Chapter 28 : Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Official

The icy currents amassed over years in the Inner Prison exceeded my imagination… I hadn’t expected so many!

Walking through the prison’s corridor, I watched streams of icy currents flood into my body. The four furnaces sealing my dantian teetered on collapse.

The gray-white currents roared like dragons, unheard by others, as if unjustly killed souls, long trapped, sought to devour me.

They were a force in this mysterious world, surpassing power and authority, yet now being stripped away.

I felt cold seeping through my organs, but beside Yunyang, I dared show no sign.

Passing a cell, I saw a Bagua pattern etched under an oil lamp’s base on the wall.

I recalled the staircase’s oil-slag lamps, each with a Bagua…

One lamp, one cell. While the lamp burns, the prisoner lives!

I swiftly grabbed the lamp.

Instantly, the icy currents in my dantian receded like a tide.

Panting lightly, Yunyang turned, surprised: “Why take that lamp?”

I said: “The prison’s too dark. I’m not used to it.”

Yunyang scoffed: “Didn’t expect someone who haggles with me to be afraid of the dark.”

I didn’t respond, pondering: Do icy currents persist after death? With their number, they’d accumulated long.

Even the ruthless Secret Spy Division couldn’t kill so many so fast.

It was the Bagua’s effect!

The Inner Minister, fearing too many killings might haunt him with冤魂, had someone etch Baguas to trap these souls here, amassing such currents over years.

I steadied my breath: “Lord Yunyang, get me the records. Clues might not be in current cases—past ones may hold secrets.”

Yunyang signaled a spy: “Give them to him!”

The spies brought records in a dozen large wooden boxes.

I grabbed one, flipping through while patrolling the prison.

Yunyang sat at a table, sipping tea, waiting. A spy trailed me.

At a cell door, I asked: “Cell A-27, once held Liu Yaozu, Yuzhou Deputy Prefect? Where is he now?”

The spy, unsure how to address me, hesitated: “Sir… the records note those released left alive. If nothing’s written, they died here.”

I confirmed Liu Yaozu died four years ago.

At another cell: “Cell A-28, held Chen Mingzhuo, Luocheng Crafts Supervisor?”

“Dead too.”

I stopped asking, reciting silently:

“Cell A-52, Guide Prefecture Governor Xu Jiawen, dead.”

“Cell B-1, Runing Prefecture Shangcai County Magistrate Tian Hailong, dead; Shangcai Deputy Magistrate Xu Dehong, dead…”

Some cells held one death, others several.

The more I checked, the more shocked I was. The records were like the underworld’s Book of Life and Death.

Flipping further, the prison held martial artists and hidden Enforcers, but their cells yielded no icy currents.

I took a deep breath, grasping the currents’ pattern.

Those producing icy currents after death shared one trait: they were officials!

…

…

The underground Inner Prison was a vast graveyard, countless dead in this sunless place.

Not a martial world, but a burial ground for both it and the court.

I stood before a cell, open records in hand, facing a dim cage.

It took an hour to finish Cells A and B’s records. I didn’t need to check C through J.

I even dared guess the icy current from Evening Star Courtyard came from Consort Jing’s fetus—royal blood, born superior.

In this oppressive prison, I felt the absurdity.

My cultivation path stood against the entire Ning Dynasty. To cultivate, officials and royals must die!

From Emperor to minor clerks, the Ning Dynasty held all power.

And I oppose them?

Yunyang was right—never reveal your cultivation path. It’s dangerous.

Yunyang, lounging with crossed legs, cracking melon seeds, saw me pause: “Found clues?”

I snapped from my reverie: “Not yet.”

He frowned: “I fetched you myself, wasting an hour each way, waited another, and you’ve got nothing?”

I came for the currents and records, both secured, but couldn’t leave yet.

I asked: “How did Liu Shiyu die? Did you kill him?”

Yunyang shook his head: “No, he couldn’t endure interrogation and hanged himself.”

I frowned: “Is his body still here?”

“Yes, want to see?” Yunyang, intrigued, tossed his seeds on the table. “I’ll take you.”

