Chapter 900
Blood Ice Shards
One-eyed sneer:
"Three thousand!"
Zheng Yi looked at them.
Looking at those reddened eyes.
Look at those hands holding up signs.
Suddenly he spoke:
"stop."
The entire room fell silent.
Zheng Yi looked at everyone.
The sound was very soft:
"That's all for tonight."
The remaining items will be auctioned on another day.
Han Wuhen became anxious:
"gentlemen?!"
Zheng Yi shook his head:
"enough."
He looked at the one-eyed man.
The voice was calm.
"What you want... I'll give it to you."
"But not tonight."
"Not here either."
He turned around.
Step down from the platform.
The following morning, a thin layer of morning mist still shrouded the backyard of the city lord's mansion. Icicles, frozen from the previous night, clung to the bare branches of the ginkgo trees. As soon as the sun peeked over the east wall, the icicles began to melt, dripping onto the bluestone slabs with a crisp, drawn-out "tap-tap," like someone tapping a porcelain bowl with fingernails in the distance. The charcoal stove in the corner of the courtyard had burned all night, its walls glowing red-hot. Only a thin layer of ash remained in the firebox, occasionally a spark flickering before being quickly extinguished by the cold air. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, mingled with the damp, earthy smell of snow and the fishy odor drifting from the distant river.
Zheng Yi sat cross-legged on a futon in the center of the side room. There were no lamps around, only the grayish-white light filtering through the window paper. He wore a blue robe without a fox fur coat, the collar of which was open by an inch, revealing a sword scar below his collarbone that had not yet fully healed. The edges of the scar gleamed with a very faint gold, like the cracks in porcelain burned by high heat. His hands rested loosely on his knees, palms facing upwards, with a purple-gold longsword lying horizontally between his knees. A faint purple-gold light flowed slowly between the blade and the scabbard, like the weak pulse flowing in a vein.
His breathing was extremely long and slow. With each inhale, his chest seemed to be slowly expanded by an invisible hand, and with each exhale, it tightened little by little. The golden core in his dantian rotated more slowly than usual. The lingering purple-gold sword intent at the crack was like a sleeping serpent. Occasionally, when touched by the golden flame, it would tremble slightly, bringing a slight stinging pain that would travel along his meridians to his limbs and bones, only to be forcibly suppressed back into his dantian.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps came from outside the window, the leather boots crunching on the remaining snow as if crushing someone's bones. The door was pushed open with a bang, and a cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in, blowing the ash from the charcoal stove into a whirlwind.
It was Zhao Sanhuai.
His face was ashen. He stepped too hard on his broken leg and almost stumbled as he entered the door. He still held the dagger in his hand, the scabbard stained with fresh blood. The blood was still wet and dripped down the scabbard, leaving a small dark red stain on the threshold.
“Sir!” Zhao Sanhuai’s voice trembled, but he kept it very low, as if afraid of waking something. “There’s a dead person in the narrow alley in the west of the city.”
Zheng Yi opened his eyes.
A golden flame flashed and disappeared deep within his pupils.
He didn't get up, but simply raised his hand to signal Zhao Sanhuai to close the door.
The wooden door creaked shut, shutting out the sounds of wind and snow, leaving only the occasional crackling of firewood in the charcoal brazier.
"Who?"
“Two ordinary people.” Zhao Sanhuai swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “A man and a woman, living in the third-floor, east-end apartment of the new dormitory in the east of the city. The man’s name was Wang Shitou, he was carrying stones yesterday, and the woman was his wife, seven months pregnant. We just found them on night patrol… they were already cold.”
Zheng Yi's gaze fell on the bloodstains on Zhao Sanhuai's scabbard:
"Did you tamper with the crime scene?"
Zhao Sanhuai shook his head, his voice even lower:
“I didn’t dare move. There was too much blood. I was afraid of disturbing the trail. Guo Tianyou has already sealed off the alley with his men, and no one is allowed to enter.”
Zheng Yi remained silent for a moment.
He slowly got up.
