Chapter Forty-Three: The Strange County Magistrate

The next morning, Jiang Pingchuan was already busy in the kitchen with Xiao Wu. Madam Zhou had arranged for a carriage, and Zhou Ninger was constantly fetching the noodles Xiao Wu had prepared from the back kitchen, placing them into food baskets and loading them onto the cart.

A crowd had gathered at the entrance of the Zhou Family Noodle Shop. Word of the incident at the shop had already spread, and as they watched bowl after steaming bowl of Yangchun noodles being loaded onto the cart, an uneasy feeling settled in their hearts.

Zhou Fu was a well-known figure in the Three Rivers County. The Zhou family had made noodles for generations, and their Yangchun noodles were the stuff of legend. Never before had anything like this happened. Among the onlookers were some who had dined at the shop just yesterday.

After suffering bouts of vomiting and diarrhea the previous day, they had hurried over this morning to follow Jiang Pingchuan to the county yamen. None could fathom why the Zhou Family Noodle Shop was bustling with activity so early, making noodles as if nothing had happened.

Yet out of their trust in Jiang Pingchuan—and even more so, their faith in Zhou Fu—they believed there must be something amiss, just as Jiang Pingchuan had said.

“Thank you all for coming so early,” Jiang Pingchuan said, standing at the shop’s entrance, removing his apron and beaming at the crowd. “Perhaps the thought of eating noodles now unsettles you. But rest assured, those who have not yet had breakfast will soon enjoy the finest Yangchun noodles.”

The crowd nodded in agreement. They trusted Jiang Pingchuan. Ever since he had arrived in Three Rivers County, the strange happenings around them had grown fewer and fewer.

“Brother Pingchuan, don’t worry! I, Big Bull Wang, grew up eating Zhou Family noodles. I believe there’s nothing wrong with these noodles!” bellowed Wang Daniu from the crowd. Many present had eaten at the Zhou Family Noodle Shop since childhood, just like him.

“Alright, everyone. Since you’re all here, let’s set out for the county yamen,” Jiang Pingchuan said firmly, standing by the carriage and looking over the crowd. He’d thought long and hard the night before: Gao Yao, that simpleton, couldn’t possibly set up a feng shui trap. In the whole of Three Rivers County, there were only two people capable of using feng shui to harm others—one was the long-missing Daoist Wu, the other was the mysterious man in black robes whose whereabouts were unknown. The drop of blood from the black-robed man, enshrouded in Jiang Pingchuan’s true qi, would allow him to sense that man’s presence up close. Today, he would go to the yamen to unmask the hidden hand behind Gao Yao.

Jiang Pingchuan and Zhou Ninger walked shoulder to shoulder toward the county yamen, while Xiao Wu drove the carriage, its load of steaming Yangchun noodles trailing a crowd of townsfolk from Three Rivers County.

As they neared the yamen gates, Jiang Pingchuan saw another group gathered at the entrance. They greeted him with cupped hands; among them were Yu Shu and others whose names he could not all recall. But their presence made one thing clear—they hoped he would win justice for Zhou Fu and the Zhou Family Noodle Shop.

The four bold characters for “Three Rivers County Yamen” hung above the entrance, flanked by two imposing stone lions. Two vermillion pillars reflected the closed red doors behind them, barring entry.

Jiang Pingchuan climbed the stone steps and gazed at the drum of grievances. Its surface gleamed, unmarred by frequent beatings—a sign that the new county magistrate had handled few cases since his arrival. He brushed dust from the drumsticks, aimed at the center, and struck a resounding blow.

Boom, boom, boom...

“Injustice! We are wronged!”

The deep, lingering drumbeats reverberated through the morning air, shaking the yamen. The people of Three Rivers County raised their hands, crying out for justice, their voices swelling in a tidal wave of protest.

Jiang Pingchuan continued to beat the drum, listening intently for any movement inside. Soon, the sound of hurried, disorderly footsteps and scattered banging of clubs drifted out, mingled with curses.

It was clear the yamen’s constables were slovenly beyond measure. He wondered, with no small irony, how the county magistrate had earned his reputation as an upright official.

Creak... bang...

“What’s all this racket? Drumming like you’re raising the dead—enough with the noise!” The yamen doors were flung open and a group of disheveled constables stumbled out, led by a stubbled, middle-aged man with a crooked hat, who barked at Jiang Pingchuan.

