Chapter 9: Cilantro and Fish Mint

“It wasn’t a plan. It was simply what I should do.” Feng Yun’ai’s suspicion was blatant; she didn’t bother denying it.

“Tsk.” Sang Chencao let out a low chuckle. “Then keep on doubting me. Just don’t go changing your mind all of a sudden.”

Feng Yun’ai frowned, wondering how a woman so full of wicked thoughts could be so brazen.

“Since we’re already here, are you really not going to share the bed?” Sang Chencao’s voice was slow and sultry. “I don’t mind you.”

“I mind you.” Feng Yun’ai closed her eyes, refusing to say another word.

The two spent the night in relative peace, one sitting and the other lying down, both keeping their faces veiled.

The next morning, there was a significant commotion downstairs. The sound of bells didn’t resemble camel bells; instead, it sounded like someone was performing a funeral rite.

Lin Yaoyao had hired someone from Listening Moon Town to perform the ceremony. The man wore a ritual robe and carried all the necessary implements, looking quite professional.

The man who had been screaming at the top of his lungs yesterday about seeking justice for Hu Cheng was now weeping uncontrollably. Despite having never met Hu Cheng before this, he wailed as if he had lost his closest kin.

With so many people around, no matter how much Feng Yun’ai wanted to keep Sang Chencao under her thumb, she couldn’t very well keep her tied up with a hair ribbon anymore.

Sang Chencao sat leisurely to the side, sipping hot wine—the very pot of aged wine Lin Yaoyao had mentioned.

Since the game of Shefu had been interrupted and could no longer continue, Lin Yaoyao simply brought out the fish and wine she had promised, treating it as a final send-off for Hu Cheng.

However, Lin Yaoyao’s expression remained somewhat disgruntled. After all, she and her inn were the victims of a completely unprovoked disaster.

Feng Yun’ai didn’t touch her chopsticks. She sat across from Sang Chencao, who also refrained from eating.

The others ate in silence, save for the priest, who muttered incantations. One moment he was shouting at the heavens, the next he was chanting in a melodic drone, the copper bell in his hand clanging rhythmically, making everyone feel on edge.

As the crowd stayed quiet, Feng Yun’ai took the opportunity to observe Lin Yaoyao for a long time. The innkeeper just sat there, her face still clouded with that same look of distressed irritation.

And yet, regarding the nails in Hu Cheng’s corpse, she was the prime suspect.

Feng Yun’ai still didn’t question Lin Yaoyao in front of everyone; she didn’t want to harm an innocent person.

At that moment, Hu Cheng’s body was covered with a white cloth again. No one else had noticed the strange mark on the back of his head.

Just as Feng Yun’ai was considering how to point out the anomalies on the corpse, a soft, light voice drifted into her ear.

It was the woman in the indigo dress across the table, whispering with a lowered voice, “If this body gets buried in the dirt, the truth will never come to light.”

Feng Yun’ai shot her a sharp glance.

“The killer must be overjoyed to see everyone being fooled,” Sang Chencao added.

The woman’s tone held a hint of a smile. Feng Yun’ai replied coldly, “The only one who seems overjoyed is you.”

The indigo veil swayed slightly as Sang Chencao shook her head. “If I were the killer, being this blatantly overjoyed would surely lead to my downfall.”

Feng Yun’ai asked, “Then tell me, what should the killer look like right now?”

Sang Chencao’s eyes flickered, taking in everyone in the inn as if she held all the cards. “Naturally, they would try to hide themselves.”

“Hide how?” Feng Yun’ai followed the lead, her words pointed. “By refusing to show their true face?”

Sang Chencao countered with a meaningful question, “You’re wearing a veiled hat. Is it because you’ve committed a crime and dare not show your face?”

Her words were clearly meant to clear her own suspicion, but her method of doing so involved dragging everyone else down with her.

Feng Yun’ai’s expression shifted slightly. She took great offense at the woman’s way of speaking, her brow furrowing. However, she didn’t want to keep yielding and making concessions. Deciding to give the woman a taste of her own medicine, she simply said, “I killed him. Naturally, I have to hide my appearance while I’m on the run.”

The depth of the hidden meaning in her words was a match for the woman across the table.

Sang Chencao gave a very light, mocking laugh, clearly not taking the statement seriously. Instead, she asked, “And the truth?”

Feng Yun’ai hesitated. She rarely engaged in such back-and-forth banter and always took a moment to deliberate her words. Finally, she said, “I have four scars on my face.”

