PC Chapter 17

Song Jiancheng was momentarily stunned, and it wasn’t until he saw Su Cen stride out of the front hall that he snapped back to reality and immediately shouted, “How dare you! This is court session time—where do you think you’re going?!”

Su Cen paid him no mind and walked straight out of Dali Temple. After a brief moment of thought, he headed in the direction of Guiyi Ward.

Wu Deshui was the gatekeeper on duty at the Eastern Market gate the night of Lü Liang’s murder. Early the next morning, Lü Liang was found dead in the Eastern Market, but Wu Deshui had disappeared, leaving only the keys on a table in the courtyard corridor.

Su Cen was almost certain that the person who led Lü Liang into the Eastern Market was connected to Wu Deshui.

This was also the only clue he had left to follow.

Chang’an City was laid out in a neat grid, with 108 wards symmetrically aligned. The imperial and palace cities sat in the north, facing south, connected by the central axis of Vermillion Bird Street. Backed by the Longshou Plateau, the city looked down upon everything below. The outer city also gradually differentiated from north to south. To the north lived the nobles and high officials; conditions worsened further south, and by the time one reached Guiyi Ward in the southwest corner, it was essentially a refugee area.

The south and north of Chang’an were like two extremes. The more glamorous one side was, the more dilapidated and bleak the other was.

Su Cen walked with difficulty. The roads in Guiyi Ward were not only narrow and rugged, but yesterday’s rain had also left behind a muddy mess mixed with an indescribable sour stench, making it hard to step anywhere. The shacks on both sides of the road were so chaotically built that they blocked out the sky. The winding paths made it feel like walking through a giant maze with no end in sight.

It seemed that Chancellor Liu didn’t care much for his little nephew, and it was likely that someone was flaunting Liu Xiang’s name to show off.

After wandering in circles in this shantytown area for quite a while and asking several people, Su Cen still couldn’t find Wu Deshui’s house. Finally, he gave a few copper coins to a mud-covered child, who then guided him to the right place.

Before he even entered, a foul smell mixed with a sour, rotten odor assaulted his nose, almost causing Su Cen to stumble. He knocked on the moldy wooden door for a long time but heard no response. The door was barred from the inside, so the person had to be in there. Su Cen took a few steps back and gave the rotting wooden door a hard kick. Sure enough, the door couldn’t withstand the force and collapsed with a creak.

Su Cen glanced around the dark shack, noticing a vaguely human shape on the bed, and only then did he step inside.

Moments later, Su Cen burst out of the shack, clutching his stomach and retching violently onto the muddy ground.

Wu Deshui lay horizontally on the wooden bed, his eyes bulging, his body swollen. The weather in April was neither too hot nor too cold, but his body was covered in livor mortis, with flies and mosquitoes swarming around—it was clear he had been dead for quite some time.

A few people stood around, watching indifferently, their eyes filled with apathy. Death was a daily occurrence here, and these people were already numb to it.

Perhaps they had long known that Wu Deshui was dead, living just a few shacks away. They let the stench spread and allowed the corpse to rot right under their noses without reporting it to the authorities—indifferent, as if it had nothing to do with them.

Suddenly, it felt as if even the muddy water on the ground was mixed with the smell of death. The indescribable stench along the way now had its source, and the people here, with their cold and apathetic eyes, were like walking corpses themselves.

Su Cen forced himself to stand up, sweeping his gaze over each person, and said aloud, “Go report to the authorities.”

“Someone has died—report it to the authorities! I remember each of you, and everyone standing here is a suspect!”

Some people in the crowd finally stirred, muttering “crazy” and turning away.

Su Cen grabbed the child who had led him there. “Go report to the authorities. They are walking corpses. You’re still young—don’t learn from them.”

The child, frightened, pulled his hand away with effort and ran a few steps, looking back hesitantly before nodding.

Since Dali Temple was far away, the child reported to the Jingzhao Prefecture nearby. Su Cen finally breathed a sigh of relief when the Jingzhao officials arrived, and he negotiated with them to have the body sent to Dali Temple.

The Jingzhao officials were more than happy to comply. After all, the deceased was Liu Xiang’s nephew, and the case was connected to the sensational new scholar case in the capital. Handling it poorly would only cause trouble, so it was perfect to offload this hot potato.

“How did the person die?” Su Cen asked.

The official was a minor assistant, several ranks higher than Su Cen, but he patiently replied, “The preliminary autopsy shows that the person seems to have… died from drinking?”

“Died from drinking?” Su Cen frowned and glanced into the dark shack, where several large jars of wine were visible in the corner.

