Volume One: The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Seventy-Three: A Figure in the Temple, A Sword Hanging Beneath the Bridge

“Buddha... Buddha... It really was the Buddha who killed!” Peng Wanli muttered incessantly, his complexion gradually turning ashen.

Chen Chang'an glanced at him, teasing, “Master Peng, you’re an educated man. How could you imagine such an absurd thing as the Buddha committing murder?”

Although the Da Min Dynasty possessed martial artists as formidable as Cao Wu, and cultivators like his brother-in-law Su Dingfeng who could fly on swords, making the world seem mysterious and wondrous, Chen Chang'an believed they were still bound by the limits of humanity.

Put simply, the killer might have been a monk or nun with cultivation, but it could never have been the statue of the Buddha enshrined in the temple.

Peng Wanli stamped his feet in agitation. “But the victims were all those who prayed for children at the Arhat Temple. It’s just so bizarre.”

“Bizarre, indeed!” Chen Chang'an replied, rising and swinging his arms lightly as he looked at Constable Wang. “Please investigate everyone in Stone Bridge Town who prayed for children at the Arhat Temple in years past, and quietly ensure their protection.”

Peng Wanli steadied himself slightly and urged, “Yes, yes, hurry and carry it out.”

“Understood!” Constable Wang took the order and left.

Inside the dim chamber, the magistrate hesitated repeatedly before finally asking, “Lord Chen, what do you plan to do?”

Previously he addressed him as ‘brother,’ but now the title had changed.

Chen Chang'an stroked his chin, pondering briefly. “Naturally, I must uncover the truth. Otherwise, at worst, I’ll lose face—but you’ll lose your official hat.”

His words sent a chill through Peng Wanli, who immediately rallied his spirit. “Right! We must find the truth. I don’t believe this nonsense about the Buddha killing people. Someone must be behind it, blatantly disregarding Da Min’s law. They must be severely punished.”

“But...” His confidence lasted less than half a minute before faltering. “But how do we investigate? If someone is committing these murders, why target children prayed for at the Arhat Temple, and even cut off their...” Peng Wanli couldn’t finish the sentence.

Chen Chang'an sighed sincerely. “I don’t know, but perhaps that’s the crux of the case.”

“Let’s visit the Arhat Temple. Perhaps we’ll find some answers. And don’t mention any of this to the village head.”

“Not tell him? Lord Chen, do you suspect the village head?” Peng Wanli’s tone shot up.

Chen Chang'an stretched lazily. “Not exactly suspecting him, but he lied to me, which is odd. Until there’s a breakthrough, caution is best.”

Lied? Peng Wanli scratched his head in confusion. Which part was false? He’d been present for every conversation between Chen Chang'an and the village head, so why hadn’t he noticed anything?

“Chen...” Peng Wanli wanted to clarify, but for the sake of his dignity, he feigned understanding. “Yes, well said, Lord Chen. I agree.”

After discussing some details with Peng Wanli, Chen Chang'an stepped outside, cupped his hands to Mr. Jin and Madam Jin, and said, “Rest assured, I will find the murderer as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Lord Chen!” Mr. Jin bowed in return.

Madam Jin said nothing, merely offering a dignified curtsy, her head lowered in shy respect.

Chen Chang'an responded with a smile, then turned to the village head. “Hey, take us to the Arhat Temple.”

“Right away, Lord Chen!” the village head responded enthusiastically.

As soon as they stepped out of Jin Manor, he began his role as a guide, introducing passionately, “My lords, the Arhat Temple was originally established by the Buddhist sect in Da Min—no, before that, during the flourishing days of the Great Qi Dynasty.”

“It’s situated in the east of town. It was once quite grand, but after Her Majesty ascended the throne and began the slaughter of monks and destruction of temples, it fell into ruin. Now only broken walls and the collapsing main hall remain; the side halls have long since decayed.”

Arriving at the site, Chen Chang'an and Peng Wanli found the temple exactly as described. From afar, the Arhat Temple was dilapidated, with outer walls collapsed and leaning, and within, wild grasses grew tall, roof tiles lay shattered, and beams had fallen askew.

The temple’s gate had long been taken by townsfolk in need and burned for firewood.

Chen Chang'an surveyed the desolate scene and asked, “What happened to the legendary Monk One-Brow? Was he killed during the anti-Buddhist purge?”

The village head shook his head. “No, Monk One-Brow died of a serious illness a few years before the purge. People said it was because he revealed too many divine secrets.”

“While he lived, he was like a myth to the townsfolk. When he died, nearly everyone came to pay their respects and burn incense. He’s buried in the temple courtyard.”

“But after Her Majesty decided to destroy Buddhism, the authorities dug up his grave, leaving only a headstone, if anything remains at all.”

“Hmm!” Chen Chang'an nodded and walked on.

As they neared the temple, the village head clutched his stomach and cried out, “Ouch, my belly hurts for no reason. You two go ahead; I’ll take care of something over there.”

Peng Wanli, displeased, covered his nose and waved him away. “Lazy donkey, always making excuses. Go on, go on!”

Chen Chang'an said nothing, his gaze deep.

