Chapter 977
Not a single word was spoken
Zheng Yi reached out to grab his collar, but missed. The man collapsed like a lump of mud at the top of the stairs, the dagger in his hand falling to the ground with a crisp clang that sounded like a thunderclap in the quiet night.
The lights in the corridor suddenly came on.
Wu Chen rushed out of the room barefoot, an iron dagger in his hand, his hair disheveled, his eyes not fully open, but he was already in a state of readiness to pounce at any moment. He saw Zheng Yi crouching at the top of the stairs, with two people lying on the ground beside him, and he paused for a moment.
"Young Master Zheng?"
"Light the lamps." Zheng Yi's voice was urgent.
Wu Chen turned and went back into the house, bringing out an oil lamp. The light illuminated a small area at the top of the stairs—the one in front was still unconscious, with a lump the size of an egg on his temple, but he was still breathing. The one behind was different.
He lay on his back, his mouth slightly open, a trickle of dark red blood spilling from the corner of his lips. There wasn't much blood, but the color was wrong; it wasn't bright red, but a dark, almost blackish red, mixed with white foam, flowing down his chin in a thin line.
His eyes were half-open, the pupils were dilated, and there was no light in them.
Wu Chen squatted down to check his breathing, then felt his pulse on the side of his neck, looked up at Zheng Yi, and shook his head.
Zheng Yi squatted there, looking down at that face.
He was a man around thirty years old, with an ordinary face, the kind of ordinary that you'd easily blend into a crowd and disappear. He wore a dark gray short-sleeved jacket; the fabric wasn't bad, but it wasn't particularly eye-catching either. There was an empty leather scabbard at his waist—the short knife lay on the ground beside him.
Zheng Yi reached out and opened his mouth, taking a look under the light. There was a very small black spot behind the molar; it wasn't a cavity, but something small embedded in the gum.
“There’s poison in his mouth,” Zheng Yi said.
Wu Chen leaned closer for a look, and his expression changed.
"Who would hide poison in their mouth?" he asked in a low voice.
Zheng Yi did not answer.
He searched the man's clothes from head to toe, but found nothing. No identification tag, no letter, nothing to prove his identity. Clean as a blank sheet of paper.
The cleaner it is, the more complex it is.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs. Helian, wearing a fur robe, came up from downstairs—he lived in the large dormitory-style dormitory downstairs and had only woken up when he heard the sound of a knife hitting the ground. He glanced at the two bodies on the ground—one unconscious, the other dead—and his brows furrowed deeply.
"what happened?"
Zheng Yi stood up and wiped the blood from the dagger on the hem of his clothes.
"They came to kill Shen Yuan."
Helian's brows furrowed even more as he glanced in the direction of Shen Yuan's room. The door was closed, and there was no sound from inside.
"Where is that girl?"
"He's not awake," Zheng Yi said. "Or maybe he's awake but hasn't dared to make a sound."
Wu Chen stared at the dead man on the ground, his Adam's apple bobbing. He wasn't unfamiliar with dead people; he had seen them back in the North. But he had never seen anyone like this—someone who would rather die than utter a sound.
“Young Master Zheng, this man…” he pointed to the dead one, “how was his martial arts skill?”
"Not bad."
Wu Chen was taken aback. He knew what Zheng Yi meant by "not bad"—the person who could elicit those two words from Zheng Yi was someone he couldn't handle.
"Then what about him...?"
“He was too careless,” Zheng Yi said. “He thought I could handle him on my own.”
Wu Chen glanced at the short knife in the man's hand on the ground, then at the slit in Zheng Yi's leather robe, and said nothing.
Helian squatted down and picked up the short knife from the ground to examine it. The blade was narrow and straight, with black rope wrapped around the hilt. The grip area was worn smooth, indicating that the knife had been used many times. There were no inscriptions, no markings, nothing on the blade.
“The knife from the south.” Helian turned the knife over to examine it. “The workmanship is exquisite; it’s not something an ordinary blacksmith shop could make.”
He handed the knife to Zheng Yi. Zheng Yi took it, held it in his hand, and tested its weight. The blade had a good balance, with the center of gravity less than an inch in front of the guard—this was a knife specifically designed to kill.
Helian then searched the unconscious man's pockets and found a few pieces of silver, some dry rations, and a rope. There was nothing else that could prove his identity.
“These two people are too clean,” Helian said.
Zheng Yi nodded.
