Junlan Courtyard, Study Room.
On the Huanghuali wooden desk lay six letters received over the past two days.
Four were invitations from relatives and friends, which Shen Weimu skimmed past without much interest.
One remaining letter contained twelve lines of seemingly nonsensical poetry.
Shen Weimu pondered this letter was somewhat unusual and called Kang Anyun over to take a look.
After reading the letter,
Kang Anyun exclaimed in surprise,
“Elder Eight is coming to assess the Young Master?”
Shen Weimu immediately understood.
Taking the first character of each line in order, the twelve lines formed a sentence:
“Elder Eight will soon assess Jun’s succession qualifications.”
“I’ve never seen Elder Eight in person, but many in the sect turn pale at the mention of him. They say he’s suspicious, picky, and extremely strict, with a face that changes constantly, making it impossible to recognize his true form. He’s the most difficult person to deal with.”
Since this was about the Young Master inheriting the Qingyue Sect, Kang Anyun grew very anxious.
“Don’t they know the Young Master isn’t well right now? He’s not fit for an assessment. I’ll write to inform them immediately.”
“No need for useless effort.”
Kang Anyun had already reported the situation to them.
The so-called Elder Eight, seeking revenge against the Young Master, had previously even sent ten assassins from the Shadow Pavilion as a “congratulatory gift.”
Kang Anyun also understood Shen Weimu’s meaning.
“But they probably don’t know the Young Master is still coughing up blood, his body hasn’t recovered…”
Shen Weimu coughed twice.
“Instead of worrying about that, why don’t you tell me what happens if I fail the assessment?”
Judging by Kang Anyun’s nervous demeanor, failure in the assessment certainly meant trouble.
Kang Anyun opened his mouth, his dry throat finally producing a voice:
“The Young Master is the successor of the Qingyue Sect leader. Naturally, you need to have matching skill and talent. If you fail the assessment, Elder Eight will punish you severely. His methods are cruel. Though he won’t take your life, he will torture you so that you remember the lesson forever and never dare to offend a second time.”
That Qingyue Sect leader was truly pathetic—revered as the sect leader, hated by the world as a great villain, yet even his successor’s qualifications were questioned and had to endure such torturous assessment.
Shen Weimu originally had no interest in the original owner’s past and didn’t want to waste spirit energy to read memories, but now it seemed necessary.
After closing his eyes for a moment and reopening them, a hint of surprise flashed in Shen Weimu’s eyes—he hadn’t expected the original owner to leave such a big surprise for the Qingyue Sect.
Liu Wuyou knocked on the door and entered with two steaming bowls of five-flavor congee, smiling as he advised Shen Weimu to drink it while hot, assuring him it was delicious.
Shen Weimu stirred the congee lightly with his spoon, and the fragrance immediately wafted out.
The congee was vegetarian, containing cabbage, turnip, asparagus, and shepherd’s purse, yet it smelled better than ordinary vegetable congee.
The taste offered the full range of five flavors—sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and umami—and it was very warming.
Truly the best late-night snack.
“The flavor is excellent. What’s the secret?”
“It’s simple. While cooking, a little freshly rendered pork lard was smeared on the edge of the pot, but the soup never touched the lard directly. This way, the broth becomes both fragrant and light.”
Shen Weimu invited Kang Anyun to sit and eat a bowl, then casually asked how much he knew about the assessment.
“The old sect leader was strict and repeatedly told the eight elders before his death that no matter what means, they must ensure you become a talent worthy of succession and bring glory to the Qingyue Sect.”
“Punishments could be anything from the Poisonous Den to the Thousand-Device Island… all unbearable to ordinary people. With your current health, there’s no way you could endure them.”
Kang Anyun’s eyes reddened as he spoke.
“If Elder Fang were still alive, he would surely find a way to help you.”
The Elder Fang Kang Anyun mentioned was Shen Weimu’s mentor, Fang Qingtian.
Twenty years ago, Fang Qingtian was a famed figure in the Jianghu.
Later, he abandoned martial arts for literature, passed the highest imperial exam, and served at the Hanlin Academy.
After Shen Weimu was born, Fang Qingtian accepted the old sect leader’s commission to personally take him as a disciple at the Shen family estate.
For years, he devotedly trained Shen Weimu into a master of both literature and martial arts, but sadly, the original owner was assassinated in the end.
Fang Qingtian had already passed away when the original owner was sixteen.
They were a pair of ill-fated master and disciple—plans unfinished, deaths premature.
Shen Weimu was indifferent to grand plans and assessments, but if anyone dared to provoke him, they would be honored to die by his hand.
He opened the last remaining letter.
A blank sheet of paper bore a simple, familiar drawing: a mushroom.
Shen Weimu smiled.
In the past two days, the Zhang family and Yang family restaurants on Royal Street had been quarreling incessantly.
At first, it was simple business competition—price and dishes.
Later, it escalated into fighting for customers, then pushing and shoving, even brawls.
That morning, the waiters of the two restaurants fought again.
Sun Wangcai, the Zhang family’s chef, grew agitated and wielded a knife, slashing the Yang family’s shopkeeper Dong Dagang.
