In the Jun mansion, if there was anyone below one person but above ten thousand, it was this young steward. With Jun Yian often absent from Cangzhou, all matters, big and small, were decided by Cang Qianlang. His usual fairness in rewards and punishments commanded respect, and no one dared to speak further, responding with a low acknowledgment before quickly leaving. “Light all the lanterns,” Cang Qianlang said calmly. “And send for He Butuo from the young master’s retinue.” At his command, someone rushed off. A young steward stood by the bed, gazing down at the beautiful, now rigid face on the bed, murmuring, “What audacity, to commit murder in the Jun residence.” The young master of the Jun family, known as Gongzi Ye An, had sheltered many guests at his estate. These guests were much like the skilled thieves and charlatans under Mengchang Jun, each possessing a unique skill. Gongzi Ye An preferred to wander the martial world alone, seldom needing their services. However, when required, there was nothing they couldn’t do if Gongzi could think of it. He Butuo was particularly adept at forensic examination. Upon his arrival, Cang Qianlang simply nodded, “This is yours to handle.” He Butuo nodded in return without a word, and Cang Qianlang proceeded forward.
The entire Jun mansion was now ablaze with light. Cang Qianlang walked through the winding corridors, and before he even stepped into the punishment chamber, he heard faint sobbing. He opened the door to see a green-clad girl slumped against the wall, her arms dislocated, unable to support herself, and crying softly. “Why did you kill?” Cang Qianlang stood expressionlessly before Chuxia, lifting her chin with his hand, his voice cold, “Speak up now, and you’ll suffer less.” Chuxia recoiled in fear, tears brimming but not falling, shaking her head vigorously, “I didn’t kill anyone! Please, steward, see the truth!” Cang Qianlang scoffed, “You didn’t kill? Then why were you holding the murder weapon, standing in Wang Yun Zhai?”
“I don’t know… I really don’t know!” Chuxia exclaimed. “I went to add coal to the lady’s room, and when I entered, it was like that! The dagger… I just picked it up! It wasn’t me!” Cang Qianlang snorted in disbelief, letting go of her face with a sharp flick, seating himself on a rosewood chair, and ordered, “Bring me some hot tea.” The servant acknowledged and hurried off. Leaning back, Cang Qianlang said, “Very well, since you don’t admit it, tell me what you saw.”
Chuxia’s small face was streaked with tears as she bit her lip hard, trying to endure the pain, and whispered, “I don’t know anything… I went to Wang Yun Zhai tonight to add new coal, tripped over the dagger, picked it up… and the lady was already… like that.” She repeated these phrases over and over, and Cang Qianlang grew impatient. Just then, footsteps were heard at the door, and a tall, thin man entered, shaking off the cold.
“Well?” “The murderer slashed the lady’s throat several times with inadequate force, indicating someone unskilled in martial arts,” He Butuo said slowly, stroking his beard. “Her hair was completely shaved off, yet her scalp showed no signs of injury, indicating meticulous work. No hair was found in the bedding. To do this so carefully, it would have taken at least half an hour.” “I also checked the doors and windows of Wang Yun Zhai, no signs of an outsider breaking in. This murderer… is likely an insider.” Cang Qianlang’s face grew colder as he looked at Chuxia, now lying on the ground, a flash of severity in his eyes. He stood up and nudged Chuxia with his foot, “No signs of an intruder, and defiling the lady’s body would take time. Who else but a close servant would have such opportunity? And I’ve tested this girl’s skills; she indeed knows no martial arts…” He crouched down, grabbing Chuxia’s hair, “Do you hear me?” Chuxia’s eyes widened, her green jacket soaked with cold sweat, shaking her head.
“Why kill the lady?” Cang Qianlang asked again, his voice icy, “Would you like to experience the Jun family’s interrogation methods?” Chuxia shook her head desperately. “Will you talk or not?” The pain from her arms was overwhelming, and Chuxia bit her tongue to stay conscious, whispering, “I really didn’t kill her… She was good to me… Why would I kill her…”
“Good, then tell me, when did you go to the lady’s room?” Cang Qianlang released her, his voice stern. “I don’t remember… maybe just before the third watch.” “The third watch? Do you know what time it is now?” Cang Qianlang’s eyes grew colder. “It’s past the fourth watch, you say you went to change the coal, why stay so long?” Chuxia was stunned, murmuring, “How has it been so long? I just… went in…”
“Did you hear the night watchwomen outside when you entered Wang Yun Zhai?” Chuxia hesitated before saying, “I think I did.” Cang Qianlang scoffed, splashing the now cold tea on her face to prevent her from fainting, and continued, “The watchwomen saw someone entering Wang Yun Zhai at the third watch. Your quarters are below Wang Yun Zhai, right?” Chuxia gave a low affirmative. Cang Qianlang’s voice cooled, “So, it was you they saw?” Chuxia, now more awake from the shock of the cold water, trembled violently, nodding, “Yes.”
“Why did you stay in Wang Yun Zhai for so long? What exactly did you do?” Chuxia’s face showed confusion, “Just changing the coal.”
Seeing Chuxia’s suffering, He Butuo felt a twinge of pity and gently advised, “Little girl, just tell the truth. Why endure so much pain?” Chuxia was cold, in pain, and her crying strength was fading, yet she shook her head, refusing to confess. After a standoff that lasted the time for an incense stick to burn, Cang Qianlang grew impatient, his lips tightening, “The young master will be back in a few days, and this happens at home. You won’t talk? Fine—” He stretched out his hand, and a servant, understanding his intent, handed him a nine-sectioned whip studded with barbs. One lash from this whip would surely tear flesh. He tested its flexibility with a few flicks, “I’ll ask you one last time, will you talk?” Chuxia saw the fearsome weapon from the corner of her eye, her long eyelashes fluttering, but she still shook her head, “I didn’t kill her.” Cang Qianlang’s wrist moved, the whip about to strike Chuxia’s frail form, when suddenly a sharp sound cut through the air, and something like a hidden weapon shifted the whip aside by inches, narrowly missing the girl. Cang Qianlang paused, his gaze falling to the ground where a dry twig had deflected his whip. Outside the courtyard, guards stood with torches, all bowing in silence. At the doorway, a young man in a white fox-fur cloak, his hair bound with a jade pin, stood with an expressionless face.
