The Night Watcher of Great Jing - Chapter 12

Whatever sort of person Miss Lin had been in life, death had transformed her into a ghost that embodied eighteen calamities—poverty, low status, misfortune, decline, and more.

Resentment tangled within her, making her obsessive and unreasonable.

Zhao Li knew this. The previous night, she had ordered everyone who had entered the courtyard to leave immediately and travel as far away as possible.

They could return after the matter was resolved.

Madam Zhang, Steward Li, Qi Hai, Imperial Physician Zhang, and his granddaughter had all been escorted out of the city during the night by mounted agents under Lu Zhao’s orders.

Fragrant Orchid Courtyard had also been isolated, with repeated warnings that no one should approach.

Yet even the most thorough plan would always encounter one or two people who refused to believe and insisted on gambling with their lives.

One of the guard enforcers posted at the outer perimeter ignored the ban and drank with his colleagues to keep warm.

After filling his belly with booze, he stumbled away in search of somewhere to urinate and never came back.

The others assumed he had hidden somewhere to shirk his duties.

They did not know he had already become a corpse.

Heavy smacks echoed from the government office’s main hall.

The agents who had drunk while on duty were pinned to benches beneath the corridor and beaten with disciplinary boards.

The palm-wide punishment rods came down at full force, each blow leaving a bloody stripe.

No one dared cry out.

Their colleague’s corpse still lay on the ground, while the weeping of his wife and children pierced their hearts like arrows.

Inside the hall, officials from the third-rank vice commander down to seventh-rank junior banner officers knelt in a row on the flagstones.

“Is this how you normally teach and discipline your subordinates—by gathering to drink while on duty?”

The guard enforcer’s autopsy report slapped against the body of a senior banner officer.

The man flinched but did not dare evade it.

Shen Yan sat in a round-backed chair carved with a dragon’s head. His face was black with fury as he stared at the quail-like subordinates before him, veins throbbing at his temples.

We need not dwell on how Shen Yan, whose gate had been blocked by a corpse that morning, proceeded to discipline and torment the entire office.

Zhao Li had changed into a lined jacket of pale lavender-blue. Her long hair was arranged like that of an ordinary young woman, and she now walked the streets of Shengjing.

Beside her trudged a sallow-faced Lu Zhao. Official business had saved him from the disciplinary board, but not from a savage tongue-lashing.

Great Jing had known peace for many years. Its relative stability had made the capital, Shengjing, exceptionally prosperous.

Every variety of pedestrian crowded the roads. Buildings stood shoulder to shoulder on either side. Long bamboo poles extended from their upper floors, displaying cloth banners painted with simple designs.

The banners snapped in the wind while vendors called out their wares.

The lively, bustling scene felt wonderfully fresh to Zhao Li.

Hawkers’ cries filled her ears.

As they passed a confectionery advertising ginseng-and-poria tonic cakes, she caught a sweet fragrance and turned to look.

Then they passed a shop specializing in porridge.

A row of small wooden placards hung from red cords over the door, listing fox-nut porridge, milk porridge, sago porridge, chrysanthemum-sprout porridge, and more than twenty other varieties.

Some names explained themselves. Others were completely unfamiliar. Zhao Li decided she would return and taste them when she had the chance.

It was her first time exploring the capital. Everything looked charmingly antique and new.

Lu Zhao did not share her carefree mood.

“Little grandaunt, tell me the truth. Are we really going to be all right?”

As he spoke, he handed her a bamboo steamer of hot peach-blossom shumai wrapped in lotus leaves.

What Lu Zhao actually wanted to ask was whether he should resign and run for his life.

To others, the corpse standing outside Shen Yan’s gate that morning had merely seemed uncanny.

But when Lu Zhao saw the evil smile on its face, cold had shot from his heels to the back of his skull.

“We’ll really be fine.” Zhao Li held the warm shumai without eating.

That morning, Shen Yan’s guards had arrived with a smiling steward from the Shen residence, several large trunks of women’s clothing, every sort of daily necessity, and an extravagant breakfast.

