Chapter 117: The Swallow is Sixteen, the Secretary Presides Over the Court

Early in the day, weary of combing his hair; late at night, too lazy to invite sorrow.

On the fourth morning, Song Mo stepped out of the mortuary. The well water at the mortuary bore a faint mist but retained some warmth. After washing up, Song Mo headed straight to the old street.

Before he even approached, the rich scent of osmanthus from Old Man Lin’s breakfast stall, mixed with the sweet porridge aroma, struck his nostrils, causing him to startle slightly.

Just as Song Mo was about to find a place to sit, he looked up and saw Yan Zi approaching.

Unlike her usual plain clothes, today Yan Zi wore a pale red dress. Her hair was styled into a beautiful cloud bun, secured with a jade hairpin, and her temples were adorned with shining floral ornaments.

Seeing Song Mo, a blush crept across Yan Zi’s face, her cheeks flushed like rosy clouds—youthful shyness made her all the more captivating.

“She’s really grown up,” Song Mo thought quietly.

Yan Zi came closer and whispered, “There’s freshly made osmanthus porridge this morning. Grandpa says osmanthus is good for clearing the mind. After staying up all night, a bowl would be just right for you.”

Song Mo nodded and said, “Then I’ll have a bowl of osmanthus porridge and two buns.”

Yan Zi asked, “The usual—one meat, one vegetable?”

Song Mo smiled and nodded; it seemed Yan Zi had thoughtfully remembered his habits.

Seeing Song Mo fall silent, Yan Zi bit her lip and went to fetch the porridge.

Soon, Yan Zi returned with a bowl of fragrant osmanthus porridge and two buns.

The porridge was naturally sweet and aromatic, requiring no pickles to accompany it.

Watching Song Mo contentedly bite into a bun, Yan Zi bit her lip again, gave a soft hum, and then hurried away.

This left Song Mo somewhat puzzled. No matter how much he pondered, he couldn’t figure out what he had done to offend Yan Zi—truly, a woman’s heart was as inscrutable as the depths of the ocean.

Blowing on the porridge to cool it, Song Mo took his first sip and immediately frowned.

It was late autumn; the osmanthus had waned, and though the fragrance was strong, it had turned somewhat vulgar.

The taste lingered not as a pleasant fragrance on the lips but as a scent that invaded the mind—neither unpleasant nor quite enjoyable.

As he ate his bun, a shadow quietly approached.

Song Mo looked up to see Aunt Wang.

“Brother Song, does it suit your taste?” Aunt Wang asked.

Song Mo nodded earnestly.

Aunt Wang casually inquired, “How old are you this year?”

Song Mo answered, “Counting head and tail, twenty-one.”

Aunt Wang smiled, “My granddaughter Yan Zi just turned sixteen today.”

Only then did Song Mo realize—it was Yan Zi’s birthday. Girls were shy and would wait for him to ask first.

After a few more words, Aunt Wang left, satisfied.

Old Man Lin, seeing Aunt Wang return, hurriedly asked, “Well? What does Brother Song mean by all this?”

Aunt Wang laughed, “That boy is truly as thick-headed as a block of elm wood. Even with all my hints, he just doesn’t catch the deeper meaning.”

Old Man Lin chuckled, “At least he’s honest. That’s a good thing.”

Aunt Wang nodded, “Yan Zi’s sixteen now. Recently, the matchmaker Zhang from the backstreet has started arranging matches for her. But I can see her heart has already been taken by that silly boy.”

In the ancient laws of the Great Zhou, girls were considered adults at sixteen, allowed to marry and start new families.

Old Man Lin shook his head, “I say, woman, don’t act recklessly. I think Brother Song is a good match; Yan Zi won’t suffer any losses with him.”

Aunt Wang laughed, “Look at you, old man, speaking as if you’re eager to marry off your granddaughter. Don’t worry—I’ll refuse outright.”

The two elders chuckled quietly, unaware that every word was overheard by Yan Zi hiding just outside the door.

Yan Zi’s cheeks flushed scarlet, but her heart was as sweet as honey. She stole a glance toward Song Mo inside the shop, silently cursing him as a clueless fool.

…

After finishing his meal and wandering outside for a while, Song Mo headed back to the mortuary. Before he could approach, he saw two constables holding shackles standing in front of the office.

Song Mo smirked, “Looks like there’s some excitement to watch.”

With nothing better to do, he walked over.

The two constables were from the capital’s government office. Since their arrival at the mortuary, all they had seen were deafening silence and frail, weak bodies—no one to speak with.

The mortuary clerks Zhang Zhe and Jing Yuepeng had gone out, leaving the constables waiting outside.

Song Mo stepped forward to speak. The constables, already worn down, were delighted to see someone still intact to talk to.

He asked what had brought them here—was there a murder at the southern city mortuary? Had another mortician died?

The constables gave him strange looks, thinking this fellow was no good, already hoping for a mortuary death in less than three sentences.

They sighed and said, “Don’t mention it. Early this morning, the magistrate sent us to make an arrest.”

Song Mo asked, “What? Has a mortician committed a crime?”

The constables nodded honestly, “There are rumors here of some dark arts, someone with occult methods. We didn’t believe it at first, but someone really accused a mortician of casting a curse.”

Song Mo’s interest piqued. “Brother, please, tell me everything.”

Encouraged by Song Mo’s eagerness, the constables poured out their tale.

It began early that morning when a woman hurried into the capital government office.

She called herself Lady Li and carried herself grandly. She arrived by carriage, accompanied by maids and guards even when lodging her complaint.

Coincidentally, the magistrate Tang Li was absent that day, so advisor Tan Chuxiao was presiding over the court.

Lady Li beat the gong of grievance, and advisor Tan Chuxiao naturally convened the court.

The advisor struck the wooden gavel and asked who knelt before the court and whom they accused.

Lady Li related her story in full.

Advisor Tan Chuxiao then asked, “You have no prior dealings or grievances with this mortician. Why now bring accusations?”

Lady Li wiped tears from her face, weeping pitifully like pear blossoms in rain.

The truth was, Lady Li had encountered trouble these past three days. Her husband, Master Li Shuju, although barely fifty, had been beset by a series of amorous advances.

First, he was admired by a courtesan in Brocade Alley; then on the street, a young lady even threw osmanthus blossoms at his sedan chair. Later, even the household maids began to flirt with him.

Lady Li was a secondary wife elevated by the master’s favor, but now, with one beautiful woman after another seeking him out—even willing to become concubines—she felt her position threatened.

Though she was middle-aged, she could not compare with such youthful beauty, and thus was filled with dread.

Advisor Tan Chuxiao was no fool. Hearing this, he asked, “Ordinarily, it’s not a bad thing for your master to be favored by others.”

Lady Li, feeling her pain unacknowledged, hesitated and then said, “If you summon my husband here, you’ll see for yourself.”

With no choice, the advisor sent for Li Shuju.

When Li Shuju appeared in court, the crowd stifled laughter, including advisor Tan Chuxiao.

Why? Because Li Shuju was hideously ugly. Though dressed in silk, he was as thin as a monkey, his face pocked like it was riddled with ant holes.

In short, utterly repulsive.

This raised a question: how could such an unsightly man be suddenly so popular with women?

Advisor Tan Chuxiao wondered if he possessed hidden talents.

But at the first words from Li Shuju, the advisor lost all patience.

Li Shuju stuttered, “R-Res-Res-Res-Respected advisor, y-you you you called me here for what?”

Well, this man was a stammerer, and his rustic appearance hardly suggested talent.

Advisor Tan Chuxiao’s face darkened as he sternly said, “Woman before the court, do you know the crime of contemning the court?”