PCA Chapter 177

As soon as Ning Santong spoke, everyone froze. Still alive when buried in the earth—wasn’t that being buried alive?!

 

Su Cen frowned: “What do you mean?”

 

“Look at this bone,” Ning Santong handed the triangular-pyramidal bone to Su Cen. “This is called the petrous part of the temporal bone, part of the temporal bone located at the base of the skull, between the occipital and sphenoid bones. It also contains part of the inner ear.”

 

Su Cen took the bone and examined it for a long while, looking at Ning Santong somewhat perplexed: “And what does this indicate?”

 

Ning Santong smiled slyly at Su Cen: “Would Brother Su care to guess?”

 

Su Cen rolled his eyes. When would Ning Santong stop this habit of testing him for no reason?

 

“My master once said that if a person is strangled, garroted, hanged, crushed, etc., due to respiratory suppression, blood congestion and increased intracranial pressure will cause some intracranial bleeding. Blood flows out through the inner ear, look here—” Ning Santong pointed to a brownish mark on the temporal bone, which had deepened over the years and was lalmost mistaken for mud stains. “These are hemorrhage points, evidence of suffocation caused by external pressure.”

 

“Could it be asthma?” Su Cen asked after a moment of silence. “Lord Chen once said that Tian Pingzhi suffered from asthma during his lifetime, and he had a large amount of hazelnut powder in his stomach. Asthma can also cause respiratory obstruction. Could the bleeding have been caused by asthma?”

 

Ning Santong pressed his lips together and shook his head gently. He understood Su Cen’s thoughts—a naturally gifted talent who should have had a bright future should not have met such an end.

 

But there’s a difference between internal causes and external forces. If suffocation had been caused by illness, it wouldn’t have left hemorrhage points in this location.

 

“Let’s take the body back first,” Ning Santong patted Su Cen’s shoulder. “I’ll look more carefully. Perhaps there are other clues.”

 

When they returned to the temple, they happened to encounter Zhang Jun. Su Cen was worried that their digging tools would invite criticism from Zhang Jun, but as luck would have it, Zhang Jun was walking in with his eyes fixed straight ahead, his face seething with anger, his stomach visibly expanded from rage.

 

“What’s going on?” Su Cen stopped little Sun, who had been watching the commotion. “Weren’t they supposed to catch an assassin at some official’s house?”

 

“They did go to catch an assassin, but guess who the assassin was?” Little Sun teased with exaggerated expressions, waiting until everyone’s curiosity was piqued before saying: “Two big rats!”

 

Ning Santong couldn’t help but laugh: “He actually had the Dali Temple help him catch rats?!”

 

Su Cen frowned: “Who exactly is this official?”

 

“I’ve asked around clearly this time,” little Sun covered his mouth and whispered: “It’s Lord Zhang He, the Minister of the Imperial Household.”

 

Upon hearing this, Ning Santong pursed his lips. “That’s not such a high position.”

 

Everyone was embarrassed by his remark. With an Imperial Tutor of first rank who had served through four reigns in his family, naturally, Ning Santong wouldn’t hold others in high regard. The Minister of the Imperial Household was technically a sinecure without specific duties, yet its rank was of the second grade. This Lord Zhang He had previously served as the Minister of Rites. When the former emperor was still alive, sensing that he was advanced in years yet still handling the miscellaneous affairs of the Ministry of Rites, the emperor allowed him to step down and appointed him as Minister of the Imperial Household, essentially allowing him to retire in Chang’an.

 

No wonder the usually mild-mannered Lord Zhang Jun was so angry—he had clearly been made to chase rats all afternoon like a cat, unable to express his frustration because this Lord Zhang was one of the untouchable dignitaries in Chang’an.

 

By the time they returned to the Dali Temple, it was the end of the workday. After everyone else had left the temple, Su Cen followed Ning Santong into the morgue, where under Ning Santong’s direction, they reconstructed the entire skeleton from the sack of bones.

 

After more than a year, he finally met the legendary young Master Tian. Whether he was the clever and filial son in Old Master Tian’s words, or the enviable talent in others’ eyes, after being buried underground for over a decade, stripped of flesh, he had now become a set of dried bones, lying on the table, allowing others to speculate and probe into what had happened.

 

Ning Santong examined each bone one by one. The skeleton was relatively complete. Although the flesh was gone and some cartilage was inevitably lost, most of the major bones were present. As he continued examining, Ning Santong’s expression grew increasingly grave. “The hyoid bone is intact, the laryngeal bone is also intact, the skull is complete, and no obvious injuries are seen in other parts…”

 

Su Cen gradually frowned as Ning Santong spoke. The intact hyoid and laryngeal bones proved it wasn’t death by hanging, strangulation, or choking; the complete skull indicated no severe blows had been received. These indirectly proved that Tian Pingzhi may have indeed died from being buried alive.

 

“A person being buried alive behind the examination hall during an examination—such a commotion couldn’t have escaped everyone’s notice. It might even have been directed by someone.” Su Cen pondered with a frown, then suddenly looked up and asked: “Who was the chief examiner for that examination?”

 

“Who was it again?” Ning Santong also tried to remember, feeling a name hovering on the tip of his tongue, but unable to recall it at the moment.