The movements were extremely slow, as if afraid of disturbing something.
The scar on his chest throbbed with pain, but he forced it down.
"Walk."
"Go and see."
Zhao Sanhuai immediately turned around and opened the door.
The cold wind blew in again.
Zheng Yi didn't wear a fox fur coat; he just went out in his thin blue robe.
The wind and snow were blowing in our faces.
The snowflakes hit my face like countless fine needles.
He didn't pay attention.
Just keep moving forward.
Footsteps tread on the snow.
It makes a "creaking" sound.
It felt like something had been crushed.
It's like... stepping on something.
Narrow alley in the east of the city.
The alley was three times narrower than the main street, with low mud-brick houses on both sides, their eaves almost touching, squeezing the sky into a thin, gray-white ribbon. Guo Tianyou and his men had blocked the alley entrance with hemp rope, with wooden signs hanging every three feet, bearing the words "Alley Closed, No Entry for Unauthorized Personnel" written in charcoal. The snow inside the alley hadn't completely melted, leaving a mess of footprints: the boot prints of city guards, drag marks left by residents fleeing in panic, and… a series of broken, bloody footprints stretching from the depths of the alley all the way to the door of the third house.
Guo Tianyou was standing at the door.
He wore a grey cotton-padded coat over his armor, his breastplate soaked with snow, and his face was ashen. Seeing Zheng Yi approaching, he quickly went to meet him, his voice extremely low:
"Sir...the person is still inside."
Zheng Yi nodded and stepped over the rope.
Deep in the alley, in front of the third house.
The door was ajar, and there was a deep knife mark on the door panel, running from the door knocker to the threshold, as if it had been cleaved in two by a sharp weapon. Blood seeped out from the crack in the door, the blood frozen into dark red icicles, hanging under the threshold like a row of short red icicles.
Zheng Yi pushed open the door.
There were no lights on inside.
Light filtered in through the cracks in the door and the torn window paper, creating a hazy, gray ambiance.
The ground was covered in blood.
Blood flowed from the inner room to the outer room, like a dark red river, freezing at the threshold.
On the kang (heated brick bed) in the inner room.
One male and one female.
The man lay on his back, a deep gash ripped open in his chest, exposing the bone. His heart had been ripped out, leaving only dark red blood clots in his empty chest cavity. The woman lay on her side, her hands protecting her swollen belly. A short knife was stuck in her back, the handle wrapped in red cloth, the strips soaked in blood, turning a dark, almost black, red. Her eyes were wide open, the whites of her eyes bloodshot, her pupils dilated like two solidified black pearls.
The room was eerily quiet.
The only sound was the whooshing of the wind blowing through the torn paper windowpane.
Zheng Yi stood at the door.
I didn't go in.
His gaze swept over every corner of the room.
There was an overturned wooden stool next to the kang (a heated brick bed), with one of its legs broken off.
There was a broken porcelain bowl in the corner, with half a bowl of millet porridge left inside, and a thin layer of ice on the surface of the porridge.
There is a cradle by the bedside.
The cradle was empty.
All that was left was a red bib embroidered with a little tiger.
The undergarment was half-soaked with blood.
Zheng Yi's gaze fell on the undergarment.
His pupils contracted slightly.
Zhao Sanhuai stood behind him, his voice trembling:
"Sir...the child...is missing."
Zheng Yi remained silent.
He simply took one step forward.
The sole of the boot sank into a pool of blood. The frozen blood shattered underfoot.
It made a faint cracking sound.
He squatted down.
Pick up that red bellyband.
On the back of the bib, three characters were embroidered crookedly:
"Stone Treasure".
The stitching is rough.
But he was extremely serious.
Zheng Yi gently stroked the three words with his fingers.
The voice was very soft, like a whisper:
"Who did this?"
Zhao Sanhuai gritted his teeth:
"The situation hasn't been clarified yet. The neighbors in the alley said they heard fighting around midnight last night, and then there was no more noise. When we arrived... the person was already cold."
Zheng Yi put the bib back into the cradle.
