Chapter Forty-Five: Buried for Twenty Years

Sir, the fire yesterday was utterly devastating. The entire stronghold was reduced to ashes. From what we've gathered so far, at least two hundred bandits perished in the inferno.

Most of those who survived scattered like frightened animals, but we found a few in the nearby woods. They said three swordsmen ascended the mountain yesterday, and for reasons unknown, a fight broke out among them.

A short, sturdy man in his forties listened to his subordinate's report and slowly walked away from the charred ground, his gaze settling on the woods not far off.

“Did any of them see who killed Zhao Jiliang?”

The subordinate replied, “They were posted outside as sentries and are unclear about what happened within.”

“Zhao Jiliang was slain before his corpse was consumed by the flames. The bandits of Tiger Head Mountain were little more than a rabble, so who could possibly possess the skill to kill him?”

The man fiddled with a straight blade recovered from the scene, pulled from Zhao Jiliang’s scorched remains. Zhao Jiliang’s name was engraved on the back of the blade, their only proof of the body’s true identity. That a distinguished Inspector should meet such an end was shocking, and it stirred a curiosity—what had he faced in those final moments?

“The three officials went up the mountain to apprehend the criminal Han Yuyang. Perhaps that ruthless traitor was hiding among the bandits, and a fierce battle led to the death of Lord Zhao.”

“Indeed, it does seem that way. But what of Wu Da and Huang Bin? Might Han Yuyang have killed them as well?”

This question was soon answered as the investigation expanded. Both Wu Da and Huang Bin were found slain in the nearby woods, their deaths marked by humiliation.

“Lord Huang was struck by a crude weapon—a fatal blow to the face—and another to his thigh, but no other wounds.”

“As for Lord Wu’s injuries... they are rather...”

The subordinate hesitated, unsure how to describe the mutilated corpse before him.

“Inspector Zhao, what sort of weapon could have caused this?”

Though short compared to his subordinate, Inspector Zhao possessed piercing, hawk-like eyes and commanded great respect through his skill and unquestioned authority.

“It was these that killed him!” Inspector Zhao crouched beside Wu Da’s body, holding small brown pellets. His explanation left his subordinate bewildered.

“These bits of earth scattered everywhere—how could they kill?”

Inspector Zhao smiled coldly. “Look more closely. In our hands, it’s ordinary dirt, but in the hands of a master, it becomes a deadly weapon.”

The subordinate picked up a handful of dirt, sifted through it, and found small brown pellets—seemingly ordinary, but in truth, jagged and irregular.

Inspector Zhao declared, “This iron sand is hard as stone. That man used his palm to drive it deep into Wu Da’s body, reducing him to this state.”

“But... is it really possible to do such a thing with only the strength of one’s palm?” The subordinate stared in disbelief at the iron sand in his hand.

Meanwhile, at the butcher Wu’s home, the table was laden with good wine and fine dishes. The meat stall was closed for now, and the prized beef, usually reserved for customers, was finally served at their own family table.

Wu Yue carried out a bowl of hot soup from the kitchen, noticed someone missing, and turned toward the door.

“Brother Chen hasn’t arrived—I'll go call him.”

Old Wu spoke up, “No need. You and Qingshan sit and eat. I’ll fetch the boy myself.”

Before Wu Yue could respond, Old Wu strode out. Both Wu Yue and Wu Qingshan felt that something was off about Old Wu today, though they couldn’t quite say what.

Because of what happened on Tiger Head Mountain, those targeting Old Wu hadn’t returned, and the county office never believed he was involved with any fugitive. So, they soon released him.

Wu Yue and Wu Qingshan thought it was divine providence that Old Wu escaped calamity, but the truth was otherwise.

“Jiang Chen, I don’t know what you did, but you saved my life—and for that, I’m grateful.”

Entering Jiang Chen’s home, Old Wu had nothing left to hide. The two spoke openly.

“What are you saying? You’re Yue’s father, my future father-in-law. If I didn’t do these things for you, Yue would never forgive me.”

A gentle smile appeared on Jiang Chen’s calm face as he set a wooden box before Old Wu.

“I borrowed your badge. Without it, I couldn’t have lured Wu Da and the others up the mountain. Everything is returned now—you should keep it safe.”

“After all that has happened, staying in Shanguan Town is no longer safe. We can’t assume Wu Da’s group will be the last to come for you. If others arrive, we might not be so fortunate.”

Jiang Chen advised Old Wu to move his family away from Shanguan Town and find a new place to settle.

“You’re right. I’ve been hiding for twenty years—it’s been long enough. When I first came here, I never imagined I’d have so many years of peace, but I suppose I was never destined to live and die quietly in Shanguan Town.”

“Did you look inside the box?”

Old Wu’s eyes, once clouded, gleamed with clarity as he spoke of its contents.

Jiang Chen replied, “Yes, it’s beautiful. Did you carry it into battle back then?”

“Of course. I was one of the Iron Cavalry of Qishan. Whenever battle called, I charged ahead, never content to lag behind. That spear was my signature weapon, and now it’s been sealed away with me for twenty years.”

Old Wu paused, then continued, “Leave the box with you. I’ve relinquished it; it’s not mine to keep anymore.”

Jiang Chen was puzzled. “Wouldn’t it be better to give it to Qingshan? Besides, I don’t know how to use a spear.”

“Qingshan is impatient, never willing to work steadily. For years, I didn’t teach him spear technique—partly for a quiet life, not wishing to reveal my skills.”

“And also because he’s not ready. If one day he must take up the spear to protect the family, you may pass it to him then.”