Reborn Nine Times, the Tyrant Always Wants to Imprison Me - Chapter 9

Fangru suddenly raised her hand, her fingertips pressing firmly on the acupoint at his wrist, causing a slight numbness in his fingers.

In the moment Zhou Ling loosened his grip from the pain, she had already turned sideways to escape his control, her hair brushing past the corner of his lips, carrying a faint, elusive fragrance.

“Your Majesty,” she said solemnly, though a trace of mockery flickered in her eyes, “I am already betrothed.” Her voice was clear and calm, as if she hadn’t just narrowly escaped having her breath stolen.

“Betrothed?” Zhou Ling chuckled softly, rubbing his wrist, but his gaze grew even more intense. “Your betrothed doesn’t truly love you. He has long betrayed you.”

Zhou Ling had said these very words to her in his first life, and now, in his third life, Fangru still trusted Gu Zhou completely.

She didn’t even flinch.

“If Your Majesty truly possesses such foresight,” she subtly retreated half a step, creating a slight distance, yet it felt like a silent provocation, “perhaps you should worry about the Northern Di envoy’s visit to the capital six months from now. Are they coming to pay tribute, or are they using it as a pretext to plot against you?”

Zhou Ling seemed not to hear, stepping forward again to close the distance, his fingertips nearly touching the rise and fall of her collar from her quickened breath. “Those matters are for the court officials to worry about. At this moment… I am only interested in the ‘method’ of your foresight.” He deliberately slowed his speech on the word “method,” his voice laden with heavy implication.

Fangru abruptly looked up, meeting his unfathomable gaze. Suddenly, instead of retreating, she moved closer, almost pressing against his chest as she tilted her head up, her red lips parting slightly, her breath as fragrant as orchids:

“Your Majesty, believe me—the autumn floods of the Yellow River, the locust plague in Jizhou—I can warn you in advance, help the court avoid disaster, and save the people from suffering. That is the true heavenly secret, not…” Her gaze meaningfully swept over his dangerously close lips, “…speculations between the sheets.”

Zhou Ling’s pupils contracted sharply. He seized her wrist and pulled her abruptly closer, their bodies nearly pressed together, heat transmitting through their clothing. He lowered his head, his nose brushing against her forehead, his voice hoarse:

“Fine. No need to wait six months. Tomorrow, report to the Dali Temple as a Mediator. If within three months, you can rely on your ‘abilities’ to be promoted to Investigator, I will believe you truly possess heaven-defying powers.” His other hand slid to the small of her back, his palm scorching, yet his tone was icy and full of testing: “If you cannot… the crime of deceiving the sovereign, along with your earlier ‘disrespect,’ will be settled together.”

However, the next day, when Fangru changed into sharp men’s clothing and arrived at the Dali Temple with high ambitions, she truly understood the meaning behind Zhou Ling’s words, “I’ll be watching.”

Dong Xing, the Dali Temple Cheng, was a stern middle-aged man. He looked the official’s daughter disguised in men’s clothing up and down, his eyes showing no concealment of disdain. “The Li family massacre case?” He scoffed as if hearing the biggest joke. “Even the Chief Minister finds it a thorny ironclad case. How could you possibly handle it?”

Ignoring Fangru’s slightly changed expression, he pulled a file from the dust-covered bottom shelf of the archives and tossed it casually onto the table. “Since His Majesty has spoken, you may start with these cold cases. This is the five-year-old Cheng Qi disappearance case—Cheng Feng, a wealthy merchant in the capital, lost his only daughter on Mid-Autumn night when she vanished from her own boudoir. If you can uncover anything about this, then we can talk about other matters.”

Fangru silently accepted the case file. She had heard of this case—in her two previous lives, it had ultimately become an unresolved mystery. Dong Xing was clearly throwing this hot potato no one wanted to her, hoping to see her admit defeat under the pressure.

The surrounding whispers pricked at her like needles.

“Look, it’s her, the daughter of the Vice Minister of the Imperial Banquets…”

“Personally appointed by His Majesty, though who knows why…”

“What reason could there be? If he truly cared, would he send her here to suffer?”

Fangru tightened her grip on the file.

She wasn’t afraid of hardship—she only feared that Gu Zhou, imprisoned in the Ministry of Justice’s dungeon, wouldn’t live to see his name cleared.

Zhou Ling had given her a chance: Gu Zhou’s execution was temporarily stayed, on the condition that she be promoted to Sizhi within three months. This meant she had to solve a major case convincing enough to earn widespread recognition.

She took a deep breath and bowed to Dong Xing. “I accept the assignment.”

