“Is he your sworn brother?”
The jade-colored robe fluttered sharply in the wind, and beneath his sword-like brows, Song Qiyun’s eyes were deep and inscrutable.
It was hard for him not to scrutinize and suspect Shen Weimu.
“What a coincidence. You know the deceased as well?”
“I am unworthy, but I have a wide circle of friends.”
Song Qiyun didn’t believe a single word of that.
The face before him was indeed handsome, but just like a cold jade carving, utterly lacking any warmth.
The grief he had just displayed was superficial, with not a trace of genuine sorrow.
His father, who had been solving cases for thirty years, once said that the most dangerous and cruel type of murderer were those who expertly used a friendly, fragile, and beautiful appearance to lower others’ guard, then took the opportunity to kill one innocent person after another.
Even when caught, these people felt no guilt whatsoever for their actions.
They were born killers, incapable of empathy with humanity.
Song Qiyun had entered the Imperial Examination as a prodigy and had been granted the title of Junior Top Scholar.
Though barely twenty, he already had four years of experience in solving cases.
He had encountered three criminals matching his father’s description: outwardly simple and honest, but hideously cruel when committing murder.
When caught, they even smiled while recounting their crimes, never showing remorse even up to their executions.
His judgment of character had never failed.
The young man named Shen before him felt less like a resemblance and more like a near-perfect embodiment of the kind of alien, vicious killer his father had described.
Song Qiyun instinctively sized up Shen Weimu again.
Like before, he wore a plain white brocade robe, with an expensive tribute jade pendant hanging from his waist.
His attire was simple, but his aura was otherworldly.
“Certain about your friendships? Not soul-stealing?”
After questioning, Song Qiyun fixed his gaze on Shen Weimu, hoping to find a flaw in his reaction.
Shen Weimu smiled, then coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto his handkerchief.
Because of that bloodstain, the smile seemed more like one of fury turned inside out — no longer suspicious.
“Boss, Chief Registrar Yuchi has found something! Come quick!”
Song Qiyun temporarily let Shen Weimu go and moved beside Yuchi Feng.
Yuchi Feng was inspecting five corpses that had been taken down from the trees.
The five bodies were at various stages of decay.
The worst was swollen, with parts of the skin broken and oozing pus, while the less decomposed ones were still somewhat stiff.
All had clear ligature marks around their necks in a distinct figure-eight pattern.
On the two freshest bodies, traces of snot and drool were visible around the mouth and jaw.
“All five died by strangulation,”
Yuchi Feng explained, pointing to the marks for Song Qiyun.
“There’s no sign of foul play from the ligatures themselves. But they share one odd feature: all were barefoot, with three puncture wounds on the soles of their feet.”
Luckily, the most decomposed corpse’s foot skin was mostly intact, allowing rough identification of the three pierced spots.
The locations of the blood spots varied—some had one on the left foot and two on the right, others the opposite.
Their distribution across the soles was random.
In short, each pair of feet combined had exactly three blood spots.
The same pattern was seen on the remaining ten hanging corpses not yet taken down.
“That’s strange. The neck marks suggest suicide by hanging, and the death times differ, so it wasn’t a group forced to hang themselves.”
Combining this with the eyewitness report that the latest victim, Duan Gu, rode alone to this forest, it seemed there was no sign of coercion.
Bai Kaiji rubbed his chin, puzzled.
“But why would all these suicides have three puncture wounds on their feet? Even if this forest is cursed and attracts suicides, would everyone have the same bizarre habit of stabbing their soles three times?”
“There’s one exception.”
Song Qiyun glanced toward Duan Gu’s body.
Lu Yang followed his gaze, noticing Duan Gu still wore shoes and socks.
“Shoes aren’t off yet. Boss, how did you know?”
Lu Yang didn’t believe it and personally removed Duan Gu’s shoes and socks.
The soles were clean, with no wounds at all.
“Amazing. Boss, how did you figure it out?”
Yuchi Feng stroked his mustache.
“These puncture marks on the soles were likely made by someone else afterward. Duan Gu was discovered immediately after death, so whoever did it hadn’t had the chance to act yet.”
After finishing, Yuchi Feng suddenly realized something and exchanged looks with Song Qiyun.
Song Qiyun nodded, then hesitated between Lu Yang and Bai Kaiji.
“You two decide.”
“Decide what?”
Bai Kaiji was confused.
Lu Yang patted Bai Kaiji’s shoulder.
“You’re the slowest-witted, so it’s your turn to work.”
Bai Kaiji scratched his head.
“Work on what? Who said I’m slow? Based on my deductions just now, don’t you think I’m quite clever?”
The result of this retort was everyone agreeing Bai Kaiji should take charge.
As the informant, Shen Weimu had to wait until they finished the investigation and recorded his statement before he could leave.
But with so many bodies, even the officials would take a long time to wrap up.
Bored, Shen Weimu leaned against a tree reading a book.
After discussing the plan, Song Qiyun quietly approached Shen Weimu and glanced at the book he was reading: Shengshi Chronicles.
“Your sworn brother died, and you’re only thinking about food?”
