six Gates worked swiftly, arresting many suspects without discrimination and throwing them all in jail. This heavy-handed approach made Ji Changge frown; such methods were crude and violent.

With so many people involved, and the Ministry of Justice relying on their authority, arrogance and disregard for procedure had only slowed progress. Ji closed the case files, refused to bring his men, and, braving the rain, drove his carriage toward the Wen residence.

Cao Tai sighed, “At this rate, I fear we’ll never solve the case.”

The Ministry of Justice had sent Vice Minister Zhao Shenghua. Zhao shook his head, “Not necessarily. I reviewed the suspects’ statements in detail. Wang Jue’s servant, Sixi, is highly suspicious. With a little pressure, he’ll surely confess.”

Cao Tai, always prudent, said anxiously, “With the young lord absent, interrogating suspects he brought in—would that be appropriate?”

Zhao snorted, “Why not? Sixi’s traits all match the killer. For so major a suspect, Ji Changge refuses to investigate. If anything, he is protecting him, not detaining him. His motives are unfathomable!”

“Lord Zhao, you speak reason.” Cao Tai broke into a cold sweat, wisely choosing to keep silent. These words were a veiled accusation that Ji Changge was shielding the criminal. Zhao’s methods were truly ruthless.

...

“Lady Seventh, there’s been a change at the examination hall. Your father has already been detained for investigation.”

Urgent knocking cut through Wen Jing’s restless dreams. Her maid, Qingliu, was quick to light the lamp and open the door.

Ji Changge, drenched, slipped inside, bringing a burst of chill air. The old housekeeper, Zhou Quan, lingered at the threshold, uneasy—what propriety was there in a young man visiting a maiden’s room at night? Unless, perhaps, the young lord had taken a liking to their seventh miss?

The housekeeper dismissed the absurd thought. Such a distinguished young lord would not barge in at midnight without grave reason.

Wen Jing, disregarding propriety, threw on a robe and asked anxiously, “What happened? Is my father all right?”

Ji Changge quickly explained the situation.

Wen Jing’s heart steadied somewhat, though worry lingered in her eyes. If word got out that her father was imprisoned, the household would be thrown into chaos. After some thought, she declared, “Master Ji, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Ji Changge was taken aback.

“To investigate.” Wen Jing replied succinctly.

It was already night, and investigating would be inconvenient, but since the frail Lady Wen had suggested it, Ji Changge could not refuse—he had, in fact, come for this very reason.

With the weather so foul, umbrellas were useless. They each donned a straw raincloak, a comical sight for two of their stature.

“Miss, why not take me along?” Qingliu hurried after them.

Wen Jing waved her back. “I’m not going to examine corpses. There’s no need.”

The old housekeeper, hearing his master had been arrested, knew the gravity of the situation and did not try to stop them. He simply pleaded, “Young Lord, please look after my Lady Seventh.”

Ji Changge promised, “Of course. As long as I am here, not a single hair—er, not a single strand of her hair—will be lost!”

Beneath the raincloak, Wen Jing’s face tightened; something in her heart was faintly stirred, but she said nothing, urging, “Let’s go before the gossiping old maids find out and start spreading rumors.”

The two left the Wen residence and climbed into the carriage.

Suddenly, Ji Changge seemed to recall something. “Wait—you’re not going to examine the body?”

“As with the Carp Garden Case and Tongfu Inn Case, there’s no flaw to be found on the body. It’s time to change our thinking.”

“Go on,” Ji Changge nodded approvingly.

“First, the killer strikes repeatedly without leaving a trace—suggesting preparation, perhaps even an accomplice. Second, though brazen enough to kill in the examination cell, the killer is also cunning; hidden among the candidates, he would arouse no suspicion. This is his cleverness...”

“You mean the killer is a candidate?” Ji Changge mused, and a face appeared in his mind—Wang Jue. Could it be him?

While he pondered, Wen Jing’s cold voice shattered his illusion. “It cannot be Wang Jue.”

“All three victims were contenders for the top honors. The killer wanted to eliminate rivals. Wang Jue’s lame leg means that, no matter how brilliant his essays, he could never be chosen as top scholar. His name would never be called beyond the East China Gate.”

