Xu Xinnian frowned:"Why would you want those?"
I want to solve the case... Xu Qi'an lowered his voice: "I need to know what happened. I won't die ignorant. Not like this."
He couldn't outright say he intended to "investigate"—Xu Xinnian would think he'd lost his marbles. So he cloaked it in the stubbornness the original Xu Qi'an was known for: relentless, unyielding, even in futility.
Xu Xinnian paused, then said, "I've reviewed the case files. I can recount them to you…"
Over these past days, as desperation gnawed at him, Xu Xinnian had shifted his approach. With the case's gravity deterring all potential allies, he turned to recovering the silver itself.
Leveraging the Xu family's fading connections, his academy ties, and no small amount of silver bribes, he had bribed a Capital Prefecture clerk to transcribe the records.
But lacking any investigative instincts or forensic acumen, he had abandoned the effort in the end.
Xu Qi'an interrupted, "Write it down. Oral accounts are useless."
Every critical detail lay in the written word—nuances to dissect, contradictions to unravel. Listening would only fracture his focus, leaving no room for cold analysis.
His deductive reasoning had been peerless in his previous life, topping every class. Now, that razor-sharp mind was the only blade he could wield in this prison cell.
In the past, Xu Xinnian would have ignored him without hesitation. But now, faced with what might well be their final parting, he relented.
"Wait here," he said quietly, granting this last request before turning swiftly on his heel and striding away.
The sound of footsteps faded down the corridor as Xu Qi'an slumped against the cold iron bars, his heart a tempest of unease and resolve.
He had no certainty of overturning his fate—only a detective's instinct to dissect the truth, and a survivor's refusal to yield.
This frail thread of hope was all he could grasp.
But even a drowning man fights the current.
In modern criminal investigations, three elements were indispensable: crime scene analysis, surveillance footage, and autopsy reports. Yet the missing tax silver case involved no deaths, this ancient world had no cameras, and his prison cell barred him from all three.
His only lifeline? The case files—fragments of a crime scene frozen in ink.
At least the case files could partially reconstruct the crime scene.
Suppressing the host's chaotic memories and clamping down on every shred of fear, Xu Qi'an forced his mind into icy clarity—only a calm mind could weave logic from fragments.
"To be or not to be… it all comes down to this." His whispered.
The time it takes an incense stick to burn slipped away. Xu Xinnian returned in haste, thrusting several sheets of still-damp rice paper into his hands.
"Time's up—I have to go." Xu Xinnian hesitated, then added, "Take care of yourself."
Xu Qi'an didn't respond. His eyes were already locked onto the fresh ink staining the pages.
The writing was hurried, so that the characters scrawled in wild cursive—had Xu Qi'an not spent years in the village school, he'd have been staring at chicken scratch masquerading as script.
"So literacy does have its uses," he muttered darkly. "If the original owner had been illiterate... well, 'The End.'"
The Case of the Missing Tax Silver:
Three days prior, at Mǎo hour, two marks (6:30 AM), Xu Pingzhi had been escorting a shipment of tax silver into the capital. By Chén hour, one mark (7:15 AM), as the convoy crossed a bridge on Guangnan Street, a sudden unnatural gust had spooked the horses. The panicked animals bolted—straight into the river.
Then—a deafening explosion.
The river erupted in a six-zhang (about 20 meters) geyser of murky water. Soldiers dove in, scrambling for the silver, but only 1,215 taels were recovered. The rest?
Vanished without a trace.
Beyond the incident report, the Capital Prefecture had compiled witness statements—pedestrians, guards, all echoing the same chaos. But one detail, outlined in vermilion ink, seized Xu Qi'an's attention:
"Malevolent spirits at work."
"Malevolent spirits?!" His pupils contracted and stomach plummeted as the idea came to his mind.
In the Magistrate's Private Office of Capital Prefecture, three days of sleepless pursuit had etched exhaustion into their faces when the key figures in the tax silver case gathered at last.
Chen Hanguang, Capital Prefecture Magistrate (equivalent to the mayor of the capital city), cradled a blue-and-white porcelain teacup in his hands, its lid clinking faintly against the rim as his expression darkened.
Clad in crimson robes embroidered with clouds and wild geese, he let out a quiet sigh. "Two days remain. His Majesty demands we recover the silver before Xu Pingzhi's execution. Folks, time is against us."
