The night wind swept through the crumbling courtyard walls, carrying a chill steeped in the mingled scents of rotting leaves and blood. Ye Qingxuan leaned against the broken wall, the rise and fall of his chest gradually settling. The nausea and bewilderment that came after killing someone were slowly forced back into the deepest corners of his heart.
He looked at the corpse beneath his feet, and a thought crystallized in his mind.
He had to report it.
It was the only vine he could seize, the only vine that could drag him out of this mire.
But how should he report it?
Say he had tracked him here and succeeded in a surprise attack? A temporary constable not even entered into the registers, tracking a notorious bandit at the second stage of Body Tempering—who would believe that? Say Mottled Fish had been lingering on his last breath and he had merely picked up the spoils? Once the coroner examined the body, the wounds on the throat bone, knee, and instep would reveal precise, ruthless force everywhere. They were nothing like the wounds a dying man could inflict, much less something an ordinary youth could have caused by sheer luck.
Even lies had to be told with proper structure. One flaw, and endless questioning would follow.
His gaze swept over the scattered bricks and rubble in the courtyard, finally settling on a blue flagstone half-buried in the earth, its edges rough and jagged.
A brand-new idea gradually took shape in his mind. A method that made the most sense and best fit his current identity.
He rose and stopped hesitating. First, he lightly scuffed over several places where the fighting in the courtyard had been fiercest, making the chaotic footprints even more indistinct. Then he grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it repeatedly over the chest and knees of his coarse-cloth clothes, creating the disheveled appearance of someone who had rolled and struggled across the ground.
When he finished, he walked to the blue flagstone, bent down, and exerted himself, pulling it from the earth. The stone weighed at least twenty or thirty catties. One side was smooth, while the other was uneven, bristling with sharp corners.
Carrying the stone, he walked to Mottled Fish's corpse and crouched down.
He looked at the throat knot he had crushed with his knee. The flesh there was still more or less intact; only the bones beneath had shattered. He drew a breath, raised the flagstone high, aimed its rough side at the corpse's neck, and smashed it down!
"Pff!"
A muffled thud. Flesh split, shattered bone mixing with blood spray. The traces of the original fatal wound were thoroughly muddled by the blow, leaving behind nothing but a mangled mess of flesh and blood.
He raised the flagstone again and did the same to the left knee he had kicked apart and the instep of the right foot he had crushed, smashing one spot after another. The muffled sounds of breaking bones came in succession, each one adding a few more sinister notes to the dead silence of the night.
He was not a corpse-torturing maniac. He was erasing his own traces.
He was concealing his consummate martial arts beneath the crudest, most savage method possible, disguising it as a desperate struggle born of a cornered dog—a bloody battle won by sheer luck.
At last, he tossed the flagstone aside and kicked the corpse hard several times around the waist and abdomen before finally stopping.
After doing all this, he was drenched in sweat, unable to tell whether it came from exhaustion or nervousness.
He took one last look at the wreckage of the scene, then turned and climbed over the courtyard wall without the slightest hesitation, his figure quickly vanishing into the crisscrossing alleys deep within the Southern District.
It was already the third watch of the night.
On the road to the Fengtian Division, Ye Qingxuan's steps were neither quick nor slow, but steady. Every step seemed to be calculating something in his heart.
Half an hour later, the two imposing stone lions of the Fengtian Division emerged in outline amid the night. The lanterns at the entrance swayed in the night wind, casting two pools of dim yellow light.
"Stop! Who goes there?"
Two constables guarding the gate had been leaning against it and dozing. At the sound of footsteps, one jolted upright and barked the question, hand pressing against his saber.
Ye Qingxuan stepped out of the shadows and cupped his fists. "Brothers, it's me, temporary constable Ye Qingxuan."
By the lantern light, the two recognized the familiar face they often saw during the day, and their wariness eased somewhat. One of them yawned and asked, "What brings you here so late?"
"I've made an important discovery and need to report it to the Chief Constable on night duty at once." Ye Qingxuan deliberately made his voice sound somewhat hurried, his breathing slightly uneven as well.
The two exchanged a glance. Seeing his disheveled clothes and the mud still smeared across his face, he truly looked as though he had been through something. They were only gate guards and could not be bothered to investigate further, so they waved him through.
"Go in. Find someone yourself."
"Thank you."
Ye Qingxuan strode through the gates of the Fengtian Division.
The yamen at night was utterly different from the bustle of daytime. In the empty courtyard, only a few eternal lamps stretched the shadows of pillars and eaves into thin, elongated shapes. Silence lay everywhere, broken only by the wind.
He went straight through the side courtyard toward the area at the rear where the Chief Constables worked and held discussions.
Just as he rounded a moon gate, a figure blocked his path.
The man sat cross-legged in a grand chair that should have been reserved for a Chief Constable, idly toying with a jade pendant in his hand, his face full of boredom.
It was Zhang Lingxiao.
Today, he had actually accompanied his uncle here to stand night duty.
