Chapter Sixty-Six: The Rogue and the Autopsy

With a sigh, Di Ying rubbed his face after listening. “It’s not just politeness. Lives are at stake here. Whether it’s my family, your family, or those old soldiers, I don’t want to see anyone lost lightly. But those who want to deal with us are only growing in number; I have no choice but to be even more cautious. By the way, have you made any progress on the arson case I asked you to investigate a few days ago?”

Upon hearing this, Di Shun’s face, now a bit fairer than it had been in Bingzhou, twitched. He’d always considered himself cautious enough, but his brother Ying always gave him the sense of someone who seeks life by facing death.

“Brother Ying, you—never mind, let me tell you something: Since yesterday, the ‘Kexin Brokerage’ at ‘Hundred Flowers Lane’ in the East City has been sending invitations to the mansions of some high-ranking nobles. I had someone snag one for us. It’s no big deal, really, but it’s odd. The invitation says there’s some kind of auction at the brokerage tonight. It feels more like a game than business. Tch, trafficking in people, and they still manage to make a show of it. But it has nothing to do with us; after I read it, I had someone return it, just to avoid trouble. Anyway, about the case: the fire last September burned down almost half a street. It was rebuilt, and now the whole row is thriving businesses. But the original shop owners can’t be found. The neighbors said almost none escaped—they all perished in the blaze. But I did find something: it’s connected to that scoundrel.”

Di Shun lowered his voice as he spoke. Di Ying’s brow twitched and he asked, “You mean... Lai Wangcai? Was he coveting that area? Who was the original backer behind those shops?”

“Brother Ying, listen to me: That scoundrel is the hottest figure these days—anyone who gets involved with him, their whole clan is doomed. You wonder why the border wars can’t be won? It’s because some of our best generals... have been ruined by him. Brother Ying, you’re only a fourth-rank official now; you can’t afford to get entangled. Otherwise... no matter how many men we have, we couldn’t protect our families. We might not even be able to protect Di Family Village...”

As he spoke, Di Shun pursed his lips and lowered his head. Di Ying replied, “I won’t touch it.”

Instantly, Di Shun brightened. His newly plump face broke into a smile so broad it creased his cheeks. He answered quickly, “It was run by the wife of Li Suping, younger brother to Prince Xu, Li Sujie—who is a fifth-rank imperial equerry.”

Di Ying understood. Lai Wangcai, currently a sub-third-rank Minister of the Imperial Stables, was in charge of the Tribunal, and had organized hundreds of ruffians and scoundrels, specializing in false accusations and informing. To achieve his ends and eliminate rivals, the Tribunal employed tortures so horrific that even hearing of them chilled the blood and seeing them broke men’s spirits. If they wanted someone dead, they didn’t even need a real crime—just invent one and slap it on. In the three years since its establishment, almost a thousand lives had been claimed by their hands, most of them officials and the imperial Li Tang clan and their relatives.

Among the cases still piling up on Di Ying’s desk, some pointed behind the scenes to the Tribunal. But that was only his supposition, not the substance of the cases themselves, which were relatively straightforward: for example, one man kills another, then denies it, and the case becomes a cold one, set aside for Di Ying to handle. When he found proof, he could at most convict the murderer. But in the process, he discovered signs that the killer was being manipulated, though the man himself had no idea. At that point, Di Ying hit a wall—he could go no further. In short, dealing with Lai Wangcai would be like walking on knives or treading boiling oil. And even if he were willing, he had no evidence. There were no victims left to testify; those who fell into Lai Wangcai’s hands never survived. Or... like Li Suping, who simply endured after his territory was seized—no one would, or dared to, stand up.

Li Sujie, now titled Prince Xu, was currently Prefect of Shuzhou in Anhui. Di Ying had a feeling that Lai Wangcai had set his sights on Li Sujie. As soon as this feeling arose, Di Ying touched his own neck, wondering: how long until he himself was targeted? There should still be some time. After all, Lai Wangcai’s targets always seemed to align with the emperor’s wishes. The emperor, for now, didn’t dislike him... right?

He was still pondering this when Di Shun said, “Brother Ying, this morning our men went to the Han River outside the South City to meet some brothers and pulled up the body of a girl, about eight years old. I put her in the empty house in the back yard. Do you want to take a look?”

At this, Di Ying immediately rose and had Di Shun lead the way. Discovering a corpse was not unusual, but for the old soldiers to bring one back and for Di Shun to store it away, there was surely something strange.

Sure enough, as they walked, Di Shun explained, “Judging by the wounds, it’s not a natural death. Her clothing and skin suggest she’s from a wealthy family, but dressed in a pauper’s rags. I think she was kidnapped. Probably didn’t obey, so they threw her into the river.”

Di Ying said nothing, but his nostrils flared slightly and his dark, phoenix eyes grew even darker.

In the empty house, a pretty little girl lay quietly on a door plank set over stools. Her eyes were closed, and her small face bore a look of peace and relief, as if released from suffering. The sight made Di Ying grit his teeth. What kind of torment had she endured to greet death so calmly at such a young age?

Standing at her side, Di Ying closed his eyes and bowed his head in silence for twenty breaths. Then he lifted his head and took from the toolbox—always carried by Peng Liang and now at his feet—a pair of fur gloves made by Yao Cong, preparing for the autopsy.

Yao Cong was a practical man: once the idea struck, he had three hundred pairs of thin, soft, breathable, waterproof, and impermeable fur gloves made at once. Di Ying had Peng Liang carry a few pairs, kept two for himself, stored ten in the toolbox, and left the rest in his office storeroom.

At this, Di Shun lit some atractylodes in the room, and Peng Liang handed over slices of ginger. Di Ying put one under his tongue and had the others do the same. Once all was ready, Di Ying began the autopsy, narrating as he worked.

“The deceased is female, aged between seven and nine, weighing about twenty to twenty-five kilograms, height about one hundred and fifteen to one hundred and twenty-five centimeters. Based on petechiae in the conjunctiva, a small amount of stomach contents, and the livor mortis in the settling stage, time of death is estimated around midnight, about six and a half hours ago. The frenulum of the lips is torn—classic sign of asphyxiation. The skin is pale red, wrinkled, swollen, and gooseflesh-like; the mouth and nose are filled with pale red foam; there is water and silt in the airways; the lungs are severely edematous and emphysematous; the blood in both sides of the heart is altered and the aortic intima is stained red; the heart, liver, and kidneys contain diatoms. All these features indicate the cause of death was drowning.”