Chapter 3: The Lie That Unlocks the Door

The silence after the rain was colder than the storm, seeping into the marrow of one’s bones.

Jiang Wanzhou gripped the letter, its edges scorched black. His fingertips tightened on the paper, which felt rough like cured hide, while the small script on the page shimmered with a dull, muted glow in the candlelight. There was no seal from a courier agency, no signature of a messenger. Only the signature that belonged to him, yet seemed to belong to another dead man: Jiang Wanzhou·Lu, written in his own hand.

“Do you recognize that handwriting?” Chu Hanyi’s voice was light, but it hit like ice scraping down stone steps, carrying an absolute chill that brooked no argument.

Jiang Wanzhou didn’t look up. He simply placed the letter slowly on the desk. The candle flame flickered, illuminating the deep sockets of his eyes; in the shadows, all that remained were a pair of clouded, yet sharp, eyes.

“Fifteen years ago,” he began, his voice raspy, like sandpaper scraping against rust, “on that night at Qingyang Station, I stood right where you are now, watching the Chu Family’s banner fall in the snow and wind.”

Chu Hanyi drew her blade without warning. The steel slid three inches from the sheath, the cold gleam of the tip aimed directly at Jiang Wanzhou’s throat. The rush of wind from the draw stirred the ash on the table, sending it fluttering down onto his shoulders.

“You claimed you diverted the route southwest,” Chu Hanyi spat, teeth gritted, every word driven in like a nail. “You said it was to avoid bandits. You said the Lu Clan guaranteed our safety. And what did it get my uncle? Not even his bones were brought back. Just this broken blade and a letter with no name on it. You claimed you were coerced during the testimony? By whom? By those accountants at the Lu Clan who trade in lives for silver?”

Jiang Wanzhou faced the tip of her sword, stepping half a pace forward instead of back. The blade pressed against his larynx, slicing a thin layer of skin. A bead of blood welled up, bright red and startling. He didn’t raise a hand to push it away, nor did he cry out. He just watched her, calm as still water.

“It was Shen Yan.” When he spoke the name, his tone was as flat as reporting the weather tonight. “Shen Yan of the Lu Clan Accounting Office. That night, he stood in the shadows with a knife, telling me if I refused to sign that statement, he would drop my mother into the dry well by the river first.”

Chu Hanyi let out a cold snort, pushing the blade half an inch deeper. A line of blood slid down the side of his neck. “Your mother? In the case files, you made it clear you were a destitute drifter, alone in this world. What, to protect a mother who doesn’t exist, you’re willing to let the entire Chu Family be wiped out?”

“Because Shen Yan gave me something.” Jiang Wanzhou closed his eyes. His throat bobbed as he swallowed the blood gathering on his tongue. “A ledger. He said it was the foundation of the Lu Clan’s illicit trade for years. If I signed, he’d hand it over. I believed him. I thought if I pushed the Chu Family out, I could get the ledger and pay off the debt I owed. I thought that was the truth. I only learned later that the ledger was a hollow shell. The real clues had long since been swapped out by Shen Yan.”

“So you want to pay the debt now?” Chu Hanyi sheathed her sword, the motion crisp and efficient, though the killing intent hadn’t fully dissipated. “Too late. Corpses don’t come back. My uncle isn’t returning. Your confession now is just an attempt to snatch the investigation back into your hands so you can keep playing the righteous captain.”

Jiang Wanzhou opened his eyes, his gaze as still and deep as a dark pool. “I’m not fighting for justice. I’m just paying what I owe. That statement I submitted fifteen years ago destroyed the Chu Family, and it destroyed the Liu Family, who vouched for me. Shen Yan is still with the Lu Clan. His intelligence network has never stopped, it just changed to more covert channels. If we want to uncover the lies of the past, the imperial seal of the magistrates isn’t enough. We have to follow the old route, station by station.”

“Station by station?” Chu Hanyi raised an eyebrow, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes playing on her lips. “Are you saying I’m going to travel with a tainted witness and you? Jiang Wanzhou, you certainly know how to pick partners. The Chu Family agency owes you a favor. I acknowledge that debt.”

Jiang Wanzhou nodded, offering no further excuses. “First stop: Qingyang Station. That’s where the Lu Clan’s old ledgers first appeared. It was also the fork in the road where we parted ways fifteen years ago. If Shen Yan has a weakness, there will be traces left there.”

Suddenly, urgent footsteps burst out from outside the door, mixed with the squelch of muddy boots on the bluestone pavers.

“Captain Jiang, Mr. Su is here.” Nie Yunzhou’s voice came from the corridor, tinged with suppressed anxiety.

The door swung open. Su Jingxing·Liu stood there, soaked to the bone, clutching a scroll wrapped tightly in oilcloth to his chest. His face was pale, betraying that he’d just weathered a fierce confrontation.

