LBLCPCB C7

Chapter 7

Gu Huaiyu worked with his own hands; the yamen officers, seeing this, quickened their pace. Zhu Song also helped where he could.

The two of them had studied forensic osteology together, but Zhu Song, during those first days of training, had been distracted—catching cicadas at night, even falling from trees until his backside turned black with bruises, yet refusing to admit it. Sleep‑deprived, he never mastered the essentials of bone structure and proper articulation. Thus, he could not reassemble skeletons himself.

Instead, Zhu Song oversaw two clerks in digging a pit, then heating it with charcoal until red‑hot, extinguishing flame, and pouring in two measures of strong liquor and five measures of vinegar. Into this steam‑pit they placed the skeletons that Huaiyu had reconstructed, covering them with reed mats.

“Bone steaming”ⁱ took two shichen², and allowed them to deduce a person’s cause of death. If even one individual’s death was clarified, the rest would be nearly the same; they could then report to the Emperor and gain time.

Zhu Song’s plan seemed sound—until desperate horse hooves shattered his thoughts.

“Lord Zhu, something grave has happened!”

It was Wang, the towering Head Constable of the Prefecture, his booming voice as heavy as his frame.

Dread knotted Zhu Song’s gut. “What is it?”

Not even dismounting, Wang blurted: “His Majesty has decreed the execution of Lin Feng at noon today. Prefect Qu is named presiding officer. The prisoner is already led to the execution ground.”

Noon was less than an hour away. Zhu Song’s brows knit sharply. The steaming bones had not yielded results yet. What could be done?

But Lin Feng’s tale was riddled with mysteries still unresolved. If killed now, the case would become impossibly tangled. He leapt into the saddle. “Get down—I ride to petition His Majesty at once!”

Wang dropped to the ground.

Hearing him, Gu Huaiyu caught him in three quick strides. “But even if you go, what can you say? What proof do you hold?”

Zhu Song only countered, “Tell me, Huaiyu—truth or falsehood, do you believe him?”

Gu hesitated. As Assistant Minister of Justice, he ought to say “We judge only evidence.” But that would be useless now. He read Zhu Song’s heart—and called out at last: “It’s true!”

Whether from the clamor of hoofbeats, Zhu Song heard or not, no one knew.

Half an hour later, Zhu Song stood in Qinzheng Hall itself.

The Emperor of Liang glared from his throne, face dark. “Speak. You claim the Lin case harbors vast hidden secrets. What secrets?”

Zhu Song bowed. “Lin Feng is the sole survivor of the Shuyun Manor slaying. His theatrics in the capital were but cries for justice.”

The Emperor’s tone was cutting. “Qu Zhoubai told me this as well. If he sought justice, he should have submitted a formal petition. Instead he donned demonic guises, threw the capital into disarray. If every aggrieved soul aped him, how would my empire know peace?”

The sternness of the rebuke made clear His Majesty’s mood was foul. Persuasion would not suffice; Zhu Song must gamble.

He swallowed, daring to continue: “Lin Feng’s conduct was not mere mischief. That is the very hidden truth I speak of. After Prefect Qu made his report, I interrogated Lin Feng again. And he revealed to me a secret that shakes heaven and earth.”

The Emperor arched a brow. “And that?”

“Someone,” Zhu Song declared, “is manufacturing Qingxing.”

A sharp crease wrinkled the sovereign’s face. “Hm?”

Zhu Song pressed on. “Thirteen years ago, Lin Feng fled the flames, then fell ill and lost memory. Three years he begged on the streets. One night, a noble in a grand carriage took him in—forced medicines upon him, plunged him in bitter brews. Slowly, his body grew monstrous, wracked with sickness. When it struck, he walked in leaps and thirsted for human blood.

A year ago he fell ill again—yet this time recovered his memory. Seeking to flee and bring his grievance to law, he found his prison too closely guarded. He escaped once, sickened, was seized back. He escaped again, relapsed, and drank human blood. Waking after, he found himself amid the ruins of Shuyun Manor.

Your Majesty, there is vast shadow behind him still concealed. I beseech you—spare his life for now. Allow us to uncover the truth. Then judgment.”

The Emperor sat silent. His eyes, storm‑laden, seemed to tremble with thunder.

At the same time, Qu Zhoubai sat solemn at the execution platform, the appointed Overseer of the Beheading. Before him, Lin Feng knelt in bonds, the sun overhead so bright it cast only the smallest shadow.

Wang the Constable came hastening. Seeing him, Qu hurried forward. “Well?”

“Lord Zhu has gone to petition His Majesty.”

Qu’s lips thinned. “And the corpses? Were causes of death confirmed?”

“Lord Gu still awaits results.”

“Still nothing?” Qu was momentarily dazed. Without results, he had already exhausted words before the throne—what could Zhu Song possibly add?

