Raising Orphans, Not Assassins
Vol. 2 - Ch. 49 - Distributing Porridge

Wuchang Prefecture.

Yuelai Inn.

In a spacious and clean bedroom, an old man dressed in black brocade sat in a chair. At his waist hung a golden dagger.

He held a long tobacco pipe, its brass bowl gently releasing curling wisps of pale blue smoke, filled with top-quality dried tobacco leaves.

Click...

Murong Longyuan took a deep drag. The tobacco burned swiftly, sending sparks flickering westward.

After a few moments:

Huu...

Murong Longyuan exhaled a long plume of smoke, the pale white mist dispersing about three feet away.

Footsteps came from outside the room.

A figure entered—also clad in black brocade, a golden dagger at her waist. She was a young woman, wearing a bamboo hat and a thin veil that concealed her face.

But her exposed eyebrows and eyes revealed a beautiful woman, with a fierce and heroic spirit that matched any man.

Under her hat, a long ponytail was tied with a red silk ribbon.

“Master, here are the official case files,” she said, her tone tinged with resentment.

According to the authorities, two nights ago, Qiong Aohai suddenly appeared at the residence of Provincial Governor Zhang. At that time, Zhang was negotiating with Prefect Zheng over the Peach Blossom Flood.

Qiong Aohai, ruthless and ferocious, entered and with one palm struck Prefect Zheng dead.

The young woman handed the files to Murong Longyuan. She had heard of Prefect Zheng’s reputation — a good official, who loved his people like his own children.

To think Qiong Aohai could be so bloodthirsty, killing the Jingzhou Prefect at such a critical moment of flood disaster.

With the Prefect dead, Jingzhou was thrown into utter chaos.

Murong Longyuan stretched out his dark, rough left hand and took the files. Without looking, he casually placed them on the table.

Ahem...

He cleared his throat lightly.

He no longer smoked, resting the pipe in his right hand on the table edge.

Looking at the young woman, his voice was hoarse: “Hongying, tell me...”

“Why did Qiong Aohai travel all the way from Taihu to Wuchang just to kill the Prefect of Jingzhou?”

Hongying was momentarily stunned by the question, her eyes reflecting deep thought.

Murong Longyuan did not pause and continued: “And why, after bursting into Governor Zhang’s residence, did he only kill Prefect Zheng?”

“If he were truly ruthless and bloodthirsty, given his skill, why not kill Governor Zhang too?”

Having posed his questions, Murong Longyuan picked up his pipe again, drawing leisurely smoke.

Whoosh whoosh...

The white smoke, smooth as silk ribbons, flowed from his mouth.

Soon, the entire room was filled with the scent and haze, turning into a “paradise on earth.”

Hongying stood in the room, brow furrowed, pondering Murong’s questions.

Suddenly, her frown eased, eyes brightening with realization.

“Master, I understand now.”

“Qiong Aohai is not a killer by nature — his actions don’t add up.”

“Could it be... he’s been framed?”

Hongying cautiously voiced her theory.

Murong Longyuan nodded, taking a drag and holding the smoke in his mouth for a while before exhaling.

“Never let your emotions influence any case,” his hoarse voice advised.

Hongying bowed respectfully: “I understand, Master.”

Murong Longyuan nodded approvingly.

His disciple was intelligent and talented in martial arts, but prone to letting personal feelings color her judgment.

That was her flaw.

Calm now, Hongying murmured, “Master, could Qiong Aohai really have been framed? With his reputation and skill, he wouldn’t have acted like that.”

Murong Longyuan glanced at the now-smoked-out pipe bowl, lightly tapping it on the table.

Ash fell to the floor.

“Everything must be judged by evidence.”

“Right now, it’s too early to say.”

He sighed and did not light up again.

“Since Qiong Aohai hasn’t left Wuchang, it means there is someone or something here he cares about.”

His eyes darkened as he spoke hoarsely.

Hongying was stunned, contemplating his words.

After a long moment, she said with some frustration: “That Qiong Aohai... If he had gone back with you that day and been locked up in the Six Doors prison, he wouldn’t have been framed.”

“No one investigates cases better than the Six Doors.”

“If he’s truly innocent, they’ll uncover the truth.”

Murong was silent, staring through the window at the distant green mountains. No one knew what he was thinking.

Suddenly Hongying remembered something.

“Master, Captain Lei, escorting the disaster relief funds, will arrive at Wuchang soon.”

“They should get here the day after tomorrow according to the schedule.”

At the mention of Captain Lei, Murong stirred, furrowing his brow slightly before relaxing it again.

“Noted,” he said hoarsely. 

… 

February 26th.

Wuchang Prefecture, dilapidated temple.

Low rumbles of thunder rolled across the sky, waking Sun Sheng and Qiong Aohai from their sleep.

They lay on the ground covered with thin clothes.

Between them, a fire pit had burned out but still radiated residual warmth. Dark gray ashes glowed faintly with a few scattered sparks.

Qiong Aohai rose and draped his thin robe over his shoulders.

He walked to the wooden door and looked outside.

Dawn had broken.

Thick gray clouds gathered, threatening imminent rain.

The wind howled, low-pressure gusts sweeping down the long street and rattling the broken windows and wooden door.

“What time is it?” Sun Sheng hurried over, anxious not to miss the porridge distribution.

“Looks like it’s around the Chen hour,” Qiong guessed.

Based on his experience, Sun Sheng nodded.

“That’s good, we didn’t miss it,” he breathed a sigh of relief.

To shake the court and capital, killing that corrupt official had to be done in public.

Otherwise, what Qiong and Sun Sheng did would be pointless.

Since the Provincial Administrator of Huguang was a member of the demon cult and skilled in assassination, they could easily cover it up by disguises or feigning illness.

Only by killing the official in broad daylight would everyone know the Administrator was dead, forcing the court to pay attention to the flood disaster.

Sun Sheng and Qiong Aohai left the ruined temple.

On the way, Sun Sheng bought two bamboo hats to conceal their faces.

Wanted posters for Qiong Aohai were everywhere in Wuchang — being recognized would be fatal.

The two blended into a crowd of refugees on the east side of the city, waiting for the porridge distribution to begin.

Soon, shouted announcements came from the east.

Over twenty soldiers escorted a thin middle-aged man in a deep blue official robe.

Several men in rough cloth carried large pots, calling out: “Administrator Zhang is here to distribute porridge to everyone!”

“Administrator Zhang is here to distribute porridge!”

“Administrator Zhang is here to distribute porridge!”

The calls were repeated several times.

Surrounding refugees’ eyes lit up with hope and eagerness.

They surged forward, pushing to get porridge first, afraid there would be none left if they were late.

Sun Sheng and Qiong Aohai exchanged a glance, knowing their moment had come.

They slipped through the crowd, using agility to push forward until near the front.