Ji Changge said, “In that case, he has no motive. Perhaps the killer meant to frame him.”

Wen Jing nodded. “As for the killer... Third, I’ve been reconsidering the locations. The Carp Garden, Tongfu Inn, and now another murder at the examination hall—it’s strange.”

She produced a fire striker, illuminating the carriage.

Ji Changge noticed she had brought a map. She pointed to three spots.

Ji Changge, himself meticulous, realized the three locations formed a rough triangle. He frowned, “Any three points can make a triangle. There’s nothing remarkable in that.”

“Master Ji, as long as the murderer is at large, the string of murders is not over. Who knows what shape the final pattern will take?”

“Even thinking of this gives me a headache. Let’s check the inn—Fang Wenbin’s murder might have left a clue.”

“Just what I intended,” Wen Jing replied.

It was late; the city was under curfew, but Ji Changge, flashing his official token, passed unhindered. When they reached Tongfu Inn, the lights were blazing, but the place was devoid of life.

They had barely knocked when a startled shout came from within. “Who’s there!”

“It’s me,” Ji Changge called, raising his lantern. He had already stationed two guards at the scene to prevent tampering.

“It’s Lord Ji of the Court of Judicial Review. Manager Qian, you need not fear,” the guard reassured, hurrying down to open the door and admit them.

Ji Changge scanned the inn. “Why are the candles lit if no one is staying here?”

Manager Qian came downstairs, looking haggard. “My lord, the inn is haunted.”

Wen Jing, seeing his drawn face, guessed what had happened. “Sit down and explain.”

Due to the mysterious death of Fang Wenbin, rumors had sprung up. A candidate had died in a locked room, without a mark on him—suddenly dead. Some said the soul-snatching was the work of a female ghost; others, that an evil spirit who had died in that very room was claiming vengeance. Stories abounded, and some claimed to have heard strange noises at night. The rumors were vivid and detailed; soon, the inn was deserted and business had all but dried up.

In recent days, the manager had been unable to sleep for worry.

With dawn approaching, Ji Changge prepared to inspect the scene.

“Who broke down this door?” he asked.

“It was him,” the manager pointed to a servant.

“It was me. The manager was worried for the guest and sent me to break it down,” the servant explained.

Ji Changge inspected the broken latch and the marks on the door—indeed, the servant spoke the truth.

Inside, nothing seemed amiss. The deceased had been slumped over the table, a nail driven into the back of his head—the killer must have struck from behind. Yet the door had been locked from within. How could the killer have left and relocked it? Or had he never entered the room at all?

“My lord, could it really be the work of an evil spirit?” a guard ventured.

Ji Changge shot him a glare. “Evil spirit? You believe the tricks of charlatans? If evil spirits could kill, every criminal you’ve arrested would have been haunted to death by now!”

The guard shrank and wiped the spittle from his face, silently cursing his own ill timing.

Wen Jing looked up at the ceiling. Suddenly, inspiration struck—what if the killer had come in through the roof? That would explain the locked door.

“Master Ji, could the killer have entered through the roof?” she asked.

The roof? Ji Changge looked up—it was possible.

“Wait here. I’ll check.”

He climbed onto the roof and carefully inspected the tiles, finally discovering two or three that had recently been shifted, and several others broken—likely stepped on. He lifted the tiles, finding that the opening was directly above the table inside. Dropping a pebble through, it landed squarely on the table below—proving one could strike the victim from above.

Wen Jing, seeing Ji Changge return with a pleased expression, asked, “Any findings?”

“The killer struck from the roof. Some tiles were broken. From that hole, a nail could be shot into the room. The hole isn’t large enough for an adult to climb through—unless it were a child. But with enough skill, the killer could strike accurately without entering,” Ji Changge said.

Wen Jing nodded. In these times, exceptional people abound—experts in martial arts, strange weapons and hidden projectiles. The method of firing a red-hot nail into the victim’s skull could be determined once the killer was caught—but that was not the key. The real question was: who was the killer?

What grudge did the murderer bear against these candidates? Who stood to gain from their deaths? That was the heart of the matter both were pondering.

(To be continued...)