Chapter 8: The Rain Arrives

Chen Hong shouted, “Seize this man for me!”

The other two men sprang forward like hungry tigers, pouncing on the figure before them.

The man, startled out of his wits, collapsed to the ground, crying out, “Mercy, sirs, have mercy!”

The two men quickly subdued him. Chen Hong looked him over and found him to be a beggar in ragged clothes. He questioned, “Who are you? Why have you come here?”

Bound and incapable of movement, the beggar replied, “Please, sirs, let me explain. I’m just a beggar. Someone gave me ten coins and told me to come here and fetch some things. Once the task was done, he promised another forty coins as reward. I never expected to run into you, sirs.”

Chen Hong raised an eyebrow and asked, “What did this man look like? Do you know his name?”

The beggar answered, “I don’t know. I was out early in the morning trying to beg for food when I ran into him. He was dressed all in black and told me to come here and fetch some clothes. Judging from his accent, he didn’t sound like a local, and his breath seemed weak.”

Chen Hong asked, “How could you tell he was short of breath?”

The beggar replied, “Sir, I’ve been begging for a long time and met many people. After a while, you learn to tell these things.”

Chen Hong pondered this, then continued, “Did he tell you when to return?”

The beggar shook his head. “He only told me to go quickly and come back quickly.”

“Do you remember the way you came? Lead me there.”

“I can, but sirs, may I take some clothes? If there’s no trouble, I might still get my reward.”

Chen Hong, seeing the beggar’s pitiful state, said nothing more and handed him the livery of a servant.

The beggar led Chen Hong and the others out of the shop. Chen Hong cast his gaze around, noting the passersby and, not far off, a few other beggars, clothed in rags and with grimy faces, waiting for charity.

He paid them little heed.

Following the beggar some distance, Chen Hong suddenly recalled something and asked him, “Let me ask you—those beggars by the street outside the shop, do you know them?”

The beggar answered, “I recognize a few, but they usually stay in the southern part of the city. I’m not sure why they’re here today.”

A thought struck Chen Hong and he shouted, “This is bad! Back to the shop, quickly!”

They hurried back with the beggar in tow. Once again, Chen Hong scanned the area. The beggars were still there.

Wait—something was wrong. One was missing.

He strode up to the group. “There were six of you before. Why are there only five now?”

Seeing Chen Hong’s official attire, the beggars hurried to explain, “Sir, there was a beggar we didn’t know. He went into the shop, then left.”

“How long ago?”

“About the time it takes to burn half a stick of incense.”

“Which way did he go?”

“That way!” The beggars pointed.

Chen Hong ordered one of his men, “Go with this beggar and check the scene.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied.

After his man left, Chen Hong asked the beggars a few more questions and learned they too had been told to come here and beg for the day in exchange for fifty coins.

Unable to uncover more, Chen Hong took one subordinate and hurried after the beggar in the direction indicated.

The path led through crowded residential neighborhoods; there were no deserted houses, and it would be dangerous for any outsider to hide here. Following the trail, they eventually arrived at the West Market.

West Market was the bustling hub of commerce in Qingyang City, filled with local and traveling merchants, and countless vendors of every size.

Chen Hong said to his subordinate, “This place is a mix of all sorts. Go back and bring more men. We need to search thoroughly.”

The subordinate obeyed and left at once.

As Chen Hong watched the crowds, he pondered in silence: “There’s something odd about this. The black-clad man who died at the Ouyang estate—one was the owner of the mutton soup shop. But why was the jade thumb ring found in the hands of that young man, A’Feng?”

“And now A’Feng has vanished. It seems he’ll come here to test things again. If he was the one who assassinated Ouyang Xun, why wasn’t the thumb ring on his person, but left in the room?”

Yesterday, after examining the scene of Ouyang Xun’s murder and discovering the missing thumb ring, Chen Hong had noticed traces of two parties having searched the place.

At the time of Ouyang Xun’s death, the thumb ring was still present; only afterward did it vanish. There must be a reason.

Who was this A’Feng? Was he working with Boss Jin, or not?

Suddenly, Chen Hong remembered: it was said A’Feng arrived about a month ago, and Boss Jin had hired him. Perhaps they didn’t know each other at all?

So many tangled threads—Chen Hong could make no sense of them for the moment.

Half an hour later, the constables arrived. Chen Hong assigned tasks, and the investigation of West Market became a bustling affair.

While Chen Hong was launching a sweeping search of West Market, A’Feng had already changed direction and circled back to the vicinity of the Ouyang estate.

After last night’s fierce struggle, A’Feng had been wounded. His injuries hampered his movement, and with the search within the estate so intense, he couldn’t escape.

Left with no choice, he found a secluded spot within the Ouyang estate to hide. After tending to his wounds, the blood loss and brief respite caused him to lose consciousness.

When he awoke, dawn was just breaking.