Returning to her cramped office, Fangru immediately unrolled the case file.

The paper had yellowed, the ink blurred, recording the bizarre disappearance on that Mid-Autumn Festival night five years ago.

All testimonies indicated that Cheng Qi had never left the backyard that night, yet she had vanished without a trace, like a wisp of smoke.

The previous Sizhi had even resorted to torturing her personal maid during interrogation, but gained nothing.

Fangru closed her eyes in contemplation.

Her memories from her past two lives were hazy regarding this case, meaning she had no advantage of “foresight.” She could only rely on herself.

She sought help from her cousin, who served in the Ministry of Personnel.

After reviewing the file, her cousin frowned deeply. “Fangru, this case is too peculiar, and it’s been too long. Even the officials who handled it back then have either been transferred or resigned. Dong Xing is clearly making things difficult for you. Why don’t I help you maneuver for a newer case that’s easier to achieve results with?”

“No, I’ll start with this one.” Fangru’s gaze was resolute as she gently traced Cheng Qi’s name on the file.

She noticed that the evidence list included a stack of letters sent to her maternal grandmother in Jiangnan. The contents were ordinary, reflecting only the obedience and filial piety of a young maiden.

Why would such a girl vanish into thin air?

As Fangru looked at the delicate handwriting, she could almost see the faint figure of a young girl weeping softly behind the paper.

The next day, Fangru went to a small courtyard near the former Cheng residence, based on the address recorded in the file. Qin Mama, Cheng Qi’s wet nurse, now lived there. Knocking on the wooden door, she was met by a frail, white-haired old woman with a weary face.

Upon learning that Fangru was from the Dali Temple reinvestigating the young lady’s case, Qin Mama was first stunned, then tears rolled from her clouded eyes. “Five years… and the court still remembers my young lady…”

A flicker of hope rose in Fangru’s heart. Gently, she guided, “Mama, you knew Miss Cheng best. Please think carefully—was there anything unusual before her disappearance? Or… did she have any conflicts with anyone?”

Qin Mama, who had been immersed in sorrow, jolted as if pricked by a needle. Her head snapped up, her eyes suddenly turning wary and even hostile. “My young lady was the kindest soul, treated all us servants with the utmost respect! How could she have conflicts with anyone? Are you, as an official, unable to solve the case and now trying to tarnish her name?” Her emotions flared, and she began shoving Fangru out without another word. “Go! Get out! There’s nothing more to say!”

Fangru was caught off guard, stumbling as she was shoved out of the courtyard gate, nearly tripping over the threshold. As she steadied herself awkwardly and straightened her wrinkled official robe, she heard a few undisguised snickers from nearby.

“Well, look who it is? Isn’t this the newly appointed female official from the Dali Temple? What’s this… driven out by commoners?” The speaker, wearing the uniform of a Ministry of Justice secretary, was none other than the notoriously sharp-tongued Zheng Yu.

He was accompanied by several subordinates, all of whom now wore mocking expressions as they watched Fangru’s embarrassment with amusement.

Fangru’s cheeks warmed, but she quickly straightened her posture, sweeping a cold gaze over Zheng Yu and his entourage. “Minister Zheng seems quite idle. Have all the Ministry of Justice’s cases been resolved? To have leisure to observe a colleague at work.”

Zheng Yu hadn’t expected her direct counterattack. After a moment’s surprise, he sneered, “At work? Magistrate Shen’s methods are quite unique indeed—driven out by the victim’s family. Is this some novel investigative technique? If this is how the Dali Temple conducts investigations, no wonder so many cold cases pile up.”

“How I conduct investigations is none of Minister Zheng’s concern,” Fangru replied calmly, yet every word was clear and distinct. “At the very least, this official understands that solving cases requires confronting doubts directly, rather than following others’ opinions or jumping to conclusions based on superficial appearances.”

Zheng Yu was momentarily speechless at her response, his mocking expression faltering slightly.

He had intended to casually deflate the arrogance of this privileged young lady who had been parachuted into the Dali Temple with much attention, but hadn’t expected her not only to stand her ground but to make valid points with every word. Her calm yet stubborn demeanor left him momentarily at a loss for a rebuttal.

He noticed dust on the cuffs of her official robe from the earlier shoving, and almost reached out to brush it off—a strange impulse he immediately suppressed, transforming it into an even more caustic snort.

“Hah, Investigator Shen is quite sharp-tongued,” he said, averting his gaze from those overly clear and determined eyes, his tone stiff. “Let’s hope your skills match your eloquence, and you don’t end up creating a farce, wasting the court’s resources.”

