Chapter Twenty-Four: A Letter from Cangzhou

“Chief of the Criminal Division? Me?”
Li Pingyang pointed at himself in disbelief, lowering his voice as he questioned the masked man. The masked man dared to lift his head and, after studying him closely, nodded to affirm he had not made a mistake.

Li Pingyang began to recall if he had ever met this man before, but he was certain he hadn’t. He had never even heard of the so-called Secret Criminal Division, let alone knew what it was for.

Fortunately, this man seemed to be a friend. Otherwise, judging by his earlier display of skill, if he were an enemy, Li Pingyang would have been in real trouble.

“Get up,” Li Pingyang commanded, and only then did the masked man dare to rise to his feet. The man before him was Zhou Li, the supervisor of the Sixth Division of the Secret Criminal Division, entrusted by the Director to seek out the new Chief.

The Secret Criminal Division was a mysterious institution directly under the control of the Emperor of Song, somewhat akin to the Eastern and Western Factories of the Ming Dynasty. It operated outside the authority of the Six Ministries, unconstrained by the laws of Song. They acted only on Imperial edict or the orders of the Director.

Beneath the Secret Criminal Division were nine major branches. Above these, but below the Director, were three positions for Chiefs of the Criminal Division.

The special envoy Li Pingyang had previously met was, in truth, one such Chief—a man named Zhao Lian. He had been sent to infiltrate Northern Liao as an undercover agent, where he remained hidden for over eleven years.

With his mission finally complete, the Director ordered Zhao Lian’s return to the capital. On the journey back, however, he perished unexpectedly.

The ring on Li Pingyang’s finger was the official token of a Chief of the Criminal Division. Thus, by a twist of fate, he had unwittingly become the new Chief.

It was quite by chance that Zhou Li, after searching from Lin’an to Tianyu without a single useful lead, stopped to rest at a teahouse. There, a newspaper on a table caught his eye. On the front page, he saw news of Li Pingyang—specifically, an illustration that only showed the back of his head. By another stroke of luck, the artist had included a mirror in the drawing. Reflected in it, Zhou Li could see Li Pingyang’s full face and the ring on his hand.

That ring, the Serpent Spirit Ring, was the token of Zhao Lian, one of the three Chiefs. The Division recognized the ring, not the person. Though the wearer was a mere fourteen- or fifteen-year-old youth, possessing the ring made him, without question, the new Chief.

Zhou Li had been observing from the shadows, ready to intervene. When he saw the Fifth Rank master Xie Changfeng about to harm the Chief, he stepped in just in time.

In terms of rank, Xie Changfeng had only just advanced to the Fifth Rank, while Zhou Li was a mid-to-high Sixth Rank expert. Against a regular person, such power meant one could face a hundred foes alone. If one reached Eighth Rank or higher, he could stand against an entire army.

Li Pingyang began to study Zhou Li in turn. The man before him was dressed in black, his face hidden behind a tiger-headed mask, revealing nothing of his appearance. His voice, however, suggested he was quite young—no older than thirty, Li Pingyang guessed.

Through the eye holes of the mask, Li Pingyang glimpsed a pair of eyes brimming with murderous intent, the dark irises holding a depth of ruthlessness far beyond his years. Zhou Li was a head taller than Li Pingyang, well over six feet, and wore a black waist token—presumably the unique badge of the Secret Criminal Division.

The token, iron-black and dull, was about one and a half fingers long and a little over half a finger wide, bordered by a cloud design. At the top, a tiger’s gaping fangs were etched above the words “Secret Criminal Division” and an engraved seal.

At Zhou Li’s waist hung a weapon Li Pingyang had noticed earlier—a long bamboo staff with a black tassel and a bright jade pendant.

Suddenly remembering something, Zhou Li approached Guo Qishu and placed an object on the table before him, his tone icy. “Your son was killed by agents of Northern Liao. This youth had nothing to do with it.”

“In this small bottle, you’ll find the evidence you seek.”

It was a small brown medicine bottle containing some white powder. Guo Qishu opened it and sniffed gently—immediately coughing from the pungent odor.

Zhou Li had collected this powder from beneath the bed in the murdered Guo Xian’s room. The powder was from a herb called “Thousand Faces Poison Mushroom,” a hallucinogenic toxin found only in Northern Liao.

Also known as Dog’s Tongue Mushroom for its canine tongue-like appearance, its surface was covered in markings resembling children’s faces—an unnerving sight for the uninitiated. This fungus caused vivid hallucinations and paralysis. When dried and ground into powder, it could be used in small amounts as a pain reliever for wounds.

From the white residue under the bed, Zhou Li deduced that it had been fashioned into a combustible projectile. Once ignited, it produced a white smoke. The mushroom’s neurotoxins could induce hallucinations or complete numbness if used in excess.

This explained why, on the night Guo Xian was killed, there were no cries for help—only a look of astonishment on his face. If Li Gou Dan really were the murderer, it would make no sense for him to calmly sleep in the next room afterward, waiting to be captured by the authorities. It defied all logic.

With Li Pingyang’s innocence established, Zhou Li produced an official notice—a wanted poster issued by the Secret Criminal Division. It stated clearly that the deceased, Guo Xian, was guilty of collaborating with Liao.

Small red plum blossom marks had been found behind Guo Xian’s ear and on the skin of his back—signs of the Red Plum Hall, a Northern Liao spy organization.

Under the guise of his father Guo Qishu’s influence, Guo Xian had been selling state secrets to Northern Liao while serving as an official. Two taverns under his name had been seized; they were ostensibly legitimate businesses, but in reality, they served as intelligence outposts.

Though Guo Qishu had been unaware of these activities, he was nonetheless implicated and would be imprisoned, awaiting judgment. With luck, he might escape beheading, but he would likely die in prison.

Thus ended the era of Guo Qishu—a fate he had long anticipated, though it had arrived sooner than expected.

Zhou Li gave a whistle, summoning several subordinates wearing the same tiger-headed mask. They stepped forward, removed Guo Qishu’s official hat and robes, and escorted him away.

Sensing danger, Su Liuyun tried to slip away on his belly like a caterpillar but was promptly seized by Zhou Li.

Turning to Li Pingyang, Zhou Li asked, “How shall we deal with this one?”

Li Pingyang glanced at Su Liuyun, who looked at him pleadingly with pitiful eyes. Li Pingyang smiled back kindly, then his expression turned cold.

Facing the bailiffs, he said coolly, “Give him fifty strokes.”

It was justice for Liu Yan’er, whom Su Liuyun had beaten, and a reminder that Li Pingyang was not one to be trifled with.

Supporting Liu Yan’er, they left the court together as Su Liuyun’s curses and cries of pain echoed behind them.

Suddenly, a strange bird resembling an eagle circled overhead and dropped a letter from the sky.

It was an urgent message from Cangzhou.

After reading it, Li Pingyang’s face darkened. He ordered Zhou Li to send the wounded Li Hu and Guo Qishu back to the capital, then told him to ready the horses—he himself would ride to Cangzhou at once.