Chapter Five: The Six Gates in Haste, No Corpses Left to Stitch in the Morgue

Song Mo’s heart skipped a beat. Could there have been a mistake during the preparation of the body? Had the jostling on the way home caused the deceased’s heart and lungs to fall out? But on second thought, that was unlikely. Setting aside the fact that Zhang Wei, the Chief of the Irregulars, had only suffered a stab to the chest, the stitches had been fine and tight; even a ride on a roller coaster should not have undone them.

Moreover, Tang Yi, who had come calling, was clearly from the Six Doors Bureau; it was just unclear what business brought him here.

As Song Mo stood there, momentarily lost in thought, Tang Yi’s voice rumbled with displeasure, “Did you find anything on the corpse?”

Song Mo was taken aback, his mind racing to recall every detail. When Zhang Wei left the Changning County yamen, he carried no valuables—just himself and his horse. No, wait—Song Mo suddenly remembered something: that transit record book.

Tang Yi eyed Song Mo suspiciously as the latter remained silent.

Song Mo composed himself and replied solemnly, “My lord, please do not jest. The Mortuary Division has strict rules: we must not defile the dead, and theft is punished by death. I always abide by the rules.”

Not wanting trouble, Song Mo naturally avoided mentioning the transit record book; his response was both reasonable and watertight.

Yet this was clearly not the answer Tang Yi wanted. He stared at Song Mo for a long moment, then left without another word.

Song Mo breathed a long sigh of relief and returned to his own mortuary room, number seven.

The cold couch was still unscented by a lady’s presence. He lit a lamp and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

…

Six Doors Bureau.

In a small room deep within the yamen, the commander of the Six Doors, the Marquis of Divine Strategy, Zhuge Changqing, looked gravely at the three people before him.

Zhuge Changqing wore a white official robe adorned with a black tiger on his chest. He appeared just over fifty, with a square jaw and broad ears, streaks of white at his temples—a man worn down by service to his lord.

These three were no ordinary men; they were three of the Four Great Constables of the capital.

Qi Jingmo, the Star-Chaser.

Bai Lingquan, the Blood-Drinking Sword.

Hua Banxia, the Smoky Guest.

“Do you know that the Lantern Festival is in three days?” Zhuge Changqing pressed his brush heavily against the inkstone; the purple bamboo, gold-tipped brush remained intact, but the jade inkstone shattered into pieces.

“Be at ease, my lord. Everything is under control,” Qi Jingmo replied unhurriedly. He stood over seven feet tall, burly and imposing, dressed in a long purple robe embroidered with green patterns, over which he wore a cream-white jacket of glossy silk. His skin was dark, his eyes piercing—truly a man of commanding presence.

“Boastful words from a black-handed rogue,” Bai Lingquan, clad in black, interjected, his tone equal parts approval and ridicule.

Bai Lingquan, as tall as Qi Jingmo, cradled his sword in his arms. His black attire and hair fell freely, giving him an air of unrestrained elegance. With slanting brows and thin lips, he was the very image of the cold-faced but passionate swordsman.

“Are you looking for a beating? Every time you have to undermine me,” Qi Jingmo said, feigning a threat.

“I’m always ready,” Bai Lingquan retorted with a cold snort, his sheathed sword humming faintly, as if in response.

Standing beside them, Hua Banxia pressed her lips in a smile. Her cloud-like hair fell in a soft cascade, lending her an air of delicate beauty. Her lovely face resembled the first blush of the moon, snow piling upon blossoming branches—altogether enchanting.

Indeed, spring’s charm is ever beguiling, and a fair maiden’s grace endures.

“Brother Qi, don’t lower yourself to Little Bai’s level. He’s like that sword of his—always exuding menace, though he hardly means it,” Hua Banxia said, patting Qi Jingmo’s arm with a fair hand.

Bai Lingquan snorted again, his Blood-Drinking Sword humming in protest.

Not one to play favorites, Hua Banxia turned to Bai Lingquan. “Little Bai, you know how he is.”

