Chapter Seventy-Four: Snatching Someone

Wen Jing said, “For the killer to have climbed onto the roof to commit the crime, he must not only be cunning but also quite agile. Do you think it’s possible he slipped out of Li Garden at night, committed the murder, and then sneaked back in?”

Ji Changge shook her head after hearing this. “The capital is tightly guarded, and there are many curfews at night. You saw it yourself just now—if we didn’t have the Dali Court’s identification, we couldn’t have gone so far. No matter how skilled he is, it wouldn’t be easy to avoid all the patrols.”

“Indeed, there’s a much simpler possibility. The killer checked into the inn in the afternoon, committed the murder at night, then simply went back to sleep and left in the morning, entirely above suspicion,” Wen Jing mused, pacing. “The safest place is often the most dangerous, as the saying goes: ‘under the lamp, it’s darkest.’”

“Exactly! Why didn’t I think of that? It’s very likely. We only need to check the guests who stayed at the inn, and the killer will come to light.” Ji Changge felt a sudden clarity, glanced at Wen Jing, and suddenly said, “Don’t move.”

Wen Jing froze and indeed didn’t move.

Ji Changge reached out and brushed something from Wen Jing’s hair, smiling. “You picked up a bit of grime from the roof earlier, and it got on your hair.”

Wen Jing felt her face grow warm, but the news of her father being quarantined quickly dispelled her mood. She said hastily, “Let’s ask Manager Qian if he noticed any suspicious people.”

When they went downstairs, Manager Qian was pacing anxiously, as if he had been waiting for ages. The moment he saw them, he blurted out, “Lord Ji, I’ve heard Dali Court guards are fierce enough to drive away evil spirits. Could you assign a few dozen men to watch the place for a few days?”

Ji Changge was at a loss for words. The request was rather absurd. She frowned and said, “Sorry, the Dali Court doesn’t handle ghosts. If you want an exorcism, you’d better hire a priest or monk.”

Manager Qian bowed repeatedly in apology. “That was thoughtless of me...”

“Vengeful spirits,” Wen Jing mused, nodding, “Manager Qian, do you have any rivals?”

Manager Qian hesitated. “Yes, I do. Old Zhou at the end of the street runs the Fortune Inn. Our businesses were about the same, but I recently renovated, and my business has improved.”

“When your inn was quiet, where did your guests go?” Wen Jing pressed.

“Of course, to the Fortune Inn—his is the only one nearby… Miss, aren’t you going off-topic?” Manager Qian sounded displeased. This young lady was pretty, but every word was like rubbing salt in his wound—not a kind soul at all.

Wen Jing smiled slightly. “Manager Qian, don’t you see? If you fall on hard times, he profits. If your inn closes, he’ll make a killing. Where do you think the problem lies?”

Manager Qian began to understand, though he still looked confused. “Miss, are you saying the Fortune Inn is up to something? But my inn is the one haunted.”

Wen Jing sighed in exasperation. “There’s a story in the ‘Strategies of the Warring States’—spread a rumor enough, and even if there are no ghosts, people will believe there are. Even you are half-convinced now.”

Ji Changge couldn’t help but smile. “Seventh Lady, stop teasing Manager Qian. It’s simple—your rival is spreading rumors that your inn is haunted.”

“No wonder! I tried to stop the storytellers, but they wouldn’t listen. So they’ve been bribed! That wretch Old Zhou, how vicious!” Manager Qian, seeing their irritation, thanked them profusely before withdrawing.

A moment later, Ji Changge said with a wry smile, “I forgot to ask about any suspicious people. I’ll go find him.”

Just then, the door to one of the rooms opened, and a girl in yellow came out carrying a brass basin.

Wen Jing called over a guard nearby. “Why is there still someone staying here?”

“That’s Manager Qian’s only daughter, Qian Jiaojiao,” replied the guard.

Wen Jing nodded and walked over to the girl, silently watching as she fetched water. Though young, the girl was strikingly pretty, yet her face was clouded with sadness.

“Miss Qian, did you know the deceased?” Wen Jing asked suddenly.

There was a loud clang as the basin dropped to the ground.

“No, I didn’t,” Qian Jiaojiao said quickly, bending to pick it up. Scratch marks showed on her pale wrist.

Wen Jing noted her fluster and grew suspicious. “Such fair wrists—what a pity they’re scratched.”

“The house cat did it,” Qian Jiaojiao replied, trying to avoid Wen Jing’s gaze.

“Just making conversation—no need to be so nervous,” Wen Jing reassured her.

Manager Qian came down the stairs with Ji Changge and, seeing this, barked, “What are you doing out here? Go inside at once!”

“Yes, Father,” Qian Jiaojiao replied, hurrying inside.

