Fengtian Division, South City Yamen.
Today, the yamen courtyard was utterly different from usual. Though dawn had barely broken, the courtyard was already packed with people, yet not a single sound of chatter could be heard. The constables who usually joked around stood ramrod straight, hands resting on their saber hilts, eyes fixed ahead. The air was oppressive, like storm clouds massing before a downpour, pressing the breath from their lungs.
In the center of the courtyard, Hong Qingshan, Chief Constable Zhang, Chief Constable Hong, and the other constables bearing official rank stood in two lines. Even Deputy Commander Xiao Yunting, who usually appeared and vanished like a dragon, stood beneath the corridor before the main hall with his hands clasped behind his back. Clad in purple official robes, his expression was as heavy as still water.
Wei Datong, Xiong Tiezhu, Zhang Lingxiao, and the other temporary constables stood far back in the rear row, not daring to make a sound.
Ye Qingxuan blended into the crowd in a short jacket washed pale from wear, hardly noticeable. His eyes lowered, he stared at the blue-brick ground half a foot before his toes, his heart as still as an ancient well. He had not slept at all the previous night. Whether Mu Wanjun's words—"I'll remember that"—would bring fortune or calamity would be revealed today.
"Creak—"
The heavy yamen gates were pushed open from outside. A middle-aged man in a fourth-rank Kirin Official Robe strode into the courtyard with the bearing of a dragon and the gait of a tiger. His face was square and imposing, his authority apparent without anger. He was none other than the highest-ranking official of the South City Yamen, Chief Constable Shen Shikang.
When Xiao Yunting saw him enter, he merely inclined his head slightly in greeting.