Volume One: The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Seventy-Five: Another Death

“What… someone… someone else is dead? Who is it this time?” Peng Wanli leapt up, thoroughly shaken. Barely half a day had passed since the last victim; previously the killings had occurred every other day, but now the murderer’s audacity seemed boundless.

Chen Chang’an, however, remained as calm as an ancient well, his expression entirely unchanged.

“Lord Chen, you don’t seem surprised?” Peng Wanli asked, puzzled.

Chen Chang’an nodded. “Do you remember the bloodstains we saw in the temple, and the dismembered body parts heaped in the secret passage? One of the women’s chests had been freshly cut. That’s when I realized someone else had already been killed.”

“Right… right!” Peng Wanli cursed angrily. “The killer is utterly deranged.”

“Madness aside, the real question is why he insists on bringing the body parts he cuts from his victims and piling them up in the secret passage every time he kills,” Chen Chang’an said, giving a measured and thoughtful reply. Suddenly he realized he’d been so focused on deciphering the meaning of ‘thirteen’ that he’d completely forgotten to conduct a thorough search. He immediately gave instructions: “Constable Wang, there’s a hidden passage in the main hall of Luohan Temple. Take some men and bring everything inside back to the relay station.”

“Lord Peng and I will go examine the victim.”

“Yes, sir!” Wang accepted the order.

“Oh, sirs, sirs—what’s going on inside the temple, have you found any clues?” At that moment, the village head came running over, grinning, hitching up his trousers as he emerged from a nearby thicket.

After the incident in the secret passage, Peng Wanli couldn’t help but see the village head as the likely culprit; he snapped, “Clues? What clues could there possibly be in a ruined temple?”

“Er…” The village head awkwardly leaned back a bit. “Lord Peng, you don’t look very happy.”

“I’m just… frustrated that we haven’t caught the killer, that’s all,” Chen Chang’an replied offhandedly, quickly changing the subject. “Let’s go—let’s get to the crime scene.”

“Crime scene? Someone else has died?” The village head jumped nearly half a meter into the air, and in his agitation, a jade thumb ring tumbled from his pocket, clattering down the crumbling stone steps at the entrance to Luohan Temple.

“Uh…” The village head’s face went deathly pale. He quickly stepped on the ring with his shoe, baring his teeth in a forced grin. “Family heirloom, family heirloom.” He bent down swiftly, snatched it up, and clutched it tightly in his palm.

Peng Wanli said with pointed sarcasm, “Why so secretive? Acting like you’ve got something to hide—just like the killer.”

“Me? Oh, heavens!” The village head dropped to his knees at once. “Absolutely not, Lord Peng! I just didn’t want to break a family treasure. How could I possibly be the murderer?”

Peng Wanli glanced sidelong at Chen Chang’an, who showed no reaction or sign that he suspected the village head, so Peng Wanli snorted and swept away in a huff.

Chen Chang’an sighed and snapped his fingers, following behind. In truth, he was suspicious of the village head. He’d clearly seen the character “Du” engraved on the jade ring, along with traces of dried blood. Coupled with the fact that the man had lied to him previously, Chen Chang’an was certain the ring had belonged to the victim, Du Mingcong. Taken alone, this would make the village head highly suspect—but during the skirmish in the secret passage, when Chen Chang’an had unleashed his sword technique, he’d definitely wounded the masked figure, yet the village head bore no sign of injury or struggle. The facts simply didn’t line up, so Chen Chang’an kept his suspicions to himself, remaining on guard for now in case something new came to light.

“Everyone, come with me and move everything out from the secret passage!” Constable Wang rallied his men and quickly set about their task as instructed.

Not far from Luohan Temple, beside a small river, a dark figure stumbled from the bushes, staggering weakly to the riverbank and vomiting blood.

“Damn it. When I first saw Chen Chang’an, I thought he was only a peak Body Tempering martial artist, nothing to worry about. Who could have guessed his strength was so terrifying? Even at my third-rank Initiate level, I couldn’t withstand him at all.” The masked figure washed the blood from his face in the river, murderous intent flickering in his eyes. “No wonder the Black Robe Guard is so formidable. Peng has been investigating for so long without a clue, but Chen Chang’an found the secret in the temple almost immediately.”

“I’ll have to buy myself some time and mislead him, so I can finish off the remaining eight tonight.”

He poured a pill from a small porcelain bottle, swallowed it, and dashed away in a new direction.

…

The latest victim was Yan Yuer, a farmer’s daughter from the north side of Stone Bridge Town. By the time Chen Chang’an and Peng Wanli arrived, led by the village head, the body had already been processed by the authorities, and the coroner’s report had been written. The fatal wound was the same as the previous victims—a single stab to the heart.

