In the main hall of Shuangyuan Inn, Hua Yitang tapped his fan against his skull, thinking hard about those two inexplicable dying-message strokes. “If someone knew their end was near and wanted to leave one final message, what would they write?”
Jin Ruo: “If it were me, I’d definitely write the killer’s name.”
Wan Lin: “I’d write where I’d hidden all my money and valuables at home!”
Fang Ke: “Perhaps it was nothing more than muscle spasms — meaningless scrawling.”
“I’m actually more curious about the killer’s motive for murdering Shan Yuanming.” Lin Sui’an stared at the bronze key they had retrieved. It was an ordinary-looking key with no identifying marks, its surface showing minor wear. The back was smooth — it had clearly been in use for some time.
Ling Zhiyan pressed his forehead until the skin was red. “Hidden so thoroughly — where on earth does this key belong?”
Lin Sui’an sighed. They had practically torn Shan Yuanming’s room apart without finding the wooden box from the golden finger’s memory. It seemed Shan Yuanming had hidden it elsewhere.
The golden finger’s clue had hit a dead end.
“Adjudicator Wan, Adjudicator Ling — the witnesses are here.” Ming Feng led the innkeeper and a serving boy into the main hall.
The serving boy was the first to discover the body — a fifteen-year-old lad called A’San, thin and small. Having apparently already been questioned once by Wan Lin, he was pale-faced but managed to answer in a reasonably organized manner.
“It was around the start of Xu. I was passing by Frost Maple Hall when I heard a sound inside —”
Ling Zhiyan: “What kind of sound?”
A’San: “It was like… the scraping of furniture being dragged, and like someone rummaging through things. The ‘Tian’ suite is a private courtyard — only Shan Liulang stays there. He’s usually quiet, with very few visitors. I thought it was strange, so I went to knock. But there was no sound from inside. I tried the door — it was bolted from within and wouldn’t open. I called out to Shan Liulang from outside, and still nothing. I thought something was wrong. I pressed my eye to the gap in the door and saw blood on the screen — that gave me such a fright! I ran straight away to find the innkeeper —”
Innkeeper: “That’s right, that’s right — A’San came to find me. I grabbed several serving men at once, and we had a terrible time before we finally broke the door down. And what we saw inside — blood all over the floor — nearly frightened me to death! Aiyo, I ask you, now that something like this has happened, how am I supposed to keep running this inn?!”
And with that, he pulled back his sleeve and began to weep.
Wan Lin looked pained. “Innkeeper, be at ease — once the culprit is caught, the Jing Zhao Prefecture will post a notice to the public explaining the situation so the inn is not implicated. Then you find a Daoist to hold a few rites, to drive out the evil influence — once that’s done, business will surely turn around.”
“Many thanks for the kind words, Your Honour!” The innkeeper wept all the harder.
Who would have thought — this Adjutant Wan looks rough and wild on the outside, but his mind is quite thoughtful. Lin Sui’an observed privately.
Ling Zhiyan: “From the moment you spotted the blood to when people came to break down the door — how much time passed in between?”
A’San: “About two quarters of an hour.”
“After you broke down the door, did you see anyone?”
A’San and the innkeeper both shook their heads.
Ling Zhiyan asked a few more rounds of questions about specific details — all yielded nothing useful — and dismissed the two of them.
“In other words, after killing Shan Yuanming, the killer did not immediately flee. He remained in the room and continued searching, until the serving boy came to investigate — only then did he make a hasty exit.” Ling Zhiyan said.
“There’s another possibility — the killer deliberately made noise to draw the serving boy over, then climbed out over the back wall and waited. Once the inn and the street were in an uproar—” Lin Sui’an looked at Jin Ruo. “They say the whole street was in chaos.”
Jin Ruo nodded. “That’s right.”
Wan Lin: “Of course! The killer could use the chaos to blend into the crowd and escape!”
Hua Yitang: “He may have had a cloak or an outer robe to cover the bloodstains on his body.”
Wan Lin scratched his head. “How do you even find someone like that!”
Ling Zhiyan: “Have all the other guests at the inn been questioned?”
Wan Lin: “This inn has forty-six scholars in residence. All have been questioned — all are ordinary students. None were near Frost Maple Hall at the time of the incident, and there are no eyewitnesses.”
A knock came at the door. Ming Shu entered with Fang Ke and the Jing Zhao coroner, presenting the inquest record.
Fang Ke: “The cause of death was internal bleeding at the back of the skull — a blood clot pressing on the cerebral blood vessels.”
Wan Lin: “What? Shan Yuanming had an injury to the back of his head too?!”
He was asking the Jing Zhao coroner. But that unfortunate official had gone chalky white and could only keep nodding, unable to utter a word — reduced to nothing more than an echo of Fang Ke. Whatever he had witnessed during the half-hour spent watching Fang Ke conduct the autopsy had evidently left an impression not easily described as pleasant — his complexion and reactions made it clear that it had been, in all probability, a deeply unpleasant experience.
Fang Ke’s expression remained perfectly still. He paid the other coroner’s reaction no notice whatsoever. “Shan Yuanming’s body also bears several external injuries. The first is a blunt-force impact wound on the left side of the forehead — one inch and four fen in depth, three inches and two fen in width, two inches and one fen in length, irregular edges, large blood loss, caused by a blunt object striking repeatedly.”
This wound must have been made at the desk corner. Lin Sui’an thought.
“The anterior side of the neck bears bruising, with none on the posterior side. The width of the bruising matches the width of a collar — consistent with someone grabbing the collar from behind and pulling it tight against the throat before death.” Here Fang Ke paused, a faint glint moving through those ink-black pupils. “All ten fingers are broken. The inner membrane of the mouth is damaged in a mottled pattern.”