The blade struck his neck, blood spurting three meters high instantly.
Most onlookers were splattered with blood, screams and wails filling the air.
Amid the chaos, only Shen Weimu, dressed in a white brocade robe, calmly opened an umbrella to shield himself from the flying blood.
Kang Anyun, who had gone to buy Osmanthus rice cakes, was shocked when he arrived at the scene.
What terrible luck was this?
The Dali Court people had really predicted it—stepping outside to encounter a murder!
That morning during breakfast, the gossip interface suddenly flashed a reminder.
[ Ding—Detected a murder about to occur. Location: Royal Street, Capital City.]
As Shen Weimu’s task completion rate rose, the interface seemed to upgrade, now able to predict the general location of murders, though the exact time and place remained unknown.
He rushed to Royal Street to investigate. By the time he followed the sound of quarrels to near the Zhang family restaurant, the murder had already taken place, and there was no stopping it.
[ Ding—Murder detected. Gossip clue interface activated…]
Someone had already gone to report to the authorities.
The crowd of onlookers grew larger, buzzing with speculation.
“What a mess between those two families. Can’t they just do business peacefully?”
“Right? Now there’s a murder. Who’d dare eat here again?”
“That chef is dumb. He was just hired by the boss—no need to risk his life defending him.”
Shen Weimu quietly joined the crowd’s chatter.
“He was going to die soon anyway—incurable disease, no medicine.”
“What? He’s terminal? How do you know?”
a middle-aged man curiously asked Shen Weimu.
Shen Weimu coughed twice.
“I heard from fellow patients. He even gambled away thousands of taels.”
“My goodness, thousands of taels? How could a chef pay that?”
a woman carrying a vegetable basket lamented.
“Exactly. It’s really tough. Now that blade is down, that’s it—the two restaurants are finished. Who benefits?”
The woman rolled her eyes and lowered her voice.
“I heard that the local gambling den bully in the capital wants to buy up these two restaurant spots and open a new gambling house. Could this be his way of threatening the chef?”
Shen Weimu immediately gave the woman a thumbs up.
“Lady, you’re a genius! Most likely so. I heard the Dali Court has been solving cases in the capital lately and offers rewards to witnesses who provide key evidence.”
“Oh? Really?”
The woman’s face lit up with joy as she conferred with Shen Weimu,
“You seem wealthy, Young Master. Surely you wouldn’t mind letting me have this chance?”
A figure approached.
“A”
Fat.
“Oh, not only handsome but kind-hearted too!”
The woman was so happy she insisted on sharing her homemade radish cakes with Shen Weimu.
He didn’t refuse and took a bite—the taste was deliciously homey.
Song Qiyun, having handled the aftermath of the murder in Tang County, rushed back to the capital that morning.
Riding past Royal Street, he thought he saw a flash of white—the figure of Shen Weimu—but when he looked closely again, it was gone.
“There’s been a murder ahead. I’m going to check it out. Qin Shaoqing and Magistrate Yuchi, you two head back first,”
said Lu Yangdao.
Song Qiyun nodded in agreement.
Back at the Dali Court, when Song Qiyun learned that Bai Kaizhi had resolved the long-standing case of the wanted Black Widower Duoxiaoyao during his return to the capital, he was very pleased.
He repeatedly patted Bai Kaizhi on the shoulder, praising his youthful talent. Being called the “Jade-Faced Divine Judge” was well deserved.
Bai Kaizhi beamed with pride, chest puffed out, unable to hide his joy.
But when Song Qiyun inquired about the details, his expression grew serious.
“Did you ask Shen Ersan how he came to be neighbors with Duoxiaoyao? Even if he’s a neighbor, why would he openly tell him his real name?”
Bai Kaizhi shook his head, no questions asked.
“What’s there to ask? Whatever Shen said, I believe it. That’s just how it is.”
Song Qiyun maintained his patience.
“But you must have asked where the residence was, right?”
Again, Bai Kaizhi shook his head.
Song Qiyun took a deep breath.
“Bring Shen Ersan here immediately!”
“No need, he’s here.”
Shen Weimu entered holding a half-eaten radish cake, followed closely by Lu Yang and the middle-aged woman.
The person who had just called was Lu Yang.
Learning Shen Weimu had been present at the Yang family restaurant murder, Song Qiyun’s admiration for him only deepened.
If there were more like him in the court, solving murder cases wouldn’t be so difficult.
“You’re here again—”
“Fellow patients. There are only a few places on Royal Street to frequently see doctors and get medicine. We inevitably meet and hear some gossip.”
“What about Duoxiaoyao?”
“Neighbors.”
“To my knowledge, Duoxiaoyao is good at disguising himself. Every time, he changes his name to trick women into marriage. Why would he reveal his real name to you?”
“This matter is disgusting. Do you really want me to tell you?”
Song Qiyun nodded solemnly.
Shen Weimu asked Song Qiyun to wait a moment so he could finish the radish cake and drink a bowl of sour plum soup to quell his nausea.
Surprisingly, Song Qiyun didn’t find the request strange and immediately ordered his subordinates to prepare a bowl of the best sour plum soup for Shen Weimu.