Volume One: The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Seventy-Four: Thirteen

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In the southern part of Shiqiao Town, in front of a modest tofu shop, an elderly man dressed in a coarse linen shirt patched in many places was energetically hawking his goods. But the sweltering weather and his age soon left him breathless and weak, so he sat down to rest. Just as he reached for his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow, there was a sudden bang—a lump of gleaming silver was slapped onto the table.

At first, the old man was startled, but when he understood the situation, the deep wrinkles on his forehead smoothed away, revealing two large, yellowed front teeth as he grinned. “Miss, that’s too much silver for me to give you change. To be honest, it’s enough to buy the whole shop.”

Dressed in indigo with a pair of short swords at her waist, Hua Mulan shook her head. “I don't want your tofu, nor am I here to buy your shop. I just want to ask you something.”

The old man suddenly felt the world was a wonderful place, as if all his wishes were being granted at once. Indeed, his grandmother had been right: those who spent money lavishly were often not the wealthy officials or merchants, but rather those wandering souls of the martial world who would, on a whim, buy three pounds of beef and two taels of wine.

He chuckled. “Please speak, miss. If it's something I know, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Very well.” Hua Mulan nodded slightly and drew from her belt a pink and white sachet, delicately sewn by hand. “I want to know where you got this.”

“Ah, that…” The old man’s expression changed abruptly. “Miss, I swear I didn’t steal it or take it by force. It has nothing to do with me—I just picked it up.”

Hua Mulan’s expression did not change in the slightest as she asked, “Where did you find it?”

Sneaking a glance at the two short swords at her waist, the old man explained nervously, “Right here in my shop. About five days ago, there were three people—strangers by their accents—who came for tofu pudding. When they left, one of them dropped it.”

“I… I actually saw it clearly, but seeing its fine workmanship and knowing it must be valuable, I was tempted and didn’t say anything. After they’d gone, I picked it up and had my son take it to a merchant heading to Chang’an to sell.”

“If… if it belongs to you, miss, you can just take it. I don’t want the silver.”

Hua Mulan ignored his words and pressed on, her emotions running high. “Where are those three people now? Are they still in Shiqiao Town?”

“Well…” The old man looked troubled. “I really can’t say if they’re still in town. I only remember that while eating, they mentioned the fifteenth of the seventh month—the night of the full moon.”

“The fifteenth of the seventh month… full moon night?” Hua Mulan repeated.

“Yes, yes!” The old man nodded vigorously.

“I understand. Thank you. Keep the silver.” Distracted, she tossed out the words and turned to leave the shop, murmuring under her breath, “Xinxin, are you still in Shiqiao Town or not?”

With her mood sinking, childhood memories came flooding back. It was a summer night when she was twelve, the main street of her hometown deserted and rain pouring down in sheets. She was leading her younger sister, Hua Zixin, running through the storm to fetch a doctor for their mother.

Their feet splashed through the water, drenching their trouser legs, but the two girls were undeterred, running faster than the robust doctor behind them. As they neared home, suddenly, an old man appeared in their path, clad in a tribal robe woven from leaves and vines, his beard hanging like slender roots, a willow-wood staff in his hand. His face was obscured.

Without a word, he struck down the doctor, knocked her unconscious, and took her eight-year-old sister.

When Hua Mulan awoke, she saw a refined man in white brewing medicine. Her mother had passed away, unable to be treated in time, and her sister had vanished without a trace. In an instant, she had lost everything and was left with nothing but loneliness, helplessness, despair—and a burning, unquenchable hatred.

So she knelt and took the man as her master, diligently studying swordsmanship and martial arts, all to grow stronger, to one day find her lost sister. Yet, after years of tireless searching, she had found nothing.

Until yesterday, when she chanced upon a small stall selling household trinkets on the streets of Chang’an and unexpectedly saw the very sachet her mother had sewn for her sister. Elated, she immediately mobilized all the informants of the Investigation Bureau, finally tracing it to an old tofu maker in Shiqiao Town.

Thus, the scene just now.

After reminiscing, Hua Mulan’s thumbs pressed against the hilts of her twin blades, emitting a faint metallic tremor, her gaze unwavering. “Xinxin, I swear I’ll find you.”

...

Within the hidden passage beneath the Arhat Temple, Chen Chang’an faced the masked figure in black, showing no courtesy now that he had anticipated the ambush. Before setting out, he had used divination with yarrow stalks and received an omen of great misfortune. Afraid for his life, he paired his flying sword technique with the secret art of Peach Enchantment and began to draw in souls.

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Fine motes of starlight began to seep from the floor, from the scattered jewels and gold, from the stone walls of the passage, and from Peng Wanli’s body, all flowing into the green bamboo talisman.

With a sudden whoosh, a fragrant aroma filled the air. The masked figure was momentarily entranced, their murderous momentum pausing midair, as if questioning: Who am I? Where am I? What was I about to do?

The Peach Enchantment had taken effect.

Chen Chang’an seized the opportunity, unleashing the bamboo talisman he’d been charging for ages.

“Ah, no…” The masked figure snapped out of the enchantment just in time to see the arcing crescent of the attack slicing swiftly toward her.

She reacted quickly, tossing aside her dagger and mustering all her strength into her palms to meet the blow head-on.

Bang!

Bang… bang…

Two immense forces collided, shaking the entire chamber to its foundation. Several wooden chests nearby shattered from the shock, their contents—jewels and silver—clattering to the floor.

