Chapter 10

Eight percent.

Jin Shu did the math in her head—acceptable, even profitable. Her tangled thoughts finally eased. She knelt and bowed deeply. “Jin Shu is willing to follow Your Highness to the capital and obey your commands!”

Hearing this, Li Jin couldn’t hide the upward curve of his lips. With this corpse whisperer, “Master Jin,” by his side, perhaps the truth behind that case six years ago could finally be unearthed.

That night, Jin Shu tucked the sleeping Jin Rong in bed, gently adjusting the blanket. In her hand was the half jade pendant left behind by Jin Rong’s birth mother. Her emotions were complicated.

Under the soft moonlight, the Liu residence was peaceful and quiet. It was long past bedtime, yet the study remained lit.

Li Jin, holding a letter, asked solemnly, “Lord Liu, do you remember how that child Jin Rong came to be, six years ago?”

“Jin Rong?” Liu Cheng’an stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Did you ever meet Jin Shu’s parents? Did her mother go through a full pregnancy?” Li Jin stirred the cold tea in his cup, waiting for a reply.

According to intelligence, in early 203 of Great Wei, Jin Shu’s parents were attacked by bandits, severely injured, and died shortly after returning home. But Jin Rong didn’t appear in Jin Shu’s household until the winter of 204.

Li Jin tapped the lid of his teacup.

The timeline didn’t match Jin Shu’s parents—but it did align with the tragic downfall of Crown Prince Li Mu, who was falsely accused of treason and whose pregnant consort, Lady Cen, fled into the night.

During his stay at Liu Cheng’an’s residence, Li Jin had paid close attention to the boy named Jin Rong. Something about his gestures and demeanor reminded him of his late brother, Li Mu. But how could a pregnant consort travel a thousand miles from the capital to Jiangnan alone?

At the time, anyone associated with Li Mu was considered dangerous. No one would have dared help her. Even Li Jin had risked execution to secretly return from the border to the capital—but he was too late.

Fortunately, Li Mu had foreseen his fate and instructed Lady Cen to flee with their unborn child.

In prison, Li Jin had met his brother one last time. Tortured and barely conscious, Li Mu had whispered only one thing: “Take care of the child and his mother.” Then he passed out.

It was as if everything had been planned. Just as the capital purged Li Mu’s faction, the border erupted in crisis. Li Jin had no choice but to return to defend it, missing the best chance to find Lady Cen.

After that, Li Mu and their mother, Consort Xiao, were sent to the Cold Palace. Meanwhile, Consort Shu’s son, Li Jing, became Crown Prince.

Li Jin, once a general with unmatched military prowess, began investigating the case that condemned his brother—and found many suspicious details. He spent years conquering border nations and suppressing unrest. When peace was restored, he voluntarily relinquished his command and returned to the capital to “retire.” At just twenty-two, the famed “God of War” stepping down caused a stir among the court. Had he not done so voluntarily, many would have suspected him of challenging the Crown Prince.

Emperor Li Yi publicly criticized him for giving up so young, but then conveniently appointed him head of the Six Gates and Prefect of the Capital.

Li Jin understood the emperor’s intent.

Without Li Mu, Consort Xiao’s faction was no longer useful. The emperor needed someone to counterbalance the growing power of the Crown Prince’s camp. And Li Jin, Li Mu’s full brother, was the perfect choice.

While he appeared to be idling and sightseeing, Li Jin secretly built his own intelligence network, the “Shadows.” He spent years “traveling” Jiangnan, following faint traces of Lady Cen, knowing she had fled in that direction.

If her child had survived and grown up, he would now be about Jin Rong’s age. Could it be that Jin Rong was the lost heir?

“You worry too much, Your Highness,” Liu Cheng’an replied after a long pause. Perhaps due to age, or Jin Shu’s constant repetition over the years, he had come to believe the story himself. With full conviction, he said, “He is indeed her biological brother. Her father was a respected scholar in Dingzhou and a close friend of mine. I remember hearing about his wife’s pregnancy—it’s true.”

Li Jin froze, still holding the letter. Biological?

After a long silence, Liu Cheng’an stood and bowed formally. “Your Highness, Master Jin is the child of my dear friend. She has solved many cases for the people of Dingzhou—a true asset.”

He hesitated, then added, “But Master Jin is… unusual. She dislikes crowds, refuses to share living quarters, and insists on bathing alone. I hope Your Highness will be understanding in the capital.”

Li Jin listened, watching the flickering candlelight, then suddenly chuckled.

“Geniuses always have quirks. I understand. Don’t worry.”

Of course, a woman wouldn’t want to live with men or bathe with others.

What Li Jin was more curious about was when this “Master Jin” would finally reveal her true identity—perhaps tearfully confessing and begging for forgiveness.

“Thank you for everything, Lord Liu,” he said with a smile. “I’ll depart tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Liu Cheng’an asked. “Where to?”

“Linyang,” Li Jin replied.

In early spring of 210, Prince Jing came to Dingzhou supposedly to admire the peach blossoms. Instead, he uncovered a case of a murdered courtesan. He arrived with one carriage and one guard, traveling leisurely. He left with the same carriage—but now with a coachman and a six-year-old child.

Dingzhou lost “Master Jin.” The Six Gates gained a new divine investigator named Jin Shu, who spoke for the dead.

“Your Highness, are we there yet?” came Jin Rong’s childish voice from inside the carriage.

Up front, Jin Shu instinctively tensed.

After two days of travel, the boy was understandably restless.

Surprisingly, Li Jin had kept him entertained with stories of history and politics. But now, Jin Rong was growing bored.

Li Jin lifted the curtain and peeked outside. “We’ll see Linyang within the next quarter hour.”

Jin Shu, sore from two days of driving, perked up. She turned to the stoic Zhou Zheng, who hadn’t spoken much in two days. “Lord Zhou, what are we doing in Linyang?”

Eyes fixed ahead, Zhou Zheng replied after a pause: “Solving a case.”

Inside the carriage, Li Jin teased, “Master Jin may not know—every year, the Six Gates receives many letters from locals accusing Dingzhou’s Prefect Liu Cheng’an.”

Jin Shu blinked. “Why? Lord Liu is a good official—kind and diligent.”

“Mm, but only within Dingzhou.” Li Jin flicked open his fan. “A case broke out in Linyang. The county magistrate begged for help for ten days. Liu Cheng’an replied with two words.”

“Not lending,” he said, laughing.

Outside, Jin Shu forced a chuckle and leaned on her hand, choosing not to respond.

But Li Jin leaned toward the window and whispered mysteriously, “Master Jin, who do you think has a higher chance of strangling someone—a blind person, or a cripple with a leg injury?”

Blind? Crippled?

Jin Shu turned, startled by his grin. “A blind person can kill someone?” she exclaimed.