Chapter 546: Ping’an Solves the Case—Part I

“Bound by duty, unable to perform formal rites?”

The Tongzhi sneered, his voice dripping with ridicule. “Do you take yourself for a military commander now—hiding behind that old excuse of ‘armor on, unable to bow’?”

He stared at the county magistrate standing so rigidly before him, irritation surging in his chest. For a fleeting moment, he truly felt the urge to slap that composed, unyielding face.

According to the founding statutes laid down by the Hongwu Emperor, it was true that lower officials were not required to kneel before their superiors—merely a respectful clasped-hands salute would suffice. After all, they were all men of rank and scholarly distinction. Yet over time, customs had shifted. Subordinates greeting superiors with lowered heads and kneeling reverence had long since become the norm, an unspoken rule that few dared to break.

Even Hu Shining, who had served as Minister of War in the early Jiajing era, once remarked on this very change: the ceremonial codes had been clearly defined in earlier times, but in practice, officials of lower rank now knelt for extended periods, their posture so humble that what was nominally a clasped-hands salute resembled outright prostration.

Thus, for a subordinate—especially one so junior—to refrain from kneeling had become almost unthinkable. And yet, strictly speaking, the magistrate was not violating any rule. If one clung to the original statutes, there was no fault to be found in his conduct. It was precisely this technical correctness that made the Tongzhi’s irritation burn all the hotter—he had no easy grounds on which to punish him, yet found his defiance intolerable.

“Clear a path through the fishing nets on the river,” the Tongzhi finally ordered, waving his sleeve with imperious authority. “I will pass first.”

Having delivered his command, he could not be bothered to engage further with this “pine-tree” of a magistrate. With the confidence of one accustomed to obedience, he turned and strode toward his boat, certain the matter was settled.

But just as he took a few dignified steps, preparing to board, a voice rang out behind him—deep, steady, and impeccably enunciated.

“Forgive me, but I am unable to comply.”

The words struck like a sudden clap of thunder. The Tongzhi stumbled mid-step, nearly losing his footing.

What? Did I hear that correctly? Refused?

A mere county magistrate… dares to defy my order? Has he eaten the gall of a bear or the heart of a leopard?!

His face darkened instantly. Turning back, eyes narrowed to slits, he fixed the magistrate with a cold, dangerous stare.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking?”

The magistrate met his gaze calmly, hands clasped in a measured salute. “I beg Your Excellency’s forgiveness. A murder has occurred within my jurisdiction, and I bear full responsibility. This stretch of river curves distinctly—I have consulted fishermen familiar with its currents and studied its hydrology. Should someone fall into the river, this is the most likely place for the body to surface. To prevent it from being swept away and delay the investigation, nets have been set beneath the water. I have also requested cooperation from the magistrate of Dangtu County, deploying officers along key routes to prevent the suspect from fleeing. Therefore, it is highly likely the culprit remains nearby… I ask that Your Excellency cooperate.”

His tone was respectful, yet neither servile nor yielding.

“Impudence! Are you implying that I, too, am a suspect?” the Tongzhi exploded, fury blazing.

“I would not dare,” the magistrate replied evenly, his expression unchanged, as calm as still water. “But it is my duty to safeguard the people. I must ask for Your Excellency’s cooperation. If I make an exception for you, it would be unjust to the common folk—and once such a precedent is set, I fear it will be impossible to uphold the law thereafter.”

Faced with the Tongzhi’s towering rage, the magistrate did not so much as blink.

Watching this unfold, Zhu Ping’an felt a quiet sense of relief. He had briefly considered presenting his own official credentials to request leniency—for the sake of the exam-bound scholar, the ailing elder, and others in urgent need. But now, seeing the fate of this Fifth-Rank Tongzhi, he knew how futile that would have been.

If even a fifth-rank official is refused so bluntly, what chance would I, a mere sixth-rank, have?

Though the magistrate himself was only a seventh-rank official, he clearly cared nothing for rank or favor.

Impartial. Unafraid of power.

These became Zhu Ping’an’s second impressions of the man. His first had come from the patched official robe—suggesting honesty and frugality. Of course, appearances could deceive; Zhu Ping’an recalled stories of officials who dressed in rags yet amassed vast fortunes through corruption, laughing at those too naive to see through the facade.

But now, observing the magistrate’s conduct, he felt his initial judgment was likely correct.

