THE THIRD STEWARD Peng Xiang had died in the woodshed of the Xing residence.
Servants were always coming in and out of the woodshed, and the door was never locked. The head steward had taken men and scoured the estate for Peng Xiang. Amid the chaos, someone had thoughtlessly pushed open the door and found the third steward swinging from the rafters.
No one wanted their dirty laundry aired, but the situation was already a mess. Duan Qihu said he wished to inspect the corpse and refused to back down. Xing Mao had no choice but to lead him there himself.
Of course, Cui Buqu and Feng Xiao followed.
No few guests also came to gawk, among them Magistrate Gao Yi and the man whose flirtations had been foiled by Cui Buqu, Chen Ji. He'd never seen anything so sensational before, and his eyes shone with the novel thrill of it.
If the third steward Peng Xiang was aware of his circumstances in the underworld, he was probably quite unhappy; fright remained etched on his face. Perhaps he'd regretted his suicide before his last breath but had been unable to break free and submitted unwillingly to his fate.
Yet Cui Buqu remembered Feng Xiao's words: the third steward was a martial artist, albeit an average one. If he really plotted with Yuxiu to kill Duan Qihu and feared he was exposed, why would he not choose to run away instead of hanging himself for fear of punishment? Even if he had been set on suicide, slitting his throat would have been simpler and more efficient than hanging himself, much more the kind of thing a martial artist would do.
While everyone was looking down at the body, Feng Xiao was also looking—but his eyes were pinned on Cui Buqu.
When Cui Buqu's lashes were downcast, his brows pinched in a frown, there was a gentleness to him. It was night and day from his usual demeanor. Feeling Feng Xiao's gaze on him, he turned his head, puzzled, as if to ask, What do you want?
"Whenever you make that face, I know you're getting ready to make someone's life miserable."
Those around them could see his lips moving but couldn't hear what he'd said. Feng Xiao had used a sound transmission technique to send those words straight to Cui Buqu's ears.
Cui Buqu smiled at him with teeth bared, then lowered his head to examine the corpse.
"There's something in his hand!" someone called out.
The head steward directed someone to pry the third steward's fingers open. Upon it were four words, written in blood:
Pay blood for blood.
They then looked at his other palm; again there were four words:
Heaven's law spares none.
"There's a wound on him!"
As they lifted the third steward's hand, his sleeve had slid down to reveal a cut along his forearm. The head steward frowned. The cut was shallow and not obviously poisoned, but he couldn't tell much more. Could the third steward have made the cut himself before he died? Had he instructed the maid to poison Duan Qihu, then felt guilt when it failed and chosen suicide?
Duan Qihu's lip curled in a sneer. "Oh but Duke Xing has his ways! After failing to kill your target, you silenced your minion! You've destroyed the evidence! Now what recourse do I have?"
Xing Mao was incensed. "If I wanted to kill you, why would I jump through so many hoops? Nothing's stopping me from giving the order now—I guarantee you wouldn't walk out of here alive! Someone else is behind this, an instigator who intends to profit from our conflict!"
Gao Yi was silent.
If Duan Qihu and Xing Mao started killing each other, it was obvious who'd benefit the most—Gao Yi himself. With Duan Qihu and Xing Mao's influence collapsed, Qiemo would belong to him; he could become a county magistrate with real authority and manage the city properly. It wasn't that he didn't wish for this, but his faction was the weakest of the three. It was impossible.
"If Duke Xing agrees, I will send someone to fetch the coroner for an autopsy," Gao Yi offered.
"No need." Cui Buqu stood. "This man didn't hang himself. He was strung up after he died. That wound on his arm is posthumous, left by his killer."
Duan Qihu found it hard to believe the nephew of the king of Kucha knew anything about examining corpses, but he hadn't the wherewithal just now to question the man's identity. He frowned. "How do you know?"
