Setting A Web (2)

Le Wuya was not busy investigating the case; instead, he had all the gamblers thrown into Nancheng Prison.

In no time at all, the place was in an uproar, like a market stall at noon.

The cries of grievances, quarrels, and complaints among the gamblers were endless.

Ge Erzi was imprisoned alone in a cage next to Wenren Yue because he had been brazen enough to rob someone right in front of the county magistrate — a truly heinous crime.

Wenren Yue, who had been sleeping, was woken up by the man's noisy moaning and groaning.

This new body was as weak as his soul. Wenren Yue had taken medicine and fallen into a deep sleep.

When he woke up, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The prison had been empty yesterday — when had so many people arrived?

What surprised him even more was that there was a familiar face locked up in the cell next to him.

If he remembered correctly, this was the person who had brokered the deal and sent Chang Xiaohu into the coal mine...

Although Ge Erzi was injured — an arrow had pierced his flesh — his bones were unharmed. It was only his flesh that suffered.

Perhaps the lowly are harder to kill. His spirits were decent enough — the moaning and groaning was mostly for show, born from boredom and a desire for attention.

He had not recognized the person in the darkened cell, but now, woken by the noise, he sat up. When he finally made out the face clearly, Ge Erzi could not help but be startled.

Scholar Ming had been pestering Chang Xiaohu for half a year, and Ge Erzi was long tired of that sour scholar — he had been silently wishing for the man's death every day.

Unexpectedly, his curse seemed to have worked -- the man had genuinely ended up a death-row prisoner.

Ge Erzi had the sharp instincts of a common street man -- he had an intuition that something was off here. Still, he did not dare say anything and quietly went about his business.

Now that he saw this death row prisoner, he felt inexplicably guilty and irritable.

So he snapped viciously: "What are you looking at?!"

Wenren Yue blinked and asked: "Why are you in jail? Is it because of Chang Xiaohu's case?"

Ge Erzi: "..."

Wenren Yue's blunt words made him more and more uneasy. After rudely telling him to get lost, he hugged his knees and retreated to the corner. The more he thought about it, the more anxious he became — he even forgot to groan in pain.

Wenren Yue touched his lips and suddenly remembered that Le Wuya had told him not to speak.

Feeling deeply guilty, he picked up a pebble, wiped it clean, put it in his mouth, and said no more.

Ge Erzi was not the only one who couldn't sleep that night.

Chen Wang, the prison chief of Nancheng Prison, had been busy all day. Not long after he finally caught a break, he was summoned back by Yuan Chen.

He was suffering from exhaustion, but he owed his position as warden to Chen Yuanwai's patronage — so he forced a smile regardless.

But when he heard Chen Yuanwai describe how the magistrate had raided Jixiangfang, the shock wiped away every trace of drowsiness.

He had quietly bought a stake in Jixiangfang himself!

His heart clenched with private anguish, but Chen Yuanwai had something else entirely on his mind.

Once Chen Yuanwai finished speaking, the cold spread deeper into Chen Wang's chest: "You mean — you want me to deal with Ge Erzi..."

Chen Yuanwai: "You're unwilling?"

Chen Wang hurriedly waved his hand: "I wouldn't dare. But, Uncle, I am not on duty tonight..."

Chen Yuanwai suppressed his anxiety and leaned back: "So you are unwilling."

Chen Wang's scalp prickled in waves.

He knew that his ability to walk freely in Nanting was entirely thanks to this uncle.

Without his backing, Chen Wang was nothing.

He dropped to his knees at once, and desperation sharpened his thinking: "Uncle, let me explain — it's not just that. You mentioned that Mr. Wenren arrested many gamblers, at least dozens of people. The Nancheng cells must be full by now. The space is small, but there are so many people — it would be very difficult to act."

This was true enough.

Mr. Chen stroked his beard and fell into deep thought.

He felt that the situation was becoming rather unpredictable.

Wenren Yue had been making noise every day about cracking the scholar's case, yet now he had suddenly changed course and inexplicably raided Jixiangfang. And Ge Erzi had been among those caught — shot by Wenren Yue in the street — which inevitably gave rise to all manner of speculation.