“I stole that old volume from the Sutra Repository,” Su Jingxing panted, setting the oilcloth package on the desk. His movements were gentle, as if placing down a piece of fragile porcelain. “The Lu Clan men chased me to the courtyard gate. Master Nie repelled them using the silver needles from his autopsy kit. They said that if the book was lost, I’d have to visit the Receiving Punishment Hall for their great torture.”

Jiang Wanzhou looked at Nie Yunzhou. The county coroner stood permanently in the shadows, holding a scroll of autopsy paper, his expression stern and restrained.

“Silver needles?” Jiang Wanzhou asked.

“Three of them. Stuck into the pulse points on the wrists of the men holding knives,” Nie Yunzhou said flatly. “No bone damage, but it hurts enough that they can’t grip a blade. Jianghu rule: show your weapon before you strike. They showed their knives, I showed my needles. Consider it a polite warning.”

Su Jingxing unwrapped the oilcloth, revealing a yellowed ledger inside. The cover had no title, only four corners reinforced with copper nails, bearing marks of chiseling or picking.

“I checked these three pages,” Su Jingxing said, pointing to a few scraps wedged inside the book. His fingers trembled slightly from the cold. “The ink here is fresh—at least ten years newer than the book itself. Someone searched through this before me and deliberately scraped out the key names. They only left the characters for ‘Qingyang’.”

Chu Hanyi leaned in, her brow furrowed. “Qingyang Station. I know that name too well. The last courier manifest my uncle signed before he disappeared was at that station.”

Jiang Wanzhou took the book, his fingertips brushing over the scraped marks. The paper fibers were coarse, looking like they were torn from some specialized ledger.

“The fibers prove it. The scraps point to it.” Jiang Wanzhou repeated Nie Yunzhou’s earlier observation in a low voice, his eyes growing ice-cold. “Shen Yan is lying to us. This book is bait, designed to lure me and Chu Hanyi to Qingyang Station. But he miscalculated one thing.”

“What?” Su Jingxing asked.

“He miscalculated the order of my debts.” Jiang Wanzhou closed the book, tucking it into his sleeve. “The first debt I owed fifteen years ago wasn’t to the Chu Family or the Lu Clan. It was to my own integrity. I’m going to Qingyang Station first, not to audit accounts, but to meet someone.”

“Who?” Chu Hanyi asked.

“The Liu Family collateral branch member who vouched for me back then but was struck from the Liu Family rolls because of my testimony.” Jiang Wanzhou’s voice trembled slightly. “If he’s still alive, there’ll be another, true ledger left behind in the old warehouses at Qingyang Station.”

Su Jingxing’s pupils contracted. “The Liu Family collateral branch? Are you referring to Young Master Liu? He died of illness fifteen years ago.”

“That was a rumor spread by the Lu Clan.” Jiang Wanzhou stood up and walked to the window. The night was thick as ink, and from the distance, the bell from the ruins of South Zen Temple rang out, muffled yet long. “Shen Yan is good at killing people with rumors. If Young Master Liu were truly dead, the Lu Clan wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide his tracks. He must still be alive. And he must know where Shen Yan is hiding the true ledger.”

Chu Hanyi crossed her arms, staring at him coldly. “You want me to help you chase a lead that might already be a corpse? Jiang Wanzhou, you’re using my sword to pave the road for your own conscience.”

“I can do without your sword,” Jiang Wanzhou turned around, his gaze firm. “I can travel alone. But Miss Chu, you’re chasing a blood feud; I’m chasing my own crime. We’re on the same path. If I don’t go to Qingyang Station, the Lu Clan will send assassins to intercept you. Shen Yan’s net covers all of Shu. If he knows you’re digging into the old cases, he won’t just watch it happen.”

Su Jingxing sighed, pulling a silk handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe the water stains off the desk. “Captain Jiang makes a fair point. Shen Yan is the inside man. His goal isn’t just to hide old accounts; it’s to erase everyone who can trace back to the Lu Clan’s roots. If Young Master Liu is alive, he’s the biggest variable. We need to move quickly.”

Nie Yunzhou suddenly spoke, his voice dry. “The autopsy evidence is incomplete. This case can’t be closed as a simple floating corpse from the river. The blunt force trauma to that corpse’s ribs wasn’t caused by ordinary weapons. It’s from strikes at a specific angle. That’s the崩-fist technique used by escort guards, but the force was immense enough to shatter a sternum in an instant.”

“Who used that technique?” Chu Hanyi asked.

“I don’t know,” Nie Yunzhou shook his head. “But I recognize that power delivery style. It’s the enforcement method of the Lu Clan’s Hall of Punishment, known as ‘Shatter Star.’ Only someone with specialized training could execute it.”

