The Azure Mountain

Chapter 85: Struggle for Succession

A dust-covered cold case from the Directorate of Ceremonial. A ruthless killer. And the Prince Heir of Prince Jing's Estate.

The threads tangled together, yet instead of making the puzzle clearer... the picture only grew murkier.

Was the Prince Heir really suspect?

What had triggered the Wu family massacre, and why had the killer been so savage to the matriarch?

Who was this mysterious murderer?

He'd investigated all night without finding answers — only more questions.

The Inner Prison's archive room was deathly still. The oil lamp's flame stood perfectly straight, as if the air itself had stopped circulating.

A soft pop from the wick sent a tiny spark flying, and Xi Feng finally spoke quietly: "Sir, perhaps we should set this case aside for now and wait for Honorable Jin Zhu to return."

Chen Ji sat across the table and nodded with a faint smile: "You're right — this isn't a case we should be touching. Let's just call it the work of ghosts and leave it at that."

As he spoke, the oil lamp's flame wavered. A cold wind surged up from the depths of the Inner Prison.Chen Ji felt the ice flow rising from the prison's lower levels, seeking him out just as it had before. As long as he stayed down here long enough, it came to him on its own.

Xi Feng felt the chill and leapt to his feet, drawing his blade. He stared coldly toward the source of the wind: "Sir — did you feel that just now?"

Chen Ji chuckled: "I thought you truly didn't believe in ghosts."

Xi Feng looked embarrassed for a moment: "Everyone says they exist. I've never seen one, but you can't help wondering. This world even has immortals — what if ghosts are real too?"

Now it was Chen Ji's turn to pause: "There really are immortals? Have you seen one?"

Xi Feng lowered his voice: "Our great Ning Dynasty's Vice Director of the Imperial Observatory, Xu Shu — he's a reincarnated immortal."

"Oh?" Chen Ji was startled. He'd heard the name before.

Back on the Double Ninth Festival, when the Buddhist procession had passed in front of Taiping Medical Clinic, his master had mentioned Xu Shu. Allegedly, Xu Shu was the only son of Elder Xu — Grand Secretary Xu Gong. After dying unexpectedly, Xu Gong had spent a fortune to have the abbot of Yuanjue Temple use a Seven-Treasure Lotus Lamp to fashion him a new physical body, granting him a second life.

So why was Xi Feng calling him a reincarnated immortal?

Chen Ji asked, puzzled: "Isn't he Grand Secretary Xu's son? How did he become an immortal?"

Xi Feng thought it over: "I don't know how he became one, but Wu Xiu himself told Honorable Jin Zhu about it. Plenty of people in the Directorate of Ceremonial heard it. Lord Wu Xiu doesn't say things lightly."

"Wu Xiu?"

"The Brush-Holding Grand Eunuch of our Directorate of Ceremonial. He serves at His Majesty's side — one of the most powerful figures in the inner court these days. Come, sir — it's getting late. Let me see you home."

Chen Ji thought for a moment: "If you don't mind, I'd like a few minutes alone. I want to use the ink and paper down here to write a letter to a friend."

Xi Feng said: "Of course, sir. I'll wait outside."

Chen Ji picked up the brush from the table, carefully considered his tone, and wrote a letter on a sheet of paper.

Once the ink had dried, he folded the letter and slipped it into his sleeve.

After leaving the Inner Prison, Xi Feng helped Chen Ji into the carriage.

The carriage rocked along for what felt like an eternity before setting him down at the edge of the Eastern Market.

The carriage pulled away slowly. Chen Ji gently removed the blindfold and turned to watch it disappear — a thin, angular silhouette in the night.

He walked for a long time, confirming no one was following him, before he found a small beggar curled up by the side of the road.

He crouched beside the child and gave a soft call.

The beggar opened his eyes. Seeing the masked Chen Ji, he scrambled into the corner in terror: "Don't take me..."

Chen Ji extended his hand, palm up, revealing twenty copper coins.

The beggar lunged for them — but Chen Ji closed his fist and pulled his hand back. From his sleeve, he produced a letter and held it out: "Deliver this letter to Taiping Medical Clinic tomorrow. Tomorrow evening, I'll give you twenty copper coins. Remember — Taiping Medical Clinic."

The beggar nodded frantically: "Yes, my lord! I'll deliver it first thing in the morning!"

Light snow began drifting down again — tiny, weightless flakes settling in Chen Ji's hair.

The beggar piped up: "My lord — could you spare one coin now so I can buy a flatbread? Otherwise I won't make it through the night."

In the dim night, Chen Ji tossed two coins to the ground, turned, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and walked westward.

......

......

Early morning. Anxi Street was already bustling.

Liang Mao'er threw on a padded cotton jacket and shuffled sleepily to the clinic's front door. He saw the estate's servants hauling buckets of salt and scattering handfuls of it across the snow-covered cobblestones.

He was puzzled. Yesterday the estate had only cleared snow from its own doorstep. Why were they now sprinkling thirty-wen-a-catty salt over the entire street?

Not only that — the servants were also distributing baskets of bright red Yanmen dates to every household along the street. The whole atmosphere felt festive.

Someone inside the clinic called out curiously: "What's going on out there?"

Liang Mao'er looked back and saw Chen Ji and Liu Quxing had also gotten dressed and come to the door.

Just then, Xi Bing passed by carrying a basket. She smiled brightly and came over: "Chen Ji, hold out the hem of your robe — I'll pour you an extra big share of dates."

Chen Ji smiled and held out his robe like a pouch. Xi Bing cheerfully dumped half the basket into it.

Liu Quxing was instantly jealous: "Sister Xi Bing, why are you being so nice to Chen Ji? Give me some too!"

