Old Meng had been in law enforcement for over thirty years and a constable in Qing Shui County for more than twenty. He had seen all kinds of people. Though he didn’t recognize the face on the portrait, it didn’t strike him as the visage of a ruthless killer. The subject looked like a young person, and yet they had managed to throw the entire Xiang Yang Prince’s Mansion into chaos. Moreover, the covert nature of the search suggested something even more peculiar. Could it be that the Prince’s Mansion was being blackmailed? But how could anyone have the audacity to challenge the Xiang Yang Prince, the Emperor’s uncle and de facto ruler of Xiang Yang? Who was this young person, and how could they dare to provoke such a powerful force?
Then, just before dawn, as the rain continued to pour in torrents, Old Meng was dragged out of Little Fengxian’s bed in an alley brothel on the east side of the county. The messenger held a signed order from Commander Shao of the Xiang Yang Prince’s Mansion, instructing him to escort a murder suspect from the Xiao Lang Tou Mountain Inn to the county seat. Once the weather cleared, he and Captain Feng were to personally deliver the suspect to the Prince’s Mansion.
Soaked to the bone, Old Meng and two subordinates made their way through the rain for over twenty li to reach the Xiao Lang Tou Mountain Inn, only to find that Commander Shao and his troops had already left. All that remained were Captain Feng, three imperial guards shouting orders, and a scrawny, freckled boy with a pale face. To top it all off, the boy was mute.
Captain Feng, clearly in a foul mood, vented his frustrations on both Old Meng and the equally unlucky innkeeper Cai, who looked as though the weight of the world had crushed him entirely. It felt as though every misfortune in existence had descended on Old Meng like lice swarming the jail cells of Qing Shui County.
After Captain Feng had downed a few bowls of wine and, his face glistening with grease, belched contentedly, he pointed out the mute boy to Old Meng. At first glance, Old Meng couldn’t believe his eyes—or ears.
The boy, dressed in thin, tattered clothing caked in mud, looked like he belonged on the streets of Qing Shui, where Old Meng might have mistaken him for a beggar and kicked him aside. The boy had no martial skills, bore an injury on his arm, and seemed frail enough to collapse from a mere poke. Yet, this was the alleged murderer responsible for the deaths of over a dozen people at the Xiao Lang Tou Mountain Inn the previous night?
As Old Meng scrutinized the boy, something about his eyes struck him as unusual. They held both fear and a peculiar indifference—a mix rarely seen in a child of twelve or thirteen. Those eyes made Old Meng, whose own bloodshot eyes were still foggy from the strong baijiu he’d drunk the night before, narrow his gaze and begin to reevaluate the situation.
After ensuring he had rested enough, Captain Feng, while cleaning his yellow-stained teeth with a toothpick, mounted his green-maned horse. Amid the obsequious bows and farewells of the miserable, round-faced Innkeeper Cai, he leisurely rode away from the inn.
Old Meng realized too late what a mistake it had been to come without a horse.
The mountain paths were treacherous. Though the rain had stopped and the skies were clearing, the cold wind had hardened the surface mud into a thin crust. Each step often plunged deep, leaving boots stuck in the muck.
The road grew increasingly slippery. The three men from Qing Shui County, already exhausted from traveling through the night, were at their limits. Learning that their charge was a frail, mute boy only added to their misery.
Humans, after all, have only two legs—far slower than the four legs of the fine steeds from the Xiang Yang Prince’s stables. Now, amidst this group trudging along on foot, was the addition of a pair of thin, frail legs belonging to the boy.
Dragging themselves through the muck, they covered less than ten li in three hours. Captain Feng had already grown impatient, his curses becoming louder and more frequent.
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