Jiang Pingchuan smiled, pausing in his drumming. Suddenly, he raised the drumstick high. The constable started, leaping backward.

Boom!

As soon as the constable jumped away, Jiang Pingchuan brought the drumstick down with force, making the grievance drum ring out in a thunderous crash that left everyone’s ears ringing and heads buzzing.

Crack... clang...

The constables, who had stood about in disorder, snapped to attention at the sound, gripping their intimidating staves and rapping them in unison upon the ground.

Jiang Pingchuan set down the drumstick and strode toward the main hall, leading the crowd. He glanced at the plaque above the hall—“Justice Shines Bright”—and a faint, inscrutable smile appeared on his lips. Approaching the county magistrate’s desk, he gave it a few light taps.

The magistrate, who had been slumped over the desk, startled awake and forced his bleary eyes open to see Jiang Pingchuan’s face. Dark rings circled the official’s eyes.

One might have thought those shadows came from tireless devotion to county affairs, but the stench that wafted from the magistrate’s mouth as he yawned made Jiang Pingchuan recoil in disgust. It was the fetid odor of decay—as though the magistrate survived on a diet of corpses.

His eyebrows were uneven, splitting in the center; a misty haze hovered over his brow. Jiang Pingchuan counted himself lucky to see the magistrate still breathing. A few days later and he might have found nothing but a dried corpse. Here was a man in his fifties, his skin wrinkled and loose, looking less like a man and more a puppet, drained of all vitality.

“Your Excellency, I am Jiang Pingchuan. Seeing how hard you work for the county pains me deeply. Allow me to preside over today’s case in your stead. What do you say?” As he spoke, Jiang Pingchuan sent a surge of true qi into the magistrate’s body. A flash of clarity lit the official’s eyes—Jiang Pingchuan knew then that he could control him.

The county magistrate was no longer himself, but a puppet controlled by another’s magic. Yet Jiang Pingchuan possessed the finest puppet-controlling technique in the world. With this, the magistrate was severed from his former master and became Jiang Pingchuan’s own puppet.

“So you are Jiang Pingchuan! I’ve heard much about you—so young and talented, handsome and charming, beloved by all. I have long admired you. This case is yours to judge!” declared the magistrate.

Jiang Pingchuan pinched his nose and exchanged pleasantries, unable to stand the stench. The magistrate rose, patted Jiang Pingchuan’s shoulder, and took a seat among the auditors below.

As Jiang Pingchuan surveyed the crowd, he saw countless eyes fixed on him in astonishment. A little embarrassed, he forced a modest smile, straightened himself, and took the magistrate’s seat. His refined features radiated a quiet authority, his expression grave.

“Order in the court!” he intoned, bringing the gavel down with a resonant crack. The constables lining the hall moved to strike their staves in response, but the stubbled constable interrupted.

“What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t you hear the magistrate has entrusted the case to me? Any objections? Someone, give him thirty strokes!”

Jiang Pingchuan eyed the burly man with interest. He hadn’t yet identified the mastermind behind the incident, but saw no harm in playing along for now. Besides, it was high time to set the yamen’s ways straight—a place meant for justice had become a den of disorder.

“No, no, Lord Jiang, I wouldn’t dare! It’s just—the prisoner was taken away by the secretary, and without him, we can’t proceed with the hearing,” the burly constable stammered, turning pale as his fellows approached, staves in hand. He usually relied on the secretary’s authority to keep the others in line, but now, with the magistrate’s own words naming Jiang Pingchuan as judge, he realized the balance of power had shifted.

“Then go and fetch that damn secretary! He thinks he’s more important than I am. When he gets here, give him thirty strokes to remind him of his place!” Jiang Pingchuan scanned the hall and, sure enough, the secretary’s seat was empty. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now found the man’s absence rather intriguing.

“Secretary arriving!” came the drawn-out announcement from the doorway just as Jiang Pingchuan finished speaking. He leaned back and watched as a young man entered through the crowd—a fair-skinned youth with striking features and a hint of mischief in his eyes. Jiang Pingchuan had never seen a secretary so young. Their eyes met, and he noticed the secretary suddenly hide one hand behind his back.

There was something about the man’s gaze—an uncanny sense of familiarity. Meanwhile, the secretary’s own heart skipped a beat as he looked at the magistrate seated among the auditors.