A chill ran through Jiang Wanzhou’s heart. “You’re saying the killer is from the Hall of Punishment?”

“Yes, and no.” Nie Yunzhou rolled up the autopsy paper and stuffed it into his robe. “Factions within the Lu Clan are fragmented. Not everyone in the Hall of Punishment takes orders from Shen Yan. But one thing is certain: the killer knows the layout of the autopsy room and the rules of the escort agencies. He deliberately hid the Bronze Boat Seal in the collar to make us think the victim was a Lu Clan man, or to frame the Lu Clan intentionally.”

“Frame them?” Su Jingxing frowned.

“No, it’s cover,” Jiang Wanzhou suddenly understood, his expression turning grave. “Shen Yan is protecting the core of the Lu Clan. He left clues for us to believe the killer was from the Hall of Punishment, diverting our attention. The real culprit is likely among us—or, he’s another line Shen Yan deployed.”

Chu Hanyi paused in her drawing of the sword, her gaze sweeping over Jiang Wanzhou, Su Jingxing, and Nie Yunzhou, finally settling on Jiang Wanzhou. “Jiang Wanzhou, how many secrets are you keeping from us?”

“Only one,” Jiang Wanzhou looked directly into her eyes. His gaze was warm, almost pitying, yet laced with a resolute pain. “That statement I submitted fifteen years ago didn’t just destroy the Chu Family. It also destroyed Su Jingxing’s family. The Liu Family and the Chu Family had an old pact. My false testimony broke the alliance between the two families, leading to mutual suspicion and their eventual split.”

Su Jingxing shuddered, the handkerchief slipping from his hand to the floor. He stared at Jiang Wanzhou, his eyes filled with complex emotions—anger, sadness, and mostly, a shock that was hard to believe.

“What did you say?” Su Jingxing’s voice shook. “Liu Family… Chu Family… Old pact?”

“That was the ‘Twin Boat Alliance’ fifteen years ago,” Jiang Wanzhou said slowly. “Your uncle and my uncle were close friends. The two families agreed that if one faced danger, the other would lend all their power to rescue them. But my false testimony made the Chu Family think the Lu Clan had betrayed the pact, and made the Liu Family think the Chu Family were greedy for profit. After that, the two families cut ties completely. The debt I owe is deeper than you imagine.”

Nie Yunzhou was silent for a moment, then took out a small copper tab from his robe and placed it on the desk. The tab was shaped like a boat, engraved with two tiny characters: ‘Twin Boat.’

“It was found inside the sole of that corpse’s shoe,” Nie Yunzhou said. “The copper is old, likely from many years ago. Perhaps this is the token of that old pact.”

Chu Hanyi looked at the copper boat, her expression shifting rapidly. She remembered her uncle mentioning, before his death, that the family had lost a token long ago, said to be a witness to the family’s rise. Now, it had appeared in the shoe of a drowned corpse in the river.

“Go to Qingyang Station,” Chu Hanyi finally spoke, her voice returning to calm, though a thread of unwavering resolve was visible. “Right now. Jiang Wanzhou, you go to clear your old debts. I go to seek vengeance for my kin. If we run into Young Master Liu or Lu Clan assassins there, we owe each other nothing.”

Jiang Wanzhou cupped his fists in a respectful salute. “Thank you.”

Su Jingxing picked up the handkerchief, took a deep breath, rewrapped the old volume, and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m coming too. I need to re-examine the ink in that book. If Shen Yan really swapped the accounts, there will be traces of his signature spice scent left behind.”

Nie Yunzhou tucked the copper boat away and adjusted his collar. “The autopsy isn’t finished. I have to follow you. If anyone else dies en route, I need to see for myself if it’s ‘Shatter Star’s’ work again.”

The four stood under the eaves. The rain hadn’t let up, but the wind had died down. The night was like a giant sheet of black silk, wrapping around the damp, cold air of Chengdu. In the distance, the bell of South Zen Temple rang again, once, twice, deep and hollow, as if sounding a funeral bell for the lies of fifteen years ago.

Jiang Wanzhou took one last look at the letter with its scorched edges and tossed it into the candle flame. The fire licked the corners of the paper. The small script twisted and curled in the light, eventually turning to ash, scattering in the wind.

“First stop, Qingyang Station.” Jiang Wanzhou stepped over the threshold, his voice dissolving into the rainy night. “The road is long, and the debts are heavy. Miss Chu, if you regret this, now is the time to turn back.”

Jiang Wanzhou knew that every step he took meant a new debt was about to be settled. He didn’t look back. He just gripped the old ledger in his sleeve, his knuckles turning white. The rain at Qingyang Station seemed colder and harsher than the rain in Chengdu.