When Judge Wei's official boots struck sharply against the bluestone pavement, Pi Yanlin was squatting at the entrance of the yamen, gnawing on a sugar pastry.
"Pi, you odd-job man," Judge Wei's voice was like a piece of ice-quenched iron. "Someone's been killed at the Hongyun Gambling House in the West City. Come with me."
Sugar crumbs clung to the corner of his mouth as Pi Yanlin lazily wiped it. "Sir, I spent half the night yesterday investigating that tunnel. My calves are still cramping—"
"Cramping or not, you're going." Judge Wei reached out to grab him, but his sleeve was gently flicked aside by Pi Yanlin's index finger.
The latter tilted his head and leaned in closer, his Lie-Detecting Ears growing slightly warm—as Judge Wei's Adam's apple bobbed, the trembling tail-end of his voice pierced Pi Yanlin's ear like a fine needle.
"The gambling house boss died under strange circumstances?" Pi Yanlin suddenly smiled. "Alright then, I'll carry the lantern for Your Honor."
When the cotton door curtain of the Hongyun Gambling House was lifted, a smell of mildew mixed with ambergris hit them full in the face.
An Eight Immortals table in the center of the main hall was draped with a white cloth, its bulging shape resembling a small mound.
"The deceased is the owner, Qian San. His employees found him slumped over the gaming table at the hour of *yin*," Judge Wei lowered his voice. "Face down, with a bruise the size of a knuckle on the back of his head. But the coroner said... said he was scared to death."
The moment the white cloth was lifted, Pi Yanlin's Trace-Seeking Eye activated automatically.
Qian San's facial features were twisted together, his eyeballs practically popping out of their sockets, and half a trickle of drool still hung from the corner of his mouth—truly resembling someone who had laid eyes on a living Yama.
"Sir, this humble servant would like to go rest in the side hall for a moment," Pi Yanlin groaned, massaging his waist. "These old arthritic legs flare up the moment they touch dampness. The side hall has a heated floor, right?"
Judge Wei's brow twisted into a knot, but the bailiffs coming and going through the gambling house were all looking this way, so he could only wave his hand. "Half an hour, and don't dawdle."
The moment the side hall door was bolted, Pi Yanlin collapsed onto the soft couch.
The System prompt rang out in his sea of consciousness: "Host detected entering a designated lounging location. Remaining time for today's check-in: 59 minutes and 37 seconds."
Before closing his eyes, he glanced at the window lattice—the light filtering in sliced the blue brick floor into glittering golden strips, and the sandalwood in the charcoal brazier in the corner was burning brightly.
"Ding—Check-in successful. Acquired the profound art: Lazy Immortal Formula, Level One."
A warm current rose from his dantian, like a wisp of mist that refused to disperse.
Pi Yanlin's spiritual consciousness suddenly cleared; he could even hear the faint crackle of sparks bursting within the charcoal brazier.
What was even better was that the faint, sweet, bloody scent in his nostrils was infinitely magnified—it wasn't sandalwood, nor was it ambergris, but rather... crushed datura mixed with a hint of blood.
Without even lifting his eyelids, his laziness condensed into a thread, drifting along that scent toward the direction of the accounts room.
A very faint "click" came from behind the wooden door of the accounts room, sounding like a copper lock being picked.
"The odd-job man really knows how to pick a spot."
The moment the door was pushed open, Pi Yanlin gave an "Aiya" and rolled off the soft couch, looking up straight into Gu Qinghuan's gaze.
She had changed into a moon-white brocade robe with a piece of suet white jade pendant hanging from her waist, making her look truly like a wealthy young master out for some amusement.
"Master Gu... what is the meaning of this?" Pi Yanlin made exaggerated facial expressions.
Gu Qinghuan swung the door shut behind her, the dark iron dagger in her sleeve flashing under the candlelight. "Young Master Xiao just arrived at the front hall. I disguised myself as a salt merchant's son, saying I wanted to book the place out to audit the accounts." She paused. "Did you catch that smell? The smell in this gambling house is wrong."