The sound of a door opening downstairs woke Mr. Sun. He called out from the lobby, "What's wrong?" his voice still sleepy. Chi Ya's voice followed immediately, startled and panicked: "Someone's here! Someone's dead! Mr. Sun, don't come any closer!"
Zheng Yi frowned when he heard Chi Ya's voice.
"Wu Chen, go down and tell Chi Ya to shut up. Don't alert too many people."
Wu Chen responded and went downstairs barefoot.
The area downstairs quickly became quiet.
Helian squatted down next to the unconscious man, reached out and pinched his chin, then pried open his mouth to take a look.
“It doesn’t have a mouth,” Helian said.
“Tie him up too. We’ll question him when he wakes up,” Zheng Yi said.
Helian nodded, took a leather rope from his waist, tied the man's hands and feet behind his back, and stuffed a rag into his mouth—not to prevent him from screaming, but because he was afraid that the man might have poison hidden in his mouth and that he would have to do it again after waking up.
Zheng Yi walked to the door of Shen Yuan's room and gently knocked twice.
"Miss Shen."
no respond.
He knocked twice more.
"It's me, Zheng Yi."
The door opened a crack from the inside. Shen Yuan stood behind the door, only half of her face visible. The light from the oil lamp in the corridor shone on her face, making her eyes wide open, her pupils shrinking to pinpoints, her whole body taut like a fully drawn bow.
She saw the person lying on the corridor floor, saw the blood, saw the leather rope in Helian's hand and the person's bound hands and feet.
Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, finally emitting a very small, almost inaudible sound.
"them……"
"It's alright now," Zheng Yi said. "Both of them are under control. One is dead, and the other is alive."
Shen Yuan's hands gripped the door frame, her knuckles as white as bones.
"died?"
“He killed himself.” Zheng Yi’s voice was calm. “He had poison in his mouth and bit himself.”
Shen Yuan swayed, as if pushed from the inside. She steadied herself by the doorframe, but her expression changed—not with fear, but with a chilling, knowing "I knew it." "That's how they are," she said. "The day my father died, someone was arrested. That person's lips pursed like that, and then blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. When my sister-in-law saw it, she thought he'd been beaten, but later she found out… he died of his own accord."
When Shen Yuan spoke these words, her voice was flat, so flat that it didn't sound like she was talking about her own family's misfortune, but more like she was describing something she had read in a book.
Zheng Yi glanced at her but did not interrupt.
“My father said that only one kind of person would hide poison in their mouth.” Shen Yuan’s voice suddenly lowered, so low that it seemed only she could hear it. “A suicide squad. Only a suicide squad would do that.”
She looked up at Zheng Yi.
"Young Master Zheng, you shouldn't have gotten involved."
Zheng Yi looked at her without saying a word.
Shen Yuan's eyes reddened, but she still didn't cry. In those eyes, which were so red they looked like they were about to bleed, there was something deep and heavy, like a stone sinking to the bottom of the water. You couldn't see anything on the surface, but the stone was always there.
“You saved me once, but they will come again.” Shen Yuan’s voice trembled slightly. “This time two will come, next time four, and the time after that eight. They will keep coming and coming until I die. You can’t kill them all; they have far more people than you think.”
Zheng Yi remained silent for a moment.
"Miss Shen, please listen to me."
Shen Yuan looked at him.
"I believe you if you say they'll come again. I believe you if you say they have a lot of people." Zheng Yi's voice wasn't loud, but every word was steady. "But this is Beining City. It's not their territory. If one comes, I'll hold them off. If two come, I'll hold them off. No matter how many of them there are, how many can they have? Ten? Twenty? There are hundreds of people from the border affairs department in Beining City. None of the merchants, escort agencies, or trading posts in the city like people causing trouble on their turf. If ten or eight of them really come, I don't even need to lift a finger; the border affairs department can arrest them all."
Shen Yuan's lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she didn't.
“What you need to do right now is not worry about me,” Zheng Yi said. “What you need to do right now is recover from your injury. Once you’re healed and your body is strong enough, we can talk about the future later.”
Shen Yuan looked at Zheng Yi and remained silent for a long time.
The corridor was quiet, and the rain was still falling. The sound of rain came in from outside the window, enveloping the small space in a damp and chilly atmosphere.
"Why are you so good to me?" Shen Yuan suddenly asked.
The question came so suddenly that even Helian, who was standing next to him, turned his head slightly.
