When a relay station appeared before them, the disciple leading a thin, small mule called out happily.

“Master, there’s a place to stay,” he said.

Behind him, Qiao Minghua, sitting on an equally thin, small mule, responded with a wooden expression, “Mm.”

It was near evening, and the relay station was bustling with people coming and going.

The travelers wore various clothing and naturally received different treatment accordingly.

Qiao Minghua and his disciple waited patiently to the side.

After quite a while, a chubby station master looked over.

“Documents,” he said, extending his hand.

The disciple hurriedly produced their identification papers.

The station master carelessly unfolded them, glanced at them, and immediately broke into a smile.

“Oh my, you’re military physicians from the northern desert!” he laughed, hurriedly gesturing for them to enter.

The people passing by were quite surprised to hear this.

Looking at these two unremarkable men leading thin mules and wearing plain cloth, who were now being treated with such courtesy by this station master known for his snobbery, could they have significant backgrounds? Was this truly a case of not judging by appearances? But when they heard the title “military physician,” they were stunned.

Military physician?

Though military physicians nowadays held various official ranks like generals, they ultimately couldn’t compare to those generals whose achievements were obvious. Therefore, promotions were rare, and they basically remained in one position until old age. They hardly counted as people deserving special courtesy.

What was wrong with this station master? He seemed happier than meeting a county magistrate.

“Are you heading to the capital?” the station master asked as he led the two men inside, making small talk.

“Yes,” the disciple replied.

Qiao Minghua remained woodenly silent.

After calling over a clerk to inquire, the station master looked somewhat uneasy.

“I’m truly sorry. The private upper rooms are all taken,” he said apologetically.

“No problem, we can stay in the common dormitory,” the disciple replied.

The station master sighed in relief, quickly having someone guide them there, then thought of something else.

“It’s just that there’s already someone staying in the dormitory,” he said, his expression hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” the disciple asked in confusion. “Won’t he let us stay together?”

“No, no, that’s not it,” the station master said quickly. “This person is somewhat… peculiar.”

“The world is vast, everyone is different. No matter,” Qiao Minghua spoke up.

The station master glanced at him—so this person wasn’t mute after all.

He said no more and had someone guide the two men to the dormitory.

“Sir, you’re letting these two stay with that man carrying the bone frame?” a clerk came over and asked quietly. “That fellow is too strange. If he frightens these two military physicians and they complain to Master Hu San, we might lose some silver…”

The station master stroked his chin, watching the two men’s retreating figures.

“Should be fine. I think these two are strange enough themselves,” he said, shaking his head. “Besides, they’re military physicians. They’ve seen plenty of life, death, and white bones on the battlefield. Having them room with that man is most appropriate.”

“This is the place,” the clerk said, pointing to the room before them.

The room was lit, with a tall, thin shadow cast on the window, sitting at a table apparently reading or practicing calligraphy.

The disciple expressed his thanks.

“Please trouble yourself to give our mule an extra handful of beans,” he said with a smile, taking out two coins to give the clerk.

The clerk smiled and refused to take them.

“No need for that. You work hard daily, earning wages paid for with your lives. We can’t take your money,” he said, walking away without allowing argument.

The disciple shook his head and smiled, holding the coins.

“Master, how strange. Don’t they say these station people are the most snobbish, judging people by their appearance and money? But all along this journey, these people have been incredibly courteous to us. I guess we misunderstood them,” he said.

Qiao Minghua’s expression remained wooden.

“What’s it to us,” he said, reaching out to push the door.

One push failed to open it. Qiao Minghua thought the door was old and heavy, so he applied more force.

The door made a clanging sound—obviously it was barred from inside.

This noise startled the person inside.

“What do you want?”

A man’s voice asked.

“Guests,” the disciple said quickly.

There was silence inside, then rustling sounds, as if the person was tidying something.

“Wait a moment,” he said.

What was he doing? Counting money behind locked doors?

The disciple pursed his lips and had to wait.

After a while, the door opened. Under two dim oil lamps, a man in black clothing stood before them.

The lantern hanging by the door illuminated his appearance.

About thirty years old, with clear brows and handsome features, but a gaunt face and no smile, giving him a somewhat cold demeanor.

He briefly surveyed Qiao Minghua and his disciple, then turned and walked away.

Qiao Minghua and his disciple entered the room and saw bedding already laid out on the common bed—obviously the man’s.

The disciple hurried to lay out another set of bedding.

Qiao Minghua went to place his bundle on the table.

A large, square box was already on the table, and the man was tidying up writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone at the desk.

