Chapter Forty-Seven: Borrowing the Nomad’s Horse to Leave the Mortuary, Seeking Tang Yi at the Changning County Office

Autumn City was shrouded in thick sea fog, and duty called before dawn. Song Mo sat restlessly in the mortuary, unable to find comfort since witnessing the revolving lantern show of the old Zhang family steward, Lu Sheng, the previous night. An ominous feeling had gripped his heart ever since. He feared for Tang Yi’s safety, but could do nothing but worry in silence.

The city was under curfew, and the gates closed at dusk. Unlike Tang Yi, Song Mo was not an officer of the Six Gates and could not leave the city freely. Only after suffering through the long night did he finally wait for dawn. He hurriedly lifted the mortuary’s door panel and rushed outside. In his haste, he nearly collided with He Yiming, the patrolling minor official.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” Wu Wanlin, seeing it was Song Mo, didn’t take offense.

“Something urgent!” Song Mo, raising his eyes, saw both He Yiming and Wu Wanlin and felt a surge of relief.

Though Song Mo was adept at the art of swift movement, it was daytime—whether leaving the city or traveling the official road, crowds made it easy to attract unwanted attention. Song Mo simply wished to keep his head down and mend corpses in the mortuary for his reward; if noticed by someone with ill intentions, trouble would surely follow.

The mortuary, though a minor branch of the Demon Suppression Office, still possessed resources. Song Mo knew, for instance, that the mortuary’s stable housed two robust horses from the north, rarely used and thus well-fed and strong. Now was the perfect time to borrow one.

He cautiously asked the two minor officials to lend him a horse, and, to his surprise, He Yiming readily agreed, with Wu Wanlin echoing his approval. Leading the horse out from the office, Song Mo bought a rice cake in the old street for the journey.

The northern horse was tall yet gentle. Though Song Mo was not skilled in riding, he quickly picked up the basics, and the flat official road posed little trouble. In front of Yongle Gate, orderly lines formed for entry and exit. Few were leaving the city, so Song Mo passed through the gate swiftly.

Among those entering, the most striking was a donkey cart drawn by two long-eared donkeys, carrying a black wooden coffin. Though it wasn’t raining, the donkey cart driver wore a bamboo hat and a brown, mud-stained robe. Song Mo found the man familiar and, upon closer inspection, remembered seeing him before in the mortuary—the same cart driver who had delivered a corpse wrapped in a bamboo mat.

If what Wei Xi said was true, then the corpse Song Mo stitched yesterday was likely the one brought by this man. The coincidence made Song Mo pause, but he realized the mortuary was a small place, so such encounters were not surprising.

Leaving Jian’an Capital through Yongle Gate, Song Mo headed directly for Changning County.

…

Changning County, street-side herbal tea stall.

The middle-aged vendor, dressed in coarse linen, brewed herbal tea carefully and poured it into a wooden barrel to cool. Two officers with sabers at their waists sat at an inner table, gulping down the tea.

“Brother Zhu, that fat bastard Xia sent us to patrol the market—he’s just making us stand guard on the street!” Ma Xiaosi complained, banging his tea bowl heavily onto the table, chipping its edge. The vendor winced but said nothing.

Business was best conducted quietly, especially with these two surly officials nearby. Zhu Ke, his face equally grim, set down his tea bowl and replied, “I didn’t expect Fat Xia to play it so ruthless. I underestimated him.”

Ma Xiaosi grumbled, “If this keeps up, we won’t last in Changning County. It’s all because of that damned mortuary man.”

Hearing the mention of the mortuary man, Zhu Ke’s expression darkened further. “If he hadn’t kept things to himself, I might’ve solved the case already,” Zhu Ke muttered, a flash of cruelty in his eyes. He picked up his cup and glanced outside.

Suddenly, the urgent sound of hoofbeats echoed from the street, and Zhu Ke’s face changed to one of surprise. “Is my anger making me see things?” He quickly drank some tea, hoping to calm himself.

“Brother Zhu, are you all right?” Ma Xiaosi asked, noticing Zhu Ke’s odd expression.

“It’s nothing, just a trick of the eye. I thought the rider was that mortuary brat,” Zhu Ke said with a self-deprecating smile. Surely he was mistaken—a lowly mortuary worker couldn’t possibly be riding such a fine northern horse through Changning County.

Ma Xiaosi glanced up, then abruptly stood. “Damn it, it really is him! Brother Zhu, let’s deal with him!”

Zhu Ke was startled, then realized he hadn’t been seeing things—it truly was him.

The two exchanged a glance and stood up, heading outside.

“Gentlemen, you haven’t paid for your tea,” the middle-aged vendor called after them, forcing a smile.

“Blind fool! Can’t you see we’re on official business? Delay us and we’ll tear down your stall. Get lost!” Ma Xiaosi snapped coldly.

The vendor wanted to argue, but one look at Zhu Ke’s icy gaze silenced him. He let them go, and when they were out of earshot, spat angrily on the ground. “Bah, what nonsense.”

…

The county office of Changning was now in sight. Song Mo slowed his pace, letting the horse rest.

“What just happened…” Song Mo muttered under his breath.

As he had galloped through the Changning marketplace, Song Mo felt a sudden tightening in his chest, as if someone were watching him. The feeling lingered, a sense of being surveilled.

“Forget it, let’s focus on business.” Unable to figure it out, Song Mo decided to move on.

The old saying went: respect the robe first, then the person. The county office guards saw Song Mo in rough linen and did not believe he was a friend of Lord Tang from the Six Gates in the capital. He tried to persuade them, but they refused him entry. Luckily, Song Mo had a flash of inspiration and produced a token—a silver needle that had nearly harmed his younger brother before, which Tang Yi had not reclaimed, saving him much trouble.

In the rear hall of the county office, Xia Yu graciously brewed tea for Song Mo. His hospitality alone revealed his insight: without needing to ask, Xia Yu knew Song Mo was the mortuary man who provided clues to Tang Yi, and welcomed him warmly. Had Song Mo not been in a hurry to find Tang Yi, Fat Xia might have invited him to a banquet, perhaps followed by an evening at the pleasure quarters—a delightful thought.

But Song Mo quickly returned to business. He asked solemnly, “Commander Xia, do you know where Tang Yi went?”

Xia Yu noticed Song Mo’s serious expression and replied after a moment’s thought, “Last night, Lord Tang returned late to the county office. He looked through the county records and case files, then left in a hurry. Why, has something happened?”

Song Mo shook his head. “I’m not sure yet.”

Surveying the half-room full of county records and files, Song Mo felt his scalp tingle.

“You’re saying Tang Yi left after reading these last night?” Song Mo asked, as if grasping at a crucial clue.

Xia Yu, startled by the sudden question, answered out of habit, “Yes, that’s right.”

Song Mo frowned, spotting an opened county record among the piles—the others were all closed.

He hurried forward, picked up the record and skimmed it. His expression darkened. “This is bad. Tang Yi is in trouble.”

Xia Yu was bewildered. “What’s happened? Brother, explain!”

Song Mo strode outside, saying as he went, “No time to explain. We must hurry.”

“To where?”

“The Zhang family.”