Chapter 11: A Glimpse of the Future

Mei Qing’s heart sank. Falling into the hands of this smiling tiger would likely not end well.

Ma Shiqing continued smiling, but his left hand slowly rested on the table, fingers idly rolling over a small wooden box.

Mei Qing’s gaze was drawn to the box. As he looked at it, his heart jolted—this was undoubtedly the same seven-star inkstone case that Li Mei had placed inside the coffin of Ba’er Liu on the day of his burial!

No wonder he had been thrown into prison and left completely ignored for so long. It seemed the Jinyiwei must have already discovered the truth behind Ba’er Liu’s death. The reason he and Wang Sigu had been arrested was likely tied to this very matter.

Since the inkstone case had appeared here, it was clear the Jinyiwei must have excavated Ba’er Liu’s tomb, probably because they hadn’t found what they were looking for. That was why they had summoned him for questioning. Most likely, the key evidence had been in that box of items Mei Qing had burned at Ba’er Liu’s coffin.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he regretted it now, those items were gone beyond recovery.

Mei Qing stared at the inkstone case. Indeed, its color and texture were unmistakably those of peach wood. Earlier, he had puzzled over why the case had been made of peach wood. Now recalling the inkstone’s eerie nature, it was evident that Ba’er Liu must have known its secret, hence using peach wood to contain it—to ward off evil and suppress malevolence. Yet whether Ba’er Liu’s actual death had been connected to the inkstone remained unclear. Thinking back to Li Mei and Mo Yu’s deaths, and his own terrifying experience, the inkstone was clearly no ordinary object.

Yet why had Zhao Boxu, upon touching the inkstone, remained unharmed?

As Mei Qing lowered his head in thought, he suddenly heard faint footsteps.

He lifted his gaze and saw a man in blue robes emerge from behind, quickly approaching Ma Shiqing and whispering something into his ear.

Ma Shiqing’s smiling eyes abruptly flashed with piercing intensity. He whispered in disbelief, “What?—Zhao Boxu—he’s dead?”

Though the words were quiet, they struck Mei Qing like thunder. So the magistrate Zhao Boxu, who had seemed perfectly fine, had indeed died.

As for Gao Ming, the bailiff who had picked up the inkstone, his fate was still unknown. But all others who had touched the inkstone had died—except Mei Qing, of course.

Li Mei had gone mad and died the day after obtaining the inkstone. Mo Yu had died shortly after. If Li Mei had used the inkstone the previous night, Mo Yu, being his page, would naturally have touched it too. Both died about a day afterward. Zhao Boxu had touched it yesterday, and now, nearly a day later, he had died too. All had perished within a day of contact—why had Mei Qing remained unharmed?

His mind swirled in confusion, his head throbbing painfully. Suddenly, a faint reprimanding voice reached his ears, snapping him back to awareness. Before him, Ma Shiqing was staring with a half-smile, while the messenger in blue had already vanished.

“Minister Mei, even now you still find time to drift into daydreams. Truly admirable,” Ma Shiqing’s smile now carried a hint of mockery. “I’ve summoned you here for no other reason than to recount, in detail, everything you’ve done and seen since the morning two days ago. And please, don’t forget anything.”

As he spoke, Ma Shiqing spun the inkstone case more rapidly in his hands.

Mei Qing took a deep breath. He knew he had fallen into a deep and dangerous pit, though he still didn’t understand exactly what lay within. With no other choice, he began recounting his meeting with Wang and Li at the teahouse, and the arrival of Chi Ge calling them away, leaving out no detail.

He even confessed the strange sensation he had felt when touching the inkstone.

“I’ve long studied the teachings of sages and know such matters defy reason. Yet since the day before yesterday, both Li Mei and his page Mo Yu have perished because of this inkstone. Now Magistrate Zhao Boxu of Shuntian Prefecture has suddenly died. There must be something amiss. I beg you, sir, to investigate thoroughly,” Mei Qing concluded.

Yet as he finished speaking, he noticed a peculiar expression flicker across Ma Shiqing’s face. Even the scribe beside them paused and glanced up in surprise.

“Dead?” Ma Shiqing finally asked with his signature smile. “How do you know that?”

Mei Qing was greatly astonished. “Didn’t someone just come and inform you that Magistrate Zhao had died?”

