The rear hall of the Fengtian Division's South City Yamen was nowhere near as spacious as the front courtyard. Low eaves pressed down on the daylight, the furnishings inside were simple—a black-lacquered wooden desk and several official chairs—and the air carried the musty smell of old case files mixed with the odor of cheap tea.
Chief Constable Zhang sat in the seat of honor, his fingers tapping the desktop off and on as his narrow eyes watched the people below.
Duan Tianbao had come along in person, but there wasn't a single wrinkle in the brocade robe he wore. He didn't stand. Instead, he found a guest chair and sat down of his own accord, even crossing one leg over the other. His posture was hardly that of a man brought in for questioning; it was plainly that of someone dropping by for a visit. Hu Jiudao and the others stood behind him like several wooden stakes.
Ye Qingxuan stood in the middle of the hall, back straight, one hand never leaving the saber at his waist. Beside him, two neighbors supported Uncle Gao, who had only just come to. The old man trembled all over like a sieve and couldn't say a word.
"Chief Constable Zhang." Duan Tianbao spoke first, wearing a familiar smile. "Is the tea here still last year's stale tea? I'll send you a couple of jin of quality Dongting Spring tomorrow."
At that, Chief Constable Zhang raised his eyelids slightly, and the fingers tapping the table stopped. "Cut it out, you brat." Though his words were scolding, there wasn't the slightest bit of anger in his tone. Instead, he sounded like an elder lecturing a mischievous junior.
Only then did he turn his gaze toward Ye Qingxuan, but his expression darkened. "Ye Qingxuan, what's going