Lu Qi was dead, his death gruesome. His forehead had smashed into the wall, blood and brain matter congealed in his shattered skull. Beside the thin cot lay a half-eaten bowl of chicken porridge, delivered that morning. He’d died during the day. The scene suggested a crazed youth had crashed into the wall himself.

At least, it looked that way.

—

Hurried footsteps shattered the dusk’s gloom. The Wind Justice Courtyard buzzed with grim-faced disciples. A death in the heavily guarded detention chamber?

Even the aloof Wind Justice Courtyard Master, Xi Ruoyu, appeared. A lanky, unremarkable middle-aged man, his arrival froze the frantic disciples. “Master Xi!” they chorused.

Xi stood at the door, his lean face unreadable. “How did he die?”

“A Hundred Herbs senior checked—said he took his own life, head against the wall,” a disciple replied.

“No one heard the commotion?”

“We got careless. His hands and feet were bound, but we loosened them this morning for the porridge.”

Xi’s face remained calm. After a long pause, he spat, “Useless!”

A thud—the guarding disciple collapsed, sobbing. “Master… Master, I…”

Xi’s gaze silenced him, the ninth-grade peak disciple’s face ashen. In the dead silence, a voice spoke. “It might not be suicide.”

Xi’s eyes flicked to the corner, landing on the tall figure. Xiangzi clasped his fists, meeting his gaze. “Master Xi, the Hundred Herbs senior said Lu Qi died around noon, likely after the porridge. Though crazed, he retained some reason. If he meant to die, why eat first?”

“A madman’s actions defy logic,” Xi countered.

“The key is he broke the iron locks. With Wind Justice’s caution, this senior wouldn’t neglect locking them.”

The collapsed disciple’s eyes lit up. “Master, I checked! Every time someone entered, I checked the locks!”

A chilling air spread. If the locks were secured, who opened them?

Xi’s voice was cold. “Who entered today?”

“All here!” The disciple, grasping at salvation, handed over a trembling logbook.

Xi didn’t open it, saying softly, “Notify the other four courtyards. Seal the gates—no one leaves.” His fingers tapped the logbook, eyes on Wan Yuxuan. “Question everyone listed.”

Wan Yuxuan paused, catching the icy intent, then chuckled. “Master Xi, you’re working me like an ox!”

“Find the mastermind, and you get six months off,” Xi said.

Wan Yuxuan grinned. “Deal!” But glancing at the dense names, he sighed.

From the corner, Xiangzi spoke again. “I might have a way to find the culprit.”

Xi’s brow twitched, skepticism in his eyes. Talent doesn’t mean brains.

Xiangzi picked up a silver coin, smiling. “These coins aren’t Lu Qi’s. Trace their handler, and you’ll find the killer. The Five Ores Powder damages blood energy and is tricky to make and store—its potency fades fast. Since it happened last night, the one who gave it to Lu Qi is still in the hall.”

Xi’s gaze sharpened, turning to Wan Yuxuan. “Your take?”

Wan Yuxuan gave a wry smile. “Master, we’re grasping at straws. This kid’s cautious—he might be onto something.”

Xi nodded, turning away. “Since you’re in charge, Wan Yuxuan, I’ll trust you. Twelve hours—I want the culprit.”

Twelve hours? Wan Yuxuan sighed, yawning, and patted Xiangzi’s shoulder. “You heard him, big guy. Twelve hours.”

Xiangzi rubbed the coin, nodding slowly.

—

Baolin Martial Hall sealed its gates, a rare event that spread like wildfire. Amid the panic, an hour later, the gates reopened. Over a dozen police officers in gray-black uniforms entered with boxes.

Two major incidents had rocked the hall in one night: a new genius poisoned with Five Ores Powder before his trial, and the poisoner found dead in Wind Justice’s chamber. Why were police here? Did Baolin need them to solve cases? Absurd.

The police took it seriously—the three great halls rarely gave them the time of day. Leading them was a deputy commissioner, a balding, potbellied man in his forties, bowing profusely upon arrival. Seeing the dark-skinned giant, he froze. Since when is Wind Justice’s head so young?

Despite his confusion, the recently demoted deputy, struggling in his career, handed over a box. “Here’s what you requested. Per your orders, I brought everyone in Forty-Nine City who knows this trade.”

Xiangzi nodded, sparing pleasantries. Hearing the deputy’s name—Guan Yunshun—he smirked. Ma Liu’s cheap son-in-law? The sweaty, obsequious man looked worse for wear since Ma Liu Rickshaw Yard’s fall.

Xiangzi opened the box. A sharp officer stepped forward, whispering, “Careful with these reagents—if the potency fades, they’re useless.”

Xiangzi nodded, watching the officer prepare the solution. A silver dollar was dipped in, dried, and placed in sunlight. Faint patterns emerged.

“Done,” the officer said, sealing the coin in a dark bag, smiling at Xiangzi. “Didn’t expect a martial hall expert to know trendy fingerprinting methods.”