Within the Grand Palace of Longevity, chambers of slumber and study, training grounds and spirit halls, fragrant flower gardens and tranquil meditation rooms, and even chambers concealed behind secret doors… all lay bare to the scrutiny of Jiang Wang’s divine soul, which flowed through the edifice like water, leaving no corner untouched.

It is said that “environment shapes the Qi, and nurture molds the body.” Conversely, a person can also influence their living environment. Thus, a meticulous examination of this palace offered a different perspective from which to understand Jiang Wuqi. His past days of glory, his present sorrow and purity, were all intertwined with this one individual.

One person, one lifetime, one thread of spirit and soul.

Jiang Wang observed with utmost seriousness. An absolute figure like Jiang Wuqi, who aspired to reach the pinnacle of the Cave True realm, surely possessed a unique understanding of the world. While these insights might not always be unified, they were undoubtedly worth comprehending and learning from. As the saying goes, “when you see a wise person, think of becoming their equal; when you see an unwise person, reflect on yourself.” Delving deeper into Jiang Wuqi’s journey was, in itself, a process of self-enlightenment.

Aided by the Crimson Makeup Mirror, Jiang Wang overlooked almost no detail. He uncovered a wealth of valuable information, yet anything pertaining to the assassination of Consort Lei remained elusive. Watching the two Green Plaque constables diligently working before him, Jiang Wang swallowed a silent sigh. He understood another possibility existed – that he might have already stumbled upon relevant clues without recognizing their connection to the case. After all, his knowledge of that momentous event from the 38th year of Yuanfeng was but fragments. Who was involved, who bore the greatest suspicion, and why it ultimately became an unsolved mystery… all were unknown to him. The thought that he might not even recognize a clue placed before him felt, in retrospect, somewhat naive.

Each profession had its intricacies; perhaps he could only await the findings of Lin Youxie or Zheng Shangming…

Jiang Wang’s gaze, which had been aimlessly sweeping through the palace with the Crimson Makeup Mirror, suddenly sharpened, fixing upon the screen wall in the front hall. It was before this very screen that Feng Gu had paused that day, uttering a few words before seeing him off – their final exchange.

Feng Gu’s first question had been, “Does your Lordship believe in the Eleventh Highness?”

Now, upon reflection, did that question hold a deeper meaning? Was there some hidden information concealed within the very spot where he had deliberately stopped? Since Feng Gu, in his will, had expressed hope that Jiang Wang would oversee the case’s progress, it was logical to infer that he might have left some clues, much like the small knife Lin Youxie had received. Yet, despite repeated careful recollection, Jiang Wang had found nothing out of the ordinary. Feng Gu’s words had indeed hinted at his intentions, but offered no specific details.

Jiang Wang had seen this screen wall several times during his visits to the Grand Palace of Longevity. Behind it was an exquisite painting, titled “Myriad Faces of the Mortal Realm” on the right side, signed by the “Master of Longevity Palace.” Jiang Wuqi was renowned for his proficiency in calligraphy and poetry, leaving behind numerous ink treasures throughout the palace. Jiang Wang had seen many, recognizing their excellence but admitting his appreciation was limited to simple admiration. Where their true artistry lay, he found it difficult to articulate.

Thus, upon his initial encounter with the screen wall’s painting, he had merely glanced at it without paying much attention. Now, focusing his spirit upon it, he found himself involuntarily captivated. The painting depicted vendors and porters, kings and ministers – a thousand people with a thousand faces, each vividly brought to life. Intricate carved railings and painted beams, horse-drawn carriages and bustling traffic filled the scene. Distant mountains were bathed in blue shadows, water flowed deep and still, flowers, birds, and green trees added to the vibrancy, alongside elderly folk and playful children. Examining it closely, it truly felt as though “one painting exhausted all beings.”

Not only were the people performing their duties, but stories unfolded in various corners. Arguments and playful scuffles, arm in arm strolls, greetings and farewells… For instance, in the bottom left corner, a person impeccably dressed, with their left index finger lightly touching their ear, and their right finger pointing at a paper on a table before them… clearly, their hearing was impaired, and they were requesting to communicate through writing. And before them stood a person looking up and speaking eloquently, clad in patched clothes, with listless eyes, one hand still resting on a blind man’s staff, evidently visually impaired… A deaf person and a blind person exchanging words, one gesturing, the other rambling, truly a strange and wondrous sight. Another example depicted a farmer carrying manure along a riverbank, while passersby covered their noses in disgust. Only an old fisherman, rod in hand, remained undisturbed, his demeanor composed… indicating a damaged sense of smell. Through this loss of scent, he had been deprived of some wonders, but also spared some unpleasantness. And so on, the details were inexhaustible.

