Tangshe Town lay north of Fenglin City, one of the seven towns under Wei Quji's governance, and the smallest and most remote of them. Backed by the Qichang Mountain Range, which stretched for miles, its people lived off the mountains, mostly as hunters.
Walking through Tangshe Town, one saw old, dilapidated dwellings and few travelers. Those one did pass hurried on their way, brows shadowed with worry. It was not merely beside Fenglin City — even beside Fengxi Town, where Jiang Wang was born, this place fell far short.
"Tangshe Town's villages lie scattered along the Qichang range; these people live by the hunt, and only on the first and fifteenth of the month do they gather in town. This is not market day, so the streets are quiet," Jiang Wang explained, for he had done his research before coming.
Though this errand was the dean's arrangement of a senior minding a junior, Jiang Wang knew better than to expect spoon-feeding, and dared not slacken.
Throughout the journey Zhang Linchuan wore a faint, neutral smile — neither distant nor familiar, his moods hard to read. Hearing this, he only nodded, and made his own way toward the exterminated household.
Though they came representing the independent will of the Dao Academy, it would not do to neglect notifying the local authorities. The constable of Tangshe Town, Tang Dun, was waiting for them at the door of that house.
"Old Tang Danuo and his wife were both locals of our Tangshe Town — why, Big Ox and I used to fight as boys..." One could see the dark-skinned, blunt-featured rough man was deeply grieved; his ox-eye-wide eyes were bloodshot, and as he stood there he rambled on and on, repeating, "Damnable heretic, how I hate him! Curse him! Curse him!"
Zhang Linchuan glanced at the constable's uniform. "Why are you the only one here? Where is your chief?"
"Our chief's busy with other matters," Tang Dun said, entirely missing Zhang Linchuan's displeasure, prattling on. "You'll all be great officials someday — you must see justice done for us!"
"Interesting. In a mere Tangshe Town, is there something more important than this massacre?" Zhang Linchuan smiled with thin contempt, but pressed no further. With a wave he cut Tang Dun short. "To the point — what clues have you found? And what did the people from the Office of Inquiry say when they came?"
That Dong A had sent his own men to investigate plainly signaled he did not trust Wei Quji. Correspondingly, the Office of Inquiry kept its distance; that the local government of Tangshe Town sent only an insignificant constable to receive them was only to be expected.
Tang Dun scratched his head. "We... we found no clues. Those lords from the Office of Inquiry found things, but told us nothing..."
Zhang Linchuan was nearly laughed into anger — if you have no clues, what have you been jabbering about all this time!
But his breeding was not shallow; he restrained his displeasure. "Enough. Let us go inside and look."
Tang Dun briskly tore off the seal across the door, produced a key, and opened the great general's lock. Only then did he push the wooden gate open.
Jiang Wang noted the seal was no ordinary thing — drawn upon it were evil-warding talismans. Clearly the cultivators of the Office of Inquiry had deliberately preserved the scene.
And as the seal came away and the gate swung wide, a stench blending rot, filth, and corruption poured out at once.
Jiang Wang bore his discomfort and surveyed the small courtyard — the usual gear of hunters, hunting knives, traps, bows and arrows, and some hides and smoked meat, all strewn in disorder about the yard.
A hunting dog remained only as a skeleton, scattered at the threshold. From its posture, it had likely been the first to sense the intruder, and been disposed of in an instant.
Jiang Wang turned his head. Zhang Linchuan had already pressed a handkerchief embroidered with orchids to his nose and mouth, brows knit tight.
Meeting Jiang Wang's inquiring look, Zhang Linchuan lifted his chin slightly from behind the handkerchief. "No matter. Go in."
By the door, Tang Dun hung back, a little hesitant. "I'll... not go in, if it's all the same. This place — it's uncanny..."
He was, after all, only a mortal; Jiang Wang would not force him. He nodded. "Very well."
Then he stepped forward and crossed the threshold.
A thick, violent corpse qi closed about him in an instant, flooding his senses. Such a degree of corpse qi could never arise from merely killing a few people or raising a few walking corpses — it was more as if some evil presence had been communed with.
Zhang Linchuan, behind him, glanced at Jiang Wang's sword-hand — those slender, pale finger-bones looked clean and strong.
"Junior Brother Jiang favors the sword?" he asked.
Jiang Wang studied the surroundings without turning. "Senior Brother Zhang flatters me. This junior has not yet formed his Dao Vortex, and cannot yet practice Dao arts, and can only rely upon the sword for defense."
"When the Outer Court was attacked, I heard Junior Brother Jiang was among those assailed, yet escaped with composure — plainly no ordinary man."
"In truth it was a near thing. That heretic was far stronger than I. I only broke free because I alarmed my fellow disciples."
Beside the courtyard stood a plank doghouse, now of course empty. Jiang Wang's gaze swept across — and nowhere in the yard could he find any blood.
"This place bodes ill. Junior brother, be careful," Zhang Linchuan said.
"I understand."
The small courtyard held three rooms. Facing the gate was the main hall, its door ajar. A skeleton sprawled across the threshold — flesh also gone, leaving only a skull. From the clothing, it should be the master of the house, the hunter Tang Danuo.
Jiang Wang carefully stepped over the bones and entered the hall.
The four walls of the hall were bare of ornament. In the center stood an octagonal table with four benches, and on it some leftover food, covered with a woven bamboo lid.
Beneath the bench on the left lay the mistress of the house; the coarse cloth of her dress was proof enough.
Yet... the food had not spoiled, while the bodies were reduced to white bone.
An inexplicable chill pricked his tailbone; fear of uncertain origin welled up, and Jiang Wang all but drew his sword. But he had known his share of life-and-death combat, and he quelled the instinct, sparing himself disgrace before Zhang Linchuan.
"These bodies were not gnawed away — they were the work of some evil art," Zhang Linchuan said, one hand still at his handkerchief, surveying at ease. One could see only distaste in him, no fear. "These two died not long ago, yet their flesh is wholly gone, and many a clue with it. You crossed blades with the heretic who struck the Outer Court — do you find anything familiar?"
Jiang Wang shook his head. "I see only two skeletons now; I cannot judge. Only this corpse qi all around..."
"What of it?"
"I was once struck by the corpses he commanded, and took corpse poison; Master Dong cured me."
Zhang Linchuan nodded, never lowering the handkerchief, and walked on his own into the room to the right of the hall. "We shall search separately. Should anything arise, inform me at once."
"Agreed."
Zhang Linchuan was a Grade-ranked cultivator; within his Tongtian Palace the Dao Vortex turned, and his Dao essence arose of itself. Jiang Wang had no worry for him, and turned toward the left room with his hand on his sword.
This room...
was small.
Upon entering, one saw at once a wooden horse, standing silent upon the floor. The horse was unusually fine and smooth, plainly the product of no little care.
Not far from the wooden horse stood a low table, scattered with small trinkets — a slingshot, a rattle-drum, and such like.
And on the wall beside the low table, Jiang Wang found the only decoration he had seen since entering the courtyard.
It was a small canvas, on which childish strokes had painted three little figures.
Two somewhat larger, leading a smaller one, running through a sea of flowers.
Behind the little figures trailed a dog, wagging its head.
Here had been a complete family; a whole spring had once bloomed here.
Jiang Wang forced himself onward, until before the low bed he found scraps of floral cloth clothing.
He raised his gaze, and thus inevitably saw the last white skeleton in this family.
Small, slender, fragile — a lonely, helpless frame of bone.
It was the one thing the little girl, once treasured by her parents as a jewel, had left in this world.
He felt rage.
Rage he could not suppress, utterly violent — rage.