LBLCPCB C12

Chapter 12

 

Leaving the prison, Zhu Song stood outside the gates, gazing upward. The sky was already bright—blue with scattered clouds, the sun round and yellow like the yolk of a freshly peeled salted duck’s egg.

Yet in his ears still lingered faint echoes of sobbing, making his face dark. After waiting some moments, Gu Huaiyu emerged, slightly dazed when he saw Zhu still there.

“I thought you’d already gone.”

Zhu tilted his head, seeing the reddened rims of Gu’s eyes. He was puzzled. “You…”

Quickly, Gu turned away, changing the subject: “Has the portrait artist arrived yet?”

Zhu let it pass. “Already summoned.”

Gu said gravely, “The man behind Zhuqing Courtyard is highly suspicious.”

“Indeed,” Zhu agreed. To murder deliberately was capital crime. “You watch Lin Feng. Get the portraits drawn, and soon.”

“Understood.”

Zhu walked off, but two steps later turned back with concern etched between brows. “Perhaps you should investigate the auxiliary players instead—let me watch Lin Feng?”

Normally, their division of work was set—Zhu was the fighter, Gu the sleuth. But seeing Gu so shaken, Zhu worried.

Gu shook his head firmly. “No need. You go. I only… found him pitiable, that is all.”

Zhu could not say if pitiful or not. He strode forward, laid a hand upon Gu’s shoulder. “When we uncover the truth, we shall plead before the Emperor together. Then we can save him.”

Gu met his eyes, lips curving in a faint smile, gave him a light punch in the chest in reply. “Mm.”

Tension dissolved a little. Relieved, Zhu left.

First, Zhu went to Xuan Yin Pavilion, questioning Lichun. Her answer was starkly at odds with Lin Feng’s account.

“Never have I known him!” she declared, clutching her chest in fright. “He slanders me! I am an innocent victim—I swear I am!”

Without argument, Zhu snapped orders: “Take her to the Judicial Court. We’ll question there.”

“My lord, Pavilion Xuan Yin is pure and innocent. We never colluded. Please be clear!”

He asked the older courtesan beside her: “You are the boss?”

The woman bowed. “This humble madam is called Xia Zhi. Only senior among us, not the boss.”

“Then where is your boss?”

“Traveling in Yangzhou. Every year he departs at this time.”

Zhu did not waste words. “Then you come with us instead.”

Unlike Lichun—shaking, weeping—Xia Zhi calmly assented, taking Lichun’s arm as if collecting a debt.

Quietly, Zhu beckoned a guard. “Find Qu Zhoubai. Have the Prefecture check who owns this Pavilion.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Yet scarcely had Zhu returned to the Court when a scream came—from the prison.

He raced there, finding chaos. Most alarming: in Gu Huaiyu’s trembling arms lay Lin Feng, blood flowing from orifices, unresponsive. Gu slapped his pale cheeks, calling:

“Lin Feng! Lin Feng!”

But his eyes were closed. Zhu’s heart plunged. He knew—the man was gone.

At the same time, the Xu brothers arrived, pale with panic. “Lin Feng! Lin Feng!”

Zhu laid a hand on Gu’s shoulder, voice low: “Huaiyu.”

Gu blinked up, stunned. Then, as if awaking, he gently passed the corpse to Xu Lizhu and clutched Zhu’s hand with desperation.

Zhu drew him to his feet, saw blood smeared on his robe. Alarmed, he asked, “You’re hurt?”

Gu shook his head weakly. “No.”

Zhu brought him to sit, then demanded to the others: “What happened?”

The jailor stammered: “The painter was drawing portraits per Lin Feng’s account. At breakfast time the kitchen asked to deliver food. He had but one sip of water—then convulsed, blood streaming—from his seven aperturesⁱ… and then—”

Zhu’s brows knit dangerously. “Three times murder, within Dali Si itself? They think us fools?”

“Bring the coroner at once!”

“Yes, lord!”

“Seize the kitchen staff. Bring them to the front hall!”

Zhu then glanced at the painter. On his easel was nearly complete: a tall man in black, hair flowing, wearing a black mask patterned with apricot blossoms²—not a scholar’s frailty but a warrior’s aura.

“Another portrait?” Zhu asked.

The painter bowed. “Still not drafted.”

