Chapter Thirty-Two: The Fall of a Hero-The Mysterious Case of North Pavilion(The Humble Magistrate)

A faint glimmer of light filtered into Wan Yongkun’s vision, but he dared not open his eyes fully. He tried to move; his limbs were numb—clearly he’d been bound. He wasn’t sure if he was still in the bamboo grove or had been moved elsewhere, so he continued to feign unconsciousness.

Voices sounded nearby. Judging by the distinct tone, he guessed it was Zhang Jin speaking. The words mingled with the crisp patter of raindrops on leaves, allowing Wan Yongkun to deduce that he was likely still in the same place.

He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but he strained to listen.

Only one person spoke—it was, of course, Zhang Jin: “Mute Bro, who is this guy? Looks like he’s a tough one from the way you’re acting.”

A scratching noise followed, probably the mute man writing on the ground.

“What are you planning to do with him, Mute Bro? We can’t just kill him—that’s a serious crime.”

More scratching. Zhang Jin seemed surprised.

“Let him go?! ... Looks like he knows a lot about us. If he spills the beans, we’ll all be done for. Mute Bro, think this through.”

The scratching sounded again. This time Zhang Jin fell silent for a while before speaking.

“Hide him in a coffin? What if he dies in there?”

A chill ran down Wan Yongkun’s spine. Trust the mute man to come up with such an idea. The thought of being shut inside a grave for hours gave him goosebumps. He was a country boy, and nothing frightened him more than damp, eerie places that stirred the imagination. Brave though he was, everyone had their own weaknesses. He was torn between thinking of how to escape or how to get word to Beiting to rescue him. Then the conversation resumed.

“Mute Bro, we’re only after money. Let’s not end up with a murder case on our hands. That’d ruin us for life.” Zhang Jin was, it seemed, a run-of-the-mill thief, not yet ready for murder.

The machete scraped hard against the ground.

“I get that this is just a stopgap, but how long can we hide a living man? Someone could come looking tomorrow—what’ll we say then? Don’t forget, there are police stationed in Luoshui Village. If they find out, all our work is for nothing.”

He muttered, “All this for a Guanyin statue—hardly worth the risk...”

The mute man seemed to grow angry, grunting harshly. Zhang Jin must have been intimidated, for he only murmured after a long pause, “Fine, we’ll do as you say, Mute Bro. When do we act?”

The mute man grunted and gestured for a while.

Wan Yongkun was anxious. He struggled again, but the rattan bindings only cut deeper into his skin. The more he struggled, the tighter they became. He had to give up on freeing himself for now—he couldn’t decide what to do. Being locked in a tomb was frightening enough, but worse was failing to get crucial information back to Beiting. That would make this mission a disgrace.

“So heavy.” Zhang Jin walked over and tried to lift him. Wan Yongkun didn’t dare move, fearing they’d see he was awake. He subtly tensed his muscles, making himself dead weight so Zhang Jin, who knew no martial arts, couldn’t budge him. His mind raced through possible solutions, but none seemed feasible.

Zhang Jin wasn’t suspicious, as Wan Yongkun was naturally burly. It made sense he was hard to move.

The mute man didn’t act, instead sitting on the ground and using the machete to direct Zhang Jin, grunting as he did. Zhang Jin released his grip and returned to his side.

“Why don’t you need my help now?” Zhang Jin asked in surprise. “Mute Bro, is there something else?”

The mute man nodded, picked up a small figurine, and began carving on it with a chisel—writing this time, in fine, brisk strokes.

He grunted a string of instructions.

“Oh, give it to Mu... Zi... Li... Si, tomorrow? Oh... right away... important... urgent... what?” Zhang Jin seemed to struggle with the mute man’s lengthy hand signs, translating them word by word, but eventually he seemed to get the gist.

The mute man growled again.

“Alright, Mute Bro, take care of yourself,” Zhang Jin said, wasting no time. He pocketed the little figurine and strode off, footsteps growing fainter as he left. He was really gone this time.

For a long while, there was no sound. The world fell silent once more.

Wan Yongkun was uneasy. He squinted through a slit in his eyes and saw the mute man rise silently, machete gleaming in hand, striding toward him with murderous intent.

A cold sweat broke out on Wan Yongkun’s brow. Was this man about to kill him?

Had he misheard earlier? Maybe the mute man meant to stuff a corpse into the coffin—his own!

He reflexively twitched, then squeezed his eyes shut in helplessness.

The mute man clearly noticed. His pupils dilated dramatically.

The sky grew ever darker; the rain intensified. The bamboo grove reeked with the stench of rot. Overhead, a bolt of lightning slashed across the heavens, but no thunder followed for a long time.

In that moment, the sudden flash of lightning lit up the mute man’s round, grotesque face, making it all the more hideous and terrifying—

Suddenly, the blade flashed—blood spurted!

Mountains and rivers darkened; heaven and earth changed color.

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“Bang!”

A flash of fire shot out, cloaking half the hollow in white smoke. Another flare followed, the smoke thickening, merging with the rain mist in the bamboo grove, instantly engulfing both the mute man and Wan Yongkun.

The mute man glanced around in panic, saw no living soul, but a shadow, swift as lightning, flickered at the edge of his vision and vanished into the smoke.

He swung his machete wildly, waving his broad palm to disperse the smoke, but it was futile. To avoid attack, he backed away several steps.

His vision blocked, he was helpless.

Within the haze, Wan Yongkun felt a strong hand dragging him in a certain direction.

A low voice spoke: “Don’t move!”

The voice was familiar and comforting. The pain from being dragged across the ground seemed to diminish.

