Chapter 3: The Letter That Must Not Be Delivered

The wind swept across the surface of the Ba River, sending a rustling shiver through the reeds. No sooner had Lu Zhibai tucked the Bone Fragment inside his tunic than the sound of hooves echoed from the head of the post road. Three galloping horses tore through the gathering dusk, and the rider in the lead yanked on his reins to a halt, a bronze medallion at his waist flashing in the setting sun—a bailiff from the Jingyang County Yamen.

"Master Lu, hold your ground." The bailiff swung down from his saddle, cupped his fists, and said, "The magistrate requests your presence. A complaint has been lodged claiming that the Bone Fragment in your possession was bought from tomb robbers in Mount Li. The magistrate bids you attend court for questioning."

Yan Guihong pressed forward a hand's breadth, resting his hand on his saber, but Lu Zhibai stopped him with a raised hand. Calmly, he said, "I found this Bone Fragment at the old Ba Bridge ferry, and there are witnesses. If the magistrate wishes to question me, I will go with you."

The bailiff's expression softened slightly, but then he added, "The magistrate also said that if you are willing to hand over the Bone Fragment, this matter will be treated as if nothing ever happened. If you are not—" He paused. "Then he invites you to stay temporarily in the yamen's western wing-rooms until the origin of the item is investigated."

Lu Zhibai did not answer. He noticed that as the bailiff spoke, his gaze kept drifting toward the old cloth pouch at his waist—the very pouch holding the Bone Fragment. An ordinary bailiff had no business knowing where the fragment was hidden.

A sudden smile touched his lips. "Please convey my respects to the magistrate: the Bone Fragment belongs to the one who carved it, and I did not steal it. If I must answer in court, I shall go of my own accord. If I am to be detained—I happen to have a crucial letter on my person that must be returned to the city first." As he spoke, he drew a wax-sealed letter from his tunic, flashed it before the bailiff's eyes, and slipped it back into his robes.

The bailiff's gaze locked onto it. He hesitated for a moment, then cupped his fists. "Then I must ask you to present yourself at the yamen tomorrow at the hour of the dragon. His Honor will be waiting." With that, he remounted and rode off with his men.

Yan Guihong muttered in a low voice, "Where did you get a letter?"

Lu Zhibai didn't answer, simply watching the three riders vanish into the distance of the post road. The letter he had just produced was something he had written the previous night at the Ba Bridge inn, borrowing brush and paper from the proprietor; its contents were nothing more than a copied line from the Classic of Poetry: *"A long time ago, when I set out."* But the seal pressed into the wax was an imprint he had traced from the Bone Fragment that very day—the secret mark of the Mo Society. If the bailiff truly was a man of the Mo Society, seeing that mark would make him think twice before making a move.

"Come, let's head back to the city," he said, swinging up into his saddle. "The Shen Family caravan just left; we might still catch up with them."

The two rode alongside the Ba River as the dusk deepened. Suddenly, a figure darted out from the willow grove by the roadside. Wearing a green scholar's robe and a bamboo rain hat, the man stood beneath an old willow tree holding an unlit lantern. Lu Zhibai reined in his horse, recognizing the silhouette—it was the personal attendant who stayed by Shen Yan's side.

The attendant bowed low. "Master Lu, my young master is waiting at the Ten-Li Pavilion just ahead. He says he has an urgent matter to discuss, one that concerns your very life."

Yan Guihong let out a cold laugh. "The young master of the Shen Family certainly puts on airs. What if we refuse to go?"

Without answering, the attendant reached into his sleeve and drew out a bronze clasp, holding it out on his palm. It was the style of clasp used to fasten the banners of the Shen Family caravan—one that Lu Zhibai recognized, as Shen Yan had worn one pinned to his collar during their pleasantries that morning.

Lu Zhibai was silent for a moment. "Lead the way," he said.

The Ten-Li Pavilion stood on the western side of the Ba Bridge, a half-ruined, ancient stone structure. An oil lamp burned on a stone table inside the pavilion, and Shen Yan sat beside it, using a small knife to whittle a bamboo whistle. Hearing Lu Zhibai dismount, he set the whistle aside, stood up, and cupped his fists. "Brother Lu, forgive me for this uninvited summons."

Lu Zhibai returned the courtesy. "Speak your mind, Young Master Shen."

Shen Yan signaled for his attendant to withdraw, then glanced briefly at Yan Guihong. Yan Guihong didn't budge. Deciding to drop the matter, Shen Yan lowered his voice instead. "I have already heard of what Brother Lu obtained today at Ba Bridge. To be frank, my late father left behind a collection of journals mentioning that during the Lu Clan case back then, a critical piece of physical evidence was taken away by the Mo Society. My father wrote that this evidence was a Rusty Sword."