Humble, yet proud.

That was his third impression. Drawing closer, Zhu Ping’an could see the faint lines etched between the magistrate’s brows—marks of stubborn resolve and unyielding principle. There was a quiet aloofness about him, a dignity that stood apart from the crowd. Whether facing a powerful superior, a desperate commoner, or a scholar rushing to his exams, he treated all with the same unwavering standard.

“Good! Good! Good!”

The Tongzhi’s face remained dark as storm clouds. He spat out the words one by one, each heavier than the last. “Tell me—where do you hold office?”

The meaning behind the question was unmistakable.

Dare to obstruct me? Leave your name, and we shall see how you fare in the future.

“This subordinate serves as magistrate of Chun’an County,” the man replied without hesitation, his voice steady and open. There was not the slightest trace of fear—no concern that he might be targeted later.

“Very well. Then I shall see how you handle this case!”

The Tongzhi glared at him for a long moment, committing his face to memory. Then, with a sharp flick of his sleeve, he climbed into a sedan chair brought by his attendants. He ordered them to carry him to the shade of a tree by the riverbank, lifted the curtain, and settled inside—determined to watch how this “foolhardy” magistrate would proceed.

“This subordinate takes his leave.”

The Chun’an magistrate offered a brief salute, then turned back toward the river, resuming command of the investigation as though nothing had happened.

This magistrate would yield neither to coercion nor persuasion. It seemed the only way forward was to recover the body—or solve the case as quickly as possible.

Blending into the crowd, Zhu Ping’an followed quietly, careful not to draw attention. Like a casual onlooker, he approached the scene of the incident, observing everything with sharp eyes. He examined the surroundings in detail, studied the individuals involved, and listened closely to the murmured discussions of the bystanders, gathering every fragment of information he could.

After arriving, the magistrate ordered the runners to cast the nets across the river once more. Yet again, nothing was found. He frowned slightly, pausing in thought, before instructing his men to bring forth the individuals who had reported the case.

There were primarily two.

One was the young woman who had been weeping so bitterly by the river earlier—the possible victim’s wife. She was the second wife of Zhang, a wealthy merchant who was believed to have been killed. After his first wife passed away, he had taken her into his household. Zhang was now forty-five years old, while she was barely in her early twenties—more than twenty years his junior. He had married her five years ago.

The other was a boatman surnamed Wang. The small, black-canopied boat tied near the bank belonged to him, barely large enough to carry five or six passengers. He was roughly the same age as Zhang and had made his living on the Yangtze since childhood, ferrying people for a fee.

Zhang, being a merchant with several shops under his name, had arranged three days earlier to travel to Yingtian Prefecture to purchase goods. The boatman he hired was none other than Wang. They had agreed to meet at the riverbank this morning at a quarter past the Mao hour.

No one had expected such a calamity to occur.

“Tell me everything again, from the beginning,” the magistrate said, his gaze steady. “Zhang Wangshi, you first.”

“W–wuu… Your Honor, please uphold justice for this humble woman!”

The young wife sobbed so violently she could scarcely stand. Supported by her maid, she struggled to her feet, her voice trembling as she pleaded.

“I will see justice done,” the magistrate said with a slight nod. “Speak.”

As she wept, whispers rippled through the surrounding crowd.

“Look at her—her husband’s barely gone cold, and she’s still dressed so brightly, even wearing makeup. Hah… Zhang must have fallen because of a woman.”

“Exactly. I know Zhang—he was a kind man. But ah, good people rarely live long. I heard that before marrying him, she had a lover back in her family home—a poor fellow. Her parents forced her into this marriage.”

“Right! I heard she cried her eyes out when she was carried in the bridal sedan, refusing to go.”

“Just look at her—anyone can tell. After she married Zhang, she still—”

“She still what? Come on, tell us!”

“Come closer… I’ll whisper it to you…”

The gossip spread like countless buzzing insects, each voice adding fuel to the next. It was as though every person present had witnessed the story with their own eyes.

“Bah! What nonsense are you all spouting? My lady is nothing like what you say! She and the master loved each other deeply!”

The maid, trembling with anger, her face flushed red, spat fiercely toward the crowd, unable to endure their slander any longer.

“Silence!”

Several yamen runners stepped forward, shouting sharply at the onlookers. Only then did the noise subside, the restless murmurs reluctantly fading into uneasy quiet.