Chapter 16 Wrongful Killing
Her legs could no longer support the weight of her body. Wen Youqing slid down the cold wall and sat down, collapsing on the cold ground.
She huddled there, feeling as if every bone in her body had been pulled out, only her shoulders trembling uncontrollably. An unprecedented, vast emptiness and icy coldness spread rapidly from the depths of her heart to every limb, colder than the deepest ice of December. Acting on behalf of Heaven? The modern ideal of integrity? Now, it all became the most vicious joke, lashing her face fiercely, leaving invisible bloodstains deep into her bones.
I don't know how much time passed, perhaps just a moment, or perhaps as long as a century. The sound of the gate being gently pushed open was particularly clear in the dead silence.
The footsteps were light, deliberately cautious, and stopped at the door. The dim light cast a long shadow over Wen Youqing's huddled form. She didn't look up, didn't even have the energy to move her eyes, and simply buried her face deeper in her arms, as if that could block out the suffocating reality.
Shen Zijie didn't speak immediately. He stood there in silence, his eyes sweeping over the limp Wen Youqing. He had probably guessed what had happened. Although he was unhappy with Wen Youqing's presumptuous decision, the matter was settled.
He simply instructed his attendants to take Madam Wang away and settle her down. His gaze fell on the files spread out on the low table. The dim light cast bright and dark shadows on his gaunt face. Deep in those eyes, which were always calm and gentle, something surged violently, then sank deeper into the pool.
Shen Zijie sighed silently, as light as a feather falling to the ground. He slowly walked over to Wen Youqing, not trying to help her, but simply bent his knees and half-knelt, his eyes level with her huddled figure.
Then, he reached out his hand and very gently pried open Wen Youqing's fingers, which were covered in dust and blood and were digging into the ground.
The fingertips were cold, with a slight, uncontrollable tremor.
Shen Zijie pulled a flat porcelain box from his green cloth medicine bag and opened it. A clear medicinal aroma immediately filled the air, slightly dispelling the nauseating mixed smell in the room. He scooped out a bit of pale blue ointment with his fingertips and lifted Wen Youqing's hand, whose nails were cracked and bleeding from excessive force, and carefully applied the ointment to the wound.
His movements were focused and steady, his calloused fingertips bringing a faint warmth to her cold skin. The ointment was cold at first, but it seeped in quickly, bringing a slight sting followed by a cool, soothing sensation.
"I'm exhausted, and you're slacking off here. What did you see? Why are you so distracted?"
Wen Youqing's body shrank imperceptibly, like a frightened animal. She finally raised her head, her face a mess of tears and dust, looking disheveled.
Those eyes that were usually clear and sharp now only had endless confusion and huge emptiness, as if the soul had been completely hollowed out, leaving only an empty shell.
She stared blankly at Shen Zijie's hands as he was concentrating on treating the wound, then shifted her gaze blankly back to the huge dye vat.
Without waiting for an answer, Shen Zijie applied the medicine to her and carefully wrapped the injured hand with a clean, fine cotton cloth. Only after he finished did he raise his eyes, his gaze calmly meeting Wen Youqing's unfocused gaze. His voice was not loud, but it pierced the oppressive silence of the room with remarkable clarity, like a stone dropped into a deep pond:
"There's something fishy about Wang Shouren. He's probably been targeted because he got in someone's way. It has nothing to do with us investigating the case. The filth of this world is harder to cleanse than we think." He paused, his gaze turning to the dye vat, watching the floating rice grains. "Sometimes, the filth is so deep that even light can't penetrate it. Sometimes... light itself can be mistaken for a stain."
He reached out his hand, not to help her, but to gently pat the ground beside her, motioning her to move. Then, he actually leaned against the cold wall and sat down next to Wen Youqing.
There was no condescending scrutiny, no empty comfort. He pretended not to know and sat side by side with her on the messy, blood-soaked cold ground, facing the dye vat that silently spoke of sin and injustice.