Xi Bing rolled her eyes at him: "These are for all of you — go grab some from Chen Ji. I have to go — there are still tons of houses to deliver to."

Chen Ji watched her hurry away: "Is there a celebration at the estate?"

Liu Quxing thought about it: "Maybe the Prince is coming home? The neighbors on Anxi Street always say that when the Prince is around, the estate is very generous. When he's away, they pinch pennies..."

As he spoke, the servants returned with bamboo brooms and swept the entire street spotless, as if it had never snowed at all.

From the back courtyard came the sound of someone scrambling over the wall. The Commandery Princess called out: "Who took away the ladder? Help — someone bring the ladder over!"

Liu Quxing hurried toward the back: "Coming, coming!"

Chen Ji turned and watched the Commandery Princess climb down the ladder, then step off the wall and untie the small pouch at her waist. She took out a piece of broken silver and gave it to Liu Quxing: "Buy six baskets of meat buns and four of vegetable buns. I noticed yesterday that Brother Mao'er ate four baskets by himself and still wasn't full — let's get extra today."

Liang Mao'er smiled bashfully: "The Commandery Princess truly has a compassionate heart."

No sooner had he spoken than a grimy little beggar — clothes in tatters — came charging toward the clinic's entrance, waving a letter.

Liang Mao'er grabbed him by the collar in a flash: "Hey — what do you think you're doing?"

The beggar sputtered: "Someone told me to deliver a letter here! I get a reward once it's delivered!"

Chen Ji took the letter, unfolded it, and began to read: "'To my younger brother the Prince Heir, your letter is received with joy...' A letter for the Prince Heir?"

Expression composed, he walked to the rear courtyard and handed the letter to the Prince Heir: "Your Highness, a letter for you."

"For me?" The Prince Heir took it, puzzled. After reading just a few lines, his face fell.

Chen Ji watched his expression carefully, then asked: "Your Highness, who wrote it? You seem upset."

The Prince Heir sighed: "It's from Zhang Ping, Wang Quan, Wang Wu, and Li Bo — the ones who used to drink with us. They have... business that's taking them away from Luo City. We won't be able to share drinks anymore."

Chen Ji suddenly felt certain that the Prince Heir had no idea these four were dead.

The letter was Chen Ji's handiwork. He'd written it specifically to gauge the Prince Heir's reaction to receiving a message from men who were already corpses.

If the Prince Heir knew they were dead, then no matter how convincingly he acted, there would be at least a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

But the Prince Heir's first reaction held no confusion at all — only sadness.

Even Baili came over to look. After reading the letter, she turned up her nose: "They left because they were too ashamed to face us. Brother, why are you sad about that?"

The Prince Heir said softly: "They were our friends for a while, at least."

Chen Ji suddenly felt that the Prince Heir was probably innocent.

Consider the first point: two nights ago, Jin Zhu had brought the Trouble-Resolving Guard to surround Red Clothe Lane. The Jing Dynasty's Military Intelligence Division had clearly received advance warning — even the Golden Workshop's madam and the courtesan Yan'er had fled. Yet the Prince Heir had bumbled straight into the trap. That alone was suspicious if he were involved.

The second point: the Prince Heir had spent three years at Donglin Academy. If he truly had ambition and resolve, he should have patiently cultivated connections among the literati — not spent his days drinking with Jianghu drifters at taverns below the mountain.

Wait.

Chen Ji suddenly realized he might have been looking in entirely the wrong direction. Perhaps the Prince Heir hadn't gone to the Golden Workshop at Red Clothe Lane of his own volition. Perhaps those four Jianghu men — knowing that Jin Zhu was about to surround the Golden Workshop — had deliberately lured the Prince Heir there.

If the Prince Heir were arrested and taken to the Inner Prison, who within the estate would stand to gain? Consort Jing and Consort Yun, of course.

Prince Jing clearly still had the ability to sire children. If the estate's only son were gone, the Prince would naturally try to produce another heir to continue the line — and the inheritor of the Jing princedom would be the child of Consort Jing or Consort Yun.

And within Prince Jing's Estate, who would have advance knowledge that the Golden Workshop was about to be surrounded? Consort Yun!

A chill clawed up through Chen Ji's chest.

Consort Yun!

If the entire affair was Consort Yun's doing — orchestrating the Prince Heir's delivery to the Inner Prison as part of a succession struggle, then dispatching someone to murder the four Jianghu men and silence them — suddenly, a great many things made sense.

He'd heard tales of the viciousness of ancient succession wars, but had always treated them as literary embellishment — things that happened in novels, not in real life.

Now he was experiencing the cruelty of an estate succession struggle firsthand.

No — wait.

Chen Ji shook his head and laughed at his own runaway speculation. The night before last, Baili had been at the Golden Workshop too — and Baili was Consort Yun's own daughter. No matter how desperately someone might want to seize the succession, they surely wouldn't sacrifice their own child.

And if the Prince Heir were thrown into the Inner Prison, what if the entire estate were implicated?

Chen Ji abandoned that theory.

Baili came up and, seeing his pensive look, asked: "What are you thinking about? You seem down."

Chen Ji broke into a grin: "Nothing — I'm in a great mood. Wonderful, really."

As they spoke, Liang Mao'er came jogging back carrying tall stacks of bamboo steamers, white steam billowing: "Chen Ji! Commandery Princess! Come eat buns!"

Chen Ji called back with a smile: "Coming!"

He looked at the Prince Heir, then at Baili. As long as the Prince Heir wasn't the kind of person who hid unfathomable depths of cruelty behind a smile — that was all that mattered.