Qiao Minghua saw the papers he was organizing, covered with dense writing.

He wasn’t one for conversation, and this man also seemed disinclined to talk. The room fell silent.

“Is this gentleman also heading to the capital?” the young disciple asked warmly, unable to bear the silence after making his bed.

The man grunted, appearing unwilling to continue the conversation.

The disciple was rebuffed. Indeed strange, but no matter—if he didn’t want to talk, so be it. The disciple had met plenty of people who didn’t like talking, such as his own master.

As the man tidied his things, his gaze inadvertently fell on Qiao Minghua’s bundle.

Qiao Minghua was frugal, using a military-issued backpack to carry his belongings, marked with a red cross.

“You… are physicians?” the man suddenly asked.

Qiao Minghua grunted, also seeming unwilling to continue the conversation.

“Yes, yes, we’re military physicians, from the northern desert,” the disciple said enthusiastically.

The man looked at them, his expression changing, actually showing a trace of a smile.

His cold countenance immediately became warm and bright.

“Military physicians from the northern desert,” he said. “From the northern desert…”

He repeated “northern desert” twice—the first time in amazement, the second with a touch of… sadness.

Qiao Minghua paid no attention, taking out a wooden basin and copper bowl, preparing to wash up.

The man said nothing more, appearing lost in thought. Under the oil lamp, his expression seemed both sad and happy.

This person was indeed very strange, the disciple thought, unable to help muttering.

“Wash up quickly and sleep. We need to leave early tomorrow,” Qiao Minghua said.

The disciple agreed, abandoning his intention to chat with the man. He hurried to fetch water, and he and Qiao Minghua washed up. When they were ready for bed, the man finally rose from the table to wash and retire.

The room’s lamps were extinguished, and night enveloped the interior.

Qiao Minghua and his disciple were tired from the journey, especially the young disciple who was at an age where he could eat and sleep well. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, immediately snoring.

Qiao Minghua heard the man on the other side turning over—disturbed by his disciple’s snoring and unable to sleep, no doubt. However, Qiao Minghua had no intention of waking his disciple.

In this life, away from home, how could everything go according to one’s wishes?

He turned over and pulled the blanket tighter.

“You’re military physicians from the northern desert…”

The man suddenly spoke, his voice trembling, seeming both excited and sad.

“Then do you know Qi…” the man continued.

Qiao Minghua listened, but the man stopped there.

Know Qi? Know what?

What did he mean?

Qiao Minghua wondered, but heard no more movement from that side, then the man turned over to sleep.

Really… a strange person.

He muttered to himself and closed his eyes.

But before he could fall asleep, a sharp cry from outside startled them.

“Murder!”

This cry set the entire relay station in turmoil.

In the back courtyard, torches lit up half the sky.

Outside the kitchen servants’ quarters, a fat man lay on the ground covered in blood, eyes wide open.

A station guard withdrew his hand from the man’s nose.

“Dead,” he said, shaking his head.

Hearing this, a man being held by two people, blood on his hands and body, immediately turned ashen.

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!” he shouted loudly, struggling desperately.

“Stone Third! Still making excuses! If you didn’t do it, who did! Everyone saw you holding the knife, with blood on your hands and body! Stone Third, you quarreled with Bear Boss just a few days ago, threatening to kill him, and you actually did it!” the station master shouted, glaring angrily at the man.

“No, no, I did want to kill him, but I really didn’t kill him! Stone Third was holding this knife himself. I saw him looking scary and grabbed it from him. This blood has nothing to do with me. He was already like this when I arrived… Sir, sir, I’m innocent!” the man cried out.

“Innocent or not, tell it to the county yamen,” the station master snapped, then looked at a clerk nearby. “Did you notify the county yamen?”

“Notified them, they’re coming,” the clerk nodded.

The station master grunted, about to say something when he caught sight of someone walking directly toward the corpse, startling him.

“You—what are you doing?” he called out, looking in that direction.

Qiao Minghua had come with that man.

Hearing the word “murder,” his physician’s instincts brought him over. As for why that man also came, presumably to watch the excitement.

But he hadn’t expected the man to walk directly to the corpse, and crouching down to examine the body… This was taking spectating too far!

The surrounding people also came to their senses, pointing and talking in amazement.

“Hey, what are you doing!” the station master shouted, forgetting propriety as he rushed over, calling to the crowd, “Quick, pull him away!”

The man stood up on his own, looking at the charging station master and others, then at the man pressed to the ground, crying bitterly.

“He’s not the murderer,” he said calmly.

