Gazing at the retreating figure that could only be described as a desperate flight, Lou Xiyan's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Ling'er, where are you running off to?" In this encounter, Zhuo Qing suffered a spectacular defeat.
Once out of Lou Xiyan's sight, Zhuo Qing finally slowed her pace. What was the point of running? It was utterly humiliating. Her mood sour, Zhuo Qing wandered aimlessly into the front hall. Shan Yulan set aside the now-cold tea and rose, saying, "Forgive my impudence in dropping by unannounced, madam."
"Madam?" Zhuo Qing's irritation deepened. She glanced at him and bluntly inquired, "What do you want?"
Cutting straight to the point, Shan Yulan replied without preamble, "I have a question I wish to consult Madam Lou about."
"Speak."
"The fatal wound on the deceased was caused by a weapon piercing through the chest, puncturing the heart. I wish to ask: how much does a human heart typically contract after death? And within what timeframe does this contraction occur? When comparing the weapon to the wound, what factors should be considered?"
Having witnessed her skill in dissection before, Shan Yulan had been unsettled ever since—her familiarity with the human body was astonishing. It was indeed related to the autopsy. Gradually calming the turmoil stirred by Lou Xiyan, Zhuo Qing's voice grew measured as she answered, "Generally, the heart undergoes slight contraction after death, though it is not markedly obvious. Penetrating wounds cause myocardial contraction, often resulting in a wound smaller than the cross-section of the weapon. For a reliable weapon comparison, it's best to examine within twelve hours. Beyond that, organ autolysis begins, complicating judgment. Preservation in a cold storage can retard decay and autolysis."
Shan Yulan nodded understandingly. "I see. The deceased also suffered multiple stab wounds elsewhere, but after examination, the chest wound differs slightly from the others. I intend to confirm the weapon by comparing both myocardial and chest muscle damage."
"Indeed," Zhuo Qing advised, "it would be prudent to also compare the tears in the clothing, which, unlike flesh, do not contract."
Unfamiliar with myocardial contraction, Shan Yulan humbly asked, "Can you make a judgment based solely on my description?"
Zhuo Qing shook her head candidly, "I can only offer opinions based on your account; a direct examination of the body is essential for the most precise conclusions."
Since she could not leave the estate to perform the autopsy herself, Zhuo Qing considered for a moment and then asked, "Do you have an image of the weapon?"
For such meticulous comparison, the weapon must be unusual. Shan Yulan retrieved a cloth-wrapped object from his sleeve and handed it over. Truly trusting her, he had brought the weapon along. Unfolding the cloth revealed a gleaming silver throwing knife, slender and about two inches long, double-edged and sharp as a leaf, with a vein-like groove running down its center. The throwing knife seemed eerily familiar.
Zhuo Qing's expression shifted subtly. "Is this the suspect's weapon?"
Noticing her reaction, Shan Yulan replied firmly, "Yes."
"Is his name Qian Jing?"
Though the knife was distinctive, the martial world was vast—surely not necessarily his? Zhuo Qing clung to a faint hope but knew the odds were slim.
"Yes," Shan Yulan's resolute answer sent a chill through her. It truly was him.
Frowning deeply, Zhuo Qing met Shan Yulan's observant gaze. After a brief pause, he asked, "Do you know him?"
Meeting his probing look, she nodded lightly, evading the truth, "I've seen him twice, only catching sight of him handling this weapon."
She was not lying, but those two encounters had been when Qian Jing saved her life—details she dared not disclose lest her professional judgment be questioned.
Studying the slender blade, she feigned casualness, "I heard he's a bounty hunter. Was the deceased a wanted criminal of the court?"
If so, and the suspect killed resisting arrest, as a bounty hunter Qian Jing might bear little guilt.
Shan Yulan, carefully watching her expression, replied lightly, "No, the deceased was the captain of the general's personal guard."
The general's estate? The case was evidently more complicated. If the general's house pursued the matter relentlessly, no hidden truth would spare Qian Jing's life.
Fearing for Qian Jing, Zhuo Qing sought information, but Shan Yulan declined, "I'm sorry."
As expected. Smiling knowingly, Zhuo Qing said, "It's alright. I just wish to see the body."
Shan Yulan did not object but hesitated, "If you go now, the body might not remain intact."
He had heard rumors: one Qing sister was imprisoned, another confined at the prime minister's residence. He doubted she could leave the estate. Certainly not now.
Irritated, Zhuo Qing was interrupted as Jing Sa's tall figure reappeared in the hall. She looked up, puzzled. "What is it now?"
If there were no issue, he wouldn't appear before her.
Expressionless, Jing Sa said coldly, "The general's household has arrived."
"What?" Zhuo Qing was incredulous—now the general's estate was involved? Today was turning unexpectedly chaotic.
Shan Yulan's eyes flickered upon hearing "general's household" but said nothing, silently standing aside.
Jing Sa's cold gaze swept over Shan Yulan's composed face. Without hesitation, he explained, "Miss Qingmo fainted at the general's estate. The physician has examined her, but after two days, she remains unconscious. She mentioned her illness was a childhood ailment only you could cure. Thus, the general's estate sent her to the prime minister's mansion; she is waiting in the flower hall."