Zheng Yi looked at her, his expression unchanged.
"I wasn't good to you."
Shen Yuan was taken aback.
“I just don’t want to see a living person die in front of me,” Zheng Yi said. “If it were anyone lying on that mountain, covered in wounds, I would save them too. Not because of who you are, but because you are still alive.”
Shen Yuan looked at him, and something flashed in his red eyes for a moment before disappearing again.
"Then... what do you plan to do with the person who is still alive?" She glanced at the person who was tied up in the corridor.
"Lock him up first. We'll find out what happened when he wakes up."
Will he speak?
Zheng Yi recalled the swift and decisive way the person who had swallowed the poison had crushed the poison sac, and the eyes that had remained calm until death.
“Give it a try,” he said.
That night, no one slept in the inn.
Boss Sun checked all the doors and windows in the lobby, then went to the kitchen and took a cleaver, placing it under the counter. Chi Ya, clutching a short knife Zheng Yi had given him, huddled on a bench in the lobby, his eyes wide like saucers, ears perked up at the slightest sound. He Liang packed all the invoices and ledgers into a box, locked it, moved the box to his bedside, and sat on the bed, clutching a rolling pin he had borrowed from the kitchen.
Wu Chen carried the still-living person to an empty storage room in the backyard. The storage room was small, with no windows, only a wooden door bolted from the outside. Wu Chen laid the person on the ground, checked the ropes, and then sat at the doorway all night.
Zheng Yi did not go back to sleep.
He sat in the lobby, a pot of tea that had gone cold in front of him, and twirling the dagger left behind by the dead man in his hand. The blood on the blade had dried, turning into a thin layer of dark red, which he slowly wiped with a cloth, stroke by stroke, very carefully.
He Liang came downstairs with the rolling pin in his hand. He saw Zheng Yi wiping the knife, hesitated for a moment, and then walked over.
"Young Master Zheng, that person... will he really confess?"
Zheng Yi flipped the knife over and continued wiping it.
"do not know."
"What if he doesn't confess?"
“If he doesn’t want to confess, then he doesn’t have to,” Zheng Yi said. “As long as we have him, he’s still alive and useful.”
He Liang didn't quite understand the meaning of those words, but he didn't ask again. He sat down opposite Zheng Yi, placed the rolling pin on the table, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and looked out at the rain.
It rained all night.
As dawn approached, the rain lessened. Grayish-white light filtered through the paper windows, casting a blurry outline of the tables and chairs in the lobby. A rooster crowed once in the distance, then fell silent, as if it had crowed early.
Zheng Yi placed the cleaned dagger on the table, stood up, stretched his stiff shoulders, and walked towards the backyard.
The storage room door was bolted from the outside. Wu Chen sat by the doorway, leaning against the frame, his eyes closed. He wasn't asleep—when Zheng Yi approached, his eyes immediately opened, his gaze as clear as if he hadn't slept at all.
"Have you woken up yet?" Zheng Yi asked.
No. I've been unconscious the whole time.
Zheng Yi squatted down, unlatched the door, and pushed the door open.
The storage room was dark, with only a sliver of light filtering through the crack in the door. The man lay unconscious on the cold floor, his hands and feet bound behind his back. Zheng Yi leaned closer to examine his face—around forty years old, square-faced, with thick eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a bluish stubble on his chin. His clothes were dark brown, just like the dead man's, ordinary and unremarkable.
Zheng Yi reached out and opened his mouth, feeling inside his teeth—there was nothing there.
He stepped out and bolted the door again.
"Call me when he wakes up."
Wu Chen nodded.
Shen Yuan didn't eat anything that morning.
Mr. Sun's wife brought the porridge up and brought it back down exactly as it was. The porridge was untouched, the steamed buns were untouched, and even the dish of pickled vegetables was still neatly arranged there, as if someone had arranged it carefully and hadn't touched it.
The old woman went upstairs and stayed in Shen Yuan's room for about half an hour. When she came down, she looked unwell.
“She doesn’t speak,” the old woman said to Zheng Yi. “It’s not that she refuses to speak, it’s that she’s stopped talking. She was fine when you talked to her last night, but this morning she’s like a block of wood. She nods or shakes her head when you ask her anything, without saying a word.”
Zheng Yi sat in the lobby, holding a bowl of hot porridge. The steam from the porridge blurred his features. (End of Chapter)