Chapter 17: The Infinite Tattoo

Li Wenzheng’s body was preserved in the Ministry of Justice’s cold storage, awaiting retrieval by the Li family from Suzhou.

The Li family was the richest in Suzhou, with businesses spread across the realm—rumored to possess a fortune rivaling the nation itself. It was said that wealth leads to ambition; Li Jiuhua had three sons. His eldest and second sons were both passionate about commerce and had no interest in officialdom, so all of Li Jiuhua’s hopes were pinned on his youngest, Li Wenzheng. From a young age, he was sent to Bishan Academy, where his father spared no effort in his education and spent a fortune smoothing his path in the imperial examinations. Li Wenzheng did not disappoint; he had genuine ability. Though not the most outstanding, Emperor Mingde, dazzled by the Li family’s immense wealth, personally inscribed his name as the top scholar.

Emperor Mingde had his own reasons for this decision. The Great Sheng dynasty had been wracked by war for years, the treasury was depleted, and the three neighboring states watched like hungry wolves. Soldiers, weapons, and provisions all required silver, so he desperately needed the support of magnates like the Li family.

But who could have foreseen that Li Wenzheng would be so cruelly murdered under such circumstances? When Emperor Mingde received the news, he was furious, pounding his desk and urgently summoning his most trusted ministers for counsel. The newly appointed top scholar, assassinated in public—if word got out, the other states would laugh the court to shame.

Yet what truly troubled Emperor Mingde was Li Jiuhua’s impending reaction.

Had Li Wenzheng perished before becoming top scholar, the emperor might not have been so concerned. But to have him slain just after being handpicked as the nation’s brightest hope was a blow that would cut Li Jiuhua all the deeper, perhaps fostering an even greater resentment toward the court. Such is human nature: after gaining hope, to have it wrenched away breeds only deeper bitterness.

Now, only by quickly finding the murderer and uncovering the truth could the court offer the Li family an explanation.

Minister Dong Runian, head of the Ministry of Justice, could not muster a smile; he felt like sitting down and weeping. Which cursed soul had plunged him into this mess? He was but a few years from retirement, ready to enjoy the peace of old age—yet now this chaos threatened to ruin his plans for a graceful departure.

Thus, as Lu Ziqing and Shen Qianmo examined the corpse in the mortuary, Dong Runian personally came to oversee the investigation.

As he approached the mortuary, a heavy stench of blood assaulted his nose, making him frown with slight nausea. Yet, as a seasoned official with years of experience, he endured it easily enough. He soon saw a petite figure, completely wrapped in a loose robe of lake-blue, revealing only a pair of eyes, bent over a corpse, meticulously opening the abdomen and inspecting the organs one by one.

Dong Runian fixed his gaze on the person’s movements—decisive, precise, and calm—far superior to any coroner he had ever seen. He had served as magistrate in many regions and met countless coroners, but never one so skilled as this youth.

Lu Ziqing greeted Dong Runian with a respectful bow. “My lord.”

Dong Runian nodded in reply. Qin Niansheng, who was recording beside Shen Qianmo, was about to bow when Dong Runian waved him off.

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Shen Qianmo noticed someone had entered, but she never liked distractions while working; she didn’t even look up. She was focused on examining the deceased’s lungs, succinctly dictating her findings for Qin Niansheng to record.

The lungs were slightly swollen, blood vessels blocked—just like in the previous false Du Yu case—acute pulmonary embolism causing asphyxiation. Black residue was also found between the teeth, even more than in the previous case, likely because the time since death was shorter.

Her examination complete, she skillfully sutured the incision, covered the deceased with a white cloth, then looked up and saw a kindly, white-haired elder in official robes—the Minister of Justice, Dong Runian, surely. She signaled Qin Niansheng for assistance, removed her outer robe, mask, and gloves, and bowed. “Commoner Mo Xin greets Lord Dong.”

“So you are Mo Xin. Indeed, you are impressive,” Dong Runian nodded and asked, “Any discoveries?”

Shen Qianmo replied evenly, “The cause of death is the same as the last—pulmonary embolism leading to asphyxiation. We preliminarily suspect some drug hidden in the mouth, but the composition cannot yet be determined.”

“My lord, both victims concealed poison in their mouths. I suspect they were deathsworn,” Lu Ziqing added.

Deathsworn? Dong Runian’s brows knit tight with concern. “Then who sent them, and for what purpose?”

Lu Ziqing had no answer. He had been investigating for so long, yet there was no clue.

Suddenly, Shen Qianmo recalled something. “When I examined the body earlier, wasn’t there a round tattoo—hmm, an engraving?—on the left upper arm?”

The word “tattoo” might not exist in this era, so she chose a term they would recognize.

Qin Niansheng quickly replied, “There was, I remember it.”

Shen Qianmo turned to Dong Runian and Lu Ziqing. “Gentlemen, please come and take a look.”

Qin Niansheng lifted the white cloth again. The two officials approached, and indeed, on the upper left arm was a circular tattoo—a curved line bisecting the circle, resembling the Taiji symbol, though both halves were the same flesh tone, the ink faint and almost indistinguishable from the skin.

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When Dong Runian saw the mark clearly, his face blanched in shock. “Wuji Sect!”

Lu Ziqing and Shen Qianmo exchanged baffled glances. What was the Wuji Sect?

Dong Runian’s expression grew grave. “Did the previous victim bear this mark as well?”

Shen Qianmo thought for a moment and shook her head. “None was observed. But in the last case, the body had been dead for two days at the time of autopsy and was covered in livor mortis—the mark might have been obscured.”

Lu Ziqing asked, “Qin, you were the first to examine that body. Did you notice anything?”

Qin Niansheng looked blank, racking his memory, but finally shook his head, a little guiltily.

Lu Ziqing snorted, unsurprised. He had little faith in Qin Niansheng’s skills to begin with—if that coroner had found anything, it would have been a miracle.

As the case remained unsolved, the body of the false Du Yu was still preserved in the Ministry’s cold storage. Shen Qianmo re-examined it and did, in fact, uncover the tattoo—this time, not on the left arm but the right. It had been concealed by livor mortis and, as the ink nearly matched the skin tone, and with the lack of proper instruments, it had gone unnoticed. Only because the body had been frozen for days—the color of the livor mortis altered—did the tattoo become visible at all.

“So, they really were Wuji Sect people.” Dong Runian’s face turned ashen as he left with Lu Ziqing, deeply troubled.

Before departing, Lu Ziqing nodded politely to Shen Qianmo and instructed Qin Niansheng to see him out. Ever since learning of Mo Xin’s origins, Lu Ziqing’s doubts had been dispelled. The Mohist School of Shandong was famed for their arcane arts and mysterious ways, with many talented disciples; it was no wonder Mo Xin had concealed her identity at first.

What he hadn’t expected was that the Mohist School would be on friendly terms with Prince Xuan. It seemed the Xuan Prince’s household was indeed not to be underestimated.