Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Dull goose

Qinghe County governs three towns, and the county yamen is located in the largest one, Qinghe Town. County Magistrate Shen Zhimu had a son late in life twenty years ago, and now, twenty years later, he is without a son, already exhausted and showing signs of being on his last legs.

The only thing sustaining him and preventing him from falling ill was the determination to bring the killer of his son to justice.

Currently, his hair was disheveled, and he stared intently at Xing Li, who was standing in the hall, for a long while before quietly asking, "An Artificer?"

"A mad Artificer," Xing Li said. "We found Talismans, and painting paper and brushes on him. Your Excellency knows that these wandering Artificers belong to the Lower Nines of the jianghu, and there are quite a few who roam the streets and commit crimes. Your humble subordinate went to Gai County, and when the situation there was compared, along with the sword in his hand, that person confessed without hesitation."

Artificer is not a general term for a type of person, but a profession. The Great Dao is formless, and heaven and earth have spirits. But people believe that the formless spirits can be solidified through certain means—through writing or painting.

Writing refers to Talismans. Most Taoist priests understand something of the way of Talismans, and their patriarchs are called Book Saints—ranked alongside Sword Saints as the Twin Saints of the world.

As for painting, it is simply painting. Some people who understand a bit of Daoist Arts use brushes, ink, and pigments as a medium to steal some spirits of heaven and earth, sealing them in paintings, which also have more or less some effects. But worldly people do not respect Artificers as they do Taoist priests. In the eyes of enlightened people today, those fellows are not much different from the swindlers who go around selling "Life-Saving Golden Elixirs" in the streets, or... perhaps just slightly better.

An Artificer with genuine skill might produce "divine works"—for example, the Pine and Crane Painting behind Your Excellency was made by an Artificer of the previous dynasty. A painting in the hall indeed has a calming and soothing effect, and it's not impossible that it could extend one's lifespan. But in the current dynasty, which has been established for over four hundred years, those methods that originally circulated only among commoners and in the jianghu have gradually withered away—Artificers, after all, do not have the protection and lineage of Daoist Orthodoxy or Sword Sects like Taoist priests under the Book Saint or swordsmen under the Sword Saint.

Thus, things began to become a mixed bag. Truly skilled individuals were rare, and most of the rest were just swindlers who made money off of ignorant men and women.

Noticing his expression, Xing Li added, "He's a young man, and he has some skill. But he committed such an atrocious act. My condolences, Elder Sir."

After a long while, the County Magistrate exhaled: "No need for a court hearing tomorrow."

Xing Li paused slightly, then understood.

"Yes," he said, "then he will escape from prison tonight. Sir... do you wish to personally oversee it?"

Shen Zhimu's slightly cloudy eyes trembled a few times, and he slowly tucked his hands into his sleeves: "You followed me from Yun Province to Qinghe. Li Heng... Li Heng was close to you since childhood. I trust you with your work."

This was precisely the outcome Xing Li had anticipated. Even if the old man wanted to, he probably wouldn't dare to see the "culprit" who killed his son. It wasn't fear of the "culprit," but fear that seeing him would extinguish the last bit of strength keeping him alive.

Xing Li took his leave, walking a few steps, when Shen Zhimu suddenly said, "That Hunter Xin said it was a monster."

Xing Li turned around and said solemnly, "I think Old Man Xin was scared into a delirium and spoke carelessly. What difference is there between such cannibals and monsters or beasts?"

He paused, took a deep breath: "Li Heng always called me Big Brother Xing. Your humble subordinate also... always regarded him as his own brother. Li Heng's revenge, Sir needn't say, I will avenge him even if it costs me my life. Thankfully, heaven is watching, today... today..."

His voice choked up here, and he took another deep breath to suppress his emotions, apologizing: "Your humble subordinate is out of line, Sir..."

"Go. Go," Shen Zhimu was already shedding tears, waving his hand repeatedly, "Don't let him die too easily!"

"Yes."

Xing Li walked out the door and finally let out a sigh of relief. A moment ago, he had shown overwhelming grief, but now that grief had vanished without a trace.

