Chapter 43

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“Lu Family Village…”

The flickering oil lamp illuminated his face, casting deep shadows under his thick brows as his stern eyes swept across the words “Crow’s Beak Ridge” and then paused on the name Chen Yaoke.

“October… Liu Erlong and a group of bandits ransacked Lu Family Village… all killed that very night…”

“August 5th, Chen Yaoke was found disemboweled in his own home, no signs of forced entry at the windows or doors…”

The night slowly faded, the sky turning from pitch-black to a pale, pre-dawn blue. As the first light broke over the horizon, Zuo Zhengyang’s eyes flew wide open. He hurried into the next room, frantically overturning cabinets and shelves, searching for an old file meant to be handed over to the next head constable.

The pages of the record rustled as he flipped through them hastily.

Then, his hands stopped.

The gaze lingered on a certain line, and Zuo Zhengyang’s expression suddenly changed. That line contained the names and addresses of forty idlers, among whom nine were from the same place — Lu Family Village.

As the head constable, this kind of clue should never have been overlooked, but his focus on the idea of evil sorcery harming people blinded him.

“Gather everyone!” Zuo Zhengyang held the register in his hands, trembling slightly.

Before long, constables from the station, hurriedly adjusting their robes and carrying weapons, rushed out and gathered in the courtyard, whispering to one another.

“I don’t know what kind of madness the head constable is up to, calling everyone together when he’s about to be promoted.”

“Maybe there’s a new case…”

“Could it be that there’s been a breakthrough in the case of Landlord Chen’s family?”

The murmuring gradually faded as the two doors of the hall creaked open. Zuo Zhengyang, wearing his constable uniform, with two long weapons strapped to his back and a slender saber hanging from his waist, strode out.

“Is everyone here?!”

“All present——” The crowd shouted in unison.

Zuo Zhengyang tightened his grip on the scabbard, nodding toward the assembled constables. He knew he had finally found a clue and would soon uncover the mastermind behind everything.

Although the circumstances of Chen Yaoke’s death were different from those of his servants and the mountain bandits, there was still a connection.

“No matter who you are… I will bring you to justice…”

The morning sun had already risen. Just as he was about to give the order to move out, his mouth, which had been open to speak, suddenly closed. His gaze fixed intently on the constables before him.

The old man’s words from yesterday afternoon, spoken in the carriage, resurfaced, echoing in his ears like an illusion.

“…Every mountain, every piece of earth, the sound of the wind, the sound of the rain — you must observe it all, listen to it all…”

Every mountain, every piece of earth… Listen…

Lu?

[TL_Note: Earth is written as Tu, Sound is written as Sheng, so it sounds similar to parts of Lu Liangsheng’s name, and he kept hinting at Tu and Sheng]

Connecting this to the recent rumors, and recalling the youth who had accompanied the Chief Registrar to Lu Family Village and the young man’s gentle spring-like smile, Zuo Zhengyang unconsciously loosened his grip on the hilt of his saber. The warm winter sunlight that had been shining on him gradually turned cold.

“It’s Lu Liangsheng…”

…The county magistrate and the chief registrar had actually known this all along, but I, the Head Constable, was the only one left in the dark.

Under the sunlight, Zuo Zhengyang’s whole body trembled slightly until someone called out to him: “Head Constable, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

Zuo Zhengyang repeated those words a few times. Looking toward the golden rays of light, he closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. Waving to his subordinates, he said: “Disperse… There’s nothing to do now.”

After months of running around, investigating and interrogating every traveler who passed through, and focusing his efforts on the mountain bandits, he had finally turned his attention back to the main suspect. But now, all of it had become meaningless.

The sunlight on his face made him look pale.

Zuo Zhengyang slowly turned around and returned to the house. The constables stood frozen in place, staring at his back, exchanging confused whispers.

“What is the Head Constable doing?”

“Maybe he’s leaving… having one last hurrah.”

“Disperse, disperse. Go back and get some more sleep… What a damn shame, being woken up before dawn just to stand there like fools…”

The group of constables left the courtyard in twos and threes, occasionally glancing back at the hall, muttering complaints as they departed.

That afternoon, however, they received word that Head Constable Zuo was about to leave Fushui County for He Valley Prefecture.

After the heavy winter snow passed, the snow had melted, turning the roads muddy. Zuo Zhengyang hung his two long sabers on the side of his horse, carrying his luggage. Leading his horse, he walked out through the bustling northern gate, taking in the lively street scene around him.

Outside the city, at a pavilion, a carriage was parked. Two men were waiting there with wine, none other than County Magistrate Min Changwen and Wang Shuhua. Having worked with Zuo Zhengyang for over two years, they had come to see him off.

