Chapter Twenty-Two: The Master of the Fifth Rank

“Where were you at the hour of the Ox last night?”
Guo Qishu addressed the question to Liu Yan’er, who stood before him. Even after being beaten so badly, Liu Yan’er did not lose her composure; she saluted Lord Guo with proper courtesy before replying.
“My lord, at the hour of the Ox last night, I was with Young Master Li the entire time! If you doubt me, you may ask him yourself.”
After finishing, Liu Yan’er turned to Li Pingyang, who raised his head and affirmed, saying indeed, he could vouch for her.
“What were you doing?” Lord Guo pressed further.
Hearing this, Li Pingyang grew agitated and quickly interjected, “Why are you so odd?”
“It’s late at night; what do you think a husband and wife would be doing? Surely you’re old enough to know, aren’t you embarrassed to ask? Unless you think we were playing cards?”
His words provoked a suppressed snicker from the crowd, though the laughter was drowned out by surrounding chatter and went unnoticed.
With a forceful push, Li Pingyang shook off the three jailers holding him and stood, brushing dust from his clothes. Lord Guo’s face turned green with anger at such disrespect.
Never before had he suffered such humiliation. His face burned with shame as he drew a sword from his escort’s waist, intent on beheading Li Pingyang then and there.
“My lord, you mustn’t! Please reconsider!”
The constable hurriedly clung to Guo’s waist, pleading from behind. Li Pingyang, meanwhile, looked on with a spectator’s indifference, as though it wasn’t he who had provoked Lord Guo’s wrath.
After much persuasion, Guo Qishu was seated again, breathing heavily in his fury. His advisor, sensing the mood, quickly handed him a cup of tea. Guo seized it absentmindedly and drank deeply, only to feel his tongue scalded and numb.
In his haste, the advisor had picked the wrong cup—freshly brewed and steaming hot. His face blanched with fright.
Guo Qishu spat the tea out, spraying both leaves and liquid onto the advisor’s face. A tea leaf stuck to his eyelid and slid slowly down, making him look utterly wretched.
The crowd burst into laughter at the spectacle.
“Let me ask you this: last night, when my son was attacked, did you see the assailant or hear anything unusual?”
Guo Qishu, having calmed somewhat, turned again to Liu Yan’er. This time, she did not rush to answer, instead feigning thoughtful recollection.

She explained that at the hour of the Ox, she and Li Pingyang were engrossed in a discussion of poetry, their spirited conversation drowning out any noises from next door. She added a twist, however: she seemed to recall glimpsing a shadowy figure.
“What kind of shadow?” Guo Qishu leapt to his feet, hope flickering in his weary eyes as he pressed for details.
Liu Yan’er continued.
The shadow flashed by swiftly, but she noticed a peculiar detail—it seemed to have only one arm.
The other sleeve hung empty, clearly a severed limb. The figure passed close by her window, allowing her a clear view.
Guo Qishu looked to Li Pingyang for his account.
Seeing this, Liu Yan’er explained further. She was sitting in his lap at the time, her body blocking his line of sight, so naturally Li Pingyang saw nothing.
Outwardly, Li Pingyang nodded in agreement, but inwardly suspicion stirred. Why would Liu Yan’er lie? There was no one-armed shadow!
And the timing of his sleepiness the night before seemed too convenient. Why fall asleep exactly when Liu Yan’er was in his arms?
It so happened that on this particular night, Guo Qishu’s son, Guo Xian, was murdered next door.
As these thoughts swirled, a bold idea formed in Li Pingyang’s mind. Could it be that Liu Yan’er knew the murderer? Yet, stubborn as ever, he never suspected Liu Yan’er herself.
How could a gentle woman, skilled only in music and song, with no grudges against anyone, possibly be a ruthless killer?
The two seemed utterly incompatible.
“Could it be Old Crane Nine! Has he come to the Central Plains as well? But why would he kill my son? We have no enmity with him.”
Guo Qishu’s mind first conjured the image of a certain northern Liao expert, Old Crane Nine—a martial artist of the sixth rank, famed for his single arm and mastery of daggers and medicine.
If he were the murderer, it would explain how Guo Xian was killed without a trace. The evidence suggested that Guo Xian had inhaled a large amount of toxic gas.
The residue left by the gas was later analyzed, revealing a rare herb—one found only in northern Liao, a hallucinogenic fungus known as “Thousand Faces Mushroom.”

Thousand Faces Mushroom, also called Dog Tongue Mushroom,
Named for its resemblance to a dog’s tongue, its surface is covered in childlike faces of various sizes. Its strange appearance can unsettle those who first encounter it.
It is a potent hallucinogen and also serves as an anesthetic. Dried and powdered, it can be used sparingly for pain relief from knife or sword wounds.
The fungus contains powerful neurotoxins; excessive use can induce hallucinations, distort time and space, or paralyze the entire body—so much so that even severed limbs would not be felt.
This explains why Guo Xian, though his throat was slit, made no cry of pain, nor a single call for help—only shock showed on his face.
Following this clue, investigators discovered a pale mark on a board beside Guo Xian’s bed. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for dust.
Upon inspection, the powder proved to be from the Thousand Faces Mushroom. Review of city gate records showed that on the night of the murder, neither Li Gou Dan nor Liu Yan’er left Tianyu City.
No killer would be foolish enough to murder someone and then calmly sleep in the next room, awaiting arrest—it defied logic.
Nor were any daggers or poisonous mushrooms found on their persons.
Under pressure, and lacking evidence to convict them, the authorities had no choice but to release all suspects.
From then on, the entire city—and neighboring towns—began a manhunt for a northern Liao man named Old Crane Nine. His portrait was posted at the city gates.
The image depicted a venerable old man, long-browed and long-bearded, past ninety years in age, with a kindly expression and a distinctive left arm stump.
Legend held that he lost his left arm in a duel with Xiang Nanfei, the greatest swordsman of the age, and, in defeat, cut it off himself, thereafter wielding a dagger.
That dagger, called “Evil Spirit,” was razor-sharp, able to slice iron as if it were mud. It measured about 21.5 centimeters in length and 1.8 centimeters in width, its handle adorned with two silvery dragons, lifelike in their intricate design.