Chapter Forty: The Minor Official Subdues the Ruffians with Authority, A Corpse Appears at the Zhang Residence, Concealing Its True Identity

"What are you doing?" Wu Wanlin's face was dark, his voice stern.

He wasn't speaking to Song Mo, but glanced at Ma Xiaosi and Zhu Ke as he questioned them.

"Nothing, just a little misunderstanding with this blind mortician," Zhu Ke replied with a smile.

"Insolent! Are you blaming the Morticians' Bureau for hiring reckless, unreasonable morticians?" Wu Wanlin was unimpressed, his expression growing even harsher.

"Have we given you too much face? What’s a filthy corpse-stitcher pretending to be so noble for?" Ma Xiaosi, seeing Zhu Ke’s conciliatory attitude and Wu Wanlin’s continued refusal to yield, became furious and cursed loudly.

As he spoke, Ma Xiaosi gripped the saber at his waist.

"Oh? You want to start a fight on the Morticians' Bureau's own ground? You two would be the first," He Yiming, who had remained silent until now, suddenly interjected.

His tone was calm, stating a simple fact.

Morticians' work belonged to the shadowy trades, and with the Great Zhou in turmoil, morticians were in constant demand. Most people respected morticians and rarely clashed with those in such professions. Moreover, the Morticians' Bureau was subordinate to the Demon Suppression Bureau; no organization dared challenge them, especially in Jian'an Capital.

"Xiaosi," Zhu Ke barked a low warning, shaking his head at Ma Xiaosi, who finally released his grip on the saber.

Clap, clap.

He Yiming applauded twice, a smile on his face. "Congratulations on making the right decision. Good thing you put away your blade, otherwise—"

He Yiming's smile vanished suddenly, replaced by icy coldness. "Otherwise, tonight the Morticians' Bureau would have another corpse to prepare."

Ma Xiaosi's face turned ugly, and Zhu Ke's expression darkened as well.

"Haha, Brother He, you’re mistaken," Wu Wanlin laughed heartily, clapping his hands. "It wouldn’t be just one corpse, but two."

He Yiming smiled but said nothing.

Ma Xiaosi and Zhu Ke were about to explode in anger, but the two officials dropped their smiles, their presence intensifying.

They had seemed ordinary before, but now their aura was sharp and formidable. The thirty-six mortuary rooms lined up in the Bureau were suffused with dark energy, and the oppressive force made Ma Xiaosi and Zhu Ke gasp for breath, faces pale and clearly unable to withstand it.

Song Mo was startled as well; he hadn't expected these seemingly insignificant officials to possess such frightening power.

Judging by their aura, they were even stronger than Jiang Wanyi, the third-rank Demon Suppressor.

"My lords, I beg your forgiveness, I failed to recognize greatness," Zhu Ke squeezed out a plea for mercy through gritted teeth.

"Remember this—the Morticians' Bureau is no place for your bullying. Now get out," Wu Wanlin said disdainfully, glancing at the pair before he and He Yiming withdrew their oppressive aura.

Ma Xiaosi and Zhu Ke gasped for air, then hurriedly drove their ox cart away as if fleeing.

"Thank you, my lords, for your assistance," Song Mo bowed in gratitude, certain that the two officials would side with him.

It was natural: Song Mo was a mortician, the mortician of Room Seven.

He Yiming waved his hand dismissively. "No need to thank us. We did it for the Bureau, not for you."

Wu Wanlin nodded in agreement.

Still, Song Mo felt obliged.

"Perhaps I could treat you both to breakfast?" Song Mo offered with a smile.

"You sly one, as if you’re afraid we’ll demand favors from you," He Yiming said, displeased.

Song Mo, caught out, gave an awkward laugh. He really did fear the officials would assign him bizarre corpses as repayment. While corpses tainted by demonic energy promised greater rewards, they also brought greater dangers.

Just as things grew awkward, Wu Wanlin came to Song Mo’s rescue, laughing, "Very well, why not accept his hospitality?"

Song Mo seized the opportunity. "Old Lin’s breakfast shop on Old Street has just fried fresh crullers and rice cakes, crispy and fragrant, best paired with newly brewed tea."

He Yiming nodded. "Old Lin’s breakfasts are indeed excellent. Let’s do as you suggest."

Relieved, Song Mo led He Yiming toward Old Street.

When they arrived, a crowd was gathered around two large stone lions, marveling at something.

"Who turned over the stone lions?" someone exclaimed in shock.