He led me deeper, down several staircases, to the lowest level, where I heard an underground river.

“Here, just Liu Shiyu’s body,” Yunyang said, entering with a torch.

Liu Shiyu, about thirty, was thin, pale, tongue protruding, incontinent—classic hanging death, no anomalies.

Seeing the body, I held my breath, uneasy.

Yunyang teased: “Thought you were unstoppable. Can’t handle a corpse?”

I steadied: “Lord Yunyang, being unmoved by a fellow human’s corpse isn’t something to brag about… Liu Shiyu didn’t kill himself—he was silenced.”

Yunyang shook his head: “You’re wrong this time. I’ve killed plenty, so I know. His signs match hanging: I’ve hung many—pale face, protruding tongue, incontinence. You might think he was strangled then hung? No, strangulation turns the face purple. I know that too.”

“Theoretically, you’re right,” I nodded.

“Hm?” Yunyang was puzzled.

I said: “But those can be faked.”

Hanging kills by blocking the carotid artery, starving the brain of oxygen.

The artery’s instant blockage, while veins still work, pales the face. Strangulation turns it purple.

Liu Shiyu’s killer knew this, faking a hanging: the tongue can be pulled, acupuncture can cause incontinence, precise carotid sinus pressure can pale the face.

The killer was a professional at faking suicides but missed one detail: the feet.

I explained: “In hanging, toes point down, nearly vertical, stiffening within two hours even if taken down. But Liu Shiyu’s legs show struggle—kicking hard, fixing his feet in different directions.”

Yunyang, thoughtful: “Is that so… Back to Cell A’s floor. Grab a condemned prisoner—we’ll test it!”

We returned. I watched two spies drag a prisoner.

He’d wet himself before being hung.

Yunyang sat, cracking seeds, mocking: “This is a Ning Dynasty scholar-official—iron-clad on the surface, frail inside.”

I hesitated: “Lord Yunyang, what’s his crime?”

“Treason, forging household registers and travel passes for Jing Dynasty spies,” Yunyang said to the spies: “Hang him from the ceiling. I want to observe!”

I wanted to speak but stayed silent.

The spies roped the prisoner’s neck, kicking away his stool.

In seconds, he went still.

We waited, the body dangling. Yunyang sipped tea and cracked seeds, as if it were a pig, not a man.

I focused on records to pass time.

Two hours later, the spies took the body down. As I said, the toes were rigid, pointing down.

Yunyang clapped: “I’ve hung people but never took them down. Missed that detail!”

I said calmly: “Someone silenced Liu Shiyu, meaning a bigger fish. Not just one Liu is treasonous—second branch’s Liu Mingxian and first branch’s Liu Mingde are suspects.”

Yunyang frowned: “Chancellor Liu returns to Luocheng soon. Without evidence, provoking the Minister of Personnel is asking for trouble. You’re not tricking me into a firepit, are you?”

In the room, I held the oil-slag lamp, its flame dancing in my eyes: “Why would I? I’m counting on your promotion. You said spies harm frontline soldiers—why play it safe now?”

Yunyang sighed: “Live and learn. I used to just kill. Got my Twelve Zodiac post half a year ago—losing it would suck. The official world’s tough.”

I looked at him, asking earnestly: “Lord Yunyang, you and Jiaotu excel at killing. The Inner Minister’s brilliant—why send you for something you’re not skilled at?”

Yunyang frowned: “Yeah… Did the Inner Minister want our killing nature to take down the Liu family? He sent us to kill… So what do I…”

He reached for the teapot to pour me tea, then stopped—*I’ve only poured for the Inner Minister!*

He set it down: “Even knowing Liu Shiyu was silenced, it’s hard to pin the Liu family. How do I proceed?”

I shook my head: “Too few clues—I’ve no good advice. But don’t you think Old Master Liu’s death is odd? It put you on the defensive instantly. Master was called to treat him, but his carriage broke down halfway, never seeing him.”

A bolt struck Yunyang’s mind: “Old Master Liu might not be dead!”