Their superior Shen Yan had been in a foul mood and had no appetite, drinking only a bowl of thin porridge.

Zhao Li had finished all the remaining buns and pastries by herself.

She was not hungry yet, so she tucked the peach-blossom shumai into her sleeve to warm her hands.

Her relaxed manner gave Lu Zhao some confidence.

Still worried that his family might be implicated, he decided not to go home for the next few days.

Seeing that he remained deeply troubled, Zhao Li offered advice.

“If you’re worried, Master Lu, stay in the duty room for now. The baleful energy there is strong. Then find a butcher and ask for a slaughtering knife.”

“A slaughtering knife?” Lu Zhao was confused. What did a butcher’s knife have to do with anything?

“A slaughtering knife has taken life and tasted blood. Its baleful energy is heavy. It can cut ghosts and suppress evil.”

In Zhao Li’s previous life, one of her seniors had paid a fortune for a slaughtering knife passed through six generations of butchers.

When an ordinary haunting flared at midnight, merely drawing and displaying the blade could frighten away timid wandering spirits.

Great Jing strictly controlled discussions of witchcraft, curses, ghosts, and gods among the common people. In recent years, speaking of them openly had nearly become forbidden.

Zhao Li kept her voice very low.

Lu Zhao considered her words.

“Then… would one that has killed people work?”

As he spoke, he thoughtfully touched the bulge at his waist.

He and the commandants following behind were not in uniform, but all concealed their sabers beneath their loose robes.

Zhao Li fell silent.

Did he mean what she thought he meant?

As they spoke, the group reached Coffin Street in the western market, a district devoted to coffins, spirit money, and other funeral goods.

People waited at the entrance to solicit customers and jobs.

But those who came here usually did so because something terrible had happened.

Thus, unlike the grinning pimps and touts outside brothels, the men seeking business here wore hemp clothes and mournful expressions.

One sharp-eyed man saw Zhao Li’s party approach.

He hurriedly stuffed half a flatbread into his mouth, swallowed it nearly whole, and rushed over.

The corpse bearer carried a coil of hemp rope and a wooden pole over one shoulder. His face was ingratiating, hopeful that he might secure a well-paying job.

Zhao Li could not judge his age, but his features seemed honest.

Lu Zhao apparently agreed. He summoned the man to a secluded spot and dug ten copper coins from his belt, tossing them to the corpse bearer named Yan San.

They quickly learned from Yan San that the most experienced corpse bearer on the street was Old Yi, who had worked in the trade for more than thirty years.

One copper coin could buy a meat bun. During the coldest part of winter, the original Zhao Li had earned only thirty coins for taking apart and washing an entire quilt in icy water.

Yan San clutched the coins happily and led the group to find Old Yi.

Old Yi lived only two streets away.

When they arrived, he was leaning against the fence outside his home, puffing on a dry pipe and listening attentively to a young married couple arguing next door.

“Old Yi! Someone’s here to see you.”

Yan San clearly knew him well and called from a distance.

Old Yi glanced at Zhao Li’s party. Assuming they had work, delight crossed his face.

He extinguished his pipe against the sole of his shoe and welcomed them inside.

An old bachelor living alone, he knew his home was filthy. He brought out several small stools, wiped them with his sleeve, and invited his guests to sit in the courtyard.

Zhao Li and Lu Zhao sat, while the commandants in plain clothes remained by the gate on watch.

Old Yi’s delight deepened. He believed a wealthy household had come to hire him.

Before he could speak, Lu Zhao asked directly, “Fifteen years ago, did you carry a young lady who hanged herself out of the Pacification Office’s family quarters? Do you remember where she was buried?”

Fifteen years ago.

The Pacification Office.

The words *Pacification Office* alone sounded like a ghost demanding one’s life.

When the two were placed together, Old Yi jerked as if struck by lightning.

His tobacco pouch fell from his hand and hit the ground.