As with the others, her parents had once been infertile and gone to Luohan Temple to pray for a child.

“That useless Wang! I told him to track down and protect everyone who’s ever prayed for a child at Luohan Temple—how did the killer still find another victim?” Peng Wanli stamped his foot in frustration, casting suspicious glances at the village head as if to say, “Keep pretending! I’ll see how long you can keep this up!”

If not for Chen Chang’an’s special status as a Black Robe Guard and his insistence on continuing the investigation, Peng would’ve executed the village head on the spot—especially given how the man had made a scene outside the temple earlier. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, and he snapped at his subordinates, “What are you standing around for? Go fetch Granny Gui to prepare the body!”

“Yes, yes, right away!” The nearest constable scurried off after a quick scolding, returning some fifteen minutes later, leading in the slightly hunched, white-haired Granny Gui.

“Oh, I’m getting old… just a few steps and I’m out of breath. Things get worse every year. Who knows when this murderer will be caught—my poor old bones have had to paint the dead more times than I can count lately,” she muttered, carrying a wooden box filled with the tools of her trade: eyebrow pencils, powders, rouge, all for the dead.

She greeted Chen Chang’an and Peng Wanli with a stiff bow, then began expertly applying makeup to Yan Yuer’s corpse.

Meanwhile, Chen Chang’an sat nearby, scratching notes in the dirt with a branch, piecing together everything he knew so far.

To date, there had been five victims—all men or women whose parents had once been infertile, then prayed to Master Yimei at Luohan Temple, and subsequently conceived. After killing them, the murderer would cut off… unmentionable parts from the men, and the breasts from the women, piling them up in the temple’s hidden chamber. What was the connection? What compelled him to do this?

The only concrete clue was the charred scrap of paper bearing the number thirteen.

Another pattern: at first, the murders were spaced out, each on a different night. But starting today, two victims had died within half a day—was the killer being forced to accelerate his plan? After losing to Chen Chang’an in the secret passage, would he act even more urgently?

“If he’s in such a hurry, maybe there’s a set number of victims he needs. Could thirteen be the total number he intends to kill?”

At this thought, Chen Chang’an’s eyes lit up, but only for a moment—if ‘thirteen’ was merely a tally, it didn’t tell him much.

“Ah, there we go!” Over by the corpse, Granny Gui tossed aside her single-use tools, clapped the powder from her sleeves, and straightened up.

Just then, someone knocked at the door. Yan Yuer’s mother, her face streaked with tears, hurried to answer. It was a clerk from the town’s paper and incense shop, delivering yellow paper and white candles for the funeral.

“What’s this about? Who sent for you?” Peng Wanli demanded.

“I did,” Yan Yuer’s mother replied. “My daughter is dead—shouldn’t she be buried?”

“No!” County magistrate Peng Wanli was firm. “No victim may be buried until the case is solved, that’s the rule, you—”

He was cut off by Chen Chang’an. “Lord Peng, let her be buried. The families of the previous victims were also allowed to take the bodies home. In this hot weather, the corpses will only rot if we keep them. Let them rest in peace.”

“The coroner’s report is very thorough; there’s nothing more to be gained by keeping her here.”

“Well… all right,” Peng Wanli conceded. Though his rank was technically higher, Chen Chang’an’s affiliation with the powerful Black Robe Guard meant Peng had little choice but to give way—after all, even highborn nobles were wary of the Guard.

“Come in!” Peng Wanli called, and Yan Yuer’s mother brought the paper shop clerk into the courtyard. As they passed Granny Gui, the clerk’s eyes brightened. “Ah, Granny Gui, you’re here too? I just wanted to ask—tomorrow’s the fifteenth again. Should I deliver your yellow paper to your house, or will you come by to pick it up?”

Different services, different prices.

Granny Gui, clearly weary from her work, didn’t answer right away. After a long pause, she waved her gnarled hand. “No need. I won’t be buying any this year.”

The clerk was surprised. “But don’t you always buy some paper every fifteenth for your family’s grave offerings? Why not this year?”

“I’m too old. Can’t burn it anymore,” Granny Gui muttered, hefting her box and shuffling away.

“Hey… Old Chen… Elder Chen…” In the courtyard, Peng Wanli leaned in close and whispered.

“What is it?” Chen Chang’an asked openly.

“Sir—sir!” Peng Wanli was about to speak when Master Ma, the relay station’s steward with his twin handlebar mustache, came rushing in, flinging himself to his knees. “Lord Peng, Lord Chen—Madam Jin requests your presence. She says she knows who the serial killer is!”