"Don’t be foolish. These lions were carved by the authorities, each weighing over twelve hundred and seventy-eight pounds. No ordinary person could move them," another responded, shaking his head.

The first speaker lowered his voice. "So you’re saying—?"

"Not human," the second man said again, earning murmurs of agreement.

Song Mo’s forehead was lined with black lines. "I…"

He Yiming and Wu Wanlin stared thoughtfully at the lions for a long while, making Song Mo nervous. Thankfully, they said nothing and simply followed him to Old Lin’s breakfast shop.

As Song Mo had predicted, the crullers and rice cakes were freshly fried, and the aroma of the tea was enticing.

Swallow, seeing Song Mo and the two officials, quickly cleaned a table for them to sit.

Soon, a bamboo tray arrived with oil paper holding six crullers, half a dozen rice cakes, three coarse ceramic bowls of tea, and a small dish of pickles.

The three ate heartily, while outside, a crowd of morticians gathered. Unlike the three, they could only afford plain steamed buns, often sharing one between two.

Song Mo frowned, stood up, whispered something to Swallow, then returned to his seat and drank his tea.

Before long, Swallow brought plain buns and tea to the morticians outside.

"Well, aren’t you generous," Wu Wanlin remarked, knowing Song Mo had arranged it.

Song Mo smiled bitterly. "The Bureau pays at the start of the month, but no matter how frugal, some morticians still go hungry for days. If I can help, I will."

He Yiming set down his tea bowl, sighed, "Even the Demon Suppression Bureau can’t escape the ways of the world. My brother and I ask only to remain true to our conscience."

Song Mo understood He Yiming’s subtle meaning. The Great Zhou was corrupt, officials embezzled, and even the Demon Suppression Bureau was not immune.

Nevertheless, Song Mo now regarded He and Wu with newfound respect.

The three sat in silence, drinking tea.

Morning light spread across the sky, sunlight growing stronger.

After settling the bill, they headed back to the mortuary rooms.

Before leaving Old Street, a Bureau servant came running in a panic.

It was Wei Xi, young nephew of the Wei family.

Wei Xi rushed up, gasping, "Something’s wrong—people from Changning County are causing trouble again!"

Wu Wanlin and He Yiming’s faces turned grim. "Let’s go—see what’s happening."

Song Mo was alarmed; he quickly realized this was a message sent by Tang Yi.

Han Bing’s corpse had vanished once more.

…

Changning County Office, midday.

Scroll after scroll of county records and Zhang family documents were brought from the archives to the rear hall, soon filling half the room.

"My lord, with so many records and scrolls, how long will it take to search?" Xia Yu asked, puzzled.

Tang Yi set aside the scroll he’d just finished, picked up another, and began reading.

"Summon everyone in the office who can read. Today we must find a clue," Tang Yi said, rubbing his eyes.

Xia Yu acknowledged and went off to gather staff.

Tang Yi recalled the strange tale told last night by Zhang Changlin, patriarch of the Zhang family, and suddenly had an idea.

He searched through the mound of records and county annals, finally picking up a Zhang family document.

The scroll was yellowed, its leather tie rotted, but the writing remained clear.

At the beginning, a line of small characters read: "Zhang family, commoners for generations, rose to prominence in the thirty-second year of Hengliang in Great Zhou, when an ancestor found a thousand-year-old lingzhi in Sheepgut Mountain."

"The thirty-second year of Hengliang in Great Zhou—that must be when the Zhangs rose. Sheepgut Mountain, thousand-year lingzhi..." Tang Yi pondered, his eyes brightening. He strode out of the county office, mounted his horse, and left Changning via the official road.

…

Zhang family manor, front hall.

A corpse covered in a white sheet lay cold on the floor. Whether Zhang family member, servant, or maid, all were terrified.

"Is she back?" someone whispered.

Immediately, the crowd trembled like leaves.

Thump, thump, thump. Zhang Changlin struck the floor with his deer-head cane, face grave.

"No need to panic. Our Zhang family has weathered a hundred years of storms."

His strong voice calmed the crowd somewhat, at least lessening their trembling.

The deceased was the old housekeeper, Lu Sheng.

Early this morning, the servants found his body in the backyard, already cold, with no wounds except a missing left hand.

It didn’t look like an animal attack—there was no blood, not even a torn sleeve. Utterly bizarre, nothing like a human crime.

As everyone stood helpless, Zhang Changlin made a decision.

"Put the corpse in a hunter’s clothes and send it to the southern mortuary in Jian’an Capital. Tell them he was attacked by a beast in the mountains."