Chapter Sixty-One: White Dove

Qin Shu gazed at the mountain of case files and official documents piled upon his desk, his head feeling as heavy as an ox’s. The three-tiered food box standing amidst the chaos looked pitifully delicate, yet nothing was more pitiable than himself. After several shocks in succession, his soul had yet to settle, and tomorrow’s ordeals were still unknown.

If the Empress Dowager learned that he had locked her most beloved nephew in the magistrate’s prison, who knew if her thunderous wrath would not ignite his entire family.

But with witnesses and evidence gathered, in the face of the scene from earlier, he could not afford to bend the law for personal gain. Those censors, who rarely ate their fill and loved nothing more than stirring up trouble, might well conspire to submit a joint memorial, dragging him down with them.

Prior to this, apprehending the culprit was neither right nor wrong. Now, releasing him was equally impossible. In this predicament, the only path forward was to seek irrefutable evidence, hoping to clear the heir’s name. Should that prove possible, all would rejoice. If not, he could only await the day his head would depart his shoulders.

Thinking of his dear sister, Qin Shu’s former despondence swelled into a wave of determination.

“No matter how grave the matter, I mustn’t let my stomach suffer.”

With this, he rescued the food box from the heap of official papers, the aroma constantly teasing his palate. Opening the lid, he found the first tier held a pot of osmanthus tea, accompanied by several teacups.

Lifting the second layer, he was met with a familiar scent—thick and just right—immediately recognizing it as his sister’s handiwork.

But there was yet another tier. Puzzled, Qin Shu unveiled it and found a plate of pale violet pastries adorned with flower petals, their appearance enticing and calling for a thumb’s bite.

“Violet orchid cakes? Why did Ah Qin make these?”

He murmured, a little perplexed. Though delicious, violet orchid cakes were not his favorite. Was his little sister planning to visit the nobleman in the prison?

With this thought, the feeling he’d had at the prison gates—the sense of a pig rooting through his precious cabbages—rose again.

Qin Shu surveyed the great hall; only Liu Bu, his strategist, remained, flipping through case compilations beside him. After a moment’s consideration, Qin Shu carried the violet orchid cakes over, placing them on Liu Bu’s desk.

Liu Bu’s brows twitched as his gaze lifted. He first examined the pastries—so enticing in look and aroma—then glanced at Qin Shu, whose face betrayed a reluctant agony. “Is he bribing me?” Liu Bu mused. “Well, with such a major case, he can’t solve it alone. Of course he’d turn to me. This time he’s learned to use my favorite food as a sweetener—tsk, tsk.”

Nodding to himself, Liu Bu felt his reasoning sound.

He then recalled how that stubborn girl had earlier refused him even a morsel, yet in the blink of an eye, her brother was buying him off. Poor thing, with such a brother, stuck as a lowly official whose head could roll at any moment.

Liu Bu took one, popping it in his mouth. It was soft, fragrant, and a burst of freshness filled the air. Accepting favors, he obliged with advice.

“My lord, the crux of the heir’s case lies in whether Xue Dafu was beaten to death, and if so, whether it was by the heir’s hand.

If the coroner declares he was not beaten to death, we can immediately release the heir from prison. All witnesses and evidence confirm that the heir and Xue Dafu fought fiercely, but only fought. Before we arrived, both rested at that Liu fellow’s home.

If the coroner concludes Xue Dafu was killed by a beating, matters grow complicated. One possibility: the heir’s retainer did kill Xue Dafu. In that case, we merely submit a report detailing the facts. The rest—the judgment and sentence—falls to the higher-ups. It’s not our concern.”

Seeing Qin Shu smile at this, Liu Bu allowed a hint of mischief to show.

“However, we gain nothing good either. If discord arises between the emperor and empress, or if Prince Anping seizes the opportunity to strike, we become the source of turmoil.”

Qin Shu’s smile stiffened on his face. “Then what? Are we simply to await death?”

Liu Bu, seeing Qin Shu so frightened, waved a hand to reassure him. “It’s not so dire—that’s merely the worst case. Even if Xue Dafu was indeed beaten to death, must it necessarily have been by the heir’s hand?”

“You mean to fabricate evidence?” Qin Shu’s eyes widened in disbelief, tugging at his official robes in distress. “That’s not right.”

Liu Bu looked at his tangled, awkward expression, resisting the urge to strike him.

“…That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, Yuezhi, go on.”

Liu Bu pressed his left hand atop his right, trying to restrain himself. “In the prison, though the heir lay facing the wall, his build was plain to see—not tall or robust, even somewhat frail compared to most. The records note the heir’s delicate health, weak since childhood, never trained in martial arts. It was a brawl with weapons, nothing more. The weapon was handed over to us immediately.