The old man was truly getting old.

As for what that youth said...

Xing Li believed him.

He had seen that thing.

Streaks of light penetrated the prison roof. This was probably an old, dilapidated room.

Li Yunxin lay on the damp straw, wondering what he should do.

He had never considered himself an "Artificer." In fact, before Captain Xing called him an evil Artificer, he had always been quite curious about the profession.

He had lived in a mountain village in Ding Province since he awoke, or rather, since he was born. The mountains weren't green, the water wasn't clear, and the land wasn't fertile, making it one of the countless unremarkable remote mountain villages in the Great Qing Dynasty.

His parents were extremely kind and intelligent people. Li Yunxin used to wonder if they were reclusive hermits who had seen through the mundane world. When his father started teaching him some things around the age of four or five, he confirmed this guess.

It turned out that this world had magic.

One day, the family ran out of salt, and the journey to the county town was far. So, his father took a piece of paper, drew a bowl, then dipped some salt into the bowl and drew a stroke, then lifted the paper and with a swish, flung it.

Pure white fine salt rustled down from the paper.

At that time, his young father probably wanted to amuse his child. In the courtyard, there was also a moon-blossom tree with a faint fragrance and the setting sun. But he didn't know that his little son wasn't so simple.

After that, he learned this skill. His father told him that those who truly mastered this skill were called Artificers.

To paint all things, to paint heaven and earth, from vast landscapes spanning thousands of miles to tiny mustard seeds, all contained within this small space—this is what an Artificer does.

The Artificers in his father's words were probably different from the Artificers in the common people's perception. But Li Yunxin was not yet clear on this.

The sunlight overhead slowly turned golden, and then no longer leaked through the cracks. Li Yunxin knew it was evening.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. A constable carrying a tray approached the prison door, glanced at him, then unlocked the door, entered, and placed the tray on the ground.

"Eat," the constable said gruffly, "Consider yourself lucky, Chief Xing thinks you're someone important, he didn't give you just broth."

After he finished, someone called him, so he glared at Li Yunxin again, closed the door, and left.

Li Yunxin glanced at the food; there was half a millet bun and half a bowl of thin porridge. It was good food, actually. At least in the village, many families didn't often eat millet buns.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, picked up the thin porridge, took a sip, and then grabbed the bun to eat slowly. Having been hungry for a long time, he knew to take his time, or he would suffer.

After the food was in his stomach and he felt a little more energetic, he looked up at the prison door.

He had already noticed when the constable left that the lock wasn't on; it seemed the constable had forgotten.

Li Yunxin stared at the door with a strange and complex expression for a while, realizing that things might be... unusual.

He didn't know if opening the door to deliver food was a local custom, but he knew that the wooden bars of the prison door were actually quite high off the ground. The items on the tray could have been pushed through there.

He also knew that the lock on the prison door was rusty; if someone diligently unlocked and relocked it every time they delivered food to each prisoner, then the lock should definitely not look like this.

This meant the constable deliberately opened the lock to come in, and then deliberately forgot to lock it.

Oh, such things.

Perhaps a genuine fourteen-year-old boy wouldn't be able to figure out the reason, but Li Yunxin was no ordinary fourteen-year-old boy.

Captain Xing wanted a scapegoat. If it were him, he would do the same—the prisoner escapes and is then killed, the case is closed, and no one has to exert themselves desperately trying to catch some monster.

Thinking this, he sighed in relief. At least from now until he walked out that door and into the night, probably no one would bother him.

So...

After Li Yunxin ate his fill, he found a comfortable spot in the straw pile and fell asleep.

However, the two constables hidden not far away couldn't be as comfortable as him. They waited for a while but didn't hear the expected sound of the door opening or footsteps.

"That kid isn't watching?"

"...A youth, probably."

"Damn it, dull goose."

"You make some noise."

The constable in black uniform sighed, then raised his voice: "Check the prison doors, we're going drinking soon!"

"Go, go, go, what could possibly go wrong with me?" said the other.

After performing their act, the two waited for a while longer, and finally heard a sound.

But it was snoring.

"Damn it... this dull goose..."