Chapter 71

Just two hours later, night fell completely, black and gloomy, pressing down until the smoky scent lingering in the courtyard dissipated. Only then did the moonlight break through the clouds, like a cold breeze finally blowing across the great river, showering the shimmering Yushui River. That night, especially on such an autumn evening, the river water seemed calmer than usual. The sound of waves lapping against its banks was faint and low, utterly unlike the roaring floodwaters of that day.

If not for having lived through it themselves, if not for the people who died in the flood still lying exposed outside Diancang Pass, they might have felt as if they were waking from a dream. Under the peaceful moonlight night after night, they might gradually forget that dreadful scene.

It seemed almost everyone in the city was trying desperately to forget.

That was why, once night fell, the city became so quiet—as if it had stepped out of reality, sinking into slumber with the Yushui River. No need to face life-or-death separations anymore, and no worry about tomorrow’s survival.

On the streets and alleys, the houses and courtyard walls wrecked or toppled by the flood stood out starkly under this tranquil, serene night. The uneven ground cast shadows—jagged like gnawed bones or stretching like distant mountain ranges—forming the deepest patches of inky blackness within the city’s nightly scene.

Most ordinary people, if they had some experience, would avoid these wall corners, yard edges, or the sides of tall towers.

Not because these areas were too dark to see clearly—after all, on regular days, the moonlight still fell on those high buildings and low walls.

Back then, those shadows were just patches of darkness. But tonight, amidst all that blackness, something murky had inexplicably appeared. Without clear paths or visibility, people couldn’t see who might be lurking. Would a bloodthirsty Vicious Bandit leap out suddenly, murder for wealth? Would they trip over someone, something, or even a bloated corpse left uncleared for days?

Only one kind of person would deliberately choose such ink-covered paths to walk.

Someone plotting trouble.

Of course, on this particular night, perhaps another kind needed adding—

Li Chou, Yan Ji, and Chen Shu.

All three differed in status, age, temperament, and even gender. If one had to sum them up, they were merely “people bursting with grand ambitions to solve this case, yet who’d never even seen a pig run before—utterly inexperienced.”

The three figures stole out of the small courtyard in Biyang Valley under the cover of darkness. First, they climbed onto the roof, but soon realized that leaping across eaves was especially conspicuous in the night, where scarce any lights burned. After arguing in hushed whispers for a while, the three helplessly descended from the roof and slipped into the patches of shadow. Halfway down the street, they sensed something was amiss.

Two of the figures wore dark clothes, inconspicuous enough at night, but the third was entirely different. Dressed in a stark white robe and sporting a white headpiece adorned with a feather that fluttered with every running step, this figure had blended with the others under the moonlight, but plunged into the ink-black shadows, it stood out glaringly.

That alone might have been manageable, yet for Li Chou, it wasn’t just his robe that drew attention; it was also the layer of powder invariably coating his face. Every so often, it caught the light and shimmered, appearing at first glance like stars dotted throughout the night, arresting all eyes.

Yan Ji, perhaps mindful of the close ties with Cold Pine Glen, seemed intent on vexing Li Chou over such a minor matter. Turning back, Yan Ji made a show of alarm and halted the “peacock,” exclaiming,

“Are you trying to be a thief? At this rate, you’ll be walking target practice!”

“We’re not here to pilfer anything!” Li Chou retorted, annoyance flashing across his stony face. “Since we’re in the right, conducting an investigation—trivial matters like these shouldn’t trouble us!”

“Great heavens, when you lounge about Biyang Valley, putting on airs to satisfy your vanity, naturally no one bats an eye,” Yan Ji countered. “But today, even if we’re not stealing, catching thieves demands the very same caution! With a display as dazzling as a peacock’s fan, anyone but the blind could spot you from afar. Let’s not end up captured ourselves while the thieves escape, leaving us to lament our oversight.”

Li Chou only grew more defiant. The two resumed quarreling right there in the alley’s gloom. But the slender patch of shadow didn’t cover the three of them. Chen Shu, pressed aside, ended up exposed outside the darkness. She stood stunned, watching as Li Chou rebutted Yan Ji yet again.

“You, me, and Miss Chen—with the three of us, what’s there to dread? What lowlife could take advantage of us? And if such a villain truly existed, why would he bother haunting this mass grave for unsavory deeds? To my mind, we shouldn’t sneak around like this. It makes us seem suspicious!”

“You don’t like sneaking? That’s all well and good for your pride. That thief wreaking havoc beyond the city walls might just bolt at the sight of that ghastly white shift of yours. Then, waiting through one whole night outside town may not net us even a trace of the criminal’s whisker—”

For some time, Chen Shu watched them arguing. She couldn’t stifle two successive yawns. When she came to, she noticed the very two who had been trading barbs had fallen silent. Without warning, they turned to stare at her.

“…Hmm, how about you two keep quarreling?” she suggested, scratching her head. “I’ll scout outside the city. When you’re tired or you’ve decided who’s right… you can come find me…”

“By no means!” Li Chou snapped. “As if this matter wasn’t first discovered by Biyang Valley disciples—and on top of that, with bodies all over the place, how could we let you go alone?”

Surprisingly, Yan Ji—who had been at odds with Li Chou—chimed in as well: “Indeed. If all three of us go, each can serve as a witness for the others. Should we apprehend a ringleader or some major offender, one day in the magistrate’s court, we’d have allies to confront the thief’s lies.”

