Chapter Thirty-Five: Shrouded in Doubt

As soon as Song Mu departed, Lord Zhou and Pan Shun boarded the same carriage to return to the city. Pan Shun, whose face was usually gaunt and sullen, was now creased with a sycophantic smile as he addressed Zhou Zhiyun.

“Master Registrar, though Song Mu has been making quite a stir lately, his family has now declined. Whether the Song family’s scholarly legacy can continue through him remains to be seen.”

“I am well aware,” Zhou replied, his tone calm and measured, playing the part of the composed elder official. “Even if he amazes everyone, who’s to say he’ll become a talent like Jiang Yan of the Southern Dynasty? Perhaps he is but a flash in the pan—he may exhaust his talent before he even passes the provincial exam. If he truly passes this time, I’ll give him his due respect.”

Seeing Pan Shun still eager to say more, Zhou continued, “I know what’s on your mind. The Song family’s ancient books must indeed be extraordinary, but as you said, they are impossible to find. The boy has hidden them well—it will take some effort to uncover them.”

“Especially after that reckless encounter the other day, when you fell into the hands of traitors. Patience is needed.”

“I understand. The Qiao family’s four thugs seemed fine when they left, but who could have foreseen they’d fall to demonic influence so quickly?”

Pan Shun, famed for his severity as an official, now groveled like a dog, eyes tinged with guilt and anxiety.

“So long as you understand,” Zhou said sternly, his gaze troubled as he stared out the carriage window at the passing wine casks. “The city harbors remnants of the Demon Sect. If they cause trouble, both our official caps will be at risk. Our priority is to find these culprits and stop their schemes—only then can I smoothly ascend to the post of County Magistrate of Shiyang.”

“My mother’s birthday banquet must not have any mishaps. Over the coming days, you are to investigate thoroughly!”

At these words, Zhou’s gaze turned fierce. Pan Shun lowered his head in panic and fell silent.

“As for Song Mu, we must plan carefully.”

Pan Shun nodded fervently, not daring to anger the registrar before him. He knew well that Zhou had been behind Jin Changwu’s recent suspension.

Zhou had long coveted the magistrate’s seat; though he too was a graduate scholar, he’d spent over a decade as registrar without securing the county magistrate post. Now, with family serving in Jiangnan West Circuit and a record of achievements, it seemed his chance had come—and he had lent Pan Shun a helping hand.

If Zhou rose, Pan Shun’s fortunes would rise with him. Perhaps the world would look very different then.

Both men were lost in their own calculations as the carriage entered the city.

...

Meanwhile, Song Mu, after making a wide loop at the docks, returned to the pile of goods where he and Li Mo’er had parted ways.

He looked around but saw no sign of Li Mo’er. Dusk was falling, and after waiting a while and seeing the city gates about to close, Song Mu decided to head back.

Just as he entered the city, he felt a weight on his satchel. Looking down, he saw that someone was tugging at it—it was the long-missing Li Mo’er.

“Where did you go?” Song Mu whispered.

Li Mo’er stared straight ahead, her face serious. “On the ship.”

“Did you find anything? Anything out of place?”

Li Mo’er shook her head and replied softly, “No, nothing was found on board, but I smelled the scent of demonic taint.”

Song Mu halted mid-step, glancing at her. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Though the stench of those filthy beasts tried to mask it, the scent was still there.”

“Where could it be hidden?”

“I don’t know. It may not be on the ship anymore.” Li Mo’er sounded dejected; the operation had not gone as she’d hoped.

But Song Mu’s mind turned to the wine barrels he’d seen earlier at the docks.

He spoke up, “Do you think it could be in the cargo? Only two batches of goods were unloaded from the ship today.”

“The filthy beasts?” Li Mo’er asked. Song Mu shook his head.

“No, the wine barrels. I saw they contained grape wine.”

“Grape wine?” Li Mo’er perked up with interest.

Song Mu nodded. “But they belong to the registrar. Looks like he’s using them for his banquet.”

The two of them stopped at an alleyway, turned to each other, and repeated in unison, “Banquet for the guests!”

Li Mo’er nodded thoughtfully, but Song Mu was now filled with doubt. If there really was something wrong with the wine—if it was tainted with demonic essence—then at the birthday banquet, disaster would surely erupt. But did the registrar know?

If he did, that would be alarming indeed. If he didn’t, what should be done?

Either way, the matter was weighty. Song Mu felt a heavy burden, and just as he was about to discuss it with Li Mo’er, he found she had vanished.

Night was falling, the city’s curfew imminent, and the streets had emptied.

Song Mu pursed his lips, thinking Li Mo’er had likely gone to investigate further. If she truly confirmed the demonic taint in the wine, she would not stand idly by.

Rubbing his chin, Song Mu shook his head helplessly. Here he was, worrying over the affairs of his superiors while subsisting on pickles—a sense of powerlessness pressed upon him.

Turning, Song Mu made his way home.

That night, after finishing an essay and preparing to rest, he glanced up at the rafters—Li Mo’er had already returned, covered in dust and grime, more bedraggled than words could say.

Song Mu looked up and asked gently, “What happened to you?”

Li Mo’er did not reply, only waved her hand weakly. In the next moment, Song Mu heard her even, steady breathing—she had already fallen asleep. Clearly, the day’s events had exhausted her.

Song Mu longed for answers, but after a moment’s thought, he said nothing. Instead, he donned his robe, rubbed his face, and picked up his brush to begin another essay.

The next day, as Song Mu returned home in the evening, a gold-embossed invitation arrived—it was from Registrar Zhou.

In honor of his mother’s seventieth birthday, Zhou was hosting a grand banquet at the city’s largest establishment, the Jade Tower.

Song Mu clicked his tongue at the lavish invitation.

He had learned much about Zhou these past days. Zhou’s ancestral home was in Suzhou, his family possessed modest holdings, and an uncle served in Jiangnan West Circuit, providing a degree of protection.

Officials from Jizhou Prefecture, who were in town investigating, had also been invited. Nearly all the city’s merchants and gentry would attend, a gathering as much about alliances before the coming storm as celebration.

Rumor had it that Jin Changwu was to be dismissed, pending word from Jiangnan West Circuit. Zhou’s grand event, at such a pivotal moment, was clearly calculated—if Jin Changwu fell, Zhou would ascend as the new magistrate of Shiyang.

He was shrewd: by accepting Jin Changwu’s unfinished work, he would claim the credit for the city wall’s restoration, and with his protégés soon to take the prefectural exams, any honors they earned would cement his scholarly standing.

Such cunning, such a masterstroke—Song Mu could not help but marvel.

Tossing the invitation onto the table, Song Mu looked up at Li Mo’er on the rafters and asked, “Shall we go?”

“Why not?” she replied.

...