Gu interjected: “Lin described, I repeated while he painted. Details may be wanting.”

“Take it to the hall. Finish there,” Zhu ordered.

Thus they moved.

The coroner arrived quickly. Zhu sighed—he should not linger further. Worried, he asked Gu softly: “Can you walk?”

Gu looked up at him silently. Zhu, reading his silence, seized his hand. “Come. Air.”

They stepped into blinding sunlight. Gu halted, and so did Zhu. Tears coursed down that exquisite face—already beautiful, but now heartbreak incarnate. Zhu sighed, helpless to comfort. He could only whisper, “Huaiyu…”

Gu blinked through tears: “I’m fine.”

Behind them the painter shuffled awkwardly, seeing their hands clasped. He faltered.

Zhu caught it, waved him on. “Go to the hall. Work.”

“Yes.” The artist skittered away—yet still glanced backward. Gu felt heat in his cheeks beneath such gaze, but Zhu seemed oblivious.

Zhu led Gu to his own quarters.

“Your robe’s stained. Change it.”

Instinctively, Gu reached for his belt ties. Zhu sat nearby, gazing absently out the window, mind elsewhere.

“Zhu Song.”

He turned. Gu had not begun changing. “What?”

“Aren’t you going out?”

Frown. Since when were they so formal? But Zhu said nothing, merely obeyed—walking out.

At the door he waited briefly. Soon Gu emerged, face composed once more.

“All well now?”

“All well,” Gu said calmly.

“Then go to the hall. I’ll question Lichun.”

“Mm.”

They parted paths.

But just as Zhu reached the front hall, a runner burst in:

“My lord! Li Mingsi—the very man—has arrived to confess!”

“The old beggar?”

“No—different. Younger.”

“Bring him.”

Moments later, a middle-aged man knelt.

“My lord, I confess—the Lin murders were by my hand.”

Zhu frowned. Not right. But he proceeded. “Speak the truth.”

The man began to tell:

Once drinking comrade in trade with Lin Sicheng, his fortunes failed while Lin’s rose. Worse—Lin won a peerless coral, flaunting it with beauty at his side. He begged a loan; Lin mocked and refused.

Drunk with envy, he decided to steal the red coral. That very night, he crept into Shuyun Manor. There upon the bed sat Lin Sicheng himself, guarding his prize.

He reached for it anyway. The coral was heavy. His hands—unsteady with drink—slipped. The coral crashed upon Lin’s head. Dead instantly.

Panic cleared his drunken brain. He wrapped the corpse, shoved it beneath the bed, cleaned the blood.

Taking the coral, he fled.

Come dawn, fearing discovery, he sold the coral swiftly, then with half the money bought killers at the black market.

Thus, they torched the manor.

No one ever suspected. He enjoyed wealth and freedom.

Years later, he stumbled on a beautiful beggar. Desire overcame him; he took the youth in, hiding him in a suburban house. Concealing his face with a mask—afraid of his wife finding out.

But when the beggar confessed he was son of the ruined Lin house, terror seized him. Rather than risk his family’s ruin, he killed him.

Or so he thought—later the youth survived and brought trouble to court. Again he sought black market knives, offering ten thousand taels.

But since last night, his household was plagued. His son dreamt nightmares. Monks declared only confession would ease. Or else fate demanded life for life.

“I am fifty-three. But my son only eleven. My lord, I beg—spare him. All fault is mine. I confess, I repent.”

Collapsed he wept, pounding head against floor.

At the side, Xia Zhi seized the lull. “Lord Zhu: since the culprit is now seized, may we ladies return?”

Zhu eyed the kneeling man coldly, then turned back. “Very well. You may withdraw.”

They bowed and departed.

Zhu watched them go, suspicion yet in his gaze.

Suddenly, Li Mingsi surged upright.

“It’s all my fault! Punish me—leave my son!”

Then with wild cry, he hurled himself against the great pillar. Head cracked. Dead instantly.

Zhu sprang up, fists clenched, scowl ferocious. Even the guards trembled.

“What now, lord?”

“Carry him to the morgue. Autopsy.”

“Yes!”

Footnotes

1. Red Coral (紅珊瑚) — extremely rare, once valued in imperial China as tribute, talisman, and luxury; a true treasure worth lives.