Most importantly: where was Sun Xian Cheng?

After receiving the letter, Chen Yuanwai had sent someone to find Sun County Magistrate, wanting to know what the county magistrate was planning.

But the yamen officer on duty reported that Chief Sun was away on official business and was not at the yamen.

Seeing Chen Yuanwai deep in silent thought, Chen Wang didn't dare rise from his knees.

After the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, Chen Yuanwai finally spoke.

"Go to the Sihai Tower and arrange a proper dinner. ...Come to think of it, it's past time I met this county magistrate of ours."

A quarter-hour later, Le Wuya received an invitation — the ink still wet.

He accepted without hesitation.

Some things were best said face to face.

However, when Le Wuya — dressed in casual clothes — walked up to the Sihai Tower, he paused slightly, took a step back, and studied the quaint restaurant.

The bright moon shone like frost, lanterns hung high overhead, and the refined, timeless sound of a zither drifted faintly out. Everything appeared perfectly normal.

And yet somehow, Le Wuya sensed something strange about this restaurant.

...There was a certain quality to it — the feeling of a place that had been carefully "swept clean" — as though someone important was within.

Le Wuya had encountered this kind of scene many times in his past life, which made him particularly sensitive to it.

Le Wuya's heart quietly sank.

Wait —

Was he wrong?

Could this Chen Yuanwai, a man outside the world of officialdom, actually have connections that ran this deep?

Before he could finish the thought, a man appeared at the door — long-faced, slightly heavyset, bearing the unhurried dignity of a person accustomed to comfort: "Magistrate Wenren, forgive me for not coming out to greet you sooner."

Le Wuya swept every stray expression from his face: "Mr. Chen."

Mr. Chen smiled pleasantly and gestured: "Please, come in."

The table had been arranged hastily, just the two of them.

The moment they were seated, dishes arrived in a steady stream.

"All local dishes. I hope you do not find them too plain." Chen Yuanwai produced a glass pot and said, "I've heard your father was of Jing descent. I happen to have a bottle of grape wine in my stores — quite a good one. Please, try it and tell me if it's authentic"

At that moment, the two princes separated by a wall fell silent.

To avoid drawing attention, they had taken rooms at the Sihai Tower but hadn't closed off the dining hall to locals.

They were simply having a late supper in the finest private room — and had not expected to walk into the middle of a show: a wealthy merchant entertaining the county magistrate.

The Sixth Prince said quietly: "...Jing descent."

The Seventh Prince: "Sixth brother, the realm is at peace. Intermarriage between the two peoples is as common as fish in the river — you don't need to get sentimental every time you hear of someone with Jing blood."

The Sixth Prince glanced at him.

...He had not said who was on his mind, and yet he was being pre-emptively blamed all the same.

...

The nectar in the pot glowed a vivid red against the glass — extremely striking.

Le Wuya had drunk widely in his past life and knew this wine was indeed good and not particularly strong.

He used to be able to drink cup after cup without getting drunk, but now that he was in this new body, he had no idea what his capacity was, so he remained cautious and took only a small sip.

He offered a compliment: "Fine wine."

He did not raise anything serious, and Mr. Chen likewise kept to pleasantries while they were in the open. He simply kept refilling Le Wuya's cup.

After three rounds of drinks, Chen Yuanwai finally turned to the matter at hand: "When Your Honor first arrived in this county, I had unfortunately taken ill — a chill that had me bedridden, and one small ailment after another ever since. A frail old man like myself simply wasn't in a fit state to call on you. I hope you'll forgive the lapse."

Polished small talk, every word of it.

In truth, when Wenren Yue had first arrived in Nanting County, Chen Yuanwai had indeed intended to invite the magistrate over and get on good terms with him.

But this magistrate had turned out to be young and utterly ineffectual — he'd been sidelined completely from the moment he arrived, with all local matters falling to Deputy Magistrate Sun.

Once you'd thrown your lot in with Sun's faction, you stayed there to the end. That was the only safe play.

Le Wuya smiled: "Think nothing of it. Mr. Chen, please do not be too hard on yourself. As one grows older, illness is inevitable; health comes first."

His purpose in coming was to run out the clock — to fence with Chen Yuanwai for a while.

