6. The Uncle’s Greed

The Temple of the City God rose against the midnight sky like a sleeping beast, its curved eaves and ornate ridge-tiles silhouetted against a faint scattering of stars. Zhang Yuanlong and Suo Fahui approached from the rear, where a narrow alley led to the monks' private quarters. The main gates were bolted, but a small side door—used for deliveries of incense and candles—was secured only with a wooden latch. Yuanlong had noted this detail during his earlier surveillance, and now he prized the latch open with the flat of his dagger, easing the door inward on silent hinges.

They stepped into a small courtyard paved with grey flagstones. To their left stood the storehouse, a squat brick building with a single iron-bound door. To their right, the main hall glowed with a dim oil lamp—a night offering before the statue of the city god. The air was thick with the scent of old incense and damp earth. Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell chimed the second watch.

Yuanlong gestured for his wife to wait in the shadow of the eaves. He crept to the storehouse door and examined the lock. It was a sturdy bronze padlock, but not a complex one. He withdrew a thin pick from his sleeve—a tool he had acquired years ago from a travelling locksmith—and worked the mechanism with practiced patience. After several tense breaths, the lock clicked open.

He pushed the door ajar and slipped inside, Suo Fahui following close behind. The storehouse was cluttered with wooden chests, stacked baskets of incense, and shelves lined with scrolls and ledgers. A single tall cabinet stood against the far wall, its doors secured with a woven cord and a wax seal. That, Yuanlong guessed, was where the temple kept its most valuable documents.

He crossed to the cabinet and broke the wax seal with his thumb. Inside, a series of rolled parchments lay in neat rows, each tied with a colored ribbon. He scanned the labels: donations, land deeds, loan agreements, and a separate section marked "Private Deposits." He pulled out a bundle tied with a black ribbon—the color Huan Decong often used for his business correspondence—and unrolled it.

His heart sank. It was not the deed to the eastern wing. It was a tax record, showing a large payment made by Huan to the county treasury on behalf of the Zhang family—a payment that was dated the same day as the pledge contract. Yuanlong's mind raced. If Huan had paid the Zhang family's taxes, he could claim that he had been acting as a de facto partner in the estate, strengthening his legal position. The tax payment was a clever piece of evidence that would make the deed seem more legitimate.

He set the tax record aside and searched further. Near the back of the cabinet, he found a second bundle wrapped in yellow silk—the color reserved for property transfers. He untied the cord and unrolled the parchment. His eyes scanned the text, and a cold wave of fury washed over him. It was indeed the deed, signed by his father's hand, transferring the eastern wing to Huan Decong in perpetuity—not as a pledge, but as outright sale. The signature was shaky, but authentic. The date was two months before the pledge contract—just as Suo Fahui had reported.

He turned to his wife. "This is it. If this deed is presented in court, the eastern wing is gone—and the will I found will be meaningless, because the property was already sold before the will was written." He folded the deed carefully and tucked it into his inner robe. "We burn this. Tonight."

Suo Fahui nodded, her face pale. "But if Huan discovers it is missing, he will know someone broke in. He will suspect you."

"Let him suspect," Yuanlong said. "Without the deed, his claim falls apart. He can only rely on the pledge contract—which I can now challenge with the second will. The will supersedes the pledge because it revokes all prior transactions. The magistrate will have no choice but to rule in my favor."

They were about to leave when Yuanlong noticed a small leather satchel tucked beneath the cabinet, half-hidden by a fallen scroll. He picked it up and opened it. Inside were several letters, written on fine paper, sealed with the personal chop of his brother Yuanqing. He unfolded one and read it by the dim light filtering through the cracks in the door.

The letter was addressed to Huan Decong and dated a week after Yuanlong had departed for the eastern markets. It read: "Dearest Merchant Huan, as we have agreed, I shall ensure that the household is divided against itself. The eldest brother is away, the old man is weak, and my mother is too grief-stricken to interfere. I will press the pledge, and you will press the deed. Between us, we shall split the estate—the eastern wing to you, the western lands to me. The rest of the family can fight over the crumbs. I have already begun to sow doubts about our brother's wife—a few whispers here, a misplaced bracelet there—so that when the time comes, he will have no allies. Trust that I will keep my word. —Yuanqing."

Yuanlong's hands trembled as he read. The letter was damning evidence—not just of the conspiracy, but of his brother's deliberate framing of Suo Fahui. The bracelet, the rumors, the poison—all orchestrated by Yuanqing, with Huan Decong as his partner. He showed the letter to Suo Fahui. She read it, and her eyes filled with tears—not of sorrow, but of cold, hard anger.

"He used me," she whispered. "He used me as a decoy, so that you would suspect me and waste time hunting for a traitor in your own bed."

Yuanlong wrapped the letters in a cloth and placed them alongside the deed. "These are our weapons now. The deed we burn; the letters we present to the magistrate. They prove that your brother-in-law conspired with a merchant to defraud the family and hasten Father's death—at least legally."

They slipped out of the storehouse and locked the door behind them. The temple grounds remained silent. They retraced their steps through the side door and into the alley, their mission successful. As they hurried toward the Zhang compound, the first light of dawn was just beginning to tint the eastern sky—a pale, watery grey.

