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When an inn appeared in sight, the disciple leading a scrawny mule cried out in delight. “Master, we have a place to stay,” he said.

Behind him, Qiao Minghua, also on a scrawny mule, responded with a wooden grunt. It was nearing dusk, and the area in front of the inn was bustling with comings and goings.

The people passing by were dressed in varied styles, and naturally, the treatment they received differed accordingly. Master Qiao Minghua and his disciple waited patiently to one side.

After a long while, a plump innkeeper finally looked their way. “Identification documents,” he stated, extending a hand.

The disciple quickly produced their travel credentials. The innkeeper idly unfolded them, glanced at the documents, and his face immediately broke into a smile.

“Oh my, why, it’s the military physicians from the Northern Wastelands!” he chuckled, hastily extending an invitation. The people entering and leaving nearby were greatly surprised to hear this.

To see these two, leading scrawny mules and clad in plain cloth, still unremarkable in the crowd, being treated with such courtesy by this innkeeper, who was notorious for judging people by their appearance—could it be that this person had significant backing? Indeed, one truly could not judge a book by its cover.

When they heard the title ‘Military Physician,’ they were stunned. Military Physician?

Although military physicians today held official ranks much like officers, their achievements were undeniably less prominent than those of the generals, resulting in infrequent promotions. They usually remained in the same post until retirement, certainly not deserving of such special deference.

What was wrong with this innkeeper? He looked more delighted than if he had met a County Magistrate.

“Are you headed for the Capital?” the innkeeper chatted as he guided the pair inside. “Yes,” the disciple replied.

Qiao Minghua remained silently listless. After summoning a minor clerk to inquire about lodging, the innkeeper became somewhat unsettled.

“Truly, I apologize, the exclusive upper rooms are all taken,” he said apologetically. “It’s fine, we’ll take the shared sleeping quarters,” the disciple replied.

The innkeeper let out a sigh of relief and quickly ordered someone to lead them away, then paused as if recalling something. “It’s just that there is already one person staying in the communal room,” he said, his expression hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” the disciple asked, confused. “Does he not allow others to share?” “No, no,” the innkeeper rushed to clarify.

“This person is… rather peculiar.” “In this vast world, everyone is different; it poses no trouble,” Qiao Minghua spoke for the first time. The innkeeper glanced at him, realizing this man was not mute.

He said no more, having someone escort the pair toward the communal room. “Sir, you want these two to share a room with that fellow carrying the skeleton?” a minor clerk whispered, asking in a low voice.

“That man is too strange; if he frightens these two physicians and they complain to Lord Hu San, we might lose a sum of silver…” The innkeeper stroked his chin, watching the retreating backs of the two. “It should be fine.

I think these two are peculiar enough themselves,” he said, shaking his head. “Besides, they are military physicians; they must have seen countless life-and-death situations on the battlefield.

Sharing a room with that man is perhaps the most suitable arrangement.” “This is the room,” the clerk pointed to the door before them. A light shone inside the room, casting a tall, thin silhouette against the window; someone was seated at a table, seemingly reading or practicing calligraphy.

The disciple thanked him. “Please trouble the runner to feed our mule an extra handful of beans,” he said with a forced smile, slipping two coins to the clerk.

The clerk smiled and refused to take them. “No need, no need for this.

You work hard daily, earning your salary with your life; we cannot accept it,” he stated, then left without waiting for further argument. The disciple pocketed the coins and shook his head, smiling.

“Master, this is truly strange. Aren't these inn staff known for sucking up to the powerful and kicking the weak, judging people by their money?

Why have they been nothing but exceedingly polite to us on this journey? Perhaps we misunderstood them,” he remarked.

Qiao Minghua’s expression remained wooden. “It has nothing to do with us,” he said, reaching out to push the door.

It didn’t budge. Qiao Minghua assumed the door was old and heavy, so he applied more force.

The door slammed open with a clang, clearly bolted from the inside. The noise startled the person within.

“What is it?” A man’s voice inquired. “Lodgers,” the disciple quickly replied.

Silence followed from inside, then a rustling sound, as if the person was tidying something up. “Wait a moment,” he said.

What was he doing? Counting money while the door was bolted?

The disciple pouted and could only wait. After a moment, the door opened.

Beneath the dim light of two oil lamps, a man clad in black stood before them. The lantern hanging beneath the door illuminated his features.

He appeared to be around thirty, with fine features, though his face was thin and devoid of expression, lending him an air of cold severity. He cast a brief look over Qiao Minghua and the disciple, then turned away.

Qiao Minghua and the disciple stepped into the room and saw that bedding had already been spread on the communal cot—evidently the man’s. The disciple busied himself laying out the other bedding.

Qiao Minghua went to place his satchel on the table. A large, square box already occupied the table.

The man was seated at the writing desk, arranging brushes, inkstone, paper, and ink. Qiao Minghua noticed the papers he was handling were densely covered in script.