Lu Zhibai's heart skipped a beat, though his face remained entirely composed. "A Rusty Sword?"

"Brother Lu, don't try to hide it from me," Shen Yan said, his gaze sharp. "That Bone Fragment is a fitting from the sword's scabbard. Since you've already acquired it, you should know that the blade itself lies within the second ruins at Mount Li. The Mo Society has been searching for it all these years without success. If you hand it over to me, I can use the name of the Shen Family mercantile house to submit a 'cultural relic donation' document to the county yamen, making the Bone Fragment completely legal. You'll also be able to walk away unscathed."

Silence settled over Lu Zhibai. The amount of information revealed in Shen Yan's words was immense—he knew the fragment was a scabbard fitting, knew there was a second set of ruins at Mount Li, and even knew the Mo Society was hunting for the sword. Why would the young master of the Shen Family be so well-versed in the secrets of the Mo Society?

He asked, "Why does Young Master Shen want this sword?"

Shen Yan smiled faintly, turning the question back on him. "And why is Brother Lu investigating the old Lu Clan case?"

"To prove my innocence," Lu Zhibai replied. "Someone used the name of the Lu Clan to cover up the truth, and I intend to unearth it."

"Very well," Shen Yan nodded. "I help you find the truth, and you help me get the sword. Is that a fair trade?"

Lu Zhibai didn't take the bait. He lowered his gaze to the oil lamp on the stone table, its flame wavering in the draft. After a long pause, he said, "Young Master Shen, you mentioned your father left journals—did those journals happen to mention what sort of instruments of torture the Mo Society used when they tried the case?"

Shen Yan looked slightly taken aback. "The journals only mentioned that 'the Mo Society took the Rusty Sword as proof,' nothing about the details."

"Then that doesn't add up," Lu Zhibai raised his head. "The inscription on the Bone Fragment reads: *'The Mo Society tried the Lu case, taking the sword as proof.'* If the sword was material evidence, why would the ones holding the trial keep it themselves? Unless—the sword itself was the corpus delicti. The Mo Society used the Rusty Sword to kill, then pinned the blame on the Lu Clan. If your father's journals truly mentioned the sword, he should have known whose blood stained the blade. Yet he said not a single word of it, sending you out simply to find the sword."

Shen Yan's expression flickered, though he quickly regained his composure. "You're overthinking it, Brother Lu. My father's journals are quite old; some pages may be missing."

"Missing pages?" Lu Zhibai shook his head. "Young Master Shen, you said just now 'before my late father passed,' but if your father truly left journals, you ought to know that someone from the Shen Family was present to observe the Mo Society's trial. You just said your father 'once mentioned it,' yet also claimed there were 'no details'—you were probing me to see how much I actually knew."

Shen Yan's smile finally faded. He set down the bamboo whistle and stared at Lu Zhibai for a long moment before speaking. "You really are sharp, Brother Lu. Very well. Someone from the Shen Family was indeed present as an observer back then. But it wasn't my father—it was my great-uncle. The only words he left behind were these: *'The Mo Society used the name of the Lu Clan to hide a sword, and the name of the presiding judge is carved upon it.'*"

A shock ran through Lu Zhibai. The line carved on the Bone Fragment—*The Mo Society did not try the Lu Clan; they used the Lu name to silence them*—matched his great-uncle's words with terrifying precision.

"That sword is ironclad proof that the Mo Society silenced those people," Shen Yan said. "Brother Lu, both of us know that if this sword falls into the hands of outsiders, the Mo Society will silence them without a second thought. Carrying that Bone Fragment is no different from carrying a death warrant. Hand it over to me; I'll keep it safe for you while you go ahead and investigate the truth. Once you find it, I'll return the sword to you."

Lu Zhibai stared at him. The light of the oil lamp reflected in Shen Yan's eyes, revealing a gaze that was both shrewd and steady. Abruptly, he asked, "Young Master Shen, when your great-uncle sat in on the trial, did he leave behind the name of the judge?"

Shen Yan fell silent for a fraction of a second. "No. My great-uncle only uttered those four words—*'Carved upon the sword'*—before drawing his last breath."

"Then I can't possibly hand it over," Lu Zhibai said. "You don't even know the name of the judge; how can you ensure the sword won't be seized by the Mo Society once it's in your hands? If you take the sword, the Mo Society will simply silence you, and the weapon goes right back to them. By then, I won't even have my material evidence left. What would I use to overturn the verdict?"

Shen Yan's expression finally darkened. "Are you saying you don't trust me, Brother Lu?"

"I trust you, but I don't trust the Shen Family standing behind you." Lu Zhibai stood up. "Young Master Shen, your coming here tonight looks like help on the surface, but in truth, you're probing my bottom line. If you really want to cooperate, tell me this first—on the day your great-uncle attended that trial, who else from the Shen Family was there?"

