Chapter 086 Another Murder Occurs

In ancient times, common households lacked precise timekeeping devices, making it difficult to track the exact hour. To address this issue, after long evolution, a fixed system of night watches and drum signals gradually took shape. Due to the high demands for accuracy in time reporting, specialized official institutions were responsible for this duty in every dynasty.

According to the “Ming Code of Regulations,” there were water clocks for setting the time, boards for marking the hour changes, drums for signaling the night watches, and bells and drums for warning dawn and dusk—all these instruments were installed in the watchtower. Watchtower officials, timekeepers, and those versed in the yin-yang arts took turns on duty, ensuring everything was in proper order.

In the early Ming, the watchtower in the capital was originally managed by the Shuntian Prefecture, but by the sixth year of the Zhengtong reign, it was reassigned under the supervision of the Imperial Astronomical Bureau.

During the Song and Ming periods, the night was divided into five watches. The first watch corresponded to the hour of the Dog, and the fifth to the hour of the Tiger; the transition between late evening and early morning was marked by the “brightening watch.” For these, drums were sounded first, followed by bells. For the second to fifth watches, only bells were struck, no drums. During this period, the watchtower dispatched night watchmen to patrol and strike the clapper.

Qiao Eighteen, who lived in the West Quarter, was one such night watchman, assigned to patrol and signal the hour in his neighborhood.

“Bang, bang-bang-bang-bang—”

As the bell in the tower rang again, Qiao Eighteen struck his clapper: a quick beat followed by four slow ones, signaling the fifth watch. With his task done, he yawned, trudging home to catch up on sleep.

But when he reached Old Locust Tree Street, he suddenly stopped, a wave of alertness washing away his drowsiness. Ever since he became a night watchman, he’d passed beneath this crooked old locust tree every night, but never had he seen anything hanging from its branches.

Brave enough to take the job, he crept closer, raising his head to get a better look. Even in the dim light, he could make out the contours—three figures hanging from the gnarled branches!

“Dead men! There are dead men here!” Terror-stricken, Qiao Eighteen shouted while frantically beating his clapper.

It was still dark, but his shouts and the clapper’s sharp rhythm soon roused the nearby residents. People threw on their clothes and hurried outside to see what was amiss.

Xue Rui, startled awake once again by the commotion, felt an inexplicable panic at Qiao Eighteen’s cries.

“What’s wrong, young master?” Su Su, noticing his restlessness, poked her sleepy head from the covers and asked.

“Get dressed quickly—something big must have happened!” Xue Rui, who hadn’t undressed for the night, slipped on his shoes and dashed outside.

Su Su glanced down and noticed her shift had slipped off her shoulder, exposing a broad expanse of skin; she quickly pulled the quilt over herself. But hearing Xue Rui’s words, she forgot her embarrassment and scrambled to get dressed.

By the time Xue Rui reached the door, his parents’ lamp was already lit—they too had been startled by the noise.

“Father, mother, don’t come out. Wait for me inside, I’ll go see what’s happening,” Xue Rui said as he straightened his clothes, calling out to his parents by the window.

“Rui’er, don’t be reckless—just look from the doorway,” Madam Liu cautioned.

“I understand,” Xue Rui replied, then hurried to the entrance. He saw the neighbors rushing toward the street corner and followed suit.

At the intersection, several dozen people had already gathered, some holding torches, others lanterns, flooding the area beneath the old locust tree with light.

Squeezing through the crowd, Xue Rui curiously asked a middle-aged man beside him, “Uncle, what happened? What are you all looking at?”

“See for yourself,” the man replied with a gulp, pointing at the locust tree.

Xue Rui looked up—and couldn’t help but curse aloud. Three bodies dangled from the crooked branches, their necks cinched with belts, swaying in the breeze.

Though he’d lived two lifetimes, this was the first time Xue Rui had witnessed such a scene—three hanged men at once. The eerie sight unnerved him; were it not for the crowd, he might have turned and fled.

“Uncle, do you know who they are? Why would three people hang themselves together?” Xue Rui whispered, suppressing his fear.

The man shook his head. “Can’t see clearly. We’ll only know once they’re brought down.”

Soon, news must have spread, for the West Quarter headman, Chen Youde, hurried to the scene. Seeing the three corpses hanging from the old tree, he was so frightened he dared not approach.

West Quarter was his jurisdiction. Not long ago, three people had died at the Pig Market, and now, scarcely a month later, another three were dead in his own quarter. Though these men had hanged themselves, the spectacle would surely draw official attention, and he as quarter headman might be implicated.

After much steeling of nerves, Chen Youde finally summoned the courage to order a few of the bolder men to fetch a ladder and cut down the bodies. Once the corpses were lowered, a sharp-eyed elder with a soft cap pointed at one and exclaimed, “Isn’t that Chen Erhu? How could he have killed himself?”

Chen Erhu was a burly man, notorious for bullying merchants from outside the city—this elder was among the many he had extorted.

He had lost over a hundred coins to Chen Erhu’s racketeering while selling shoes on the street, and had long since wished the villain dead. Now, seeing Chen Erhu hanged, he felt not just fear, but an overwhelming sense of relief and vengeance.

