Chapter Thirty-One: The Great Heart Thief

The Jingxiang Pavilion always seemed to be bustling with noise and commotion—shouts, the clatter of dishes, and the impatient muttering of wealthy servants outside, all blending together. Amid the hurried footsteps in the corridor, a delicate-featured young servant could be seen darting about. After finally delivering all the dishes to the sixth table, Zhou Qian squeezed his eyes shut for a brief nap, though his mind replayed the first set of the Three Talents Sword Technique that Master Zhou Xun had taught him the previous day. The Sword of Man—its movements like snowflakes and flying petals, reflecting the light of the lake in spring—consisted of 1,321 sword stances, encompassing the full breadth of swordsmanship. To Zhou Qian, it was less a set of sword moves and more a comprehensive treatise on sword techniques. Even his master had said that this sword technique was the result of painstaking efforts by himself and Master Linghu Ye, who, along with eighteen other sword masters, had collected and compiled various sword manuals into a single work. Zhou Xun and Linghu Ye had poured all their energy into perfecting it. The multitude of moves was not meant to be mastered in its entirety; rather, one was to select the essence, blend or choose suitable techniques, and thus form a unique personal style. "Learn from the master, but make it your own"—this was something Zhou Xun often repeated.

“You certainly have some leisure time!” a familiar voice called out nearby. It was Qi Huanzhi, the young servant who had first welcomed him to Jingxiang Pavilion. Qi was, like Zhou Qian, an orphan found on the streets and taken in by Master Yi Shan, whom he revered and hoped to become a true disciple of one day.

“So tired!” Qi Huanzhi groaned, rubbing his arms and legs. “Why is Jingxiang Pavilion’s business always so good? Busy like this every day—I can barely keep up!”

Zhou Qian simply smiled, knowing Qi Huanzhi’s complaints were really veiled praise. Not wanting to hear more boasting, he stayed silent. Qi, seeing Zhou Qian’s lack of response, changed the subject: “Have you heard about the Heart-Stealing Thief in Luo City lately? Only targets boys and girls, stealing their hearts. You know Old Wu who delivers vegetables here? His granddaughter, just twelve or thirteen, such a lovely child—her body was found in the moat by the constables a few days ago. It was truly tragic!”

Zhou Qian felt a pang at the news. He’d met the little girl, Xiaoyue, before—clever and sweet, she’d always called him ‘Brother Zhou’ when helping deliver dishes. Now, the living had to mourn the dead; his heart twisted with sorrow.

“Zhou Qian! Come help! Slacking off again!” The sharp voice of Zhang Fu rang from the dining hall. Qi Huanzhi curled his lip. “How did you manage to offend that miser? Always making you do all the hard work?”

Zhou Qian rubbed his nose and shook his head helplessly. For reasons unknown, Zhang Fu had taken an instant dislike to him from day one at Jingxiang Pavilion. He ordered Zhou Qian about constantly, and while Zhou Qian bore it patiently, he couldn’t help but feel he was being taken advantage of.

“You! Wash those dishes!” Zhang Fu ordered arrogantly, his face flushed from drink, gesturing at the mountain of bowls and chopsticks nearby. He glanced disdainfully at Zhou Qian, then turned back to the sycophants gathered around him and continued to brag: “I followed the chief steward of the Prince of Changshui’s mansion to pay respects to the prince. The prince wore a flat-topped crown and a dark golden dragon robe. The moment I entered, the air was so imposing I could hardly breathe. When I sneaked a peek, I saw a four-clawed dragon coiling around him—I was scared stiff on the spot…”

“A dragon?” Zhou Qian patted the water-fire qilin jade pendant at his waist. “How come I never saw such a thing on that portly old man?”

Returning to the Hu residence, Zhou Qian finished his assignments and glanced hesitantly at the luminous study. The image of Xiaoyue’s innocent eyes flashed in his mind, and his gaze grew resolute.

“Master, are you busy?”

“Hmm? Qian’er, you’re here!” Zhou Xun set aside a scroll titled ‘Chronicles of the Immortals’ and smiled. “Why aren’t you resting at this hour?”

“Master, I have a request,” Zhou Qian said, recounting what he’d heard about the Heart-Stealing Thief. “I beg you to help capture this villain.”