But when they reached the compound, they found the main gate wide open, and a contingent of county guards milling about the courtyard. At the center stood Magistrate Xu, his face stern, flanked by Yuanqing and Huan Decong. Behind them, two guards held a struggling figure—it was Deng Fu, Yuanlong's trusted servant, his face bruised and his wrists bound.

Magistrate Xu raised a hand as Yuanlong and Suo Fahui entered. "Master Zhang Yuanlong, I am here on a formal complaint from your brother. He accuses you of breaking into the county archives and stealing a private document—the pledge contract itself—and also of conspiring with your servant to forge a second will. He has provided testimony from his attendant Cao Rong, who claims he saw you remove a parchment from the ancestral hall and replace it with a forgery."

Yuanlong's mind spun. Cao Rong had betrayed him—or had been coerced into false testimony. And the county archives? He had never entered them. This was a desperate countermove by Yuanqing, trying to preempt any legal challenge by striking first.

"Your Honor, my brother is lying," Yuanlong said, his voice steady. "I have not stolen any document from the archives. However, I have in my possession a genuine second will written by my father, a deed of sale fraudulently obtained by Huan Decong, and a series of letters that prove a conspiracy between my brother and the merchant to defraud our family. I request that you examine them immediately."

He reached into his robe to produce the documents—but as he did, Huan Decong stepped forward with a triumphant smile. "Your Honor, I also have a witness. The night watchman at the Temple of the City God saw this man and his wife entering the temple storehouse not an hour ago. They broke the seal and stole my property—a deed that I lawfully obtained. I demand their arrest."

The magistrate's eyes narrowed. "Is this true? Did you break into the temple storehouse tonight?"

Yuanlong's heart pounded. He had the deed in his robe—the stolen deed. If he admitted to the burglary, he would be arrested, and the evidence he had gathered would be tainted as stolen goods. If he denied it, Huan could produce the watchman's testimony. There was no clean way out.

Suo Fahui stepped forward, her voice clear and unwavering. "Your Honor, we did enter the temple storehouse—but we did so at the invitation of the head monk, who had agreed to let us pray before the sacred scrolls in private. My father was a lifelong patron of this temple. The monk will confirm this. As for the deed—we found it abandoned on the floor, not in a locked chest. We picked it up to examine it, intending to return it. We are not thieves; we are loyal subjects who have been slandered by greedy men."

It was a bold lie, but it was plausible. The magistrate frowned. "The head monk is away on a pilgrimage until the end of the week. He cannot confirm or deny your story. Without his testimony, this becomes a matter of one word against another."

Yuanqing seized the opening. "Your Honor, my brother is a master of deception. He has already forged a will, stolen a contract, and now broken into a temple. He will stop at nothing to steal my inheritance. I demand that he be held in the county lockup until the monk returns—or until his guilt is proven."

The magistrate hesitated. He looked at Yuanlong, then at Suo Fahui, then at the gathered guards. "Master Zhang Yuanlong, I have known your family for many years. I do not wish to act harshly. But there are too many accusations and too few witnesses. I will place you under house arrest within the compound—you may not leave until the head monk returns, or until I summon you again. Your wife may remain with you. Your servant Deng Fu will be released to your custody. However, your brother's claims will be noted, and if any further evidence of wrongdoing emerges, I will have no choice but to proceed with formal charges."

Yuanlong bowed, his mind racing. House arrest was better than a cell, but it was a prison nonetheless. He could not leave to gather more evidence, nor could he meet with the magistrate privately. Yuanqing and Huan had effectively neutralized him, at least temporarily.

He watched the magistrate and his guards depart, leaving the compound in a tense silence. Yuanqing walked past him, his face twisted with smugness. "Enjoy your confinement, brother. By the time the monk returns, I will have produced enough evidence of your crimes to convince the magistrate to send you to the border. The will—the real will—will be destroyed, and the pledge will stand. You have lost."

He walked back to the eastern wing, followed by the smirking Huan Decong. Yuanlong stood in the courtyard, the stolen deed and the conspiratorial letters still hidden in his robe. He had the evidence, but he could not present it without admitting to the burglary. He needed a new strategy—one that would expose his brother's conspiracy without incriminating himself.

Suo Fahui touched his arm. "We have a few days," she whispered. "The head monk is not on a pilgrimage. He is in the city—I saw him this morning at the market, buying vegetables. He will return to the temple at dusk. We can have him testify that he gave us permission to enter. But we need to reach him before Yuanqing does."

Yuanlong nodded. He could not leave the compound, but Suo Fahui could—she was not under arrest. "Go to the temple at dusk," he said. "Find the head monk. Tell him the truth—that I needed to retrieve a stolen deed to save my family. Ask him to swear that he gave us permission. If he agrees, our burglary becomes a lawful visit."

Suo Fahui set her jaw. "I will go. And I will not fail you."