Everyone stared at him blankly.

Was he crazy?

“You, you—go away! Just because you say he’s not the murderer doesn’t mean he isn’t! Who are you?” the station master came to his senses and shouted frantically.

No wonder he had thought this man strange from the beginning—he was a madman!

His identification papers were probably stolen, weren’t they?

He really shouldn’t have let him stay!

Before he finished speaking, there was another commotion outside. County yamen runners and constables arrived.

“Master Li, quickly, there’s been a murder, but we caught the perpetrator on the spot,” the station master hurried over and said loudly, with a touch of pride.

“He didn’t kill anyone. This person accidentally killed himself.”

A male voice followed the station master’s words.

The station master angrily turned around.

“Why don’t you arrest this madman!” he shouted.

Before he finished speaking, the constable beside him exclaimed and ignored him, going straight to the man.

“Are you Officer Yuan from Dingwang County?” the constable asked respectfully.

The man glanced at him and nodded.

“I am Yuan Ziqing,” he said. “But I’m no longer Dingwang’s officer.”

The constable became even more respectful, quickly smiling and bowing.

“Congratulations on your promotion, sir. I’m Li Kun. I had the honor of seeing Master Yuan during the headless male corpse case at Wang Tiger Village…” he said.

Yuan Ziqing nodded.

“This man didn’t kill him,” he said, wiping his hands with a clean part of the dead man’s clothing, standing up and pointing to the corpse on the ground. “He should have suffered a sudden illness while cutting meat, fell and injured a vital spot, and died.”

The station master and others listened in stunned silence.

Based on what? You talk as if you saw it happen!

But the constable nodded repeatedly.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” he said.

Yuan Ziqing said nothing more and walked away.

Everyone, including Qiao Minghua, looked bewildered.

That was… it? Case closed?

“Release him, release him,” Constable Li said to the man being held.

The man wailed.

“Thank you, merciful lord! Thank you, merciful lord!” He was like someone who had escaped death, crying out in mad joy, kowtowing repeatedly toward the direction where the man had left.

Thank him for what? Why was whatever he said taken as truth?

“What do you mean ‘what’? He’s Master Yuan! The divine judge Yuan Ziqing from Dingwang County!” Constable Li stared and said, facing the crowd’s questioning with an expression as if they were the strange ones.

Once the words “divine judge” were spoken, some people understood.

“Oh, that’s the divine judge who uses white bones to identify murderers!”

“That’s the divine judge who solved the coffin blood-dripping case!”

Such talk spread in chaos, and immediately half the people present lost their doubts, instead showing realization.

“Since the divine judge said he didn’t kill anyone, then he definitely didn’t,” everyone said.

Qiao Minghua paid no attention to the officers’ investigation. He looked in amazement toward the direction where the man had left.

So this man was so capable.

The onlookers were dispersed, and Qiao Minghua had no interest in watching further. He hurried back, with Yuan Ziqing’s figure appearing not far ahead. Just as they reached the door, his disciple’s startled cry came from inside.

Qiao Minghua quickened his pace, entering the door almost simultaneously with Yuan Ziqing.

Inside, the disciple sat on the ground holding an oil lamp, looking in panic at what lay before him.

A box had fallen in front of him, scattered open, spilling white bones across the floor. A skull faced the disciple directly.

“Master, master,” the disciple crawled toward Qiao Minghua in terror.

Anyone who woke up groggily in the middle of the night to find their master and others gone, with chaos outside, would hurriedly light a lamp only to accidentally knock over the box on the table, and at the moment the lamp lit up, see those grim human bones at their feet would be badly frightened.

Yuan Ziqing remained calm, walking over to slowly pack the bones back into the box.

“You’re physicians,” he said, turning to look at the master and disciple with a smile—though this smile carried some mockery. “Yet you’re still afraid of bones?”

After saying this, he paid them no more attention.

The disciple had calmed down by now. He wasn’t really afraid, it was just too sudden…

“How did you know that person died from sudden illness and self-injury?” Qiao Minghua couldn’t help asking curiously.

Yuan Ziqing had finished organizing the box and placed it back on the table, patting it as if it contained some rare treasure.

“How do you know which medicine treats which ailment?” he didn’t answer, but asked in return.

Qiao Minghua was stunned, then smiled and stopped asking.

“You are…” he hesitated and changed topics.

But Yuan Ziqing shook his head.

“I want to sleep. Before I sleep, I don’t like talking to people,” he said.

Qiao Minghua had to swallow his words.

What a strange person indeed.