The first bite naturally went to the chicken coated in sesame seeds. The chicken pieces weren’t large, and after being deep-fried twice at high temperatures, the surface was extremely crispy. Biting through the crispy skin, the chicken inside was juicy, and the oil had locked in its juices. Because the chicken pieces were small, they could be eaten in one bite. When chewing, the crispy skin dominated, and the juicy chicken inside created a unique texture with a slight elasticity and chewiness.

This unique texture made even Ah Bing, Tang Yuan, and Ji Caimai, who had been tasting all sorts of delicious food made by Wen Mingtang for half a year, somewhat unable to resist.

The spiciness was even stronger than the usual “spicy dishes”, making the tongues of the three who had just gotten used to the spiciness feel hot, and their tongues instinctively produced more saliva to combat the increased spiciness. While hissing and inhaling the intense spiciness, he couldn’t resist the rich, crispy texture that followed.

The spiciness was irresistible, and with his saliva not being enough, the rice in his bowl made up for it. The glistening, chewy chicken pieces were wrapped in rice, and a single bite was enough to finish a large mouthful. After only a few pieces of chicken, only a small portion of rice remained in the bowl. Ji Caimai couldn’t help but exclaim, “Looks like another dish to eat with rice!”

“It’s good with drinks or as a snack!” Wen Mingtang smiled and picked up another piece of spicy chicken, savoring its fresh, spicy flavor and unique texture.

Seeing Wen Mingtang eat the spicy chicken without batting an eye, Ah Bing and Tangyuan, with their mouths full of rice, watched with envy: they also wanted to eat with such composure, but their tongues couldn’t handle such intense spiciness.

In the entire Dali Temple, perhaps only Lin Shaoqing and Master Wen could afford to eat this as a snack.

Along with the spicy chicken, they ate two large bowls of rice. After finishing his meal, Ah Bing and Tangyuan let out a satisfied burp, patted their bellies, and turned to look at the sky outside the kitchen: less than half an hour until lunchtime; he wondered how the officials and runners of the Dali Temple had fared today.

…

…

Although Steward Mao was merely a steward in the Internal Affairs Department, his family wasn’t like the old Shìlìng’s “old Chang’an” with ancestral wealth. He was rumored to be a stranger who came to Chang’an in his teens to make a living, without any background or connections. Now around forty, after more than twenty years, he had quite “successfully” built a “vast fortune”.

Although the house where Steward Mao lived wasn’t extremely wealthy, the neighbors who frequented the area in carriages were all well-known merchants. The household employed about a dozen servants, maids, and other staff. Though unmarried and childless, he lived a very comfortable life, pampered and well-fed.

Entering the house, one immediately saw Steward Mao lying stiffly on the floor. Looking down at this somewhat wealthy and extremely “precious” man, his plump face was bluish-purple, and two clear ligature marks were visible on his neck.

One was from hanging from the rafters, and the other was from strangling him.

Whether it was suicide or murder, it was immediately obvious.

Wu Bucai, who had already finished examining the body, pointed to the ligature marks on the neck and walked over to Lin Fei, saying, “See? I don’t need to say anything more after seeing this!”

“Homicide, done in the latter half of the night,” Wu Bucai summarized succinctly. “The cover-up was extremely perfunctory; they didn’t really intend to completely conceal it, just putting on a show!”

Lin Fei nodded upon hearing this, looked at Wu Bucai, and asked, “Is there anything else?”

Wu Bucai hummed in agreement and said, “No signs of struggle were found on the body.”

Lin Fei paused upon hearing this and turned to look at Wu Bucai.

Wu Bucai raised his hands, gesturing at his wrists, and said, “There are no signs of rope restraint, nor any signs of struggle from wild clenching, and no sleeping potion found in his mouth or nose…”

Thus, there was only one possibility: the steward surnamed Mao was conscious and willingly allowed himself to be strangled.

“He was fine last night,” Wu Bucai said, glancing at the servants being questioned by the officers outside. “This man, surnamed Mao, lived a very refined life; his food was exquisite, and his breakfast was ordered the day before. Last night, he ordered an eight-piece set.”

Lin Fei, who was listening to Wu Bucai, was taken aback, frowning as he looked at Wu Bucai. “What is an eight-piece set?”

He had never heard of such a breakfast before.

Having arrived early, Wu Bucai, who had not only examined the body but also listened to the officers’ questioning, answered the question on his behalf.

“It’s the breakfast menu that guy surnamed Mao set himself, a total of eight dishes, with all sorts of exquisite side dishes…” Wu Bucai shook his head as he spoke, “The Emperor is frugal; even the imperial kitchen only prepares eight side dishes for breakfast. He’s quite something, though; behind closed doors, his lifestyle is almost as disciplined as the Emperor’s.”

Lin Fei’s brows furrowed more and more tightly, and as soon as Wu Bucai finished speaking, he immediately asked, “Besides working in the Internal Affairs Department, does he have any other business?”

“He bought and rented out the shops; he only collects the rent. I haven’t heard of anything else.” Wu Bucai paused here and quickly said to Lin Fei, “I heard all this from the servants.”

“Then he’s quite something!” Lin Fei said, his eyes sweeping over a row of precious flowers and trees planted in a corner of the courtyard, then turning to ask Wu Bucai, “How did he, an outsider coming to Chang’an to make a living, get into the Internal Affairs Department?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Wu Bucai shook his head, spreading his hands to indicate that he had only heard so much. After a pause, he added, “His servants are just servants; they probably don’t know much about the ins and outs.”

This steward, surnamed Mao, was clearly not a respectable person. How such people got their first pot of gold in their “profession” was often the beginning of their dishonest ways; they wouldn’t stray too far.

Meanwhile, Liu Yuan, having finished questioning his servants, came over, bowed respectfully, and began to speak: “Lin Shaoqing, this man surnamed Mao lives an extremely extravagant life. Let alone the normal salary of a steward in the Internal Affairs Department, even dozens of such stewards combined couldn’t live like this.”

At this point, Liu Yuan shook his head, saying, “He doesn’t live off his monthly salary!”

Wasn’t that obvious? Wu Bucai, standing nearby, glanced at Liu Yuan: anyone with eyes could see that this man surnamed Mao didn’t live off his monthly salary.

The key question was where his wealth came from.

This was the troublesome part. Liu Yuan, returning after asking around, looked rather grim. Meeting Lin Fei’s gaze, he still spoke, “None of the servants have seen him go anywhere to get money. Aside from the Internal Affairs Department, he usually just comes home. When he does go out, it’s mostly to buy things. The money… It’s like it just appears out of thin air!”

(End of Chapter)

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