Chen Erhu had committed many misdeeds, and his victims were numerous; thus, his identity was quickly confirmed. Soon, others recognized the remaining two as Wang the Lame and Zhou Mancang, infamous accomplices of Chen Erhu.

These three ruffians were deeply detested by the townsfolk, so news of their simultaneous “suicide” was met with surprise and, in some cases, open celebration.

Seeing that the hanged men were notorious local scoundrels, Chen Youde actually breathed easier. These three had long been a scourge to the neighborhood, and with their deaths, at least one source of unrest was removed. He thought to himself, “Since they’re all orphans, better to treat this as suicide and avoid involving higher authorities, thus sparing everyone further trouble.” He announced this decision to the crowd, who voiced no objection.

Just as Chen Youde was about to send the bodies to the public morgue, Xue Rui suddenly called out, “Quarter headman, wait!”

“What is it?” Chen Youde turned, seeing an unfamiliar youth.

Xue Rui bowed. “Quarter headman, I find their deaths suspicious.”

Chen Youde, eager to close the case and avoid complications, frowned. “What would a youngster like you know? Those three did much evil—whether it was Heaven’s punishment or vengeful ghosts, they got what they deserved. Are you actually feeling sorry for them?”

“It’s not sympathy,” Xue Rui replied gravely, “I believe they were murdered, not suicides.”

Murder?

The crowd gasped in shock.

Chen Youde, inwardly cursing Xue Rui for making trouble, retorted, “We all checked—no wounds on their bodies other than bruises on their necks, and their faces are deathly pale. If they didn’t die from hanging, what else could it be?”

“Setting aside the cause of death, I want to mention this: Not long after the fourth watch, I heard a sharp, abrupt scream, which stopped as soon as it started. At the time, I thought I was dreaming, but now I suspect it was a dying man’s cry for help. If we close the case hastily, the real killer may go free, and the entire neighborhood will be at risk.”

Xue Rui’s insistence was spurred by the earlier Pig Market murders. He had suspected then that the deaths of the three officials from the Astronomical Bureau were somehow connected to him, but with no evidence, he couldn’t be sure. Now, with this new case, he noticed a common thread: though the victims were not directly related to him, both incidents occurred in places within his routine path, and in this case, he had even heard the dying man’s cry.

This forced him to wonder whether the deaths of Chen Erhu and his cronies might somehow be linked to him. With these doubts, he wanted the truth thoroughly investigated, and thus stopped Chen Youde from hastily closing the matter.

“Quarter headman, perhaps we should report this to the authorities. Three dead at once—what if this was done by some ruthless bandit? Our neighborhood would be in real danger.”

Several people began to waver at his words. After all, three lives were lost; it would be best for an official coroner to examine the bodies, so everyone’s mind could be at ease.

“That’s right. We didn’t do anything wrong—what’s there to fear?” The others chimed in, making Chen Youde’s expression shift from blue to white.

With public opinion against him, Chen Youde had no choice but to summon a youth and instruct him, “Hurry into the city to Shuntian Prefecture and report that three more deaths have occurred in our quarter. Request the prefectural magistrate to investigate.”

Officially, the West Quarter outside the city fell under Wanping County’s jurisdiction, so typically, one would report to the county yamen first, not directly to Shuntian Prefecture. But after the last Pig Market murders, Chen Youde had been summoned by Magistrate Ye Maoxun, who had instructed him to report immediately to the magistrate if another such case arose. Thus, asking for Ye was reasonable.

Not long after, Ye Maoxun arrived on horseback, accompanied by four constables and a coroner. By then, dawn was breaking.

After examining the bodies, Ye Maoxun ordered the coroner to conduct a postmortem and began questioning witnesses. Qiao Eighteen recounted how he had discovered the scene, and then Ye Maoxun addressed the crowd: “Does anyone else have useful information?”

All eyes turned to Xue Rui.

Xue Rui, who had never met Ye Maoxun but had heard from Liu Jin that he was approachable, stepped forward. “This student, Xue Rui, has information to report.”

The name caught Ye Maoxun’s attention at once; even the two constables assisting the coroner looked toward the crowd.

In the faint light and amidst so many people, Ye Maoxun hadn’t immediately recognized Xue Rui. Now, as he stepped forward, the magistrate realized—this youth had been listed as a suspect in the Pig Market case!

A veteran of officialdom, Ye Maoxun quickly reined in his surprise and asked, “What have you to say?”

“Sir, at the start of the fourth watch, I heard a sharp, brief scream—though I didn’t catch it clearly, it was likely a cry for help from the dying.”

“You think it was murder, then?” Ye Maoxun’s expression betrayed some surprise—Xue Rui’s answer was quite the opposite of what he’d expected.

Xue Rui nodded. “Sir, though the quarter headman believes they killed themselves out of guilt, I disagree. The deaths look like hangings, but there is nothing nearby to stand on, and no sign that the branches were climbed or broken. I judge that the three were murdered and then hanged to disguise the crime. That is why I urged the headman to report to you, so the truth might be uncovered.”

