Tan Zhenglong's burly figure disappeared at the end of the passageway, leaving Ye Qingxuan alone in the room. He leaned against the icy door panel, and the force he had been mustering finally collapsed, leaving every limb aching and weak.
He slowly slid down to the floor, his own heavy breathing filling his ears. The lamplight flickered, stretching and shrinking his shadow on the wall, like a struggling specter.
Nine parts of what he had told Tan Zhenglong were true, and one part was false, truth and lies tangled together in a way that made them hardest to distinguish. Yet he knew clearly that an old constable like Tan Zhenglong would never believe it all.
That final scrutiny in those tiger eyes had clearly been an interrogation, an attempt to weigh him.
The bruise on his chest was real, but even if a second-stage Body Tempering martial artist were gravely wounded, how tremendous would the force of a final counterattack punch be? He had only suffered bruising across his chest, without coughing blood or damaging his internal organs. That alone was the biggest flaw.
And why had Mottled Fish kept falling down? Saying he had "already been injured" was far too vague.
He had to patch this hole.
He raised his head and, facing the empty room, silently went over his story once more. This time, he added a few details.
"...The thief was limping, and he was unsteady when he ran. I figured he must have been terribly wounded. Only later did I realize that with the whole city hunting him, how could he dare seek a doctor or medicine? After dragging it out for so many days, his wounds must have festered and oozed pus long ago. He had no strength left, which was why he was so... so useless."
He reached out and forcefully pressed several joints on his own body until red marks appeared, then stopped. That way, there were several more traces of having "struggled" on his body.
The devil was in the details. Only when every detail pointed toward the same result would a lie become "fact" in someone else's eyes.
Amid the wind outside came the faint sound of footsteps. Ye Qingxuan jolted and rose from the floor, once more putting on that look of someone who had been frightened out of his wits.
The door was pushed open, and Tan Zhenglong strode in. His expression was placid, revealing neither joy nor anger.
He did not look at Ye Qingxuan. He simply walked to the table, poured himself a bowl of cold tea, and drained it in one gulp.
"The chief constables already know." He set down the tea bowl, his voice still rough and booming. "Chief Constable Hong's meaning is that this matter is serious. After dawn, we must bring an examiner to inspect the scene before reaching a conclusion."
Ye Qingxuan's heart sank. An inspection? An examiner's eyes were notoriously sharp. Could the injuries he had smashed with stones still be concealed?
Tan Zhenglong shot him a glance, as though he had seen through his thoughts, and added, "Deputy Envoy Xiao has ordered that what matters is the result. Since the man is already dead, as long as the process can be explained, it doesn't count as a major issue."
Those words were a calming pill.
The great weight in Ye Qingxuan's chest fell away by half. The higher-ups of the Fengtian Division wanted someone to claim the thirty-tael bounty and the Green Fish Gang case brought to a close. As for whether the credit went to Zhang San or Li Si, or whether one person or ten people claimed it, they would not investigate too deeply.
"Go back for now." Tan Zhenglong waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "You are not to mention tonight's events to anyone. Wait here tomorrow morning for summons."
Ye Qingxuan stood where he was, however, and did not move.
He bowed deeply to Tan Zhenglong. "Constable Tan..."
"What else is there?" Tan Zhenglong's brows furrowed again.
Ye Qingxuan raised his head. His face bore the awkwardness peculiar to a lowly nobody, almost obsequious, yet his eyes revealed a clarity far beyond what someone his age should possess.
"Constable, this... this credit is a matter of enormous importance to me. I'm insignificant and have no say—I'm only an unregistered temporary constable. I'm afraid... afraid that if things drag on, something unexpected may happen."
He did not spell it out, but the meaning was already clear.
Within the Fengtian Division, connections and nepotism were deeply rooted. How many achievements had changed owners after being passed through a single set of paperwork? If he left tonight, then by dawn, the owner of this credit might no longer bear the surname Ye.
Tan Zhenglong's gaze sharpened. He stared at Ye Qingxuan for a long while without speaking.
This kid was not merely bold. He was careful too, and possessed a stubborn refusal to accept his fate. Tan Zhenglong had believed seven parts and doubted three parts of his clever, flattering story. Yet now, seeing him fight for his own credit, he found himself holding Ye Qingxuan in higher regard.
In this turbid world, honest men did not live long.
"You want some proof?" Tan Zhenglong saw through him with a single sentence.
Ye Qingxuan lowered his head even further, almost burying it in his chest. "I... I only want peace of mind."
"Hmph." Tan Zhenglong let out a light snort through his nose. It was impossible to tell whether it was approval or ridicule.
He turned and began rummaging through the desk piled high with case files, muttering as he did so, "You really are a clever one. I've served for twenty years, and I've never seen a temporary constable dare ask me for proof."
Ye Qingxuan did not dare reply. He merely bent forward and waited quietly.
He knew this was his final gamble tonight. If he succeeded, the road ahead would suddenly open wide. If he failed and angered this official constable, tomorrow's events would be filled with countless more variables.
Tan Zhenglong searched for a while, then pulled a dark, heavy object from a locked wooden box and casually tossed it over.
Ye Qingxuan hurriedly reached out and caught it.
It was an iron token about the size of a palm. It felt cold and carried considerable weight. It was pitch-black all over, made of some unknown material. The front was smooth, while the back was carved with layers of intricate cloud patterns, with an archaic feng character in the center.
"This is an internal dispatch token of the Fengtian Division. The cloud patterns on every one differ slightly, and rubbings are kept on file only with the chief constables and the constable on duty." Tan Zhenglong's voice regained its rough boom. "Mine bears the 'Mystic Bird Pattern.' Keep it safe. If someone asks tomorrow, or if anyone wants to play some crooked trick, take this thing out."
He paused, then continued, "This token is as good as seeing me in person. I, Tan Zhenglong, may not be any great figure, but my words still carry some weight in the Fengtian Division. Since I've accepted your credit, I won't let it fly away for nothing."
Ye Qingxuan held the token, its edges digging into his palm. Its icy chill, however, set his heart ablaze.
He carefully tucked the token against his body, then took a step back and gave Tan Zhenglong a deep bow at a full ninety degrees.
"Thank you for making this possible, Constable Tan!"
This bow came from the heart.
Tan Zhenglong impatiently waved his hand. "That's enough. Get lost. Looking at you is giving me a headache."
Ye Qingxuan said no more. He bowed once again, turned, and quickly left.
By the time he walked out of the Fengtian Division's gates, it was already the fourth watch. The night was at its darkest, and the cold was at its bitterest. He glanced back at the two stone lions that resembled ferocious beasts in the darkness, then lowered his head and touched the hard iron token in his robes.
He had finally hacked out a path to survival with his own hands.
He quickened his pace toward Southern District. Tonight, he no longer needed to take those dark corners. Instead, he walked down the middle of the streets and alleys, his steps far lighter than when he had come.
However, when he turned into the familiar alley leading to his home, his footsteps suddenly halted.
Outside his courtyard gate stood a tall, slender figure, back turned to him, quietly bathed in moonlight.
The man wore an ordinary coarse-cloth short jacket, yet his body was straight as a spear. Even standing there, he exuded a steady bearing utterly out of place with his surroundings.
Ye Qingxuan's heart shot straight into his throat.
Was he from Fierce Tiger Hall? Or... had Zhang Lingxiao sent him?
Without making a sound, he slid his hand toward his waist. The short-handled woodcutter's ax that had killed a man was still tucked there.
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