“Man, you finally showed up,” Wan Yongkun thought with relief. As soon as he relaxed, the smoke made him want to cough, but he forced himself to hold back.

“What kind of toxic gas is this?” he couldn’t help but joke. “It’s killing me.”

Kuang Suo replied coldly, “You still have the nerve to crack jokes? If the smoke clears, let’s see if you’re still laughing.” The rain hadn’t soaked the bamboo grove much, but the mist could easily douse the smoke bombs. It was Kuang Suo’s first time using the Moon Crescent Mountain’s illusions, and he wasn’t confident.

He dragged the heavy Wan Yongkun along, not moving quickly. The danger wasn’t over, and Kuang Suo was sweating profusely but dared not pause.

“If you want to live, shut up!” he snapped.

Wan Yongkun sighed, “Jiu Dao, you stubborn mule, working with you is exhausting... How about you free my hands? I can walk on my own.”

“Damn, I forgot.” Kuang Suo realized, fumbling to untie the rattan. His hands came away sticky with blood—Wan Yongkun was badly hurt.

“You’re still mouthing off? Lucky you’re not dead yet,” he grumbled.

Wan Yongkun clutched his wounds, deep gashes on his arm and chest, though his legs were intact. He shoved Kuang Suo: “I’m fine, won’t die. Go after Zhang Jin now—he has important intel...”

Kuang Suo eyed him suspiciously. “What intel could be more important than your life? Are you sure you’re alright?” Even through the haze, he could see the blood streaming down Wan Yongkun’s body and was impressed by his resilience.

Wan Yongkun frowned. “If you don’t hurry, it’ll be too late. Don’t you want to solve the case?”

“Fine, you win. Just promise me—stay alive, don’t be reckless.” Seeing Wan Yongkun’s urgency, Kuang Suo dared not linger. He slapped him on the shoulder and dashed off in Zhang Jin’s direction.

“Not so gentle, are you?” Wan Yongkun grumbled, then hurried off in another direction—the killer wasn’t far behind.

The mute man’s bulky shadow was already looming in the distance. Wan Yongkun darted away like a startled hare. Catching him now would be no easy task, though he worried whether his wounded body could keep up the pace.

A trail of blood snaked into the distance, clear as a signpost. The mute man, however, suddenly stopped, knowing Wan Yongkun was gravely wounded, but also aware he himself was exhausted.

Above, the sky was thick with clouds, thunder and lightning raging.

Suddenly—

The mute man spread his arms, gazing up at the heavens, as if to scream, but no sound would come.

He was raging at the heavens: Open your eyes, for once!

After a moment, he suddenly raised his blood-stained machete again. This time, what did he intend—

To do?

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Rain poured down relentlessly.

Zhang Jin hurried alone through the deluge, clutching the figurine the mute man had entrusted to him, meant for an important recipient. Shrewd as he was, he realized some unfamiliar force had discovered their theft—otherwise, this conflict wouldn’t have happened.

Though the young man had been subdued, who knew if he had accomplices who might expose them? He couldn’t forget the police in the village—if the young man was a plant, their operation had been compromised.

He pondered this as he strode forward, trampling through puddles without a care.

Splash, splash, splash…

After a couple more turns, the main road came into view. Zhang Jin’s nerves eased a little.

A tall, thin man walked toward him, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a rain cape, barefoot, his calves dark from the sun. The man kept his head down, ignoring the water, the hat shading most of his face. Zhang Jin glanced at him out of habit—he looked like any other local farmer in Luoshui Village.

The stranger brushed past without a glance.

At that moment, a gust of wind whipped up rain mist into Zhang Jin’s eyes. He instinctively raised a hand to rub them. His own hat was smaller and his raincoat plastic, flapping in the wind, but gave him more freedom of movement.

In that blink, the stranger had already gone far. Zhang Jin looked back in surprise and saw no trace of him. How quick!

Careful as ever, Zhang Jin checked his pocket—the figurine was still there, hard and angular.

Just nerves, he chided himself, and hurried on to the highway, breathing a long sigh of relief.

On the winding path, the tall stranger watched Zhang Jin hurry away, then slowly removed his hat, revealing a lean, resolute face—it was Kuang Suo.

He stroked the hard object in his hand, a rare smile on his lips.

In that fleeting moment, he had swapped the figurine in Zhang Jin’s pocket, securing the “important intel” Wan Yongkun had mentioned.

He opened his hand and studied the figurine—a woman, delicate features, slim, her expression gentle and wise. The material was the famed local yew, a hardwood, so despite the fine craftsmanship, the face was a bit rough.

Kuang Suo was startled—wasn’t this... Liu Zichen?

Why would the mute man carve a bust of Liu Zichen? It was puzzling.

But now was no time to ponder. He studied the characters on the figurine: clear, forceful strokes, but their meaning took effort to decipher.

“Mother’s vengeance... soon fulfilled, but my whereabouts are exposed, act quickly... better to die with honor... than live in shame...”

He finally understood—it was written in traditional script, in a seal style few could master.

Who would have guessed—the mute man was an educated man, not some mere farmer.

Clearly, this was a message urging the killer to act at once. The plot was still in motion, and Kuang Suo dared not relax. He tucked the figurine into his hat.

After circling the back roads to ensure Zhang Jin wasn’t doubling back, the cautious Kuang Suo made for the ancestral hall in Li Village, hurrying to Beiting with the message. His only worry now was for Wan Yongkun’s safety.

May fortune favor the brave! That mountain monkey was not so easily caught.

With that thought, he felt somewhat reassured.