Zhang Lingxiao looked up and saw that the newcomer was Ye Qingxuan. His brows furrowed first, then the corners of his lips curled into a contemptuous smile.
"Well, if it isn't the Ye Family's... constable." He deliberately dragged out his words. "In the middle of the night, instead of hugging your pillow and dreaming at home, what brings you to the yamen?"
Ye Qingxuan stopped and ignored his sarcasm, merely cupping his fists. "Young Master Zhang, I have an urgent matter and need to see the Chief Constable."
"The Chief Constable?" Zhang Lingxiao seemed to have heard a joke. He rose from the chair, stretched lazily, and sauntered over to Ye Qingxuan, looking him up and down.
"My uncle and the others have already retired for the night. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll pass it on to him later."
He patted Ye Qingxuan on the shoulder with an air of utter entitlement. The implication could not have been clearer: Report this achievement to me, and it will become Zhang Lingxiao's.
Ye Qingxuan shifted slightly to avoid his hand.
"This matter is of great importance. I must report it in person."
His voice was not loud, but it carried an unyielding resolve that brooked no discussion.
The smile on Zhang Lingxiao's face faded, replaced by a gloomy expression touched with offense. In the Fengtian Division, no temporary constable had ever dared show him so little respect.
"Ye Qingxuan, did you not understand what I said?" He took a step forward, nearly pressing his face against Ye Qingxuan's. "I said they've retired for the night! If you barge in now and disturb the Chief Constables' peace, can you bear the consequences?"
Ye Qingxuan remained unmoved. He simply went around him and continued inward.
Seeing this, Zhang Lingxiao's expression turned cold. He moved sideways and blocked the corridor leading to the rear hall.
"Stop!" he shouted. "I think you've lost your mind! Take one more step, and don't blame me for arresting you according to the rules of the Fengtian Division!"
Ye Qingxuan's footsteps finally stopped.
He turned and quietly looked at Zhang Lingxiao.
Moonlight poured down from the courtyard, casting the shadows of the two men onto the ground. One was arrogant and fierce; the other was still and composed.
"Young Master Zhang," Ye Qingxuan began, "I discovered the trail of the Remnants of Green Fish Gang, Mottled Fish. And I've already taken him down."
Zhang Lingxiao's pupils suddenly contracted.
"What did you say?"
"I said Mottled Fish is dead. The corpse is at the abandoned tile yard west of the city." Ye Qingxuan pronounced every word clearly, one by one.
Thirty taels of silver!
One merit credit!
Those two phrases were like two heavy hammers slamming into Zhang Lingxiao's heart. The arrogance and gloom on his face were instantly replaced by an expression mingling shock and greed.
He stared fixedly at Ye Qingxuan as though appraising a piece of merchandise.
"You?" He looked Ye Qingxuan up and down, his tone filled with disbelief. "You took down Mottled Fish?"
"It was only luck."
"Where's the corpse?" Zhang Lingxiao pressed, his breathing growing more rapid.
"The abandoned tile yard beside the mass graveyard west of the city."
Zhang Lingxiao's eyes rolled, and a thought immediately rose to the surface. He suddenly put on a smiling face and reached for Ye Qingxuan's shoulder again, this time with far greater warmth.
"Good! Excellent! Qingxuan, you've truly rendered a great service!" he said enthusiastically. "This matter is important and certainly cannot be delayed. How about this—you wait here for a moment. I'll go report it to my uncle right now!"
As he spoke, he turned toward the rear hall, his footsteps even more hurried than Ye Qingxuan's had been moments earlier.
Ye Qingxuan, however, seized him by the wrist.
His hand was covered in calluses from years of martial training. Clamped around Zhang Lingxiao's soft, delicate wrist, it was like an iron band.
Zhang Lingxiao winced in pain and struggled, but unexpectedly failed to break free. He snapped, "What are you doing?"
"Young Master Zhang," Ye Qingxuan said, his voice still calm, "I was the one who took him down. I was the one who killed him. I ask only for justice—to report the matter to the Chief Constable exactly as it happened. I dare not swallow the merit alone, but the chief credit must be mine."
"You..." Zhang Lingxiao was rendered speechless.
He had never expected this youth, who ordinarily looked frail and easy to bully, to be so unyielding at this moment.
"My uncle is right inside. Do you really think I would steal your merit?" he argued, fierce in words but weak in courage.
Ye Qingxuan said nothing. He merely tightened his grip another three notches.
The two men faced off beneath the corridor.
Ye Qingxuan knew that if he gave way even half a step tonight, this heaven-sent achievement would vanish in the blink of an eye. He might even end up suspected of killing someone and stealing the credit.
He could not retreat.
Zhang Lingxiao also knew that if he could not swallow this morsel of fat delivered straight to his mouth, word would spread, and the dignity of the Zhang Family's young master would be utterly lost.
He could not yield either.
At the end of the corridor, a door suddenly creaked open.
An elderly voice, slightly hoarse, came from within, carrying the displeasure of someone whose rest had been disturbed.
"What's all this racket outside? Have you no sense of propriety?"
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