Despite his words, unlike his usual habit of storming off when displeased with someone, he remained rooted to the spot. His gaze inadvertently swept over her slightly slender shoulders and tightly pressed lips, stirring a faint, unfamiliar emotion in his heart that even he didn’t recognize.

He quickly attributed this discomfort to mere curiosity—he wanted to see what this pampered young lady could possibly achieve with this long-unsolved case.

But Fangru paid no further attention to his complicated thoughts. With a meaningful glance at the tightly closed courtyard gate, she ignored Zheng Yu’s shifting expressions, brushed her sleeves, and strode away with her head held high.

Old Lady Qin’s extreme reaction hadn’t discouraged her; instead, it reinforced her conviction that Cheng Qi’s disappearance was far more complicated than it appeared. The old woman clearly knew something but seemed to be afraid of something.

As Fangru emerged from the alley where Old Lady Qin lived, her brow furrowed in thought about the hidden meaning behind the woman’s extreme reaction, she heard a soft voice call out to her.

“Miss Shen?”

Fangru looked up toward the voice and saw Su Wanqing, the star courtesan of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion, standing under a willow tree nearby. Her figure remained graceful as ever, but notably absent was the handsome scholar who had recently been constantly at her side.

Since Su Wanqing had let go of her infatuation with Zhou Ling, she seemed to have finally opened her heart and grown quite close to a poor scholar who often visited the Drunken Immortal Pavilion to recite poetry and compose verses. Their interactions were occasionally discussed among the literati in the capital.

At this moment, Su Wanqing, alone and noticing the worry between Fangru’s brows, took the initiative to approach her and asked with concern, “Miss Shen, what troubles you so?”

Fangru and Su Wanqing had once shared a subtle connection because of Zhou Ling. Though they were not close friends, seeing the sincerity in Su Wanqing’s eyes and considering her experience in the world of entertainment—which might grant her insights different from those of ordinary sheltered women—Fangru briefly recounted the Cheng Qi case and the setback of being driven away by the matron.

Upon hearing this, Su Wanqing’s eyes flickered thoughtfully, and she said softly, “So that’s it. Though I may not be talented, at the Drunken Immortal Pavilion, dealing with all sorts of people has sharpened my ability to read expressions and understand hidden meanings. If you don’t mind, Miss Shen, perhaps I could assist you in analyzing the situation. An extra pair of eyes might notice something different.”

Seeing the sincerity in her gaze and realizing she indeed needed help, Fangru nodded in agreement. However, she privately thought Su Wanqing might be acting on a whim or seeking to gain a reputation for “chivalry” among the literary circles.

Unexpectedly, the very next day, Su Wanqing arrived early in the morning at the Dali Temple office, even canceling her appointment with the scholar.

Sitting opposite Fangru, she meticulously pored over Cheng Qi’s seemingly ordinary family letters, spending most of the day in deep concentration. Her focus and patience secretly astonished Fangru.

As the evening glow spilled into the office, Su Wanqing’s slender finger pointed to a specific part of one letter. She looked up, her eyes sharp and perceptive: “Fangru, look here. Cheng Qi repeatedly mentioned that if her grandmother came to the capital, she must take her to the ‘Hundred Blossoms Teahouse’ to watch the newly staged operas. This is suspicious.”

Fangru was puzzled. “What’s suspicious about watching operas?”

“Watching operas itself isn’t wrong,” Su Wanqing shook her head, her tone firm. “But the Hundred Blossoms Teahouse is a place of mixed company, not the kind of entertainment respectable young ladies in the capital would choose. Truly well-bred ladies and madams only watch operas at elegant venues like the ‘Dream Golden Garden’ or ‘Water Splendor Pavilion.’ For Cheng Qi to specifically mention taking her elder there is unusual.”

Hearing this, Fangru’s spirits lifted.

This was indeed a subtle anomaly that everyone had overlooked. “Let’s go check out the Hundred Blossoms Teahouse!”

The two, accompanied by two bailiffs, soon arrived at the teahouse.

The place was bustling with noise, filled with the scents of cheap tea and snacks. On stage, an opera troupe was singing in a drawn-out manner, while the audience below consisted of people from all walks of life—far removed from the tastes expected of a sheltered young lady.

As soon as they entered, a familiar and annoying voice rang out: “Tsk, Investigator Shen, what brings you to this opera house today? Still unable to crack the case, or here to cause trouble for me?”

It was the ever-persistent Zheng Yu, who seemed to be there on official business. Upon seeing Fangru, he launched into another round of sarcastic remarks.