Qiao Minghua was not a talkative person, and this man seemed equally reserved; silence filled the room. “Is Your Excellency also heading to the Capital?” the younger disciple asked enthusiastically after setting up his bed, unable to bear the silence any longer.

The man grunted an affirmative, looking unwilling to prolong the conversation. The disciple hit a cold shoulder, confirming the man was indeed strange, but it didn't matter; he had met uncommunicative people before—his Master being one example.

After the man finished arranging his things, his gaze inadvertently fell upon Qiao Minghua’s pack. Qiao Minghua was frugal; his luggage was packed into a military-issue backpack marked with a red cross.

“You two… are physicians?” the man suddenly asked. Qiao Minghua grunted, also apparently uninterested in continuing the discussion.

“Yes, yes, we are military physicians, from the Northern Wastelands,” the disciple replied warmly. The man looked at them, his expression shifting slightly, a faint smile appearing.

His cold features instantly became amiable and bright. “Military physicians from the Northern Wastelands,” he repeated.

“So, you are from the Northern Wastelands.” He repeated the words ‘Northern Wastelands’ twice; the first time was an exclamation, the second carried a hint of… melancholy. Qiao Minghua paid him no mind, retrieved the wooden bucket and bronze basin, and prepared to wash up.

The man said nothing more, seemingly lost in thought, his expression under the oil lamp oscillating between sorrow and joy. This person was truly bizarre, the disciple couldn't help but mutter from the side.

“Hurry up and wash so we can sleep; we have an early start tomorrow,” Qiao Minghua advised. The disciple agreed, abandoning his effort to converse with the stranger, and quickly fetched water for himself and his Master to wash.

Only when they were ready for bed did the man rise to attend to his own ablutions. The light in the room was extinguished, and the night enveloped the space.

Master Qiao Minghua and his disciple were weary from the journey, especially the young disciple, who, being at an age where he could eat and sleep heartily, succumbed to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow, letting out a loud snore. Qiao Minghua heard the man on the other side tossing and turning—was he disturbed by his disciple’s snoring?

However, Qiao Minghua had no intention of waking his disciple. In this life, when traveling away from home, one cannot always have things go one’s way.

He turned over and pulled his quilt tighter. “You are military physicians from the Northern Wastelands…” The man on the other side suddenly spoke, his voice trembling slightly, sounding either agitated or sorrowful.

“Then do you know Qi…” The man trailed off. Qiao Minghua listened, waiting for the completion of the sentence.

Know who? Know what?

Qiao Minghua pondered, but then heard no further sound from the other side; the man had turned over and fallen asleep. Truly… a strange person.

He muttered to himself and closed his eyes. But before he could drift off, a sharp scream from outside startled them awake.

“Murder!” This single cry sent the entire inn into an uproar. In the backyard, torchlight illuminated half the sky.

Outside the quarters of the inn’s cook and laborers, a stout man lay on the ground, face covered in blood, eyes wide open. An inn runner pulled his hand away from the corpse’s nose.

“Dead,” he announced, shaking his head. Hearing this, a man being held down by two others, his hands and clothes smeared with blood, instantly turned ashen.

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!” he shouted desperately, struggling.

“Shi Lao San! Still denying it!

If it wasn’t you, who was it! Everyone saw you holding the knife, and your hands and clothes are bloody!

Shi Lao San, you quarreled with Boss Xiong just a few days ago, threatening to kill him, and now you actually did it!” the innkeeper roared, glaring at the man. “No, no, I wanted to kill him, but I truly didn’t!

Shi Lao San was holding the knife himself; I snatched it away when I saw him frightening people. This blood has nothing to do with me; he was like this when I arrived… Sir, Sir, I am wrongly accused!” the man wailed.

“Whether you are wronged or not, we’ll discuss it at the County Yamen,” the innkeeper commanded, then looked to the clerk. “Have the Yamen officers been notified?” “They were notified and are coming now, coming now,” the clerk nodded.

The innkeeper snorted, about to say something more, when his peripheral vision caught sight of someone walking directly toward the corpse. He jumped in alarm.

“You, what are you doing?” he shouted, looking over there. Qiao Minghua had arrived with the other man.

Upon hearing the word ‘murder,’ a physician’s instinct compelled him to come. As for why the other man had followed, it was probably just to watch the spectacle.

But he never expected the man to walk straight toward the corpse, taking spectating too far! He actually bent down to examine the dead body… The surrounding crowd snapped back to reality, pointing and murmuring in astonishment.

“Hey, what are you doing!” the innkeeper shouted, abandoning caution and rushing forward, signaling the others, “Quick, pull him away!” The man stood up at that moment. Seeing the innkeeper and others rushing toward him, and the other man sobbing on the ground, he said, “He is not the killer,” he stated, his expression placid.

Everyone stared blankly. Is he insane?

“You, you, step aside, step aside! Just because you say he’s not the killer doesn't make it so!