The two fellow officials he addressed could not have been more different:
The first with a man of half-southern ancestry, wore a black uniform and an onyx-hued cloak, his high-bridged nose and deep-set eyes framing pupils of pale amber.
The other was a young woman with an oval face, dressed in a yellow skirt—her features delicate as a painting, her skin like polished jade, and her eyes sparkling with lively intelligence. In her hand, she held a sugarcane stalk, while at her waist hung a deerskin pouch and an octagonal Feng Shui compass. Beneath the hem of her skirt peeked a pair of dainty boots embroidered with cloud patterns, swinging idly with her movements.
These two were here to assist in the investigation. The middle-aged man was Li Yuchun, a member of the organization that struck fear into the hearts of Dafeng Dynasty's officials:
The shadowbreaker:Their members moved through shadows—extracting confessions, stealing secrets, flipping traitors. No ministry controlled them; no general commanded them.
The shadowbreaker answered to one master: the Son of Heaven.
And their presence meant someone's head would roll.
Every official in the Dafeng Dynasty knew the adage: "Do no evil by day, and the Shadowbreaker won't come knocking by night."
As for the young woman in yellow—she hailed from the Directorate of Celestial Observation, and her status was far from low: a direct disciple of the Grand Astrologer himself.
The black-cloaked man—his chest embroidered with a silver gong—glanced at the sugarcane scraps littering the floor at her feet. With a frown, he rotated his palm. A gust of qi gathered the debris into a neat pile.
He replyed gravely to Magistrate Chen: "This case is shrouded in mist—something's amiss. Perhaps we've been pursuing the wrong trail."
Magistrate Chen frowned. "What grounds do you have for this, Lord Li?" The investigation had all but confirmed supernatural involvement in the silver's disappearance. "Time slips away. We should focus on hunting the demon, not chasing wild theories."
In recent years, the imperial coffers had bled dry, and famine stalked the provinces. 150,000 taels equaled a modest county's entire annual tax revenue. The Emperor's fury needed no explanation.
"Damn it all—I'm already broke, and now this?!" Magistrate Chen had taken on this case with utmost diligence, but the weight of responsibility had stolen both his sleep and appetite.
The middle-aged man shook his head, choosing not to argue further. Instead, he asked, "Any new leads from Xu Pingzhi's interrogation?"
Magistrate Chen sighed. "A mere soldier—all he does is shout about his innocence. He doesn't even know how the silver went missing."
The young woman in yellow spoke coolly: "I observed his qi. He wasn't lying."
Li Yuchun and Magistrate Chen exchanged nods, dropping the subject. As the prime suspect, Xu Pingzhi had endured relentless questioning—his connections, finances, every detail scrutinized. Combined with the Directorate's qi-reading arts, his involvement had been all but ruled out.
Of course, the loss of the tax silver meant Xu Pingzhi's dereliction of duty—a death sentence unavoidable. The middle-aged man and Magistrate Chen wore solemn expressions. Only the carefree girl in yellow, blissfully unburdened, gnawed on her sugarcane.
Then—footsteps. A yamen runner hurried in, clutching a slender bamboo tube in his right hand and a greased-paper bag in his left, from which steamed the aroma of plump pork buns.
He offered the tube first.
The girl ignored it, her starlit eyes flicking to the buns.
Catching the hint, the runner switched hands.
Now happily munching on a bun, she finally accepted the tube, plucked out a slip of paper, and read aloud:
"My scouts detected no traces of demonic qi along twenty li of the riverbank—no signs of disturbance either."
Crack!
The tension shattered as Magistrate Chen slammed the table, his face purpling with rage. "150,000 taels of silver—where could it vanish?! It had to come ashore somewhere! Three days, and we've found nothing!"
"Damn these demons!" he roared. "When I find the filth that dared steal from the Dafeng Dynasty, I'll annihilate them—body and soul!"
If the silver wasn't recovered, he would take the blame—the Emperor wouldn't care about his grievances. Sit in this seat, bear its burdens. That was the unspoken rule of officialdom: claw your way up inch by inch, only to plunge down in an instant.
Li Yuchun exhaled, returning to his earlier point: "What if we're wrong? What if it wasn't demons?"
Magistrate Chen fixed him with a glare, forcibly swallowing his irritation. "If not demons, then what? How could the silver coins disappear into thin air once they fell into the river? And how could they set off huge waves that were several zhang high, shaking the banks of the river until they cracked?