The magistrate raised his wide sleeves, lifting a cup of wine together with the elder by his side, and spoke:

“Zhengyang, why are you leaving in such haste? There are still a few days until the end of the New Year, so we might as well celebrate the New Year. It won’t be too late to leave after spring begins.”

His face was filled with reluctance.

Across from him, Zuo Zhengyang raised his cup with both hands and smiled: “I’ll have to leave eventually. I’m a lone man with no family ties, so going early to report in isn’t so bad. The New Year, well, it’s the same wherever I celebrate.”

“Hm, Zhengyang, with your diligence, you may well rise even higher in the future.”

“Chief Registrar is flattering me.”

After some conversation, the three bid farewell. Zuo Zhengyang mounted his horse, cupped his hands toward the two in the carriage, and tugged the reins, speeding off. After a while, he pulled the reins and stopped, turning to look back.

In the distance, the silhouette of the city walls stood against the red glow of the sunset, and the carriage gradually disappeared from view.

“…Lu Liangsheng.” He murmured softly to himself.

Zuo Zhengyang narrowed his eyes for a moment, then pressed his heels into the horse’s side, shouting, “Hyah!” He spurred his horse into a gallop, disappearing into the glow of the setting sun.

The twilight glow spread across the sky, setting the horizon ablaze in red.

At the foot of Qixia Mountain, the mountain was alive with bustling activity. Grandpa Lu, leaning on his pearwood cane, sat on a stone, basking in the setting sun. He smiled warmly as he watched the dilapidated houses being renovated. Shirtless village men carried wooden beams to the rooftops, laying the new green tiles.

In the messy courtyard, a large pot of meat soup boiled.

Some tired workers wiped their sweat and gratefully accepted the rich pork bone soup from Lu Xiaoxian’s hand, gulping it down with satisfaction and joy.

Lu Laoshi was on the roof, his face flushed with excitement as he directed the craftsmen. At one moment, he lost his footing and fell, but his body stopped in midair and gently descended to the ground.

In the fading glow of the red sunset, a faint silhouette of a young woman flickered briefly before disappearing.

Night soon descended, blanketing the world in darkness. In the cozy yellow light of the kitchen, there was an extra set of dishes and chopsticks at the newly made round table. Sun Yingxian reached for them, but the woman knocked his hand with a chopstick. Li Jinhua glanced at the pitch-black night outside the door and smiled. She was no longer afraid, even feeling grateful in her heart.

Time passed. The newly built houses began to show traces of wind and rain. As the winter snow melted, the cold faded. Lu Xiaoxian, wearing her new shoes, chased a wild rabbit through the fields.

The rabbit darted through a patch of grass, only to be met by a horrifying face—blood streaming from its eyes, nose, and ears. Startled, the rabbit’s legs gave out, and it collapsed to the ground.

Lu Xiaoxian ran over, grabbed the rabbit by its long ears, and lifted it up with a gleeful smile, giving a thumbs-up to the ghostly face in front of her.

Behind the grass, Nie Honglian put away the ghost mask, dimples appearing as she smiled, returning the thumbs-up. Her body shook before vanishing like a breeze through the fields.

She loved this life, loved everything around her.

Back in the courtyard, the fence was covered with blooming morning glories. The little sharp-nosed little Taoist priest sat drawing talismans with a brush, his face smudged with ink.

Lu Laoshi sat in the donkey shed, still tinkering with the cart frame, until his wife pulled him away by the ear.

The lazy Toad Daoist remained in his usual slothful state, though now he had a small cabinet filled with new clothes. Occasionally, he sat up, but only to flip through a cookbook…

Birds chirped softly, folding their wings as they perched on the edge of a water tank. Across from them, through an open window, sat the young man, another year older, reading ancient texts aloud and reciting their contents.

Lu Liangsheng looked up, noticing the woman smiling at him. He smiled back. Sometimes, he would pick up his brush and add to Honglian’s painting, birds and flowers, a couple of pines, and a swing.

The orioles flew and the grass grew long—another spring had arrived.

Late at night, when all was quiet, the lantern flame flickered gently. A breeze stirred the pages of his book as Honglian approached with graceful steps. She lightly adjusted the lamp’s wick, making the light shine brighter, casting the silhouette of the one writing onto the window lattice.

The fresh ink on the page emitted a rich fragrance, mingling with the scent of books. Lu Liangsheng gazed at the finished calligraphy, then stretched contentedly. Blowing out the lamp, he returned to his bed, more and more resembling a true scholar.

Outside, the cypress trees sprouted tender leaves, only for them to turn yellow with time. Spring came and autumn went, season after season.

It’s the child scholar’s examination after three years.

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