Get up.
Looking at Zhao Sanhuai:
"Lock down the entire city."
"All city gates are for exit only, no entry allowed."
"Search all inns, restaurants, and residences..."
“There are signs of a pregnant woman…not a single room was missed.”
Zhao Sanhuai clasped his hands in greeting:
"Yes!"
He turned and ran.
Footsteps echoed in the alley.
Zheng Yi stood inside the room.
Looking at the blood on the ground.
Looking at the corpse on the kang (a heated brick bed).
Looking at the empty cradle.
The wind blew in through the broken window.
It stirred up the blood and ice fragments on the ground.
The debris swirled in the air.
It landed on Zheng Yi's shoulder.
He didn't brush it away.
He spoke in a low voice, as if making a promise to someone, or perhaps just talking to himself:
"...I will find you."
"It will also...make the murderer pay the price."
The snow in the narrow alley in the west of the city had long been trampled into pieces by footprints. The two wooden "Alley Closed" signs at the alley entrance were blown askew by the wind; one hung precariously on a hemp rope, while the other lay flat in the snow and mud, the writing blurred by dirty water. Deep in the alley, in front of the third house, Guo Tianyou and his men had blocked the doorway with two long wooden sticks crossed over each other. Several strips of red cloth were tied to the sticks, trembling slightly in the wind like dried blood. The knife marks on the door were so deep that the grain of the wood was visible; the edges of the cracks were frozen white, like a gaping mouth.
Zheng Yi stood outside the threshold, not immediately stepping inside. His boots rested on the edge of the blood-red ice, where a few fresh drops of water clung to the surface—melting snow from the eaves—spreading a small, pale red hue across the blood. He crouched down, his right index and middle fingers pressed together, gently touching the deepest gash on the threshold. A faint trace of spiritual energy emanated from his fingertips, like a cold strand of hair, carrying a familiar yet strange fluctuation.
“Your swordsmanship is not skillful.” His voice was so low it was almost drowned out by the wind. “The force is enough, but the trajectory trembled three times, as if… your hand was shaking.”
Zhao Sanhuai squatted beside him, his broken leg making a slightly awkward kneeling motion, his knee pressing into the snow and mud with a soft "squeak." He stared at the knife wound, his brows furrowed deeply.
"Sir, are you saying... the murderer was nervous?"
Zheng Yi didn't answer directly. His fingertip moved upwards along the knife marks and stopped at the door knocker. The door knocker was made of brass, with several fresh scratch marks on its surface, each about the size of a fingernail. The edges of the scratch marks had extremely fine barbs, like those left when a fingernail was broken.
“Left hand.” Zheng Yi withdrew his hand. “The murderer is left-handed. He used brute force when grabbing the door knocker, and three of his fingernails broke off.”
He stood up and peered through the crack in the door into the room.
The two corpses on the kang (heated brick bed) in the inner room remained in the same position as when they were found. Wang Shitou's chest cavity was empty; his heart had been completely ripped out, the edges of the wound jagged and uneven—not cut by a sharp weapon, but torn apart. The short knife on the woman's back had its hilt pointing upwards, the blade embedded in her lung; the blood had long since congealed into dark brown ice, freezing her cotton-padded coat stiff. The red bib in the cradle was slightly lifted by the wind, revealing a small tiger pattern embroidered inside; the stitches were crooked, yet every stitch showed care.
Zheng Yi finally stepped across the threshold.
His boots shattered the blood-red ice beneath the threshold, the shards splashing up and landing on his trouser legs like a handful of red sand.
He first went to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and bent down to examine the wound on Wang Shitou's chest.
The muscles around the wound were twisted and rolled back, the bones were shattered into pieces, and the pericardium was torn to shreds, as if a hand had forcefully reached in and crushed it. He extended two fingers and lightly pressed them an inch above the wound. A very faint fluctuation of spiritual energy emanated from his fingertips, a very weak fluctuation, like the wind blowing through spider silk, yet carrying a familiar scent.