At this hour, the household was at its most relaxed. A’Feng moved cautiously, overhearing that Captain Chen Hong had arrived at the estate and gone to inspect the assassin’s corpse.

A chill ran through A’Feng. “Boss Jin has been here for a while and must know many people. A thorough investigation would surely reach me.”

If he’d been uninjured, he could have blended in and slipped away amidst the confusion. But now, wounded—and by a sharp blade—any close inspection would reveal his injuries and land him in a trap.

A’Feng’s eyes darted as he devised a plan, which explained the beggar’s attempt to fetch clothes from the shop. It was a test—if the beggar succeeded, A’Feng had not drawn suspicion; if the beggar was questioned, he knew Chen Hong’s attention was upon him.

A’Feng had another trick in reserve: disguising himself as a beggar near the shop to observe, hiring other beggars to make his presence less conspicuous.

As expected, the man in official garb was none other than Chen Hong, and he had arrived swiftly.

Once Chen Hong was drawn away, A’Feng didn’t dare linger—Chen Hong was a shrewd man, renowned for solving cases with uncanny skill; such a ruse would not last long.

A’Feng slipped into the shop, found his room had already been searched, and immediately left.

He did not know that Chen Hong would return later, but out of fear of being spotted, he escaped to West Market.

Gazing at the Ouyang estate, a bold idea formed in his mind. He set his plan in motion, circled the estate, and, reaching a secluded spot, donned the servant’s clothes he had prepared and disguised himself further before sneaking back inside.

When events take an unexpected turn, habit often leads people astray—sometimes the most dangerous place is, ironically, the safest, the so-called “hiding under the lamp.”

Of course, there are many clever people in the world, but only a rare few think so quickly.

A’Feng slipped back into the Ouyang estate, intending to keep a low profile, but suddenly a voice called out:

“Halt.”

From the corner of his eye, A’Feng saw a young man in a guardsman’s uniform. He quickly adopted a look of confusion.

“Ah!”

“You—come with me,” the guard ordered.

A’Feng considered whether to act, but then the man continued.

“The steward needs a few hands for some chores. Drop what you’re doing.”

A’Feng unclenched his fist. Did he have to be so dramatic? He could have been killed. He replied quickly, “Yes, yes.”

The guard, used to being overbearing, didn’t ask further. On the way, he picked up another man, and the three of them headed straight to Ouyang Ping’s private courtyard.

Ouyang Ping, scolded by his father and ordered to reflect in seclusion, dared not defy him at such a time. He planned to wait until he succeeded his father, then do as he pleased.

Still reeking of wine, Ouyang Ping found a quiet place and ordered all his food and amusements brought into his chambers.

A’Feng helped move the items, noting the odd and extravagant objects, and the various containers of wine and delicacies. It was clear Ouyang Ping was a thorough wastrel, despite being only the steward’s son.

Once everything was arranged, Ouyang Ping dismissed the servants and began his period of “reflection.” What he did next was his own business.

This brief encounter gave A’Feng an idea.

As the son of the chief steward, Ouyang Ping’s quarters were unlikely to be searched, making it an ideal hiding place.

Feigning departure, A’Feng memorized the route and, when no one was around, slipped back.

He found an empty room, entered quietly, and lay low, waiting for nightfall.

Growing bored, A’Feng inspected the room. It was spotless, clearly cleaned regularly, but strangely, there were no signs of anyone living there—it seemed more a showpiece than a dwelling.

With nothing else to do, A’Feng lay down to rest.

Unknowingly, afternoon came.

Years of caution meant even the faintest sound would wake A’Feng. Now, he heard voices outside, indistinct but clear enough to tell someone had returned.

Footsteps approached. A’Feng sprang up and hid behind the curtains.

Creak—the door opened. Someone entered, carrying a food box. He closed the door, scanned the room, and, seeing nothing amiss, went to the wall, lifted a large painting, and opened a hidden compartment in a cabinet. With a click, a section of wall rotated, revealing a secret room.

The man carried the food box inside. A moment later, the wall rotated back, and the painting fell into place.

A’Feng did not move, waiting patiently—the patience of an assassin.

After about the time it takes to burn an incense stick, the painting rose, the wall opened again, and the man emerged with the empty food box. He sealed the secret room, waited a moment, and left.

A’Feng held his breath, remaining motionless. As night fell, the man returned with another food box.

Again, after an incense stick’s time, he left, and all was quiet.

A’Feng waited until an incense stick’s time had passed with no movement, then entered the secret room as he’d seen the man do.

Within, a candle burned. On the wall hung a black robe and several masks, but little else. Not far away was an iron cage, inside which a young woman was imprisoned.

Her hands were manacled and she wore fine clothes, though the dim light made it hard to see her features.

Hearing movement at the door, she began to weep hoarsely, “Please, let me go. I am Miss Ouyang Yu of the Ouyang family. My mother will give you as much money as you want. I beg you—please let me go.”

A’Feng’s pupils contracted in shock—he was utterly astonished.

To be continued.