Amid the chaos, the masked attacker was knocked backward five or six meters, slamming into the wall before barely steadying herself, a trickle of blood at her lips.

“Huh, is that all?” Chen Chang’an muttered, disappointed. He had expected someone much more formidable, given the dire omen, but she hadn’t even withstood a single strike.

The masked figure spat blood through her veil, her breathing ragged. As she struggled to rise and fight again, a small booklet tumbled from her robes.

“Hm!” Chen Chang’an felt a hunch—this was a vital clue, as essential to the case as toilet paper is to a pit latrine.

He lunged to snatch it.

The masked figure reached desperately to protect it.

They each seized a corner of the booklet, tugging back and forth. After a brief contest of strength, realizing she was no match, the masked figure conjured a ball of flame in her palm, setting the booklet ablaze.

“Damn!” Chen Chang’an hadn’t expected her to go so far, sacrificing everything to destroy the evidence. He frantically tried to beat out the flames.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the masked attacker kicked up a cloud of dust to obscure her escape and darted toward the passage exit.

“Ow, hot, hot!”

“Ah!”

“Whoosh!”

“Damn it, what kind of fire is this, it burns so well!”

In the confusion, the booklet disintegrated into a pile of ashes in Chen Chang’an’s hands.

“Forget it, catching her is more important!”

“Wait, where did she go?”

Only now did he realize the black-clad figure—very likely the true culprit—had already fled the scene. Frustrated, Chen Chang’an scolded Peng Wanli, whose head was buried in the pile of treasure, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“What? Lord Chen, are you jealous?” Peng Wanli replied with a straight face.

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Chen Chang’an: “…”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes swirling with mischief. “Who would have thought the Arhat Temple had a secret passage, and that so much treasure was hidden here? Just one of these pieces would be enough to live in comfort for half a lifetime.”

Peng Wanli, now himself again, said, “But… but, my lord, where did all this wealth come from? I just can’t figure it out.”

Too bad he didn’t know the original method of concealing treasures… As he stuffed coral branches, blood jade goblets, lumps of gold and strings of pearls into his robes, Chen Chang’an said, “No need to figure it out. Since it’s been kept so secret here, the culprit won’t need to kill for money again.”

He kept stuffing more and more until his chest bulged out like a mountain, then stopped and knelt beside the ashes of the burnt booklet, searching carefully.

“Ah!” At last, he found a scrap of paper the size of a fingernail, not yet completely burned. Blowing away the soot, he could just make out the words: “Thirteen.”

“Thirteen… what could it mean?” Chen Chang’an was puzzled.

Peng Wanli rushed over. “Lord Chen, does this have something to do with the case?”

He was referring to the scrap from the booklet, but his eyes were glued to the shimmering silver and gold in Chen Chang’an’s arms, full of envy and longing.

Chen Chang’an smacked his lips, thinking, “If the culprit would rather destroy it than let me see, it must be not only relevant, but also the most important clue to unravel everything.”

“Thirteen… what does it refer to?”

“Maybe it’s some local custom or slang. I’ll have to ask the village head—perhaps he’ll know.”

“Oh, the village head!” At this, Peng Wanli, the magistrate of Sanhe County, jumped up and shouted, “Lord Chen, didn’t you say before that the village head lied and was suspicious? Now I’m convinced he’s definitely the killer!”

“How so?” Chen Chang’an pocketed the scrap and tilted his head.

Peng Wanli exclaimed, “Isn’t it obvious? Why did he suddenly get a stomach ache and have to relieve himself right when we reached the Arhat Temple? He must have wanted to avoid us discovering something, so he made an excuse to leave, then disguised himself as the black-clad figure to destroy the evidence!”

“Hurry, arrest him!” Peng Wanli hopped from foot to foot as if standing on a hot griddle.

“Hahaha!”

Chen Chang’an laughed heartily, his laughter sounding almost porcine. Clearly, the serial murders in Shiqiao Town had rattled the magistrate—this Confucian scholar had become so blunt he even spoke openly of bodily functions.

He remembered that scholars usually employed more refined terms for such matters, such as “visiting the palace,” or “seeking convenience.”

“Hey, Lord Chen, what are you laughing at?” Peng Wanli asked, anxiously waving his sleeves.

Chen Chang’an straightened Peng Wanli’s official hat. “The village head may be an accomplice, but he could not possibly have been the black-clad attacker just now. Come on, let’s head back and figure out what ‘thirteen’ means!”

“Well… all right.”

Having witnessed Chen Chang’an’s abilities, Peng Wanli reluctantly accepted this and followed him out, muttering under his breath, “The killer must be the village head, must be the village head…”

Emerging from the passage into the ruined main hall of the Arhat Temple, Chen Chang’an stood atop the uneven steps, gazing across the wind-tossed weeds in the courtyard, sorting through the known clues.

He could have gone to the Fragrant Pavilion to consult Peach Blossom, but now that his eyes were no longer blind and the case wasn’t all that complicated, he found it hard to swallow his pride. Besides, during the Lotus case, Peach Blossom had been so drained after giving her clues she nearly passed out—he couldn’t bear to trouble her again.

“Ah!” Chen Chang’an sighed softly.

The next moment, as his right hand gripped the hilt of his blade, dust billowed and Constable Wang came charging up the temple steps, shouting breathlessly, “My lord! Lord Peng! Lord Chen! There’s been another death, another death!”