“Late stage of Qi Refining…at most early stage of Foundation Establishment.” Zheng Yi withdrew his hand. “The murderer’s cultivation level is not high.”
Zhao Sanhuai followed in, his voice extremely low:
"Late stage of Qi Refining? How did he kill those two people? Wang Shitou has practiced Zhuangjiaquan (a style of martial arts) for a few years, so he's quite strong."
Zheng Yi pointed to the overturned wooden stool beside the kang (a heated brick bed). The stool legs had clean breaks, but there were obvious signs of tearing.
"The stool was overturned first. Wang Shitou should have been knocked unconscious first. The woman, protecting her stomach, didn't have time to run before she was stabbed in the back."
He walked to the woman's body and squatted down.
The red cloth strip on the hilt of the knife was soaked with blood, and a few thin threads along the edge of the cloth were frayed. He picked up a corner of the cloth strip and brought it to his nose to sniff it.
A very faint jasmine scent.
“The murderer is a woman,” Zheng Yi said in a low voice, “or…at least she used a woman’s sachet.”
Zhao Sanhuai gasped:
"acquaintance?"
Zheng Yi nodded:
"acquaintance."
“Wang Shitou and his wife have lived in the east of the city for three years and have no enemies. They have a good relationship with their neighbors, and yesterday they even helped Aunt Li next door carry fifty kilograms of rice. The murderer didn’t pick the lock when he entered the house; Wang Shitou opened the door himself.”
He stood up, his gaze falling on the shattered porcelain bowl in the corner.
The bowl shattered into seven or eight pieces, and the porridge spilled all over the floor, frozen into ice crystals. There was a small patch of porridge at the bottom of the bowl that hadn't been completely spilled, and a clear fingerprint on the surface of the porridge.
Zheng Yi walked over and squatted down.
The fingerprints are very small, indicating a woman.
He extended his right index finger and made a vague gesture in the air.
Fine golden threads seeped from the fingertips and landed on the fingerprints.
The fingerprints glowed with a very faint light.
A faint fluctuation of spiritual energy traveled back to his fingertips along the golden thread.
"Eighth level of Qi Refining," Zheng Yi said in a low voice. "There's a callus on the middle finger of his left hand, and he likes to pick things up with his index finger and thumb. His nails are very short, and there's a faint herbal smell between his fingers."
Zhao Sanhuai's eyes lit up:
"Sir, is this... fingerprinting?"
Zheng Yi shook his head:
"It's not a technique."
“It’s… a trace.”
He stood up, his gaze sweeping across the room:
"Go and check who Wang Shitou and his wife have been in contact with recently."
"Especially women."
"Around the eighth level of Qi cultivation, left-handed, and his hands smell of herbs."
Zhao Sanhuai clasped his hands in greeting:
"Order!"
He turned and went out, his footsteps echoing in the alley.
Zheng Yi stood in the center of the room.
The wind blew in through the broken window.
It stirred up the blood and ice fragments on the ground.
The debris swirled in the air.
It landed on the tip of his boot.
He lowered his head.
Looking at that dark red.
He suddenly spoke, as if addressing a corpse, yet also as if speaking only to himself:
"I will find her."
"We will also... find the child."
The snow in the narrow alleys of the west city melted faster under the afternoon sun. A thin, dark stream accumulated in the ditch deep in the alley, washing away the shards of blood as it flowed over the threshold. Blood mixed with snowmelt, trickling down and carving a winding, pale red trail in the cracks of the bluestone slabs. The wooden "Alley Closed" sign on the hemp rope at the alley entrance swayed back and forth in the wind, the rope rubbing against the wooden stake with a low creak, like someone plucking an old erhu string in the distance. The air still carried the rusty smell of blood, which, blown by the wind, mingled with the smell of firewood wafting from the stoves of the neighboring houses. The two smells intertwined, making one's nose sting.
Zheng Yi stood outside the threshold, not in a hurry to go in. He first squatted down and gently brushed aside the shards of blood and ice on the ground with his sword sheath. (End of Chapter)