Pi Yanlin stroked his ear and smiled. "Datura plus cinnabar, a recipe for a soul-stealing potion. That ghost-seeing look on Qian San's face when he died..." He tapped his own temple with his knuckles. "I'm afraid he was forced to drink the medicine and then given quite a fright."
A commotion suddenly broke out in the front hall.
Gu Qinghuan lifted a crack in the door curtain and saw a young gentleman in a lake-blue cloud-patterned brocade shirt walking in, shaking a folding fan.
He was refined and handsome, carrying a three-tenths air of nobility even when he smiled, but Pi Yanlin's Lie-Detecting Ears caught the force with which his fingertips gripped the fan's ribs—the fan surface was crumpled from being clutched so hard.
"I am Xiao Chengyu. This gambling house is my family's property." Young Master Xiao cupped his fists toward Judge Wei, his gaze pausing as it swept past Pi Yanlin. "And this is?"
"An odd-job man from the yamen, helping to record the case details," Judge Wei chuckled dryly.
"An odd-job man?" Young Master Xiao's folding fan snapped open. "Well, that's fortuitous. I have a muddled ledger I'd like to ask the odd-job gentleman to look over." He turned and walked toward the accounts room. "At the third watch last night, an employee said he saw the lights on in the accounts room—yet I checked, and the employee on duty that night had asked for leave to return home."
Pi Yanlin rubbed the back of his neck and slowly followed. "Does Young Master Xiao want to ask who entered the accounts room at the third watch?"
"Precisely." A trace of warmth edged Young Master Xiao's voice. "I wonder if the odd-job gentleman heard anything?"
"This humble servant was squatting in the Zhao Estate's tunnel for half the night yesterday," Pi Yanlin yawned. "However..." He suddenly raised his eyes. "My ears are sharp. Just now, when I heard Young Master Xiao say 'the employee asked for leave,' that clear bell-like tone quivered like a cicada after autumn."
Young Master Xiao's folding fan snapped shut.
He stared into Pi Yanlin's eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing twice before he suddenly smiled. "The odd-job gentleman has quite a skill."
As the night grew deeper, the people in the gambling house had mostly dispersed.
Pi Yanlin leaned against a corridor pillar, hugging a jar of wine in his arms, mumbling incoherently about "drinking more... drinking one more bowl."
When the footsteps of the last bailiff vanished around the street corner, he spat out the wine in his mouth with a "pfft," the liquid dripping down his chin onto the bluestone pavement.
The System prompt rang out right on cue: "Second lounging instance detected by Host. Special check-in conditions triggered."
"Ding—Acquired detective secret art: Turn-the-Tables Eye."
The scenery before his eyes suddenly became translucent.
Pi Yanlin glanced casually at the dice cup on the gaming table; the dice beneath that sandalwood lid actually looked as though they had been skinned—three dice with grain-sized magnets embedded in their bases, and a pitch-black piece of iron pressed beneath the table.
He bent down to pick up the dice cup, his fingertips brushing against the carved marks on the inside of the lid—an extremely fine character for "Cheng".
"Pi, the odd-job man?"
Gu Qinghuan's voice came from behind him.
Pi Yanlin quickly put the dice cup back in its original place, turning around to resume that lazybones posture. "Is Young Master Gu leaving?"
"The lock on the accounts room has been replaced with a new one," Gu Qinghuan's voice dropped extremely low. "But I saw mud prints on the windowsill, looking like... spiked boots."
Pi Yanlin looked at the jade pendant swaying at her waist, then glanced at the tightly closed wooden door of the accounts room.
Moonlight leaked down from the eaves, casting a patch of shadow on the door panels, where one could faintly make out half the edge of a ledger protruding from the crack in the door—the cover was the most ordinary blue cloth, but the creases at the page-turning spots were a third deeper than those of a standard ledger.
He touched his ear, the warm current of the Lazy Immortal Formula still circulating within his body.
This game, it seemed, was about to be turned completely upside down.