Yun Xi was taken aback. “The Third Young Master has an idea?”
But the man was already dead—what idea could there possibly be?
Cheng Chang said, “If the forward approach doesn’t work, we can try it in reverse.”
By modern standards, this was really just a simple application of reverse thinking.
He explained, “The people who killed the boatman to silence him wanted nothing more than his death. So, in reverse—what would they fear most?”
Yun Xi opened her mouth, as though something had dawned on her.
Cheng Chang nodded. “What they’d fear most is that the boatman never actually drank that poisoned water—that he’s not dead at all.”
“So the mastermind hiding behind all this will certainly go to great lengths to send someone to confirm the boatman’s condition.”
“And the moment he discovers the boatman isn’t dead, he’ll be forced to act again.”
“Luring the enemy in?” Realization dawned on Yun Xi. “Does the Third Young Master mean we should conceal the boatman’s death for now, to draw those assassins out?”
Cheng Chang gave an affirmative hum. “This boatman never even met the true culprit face to face, so he doesn’t know much. But those assassins are a different matter entirely—they’re most likely the culprit’s own private guards. If we can capture even one of them alive, we’ll be able to extract far more information than we ever could from the boatman.”
He paused to think it over. “None of the nearby cells are occupied, and just now, when the boatman died, we didn’t raise any alarm. The two runners with you and my two servant boys are all trustworthy. Which means, right now, only the six of us know the boatman is dead. But six people alone aren’t enough to pull this off.”
“This particular jail won’t work either—the corridors connect throughout, with people constantly coming and going. Keeping the boatman here would make it far too easy for someone to notice something amiss.”
Yun Xi thought for a moment and said, “This humble officer could request a woodshed from Lord Zhang, and temporarily move the boatman there instead. Only…” She hesitated. “Once he’s in the woodshed, we’ll need extra hands to guard him around the clock, day and night. I’m afraid… I don’t have enough people available.”
What she said wasn’t entirely accurate—it wasn’t so much a lack of manpower as a lack of people she could genuinely trust.
The news of the boatman’s confession had leaked right at the gate of the marquis’s mansion; she was, understandably, seeing shadows everywhere now.
“I have the manpower,” Cheng Chang said.
From the moment he’d transmigrated here, he’d known that “he” had been the target of murder, and over the past two or three months, he’d focused on nothing but finding ways to stay alive. He had thoroughly investigated the backgrounds of every servant boy and guard in the mansion—which ones could be trusted, which ones needed further observation, and which ones should be kept at a distance—he knew it all like the back of his hand.
Cheng Chang was highly decisive—once he decided on something, he acted immediately. He opened the cell door and called in Tian Si, Ke Yong, and the two servant boys, laid out the plan, instructed one servant boy to return to the mansion to arrange manpower, and had Ke Yong stand guard at the jail entrance, letting no one in for the time being.
Within half an hour, the servant boy had brought people from the mansion.
By this point, Cheng Chang had already gone over the entire matter in his mind several times, and gave his instructions clearly and methodically: “Once you’ve moved the boatman into the woodshed, guard him in shifts around the clock. If anyone asks, don’t hold back—just say this boatman pushed me into the water during the Flower Festival out of spite, and now that he’s come forward to confess, his words are utterly deranged. One moment he claims someone’s trying to kill him, the next he says he wasn’t the one who harmed the Young Prince—but press him further, and he says nothing at all. Say I was so furious I felt he was refusing to admit his crime, and that’s why I had him locked in the woodshed, with orders for round-the-clock interrogation and torture.”
With that, noting that the dead boatman had a broad, sturdy build similar to Zhang Dahu’s, he had Zhang Dahu switch clothes with the corpse, let down his hair, and smear ash on his face to pass as the boatman, then enter the woodshed and make sounds of interrogation and torture throughout the day and night.
Yun Xi watched from the side, following his reasoning, and gradually came to understand.
Of course—for the true culprit, the boatman’s death was certainly convenient, but if he weren’t dead, and were left alive to eventually confess everything, the culprit would have no more reason to bother sending someone to kill him again.
The reason Cheng Chang wanted word spread that the boatman had gone deranged, and that he himself was furious and had him interrogated daily, was precisely to make the true culprit believe the boatman had been so terrified by days of pursuit that he’d lost his mind, and hadn’t yet revealed the crucial details.
Only this way would the true culprit fall for the trap.
After all, everyone knew the Young Prince of Prince Cong’s household had always been domineering—commandeering a woodshed at the Jingzhao Prefecture to torture a prisoner who’d offended him was exactly the kind of thing he’d be capable of.
Soon after, Ke Yong came to ask how to explain the poisoned bowl of water to outsiders. Cheng Chang thought for a moment, gave a few simple instructions, and the matter was settled.
Standing with the light behind him, he was entirely composed and calm, speaking little, but every word hit precisely where it needed to. At times he lowered his eyes in deep thought, his long lashes unable to hide the light in his gaze, casting a faint shadow at the corners of his eyes, as though someone had wielded an ink brush with effortless skill—perfectly measured, cool and enduring.
Yun Xi had worked alongside people in the yamen before, and even the most senior investigator there couldn’t match the sharpness of mind the Third Young Master before her displayed now.
Was this really the same arrogant, unruly Young Prince from before?
Or perhaps the world had simply misjudged him all along?
Yun Xi found herself lost in thought for a moment, and somehow, guilt began to creep in.
This was her case, and yet he was the one exerting so much effort and thought on it.
Feeling she couldn’t offer much help to Cheng Chang, Yun Xi decided to pitch in wherever she could. Seeing Ke Yong about to mix the boatman’s body in among the dead prisoners’ corpses to move it out, she quickly fetched a handcart to help transport it.