Ma Shiqing chuckled softly, his eyes revealing something unreadable. He nodded slightly, his expression turning contemplative. The surrounding clerks exchanged uneasy glances, the atmosphere in the room growing heavy.

A vague unease stirred in Mei Qing’s heart, though he couldn’t yet grasp what was wrong.

“Whether Zhao is dead or alive, let’s set that aside for now. Tell me, what exactly was in that box Ba’er Liu asked you to burn?”

Mei Qing’s heart stirred. So it had come to this question. Though he had already claimed everything was burned, clearly Ma Shiqing did not believe him.

As Mei Qing prepared to respond, footsteps echoed from behind once more.

He looked up and saw the same man in blue robes approach Ma Shiqing, whispering into his ear.

Ma Shiqing’s smile vanished in an instant. His eyes flared with shock and disbelief as he whispered, “What? Zhao Boxu—he’s dead?”

At that moment, all eyes in the room turned sharply toward Mei Qing, filled with confusion, anger, and disbelief.

Mei Qing himself was stunned beyond comprehension.

This exact scene had clearly just occurred moments ago. Why was it repeating itself before his eyes now?

Judging from Ma Shiqing’s expression, it was genuine—there was no reason for them to stage such a performance in front of him.

Could it be—had his earlier experience been an illusion?

No wonder when he had first mentioned Zhao Boxu’s death, the others had looked at him so strangely. At that time, they had not yet known of Zhao’s death!

The scene he had experienced as an illusion moments ago had now become reality. Such a bizarre occurrence was hard to believe even for himself, let alone others.

Realizing this, Mei Qing’s heart sank. This only deepened his suspicion. The others would surely think he had an accomplice who had conspired to murder Zhao Boxu, allowing him to predict the death so accurately.

Indeed, Ma Shiqing’s expression of shock quickly faded, replaced by a smile—this time, one of unusual delight.

“Well, well! Minister Mei, it seems you possess the ability of foresight after all,” Ma Shiqing shook his head, feigning admiration. “Come now, do tell us how you knew of Magistrate Zhao’s death before even we did?”

Mei Qing replied bitterly, “If I said I had just heard it vaguely in a moment of daze, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

Ma Shiqing’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “Minister Mei, you don’t think I’m a fool, do you?”

He chuckled softly, then turned to a silent, burly man behind him. “Ah, I suppose Mei Qing still doesn’t understand how things work around here. Four Biao, what do you think should be done?”

The man’s face twitched with thick muscles, grinning cruelly. “Don’t worry, Master Ma. I’ll make sure he loosens up a bit. He’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

Ma Shiqing sighed, shaking his head. “Minister Mei is a refined man. Four Biao, go easy on him.”

Meanwhile, in a secret room not far away, an elderly man in a blue scholar’s robe sat frowning, idly playing with a jade pendant, his eyes revealing a strange, knowing smile.

“Finally, the day has come. What a curious coincidence—what kind of mess have these young fools gotten themselves into…”

The old man muttered to himself, then reached out and rang a copper bell beside him.

A mountainous figure entered. Though the weather was still bitterly cold, the man wore only a brown tunic, his muscular bronze torso exposed. He bent down beside the table, listened to the old man’s quiet instructions, nodded, then left without a word.

Back in the interrogation chamber, Mei Qing was dragged like a helpless chicken by Four Biao to a nearby rack, his limbs shackled tightly to it. A sudden absurd sensation surged through him—as if he were an observer watching himself in a dream. The unreality was so strong that, for the moment, he felt no fear or dread from the torture devices around him.

“You’re not bad, kid. Not many can keep their composure this well. You’ve got guts. I’ll make sure to treat you well,” Four Biao grinned, revealing a row of yellow-black teeth, patting Mei Qing’s face with a cruel smirk.

As he spoke, Four Biao slowly coiled up his long whip. Its surface was soaked in dark stains, studded with jagged barbs. He plunged it into a nearby water bucket. The whip absorbed the water, darkening further and growing heavier.

“Don’t underestimate this little whip, kid. Many don’t even survive the first strike. I promise, if you can endure ten lashes without screaming, I’ll switch things up—never let you get bored,” Four Biao sneered, slowly lifting the dripping whip from the bucket, droplets splashing into the water with soft pings. He eyed Mei Qing on the rack, licking his dark-red lips, his face twisting into a cruel, savage grin.