The immediate thought that sprang to He Lingchuan's mind, sending a shiver through him, was the possibility of someone tracking them down to this place, leaving no evidence behind. This seemed like something his predecessor could effortlessly do, but for He Lingchuan, the idea was daunting.
He pondered for a moment, "Have the Red-White Path secure them somewhere; I'll report this to my father." His strongest ally was indeed his father, the shared burden in times of trouble. Still underage, he wasn't prepared to shoulder such grave responsibilities.
No sooner had he left his home than a servant from the He household hurried towards him, urgency in his pace. Spotting He Lingchuan, the servant brightened and quickly approached to pay his respects, "Young Master, the Lord commands your immediate return to the estate."
"The Lord" referred naturally to He Chunhua, the magistrate of Qiansong County.
He Lingchuan quickened his pace to meet his father. The He estate sprawled over twenty-five acres, roughly translating to over 16,000 square meters in terms He Lingchuan was familiar with. While neither exceptionally large nor small among the wealthy, its architecture was distinctive: black tiles and white walls set against the meticulously crafted pavilions in the garden, starkly contrasting the ruggedness typical of Heishui City.
For instance, the garden gate He Lingchuan had just passed was shaped like a treasure vase, and behind it, a fifteen-year-old wax plum tree would bloom profusely each winter. From the corner pavilion, the scattered yellow plums seemed to burst forth from the mouth of the vase in an elegant display, a sight said to be cherished only by the high-born families inland. Yet, He Chunhua held a deep appreciation for such refinements.
A newcomer unaware of this had pruned the wax plum last year, removing the spectacle in two cuts, leading the usually temperate magistrate to an unprecedented outburst.
The white walls of the He estate, a rare find, were specially transported from the heart of Yan Kingdom, with the labor costs surpassing the materials themselves. Considering Heishui City was engulfed by sandstorms for seven to eight months a year, maintaining such pristine white walls was a defiance of the natural order.
Yet, He Chunhua insisted, even installing protective enchantments around the estate to prevent erosion by the sandstorms.
The uniqueness of the He estate alone made it clear to He Lingchuan from whom he had inherited his independence.
Crossing the courtyard, he was surprised to see the magistrate standing at the storeroom door, with the loyal steward, Old Mo, in tow. The storeroom, typically reserved for sundry items and accessed only by servants, was an unusual place for the head of the household. But there, He Chunhua beckoned his son, "Come quickly!"
Assuming his role as magistrate seven years prior, He Chunhua was still in his prime at thirty-four, a striking figure of masculinity. Walking the streets of Heishui City, he often drew the admiring glances of young women and wives alike.
Only upon closer inspection, like that of He Lingchuan, would one notice the silver strands amidst his father's black hair, a testament to years of meticulous governance.
"Father, there's something I need to..." He Chunhua silenced him with a gesture, "Come inside, there's something you must see." His tone grave, he led his son and Uncle Hao into the storeroom. The steward closed the door behind them, standing guard.
In the light of day, He Lingchuan saw that the long table, usually cluttered with miscellaneous items, had been cleared to accommodate an imposing figure.
"The Leopard King!" The young man gasped in disbelief. His father had actually arranged for its transport back here?
Resting on the table was indeed a dead leopard, but its size was colossal, its presence alone imposing even in death. The demonic leopard he had encountered paled in comparison to the beast before him. Alive, this creature must have been a formidable monster.
Its coat, a beautiful blend of yellow and black, was unfortunately marred by several large wounds, drenched in blood. Despite its broken hind leg and the strong scent of blood that filled the air, the leopard's body showed no signs of decay. Pressing against its fur, He Lingchuan noted its softness.
It was said that even in death, a centipede does not stiffen; the Leopard King's corpse remained undecomposed days after its demise, indicating the profound level of its cultivation and an indomitable physique that even in death did not succumb to decay.
"How long has it been dead?"
"Nearly forty days," He Chunhua replied, lifting one of the leopard's forelimbs for his son and Uncle Hao to see that its abdomen had been dissected, clearly examined post-mortem.
"Forty days?" He Lingch