When we turned around, we found that Li Qing had somehow come to the ancestral hall as well.

  His face was ashen. He stared at the person in the coffin, lips trembling, yet not a word came out.

  He knelt before the spirit altar, one hand resting on the coffin lid — as if he wanted to speak, but was choked by something unspeakable.

  At that moment, I suddenly understood.

  He was not silent because he would not speak, but because… he could not believe it.

  She was supposed to be alive.

  She had promised to come.

  She said she would meet him again in three days, when she went to sweep the graves.

  But now, she lay quietly inside the coffin, a thin red gash across her temple — never to wake again.

  Li Qing sat still before the coffin, his throat dry, his breath unsteady.

  I hesitated for a long time before I finally spoke in a low voice:

  “Li Qing… there is something else you may not yet know.”

  He raised his head, eyes blank with confusion.

  Gu weighed his words carefully, then said slowly,

  “We found out that… a few days before her death, someone in the manor took medicine from the apothecary in Tongming Ward under Chun-niang’s name.

  Among the three prescriptions, one herb was for… abortifacient.”

  Li Qing’s face turned instantly pale.

  I stepped forward half a pace and said softly,

  “She… was most likely carrying your child.”

  “You’re lying…” Li Qing muttered, his voice trembling. In his eyes, lifeless despair surged like a dark tide.

  “If she were… she would have told me…”

  “You didn’t tell her you were a man, either,” I said softly.

  Li Qing staggered as though struck in the chest. He almost hit the side of the coffin, raising a hand to cover his eyes. His knuckles turned white from the pressure. His shoulders hunched, his body curled in on itself — like a dying beast.

  “She knew she was with child, and she knew you had fully prepared,” Gu said quietly.

  “Perhaps she meant to follow your plan as before — wait three days, then flee together as a family of three.

  But… she never made it to that day.”

  The hall fell deathly silent. Even the candle flames seemed to dim with the chill.

  No one spoke — only Li Qing’s muffled sobs, faint and hollow, like wind moaning through a broken flute.

  Then—

  Bang!

  The ancestral hall doors burst open. A voice roared through the wind:

  “What nonsense are you spewing!”

  Master Liu stormed in, outer robe thrown over his shoulders, iron boots striking the ground. His fury rolled like a tide.

  His face was dark as steel, his gaze sharp as a blade as it swept over us.

  “Who permitted you to trespass into the ancestral hall?” he barked. “Who allowed you to slander the dead with such wild guesses?”

  Chun-niang fell to her knees, trembling. “Master—”

  “Enough!” Liu bellowed. “My daughter’s death was caused by evil spirits — her fate was weak, her soul frightened away! If you continue to disturb this house and desecrate her spirit, I will have you punished for intrusion and sacrilege!”

  At first, his words almost sounded plausible.

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  Had we not known the truth, the tale of “evil spirits” and “haunting” might indeed have masked every trace of inconsistency.

  But precisely because of that, my temper flared.

  I sneered. “An evil spirit that shatters the skull? Master Liu, you’re a commander of men — can you not tell the difference? Her forehead was split open, blood everywhere, and yet the coroner called it soul fright? You might believe that, but others will not.”

  I stepped toward him, eyes locked on his.

  “If she truly died by ghostly curse, then why do you make Chun-niang burn incense and change her robes every day? Do you revere the ghost—or fear it?

  She died too strangely, too unjustly.

  As her father, do you truly not wish to know why?”

  Liu’s face flushed and paled by turns. Before he could speak, a clear young voice cut through the air.

  “If you won’t ask, then I will.”

  Mu stepped out from the shadows. Slender, sharp-eyed, his presence was calm yet cold as frost. He bore no sword, yet the force of his bearing made even Liu falter.

  “Master Liu,” he said, voice quiet but firm, “on the day of her death—you were the first to break into her room, weren’t you?”

  Liu stiffened. “Who are you? The affairs of the Liu family are none of an outsider’s concern.”

  “Outsider?” Mu gave a short, cold laugh, stepping forward, each word cutting like a blade.