“The deceased are gone; the living must go on. Didn’t the Junior Top Scholar Song also eat? If your friend or relative died, would you just stop eating and living?”
Song Qiyun was momentarily stumped and sneered,
“At first, you might lose your appetite due to grief, but nothing compares to your kind.”
“Oh, then you still need to cultivate. Eating earlier or later is still eating—what’s the difference?”
Shen Weimu folded the page he was reading and closed the book.
Song Qiyun:
Shen Weimu descended the mountain.
“You’re not allowed to leave yet!”
Shen Weimu suddenly looked back at him.
That familiar feeling returned.
He had said the same words not long ago.
“I’m not leaving. Shouldn’t I just change location?”
Song Qiyun was silenced by the retort.
According to their plan, Shen Weimu did need to relocate.
But how did he know?
Was he eavesdropping?
He had been too far to overhear, so it must have been a prediction.
Song Qiyun’s pores tightened, his vigilance toward Shen Weimu heightened from ten to twelve.
“Hey, Shen Ersan, where are you going?”
Bai Kaiji had been busy processing the crime scene and hadn’t caught up with Shen Weimu.
Now seeing him leave, he was reluctant.
Shen Weimu waved without turning back as he descended the mountain.
“To eat corpse.”
Bai Kaiji: “!!!”
Lu Yang: “!!!”
Yuchi Feng, who was still examining the decayed bodies, glanced hesitantly at the corpses under his care.
Song Qiyun immediately quickened his pace and followed Shen Weimu.
Night had fallen.
Three miles outside the Suicide Forest, by a stream, two lanterns were hung.
Shen Weimu’s carriage was parked by the creek, and Song Qiyun stood behind it, arms crossed, closing his eyes to take a deep breath.
The “corpse-eating” Shen Weimu referred to was actually eating rabbit meat!
Wu Qi had skinned and deboned four rabbits he had hunted and washed the meat in the stream, then placed it on a wooden stump before Shen Weimu.
Wu Qi hesitated.
“Young master, you really want to cook yourself? There are still many snacks in the carriage.”
“Snacks are snacks, but meals are meals.”
“Then… I’ll do it.”
Wu Qi wasn’t confident his cooking would be palatable.
“Go light the fire and set the pot.”
“Alright.”
Shen Weimu picked up a sharp dagger, its speed so fast it left only afterimages.
The dusk dimness meant the other two present were distracted, missing Shen Weimu’s astonishing skill.
After blanching three diced portions of rabbit meat to remove the gamey smell, he heated oil in the pot, adding garlic cloves, coriander, green onions, and Sichuan peppercorns one after another until fragrant.
The book specified that the oil’s temperature was crucial — the garlic should just float when placed in the oil.
Too hot would make the meat tough, too low and the rabbit would retain an unpleasant smell.
The timing of the meat going in was perfect, locking in a springy, tender texture instantly.
His wrists spun as the spatula flew.
High-speed stir-frying allowed the meat to evenly absorb the flavors without drying out, preserving freshness and tenderness.
He finished by sprinkling garlic powder and sesame seeds.
The dish of tender rabbit in sesame oil was ready.
With steamed buns and other provisions from the food box, plus a cup of green plum wine, they enjoyed the hearty meal by the creek under nightfall — sheer bliss.
Perhaps because it was his first self-cooked dish, Shen Weimu found it especially fragrant and delicious, feeling that even if his cultivation were nearly exhausted, living in this other world wouldn’t be a regret.
The aroma of the cooking rabbit had already wafted ten miles away, and Song Qiyun couldn’t help stealing several glances toward Shen Weimu.
Who would have thought this wealthy young master could cook himself?
Did he bring the entire kitchen along?
Not just pots and ladles, but even garlic, coriander, and green onions?
“Junior Top Scholar Song, would you like some?”
After the sixth glance Song Qiyun threw his way, Shen Weimu finally invited him.
Naturally, Shen Weimu was reluctant to share his own cooking, but considering he would need to deal with Song Qiyun and others frequently, he was unusually generous this once.
In the Demonic Realm, anyone who could drink even a single sip of leftover wine from the Demon Lord would rejoice for thirty thousand years.
Song Qiyun was receiving such an honor today — he must be fated for countless lifetimes of blessings.
He should consider himself lucky!
Song Qiyun looked expressionless at the pot, now half empty, silently judging Shen Weimu’s timing in calling him over midway through the meal.
“No, thank you.”
He was the Dali Temple Vice Minister and not so petty as to crave a bite of rabbit meat.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than his stomach growled twice quietly.
Fortunately, it was far enough away that the sound was inaudible.
Song Qiyun walked further off, standing by the stream with hands behind his back.
His tall figure was like a solitary pine, gazing into the distant night — solemn, refreshing, and dignified.
Yet from an unseen angle, his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed.
Wu Qi approached with a plate of snacks.
“Young master said Junior Top Scholar Song might not like rabbit meat, so he asked me to bring some snacks.”
Song Qiyun instinctively wanted to refuse, but his hand moved as if possessed, taking a piece.
“Well then, I won’t disappoint your young master’s kindness. Just one piece.”