Such a painting, the more one scrutinized it, the more inexplicably wonderful it felt. Truly, every detail was a marvel, as if it depicted the entirety of “people,” the entirety of “life.” Jiang Wang, having traveled this path, had witnessed both magnificent waves and gentle ripples, observed a multitude of people, and recognized not a few. He had forged the character sword, seeing all beings and allowing them to evolve within it. Since entering the extraordinary, he had, in these few short years, witnessed many things that people might not see in a lifetime. But after all, it had only been “a few years.” He dared not claim his character sword was perfected, nor did he dare say he had seen the entirety of the world’s people.

Examining this painting meticulously now felt like experiencing the painter’s life journey, watching a thousand different lives unfold within the world they had constructed… the harvest was abundant.

Zheng Shangming, who was employing a secret technique to search every book for hidden records, suddenly started and turned back abruptly, having detected the terrifying surge of sword intent from Jiang Wang, contained yet unrevealed, already possessing the power to rend mountains. He had long known of Jiang Wang’s formidable strength and firmly believed Jiang Qingyang to be the foremost prodigy in Qi. The lesson learned from that battle on Catch Horse Mountain was profound enough. Afterward, Jiang Wang had advanced at an astonishing pace; each war report that arrived left people speechless, each step breaking legends and forging history. But those records were distant.

At this moment, before his very eyes, this man had stood by the door for a while, and his swordsmanship had advanced? Was this the talent of an absolute prodigy? Before him, Jiang Wuqi relied on medicinal draughts to suppress his cultivation progress, and behind him, Jiang Qingyang, while on duty, could achieve enlightenment in swordsmanship. Zheng Shangming, looking at the military classic he held, “Nine Treatises on Appointing Generals, Eight Methods for Selecting Soldiers,” suddenly felt his life was rather… insipid. If talent were soldiers, he feared that individuals like Jiang Wang and Jiang Wuqi were generals of a single treatise, while he himself might only be within the five or six treatises…

The weight of his gaze immediately touched Jiang Wang, who calmly withdrew his sword intent, and temporarily set aside his observations of “Myriad Faces of the Mortal Realm.” He looked at Zheng Shangming and the equally surprised Lin Youxie, and softly inquired, “Have you found any clues?” He had almost resorted to voice transmission, but his mind remained clear, avoiding an awkward scene.

Zheng Shangming shook his head, “Feng Gu’s death is riddled with doubts, and the clues are very scattered. Although we’ve gathered some information, we cannot determine its usefulness yet; we still need to go back and compare it with the confessions… Vice Envoy Lin?”

“Similar to you,” Lin Youxie said faintly.

Zheng Shangming discussed, “Then shall we return first, or continue?”

Lin Youxie replied, “Let’s go back first. I need to verify that bowl of medicinal soup.” The verification of the medicinal soup could only be conducted at the Patrol Inspection Office, and though Lin Youxie claimed she would verify it herself, it was impossible without supervision. Thus, Zheng Shangming wasn’t particularly concerned, merely carefully replacing the military classic he held.

“Then let’s go back first, and come again tomorrow.” He looked at Jiang Wang, “Does Lord Jiang wish to return first, or accompany us to the Patrol Inspection Office? You now have the right to examine Feng Gu’s corpse, investigate related files, and interrogate relevant personnel.”

Jiang Wang looked at the two of them, completely unable to discern whether they had obtained the clues they sought… This was perhaps for the best, avoiding unnecessary worries.

“To the Patrol Inspection Office,” he said.

The carriage began to move, and behind them, the palace gates were once again tightly locked. The Grand Palace of Longevity returned to its cold silence.

Jiang Wang remained preoccupied with that screen wall. Its position, not far from the Grand Palace of Longevity’s entrance, and the fact that the painting was personally rendered by Jiang Wuqi, meant it undoubtedly represented some of Jiang Wuqi’s ideas, or perhaps tendencies. To depict all beings with a single stroke was, of course, indicative of a vast perspective. But did this “Myriad Faces of the Mortal Realm” signify “seeing all beings, encompassing all beings”? Or did it imply “to govern all beings, one must first understand all beings”? Did the experiences of those depicted, the kings, ministers, vendors, and porters, represent Jiang Wuqi’s view of the situation? Had Feng Gu’s pause there that day held some hidden meaning?

Within such a painting of a thousand faces, Jiang Wang silently recalled the images of those who had stopped, observing their actions to uncover any possible connections. This was a meticulous and lengthy undertaking, requiring undivided attention.

The carriage stopped.

“We’ve arrived,” Zheng Shangming was the first to disembark.

Lin Youxie followed closely.

Each held their own concerns, and there was no exchange. Jiang Wang followed behind them, once again stepping into the North Yamen. This yamen, wielding immense power, occupied a vast area. Jiang Wang had visited several times, yet had only seen a fraction, lacking a complete understanding of its layout.

Today was his first time seeing the North Yamen prison—an iron structure standing on bare ground, surrounded by no other buildings, the stone slabs exposed. The iron structure itself was merely a place for guards to check identities; the true prison lay underground.