"Look at his neck." Cui Buqu pointed at the third steward's throat. "When someone is hanged, their body is pulled downward. The ligature marks on the neck should be deep at the front but shallow on either side. The knot here in the noose will also leave bruises. But see here—the marks on his neck are even all the way around. He was strangled to death with the rope first, then hung up."
Everyone looked closely; it was exactly as Cui Buqu had said. Yet this only invited more questions. If the third steward had been strangled, who within the Xing residence had killed him, and why?
The group looked to Xing Mao, who roared, "I too want to know the identity of the killer!"
"Duke Xing, calm yourself," Cui Buqu said coolly. "I don't believe you're responsible. With your abilities, you wouldn't need to go to so much trouble for so little gain. It's very likely the maid attempted to poison Duan-xiong under this steward's orders. But in that case, who in the Xing residence could have killed him? Therein lies the crux of the problem."
"The Xing residence is heavily guarded; I know all my subordinates inside out," Xing Mao snapped. "They'd never betray me."
Seeing Duan Qihu's mocking smile, he realized he'd gravely misspoken.
Hadn't his third steward already done so?
A traitor had revealed himself. And he might not be the only one.
Xing Mao remembered seeing Peng Xiang at the start of the banquet. He had been weaving through the crowd, making last-minute arrangements. Less than two hours later, he was dead.
Cui Buqu seemed to sense his thoughts. "This woodshed's not far from the kitchen. The cooks were no doubt busy preparing dishes for the banquet, with many people coming and going. If there was a loud noise in the woodshed, someone would have heard. But no one noticed a thing until the third steward was long dead."
"To kill him so quietly, the murderer must have been much stronger than the third steward," observed Feng Xiao.
"Correct."
Xing Mao frowned deeply. In all the Xing family, those who were strong enough to have killed the third steward were only the head steward, the second steward, and several skilled guards. But when the incident occurred, these guards had been at his side, and the head and second steward had been with him as well. If not these, then the murderer must be someone who had infiltrated the residence from outside.
"When I first arrived in Qiemo, I heard the Xing residence was large, but also secure and impenetrable. Anyone entering or leaving must identify themselves. Duke Xing can likely recite the names and backgrounds of all thirty guests who came today."
Xing Mao nodded. "Peng Xiang was in charge of the arrangements for the banquet, but not the estate's security. And I personally signed off on the guest list; he had no chance to tamper with it."
He looked to his head steward.
The man fell to his knees on the floor of the shed. "Master, please think! This lowly one would never collude with a traitor like Peng Xiang! Your second steward Lu Jiu was also present when we arranged for today's guard. We followed our estate's longstanding rules. All the security measures were overseen by both of us!"
Xing Mao too thought it unlikely all three of his stewards had betrayed him. He shot a glance at Cui Buqu, hoping for another hint. Somewhere along the way, this young man he'd just met had gained control of the entire situation. With just a few words, he pulled their thoughts along, leaving them powerless to resist.
"Bring me the guest list," said Cui Buqu. "Let no one leave the residence."
Even before his orders, the second steward had long shut the gates. The guests who hadn't come over to spectate remained awkwardly in their seats, waiting for Xing Mao to release them.
There were only thirty guests in total. With the exception of Gao Yi, Duan Qihu, Cui Buqu, and Feng Xiao, the rest were old acquaintances of Xing Mao. Even Chen Ji fell into that category, as his father was close friends with Xing Mao. When he'd received the invitation, he'd sent his son to congratulate the madam.
The head steward checked off each name on the list, one by one, until he discovered an issue: one person was missing.
Or rather, one person had entered the Xing residence and given a gift, but now was nowhere in sight.
"Where is Zhong Haomiao?!" the chief steward cried.
Who? Cui Buqu glanced at Xing Mao, who frowned.
"He's a disciple of Qiyue Monastery," he said. "My mother goes often to listen to their lectures and is familiar with the abbot there. When we sent an invitation, they replied that the abbot is in seclusion but that he'd send his eldest disciple to offer his congratulations."