The night was thick as ink, hanging heavy over the small courtyard. Only the oil lamp inside the house still burned tenaciously, a small flame dancing on the wick, casting the long shadows of the two people sitting side by side on the wall, twisting and shaking, yet strangely connected.
Silence stretched across the small space, heavy as a substance. Wen Youqing's breathing gradually shifted from rapid, choking sobs to heavy, slow breaths. Each inhale carried a heavy, tugging sensation deep in her chest, like the strains of an old bellows. She remained huddled, her gaze no longer completely unfocused, but fixed intently on the vast melting pot.
"He... is investigating..." Wen Youqing's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper, and every word was exhausted. She put the paper roll into Shen Zijie's hand, "I saw... him going in and out of the grain shop... accepting money..." She took a deep breath, her nails unconsciously digging into the cotton cloth that had just been wrapped in her palm, "But he is also investigating moldy rice. What is the truth?"
She recalled how she had come to believe Wang Shouren was a corrupt official, how she was "certain" that Wang Shouren had killed Ah Lu, and how she was pushed step by step by an invisible force towards the fatal sword. Her "righteousness" and "insight" had, from beginning to end, been treated as a knife by the person behind the scenes, just the sharpest prop in a carefully choreographed drama.
"Those people... they wanted him dead..." Wen Youqing's teeth chattered, not from the cold, but from a hatred and powerlessness that penetrated deep into her bones. "He was in the way... so they used my hands... the Wu family's sword..." Her voice trailed off, the last few words almost swallowed by sobs, "... to kill him."
Shen Zijie listened quietly, without interrupting. He tilted his head to look at Wen Youqing's profile, twisted with pain and hatred. The light from the oil lamp danced across her face, flickering in brightness.
"The Wu family's swords are swift." He spoke slowly, his voice low and calm, without a single ripple. "Speed. Sometimes it's a sharp blade that severs evil, but sometimes..." He paused, his gaze fixed on the rice grains floating in the dye vat, "it can also become a knife borrowed to kill. There's nothing wrong with speed itself. The fault lies with the person holding the sword, unable to see where the blade is pointing, whether it's the mud, or someone trapped in the mud, struggling to escape."
He raised his hand, pointing to the dye vat: "Wang Shouren's blood can't wash away the money he embezzled. You and I can't wash away the filth of this world."
The poor used corruption and murder as a stepping stone to the wealthy, and they blamed themselves for "killing the wrong" corrupt official. Was she right or wrong?
Peeling back the shiny white veneer, she saw a decaying black and green within. She had never held any hope in this world, but from today on, everything began to tear apart and crumble from the very foundations.
Shen Zijie was silent for a moment. The night wind blew through the half-dead old locust tree in the yard, and the branches and leaves rustled sadly. "Let's go. I'm really tired. Please help me go back."
He stumbled to his feet, and Wen Youqing subconsciously supported him. They walked to the door and pushed open the creaking wooden door. The night air, thick with dew, poured in, bringing with it the coolness of grass and the scent of earth, slightly alleviating the stuffiness in the room.
She said she was supporting Chen Zijie, but in reality, every step she took was weak and powerless, and it was Shen Zijie who was supporting her.
The night outside was a pure, dark blue. There was no moon, only a scattering of stars, like broken silver. In the yard, the half-dead locust tree, struck by lightning, its twisted branches silently pierced the night sky, like a cry for help.
There was no conversation between the two for a moment. Only the sound of the wind whistling through the dry branches of the old locust tree could be heard.
The fire had just been put out and the air was hot. Wen Youqing's confused and burning emotions gradually settled down in the boundless silence and hot night air.
Anger, regret, disillusionment...all these intense emotions did not disappear, but they no longer burned her internal organs like boiling magma. Instead, they settled into something deeper, colder, and clearer, weighing heavily on her heart.
She held Shen Zijie's arm, feeling that all her strength came from there.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