There was no shortage of things needing doing—cleaning up the scene, setting up the woodshed, concealing the body. As a member of the Jingzhao Prefecture, she also had to go in and out reporting the situation to Zhang Huailu.
She stayed busy from midday until dusk settled in, and by the time she carried an armful of straw into the woodshed, exhausted, her steps had begun to falter.
Tian Si, noticing this nearby, said, “A-A’Ting, you should g-go rest. These past few days, you’ve been on n-night duty, and during the day, you’ve had to look after Uncle Bai too. Since last night until now, you haven’t slept at all.”
These words happened to reach Cheng Chang, who wasn’t far off. He glanced at Yun Xi—her face was pale, not a trace of color in her lips, and she looked utterly drained.
No food, no sleep—a textbook case of low blood sugar.
He thought for a moment, then called over a servant boy and instructed, “Go buy some candy at the street corner.”
Back when he’d worked, he used to carry a few pieces of candy on him at all times—office workers, always working overtime morning and night, often missed meals and got little exercise, making them prone to dizzy spells from low blood sugar. A couple pieces of candy worked wonders in such moments.
“Buy candy?” the servant boy asked, puzzled. “Young Prince, what kind?”
“Anything, really—pastries, fruit crisps, or if there’s nothing else, even plain sugar will do, as long as it’s sweet.”
The servant boy said, “Got it,” and headed off toward the street corner.
Cheng Chang turned back to look at Yun Xi again. She still hadn’t taken any rest—having finished with the woodshed, she was now instructing her subordinates to find time to search the Qinhuai River for the body of the boatman’s daughter, Little Fish Girl.
An innocent life lost, she thought—once the true culprit behind the attempt on the Third Young Master’s life was caught, she would have the boatman and his daughter buried together.
Gone beyond the realm of the living, with a close family member beside her, at least she wouldn’t be alone.
Having arranged her people, Yun Xi returned and reported to Cheng Chang, “Third Young Master, everything here is taken care of. As for Fool Seven, I’ve had Ke Yong go ask him a few casual questions—he doesn’t remember faces or events well, so he most likely knows nothing at all. Asking him too much would only arouse suspicion instead. These next few days, whenever I have time, I’ll stay at the yamen keeping watch. If the Third Young Master has any news, just send someone to inform me. As for the man with the scarred palm the boatman mentioned…”
At this point, she suddenly felt a wave of tightness and panic in her chest, her head growing a little dizzy, and she couldn’t help but raise a hand to her temple.
Seeing this, Cheng Chang said, “Rest for a moment first.”
Yun Xi, too, felt she couldn’t hold out much longer, and nodded in agreement, walking over to the pile of straw nearby and sitting down against it.
The moment she sat, her vision began to darken. She closed her eyes, her head buzzing incessantly, growing hazy.
But with matters still unfinished weighing on her mind, she forced herself to stay awake.
Cheng Chang looked at her, then glanced toward the street corner. Before long, the servant boy came back, panting, holding a candied fruit skewer.
Cheng Chang was taken aback. “Why’d you buy that?”
The servant boy said, “Reporting to the Young Prince, the pastry shops near the yamen had already closed early. This one ran through three whole streets before finally managing to buy this candied hawthorn skewer!”
Cheng Chang: “…” Fine, childish or not, as long as it worked.
Through the haze, Yun Xi heard someone calling her—first “Constable Yun,” and when she didn’t respond, the voice called again, “Yun Xi.”
Yun Xi slowly opened her eyes. Dusk had fallen low without her noticing, and Cheng Chang stood quietly before her, his ink-blue official robes seeming to merge with the vast gray dusk stretching across sky and earth.
Then he reached out and handed her a candied hawthorn skewer.
Yun Xi stared blankly at him.
He gave a faint smile. “Eat this, you’ll feel better.”
A cool breeze drifted through the dusk, stirring the faint chill in his eyes into something like scattered starlight.
Yun Xi thought that even on the nights of the Lantern Festival or the Flower Festival, the brightest lanterns she had ever seen paled in comparison to this.
Wordlessly, she reached out and took the candied fruit skewer into her hand.
She hadn’t always lived such a hard life. As a child, growing up with her father and brother at the northern frontier, she had been, after all, the eldest daughter of a distinguished marquis’s household, once cherished and doted upon.
Back then, she had loved sweets most of all, always pestering the old matriarch to make her little treats.
In winter, when fruit was scarce, whenever she craved candied hawthorn skewers, Yun Luo and Pei Lan would even sneak out of the army camp and ride into town to buy some for her.
How long had it been since anyone had bought her candy like this?
Was it since they’d moved to Jinling? Or since her father had died in battle, her brother had given his life, and she’d carried her brother’s coffin back to the capital all alone?
The Marquis of Loyalty and Valor’s household had been left with only the old, the weak, the sick, and the disabled. Even her sister-in-law had fallen ill, and with the weight of the household resting entirely on her shoulders, every coin had to be carefully counted before spending. She ate only the plain meals provided at the yamen, filling her stomach and nothing more—when would she ever have had the luxury to care about taste?
Perhaps even she herself had forgotten that she loved sweets, that candied hawthorn had once been her favorite.
She took a bite. The rock sugar melted in her mouth, the tart crispness of the hawthorn seeping through, warming her all the way down.
Yun Xi lowered her eyes and said softly, “Thank you, Third Young Master.”
Seeing her so quiet, Cheng Chang assumed she still hadn’t recovered, and said, “It’s fine. You’ve been running around all day for my sake—by rights I should treat you to a proper meal, but it’s too late now. I’ll owe you that meal. Once you’ve rested, I’ll see you home first.”