Who are you?” the innkeeper shouted, thoroughly exasperated. No wonder he found this man strange from the start; he was clearly a lunatic!

Did this person steal his identification documents? I really shouldn’t have let him stay here!

Before the words were fully out, another commotion sounded from outside—the constables and the head constable from the County Yamen had arrived. “Lord Li, there’s been a murder, but the perpetrator was caught red-handed!” the innkeeper eagerly stepped forward to announce, intending to claim some credit.

“He didn’t kill him. This man accidentally killed himself by mistake,” A male voice spoke, close behind the innkeeper.

The innkeeper wheeled around angrily. “Arrest this madman quickly!” he demanded.

Before his command could be carried out, the head constable standing nearby let out an exclamation, ignored the innkeeper, and rushed straight toward the man. “Are you Lord Yuan, the garrison officer of Dingwang County?” the constable asked, showing deference.

The man glanced at him and nodded. “I am Yuan Ziqing,” he replied, “but I am no longer the garrison officer of Dingwang.” The constable’s attitude grew even more respectful; he smiled and bowed deeply.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Your Excellency. I am Li Kun; I had the honor of meeting Lord Yuan during the headless male corpse case at Wanghu Village…” he recounted.

Yuan Ziqing nodded. “This person was not killed by him,” he stated, wiping his hands on the clean fabric of the deceased’s clothing.

He stood up and pointed at the corpse on the ground. “It should be that he suffered a sudden acute illness while butchering meat, fell, and fatally injured himself on a vital point.” The innkeeper and the others listened, dumbfounded.

On what grounds? As if you witnessed it yourself!

Yet, they saw the head constable nodding repeatedly. “Yes, thank you, Your Excellency,” he replied.

Yuan Ziqing said no more, stood up, and walked away. Everyone, including Qiao Minghua, stared in astonishment.

Was that… the end? The verdict delivered?

“Release him, release him,” Head Constable Li ordered, addressing the man who had been held down and was now weeping. The man wailed, “Thank you, virtuous official!

Thank you, virtuous official!” He cried out in joy as if saved from death, repeatedly kowtowing toward the direction the strange man had departed. Thank him for what?

Why did whatever he said become the final ruling? “What do you mean, ‘thank him’?

He is Lord Yuan! Lord Yuan Ziqing, the 'Divine Judge' of Dingwang County!” Head Constable Li retorted, his expression showing utter bewilderment at the crowd’s confusion.

The moment the title ‘Divine Judge’ was spoken, some people suddenly understood. “Oh, he’s that Divine Judge who identified the killer using white bones!” “He’s the one who solved the case of the bleeding coffin!” Such murmurs spread chaotically.

About half the onlookers lost their doubt and instead looked enlightened. “Since the Divine Judge said he wasn't murdered, then he wasn't,” they concluded.

Qiao Minghua paid no mind to the constables examining the scene; he stared, astonished, in the direction the man had left. This man was astonishingly capable.

The crowd dispersed, and Qiao Minghua had no interest in lingering. He hurried back.

Yuan Ziqing’s figure appeared not far ahead. Just as he reached the door, his disciple’s shriek echoed from inside.

Qiao Minghua quickened his pace, entering the room almost simultaneously with Yuan Ziqing. Inside, the disciple sat on the floor, holding up the oil lamp, staring in panic at what lay before him.

A box had fallen open, spilling a pile of white bones onto the floor; a skull faced the disciple. “Master, Master,” the disciple crawled and scrambled toward Qiao Minghua in terror.

Anyone woken abruptly in the middle of the night to find their Master and others from the night before gone, the outside in chaos, would naturally scramble up, light a lamp, and accidentally knock over a box placed on the table. The moment the lamp illuminated the scene, seeing the grim human bones at their feet would surely cause great fright.

Yuan Ziqing remained calm, walked over, and slowly began reassembling the bones back into the box. “You two are physicians,” he turned to look at the Master and disciple, a smile appearing—though it held a hint of mockery.

“And you fear skeletal remains?” Having said this, he stopped looking at the pair. The disciple had calmed down by then.

It wasn't fear, but the sheer abruptness of the event… “How did you know that man died from an acute illness causing self-injury?” Qiao Minghua couldn't help but ask, curious. Yuan Ziqing finished arranging the box, placed it back on the table, and patted it lightly, as if the box contained some rare treasure.

“How do you know that one medicine counters one specific malady?” he countered instead of answering. Qiao Minghua paused, then smiled, dropping the question.

“You are…” He hesitated, then changed the subject. Yuan Ziqing merely shook his head.

“I am going to sleep. Before I sleep, I dislike talking to people,” he stated.

Qiao Minghua had to swallow his question. What a strange man.

I’ve been agitated since last night and barely slept. I can’t finish this now; I’ll post this much and continue writing tomorrow.

By the time I finished updating, I realized it was already tomorrow… Well, there is still one chapter tonight. RS