Chapter One: A Headless Corpse Unearthed in the Imperial Mausoleum

Lunar Calendar, Ninth Month, Fourteenth Day

On a rainy night, a bolt of violet lightning slashed through the sky, striking at the foot of the Imperial Mausoleum.

“When will this rain ever end?”

“It’s been fourteen days. Not even the plum rain season lasted this long.”

Two eunuchs, shrouded in straw raincoats and carrying lanterns under umbrellas, made their rounds at the foot of the Imperial Mausoleum, checking if the lightning had damaged the tomb.

“Godfather, do you think the Great Ancestor is still inside…”

A shadow flashed past the foot of the mausoleum.

“Who’s there?” The old eunuch was instantly on alert.

“Godfather, I think I saw someone ahead.” The younger eunuch quickened his pace, but by the time he reached the mausoleum, the figure had vanished.

“Could it be the Tomb Guard?” the old eunuch mused, his steps slow from the rain. By the time he arrived, he sighed, “The Tomb Guard never comes alone. It must’ve been a stray cat.”

Though he spoke thus, his brows furrowed with unease.

The young eunuch raised his lantern, taking a few steps forward.

Suddenly, he cried out and tumbled hard—but there was no sound of him hitting the ground.

“Be careful,” the old eunuch cautioned.

“God… father…” came the trembling voice.

“What now?”

“Help me!”

The old eunuch, a cautious man hardened by thirty years in the palace, immediately strode forward. He found the young eunuch struggling to climb out of a pit, mud smeared across his body and hands. The boy had tripped and fallen in, but hadn’t felt pain, as though something beneath him had cushioned his fall.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the night like day, finally revealing what lay in the pit: corpses, more than a dozen, met the eyes of the two mausoleum keepers. The old eunuch, long accustomed to death within palace walls, was unfazed by bodies—but to find them at the foot of the Imperial Mausoleum was a matter of utmost gravity.

“Godfather, none of these bodies have heads!” the young eunuch screamed as he scrambled out, pointing in terror.

The old eunuch, voice trembling, told the young one to summon the Tomb Guard at once, his eyes fixed on the ghastly sight below.

Dawn broke, pale and cold.

Officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Astronomical Bureau arrived to investigate. Thirteen headless corpses—anywhere else, this would be a case of great alarm, but at the Imperial Mausoleum, it was a calamity.

Lu Chen Zhou, reeking faintly of wine, his brow tightly knit, cursed the night’s lightning again and again as he stared at the pit. He’d only been chief officer of the Ministry’s Investigation Division for less than a month, never expecting his first case to be so grave.

“Lord Lu.”

His thoughts were interrupted by Li Rong, the Chief Astronomer, who signaled him over to the pit’s edge.

“This is no simple matter. If we’re not careful, you and I will be caught in it as well.”

Li Rong’s expression was grim.

“What has this to do with you?” Lu Chen Zhou asked, puzzled.

Li Rong shook his head and pointed at the pit. “See the size of it? No ordinary hand dug this. The bodies aren’t what’s strange—it’s their appearance here, at the mausoleum, struck open by lightning, and more importantly, the positions in which they’re laid out.”

Lu Chen Zhou’s head was spinning. “Are you saying this is tied to the heavens?”

Li Rong lowered his voice, leaning close. “Why else would I be here? The Tomb Guards don’t summon the Astronomical Bureau lightly. I’d barely lain down last night when they dragged me out.”

“So, have you observed any portents?” Lu Chen Zhou ventured.

Li Rong glanced at the pit again. “The Northern Dipper.”

Lu Chen Zhou, no expert in omens or divination, still found the arrangement of the bodies peculiar. Who would dig such an enormous pit just to bury corpses?

“Thirteen bodies. The Northern Dipper is usually a sign of great fortune, but here, the constellation is formed of corpses—clearly deliberate. And chosen to be at the Imperial Mausoleum. I suspect His Majesty already knows.”

“That’s your business to explain to the Emperor. Mine is to find where these bodies came from and who buried them.”

Lu Chen Zhou beckoned the coroner from the pit.

Li Rong, a few years his senior and a fellow townsman, took no offense at Lu’s bluntness.

The coroner climbed out with difficulty and bowed. “My lord, all are male. Judging from their wounds, they died within the last three days—and their heads were severed while they still lived.”

Ten years in the Ministry, yet Lu Chen Zhou had never encountered living men beheaded—let alone thirteen.

“And…” The coroner hesitated.

Impatience flickered across Lu’s face. “Speak plainly.”

The coroner cast a nervous glance at the bodies. “There’s no livor mortis. It’s unusual.”

“How, then, do you judge the time of death?” Lu pressed.