Qingmo? The rumored timid and cowardly youngest sister—or was it Gu Yun? Zhuo Qing's heart tightened inexplicably.
Slightly bowing, Shan Yulan said, "If madam has matters to attend to, I shall take my leave."
Just as Shan Yulan turned to leave, Zhuo Qing whispered, "Please keep the body in cold storage. I will find a way to see it within the next few days."
She refused to believe Qian Jing was a murderer—at least, not one without cause.
After a moment's hesitation, Shan Yulan agreed, "Very well."
Bowing again, he exited the hall. Eager, Zhuo Qing turned to Jing Sa. "Let's go to the flower hall."
If Qingmo was truly Gu Yun, it would be a blessing. But if not—what then? She knew no miraculous cure.
Zhuo Qing strode briskly, her heart restless, soon arriving at the flower hall.
"Are you Qingfeng?" A young man's voice rang coldly with arrogance and defiance as Zhuo Qing stepped inside.
Looking up, she saw a youthful figure, not yet twenty, with clear features, proud brows, and eyes burning with resolve—a formidable presence.
Unfortunately, Zhuo Qing disliked impolite men.
Brushing past him, she scanned the hall. At the center stood a stretcher draped with a canopy and sheer curtains, behind which a faint female silhouette was visible.
Besides the young man, four sturdy warriors clad in practical armor stood solemnly, unmistakably soldiers.
Not seeing Su Ling, Zhuo Qing frowned lightly. Qingmo must be unwelcome at the general's estate—two days unconscious, yet Su Ling had not appeared.
Meeting gentle eyes, Zhuo Qing awkwardly smiled, "Xiyan, you're still here?"
"I heard your sister was ill. I came to see her." Only then did she realize his presence—his efforts insufficient.
Under Lou Xiyan's overly tender gaze, Zhuo Qing was thoroughly embarrassed. Handsome men were truly a curse; handsome and gentle men, the worst kind.
Did he think everyone in the hall was dead? Clearly, her worries were unfounded; the soldiers stared straight ahead, while the young man regarded Zhuo Qing thoughtfully, oblivious to their "exchanged glances."
Lou Xiyan arched a brow, sensing his "Ling'er" still struggled with his "tenderness." No matter—he would make her accustomed to it.
Turning to the young man, Lou Xiyan introduced, "This is General Su Ling's third brother, General Su Yu."
Meeting Su Yu's probing gaze, Zhuo Qing nodded coldly and approached the stretcher. Lifting the curtain, she glimpsed the woman lying there, and for a moment, she was stunned.
Qingfeng and Qingling resembled each other, so Qingmo should be similar—but seeing the girl before her, Zhuo Qing finally understood why she hadn't confused her. Qingmo had a delicate face, a full forehead, long lashes, and petite cherry lips—she looked impossibly young. Had she even turned fifteen? She was a true "loli." Could this be Gu Yun?
That thought shattered Zhuo Qing's composure.
Despite her inner turmoil, aside from a fleeting surprise, her expression remained indifferent. She placed a hand upon Qingmo's wrist, ostensibly to check her pulse, but really observing her face.
Su Yu paid no mind to Zhuo Qing's brusqueness—he was used to it. At first sight, he doubted she was Qingmo's sister, but after witnessing her demeanor, he believed it. They were indeed sisters—equally disdainful of others.
Withdrawing her hand, Zhuo Qing let down the curtain. Lou Xiyan, concerned, asked, "How is she? Shall we summon imperial physicians?"
Seeing a flicker of confusion in her eyes, Lou Xiyan feared she'd forgotten the treatment.
Zhuo Qing smiled faintly, "No need. I will give her a prescription."
Hearing this, Su Yu frowned, stepping forward to challenge, "Who are you to decide?"
"I'm her sister," Zhuo Qing answered with a steely glance, "And a physician."
Su Yu hesitated, then sat down heavily, his gaze wary.
Lou Xiyan stepped beside Zhuo Qing, whispering, "Let me help."
Shaking her head slightly, Zhuo Qing said softly, "No, this is my responsibility."
The room fell silent. Qingmo's fragile breathing filled the space.
Zhuo Qing reached into her sleeve and drew out a small jar of herbal ointment, carefully opening it. With delicate fingers, she applied a thin layer on Qingmo's forehead and temples.
In the quiet, Su Yu studied Zhuo Qing with a mixture of doubt and hope.
Lou Xiyan cleared his throat, "Ling'er, what's in that ointment?"
"Traditional formula," Zhuo Qing answered, "To soothe the spirit and stimulate the pulse."
She closed her eyes briefly and then spoke firmly, "This illness has lingered since childhood and has not progressed beyond a coma. There is hope for recovery."
Su Yu's eyes narrowed in skepticism.
"Allow me to prepare a stronger prescription," Zhuo Qing continued, "In the meantime, Qingmo needs rest, proper care, and an absence of stress."
Lou Xiyan smiled, admiration evident.
"Good. I will relay your words to the general," Su Yu said, nodding slowly.
Zhuo Qing glanced at the sleeping girl once more, then at the somber assembly, before quietly saying, "Let's hope for a miracle."