Chen Shu hummed, tilting her head as she studied them both. Only once they exchanged another glance did she respond,

“Well, then, what were you two arguing about?”

Most likely thinking that she was taking his side, Li Chou let out a derisive snort, unable to conceal his smug satisfaction even in the shadows. He lifted his chin at Yan Ji. “Yes, what were you arguing about?”

Yan Ji’s eyes darted—first to Chen Shu, then to Li Chou. He cracked a wry smile, propping an arm behind his neck. “What, now you’re letting an amateur school the expert?”

“Now who’s calling you—”

But before Li Chou could protest those last three syllables, Chen Shu interrupted. She stretched her arms, delivering her idea to Yan Ji as patiently as explaining plain logic: “If you think his robe is too conspicuous… then why not just take it off?”

At that, Li Chou’s “Who’s calling—” halted midway through its utterance, diverting down an entirely different note. Even Li Chou himself spun his head back to Chen Shu, his expression laid utterly bare. Eyes wide, face paling with alarm, he sputtered, “—What?”

His startled cry—a protest itself—betrayed him. Eyes wide and body taut, he didn’t spy Yan Ji’s ambush until it was too late. An instant later, Yan Ji was upon him.

In that heartbeat, Yan Ji seized the opening and struck true—again. Though Li Chou snapped alert the moment Yan Ji stirred, flinching back to dodge, Yan Ji had predicted his retreat. Li Chou’s back met a short wall—one as thick and unyielding as those that stopped floods—and worse, he genuinely thought Yan Ji meant to rip off his robe. He floundered awkwardly, dodging right into the trap.

Li Chou’s desperate evasion only opened his flank to Yan Ji. With ease, Yan Ji leapt in, snatched the feather fixed to Li Chou’s headpiece, and plucked it away.

“Yan Ji!!!”

Rage consumed Li Chou. As if his fate and identity had been torn from him, he cursed furiously and lunged for the feather—but found he was only able to fend off one assailant at a time. Shielding his face from Yan Ji, he ignored Chen Shu completely.

Then, she pounced.

Just as Chen Shu had when hunting pheasants back in the valley: swift as the wind. With a deft flick of her grubby little hand, honed climbing over the rooftops’ sooty tiles, she smeared a streak across Li Chou’s meticulously powdered face.

Silence engulfed them.

Li Chou, it appeared, somehow sensed that two hideous black streaks now scarred his features. A tremor ran through his frame. His quarrel with Yan Ji froze mid-swipe. Only his neck swiveled—stiffly, disjointedly, like a puppet jerked by strings—turning toward Chen Shu. His expression spoke four words clearer than any tongue:

‘How could you possibly?’

Chen Shu offered him a sweet, beaming smile. Then she patted Yan Ji’s shoulder. “Well, that should solve things, right?”

Yan Ji nearly burst out laughing. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he managed only a strangled, “Mhm.”

As for Chen Shu? Proudly satisfied that she’d ended the squabble, she glanced back at Li Chou. The man hadn’t stirred this entire while, his eyes fixed on her as if carved of stone. She offered him a gracious smile. “Don’t mention it. Need me to add a bit more—?”

Just as Li Chou looked likely to collapse from fury then and there beside the street, Yan Ji finally stifled his chuckles long enough to speak. Stepping forth as the mediator this time, he chimed with merry satisfaction:

“…Well, it’s still far better than being stripped bare, isn’t it, Young Valley Master?”

Despite the tight security at Diancang Pass, with soldiers inspecting everyone entering or leaving multiple times, these were ultimately just ordinary troops. If they couldn’t detect those two sneaking figures, they certainly couldn’t stop the three of them. After a minor commotion, the trio slipped smoothly past the checkpoint and descended the city wall, quietly waiting in the small corner Li Chou had described.

From this corner, they indeed had a clear view of the mass graves just a few steps ahead of Diancang Pass. Corpses lay scattered silently on the small hillside, as if asleep.

Most, left unburied in haste, were piled directly onto the graves. Some, whose families could afford it, had thin layers of earth wept over them—enough to grant closure, though limbs still protruded. Others had been buried longer, yet the river wind had eroded the soil. Now part of their stiff hands and feet surfaced, emerging like sleepers clawing their way out from beneath, casting a chilling pall.

They waited for nearly an hour, facing a mountain of silent dead. Nothing stirred. Yan Ji was the first to complain, whispering low and incessant. Chen Shu, usually impulsive, knelt motionless, still as a leopard. Even as Yan Ji complained again, she suddenly spoke, her gaze fixed on the corpses.

“…I see them.”

“What?” Li Chou looked up but saw nothing—except Chen Shu, leaping forward like a bolt of primal night. She closed in on a distant figure, pinned him to the ground with shocking speed, and held him firm.

“Stop moving!” she chimed.

Instantly, several figures armed with weapons and clad in armor rose behind the corpses, shouting, “You fiend! We’ve waited nights for you—release him!”

Yan Ji and Li Chou, crouched at the wall, froze. Chen Shu blinked, lifting her eyes to the approaching soldiers, utterly bewildered.

“What’s happening? Who’s capturing whom?” she asked. She slowly freed one hand and hesitantly pointed at herself. “Am I the thief here?”