The next day, it was nearly late morning before Song Yinjian finally sauntered toward Mister Zhang's estate.
The moment he reached the main hall, he saw Keqing leading two officials from the Judicial Office as they conducted an examination of the body—right there in the center of the hall, gathered around Mister Zhang's corpse inside the ice coffin.
Hu Tao watched with great interest off to the side, occasionally chiming in with a few words—most of them her usual oddball, whimsical speculations.
Zhongli, meanwhile, sat in a chair, utterly absorbed in the recently trending novel Battle Through Liyue.
Song Yinjian had little interest in an autopsy.
He found a chair outside the hall that looked decently comfortable, sat down slowly, then closed his eyes and began to rest.
The spring sun was pleasantly warm on his skin—so comfortable it made sleep feel inevitable.
Just as the drowsiness finally swallowed him and he was on the verge of drifting off, Keqing shook him awake without the slightest courtesy.
"Song Yinjian. The Judicial Office needs your statement."
Song Yinjian pried open his sleepy eyes, irritation written plainly across his face.
"Master Keqing, can't you let a man dream in peace? I was just about to kiss my master." "Don't call me Master Keqing!" Keqing's temper flared the instant she heard it.
Song Yinjian answered casually, "Sure thing, Master Keqing."
Keqing's chest rose and fell sharply. She glared at him, clearly forcing down the urge to charge over and beat him senseless.
After that, the officials asked him a few questions and wrapped up the statement in a perfunctory manner.
The moment it ended, Song Yinjian immediately sidled up to Keqing with a bright smile. "Master Keqing, when can Mister Zhang be buried?"
Keqing shot him a look. "After the case is officially closed."
Song Yinjian had already expected that answer—but he still couldn't hide the disappointment.
From his experience dealing with the Judicial Office, even a case this obvious would take ten days to half a month to close.
Which meant ten days to half a month of paying Hu Tao and Zhongli to guard a corpse. Just thinking about it made his heart ache.
Clinging to the faintest scrap of hope, he persisted anyway.
"Master Keqing, the Judicial Office should have subsidies, right? Corpse-guarding costs money too."
Keqing shattered his illusion without mercy.
"Under the previous statutes, yes. There were subsidies. But last year Lady Ningguang revised the law and reclassified this type of situation as force majeure—losses are borne personally."
As she spoke, she lifted her chin slightly, a hint of schadenfreude flickering in her eyes. "Why don't you go debate Lady Ningguang about it?"
Song Yinjian refused without even needing to think. Debate Ningguang?
Just meeting her once would cost at least ten million mora.
Ten million mora was enough to pay Hu Tao and Zhongli to guard a corpse for an entire year. He didn't dwell on it. He switched topics smoothly.
"By the way, Master Keqing—have you considered that land issue yet? I think near Mt. Tianheng—"
Before he could finish, Keqing turned and walked away briskly without looking back, clearly unwilling to deal with him.
Song Yinjian didn't mind her attitude. He turned and walked toward the two officials who were packing up to leave.
When he reached them, he pulled out two envelopes from his robe and stuffed one into each of their hands.
Both envelopes were heavy.
The two officials exchanged a glance, a knowing smile appearing on their faces. They both patted their chests in assurance.
"Boss Song, don't worry! We'll close the case as quickly as possible."
Song Yinjian immediately beamed with gratitude, thanking them repeatedly. "Then I'll be relying on you two—truly, thank you!"
In truth, he knew perfectly well: taking the money didn't guarantee they'd work hard. But if he didn't pay, they would absolutely drag their feet on purpose.
Still, what happened next surprised him.
Just before leaving, the two officials leaned closer and lowered their voices.
"Boss Song, here's a bit of news for you. You know Duke De'an, one of the wealthy elites in the city? His youngest daughter jumped into a well a short while ago. To this day, they still haven't held the funeral."
Song Yinjian's eyes lit up at once.
Duke De'an had been Liyue's richest man ten years ago. Even if he'd fallen far since then, he was still among the city's true magnates.
If Song Yinjian could land that job, he could start looking at property in the city center.
He thanked them again and promised that if he managed to secure Duke De'an's daughter's funeral, he would definitely send them an additional reward.
After parting ways, Song Yinjian first went to the estate's storeroom and spoke with the accountant about subsequent funeral expenses.
The accountant told him that Mister Zhang had an illegitimate daughter outside the estate. All decisions regarding the household would be made by her, and the agreement Song Yinjian had made with Pan Huilian could not be honored for now.
Song Yinjian felt helpless about it, but receiving a two-million-mora deposit was already an enormous profit.
Under Liyue's contract law, deposits were not refundable—exactly why he'd demanded one upfront.
Then he hurried straight to Duke De'an's residence. It didn't take long.
In the most prosperous district of Liyue's city center, a vast estate stood tall—facing south, imposing and grand, its size comparable to an entire modern neighborhood.
But time changed everything.
Now, the once-glorious residence looked worn and decayed.
At the main gate—where crowds should've come and gone—only a lone elderly man with graying hair stood guard.
Song Yinjian approached politely and explained who he was and why he'd come. The old man hesitated, then let him in.
The moment Song Yinjian stepped into the estate, his brows knitted tightly. A pungent stench of rot slapped him in the face.
The deeper he went, the stronger it became.
By the time he followed the corridors and cautiously reached the hall where the body was laid out, the stench was thick enough to choke.
Song Yinjian raised his sleeve to cover his mouth and nose, trying to block the foul air.
Yet in that unbearable environment, Duke De'an sat beside the corpse beneath the white cloth as if he didn't smell a thing at all.