Chapter Seventy-Three: Hidden Peril Within the Family (Part Two)

Chang’an in the twelfth lunar month was dressed in silver, the city swathed in snow. On the streets, the city guards and patrolmen knocked on every door, urging the citizens to sweep away the accumulating drifts. Yet the task was endless—just as a narrow path was cleared, the heavens would frown, and great feather-like flakes would come tumbling down again. Because of this relentless wind and snow, the fragile homes within the city suffered disaster; many commoners, still deep in sleep, were buried beneath the collapse.

In Shanglin Ward, where the mansions of the wealthy clustered, servants and hired hands bustled about—not to clear the streets, but to tidy up the inner courtyards, reinforce rooftops, and strengthen window frames. The snow on the streets was supposed to be cleared by laborers assigned by the city prefecture, but a few stewards sent them away. The young masters and ladies of these houses delighted in the snowy spectacle; once their homes were neat, the streets were left blanketed for their amusement.

Wu Youxu’s residence, like that of Princess Yiyang, also stood in Shanglin Ward. Yet his was but an ordinary noble’s house, three courtyards deep and three gates wide, taking up not even half the land of the princess’s estate. His household was simple, with no elders to care for, and Wu Youxu himself was a man of quiet, ascetic habits. As night fell, he extinguished all lights early.

Silently, several black-clad figures, agile as wild cats, climbed over the outer wall and slipped into the courtyard. They executed a few nimble somersaults, then crouched on the ground, listening intently. Only when assured they had disturbed neither man nor beast did they dart away, keeping low, each heading for a different target. Two made for the main hall’s study, intent on rifling through correspondence; one clambered up a ginkgo tree in the courtyard, keeping watch from above, ever alert, a reed leaf between his lips—ready, with a soft blow, to sound a shrill alarm. The remaining two ran straight for the storeroom. Their prior surveillance had been thorough; they had not mistaken the direction. That very afternoon, two carts had entered the premises, their wheel tracks heavy. Though thick mud had been piled atop the loads, these seasoned spies were not fooled. Who, after all, would bring so much mud into a mansion without reason?

The watcher in the ginkgo tree had sharp eyes, scanning the branching corridors and paths below, mouth ready on the reed whistle. All seemed to be proceeding smoothly—study, storeroom, both teams encountered no obstacles. The watcher exhaled in relief, his heart faintly puzzled.

Suddenly—a sharp whistle of air, a muffled thud.

The black-clad watcher craned his neck, startled by the sound of something slicing through the air. Before he could react, the unmistakable sensation of cold steel pierced his flesh. Pain seared his neck. He turned, bewildered, unable to fathom how the killing blow could have come from behind.

With a heavy thud, his limbs splayed wide, the black-clad figure crashed to the slick, snow-wet ground.

Gradually, voices and barking dogs rose in the night. Lamps flared to life in several side rooms. The remaining four intruders quickly retreated. When they glimpsed the corpse of their comrade, shock scattered them; each leapt over the high walls in different directions, fleeing through the alleys of the ward. Their escape was largely unimpeded, but as they neared the main road, a sudden volley of cold light swept toward them—dozens of willow-leaf throwing knives. They ducked and twisted, avoiding mortal wounds, but their limbs, chests, and bellies were all scored with cuts. Pressing themselves against the walls and hiding in the shadows, they bled freely.

Drip, drip—their blood spattered onto the snow, but outside, all fell silent.

Their leader tossed a dark object as a test; when it drew no further attack, he gritted his teeth, eyes darting. “Follow me,” he whispered.

Clutching their wounds, they dashed away, a trail of blood staining the snow behind them—a vivid scar across the white expanse.

Even a clay idol can be provoked three times over; Wu Youxu’s patience had reached its end. If you wish to sneak in by night, so be it—my house holds nothing that cannot be seen. I’ll throw open the doors and let you look. But to come, and then die within my walls—what is the meaning of this?

Surveying the bloody traces around his courtyard walls, Wu Youxu’s anger was barely contained. His normally placid features flushed red as he roared, “Report to the authorities! Quickly, go to Wannian County and the city prefect’s office—report at once!”

This was no ordinary case. Wannian County dared not handle it alone; the prefecture took it seriously. The judicial officer, leading the county magistrate and constable, dispatched dozens of bailiffs and coroners to investigate. They pored over the body of the dead intruder, noting a single throwing knife driven through the throat. No poison, no peculiarities, nothing of value as a clue. Then they cleared several streets and alleys, following the blood trails in the snow—this time, a major discovery.

“Sir, the blood trail passes through several wards, all home to high officials and nobles. The streets here haven’t been swept, and the direction of the blood is clear—it must end at this house,” said the lead detective, brimming with confidence as he pointed to a side gate, looking to the judicial officer for praise.

Instead, what he received was a slap. The judicial officer, above such things, let the county constable do the striking. “Fool! Are you mad? You must have made a mistake. Move on—quickly!”

“Wait,” came a voice. From the rear gate, a group emerged, every one of them clad in splendid silks and jewels, dazzling to behold. Their leader, a man past fifty, habitually let his eyes dart about—even now, his expression dark, he radiated little authority.

All present bowed deeply. “We pay our respects to the Minister of Rites, Lord Wu,” they intoned. It was Wu Sansi himself.

“Enough, rise,” Wu Sansi replied with a wave of his sleeve, covering his nose. “You have worked hard. I myself am astonished—how did thieves dare trespass upon my household? Since you are here, see to it at once—who were these intruders, and what was their aim?”

The judicial officer, tongue dry, bowed even lower. “As you command, my lord.”

Wu Sansi swept his robe and returned inside, his retinue barking orders, treating the investigating officials like servants, ordering them to clean up and remove all traces of blood.

“Sir, what now?” the county magistrate fretted, sweating even in the cold.

“Let’s return to the prefecture and report to the chief—let him decide,” the judicial officer replied, suddenly composed. Let the sky fall—there are taller men to hold it up. If the Wus are at odds, it is for their betters to worry over, not humble clerks like themselves.

Back at the prefecture, the officer recounted events exactly as they had transpired. The city prefect, Yang Shouyu, clutched his aching head, pacing the courtroom before finally sitting at his desk and muttering, “We lack the manpower and expertise. We must request assistance from the Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate.”

“A wise plan, my lord,” the judicial officer said, smiling obsequiously.

Yang Shouyu, brush flying across the page, had not yet finished drafting his request when the registrar burst in, tongue-tied with excitement. “Prefect! Quickly—come outside at once!”

“Compose yourself and speak clearly,” Yang Shouyu snapped, glaring. His temper was running high, and he was ready to vent it on any fool who gave cause.

“The Duke of Zhou, the Imperial Counselor, Lord Wu—he’s outside, reporting a crime in person!”

Yang Shouyu’s bluster vanished. He hurried from the hall, bowing low, his face split with smiles. “Honored Counselor, your visit graces us. Forgive me for not coming to meet you sooner.”

“Enough with the pleasantries,” said Wu Chengsi, returning the salute. “There has been a murder in my residence. I have come to report it myself.”

“A murder… in your residence?” Yang Shouyu felt the world spin. If the Three Suns can bring fortune, what calamity might the three Wus unleash? Disaster, it seemed, was nigh.