The back-and-forth pleasantries of official life were something he had in endless supply.

What's more, he had just detected an unusual presence outside the building. Common sense dictated that he keep himself in check and take stock of what the other side was really up to.

However, the moment the polite words left his mouth, he realized something was wrong.

...His words had come out somewhat muddled.

A scorching heat rushed straight to Le Wuya's cheeks, and a wave of dizziness rolled over him.

Le Wuya: "..." What was happening?

Because his tolerance had always been so high, he had never experienced anything like this before. It took him a moment to reason through it: Chen Yuanwai was hardly stupid enough to send an invitation in his own name and then slip poison into the food.

...He was probably just drunk.

Wenren Yue himself apparently couldn't hold his drink at all — his tolerance was catastrophically low.

Fortunately, he had drunk very little.

Chen Yuanwai, noticing nothing amiss, kept the flowery words coming without pausing for breath: "I'm most grateful for Your Honor's understanding. This humble merchant's small trade in this county survives entirely under your protection. Your Honor came from a merchant family, yet received the Emperor's grace and rose by your own talent to the rank of seventh-level official — while I, who once aspired to officialdom, found my abilities unequal to it and turned to commerce instead. A curious reversal, truly — fortune does turn. I imagine Your Honor can understand better than most the hardships and difficulties a businessman faces..."

Chen Yuanwai spoke beautifully. During a well-timed pause, he gestured smoothly toward the curtain, and a waiter appeared bearing a wooden tray covered with a red cloth — the coordination was flawless.

The red cloth was lifted from the tray, revealing a blinding golden gleam.

Le Wuya narrowed his eyes and counted.

A full twenty taels of gold.

"Mr. Chen is generous," Le Wuya said, with genuine admiration. "A first-rank court official earns ninety-two shi of grain per month — converted to silver, a full quarter's salary comes to about this much. Your business must be flourishing, Mr. Chen."

Chen Yuanwai gave a soft, practiced sigh, allowing just the right amount of worry to settle across his long, slightly sallow face: "Business may flourish, but prosperity comes at great cost. There are countless people to appease, and fewer still who offer any protection."

He gestured at the tray and continued with feeling: "Your Honor lives with clean hands — far be it from me to sully them. Consider this gold merely entrusted to your care for the time being. To take my business further, I must invest in relationships above and below. Your Honor would only be doing my work with my own money. I couldn't be more grateful for the trouble."

Le Wuya pressed his lips together and broke into a laugh.

The sensation of being tipsy was truly unfamiliar to him.

He propped his head on his hand, unsteady, and stared at Chen Yuanwai straight-on.

Chen Yuanwai had thought his speech was quite well crafted, but he did not receive the response he had anticipated.

He slightly averted his gaze from Le Wuya's stare and felt thoroughly ill at ease.

It was not that Chen Yuanwai had never dealt with important people before, but the Wenren Yue sitting before him was unlike any type of person he had ever encountered.

...To put it plainly, there was something unpredictably unnerving about him.

"Money is a wonderful thing," Le Wuya finally said, in a long, lazy drawl. "But Mr. Chen — you know how to spend money. You just don't know how to give gifts."

Le Wuya's tone was long and drawn-out, carrying an inexplicable hint of coquettishness.

In the neighboring room, the Seventh Prince — who had been listening intently — froze, his cup halfway to his lips.

That tone of voice was familiar. He was certain he had heard it somewhere before...

The Sixth Prince remained perfectly composed, took a measured sip, and said nothing.

Chen Yuanwai's heart skipped a beat. He sensed this was not going anywhere good.

He forced a smile: "...I'm afraid I'm too slow-witted to follow. I would be grateful for Your Honor's guidance."

Since he had asked, Le Wuya obliged without restraint.

"There are three pitfalls in giving gifts. The first: poor timing. You put in no effort under ordinary circumstances, and when the moment comes to ask a favor, you rush in at the last minute."

The moment those words left his mouth, Chen Yuanwai's expression darkened considerably.

"The second: being too blunt. Rather than first cultivating goodwill with the people around me, you come straight to me with money. That is truly inconsiderate."