“You’re quite observant,” Ye Maoxun remarked.

After inspecting the tree, Ye Maoxun confirmed there were indeed no signs of climbing, and went to quietly ask the coroner, “Well? Can you tell if it was suicide or murder?”

The coroner had just finished examining one of the bodies. “Sir, it’s definitely murder. The method matches that of the Pig Market case: the victims died of asphyxiation from a crushed windpipe inflicted by external force. The killer arranged the bodies as hangings, most likely to mislead us.”

This revelation shocked Ye Maoxun, leaving his mind in turmoil. After investigating the Pig Market case a month earlier, he had strongly suspected Xue Rui’s involvement but could never find direct evidence, so the matter was left unresolved. Now, the murder at Old Locust Tree Street was committed in exactly the same manner, pointing to the same killer.

What puzzled Ye Maoxun was that Xue Rui, earlier considered a suspect, was now the one urging the headman to report the crime, and even volunteered information suggesting it was murder—behavior that made little sense if he were the killer.

“Could I have misjudged him?” Ye Maoxun wondered. If Xue Rui truly were the murderer, what could he possibly gain from this?

Old constable Luo Zhuang, with his own suspicions, whispered, “Sir, could it be a ruse? Perhaps he’s trying to exonerate himself by appearing helpful. We had a case like that before, cost us a lot of effort to get to the bottom of it. Why not detain the boy for questioning?”

“No,” Ye Maoxun said firmly. He’d heard of Xue Rui’s recent deeds and how his name was quickly spreading through the capital, even if few had met him. Arresting him without solid evidence could cause an uproar, and he might even be mistaken for a political enemy.

Luo Zhuang glanced at the corpses. “Then, sir, how should we proceed?”

“Take the bodies to the yamen and summon everyone who recently had contact with the deceased for questioning. Perhaps we’ll find some useful clues,” Ye Maoxun instructed.

“Yes, sir,” Luo Zhuang replied, arranging to have the corpses transported.

Ye Maoxun turned to Xue Rui and said kindly, “Well done—the coroner’s findings confirm this was murder, and the time matches your account. Unfortunately, the killer left no useful evidence. If you discover anything new, report to me at once.”

“I will remember, sir,” Xue Rui replied, bowing.

With that, Ye Maoxun and his men departed with the corpses. As they left, Chen Youde exhaled in relief and waved for the crowd to disperse. He threw Xue Rui a cold look. “The killer may still be lurking nearby. You’d best look out for yourself—I can’t protect you.”

Xue Rui had stood up precisely to draw out the murderer, so threats didn’t scare him. He smiled. “No need to trouble yourself, quarter headman. We’re moving into the city today, which is much safer than this dump. Farewell!”

“You—” Chen Youde was left speechless, glaring after Xue Rui’s departing figure before storming away himself.

Back home, Xue Rui recounted the events, leaving Xue Yuanhao and his wife pale-faced, and frightening Su Su as well. The death site was only a few dozen paces from their door; they passed it every day. Even setting aside how ominous it was, the unknown whereabouts of the killer were enough to keep the whole family on edge.

“Perhaps I should speak with Grandmaster and ask if we can stay at his residence for a few days—it would be safer,” Xue Rui suggested, having already considered the danger when he spoke out earlier.

Xue Yuanhao hesitated, “Wouldn’t it be improper for the whole family to impose on your teacher?”

“We’ve no time to find a new place, and we can’t go home. For now, it’s the best we can do. Luckily, we have plenty of gifts—we’ll choose some fine ones for Grandmaster and his family, which should make things appropriate.”

Madam Liu nodded in agreement. “That makes sense. Your Grandmaster has worried over us many times, and his health is poor. I’ll pick out some fine ginseng and fo-ti root for him, and select some fashionable cloth for your cousins. It’ll be a small token of our gratitude.”

“Then I’ll go ask Grandmaster now. Mother, you and Su Su pack up the valuables and leave the rest. When I finish my shift, I’ll hire a carriage to move us.”

With instructions given, Xue Rui departed for his duties at the Imperial Astronomical Bureau.

City defenses had grown tighter lately, likely out of fear that Mongol infiltrators might stir up trouble. At the city gates, guards now not only examined travel permits but also frisked everyone for weapons, greatly slowing the entry process.

“Make way! Make way!” As Xue Rui waited in line, a squad of soldiers burst from the gate, driving the crowd aside.

A tall, armored general galloped out, followed by a hundred cavalrymen who lashed their whips at anyone too close, making quite the display.

“Pah, a defeated general, and still he struts about,” muttered an old man nearby, brushing the dust from his robe and spitting in the direction the riders had gone.

Xue Rui, standing close, guessed the old man recognized the general and quietly asked, “Sir, who was that?”

The old man cast him a scornful glance. “That was Shi Heng. He lost at Yanghe Pass—the commanding general was killed, and only he made it back to the capital. Heaven knows why the court has made him a general again.”

So this was the infamous Shi Heng! Startled, Xue Rui stood on tiptoe to catch a glimpse, but the cavalry had already disappeared, leaving only a trail of dust on the road behind.