At the East Gate, directly facing Linzi, was where Huang Yixing had fallen to his death.
Jiang Wang and Lin Youxie arrived outside the city gate.
Beneath the night sky, Zhaoheng City looked like a colossal beast lurking in the shadows.
The city walls were towering, befitting its former name: Tianxiong.
The name spoke of lofty ambition and grand designs.
The Yang State once represented by Tianxiong City had been the strongest of the Nine Sun-Rising Kingdoms, born from the ruins of the Yang Kingdom.
But all that was past.
The Yang State's ancestral temple had long since been razed, and its last ruler had died amid a sea of soldiers. Yang Jiande had refined the bloodline of the Yang royal clan into demonic arts. The state had been wiped from the map,
and the old Yang court was heard of no more. Nor did anyone still mourn for Old Yang.
There were plenty of "people of Yang Land" like Huang Yixing, who had made themselves right at home as citizens of Qi.
The moon hung alone in the sky.
Lin Youxie stood facing the gate tower, seemingly imagining the scene at the time: how Huang Yixing had climbed the tower, and how he had fallen.
"Did you find anything from the body?" Jiang Wang asked, now that he had a chance.
"The details in Huang Yixing's muscles tell me he was terrified before he died," Lin Youxie said.
"But from his expression, and that painting..." Jiang Wang stopped there. "Is something wrong with the Chief Constable?"
"Not necessarily." Lin Youxie shook her head. "There are three layers of concealment: expression, emotion, and the inner self. The inner self shows in the body's subtle, instinctive reactions. He did an excellent job manufacturing both his expression and his emotions. It's no