"The third: misjudging preferences. You have not the faintest idea what I actually like, and yet you presume to offer gold and silver. If it turns out I have no taste for such things and prefer something else entirely, your gift is completely wasted."

"It is not that you are unaware of these pitfalls. It is simply that you thought I — a seventh-grade county magistrate — was not worth your attention. When trouble arose, you were caught off guard, and so you rushed to press gold into my hands as a show of respect..."

Le Wuya rose to his feet, steadying himself against the table, swaying slightly.

"However, I am a magnanimous person and will not hold this against you."

The more Le Wuya spoke, the drunker he became, and he was beginning to let slip the lordly manner he had once used toward subordinates in his past life.

Chen Yuanwai was, at heart, a man of letters — most skilled at wrapping his real intentions in elegant words. Now Le Wuya had stripped every layer away in three sentences flat, and his face flushed deep red: "You — Your Honor—"

"Everything you've said tonight comes down to one thing, Mr. Chen — you don't want to lose the coal mine. The mine produces coal, the coal produces gold..."

Le Wuya picked up a gold ingot with idle fingers, turned it in his palm, and murmured to himself: "Gold really is a wonderful thing — who could resist it... Tell me, Mr. Chen. Something so fine — could it speak?"

He let it drop back onto the tray. "...Would it cry out to me — 'Your Honor, I have been wronged'?"

Those were the last words Scholar Ming had screamed — full of blood and tears — before his spirit had faded completely.

This was nothing less than pointing a finger straight at Chen Yuanwai and cursing him to his face.

Chen Yuanwai had never been steeped in officialdom, and had never been publicly humiliated like this. Swallowing the shock and mortification, he said to the servant: "Come help — His Honor has had too much to drink."

"Indeed, I'm drunk." Le Wuya said. "It's fine wine — I simply can't hold it."

In his daze, Le Wuya raised the wine cup and studied it carefully.

White crystal, deep red wine — it was the image of red plum blossoms reflected in snow.

Something surged and crashed in his chest.

He raised his voice: "Please, Mr. Chen — drink down this blood of the people by yourself!"

The words had barely left his mouth before Le Wuya dashed the wine straight into Chen Yuanwai's face.

The neighboring private room went dead silent.

Even the Sixth Prince, who handled things with habitual composure, let surprise show on his face.

If the seventh-rank magistrate had simply refused the bribe, that was unremarkable enough.

But those words — they revealed something real: genuine fire, genuine integrity, and a heart that truly cared for the people.

The Sixth Prince looked at the Seventh Prince: "Zhishi. What were you just thinking?"

"Nothing."

The Seventh Prince had already composed himself. He picked up a piece of pastry and ate it in unhurried bites.

In the beginning, he had indeed resembled someone. Just a little.

But those words about serving the nation and the people — those he would never have said.

...

Ignoring the servant's look of astonishment and Chen Yuanwai's mortification, Le Wuya flicked his sleeves and walked out. The moment he stepped onto the street, a sharp gust of cold wind hit him full in the face and blew him six-tenths sober.

Le Wuya: "..." Wait — what had he just done?

He raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it vigorously.

Le Wuya had always prided himself on being cunning — sharp from a young age. And just now he had blundered around like a witless roe deer charging headfirst into a wall.

He wondered if the feng shui of this place was not suited to a wandering soul like himself.

Could it be that he was possessed?

Mulling over these scattered thoughts, he took a few steps forward, then suddenly sensed something amiss and spun around.

That same familiar feeling from before rose up again.

In an instant, against the clusters of deep-red lanterns, two tall silhouettes — one seated, one standing — were reflected through the paper-covered window of the second-floor private room.

One of the silhouettes had both hands resting on the windowsill, head tilted slightly downward, as though looking at him.

Le Wuya's lips moved almost imperceptibly.

Upstairs.

The Seventh Prince raised his cup to his lips and said teasingly: "Sixth Brother, is this county magistrate to your liking?"

The Sixth Prince withdrew his hand from the window lattice: "You can't make him out clearly from here."

"If you like him, then find a way to bring him back." The Seventh Prince teased. "It is time to break your unlucky marriage omen."