Last night, I examined it—a small gilt fan, ornately carved, bearing a peony motif, hefty in weight. Perfect for striking, but not lethal unless Xue Dafu already suffered from an ailment. Then he’d have only himself to blame, since witnesses attest he sought out the heir with a gang of thugs.”

Qin Shu nodded, feeling his eccentric strategist truly had some talent.

“Shall we wait for news from Ma the coroner?”

Qin Shu’s face was bright with excitement, but Liu Bu’s lips twitched; the morgue was hardly a place for people.

“My lord, you go ahead. I’ll check the household registers to see if I can find any clues about Xue Dafu’s emancipation from servitude.”

“All right, Yuezhi, take your time.” Qin Shu flicked his sleeves, his steps much lighter.

Once Qin Shu departed, Liu Bu gathered a few documents and left the hall.

~~

Touching the newly fastened wooden hairpin atop her head, Jiang Lan stood in the shadows at the corner of an alley. She took a yellow talisman from her scented pouch, a spark flickered at her fingertips, and she vanished into the darkness.

With the help of the invisibility charm, Jiang Lan boldly strolled into the city magistrate’s offices of Jiankang.

She passed through the main hall to the rear; in a secluded spot, she saw a white pigeon take flight, and faintly glimpsed a man in a long robe. She arrived too late to see him clearly, only noting the deep blue hem embroidered with swirling clouds. The lighting was dim, his figure indistinct. The man turned and disappeared without a trace.

Someone sneaking out to release pigeons? Her intuition told Jiang Lan something was amiss.

But now the sky had brightened, the stars shifted, and it was late. She had to return before the jailer’s inspection.

At the prison gates, the guards were still there, but all slumped against the wall, spears in hand, snoring away, oblivious to the world.

Jiang Lan bent low and slipped through a gap, nearly bumping into someone emerging; she twisted aside just in time.

The prison’s air was heavy, the floor damp—whether always so, or freshly cleaned, she couldn’t say.

Cautiously, Jiang Lan moved deeper, avoiding people and objects as much as possible. Any wrong sound could rouse the inmates, and then how would she swap out Chifeng?

She couldn’t recall the original route, so she relied on Chifeng’s powerful demon energy to guide her through the corridors, finally arriving at the cell where she herself had been held.

“Pis-pis~”

Seeing the other self inside motionless, Jiang Lan called again.

“Pis-pis~”

The other self finally twitched a shoulder, rolled over, yawned hugely, then opened his eyes and sat up slowly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Invisibility charm? Not bad for a mortal.”

“Hush!” Jiang Lan pressed her finger to her lips, signaling desperately for him to keep quiet, inwardly wishing she could storm in and cleave him open. Was there ever such a liability? Certainly not a proper demon!

She waved her hand, indicating Chifeng should cast a spell to let her in.

Chifeng, bored, stretched languidly, then finally allowed Jiang Lan to enter.

Seeing this fool, mind clear from a good sleep, Jiang Lan clenched her palms, determined: once she left this body, she’d toss him and that spirit pouch into the endless abyss!

“No one came by, right?”

Jiang Lan tidied her hair as she questioned Chifeng, now restored to his true form.

“Uh…” Chifeng sweated bullets, uneasy under her scrutiny, recalling his prepared answer. “Uh, actually… yes, someone did.”

“Who?” Her brows knit at the news. She’d left late, the moon high. Who would visit the prison at such an hour?

Could it have been a magistrate’s interrogation?

Jiang Lan shook her head—impossible. This wasn’t some capital crime; there was no urgency for a midnight trial. Besides, she still held the title of heir to the Duke of Wei, not some nobody. Unless the court issued orders, no one dared interrogate or punish her.

Then why? Who was the visitor?

“…Seemed to be surnamed Gu. I just kept sleeping, didn’t say a word. After he left, there was a food box on the table,” Chifeng said, pointing to it.

Hearing Chifeng had only lain there without speaking, Jiang Lan sighed in relief. If someone discovered the person inside wasn’t her, that would be more shocking than Xue Dafu’s murder—far greater trouble.

“Do you know why he came?”

Chifeng impatiently leaned against the wall. “Just brought you a food box, what else? To see you locked up?”

“……”

“No one else came?”

“Yes,” Chifeng began, then paused. From the pouch beside Jiang Lan’s bedding, he produced an oil-paper-wrapped piece of cooked beef, eating it with gusto under her glare, thinking: That man was true to his word!