Shen Yan's expression underwent a drastic change. He jerked to his feet, a short dagger sliding from his sleeve though he left it unreactive in its scabbard. Outside the pavilion, the night wind suddenly sharpened, and Yan Guihong's hand clamped onto the hilt of his blade.

Just as things stood on a knife-edge, the rapid clatter of hooves rang out from the post road. A scholar in a green robe spurred his horse forward, tumbled out of the saddle before reaching the pavilion, and held up a wax-sealed letter with both hands. "Master Lu! An urgent letter from Miss Liu!"

Lu Zhibai took the missive, broke the wax seal, and unfolded the paper by the light of the oil lamp. Liu Qingwu's elegant yet rushed handwriting met his eyes:

*"Master Lu, I uncovered a record in the old academy archives: during the Yuanyou era, the Shen Family donated three thousand taels of silver to the Mo Society to 'repair the Hall of Punishments.' That same year, the Mo Society tried the Lu Clan case. The day the Shen Family donated the silver was exactly seven days before the trial of the Lu Clan began. Furthermore, I discovered that the Shen Family's great-uncle, Shen Wenyuan, died a sudden and mysterious death three days after the trial concluded. The Mo Society officially declared it a 'death by illness,' but a small marginal note in the academy archives reads—'The day before Shen Wenyuan died, he entered the Mo Society's Hall of Punishments and did not come out.'"*

Finishing the letter, Lu Zhibai slowly folded the paper. He raised his head, looked at Shen Yan's ashen face, and spoke in a steady voice: "Young Master Shen, your great-uncle Shen Wenyuan died three days after your Shen Family donated silver to repair the Hall of Punishments. You said just now that he uttered his final words before drawing his last breath—yet you also claimed he entered the Mo Society's Hall of Punishments the day before he died. So where, exactly, did he draw his last breath?"

Shen Yan turned ghastly pale. The hand gripping his short dagger trembled slightly, and it was a long moment before he managed to speak. "My great-uncle... truly did die at home. But what the academy archives recorded were simply the words put out by the Mo Society."

"You believed a story put out by the Mo Society?" Lu Zhibai shook his head. "Young Master Shen, when you came here tonight demanding the sword, was it because the Mo Society told you to, or of your own accord?"

Shen Yan made no reply. Deep night had settled outside the pavilion, and the wind blowing from the Ba River carried the rank scent of river mud. After a long stillness, he sheathed his short dagger, cupped his fists, and said, "Brother Lu, I was out of line tonight. We can discuss the matter of the sword another day." With that, he turned and strode away, his attendant already waiting with the horses by the side of the road.

Lu Zhibai watched him go. Yan Guihong murmured under his breath, "What if he had made a move just now?"

"He wouldn't have," Lu Zhibai tucked the letter back into his tunic. "He still hasn't figured out how many cards I'm holding. The Shen Family donating silver to the Mo Society to renovate the Hall of Punishments—that sum of silver is ironclad proof of collusion between them and the Mo Society. If he had tried anything, all I would need to do is deliver this letter to the academy, and the Shen Family's reputation would be ruined beyond redemption."

Yan Guihong let out a breath. "Are we still heading to Mount Li, then?"

Lu Zhibai cast his gaze toward Mount Li. In the darkness, the mountain resembled a dormant ancient beast. He touched the Bone Fragment in his tunic; those carved words burned against his chest like nails—*The Mo Society did not try the Lu Clan; they used the Lu name to silence them.*

"We go," he said. "But we stop in Lintong first. Miss Liu's letter mentioned another entry in the old academy archives—the Mo Society once set up a 'branch lodge' in Lintong used exclusively for storing trial records. The ruins of that lodge are right at the foot of Mount Li. I'd wager the second set of ruins is right there."

Yan Guihong nodded. "Then let's ride."

The two swung back into their saddles. Reining in his horse, Lu Zhibai glanced back once more at the Ten-Li Pavilion. Shen Yan's lantern had already vanished around the bend of the post road. Suddenly, the small marginal note at the end of Liu Qingwu's letter flashed through his mind—*"The day the Shen Family donated the silver was exactly seven days before the trial of the Lu Clan began."* Seven days. The Shen Family provided the silver, and the Mo Society provided the bloodshed. This transaction had been running for a hundred years.

He reined his attention back and spurred his horse toward Lintong. In the darkness, the Bone Fragment grew faintly warm against his chest like a branding iron, reminding him of the choice before him: hand over the sword to save his own skin, or step forward with weapon in hand into a century-old trap designed to wipe away all witnesses. The wind blew in from the Ba River, whipping his robes about him in a loud flurry. He tightened his grip on the reins and did not look back.