Wang Daxia said: “These are protective amulets I requested this morning at Tian’an Temple where we stayed. Everyone wear one—no ghosts can harm you.”
Last night’s lightning strike killing the book boy was too ominous. Everyone, following the principle of “better to believe than not,” accepted the amulets.
Only Lu Ying refused: “I don’t want it. Lord Lu said once you become an Imperial Guard, don’t believe in ghosts and spirits.”
Wang Daxia pointed at everyone: “They’re also Imperial Guards. Why can they have amulets?”
Lu Ying said: “Rules used to constrain yourself shouldn’t be used to constrain others.”
Wang Daxia simply hung two amulets around his neck: “If you don’t want it, fine. I’ll wear two for extra insurance.”
Lu Ying remembered something and asked: “Your private money is with Lord Lu. Where did you get money to buy these amulets?”
Wang Daxia was confused: “Do you Imperial Guards need to pay money when requisitioning things?”
Lu Ying was speechless: “Imperial Guards are court officials, not bandits! You’re openly robbing!”
Wang Daxia looked innocent: “I didn’t rob. I told that big monk the Imperial Guards needed to requisition the temple’s protective amulets, and the monk gave me a whole handful—there are more in the carriage.”
Lu Ying retorted: “You used the Imperial Guard name—could that monk refuse you?”
Wang Daxia spread his hands: “I’m assisting Imperial Guards with a case, penniless. You want the horse to run but won’t let it eat grass—you’re being unreasonable!”
“You—” Lu Ying raised his whip, wanting to strike him a hundred times.
Wang Daxia jumped back, deflecting the conflict by pointing at the grave: “The coffin’s open. Go look quickly.”
Lu Ying put away his whip and went to look.
Ten years had passed—only white bones remained. The coroner went down to examine the bones and fill out the corpse record, saying: “Commander Lu, there are indeed infant remains in the deceased’s lower abdomen.”
The coroner cleared out the bones from the coffin piece by piece, arranging them in formation—one large, one small, two complete sets of remains.
The Imperial Guards lit a fire around the bones. The coroner opened a red umbrella to shade the remains, examining the bones from top to bottom.
This was the corpse examination method written by famous Song Dynasty coroner Song Ci in “The Washing Away of Wrongs”—this method could reveal whether bones showed fracture traces, which would indicate violent assault before death.
The coroner examined both large and small sets of remains and said: “No traces of injury.”
Lu Ying’s hands gradually clenched: “The book boy didn’t lie. Miss He died from difficult labor caused by Wang Pozi—one body, two lives, the fetus died in the womb.”
Then the Imperial Guards dug up another coffin. This coffin was very small, only half the size of Miss He’s. Opening it revealed an empty coffin indeed!
Lu Ying contemplated the empty coffin, hand to chin: “Second Miss He escaped. She was seven that year. If she’s still alive, she’d be seventeen now. Qianhu Chen and his son, plus Wang Pozi, were very likely killed by her.”
The coroner said: “This subordinate examined Wang Pozi’s corpse this morning. Her abdomen was swollen with water, and there was mud and sand under her fingernails. The cause of death was indeed drowning, but we can’t rule out someone holding her underwater.”
Lu Ying asked: “Wang Daxia, what do you think?”
No response. Lu Ying turned back: Where is he?
A subordinate pointed at the carriage: “When Commander Lu went to see the coffin opening, Young Master Wang had already hidden in the carriage.”
Really greedy for life, afraid of death, and afraid of ghosts. Lu Ying walked to the carriage, lifted the door curtain—Wang Daxia was curled in the corner, eyes tightly shut, hands clasping a bronze Buddha, muttering: “Buddha protect me, may all ghosts retreat according to this command!”
Good grief! Buddhism and Taoism mixed together.
Lu Ying was torn between laughter and tears, his gaze falling on the bronze Buddha: “You little rascal stole the bronze Buddha from Tian’an Temple!”
“Requisitioned! It’s requisitioning!” Hearing Lu Ying’s voice and confirming it wasn’t a ghost, Wang Daxia opened his eyes: “Requisitioning can’t be called stealing… requisitioning!… Imperial Guard business—can that be called stealing?” (Note 1)
Author’s Note: Note 1: This pays homage to “Kong Yiji”—Kong Yiji’s face flushed red, the veins on his forehead bulging as he argued: “Stealing books can’t be called stealing… stealing books!… Scholar’s business—can that be called stealing?”
Fourteen-year-old Wang Daxia—flirty, slutty, cheap, chuuni, rogue, shameless, unreasonable, and very afraid of ghosts! But after meeting Wei Caiwei, he’s like joining a reality transformation show.