Chapter Sixty-Five: Bold Hypotheses, Reasoned Analysis

The registrar had finally lost his composure. Grabbing Xu Wenshan by the collar, he shouted, “I’ve had enough! I’ll kill you!”

Xu Wenshan, his backside still sore and his energy not yet restored, was tackled to the ground by the registrar and grimaced in pain. The county constable stepped forward, seized the registrar, and said, “Calm down! What good will this do?”

Lü Wuji pointed with his hand, and the branch Xu Wenshan was holding flew from his grasp into Lü Wuji’s hand. Lü Wuji examined the grease on the branch and said, “The remnants of flesh and blood on this are indeed from Song San.”

“How can you be certain?” Xu Wenshan asked.

Lü Wuji tossed the branch aside. “I possess a Daoist art that discerns flesh and blood. The blood of ordinary mortals—I can tell at a glance whose it is.”

Xu Wenshan’s interest was piqued. “Such a Daoist art exists?”

“I observe the myriad methods. What kind of Daoist art have I not seen?... But don’t get ahead of yourself. Just because we’ve found this doesn’t mean you’re cleared of suspicion,” Lü Wuji replied.

Xu Wenshan struggled on the ground but could not get up. Xu Jing walked over, expressionless, and helped him to his feet. Xu Wenshan glanced at her but said nothing in the end.

“We’ve found the scene, but the murder weapon is still missing,” Xu Wenshan said. “I suggest that everyone help search for it. It’s likely a blunt iron tool, and there should be traces of blood on it.”

Thus, the constable sent the yamen runners off to search for the weapon. Xu Wenshan glanced askew at Lü Wuji and, seeing he was being watched in turn, closed his eyes and murmured, “My body aches. I’ll rest a bit.”

He closed his eyes and quietly stirred the demon power of Lu Ze. Soon, there was a response.

Under the concealment of “hibernation,” this faint fluctuation of demon power did not attract Lü Wuji’s attention.

Thus, cautiously, he used a slender thread of demon power to communicate with Lu Ze.

“Found it! Found it!”

A yamen runner came running, holding a shovel with a broken handle. The shovel was rusted and still bore dark bloodstains.

Lü Wuji took the shovel, nodded, and said, “The blood on this is indeed Song San’s. Where did you find it?”

The runner replied, “I discovered a patch of freshly disturbed earth not far from here. When I dug it up, I found this shovel.”

“Was there anything else besides the shovel?”

The runner shook his head. “Just the shovel, nothing else.”

Lü Wuji held the shovel and turned to Xu Wenshan. “Now that we have the murder weapon, can you deduce who the killer is?”

Xu Wenshan shook his head. “Not yet. I need time to think.”

He closed his eyes for real this time, refusing to speak another word.

Those around exchanged uneasy glances. Things had gone smoothly until now; in truth, they had harbored some quiet admiration for Xu Wenshan. But now he seemed unreliable once more.

The registrar sneered, “This kid tricked us before, claiming he knew the killer. Now he’s giving up halfway. I say he’s a demonic cultivator—how else would he know so much?”

The constable replied, “Be patient. If he were a demonic cultivator, would he have led us this far?”

The registrar snorted, “I’m just saying. Daoist, what do you think?”

As a cultivator, Lü Wuji was more perceptive. “What we know for sure is that Song San followed a beautiful young woman out of the city, and was then killed on this hillside by someone slashing his throat with a shovel, after which his flesh was cut off and roasted over fire.”

The registrar was speechless. The constable quickly picked up the thread. “Should we immediately search for this young woman?”

Lü Wuji nodded. “Let’s look for her first and find out whose household she belongs to. Even if she’s not the killer, she’s definitely involved.”

The constable dispatched runners to search every farmhouse for the young woman. After a while, all they brought back were a group of ordinary farmwives, none of whom matched the description of “a beautiful young woman.”

The registrar stomped his feet, pointing at the constable and scolding, “Are your men so useless? Even I wouldn’t be swayed by these village women—how could they beguile my nephew?”

The constable, face dark, bickered with the registrar. Lü Wuji stood silent, already realizing they would not find the young woman. He thought to himself, “If that young woman were a demonic cultivator, why use a shovel to kill? If not, why does the corpse bear traces of demon energy?”

After a moment, Lü Wuji suddenly exclaimed, “Of course! It was a mortal who killed Song San!”

Those present all looked at one another, not daring to question him.

Lü Wuji continued, “A mortal killed Song San. If a demon wished to kill, it would not use a broken-handled shovel. So the possibility of a demon slaying him is ruled out. But the one who ate Song San must have been a demon, hence the faint demon aura lingering on the corpse.”

At this, Xu Wenshan, who had been silent, opened his eyes and asked, “Daoist, are there demons in this world who roast and eat human flesh?”

Lü Wuji stiffened, silent. For truly, no demon roasted human flesh; if demons ate people, it was always raw. But if a mortal had eaten him, where did the demon aura come from?

With this, their reasoning once again reached an impasse.

The registrar could no longer bear the suspense. He rushed over, seized Xu Wenshan’s clothes, and said, “Didn’t you just swear you could find the killer? Why are you silent now? Cat got your tongue?”

Xu Wenshan kept his eyes tightly shut, refusing to speak.

The registrar pressed on, “I say you’re the killer—how else would you know so many details? Looks like you haven’t been beaten enough. Drag him back to the yamen and thrash him again and he’ll confess!”

At this moment, Xu Jing, who had been silent all this while, suddenly spoke: “Why would the shovel be on the hillside?”

The registrar released his grip. “What do you mean?”

Xu Jing said, “If the murderer used the shovel to kill, it must have been a spur-of-the-moment act, grabbing a handy tool to strike. That shovel looks like a farmer’s implement. Even if the handle was broken, it should have been left in the fields, not on a hillside.”

The constable caught her meaning. “Indeed, the shovel shouldn’t be on the hillside, but in the fields. The murderer must have brought it to the hillside deliberately.”

Everyone thought about this and realized it made sense. None of them were farmers, and they looked down on tilling the land, so it hadn’t occurred to them. Now, prompted by Xu Jing, they realized: there were no fields on this hillside, nor any houses—why would a broken shovel be here?

The constable continued, “I think the crime didn’t happen here—this is just where the body was dragged. The real scene was in the fields. The murderer used the shovel to kill, likely in a fit of rage, otherwise why use such a blunt tool? Clearly, the murderer picked up the nearest shovel, killed Song San, then dragged him here and buried the shovel as well...”

The registrar followed this line of thought: “It must have been a trap set by that beautiful young woman. She lured my nephew out of the city to the fields, where others lay in wait, and then they all fell upon him and killed him...”

But the constable shook his head. “I don’t think so. Your nephew followed her out of the city on a whim—how could she have known he would do so, or arranged an ambush in advance?”

The registrar retorted angrily, “Didn’t you hear the Daoist? That young woman is a demonic cultivator, using sorcery to enchant my nephew and lure him out. That’s the only possible explanation; otherwise, where did the demon aura come from?”

Lü Wuji rubbed his head, feeling muddled. In truth, he was not skilled at deduction; his suspicions of the young woman or Xu Wenshan were just instincts. Yet, under Xu Wenshan’s subtle influence, he had been led into the dead-end of logical reasoning, and the feeling was most unpleasant.