  “First you claimed a villain snuck into the manor and killed your daughter, accusing Lu as the murderer.

  Then you changed your story — said she was frightened to death by a ghost.

  Even the cause of death you altered again and again.”

  He paused, gaze lifting to the white funeral banner hanging above the coffin.

  “Yet why was her skull fractured? The coroner gave no clear answer, and you said nothing—merely sealed the coffin and declared the matter closed, calling it ghostly retribution.

  If vengeance truly has its master, why must an innocent servant suffer in her place?”

  His tone dropped, the words heavy as stone.

  “I asked Lu myself.

  That night, he was half-drunk near the woodshed—only a few paces from the lady’s chamber.

  He said the night was utterly silent—no struggle, no footsteps, no sound at all.

  If an intruder had climbed a wall or broken a window, there would have been noise. But there was none.”

  He continued, eyes narrowing.

  “More than that—the servants on duty testified the first to enter the young lady’s room that night… was you.”

  The hall went utterly still.

  “Master Liu,” Mu said, voice like clear water over stone, “you were her father.

  The doors were unbroken, the walls unscaled.

  If there truly was a ghost, then only you could have seen it.

  And if there was no ghost—then everything that happened in that room, only you would know.”

  Liu’s expression darkened. His lips trembled, but no words came.

  I said coldly, “So one man’s word condemns a servant to death, and lets your daughter die without truth. Truly, this world honors the saying—‘A father knows his daughter best, and even ghosts must bow to his word.’”

  Gu inclined his head, speaking evenly:

  “Since doubts remain, the body should be examined again.

  If she indeed died from fright, the truth will clear her name.

  If there was foul play, then let the authorities uncover it — and give her justice.”

  Liu’s hand loosened from his sword hilt, trembling. His eyes flickered toward his daughter’s peaceful face within the coffin. His lips moved, but he said nothing.

  Watching him, a thought stirred faintly in my mind:

  He knew.

  He simply… did not dare to speak.

  Liu’s expression darkened further, murderous intent rippling off him. With a sharp sweep of his sleeve, he shouted:

  “I forbid it! None of you will touch my daughter’s body!”

  Then, turning toward the door, he bellowed,

  “Guards! Drive them all out!”

  Several house guards rushed in, clubs and blades in hand. The air in the hall tightened like a drawn bowstring.

  I stepped forward to stop them, but a hoarse voice rose beside me.

  “She… she might indeed have been with child.”

  It was Li Qing.

  He stood slowly, pale and shaking, yet forcing himself upright.

  “We were to elope three days later…

  She left me a letter, said she was unwell.

  She never spoke of illness lightly — I thought it was worry or grief.

  But now… perhaps…”

  Before he could finish, Liu’s face turned a furious purple.

  “Silence!” he roared, striding forward.

  “Filth! You vile creature—how dare you defile my daughter’s name before her coffin!”

  Li Qing staggered back, unguarded.

  “Touch him?” Lian’s brow arched, a red gleam flashing from his sleeve. His voice dropped, cold and dangerous.

  “If you seek blood, I’ll gladly oblige.”

  Hua snapped his fan shut with a lazy flick, stepping to the other side.

  “Before the Master plays, allow me to break a few of your bones first — just to spare the world your stench.”

  Mu’s hand was already on his sword, eyes like ice.

  The air in the hall froze — violence ready to erupt.

  Then suddenly, an idea struck me.

  My heart jolted, and I shouted,

  “Wait! Stop! Forget the autopsy!”

  Everyone paused, turning to me.

  I quickly raised both hands in mock surrender, putting on my most sincere face.

  “Since Master Liu refuses to allow an examination, we won’t insist.

  But surely, you can’t forbid an investigation either, can you? Let’s… change the method.”

  I swallowed hard and said,

  “This concerns a death, with doubts on every side.

  You’re a man of the court, Master Li — surely you’d wish for the truth to be made clear.

  Then… why not accept an official inquiry — a joint hearing by the Three Bureaus?”