At that, everyone fell briefly silent.
Ling Zhiyan: “What does that mean?”
Fang Ke picked up a white porcelain cup from his large wooden case. “I found this in the gaps between his teeth.”
Everyone leaned in — inside the saucer was a thread fine as a strand of hair, no longer than a finger joint, floating in clear water. They could see it was purple in color.
Hua Yitang pinched his nose. “What is this?”
Fang Ke: “Silk thread — most likely from some variety of expensive fabric.”
“Why would he have something like that in his mouth?” Wan Lin was baffled.
“Someone stuffed a wad of cloth into his mouth to stop him from making any sound, then broke his fingers one by one.” Lin Sui’an said.
Wan Lin hissed and drew a sharp breath. “Does that mean — “
Ling Zhiyan: “Torture for information?”
“The situation is now very clear.” Hua Yitang held his small fan in his left hand and spread the crime scene layout map he had drawn earlier on the table. With his right index finger, he touched each landmark on the map in turn:
“The killer climbed over the back wall into Frost Maple Hall, circled around to the front gate of the ‘Tian’ suite, thereby avoiding notice. He knocked and gained entry. Shan Yuanming recognized him as an acquaintance and invited the killer to sit at the tea table. After their conversation, the two moved to the writing desk area. For some reason, the killer suddenly struck — seizing Shan Yuanming by his hair and driving his forehead against the desk corner multiple times. Shan Yuanming collapsed, blood pouring from his head. The killer went to search the bookshelf — found nothing — then hoisted Shan Yuanming by his collar and dragged him around the room. Shan Yuanming was bleeding heavily, his clothes and shoes dragging on the ground, leaving those bizarre smeared trails wherever they went.”
“Why drag Shan Yuanming around the room?” Wan Lin asked.
“He was most likely questioning him while dragging him.” Ling Zhiyan said.
“The killer dragged Shan Yuanming through a full circuit of the room and still did not find what he was looking for. In a rage, he threw Shan Yuanming onto the bed, and used a piece of cloth — carried on his person —” Hua Yitang continued, fan still waving. “Perhaps a handkerchief, perhaps a torn strip of clothing — and stuffed it into Shan Yuanming’s mouth to prevent him from making noise. He then broke Shan Yuanming’s fingers one by one, torturing him for the answer. But even after all ten fingers were broken, he still did not get what he wanted. In a fury, he struck Shan Yuanming hard at the back of the skull with a heavy blow, leaving him for dead —”
“There is an error here,” Fang Ke said. “Internal bleeding does not kill immediately. At the time of the blow, Shan Yuanming would only have lost consciousness — appearing as though dead. But given the blood loss, even if he regained consciousness, he would have been unable to move on his own. He therefore ultimately died in the bed.”
Lin Sui’an: “Shan Yuanming must have regained consciousness once before dying, and left his dying message in the hidden spot at the headboard. The killer presumably believed Shan Yuanming dead at the point he fell unconscious, and then stripped the room of all valuables to simulate a robbery scene. That is why he never found the mark Shan Yuanming had left.”
Wan Lin: “What was the weapon that struck the back of Shan Yuanming’s skull? There’s nothing in the room that fits — could it have been the inkstone on the desk?”
Ling Zhiyan shook his head: “The water stain and dust beneath the inkstone match the inkstone’s shape exactly — it hasn’t been moved in at least half a month. And there’s no trace of blood on it.”
Lin Sui’an: “The killer’s fist.”
Wan Lin: “How do you know?”
Jin Ruo: “The spacing between the blood drops on the floor is very even — meaning the killer was moving at a constant pace. The width of the drag trail stays nearly the same throughout — meaning the killer was holding Shan Yuanming at a consistent height.”
Lin Sui’an: “Which means the killer could easily drag Shan Yuanming around the room — his physical strength was above average.”
Hua Yitang: “But the killer couldn’t lift Shan Yuanming completely off the ground — which means the killer wasn’t much taller than Shan Yuanming.”
Jin Ruo: “Height between seven chi and seven chi five. Weight somewhere between one hundred and seventy to two hundred jin.”
Fang Ke: “The fractures on Shan Yuanming’s finger bones are unusually clean. The killer’s technique for breaking bones was practiced and unhesitating.”
Lin Sui’an: “The killer knows martial arts, is physically powerful, and his own fists were the best and most convenient weapon available.”
Hua Yitang snapped his fan open with a sharp crack and delivered his final summary: “Based on all of the above — the killer is large and powerfully built, trained in martial arts, accustomed to using expensive silk goods, and comes from a wealthy background.”
Lin Sui’an: “Violent by nature. Savage and ruthless.”
Hua Yitang: “Acquainted with Shan Yuanming.”
Lin Sui’an: “Therefore, we only need to investigate Shan Yuanming’s circle of acquaintances to identify the suspect.”
Wan Lin stared at the four of them with his mouth hanging open. His head was ringing from the barrage of rapid-fire analysis, and it took him a long moment to recover. “You — you — just who in the world are you people?!”
“We are no sages — merely a few unlucky souls who have stumbled into too many bad situations and picked up some experience along the way.” Lin Sui’an smiled and looked at Ling Zhiyan. “Adjudicator Ling, was the investigation fee well spent?”
Ling Zhiyan couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from rising. He maintained the composure of a century-old aristocratic family and brought his fist to his lips with a mild cough.
Wan Lin: “Can — can it be that this case is already… solved?”
“We’ve barely started.” Hua Yitang stood and stretched, glancing at the sky. “It’s not too late — Sixth Brother Ling, let’s hurry and move on to the second round.”