The Sixth Prince considered seriously for a moment, then replied: "I cannot take him with me. He is a good official — I should not ruin his reputation or drag him into the middle of all this."

The Seventh Prince was taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing: "What — Brother, I was only joking. Are you really thinking about it?"

But the Sixth Prince turned to face him, his tone turning serious: "Zhishi. That business with the celestial omen — you've suffered for it these years. I'm sorry."

Hearing this, the Seventh Prince stopped smiling and looked directly at him.

He loathed this kind of concern from him — yet he kept his face perfectly innocent: "Whatever do you mean, brother? We were born at the exact same moment. Our charts are identical; our fates are linked. You cannot take a wife, and I happen to have no interest in taking one either."

Seeing that the Sixth Prince was about to say more, the Seventh Prince leaned back and cut him off: "...Besides. The stars are what they are. What can be done?"

Down below, Le Wuya was still slightly dazed. He gazed up at the figure behind the window and did not look away until the hand on the window lattice disappeared and the silhouette was gone.

He turned his eyes and noticed some commotion on the street.

People were whispering in clusters among the scattered stalls, all looking toward the southern end of the long street.

Not far from him, a figure crept through the shadows, hunched and moving forward with head lowered, and looked up just in time to meet Le Wuya's sharp, probing gaze.

Le Wuya raised an eyebrow, drew a small fan from inside his robe, and gestured toward the alley at his side.

The man was quick-minded and immediately turned left into the alley.

Le Wuya walked briskly after him, fanning himself as he went.

The biting night wind scraped across his face, pushing the last of the alcohol out of his blood.

Le Wuya turned into the same alley, made certain there was no one else around, then asked: "Why are you out here?"

The one who had come was the one-armed deserter.

He had set aside the casual demeanor he carried in the daytime, and now there was something of a soldier's sharpness about him: "Your Honor, the body you mentioned was moved an hour ago; the person you mentioned also arrived half an hour ago."

Le Wuya had arranged for Magistrate Sun to have Chang Xiaohu's decomposing body stored in the ice room at Yizhuang on the outskirts of town.

At the same time, he had given some money to two beggars and asked them to feed the young beggar as soon as possible, then slip inside Yizhuang and hide themselves among the dead.

His instructions had been quite straightforward.

"Watch the most recently delivered body. If anyone comes in and tries to do anything to it — don't think, just break their legs first."

Le Wuya fanned himself at a leisurely pace: "Did you break them?"

"Broke them." The one-armed beggar couldn't help it — he gave a slightly sheepish smile. "We may have... been a little heavy-handed. Broke one extra."

"No matter. Did he say anything?"

"He said he was the county coroner, there on your orders to examine the body. We didn't wait for him to finish — we'd already knocked him out. My legs still work well enough, so my brother sent me to sneak out and ask you what to do."

A sharp wailing cry drifted faintly from the far end of the main street.

The chatter outside the alley suddenly grew louder, and words such as "Aunt Su" and "digging up a grave" could already be made out.

Le Wuya turned the question back on him: "Why did you two go into the ice room in the first place?"

The one-armed soldier blinked, then caught on at once: "The two of us, seeing that the young beggar was badly hurt, panicked and went to the mortuary to search the bodies for valuables — a bit of money for treatment. We ran into this man by chance, a scuffle broke out, and he got hurt... In short, Your Honor had absolutely nothing to do with any of it."

Le Wuya: "Not quite."

The one-armed soldier tensed. He ran back over his story carefully, couldn't find the flaw, and ventured cautiously: "Your Honor, what's wrong with it?"

"'A scuffle broke out accidentally' is a weak excuse," Le Wuya said. "Think it over again. Think it through properly — don't be vague, match every detail to what actually happened. Better yet, go back to the mortuary and run through it on-site."

The one-armed soldier was sharp enough: "Right, Your Honor. I'll work on it — I'll make sure it's airtight... What should my brother and I do next?"

"You panicked after accidentally injuring someone. Naturally, you should carry the wounded man and turn yourselves in."

"And... Your Honor?"

Le Wuya snapped the fan shut in his palm and smiled: "The magistrate, naturally, needs to wash his face — and then go hold a hearing."