“My lord, time of death isn’t measured by livor mortis alone. There are many ways—rigor, for instance, and—”

“That’s enough,” Lu cut him off.

“Trouble, trouble!” muttered Li Rong, and before Lu could respond, he took off running toward the southeast of the mausoleum.

“Where are you going?”

When Lu left, the coroner sneered, “Arrogant lot, all of them. Don’t know a thing. When this is over, I’ll retire.”

Lu had no choice but to follow. They jogged until the whole mausoleum came into view. Li Rong finally stopped, both men gasping for breath.

“Chief Li, you run faster than I thought,” Lu joked.

Li Rong made no reply, his gaze dark as he surveyed the mausoleum, then lifted his eyes to Purple Gold Mountain.

Lu was about to speak when Li Rong silenced him with a raised hand. Pulling out his compass, Li Rong walked forward a few steps, then back again, muttering words Lu didn’t understand. Lu could only wait.

At last, Li Rong stopped, staring blankly at the compass.

Impatience gnawed at Lu as the sun climbed higher. “Chief Li, what have you divined?”

“It’s over,” Li Rong said, collapsing to the ground, face ashen, the compass falling from his limp hand.

Lu Chen Zhou knew the matter was grave and rushed to his side. “What did you see?”

Li Rong pointed, terror-stricken, toward the distant mausoleum. “Heaven’s wrath is upon us.”

“Heaven’s wrath indeed—how else could thirteen bodies appear out of thin air?” Lu replied with a bitter smile.

Li Rong shook his head. “The dragon’s energy is wounded—great calamity will befall the realm.”

Lu, seeing his colleague nearly lost to dread, gripped his arm, whispering, “Such words must never be spoken. The Emperor forbids—”

He stopped himself, swallowing the rest.

Li Rong gathered himself. “I must return to the palace at once and report to His Majesty, or my head will not remain on my shoulders.”

“Your task may be done, but my troubles are just beginning,” Lu sighed, glancing toward a figure approaching in the distance.

It was Commander Zhou Zheng of the Tomb Guard.

The Tomb Guard had been founded by the Great Ancestor to protect the Imperial Mausoleum, with its own Administration Office, and a force of over five thousand men divided into five battalions, each of around eleven hundred. These soldiers were handpicked and rigorously trained. From them, five hundred elite guards were selected—men who could ride at full gallop, leap trenches, scale walls on horseback, and shoot arrows with two out of three hits while mounted. Every five years, the elite were re-tested; those unfit were dismissed.

“Commander Zhou, what brings you here?” Lu greeted him with a smile, though his heart was heavy.

Zhou Zheng, nearing fifty, had guarded the mausoleum for many years. He was a cold, unsmiling man, and looked with little favor upon Lu, a man not yet thirty who already held the third-highest seat in the Ministry.

“I am not so free as Lord Lu, who enjoys his leisure. Last night, my men searched for you high and low,” Zhou said coolly.

Lu had grown used to such barbs. By ill luck, he’d been drinking with friends at the Heavenly Cloud Pavilion and slept there after too many cups.

Zhou turned to Li Rong. “Chief Astronomer, what have you discovered?”

Li Rong exchanged a glance with Lu—they both knew Zhou was fishing for information.

“Nothing of note,” Li Rong replied, preparing to leave, but Zhou stepped in his path.

“Commander Zhou, what is the meaning of this?” Li Rong asked.

“I’ll speak plainly. From this moment, we three are bound together. If we cannot trace the origins of the corpses and provide a convincing explanation to His Majesty, the Tomb Guard, the Ministry, and the Astronomical Bureau must each offer up a scapegoat.”

Li Rong forced a bitter smile. “I merely observe the heavens…”

Zhou cut him off with a wave. “I know nothing of omens or augury, but I know what matters to the Emperor.”

As he spoke, his gaze fixed on Lu Chen Zhou, who, though a young blade, understood the gravity of the situation.

“Commander Zhou, you saw it too?” Lu’s eyes sharpened, but the look quickly vanished.

“They say lightning strikes where it will, but it happened to expose that mass grave. There was only ever one Emperor Guangwu of Han,” Zhou remarked.

Lu fell silent, thinking the metaphor apt. From the moment he arrived, he’d caught a faint scent of gunpowder. The constant rain had washed away most traces, but his keen nose had not been deceived. Yet he wondered how Zhou had reached the same conclusion.

Zhou, as if reading his thoughts, said, “I served in the army as a young man. The marks on those necks were not made by any common blade—the coroner would not know that.”

“What do you make of it?” Lu tested him.

“The executioner used a military goose-quill saber.”

Zhou’s eyes returned to the pit, as if calculating his next move.