Wang asked breathlessly, “What now?”

“Did Huaiyu say when the outcome would be ready?”

“Perhaps another hour,” Wang guessed.

An hour? By then, the axe would already fall. Qu’s hope of saving Lin Feng guttered. He crouched before the prisoner.

“You heard the messenger. It is not that we would not save you, but your uproar was too great. If anything remains unsaid, speak it now.”

Lin Feng gave a bitter smile. “All has been told you. Only let justice yet clear my family’s name, let the hand behind it be punished.”

Qu gave the only comfort he could. “Rest easy. We shall investigate.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Qu rose. “Go on your way in peace.”

The sun climbed high. At its zenith, Qu lifted the tally from the execution tube, raised his arm, and flung it down. “The hour has struck—carry out the sentence!”

Lin Feng’s lips pressed hard, eyes closed. He had failed to see vengeance, the culprits would still breathe. But his case was accepted. Someday truth would surface. Looking skyward, he whispered hoarsely: “Mother, your son is unfilial…”

Then—

“STAY THE BLADE!”

The shout pierced through, joined with pounding hooves.

In the same instant, Constable Wang leapt, catching the execution tally before it struck ground, hugging it to his chest as he tumbled. Staggering up, he clutched it in hand.

Qu’s cry joined: “Hold!” At once the executioner checked his stroke.

Lin Feng, stunned, raised his head. Through the haze of tears he saw Zhu Song—like a knight from painted scrolls, cloaked in sunlight, righteous air on his face, striding against the wind.

Dismounting, he unfurled the golden decree, crying aloud:

“By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: The truth behind the Lin family slaughter is yet unclear. Lin Feng, sole survivor, is granted reprieve. Sentence postponed until truth is known, then punishment laid.”

Before the prisoner, he commanded: “Bow! Thank your Emperor.”

Lin Feng sobbed, forehead striking earth. “This humble soul thanks His Majesty! Long live the Emperor, ten thousand years!”

Zhu Song passed the decree to Qu. Qu lifted his chin in acknowledgment, then ordered: “Escort Lin Feng back—”

“—to the Judicial Court,” Zhu Song cut in. “His Majesty assigned this case to us.”

So decreed, Qu held no objection. Together they departed.

On the road, Qu asked skeptically: “But the autopsy yielded no result yet. How did you persuade His Majesty?”

Zhu Song tapped his temple with forefinger. “With this.”

Qu groaned. “I know you’re clever. But tell me—so I can learn.”

“Simply this,” Zhu Song said more bluntly. “I pledged it with my head.”

Qu froze, staring. “What? You staked your life to save Lin Feng? Are you mad?” Growing animated, he reached to touch the man’s forehead. “You feverish? Come—let me haul you to the Imperial Hospital for a few needles.”

Zhu Song batted the hand away. “No.”

Qu fretted still. “What exactly did you tell the Emperor?”

Zhu muttered, “Inflated it, of course. Stoke His Majesty’s curiosity, buy half a month.”

“Half a month?” Qu nearly choked.

His loud voice drew gazes from passers‑by. Zhu cut him a glare. “Keep your voice down. We’re men, not monkeys at a fairground.”

Still too agitated, Qu’s voice lowered but trembled. “Thirteen years cold! What can you solve in fifteen days?”

“As if I wanted so little,” Zhu groaned. “I said three months; His Majesty bargained me down to half. And said if I failed? North desert reclamation duty!”

The mere thought made Zhu’s spine chill. He had just muttered, hours ago, how he dreaded that fate—and here it loomed. His omen felt dire.

“North desert?” Qu muttered thoughtfully. “Then I’ll buy you a sun‑hat.”

“What nonsense! Can’t you speak one kind word?” Zhu snapped.

Qu grinned, “Actually the north is nice to travel.”

“Shut that crow’s mouth.”

Falling into step, Qu only added: “In any case, I’ll speak to His Majesty. This case was ours jointly. Even if you lead, we cannot be pushed aside.”

“Now? His Majesty is in foul temper. You seek only his scolding.”

“Nevertheless…”

Zhu sighed, reading his heart. The Emperor wouldn’t tend all matters personally. “Fine. Join in then.”

Pleased, Qu relented.

Zhu turned sharply to the constable trailing them. “Investigate Lin Feng. Thoroughly.”

Qu echoed: “Carry it out.”

When Wang had gone, Qu asked quietly: “You mean he concealed things?”

Zhu said nothing—but his silence spoke.

Footnotes

1. Bone steaming (蒸骨) — an ancient forensic technique from Chinese judicial practice: bones were steamed with vinegar or wine to reveal depth/color changes that showed fractures, wounds, or poisons.

2. Shichen (時辰) — a traditional time unit; one “shichen” = 2 modern hours.