 

Actually, they had seen the chief examiner’s name when they checked the examination papers at the Ministry of Rites, but at that time, their focus had been on the scholars, and they hadn’t paid much attention to an extra name.

 

After a while, Su Cen said softly: “It was Zhang He.”

 

Ning Santong had a sudden realization, slapping his thigh as if enlightened. “Yes, it was Zhang He!”

 

That name which appeared on every candidate’s examination paper—wasn’t it Zhang He, who was then the Minister of Rites and presided over that imperial examination as the chief examiner!

 

Su Cen narrowed his eyes slightly. “Tomorrow, let’s also visit this Lord Zhang, whose house is troubled by rats.”

 

That night, while massaging Li Shi’s shoulders and neck, Su Cen became distracted again and pulled a strand of hair. Li Shi frowned slightly but didn’t say anything.

 

Only when he finally withdrew his hands did Su Cen suddenly realize that a strand of hair was caught in his palm, stuck to his skin, tangled in his palm lines—a few strands of black hair, entangled as if impossible to separate.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Li Shi pulled him back into his arms.

 

Su Cen moved his lips. He was thinking about Tian Pingzhi’s death, about Feng Yiming’s words, about whether investigating Zhang He would implicate Li Shi.

 

Previously, when he held a minor position, he had been reckless, seeming to regard no one with respect. Now that his position was higher, he had become more cautious.

 

The words came to his lips, but what he said was: “I’m wondering when you’ll get better. When I sleep alone at night, I can’t rest well.”

 

With some tenderness and a hint of grievance, he dispelled Li Shi’s suspicions completely. Li Shi laughed out loud and held him tighter: “Don’t leave tonight.”

 

Su Cen objected, raising his head to glare at him. “Wouldn’t that waste all our efforts? Haven’t I been enduring for all these days for nothing?”

 

“Oh?” Li Shi’s palm was burning hot as it slipped under the collar of Su Cen’s clothes. “Why don’t you tell me, Zixu, how exactly have you been enduring?”

 

Su Cen: “…”

 

In the end, Su Cen clutched his clothes tightly and fled in disarray, followed by Li Shi’s undisguised, playful laughter.

 

Perhaps it’s true that what one thinks about during the day, one dreams about at night. At midnight, Old Master Tian appeared in Su Cen’s dream, dressed as he had been before his death, managing the sugar water stall in front of the examination hall, asking if he wanted a bowl of sugar water.

 

But it was Tian Pingzhi who brought him the sugar water, smiling and refined, placing the bowl in front of him, the liquid rippling with an amber glow.

 

When he picked up the bowl and brought it to his lips, the liquid suddenly turned red and thick, the warmth still lingering at his fingertips, like a bowl of fresh blood that hadn’t yet cooled.

 

With a turn, Old Master Tian disappeared, Tian Pingzhi disappeared, and he found himself lying on his back in darkness, his hands and feet bound, unable to move. Someone lifted a shovel of soil and swung it down toward him.

 

Su Cen awoke with a start, gasping for breath, as if that sensation of being buried alive and suffocating was still with him. He felt he couldn’t catch his breath, as if he would suffocate within the dream. After a long while, Su Cen regained his senses and looked around in the darkness, only to realize he had forgotten to close the window before sleeping. Outside, a cold wind was blowing in the rain, and he was covered in cold sweat, his bedding ice-cold.

 

The scene from the dream left him with lingering fear. There was no way he could go back to sleep. In the darkness, Su Cen stared at the intricate bed curtains, wondering if he had delayed too long, and Old Master Tian was blaming him, sending this dream as a warning.

 

After thinking about it, he couldn’t help but smile. If Old Master Tian’s spirit was truly watching over him from heaven, wouldn’t it be better to tell him who the real murderer of Tian Pingzhi was?

 

In the end, he was bound by his own constraints, unable to cross that threshold in his heart.

 

At the same time, deep within the heavily guarded inner palace, Empress Dowager Chu dismissed everyone and spoke to the empty chamber: “You can come out now.”

 

From a corner untouched by light came the sound of steady footsteps. A dark figure emerged from the darkness, its shadow elongated by the faint candlelight. As the person stepped forward, the shadow covered half the chamber.

 

Empress Dowager Chu raised her head slightly, supporting herself on the phoenix-emblazoned armrest. “You say you can help me deal with Li Shi?”

 

The visitor wore a black hood that concealed all but a pair of eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. Seeing the Empress Dowager, the figure neither bowed nor showed any sign of subservience. With a slight curl of the lips, the figure said: “Don’t you even trust the former emperor anymore?”

 

At the mention of the “former emperor,” the Empress Dowager’s expression immediately softened, and she asked: “What do you plan to do?”

 

“I have my own plans. When the time comes, I will ensure Li Shi falls into eternal damnation,” the hooded figure’s lips curved into a cold smile. “But there is one person who, I’m afraid, cannot be protected.”

 

“He has served me for many years after all,” the Empress Dowager pressed her thin lips together, seemingly hesitant. But in an instant, her gaze hardened. “If he dies for a worthy cause, that can be considered his loyal service.”

 

 

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