She glanced at Qi Jingmo, stifling a laugh. “That ‘everything is under control’ line is just his catchphrase. He never means it.”

Qi Jingmo flushed red, and even Little Bai had to suppress a smile. Hua Banxia was already shaking with laughter.

Zhuge Changqing watched their lighthearted banter, his face darkening at their lack of decorum. He rapped the table and said sternly, “Enough—show some respect.”

At his command, the three immediately sobered.

“Have you identified which caravan the Turkic assassin has infiltrated?” Zhuge Changqing asked.

Qi Jingmo and Bai Lingquan fell silent. Hua Banxia furrowed her brow. “He seems to have arrived in Changning County the day before yesterday.”

Zhuge Changqing’s face grew even grimmer. “Do we know which caravan?”

Hua Banxia shook her head. “The county’s transit record book went missing, and Chief Zhang Wei was murdered at Yongle Gate in the dead of night. The Turks must have realized something and killed him to cover their tracks.”

Zhuge Changqing mused for a moment. “Zhang Wei was no fool. If he brought the record book into the city at night, he must have made a discovery. Unfortunately, he was killed, and the book must have been seized by the culprits.”

Hua Banxia shook her head. “Not necessarily. Zhang Wei’s body was sent to Mortuary Room Eighteen in the south of the city. That same night, the mortician was murdered. I suspect the Turks failed to find the record book at Yongle Gate and so tracked it to the mortuary.”

She paused before continuing, “But with the Mortuary Division presiding there, the Turks were discovered before they could search the body and had to flee. The record book likely hasn’t fallen into their hands yet.”

Zhuge Changqing nodded. “We must plan carefully. In the meantime, you three are to investigate every caravan of foreign merchants that passed through Changning County the day before yesterday.”

At this, the three constables exchanged uneasy glances. Zhuge Changqing raised his head. “Speak your mind.”

Hua Banxia hesitated, then replied quietly, “With Mid-Autumn and the Lantern Festival approaching, foreign merchants have been coming in droves. Changning County is prosperous, so many merchants arrive early to do business. On just that one day, over three hundred foreign caravans passed through. Even with all of Six Doors, it would take half a month to investigate them all.”

Zhuge Changqing frowned, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the table. After a long pause, he said, “I’ll write to the county magistrate and request the Irregulars’ assistance. Jingmo, you’ll take charge of this matter.”

Qi Jingmo nodded. He disliked dealings with merchants, especially foreign ones, but he understood the urgency and gravity of the case and did not object.

Zhuge Changqing prepared to grind ink, but when he lowered his gaze, he saw the shattered inkstone and could not help but smile wryly.

An incense stick’s time later, Zhuge Changqing blew gently on the ink-stained paper, pressed the Six Doors commander’s seal upon it, and carefully placed the letter in an envelope, handing it to Qi Jingmo.

Qi Jingmo wasted no time. Taking the letter, he departed immediately, leading over a hundred Six Doors constables straight for Changning County.

Bai Lingquan and Hua Banxia remained, awaiting Zhuge Changqing’s instructions.

“Have we sent anyone to the southern mortuary?” Zhuge Changqing suddenly asked.

Hua Banxia nodded. “We in the Six Doors have little to do with the Demon Suppression Division, and our reputation precedes us, so it would be unwise for us to go in person. That’s why we sent him.”

Zhuge Changqing’s brow furrowed. “You mean Tang Yi?”

After a long moment, Zhuge Changqing relaxed. “Very well. He is indeed better suited to handle this than we are.”

Thirteenth year of Jian’an, the twelfth day of the eighth month.

The capital was peaceful, the streets alive with lanterns and colorful opera stages.

Within the Six Doors Bureau, Zhuge Changqing leaned back in his chair, fingers entwined, lost in thought.

Bai Lingquan patrolled the western market, while Hua Banxia spent the night in the eastern quarter. The Six Doors constables, clad in purple robes marked with the black tiger, hurried through the streets.

Night fell, and the door to Mortuary Room Seven remained undisturbed.

Tonight, there were no corpses to stitch.