“Pfft.”

“Why are you wearing a hat?” Feng Yun’ai asked in return.

“I have five scars on my face,” Sang Chencao replied, refusing to be outdone as she spun a lie on the spot. After a moment, she added, “To meet is fate. We’ve known each other for two days, yet I still don’t know your name.”

Feng Yun’ai had no intention of revealing her name to this mysterious person. She pondered for a moment, then picked up her chopsticks and poked at a dish of cold herbs. Two words left her mouth: “Cilantro.”

Her perfunctory deception wasn’t even disguised.

Finished, Feng Yun’ai looked up, her gaze calm. “And how should I address you?”

Sang Chencao chuckled. She didn’t call out the lie; instead, she mimicked the other’s actions, using her chopsticks to push aside the cold vegetables. “Fish Mint.”

Feng Yun’ai let out a tiny hum of acknowledgment.

Once they had finished exchanging these fake names, the priest stopped his movements.

The man turned to Lin Yaoyao and said, “Innkeeper Lin, the soul is at peace. He can be laid to rest now.”

Lin Yaoyao let out a sigh of relief and said to the workers nearby, “Once the coffin arrives, move the body. Take him to the plot of land the Daoist pointed out just now. Carry him carefully.“

A girl in her teens hurriedly brought over a black paper umbrella and asked in a small voice, “Sister, who’s going to hold the umbrella for him?”

When a body is buried during the day, a black umbrella is needed to block the light. Normally, this task falls to the next of kin.

But Hu Cheng traveled alone. No one in the Yao Yao Inn knew him; it wasn’t appropriate for any of them to hold the umbrella.

After a long silence, the man who had been wailing for Hu Cheng said, “I’ll do it!”

The girl handed him the umbrella and scurried back behind Lin Yaoyao, not daring to speak further.

The distant door swung open as workers carried a coffin inside, likely purchased from Listening Moon Town.

The workers were drenched in sweat. After setting it down, they pushed back the lid and waited for Hu Cheng to be placed inside.

The priest circled the coffin once more, muttering incantations, before finally raising a hand. “Please.”

At that signal, the men assigned to carry the corpse stepped forward, carefully lifting the body covered in white cloth.

Feng Yun’ai was still hesitating. She knew that if she didn’t want to hurt the innocent, other innocent people would inevitably be dragged into the mire.

However, the person in indigo sitting across from her was no kind soul.

Sang Chencao’s hand, resting on the table, moved ever so slightly. She silently struck out with a burst of palm wind.

The force was supple, like a spring breeze brushing against one’s face; it wasn’t meant to kill.

Coincidentally, the outer door was wide open, and a fierce gust of wind blew into the room, completely masking the palm wind.

Feng Yun’ai’s expression changed. She had no time to block it. A wave of shock hit her—this person’s martial arts were even higher than she had anticipated.

The worker carrying the body stumbled, and Hu Cheng’s corpse slipped from his grasp.

Caught by the remaining force of the palm wind, the body rolled across the floor with a thud. It seemed to land perfectly on its front, the white cloth pinned beneath it.

In that single heartbeat, the abnormality on the back of Hu Cheng’s head was laid bare for all to see.

The worker didn’t notice the injury, only shouting in apology, “My legs went weak! I couldn’t hold on! Please, spirit in heaven, don’t hold it against me!”

“Something seems wrong with this body,” Sang Chencao remarked, feigning confusion.

The swordsman who had taken the umbrella didn’t even have time to vent his anger; he froze instantly.

“On his head… what is that stuck in there?” someone asked in bewilderment. “Was that there yesterday?”

“Impossible!” a member of the escort caravan shouted. “There were no other external injuries on him yesterday!”

“Someone in the inn did this! It seems the villain who harmed Senior Hu really is among us!” The swordsman holding the umbrella gripped the handle so hard it nearly snapped.

Everyone looked at each other in suspicion.

The priest stepped forward in a panic, his voice trembling. “Quick, strip off his clothes! Look for other wounds! This… this is a dark ritual!”

Sang Chencao tapped the wooden table lightly, resting her chin on her hand. She whispered to the person beside her, “Well? If I hadn’t stepped in, were you just going to let him be buried? It seems you aren’t that eager to solve the mystery after all.”

Feng Yun’ai’s voice was icy. “You just want everyone to turn on each other in suspicion.”

“And why not?” Sang Chencao smiled.