As soon as he stepped into the inner hall, Xu Qi’an felt three sharp gazes lock onto him.
The man in the crimson robe was clearly the Prefect—his garment embroidered with drifting clouds and wild geese, the sign of a fourth-rank official.
The stern man with the silver gong on his chest must be a Night Watchman—dangerous, meticulous.
And then… a girl. A breathtakingly beautiful girl in a yellow dress. Is she married?
After one discreet glance at her chest, Xu Qi’an forced himself to calm down.
He lowered his head at once and adopted a perfectly humble posture.
Prefect Chen sat high above him, expression rigid and cold, voice steeped in authority:
“Xu Qi’an, when you were imprisoned three days ago, you said nothing about having important clues. Do you know the consequences of concealing information?”
A seasoned official like him wouldn’t rush to ask for the clues. He would apply pressure first—test his composure.
Xu Qi’an knew: being summoned here meant half the plan had already succeeded.
He steadied himself.
“Your Honor, earlier today the second young master of the Xu family visited me. I asked him to bring the case files.”
Start with honesty. Always.
All three officials immediately understood. They knew Xu Xinnian—not because of fame, but because as the eldest son of Xu Pingzhi, he was naturally investigated.
Prefect Chen asked, “What does this have to do with the clues you mentioned?”
“This humble one has deduced the truth of the case from the case files—”
“Wait.” Prefect Chen leaned forward, startled. “From the case files?”
That was not the answer he’d expected.
“I’ve already solved the case,” Xu Qi’an said simply.
Prefect Chen looked ready to hurl him back into prison. “Speak. But I warn you—if you dare spout nonsense, two hundred strokes can strip your flesh from your bones.”
Xu Qi’an declared:
“The tax silver robbery wasn’t committed by supernatural creatures—but by humans.”
The sentence struck the room like a thunderbolt.
Prefect Chen slammed the table.
“Nonsense! Guards! Drag him out and give him two hundred strokes!”
For days, the belief that monsters stole the tax silver had been the firm consensus between the three of them.
Now, disappointment washed over them.
To Prefect Chen, this was nothing but the desperate lie of a man cornered.
But the silver-gong Night Watchman, Li Yuchun, raised a hand. His gaze sharpened.
“Prefect Chen, please calm yourself.”
He turned to Xu Qi’an, eyes burning with expectation.
“Go on.”
This Prefect truly had a temper…
Xu Qi’an cleared his throat and began.
“According to the city gate guards’ testimony, my Second Uncle entered the city at the second quarter of the Mao hour. At the first quarter of the Chen hour, the convoy escorting the tax silver reached Guangnan Street. At that moment, a strange wind arose, startling the horses and sending them into the river.”
He kept his tone even—neither servile nor arrogant—trying to project calm logic.
Prefect Chen nodded. “That is why we concluded supernatural creatures hid in the river and seized the silver.”
“No!” Xu Qi’an raised his voice. “The strange wind was only a smokescreen—so was the explosion in the river. They were meant to distract you—to make you overlook a fatal flaw.”
Prefect Chen leaned forward. “What flaw?”
The Night Watchman and the girl both listened closely.
They had examined the case files countless times, memorized every detail—yet none had discovered a flaw.
“My Second Uncle was escorting 150,000 taels of tax silver. May I ask, honored officials—how many jin does that weigh?”
The girl tilted her head, trying to calculate.
The Night Watchman’s expression tightened.
Prefect Chen frowned impatiently. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
Ancient people, with ancient mental math… Xu Qi’an sighed inwardly.
“It weighs 9,375 jin.”
One jin equaled sixteen taels—simple enough.
The Night Watchman’s brow furrowed deeper. The girl blinked, puzzled.
“What does this prove?” she asked, her voice like silver chimes.
It proves you're not very clever, Xu Qi’an thought—but didn’t say.
Instead he asked,
“How far is it from the city gate to Guangnan Street?”
“Thirty li,” the Night Watchman replied.
“How many busy markets does the route pass through?”
“…Four.”
“How fast can a poor-quality horse travel?”
“A poor-quality horse…” The Night Watchman froze. His eyes widened.
He stood abruptly, realization exploding across his face.
Yes—after three days of tracing nonexistent supernatural tracks, he already suspected the investigation was off. But he’d had no clear direction until now.
Prefect Chen felt a chill on his scalp. He still didn’t understand—and that made him feel painfully slow. He glanced sideways at the girl in yellow, feeling slightly comforted when she also looked lost.
She asked, frustrated, “Where’s the problem?”
The Night Watchman replied excitedly:
“The timing doesn’t make sense!”
“Guangnan Street is thirty li from the South City Gate. With poor-quality horses, and passing through four busy markets, a convoy entering the city at the second quarter of the Mao hour could never reach Guangnan Street by the first quarter of the Chen hour!”
At last—clarity.
“But the tax silver did arrive there,” the girl argued. “Civilians saw the horses plunge into the river. That couldn’t be fake.”
Prefect Chen nodded sharply. “Explain that.”
The Night Watchman faltered—and instinctively looked at Xu Qi’an.
“Because,” Xu Qi’an said, voice steady and firm,
“they weren’t escorting silver at all.”
“Absurd!” Prefect Chen snapped. “Are you saying your Second Uncle and the guards are blind? Civilians testified they saw silver rolling into the river!”
He shook the case file. “Is this false too?”
“Seeing isn’t always believing,” Xu Qi’an replied. He looked toward the desk.
“Your Honor, may I borrow paper and brush? I can demonstrate.”
Prefect Chen waved for him to proceed.
Xu Qi’an, chains dragging across the floor, approached the desk.
He mixed ink with water, smoothed the paper, and wrote crookedly but with purpose.
When he finished, he handed the paper to Prefect Chen. “Your Honor, please prepare these items exactly as I’ve listed.”
Prefect Chen glanced at the paper—completely confused.
“Let me see,” the girl in the yellow dress said, reaching out with a snow-white hand.
She studied it—then looked just as baffled.
The Night Watchman Li Yuchun took a look last. His expression remained unreadable; he simply smoothed a creased corner of the paper with quiet precision before giving it back.
Silence thickened in the hall.
The truth was finally beginning to take shape.
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