Zheng Shangming went to interrogate the maidservants and eunuchs from the Grand Palace of Longevity, while Lin Youxie headed to verify the bowl of medicinal soup. Jiang Wang followed neither, proceeding directly towards the mortuary. The North Yamen had a specialized mortuary, located not far from the North Yamen prison… This arrangement, of course, was meant to be somewhat intimidating, suggesting that torture employed in the prison could lead directly to the mortuary. But in reality, such occurrences were relatively rare. The North Yamen had strict review procedures for executions; arbitrary killing today could mean becoming a guest of the North Yamen prison tomorrow. Killing without orders would inevitably result in punishment.

Compared to the Heavenly Prison managed by the Watchmen, the North Yamen’s prison was considerably more lenient. Individuals like the maidservants and eunuchs from the Grand Palace of Longevity, temporarily detained here, were held only to maintain secrecy regarding the case; once it concluded, they could be released, and so they would generally not suffer any harm. Of course, the North Yamen prison also had different levels, corresponding to different criminals. The so-called “leniency” was only relative.

A deceased person of Feng Gu’s status enjoyed a relatively high level in the North Yamen mortuary, occupying a private room. A specialized guard stood watch at the door, and entry was forbidden without the North Yamen’s seal. Even for Jiang Wang to enter, a North Yamen constable had to accompany him, silently standing in the room, routinely supervising the proceedings. Under these various measures, tampering with Feng Gu’s corpse was exceedingly difficult. To do so and avoid detection by senior Green Plaque constables was even more impossible.

A solitary stone coffin rested in the center of the room. Such a stone coffin, used to preserve the spirit, was extremely precious and not granted to just anyone. The coffin itself was engraved with array patterns to prevent decomposition, preserving the state of death to the greatest extent. Thus, when Jiang Wang saw Feng Gu, his corpse showed no signs of change. It was naked, bearing some extremely fine knife marks, which had undoubtedly been examined countless times by the Green Plaques. Jiang Wang recognized some of them as Lin Youxie’s doing; he had personally witnessed her dissect corpses and recognized her unique technique.

He lightly closed his eyes, then opened them, his left eye already crimson. In the state of Qianyang Pupil, he examined the corpse, capturing every detail… The result, of course, was nothing. He found no injuries beyond the strangulation marks on the neck, nor any trace of someone having tampered with the body. Jiang Wang had not expected to discover anything himself; after examining it, he secretly employed the retrospective technique, hoping to recreate a hint of Feng Gu’s divine soul aura… But he was thoroughly dead, his divine soul completely dispersed, not a trace remaining.

Looking at Feng Gu’s eyes, still wide open in death, Jiang Wang silently questioned in his heart, “Do you know that what you desired may never be realized?” This question, of course, would receive no answer.

Jiang Wang withdrew his Qianyang Pupil, turned, and departed. The Green Plaque constable who had accompanied Lord Jiang to examine the corpse was a middle-aged man in his forties. He appeared reserved and reliable. From beginning to end, he did not utter a single word. He waited until Jiang Wang had left before following closely behind, walking briskly out.

As he passed the stone coffin, he extended his palm flatly, quickly sweeping it over Feng Gu’s corpse, then clenched his hand into a fist, as if having seized something. He then followed Jiang Wang out of the mortuary, conveniently closing the door and hanging the lock. The entire process was seamless and natural, like flowing clouds and water… It should not have been detected by anyone. He possessed such confidence. His eyes were cast down in a low-key manner, and he remained silent.

But he did not see…

Currently walking out in the corridor, Jiang Wang, with a flick of his left hand, had already quietly returned a small makeup mirror to his person. Jiang Wang had covered the mortuary room with the Crimson Makeup Mirror, intending to help himself find possible clues. He would examine it once himself, then check again through the mirror. He had not expected to “see” this interesting scene. Which side did this accompanying Green Plaque constable belong to? What did this person intend to do, and what had they already done?

Jiang Wang did not believe this was a routine corpse inspection by the North Yamen; if it were merely an inspection, there would be no need for such secrecy, and it certainly shouldn’t be concealed from Jiang Wang, who was there to examine the corpse. An unsupervised examination was unfair.

Jiang Wang walked out without any outward reaction. There was no need to expose it now; firstly, such actions, if exposed, could easily cut off subsequent clues. Secondly, even with the Crimson Makeup Mirror, he had not discovered exactly what this person had done to Feng Gu’s corpse. Even if he raised a commotion now and apprehended this person, he might not possess any “stolen goods,” and would instead alert the enemy. It was better to wait for what followed.

Following protocol, he signed and pressed his handprint with the person responsible for the mortuary, confirming his visit and the completion of the supervision of Feng Gu’s corpse. Only then did he leave.

From beginning to end, Jiang Wang did not spare the constable who had accompanied him into the mortuary a single extra glance, but he had firmly committed the man’s face to memory—thick eyebrows, deep-set eyes, a large nose. His eyes appeared very gentle. But that right hand had undoubtedly torn apart many people’s lives. Too relaxed, and too steady.