The steward sent someone running to Qiyue Monastery at once for clarification.
While they waited, Xing Mao took Cui Buqu and the others into a side hall, along with the third steward's body. It made for a bizarre scene—a group of living people sitting around a corpse.
Gao Yi seemed to be ill at ease.
Feng Xiao, sitting beside him, whispered, "Is the magistrate feeling unwell?"
Gao Yi turned with a pained smile. "Before I left my house, I performed a divination and received the reading of 'calamitous luck.' I should never have attended the banquet today. The coins were right!"
"What does this plot have to do with you?"
"Nothing, of course. But what if they think I had a hand in it?"
Feng Xiao pressed his lips shut. Why had the court sent such a craven official? Tossing coins to decide whether to leave the house? Cowering like a mouse at each problem he encountered?
If instead Cui Buqu were magistrate of Qiemo—Feng Xiao scarcely needed to wonder. Even if Cui Buqu spent two of every three days insensible with illness, he'd still turn Qiemo upside down. Not even dogs and chickens would find a moment of peace in the ensuing pandemonium. Xing Mao and Duan Qihu? They would be forced to stand aside. Only someone as brilliant as my venerable self could knock him down a peg.
But no—there was also Yuxiu. That man was also terribly unpredictable.
As Feng Xiao pondered again over Yuxiu, the runner the head steward had dispatched returned not with a message, but with Zhong Haomiao himself.
His answer was quite unexpected.
Yesterday, a guest had arrived at Qiyue Monastery. This man had once shown great kindness to the abbot of Qiyue Monastery, and as he was of an age with Zhong Haomiao, the two got on instantly. When the guest heard Xing Mao's mother would be celebrating her sixtieth birthday today, he said he'd heard much of Xing Mao and would like a chance to see him. Zhong Haomiao had happily offered to bring him to the banquet.
Unfortunately, the abbot suddenly hit an impasse in his cultivation, requiring someone to stay and watch over him. Zhong Haomiao had handed the gift to his shidi3 and instructed him to attend the banquet with their guest in his stead.
But according to the gatekeeper and the head steward, only one man had come with the invitation.
Zhong Haomiao was apologetic. "It wasn't until your message that I discovered my shidi wanted to play in the city and so parted with our guest on the journey and asked him to go alone. But my friend is the disciple of a prestigious sect. He'd never commit such a heinous crime!"
"And who is this friend?" asked Gao Yi.
"Yan Xuexing. He's a disciple of the largest sect in Southern Chen, Linchuan Academy."
Everyone began pondering whether they'd heard this name—everyone but Feng Xiao and Cui Buqu, whose eyes were instead on the others' faces.
As they watched, Duan Qihu's expression shifted subtly.
The change was fleeting, but neither Feng Xiao nor Cui Buqu doubted what they'd seen. Feng Xiao prodded Cui Buqu's thigh, silently communicating his suspicions.
Cui Buqu moved his leg away.
But Feng Xiao was persistent. He prodded him again.
Annoyed, Cui Buqu grabbed Feng Xiao's meddlesome finger hard enough to break it. Feng Xiao flipped his wrist—in a flash, it was now Cui Buqu's hand trapped in his grip, unable to move.
"What are you doing?" This little scene happened to catch Chen Ji's eye. He was still brimming with dissatisfaction over the fight Cui Buqu had picked with him earlier, and now it spilled over. "Have you no reverence for the dead?! Are you lacking in manners or are you disrespecting Duke Xing?!"
"My sincerest apologies. My husband just can't control his wandering hands! It's this wife's fault for being too beautiful—oh, if only I didn't have this face capable of toppling nations!" Feng Xiao had never known how to spell the word shame.
Faced with numerous gazes all screaming, To think this man spends his days drowning in pleasure despite a body that frail, Cui Buqu extricated his hand from Feng Xiao's grip with no change in expression.
Wonderful.
He'd yet to settle old accounts, but new ones had just been added.