“You have a request? We’ve been teacher and student for a year now. I’ve taught you martial arts and scholarship, but this is the first time you’ve asked a favor,” Zhou Xun replied, intrigued.

“Yes, master. Xiaoyue from Jingxiang Pavilion was murdered by the Heart-Stealing Thief today and her body thrown in the moat. Since I know of this, I can’t ignore it. You once told me this is the way of chivalry.”

“Haha, go on then!” Zhou Xun laughed heartily. “I already know about it.”

The next morning, as Zhou Qian stepped outside, he found two constables and a grim-faced middle-aged man waiting at the door. The older of the constables saluted him, saying, “Young Hero Zhou, I was ordered to bring the most experienced coroner from the fifteen provinces of Jiangnan overnight to assist in solving the case.”

“My name is Song Ci. Greetings, Young Hero Zhou,” said the somber man in a deep voice.

“Are you the Song Ci who wrote ‘Collected Cases of Injustice Rectified’?”

“That’s me.”

Zhou Qian was filled with respect; Song Ci was a true hero, a master detective for thirty years with an unbroken record of solved cases. His book had earned him praise from the Emperor himself, who declared that with Song Ci, there would be no wrongful convictions in the empire for twenty years. Zhou Qian wondered how his master had managed to enlist such a figure.

“The Sword Immortal once saved my life, and such a heartless murderer must be brought to justice!” Song Ci explained, as if sensing Zhou Qian’s curiosity.

The four of them proceeded to Duck Alley on the Fourth Street of Wenli Square, where they found Old Wu, once cheerful and optimistic, now sitting dazed and vacant before his dilapidated door. His lips moved soundlessly, and when he looked up at the visitors, his gaze was empty, though he seemed to recognize Zhou Qian. “You are… you are…”

“Uncle Wu, you’ve seen me before—I’m Zhou Qian, from Jingxiang Pavilion. I once bought candied hawthorns for Xiaoyue.”

Old Wu’s face contorted in pain, and he wailed, “Xiaoyue, Xiaoyue, such a lovely child… My son and daughter are gone, and she was my only hope. I just wanted to save enough for her to marry well before I died—Heaven, you are unjust! Unjust!”

“It is not that Heaven is unjust, but that Heaven treats all equally. This is no natural disaster, but a crime—justice must be done and the culprit punished!” Song Ci declared solemnly.

The constables offered words of comfort as well, and when Song Ci revealed his identity, Old Wu reluctantly agreed to allow the exhumation and investigation of the body.

They dug up the grave and pried open the coffin, releasing a stench that made them recoil. The corpse inside was decomposed beyond recognition, with a large gaping hole where the heart should have been. Song Ci donned black deerskin gloves and a mask, his expression grave as he carefully examined the decaying flesh around the heart, even using a small knife to cut open the internal organs, prodding and pressing the darkened liver.

After a long time, he murmured, “Something’s not right…”

“Is there a problem, Master Song?” Zhou Qian asked.

“You are a man of the martial world, Young Hero Zhou—have you ever heard of a claw technique that can remove a person’s heart without killing them instantly?”

Zhou Qian shuddered. “That’s impossible! Even my master can’t do such a thing!”

“That’s what’s strange. My examination shows that the fatal injury was not to the heart, but to the skull—a blow to the head. The technique was subtle, not fracturing the skull but shaking the brain—much like the secret inner force techniques used by underhanded martial artists, but even more advanced. Yet, how could someone survive for the time it takes incense to burn with no heart?”

“I’ve seen the Red Lotus Sect’s corpse soldiers—unless you cut off their heads, no wound can kill them. Could this be related?” Zhou Qian asked.

Song Ci shook his head. “I’ve heard of that too. The so-called Sacred Soldiers of the Red Lotus Sect are merely a variant of corpse-driving techniques from Xiangxi, bodies tempered with poisons until they are no longer truly human. But Xiaoyue was just an ordinary girl.”

All of them frowned in thought until Zhou Qian suggested, “Why don’t we search the place where Xiaoyue was killed for more clues?”

They asked Old Wu for directions, offered him some comfort and money, and set off once more to investigate.

When Zhou Qian and his companions arrived at the moat, they were surprised to find two groups already in the midst of a confrontation. Both groups wore tattered clothing and wielded weapons resembling fish spears and long poles—