The Yamen

The county magistrate was still resting at this time. Having been busy all night in East Suburb Village, he had barely closed his eyes for less than an hour when the bailiffs outside came knocking on his door.

“My lord, someone is beating the drum.”

The county magistrate turned over and fell silent again.

“My lord, someone is beating the drum.”

The county magistrate reluctantly climbed out of bed, put on his official robes and boots, and slowly ascended to the hall. His eyes still weren’t open when he struck the gavel block.

“Who dares beat the drum?”

Below the hall stood two men in magnificent robes, one in front of the other. The former’s brow bone radiated noble valor, while the latter wore a long sword at his side, exuding courage.

Jingrong looked all around the hall but didn’t see yesterday’s young scholar.

The county magistrate waited a long time without hearing anyone state their name. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb, then finally opened them to see clearly who had come.

Wasn’t this the young master who had come to East Suburb Village together with Ji Shuhan last night?

“Who comes here? Why do you beat the drum?” The county magistrate still asked according to protocol.

“My lord, my young master has come today seeking that portrait artist. Please trouble you to call her out,” Lang Bo stated their purpose.

“Looking for Yunshu?” The county magistrate muttered softly, fingering his abacus, then looked up and said, “Master Ji is not on duty today. You should come another day.”

“Where is she?” Jingrong spoke up.

“How would this official know where she is? If there’s nothing else, please leave quickly. The drum outside the yamen cannot be beaten casually.” The county magistrate hadn’t slept well to begin with and was naturally somewhat impatient.

Jingrong showed no expression and glanced at Lang Bo, who understood. He pulled out a token from his waist and displayed it.

“Liu Qingping, open your eyes wide and look carefully.”

Oh my, he actually dared to address the county magistrate directly by his personal name!

The county magistrate became furious, stood up, and grabbed the gavel block preparing to strike it, but suddenly saw clearly the characters on that token.

The gavel block in his hand clattered to the ground with a “clang.”

He immediately clutched his official robe, bent at the waist, walked down from the high platform, and respectfully approached. His legs trembling, he dropped to his knees with a “thump.”

“Prince… Prince Rong, this lowly official was blind and didn’t know… didn’t know Prince Rong had arrived. I have been negligent. Please, Prince Rong, forgive this offense.”

Jingrong glanced at him. This fellow’s expression certainly changed quickly enough.

“Those who don’t know are not guilty. This prince doesn’t wish to disturb too many people, so there’s no need for grand ceremony. Rise.”

“Thank… thank you… Prince Rong.”

The county magistrate broke out in a cold sweat. His legs trembled violently, and it took him a while to stand up, but his body couldn’t straighten.

“May this lowly official ask what… what brings Prince Rong here?”

The corner of Lang Bo’s mouth curved upward as he spoke for Jingrong.

“Didn’t we just say? We came today to find yesterday’s portrait artist. Have her come out immediately.”

“This…”

“This what? A mere portrait artist—could she possibly be putting on airs?”

The county magistrate quickly waved his hands. “No, no, no. This lowly official will immediately send someone to fetch her.” He turned to the bailiffs. “Hurry up and go find Master Ji.”

“Yes.”

The bailiffs rushed off.

The county magistrate, deeply afraid of offending this great personage, bowed and scraped while smiling obsequiously as he invited Jingrong and Lang Bo to rest in the rear courtyard. He brewed a pot of superior tea and stood to the side, still trembling as he raised his sleeve to frantically wipe away sweat.

When had such an important personage ever come to Jinjiang City!

Jingrong took a sip of tea. Jinjiang was renowned for producing tea leaves—the fragrance assailed the nostrils, and it tasted sweet upon entering the mouth. Its reputation was well-deserved.

“What sort of person is this portrait artist?” Jingrong asked.

“Her name is Ji Yunshu. She’s Jinjiang City’s most famous portrait artist,” the county magistrate answered.

“How is she famous?”

“These past years, our county has had quite a few decomposed corpses and charred bodies with no one to claim them. Ever since Master Ji arrived, whether it’s decomposed corpses or skeletal remains, she can accurately paint what the deceased looked like when alive. Not only that, she’s also helped this lowly official solve quite a few cases.”

The county magistrate spoke as if his face had been gilded with gold, very proud indeed.

“Such an unusual person? Nestled in this small Jinjiang City—isn’t that rather a waste of her talents?” As Lang Bo spoke, he intentionally or unintentionally glanced at his own master.

There seemed to be deeper meaning!

Jingrong raised his eyebrows. “Is that all?”

The county magistrate thought for a moment. “Master Ji has a difficult temperament.”

“How is it difficult?”

The county magistrate hemmed and hawed. “She… doesn’t much like to talk. Her temperament is a bit cold.”

Cold? How cold?

Jingrong held up his cup and took another sip of tea.

Before long, a bailiff entered to report.

“Master Ji is sleeping in her room and says she won’t be working today.”

The county magistrate’s face suddenly turned ashen, breaking out in a cold sweat.

On one side was Ji Yunshu, whom he treasured like a precious jewel; on the other was Prince Rong, who held supreme authority. This truly put him in a difficult position.

He needed to choose his side carefully!