Manager Qian bowed. “My daughter is ill-mannered. Please forgive her if she offended you, Miss Wen.”

“Not at all—I should apologize for startling her. Please convey my apologies,” Wen Jing replied, though her suspicions deepened.

The two of them left the inn with their guards. Ji Changge patted the thick register in her hand. “This is the guest log. I looked it over—none of the names are familiar.”

They kept a guest register in this era?

Wen Jing, curious, took the book and felt truly ignorant. This world was much like her own Ming dynasty—travelers more than a hundred li from home needed travel permits, stamped at every checkpoint, just like passports.

She glanced at a line: “Wang Heichui, traveling merchant from Luzhou, five feet three inches tall, dark and thin. Checked in on the twenty-fourth of May at the hour of You, with permit.”

The pages were filled with such entries. Wen Jing flipped to the fourth day of the eighth month, the day of the crime, and found that none of Li Garden’s people had checked in that day.

“How strange—was my deduction wrong?” Wen Jing asked in disbelief.

Ji Changge laughed for once. “Seventh Lady, even someone as meticulous as you can be mistaken.”

“What do you mean?” Wen Jing asked.

“Anyone could have used a false name to check in,” Ji Changge said.

“If you hadn’t reminded me, I’d have forgotten…” Wen Jing flushed, a little embarrassed.

Ji Changge went on, “Not just that—the killer could have disguised himself, altered his features with certain berry juices, changed his skin color, his hairstyle, his clothes… a scholar could become a farmer and no one would notice.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Wen Jing replied, wishing she could disappear on the spot.

Noticing her embarrassment, Ji Changge changed the subject. “By the way, what did you just notice?”

“When I mentioned the victim, Fang Wenbin, Qian Jiaojiao’s response was evasive—quite suspicious,” Wen Jing replied, immediately regaining her composure when it came to the case.

Ji Changge was surprised. “You suspect her?”

“She’s frail, hardly a martial artist. I only think she knows something, or perhaps has seen the killer, which is why she was so nervous.”

Hearing this, Ji Changge turned to the guards. “Keep watch over the inn and the father and daughter. See if anything is amiss.”

“Yes, my lord, I won’t let them out of sight.”

Wen Jing added, “No—just watch them discreetly. Report their whereabouts promptly, but don’t alert them.”

The guard hesitated and looked at Ji Changge.

Ji Changge said coldly, “What are you looking at? Do as Seventh Lady says.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard replied, nodding vigorously. Odd—since when did Seventh Lady call the shots for the young master?

...

Wen Jing and Ji Changge returned to the Dali Court, finding the guards pacing anxiously in the courtyard.

Ding Wu, seeing Ji Changge, hurried over. “My lord, you’re finally back. Lord Liang was summoned by the emperor. I heard that Wen Langzhong of the Ministry of Rites has been detained in the palace for quarantine and investigation. I don’t know about Lord Liang…”

“With three murders in quick succession under the emperor’s nose, it’s natural that His Majesty is furious.” Ji Changge’s eyes darkened. These were dangerous times—anyone could be next. If Lord Liang had been summoned, the next might be the Minister of Justice.

“There’s one more thing…” Ding Wu hesitated.

“Speak,” Ji Changge said, frowning.

“After Lord Liang left, Vice Minister Zhao of the Ministry of Justice and Prefect Cao took the suspect Sixi from the dungeon, saying they’d question him themselves, and wouldn’t let any of our people near.”

“What?!” Ji Changge was furious. Zhao Shenghua was going too far—taking a Dali Court prisoner without so much as a word. What did that make the Dali Court?

Wen Jing was alarmed. Zhao Shenghua was notorious for his cruelty—his torture methods were endless. Many prisoners confessed at the first blow; there must be many souls who died unjustly at his hands.

“Take me to him,” Ji Changge ordered, face dark as thunder.

Ding Wu and two anxious guards followed Ji Changge, with Wen Jing behind them. They hurried to the dungeon.

A middle-aged man stepped forward, as if he’d been waiting at the door. “Lord Ji, what brings you here so late…”

“I’m here to see Vice Minister Zhao.” Ji Changge didn’t even glance at him, heading straight for the dungeon. Any later, and they might find nothing but a corpse.

“My lord, where are you going?” the man asked, trying to block their way with a smile.

“The dungeon,” Ji Changge replied coldly, sidestepping him.

The man wiped his brow, unable to stop Ji Changge. Apparently, Lord Zhao had expected this—he knew Ji Changge would come.

Before they even reached the door, Wen Jing could hear agonized screams, the stench of burnt flesh, and the faint lash of a whip from within.

ps: This chapter has been revised—the word count is unchanged. Yesterday’s version was rather chaotic, so I’ve edited it. My apologies.