“There are no wounds on the body, and no signs of poisoning. The skin is red, the tongue is white, the pupils are dilated, and the eyeballs are bloodshot. These are all symptoms of intoxication…”

“Wait,” Su Cen stopped the body as it was being carried out of the shack. Ignoring the overwhelming stench, he stepped forward to examine it closely.

Previously, he had been too sickened to notice the details, but now he saw the problem.

The body was swollen, but someone had seen Wu Deshui in the Eastern Market on the night of April 8. It had only been three days; even in midsummer, a body wouldn’t swell this much.

Su Cen pressed on the body’s abdomen in front of everyone, frowning. He pressed up to the chest and then stopped, deep in thought.

He had initially thought the swelling was due to decomposition gases, but now it seemed otherwise. Gas buildup would cause the chest and abdomen to swell, but Wu Deshui’s chest was flat, and his abdomen was distended, with water clearly accumulating below.

So, Wu Deshui’s problem wasn’t gas but alcohol.

The alcohol in Wu Deshui’s body had evaporated, causing the internal organs to deteriorate and rot. Although the body had only just started showing livor mortis on the surface, internally it was already badly decayed, which explained the rapid onset of the foul odor.

A normal person would never drink to such an extent. Wu Deshui died from drinking, but the exact method of drinking still needed further investigation.

“What’s the matter?” the assistant hurriedly asked, fearing that if he wasn’t careful, Dali Temple might refuse to take the case.

“Nothing,” Su Cen said, withdrawing his hand. “Carry on.”

Su Cen returned to Dali Temple with Wu Deshui’s body, just in time for the end of office hours. As people exited the temple, they cast curious glances at Su Cen and walked away, covering their noses.

Having been with the body for so long, Su Cen had become desensitized to the smell.

Entering the main hall, Su Cen found Song Jiancheng, who had just changed into his regular clothes and was about to leave. Su Cen blocked the entrance, preventing him from exiting.

Song Jiancheng, feeling helpless, stepped back to the window and pinched his nose, joking, “Oh, did you spend a day digging a cesspit?”

Su Cen pointed outside, “The body of Wu Deshui, the Eastern Market gatekeeper.”

Song Jiancheng frowned, “Why did you bring him here?”

“On the day of the incident, he was the one who opened the city gate for Lü Liang and the murderer.”

Song Jiancheng glanced outside and shook his head, “It’s already this foul; we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“Why wait until tomorrow?” Su Cen straightened up, “Aren’t you eager to solve the case? Why delay when the clue has been brought to you?”

“I was eager before, but not now,” Song Jiancheng smiled at the people around, “Gao Miao has confessed.”

“What?!” Su Cen’s body stiffened in shock.

“He confessed. He committed the murders out of jealousy after failing the exam, and so he stayed in the capital to assassinate the successful scholars,” Song Jiancheng glanced at Su Cen, “The case was solved quickly thanks to you, Scholar Su. You’ll be rewarded for your contributions.”

“What did you do to him?” Su Cen took a step forward, eyes blazing with anger.

If he had doubts about Gao Miao yesterday, he was now certain that Gao Miao was wronged. How could someone who left no trace in two previous crimes suddenly hang a body in his own house for the third? This didn’t seem like another crime but like someone eager to pin the blame on a scapegoat to clear their own suspicions.

“It’s not up to you to question my actions,” Song Jiancheng said, sidestepping Su Cen and heading towards the door.

Just two steps out, he was abruptly tugged by the corner of his garment. Turning around, he met Su Cen’s icy glare. “You said Gao Miao confessed. Then tell me, how did he get into the Eastern Market after curfew?”

“Wu Deshui’s death after curfew is just your word against mine.”

“And him?” Su Cen pointed outside, “He was on duty in the Eastern Market on the night of the eighth. He was murdered at home upon returning, and his body is right here. Is this also just my word?”

“Su Cen, don’t overstep your bounds!” Song Jiancheng pulled his sleeve away. “You’re just a seventh-rank clerk, but you’re acting like an official? If it weren’t for the support from above, you’d be in the same cell as Gao Miao. How dare you yell at me?”

Song Jiancheng frowned, dusted off his sleeve, and strode away.

Su Cen had no time to ponder Song Jiancheng’s words. His only thought was that he couldn’t let Song Jiancheng leave. He reached out to pull Song Jiancheng’s sleeve again.

But this time, he missed. Song Jiancheng, not deliberately avoiding him but simply raising his arm slightly, soon heard a sound hitting the ground with a thud. Turning around, Song Jiancheng saw Su Cen lying unconscious on the floor.

 

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