“Don’t mind him, Lord Chen. Now that we’re here, let’s go in,” Peng Wanli chuckled.

“Very well,” Chen Chang'an replied, stepping over the threshold and wading through waist-high wild grass in the courtyard.

Suddenly, his foot struck something painfully, sending him stumbling forward. Luckily, as someone who had broken through the Body Training realm, he quickly regained his balance, avoiding an embarrassing fall.

“Are you alright, Lord Chen?” Peng Wanli hurried over to help.

“No harm done, just a minor issue.”

Chen Chang'an waved off any concern and returned to the spot where he’d tripped, parting the grass to reveal a stone-carved tombstone. It read: “Grave of Monk One-Brow, Arhat Temple, 35th Year of the Middle Sovereign, Fifteenth Day of Seventh Month.”

“So it really is buried in the courtyard.”

“If it weren’t carved from bluestone, it would’ve ended up as firewood too.”

After a few complaints, convinced the tomb held little value, Chen Chang'an and Peng Wanli entered the ruined main hall.

“There’s... blood,” Peng Wanli exclaimed just inside the door, pointing at the floor, which, unlike the overgrown courtyard, was clear of grass.

Chen Chang'an followed his gaze. Indeed, droplets and smears of blood led from the threshold inward, ending at a corner.

“Why... why does it stop here?” Peng Wanli lifted his official robe and hurried after the trail, but found it ended abruptly.

Chen Chang'an touched the blood with his middle finger—it was still sticky, not yet coagulated. Instinctively, he summoned the faint inner strength of a peak Body Training cultivator for caution.

He scrutinized every corner of the hall, noting that dust shrouded everything except a bronze incense burner atop the altar, which stood out, clean and untouched.

Sensing something amiss, he twisted the burner, and as it spun a full circle, dust fell from the wall where the blood trail stopped, revealing a hidden passage rising with a rumble.

“Ah, there’s another way!” Peng Wanli, inexperienced, cried out in astonishment.

Chen Chang'an pressed a finger to his lips for silence. “The blood is fresh. The killer may still be here.”

“I...” Peng Wanli swallowed nervously, clutching his robes and hiding behind Chen Chang'an, peeking out only his head.

Chen Chang'an sighed, pulled the bamboo hairpin from his hair and held it in his hand, letting faint emerald light shimmer from it. He softened his footsteps as much as possible, entering the passage.

Passing through the cool, dim corridor, they arrived at a spacious underground chamber, where several chests lay about, along with scattered old items.

“Ah!” Peng Wanli shrieked again, grabbing Chen Chang'an’s backside in fright.

“Enough! Keep it down!” Chen rolled his eyes.

Peng Wanli’s pupils widened in horror as he pointed at a corner, breathing heavily and stammering, “Lord Chen... over there...”

Chen Chang'an turned, unconcerned, but the next instant, adrenaline surged and his scalp tingled uncontrollably.

Between two chests lay heaps of bloody flesh—upon inspection, they proved to be women’s severed breasts and men’s severed organs.

Chen Chang'an was inexplicably nauseated, barely suppressing the urge to retch. The killer was making a gruesome statement.

Some of the breasts were fresh, newly severed, and bright red—clearly just placed there, which explained the fresh blood outside.

So... another victim?

He thought of innocent men and women butchered, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition, especially the women—it was pure evil.

A nameless fury burned in his chest, and Chen Chang'an, unable to endure, erupted in unprecedented rage, his bamboo hairpin crackling in his grasp.

“I know you’re still here! Show yourself!”

No sooner had he spoken than the largest chest in front of him, pulled by some mysterious force, lifted and spun toward him.

Chen Chang'an swung his bamboo hairpin, the pale green energy forming a sharp arc.

With a hiss, the wooden chest shattered, scattering gold and jewels in all directions.

Amid the clatter, a face wrapped tightly in black cloth appeared before Chen Chang'an.

...

Outside Stone Bridge Town, atop the stone bridge, three figures stood upright.

The one on the left was a man, handsome and well-defined, yet his cheeks were covered with dense, short, white stubble, giving him a strange appearance.

The one on the right was a woman, dressed lightly because of the heat, with a thin summer robe revealing a red birthmark on her chest. Her unbound black hair flowed like a waterfall, her beauty unmatched, every expression stirring emotion.

The one in the middle wore a bamboo hat, face concealed, robe loose and spotless, body and figure hidden so thoroughly that even the gender was indiscernible. Silent as stone, unmoved by the wind.

“The Black Robe Guards are in town, and Inspector Hua Mulan has arrived. Should we be wary? This matter is crucial; we can’t afford mistakes,” the woman spoke.

“No need!” the man waved dismissively. “Black Robe Guards, Hua Mulan—they’re imperial officials investigating the serial murders, nothing to do with us.”

He gazed at the clear river below, where sunlight at a certain angle revealed the stone bridge’s underside reflected perfectly.

Moss thrived, water plants clung.

A rusted, unscabbarded sword hung suspended beneath the bridge.

The man picked up a stone and tossed it into the river, sending ripples distorting the sword’s reflection.

Leisurely, he said, “Tomorrow at sunset, we act.”