She left through the rear gate, slipping out before the guards could stop her. Yuanlong retreated to his study, where Deng Fu was nursing his bruises. He sat in the gathering dusk, the documents spread before him. He would not wait passively. He would write a formal petition to the magistrate, sealed with his father's personal chop—a chop that Yuanqing had never possessed—and attach copies of the conspiratorial letters. He would send it via Deng Fu, who could slip out through the kitchen window after dark.

But as he dipped his brush into the ink, a soft knock came at his door. It was not Suo Fahui—she was still at the temple. He opened the door to find his mother, Lady Wang, her face ashen. In her hand, she held a small, blood-stained cloth—the same handkerchief that Yuanlong had found in his father's locked box.

"Yuanlong," she said, her voice trembling, "I found this in your father's old trunk this afternoon. I thought it was just a keepsake. But I held it up to the light, and I saw a message written in faded ink—a message from your father to me, hidden in the hem. It says: 'When I am gone, open the bronze burner. The truth is in the ash.' I do not know what it means, but I thought you should see it."

Yuanlong took the handkerchief and held it to the light. The tiny characters were barely legible, but they matched his father's handwriting. He had already found the will in the incense burner. But the message said "in the ash"—not in the hollow leg. He had assumed the will was the only hidden item. But what if his father had left something else—something buried in the ash itself?

He thanked his mother and rushed to the main hall. The bronze tripod stood in its usual place, its bowl filled with a mixture of fine ash and sand from countless ritual offerings. He knelt and thrust his hand into the cool, gritty mass, sifting carefully. Near the bottom, his fingers brushed against a small, hard object—a bronze tube, sealed with wax.

He withdrew it and broke the seal. Inside was a rolled strip of silk, less than two inches wide, covered in his father's tiny script. He unrolled it and read:

My dearest son, if you have found this, then you have already retrieved the will from the leg of the burner. But I must tell you the full truth: I was not merely forced to sign the pledge by your brother. Huan Decong has been blackmailing me for years over a debt I incurred in my youth—a debt to a gang of river pirates that Huan secretly led. I have proof of his criminal past in a chest buried beneath the locust tree in the eastern courtyard. Use it to destroy him. But beware—Yuanqing knows of this chest. He may have already moved its contents. —Your father.

Yuanlong read the message three times. The locust tree—the old, half-lopped tree in the eastern courtyard, now occupied by his brother's household. His father had buried evidence of Huan's piracy there. If Yuanlong could find it, he could expose Huan as a criminal, destroying his credibility in court. But Yuanqing had likely already searched for it—or moved it.

He folded the silk into his sleeve and walked to the eastern courtyard. The tree stood in the corner, its bark gnarled with age, its roots disturbing the flagstones. He knelt and began to dig with his bare hands, his fingers tearing through the soil. After a foot of depth, his nails struck something hard—a small iron chest, rusted and heavy.

He pried it open. Inside were documents, sealed with the chop of the River Pirates' Guild—a notorious group that had been disbanded years ago. There were bills of lading, passenger lists, and a confession signed by a man who had served as Huan's first mate. It was the evidence his father had described. But as he lifted the chest, he saw something else—a second bundle, wrapped in oilcloth, tied with a red cord.

He unwrapped it. Inside was the second will—the original one that had been taken from the ancestral hall. Yuanqing had indeed removed it, but he had not destroyed it. Instead, he had buried it here, perhaps planning to use it later as leverage. Or perhaps he had hidden it to prevent anyone from finding it, thinking that the locust tree was his private stash.

Yuanlong now held both the will and the pirate evidence. He had everything he needed—except a way to present it without being arrested for the temple burglary. He would have to rely on Suo Fahui's success with the head monk. If the monk testified that the temple entry was lawful, then his evidence would be admissible.

He reburied the chest—leaving only the will and the pirate documents in his possession—and returned to his study. The sky was now fully dark, and the night watchman's call echoed in the distance. He waited, his heart thumping, for his wife's return.

At the second hour of the night, Suo Fahui slipped through the rear gate, breathless but exultant. "The head monk agreed," she said. "He will come to the yamen tomorrow morning and swear that we had his permission. He was a friend of my father's—he remembered the family's donations. He needs no payment, only the promise that we will make a generous offering to the temple."

Yuanlong embraced her. "You have saved us." He showed her the will and the pirate evidence, and she stared in disbelief. "Your father was a clever man," she whispered. "He laid traps within traps."

Tomorrow, they would go to the magistrate together—Yuanlong, Suo Fahui, the head monk, and all the evidence. They would expose the conspiracy, clear their names, and reclaim the estate. But as Yuanlong prepared his final petition, a cold thought crept into his mind: if Yuanqing had buried the will under the locust tree, then he knew its location. Why had he not destroyed it? Why leave it there, where anyone could find it?

Perhaps because Yuanlong was not the only one playing a deeper game. Perhaps Yuanqing had buried it as bait, to see who would dig it up. And the person who dug it up—Yuanlong himself—had just revealed that he knew about the chest and the pirate evidence. The next move would be Yuanqing's.

He looked out the window. In the eastern wing, a single light still burned. Behind that light, his brother was plotting. And somewhere in the shadows, Huan Decong was waiting. The final confrontation was coming—and this time, it would be played on a public stage, before the magistrate and the entire county. The only question was who would blink first.