“More nonsense!” roared Feng. “Is he going to try and bring witchcraft in here?”
Cí’s only answer was to reach his hand deep into the bag and pull out a small cannon made of bronze. Ningzong looked astonished. The blood drained from Feng’s face.
“I found the remains of an unusual ceramic mold at the bronze maker’s workshop after it burned down. I managed to piece the mold together, but then it was stolen from my room at Judge Feng’s. Luckily, though,” Cí said, and at this, he couldn’t help but turn a smile in the direction of Feng and Gray Fox, “I’d already made a plaster cast, which I hid at the Ming Academy. Before I knew of Feng’s deception, I asked if he would retrieve it and look after it. But I found out about his trickery just in time and changed the note of authorization, telling Ming’s servant, who was guarding the evidence, only to give Feng the plaster cast…but not this replica!” Cí paused, looking around the room. “Feng destroyed the mold to try and save himself, but little did he know I’d already ordered Ming’s servant to have another made from the plaster cast. A true replica of the original weapon.” He held it aloft again. “This very one.”
The emperor seemed fascinated by the hand cannon.
“But,” he said, “you still haven’t explained what this strange contraption has to do with any of the murders.”
“This contraption, Your Majesty, was the cause of all those deaths.” Cí brought it forward, bowing and handing it to the presiding official, who then handed it to the emperor. “Feng,” continued Cí, “whose only motivation in life is money, designed this perverse instrument and had it made. Furthermore, he was planning to sell the secret to the Jin. And how did he finance all this? By embezzling state funds from the salt trade. The eunuch, Soft Dolphin, as many people here today know, was an honest and scrupulous auditor, and at the time of his death his job was to keep accounts of the salt trade. Feng began siphoning off so much money for himself that it began to show in the books. And when Soft Dolphin confronted Feng, Feng had him eliminated.”
“Slander!” cried Feng. “This is all pure—”
“Silence!” said the official before nodding to Cí to carry on.
“Like my father before him, Soft Dolphin also noticed that some of the embezzled funds were being used to buy up a very specific kind of salt—it’s known as saltpeter. An expensive product, difficult to manufacture, and used primarily to add to the mix that makes up gunpowder. Soft Dolphin’s accounts also show that he’d figured out something else: a considerable increase in the earnings of three men who apparently had nothing in common. An alchemist. An explosives expert. A bronze maker. And I think most people in the room can probably guess what ended up linking those three men together: they all ended up dead. Soft Dolphin’s final act was to cut the funds, which prevented Feng from making progress in his research. And Feng couldn’t have that.”
Now Cí took another document from Bo and handed it forward.
“However, Soft Dolphin was not actually the first victim. That unfortunate honor went to a Taoist monk by the name of Yu. As you’ll see in the report, his salt-corroded hands, the carbon under his fingernails, and the small yin-yang tattoo on his thumb showed he worked in the manufacture of gunpowder. When Feng didn’t pay what he’d promised, the old alchemist objected and ended up being shot dead by the very weapon he’d been helping Feng create.”
Cí turned a defiant look Feng’s way.
“The hand cannon shoots a scaled-down cannonball. It entered through Yu’s chest, broke a rib, and came out through his back, ending up stuck in a nearby wooden beam of some kind. Feng, wanting to hide any incriminating signs, recovered the small cannonball and tried to conceal the nature of the chest wound, enlarging and scraping it out to make it look like the result of either an animal attack or a macabre ritual.
“Next—the very next day, in fact—the young explosives expert was killed. I was able to identify his work due to the highly unusual scarring to his face, which I subsequently saw on a living man who told me gunpowder had exploded in his face. Feng’s motives were similar, but this time it was a stab to the heart that killed the victim. Bo has since found out that such specialists work wearing visors, which matches with the fact this corpse had none of the scarring immediately around his eyes. Again, Feng worked on the wound to try and make it look like the first one and the result of another attack or ritual murder.
“Now we come to Soft Dolphin. Since his disappearance would inevitably draw suspicion, Feng first tried to pay him off. He knew of Soft Dolphin’s passion for antiques and tried to buy the eunuch’s silence with a framed poem of incalculable value. At first Soft Dolphin went along with it, but when he found out Feng’s true intentions, he tried to renege on the deal. He was stabbed to death and, like the others, his wound was tampered with.
“Last to die was the bronze maker—the man who actually built the mold and cast the hand cannon for Feng. The murder occurred the night of the Jin reception, in your very own gardens, Majesty. I found soil just like the soil around the palace walls under the bronze maker’s fingernails. Feng stabbed him, and with somebody’s help dragged the not-yet-dead body to the walls, where the bronze maker struggled before his head was chopped off.
“So you see, Feng planned and carried out every single one of the murders, beheading or disfiguring the corpses to make their identification difficult and to suggest the involvement of some criminal sect.”
To this, the emperor said nothing, but merely stroked his beard for a time.
“So…” he said eventually, “what you’re saying is that this small piece of artillery has great destructive potential.”
“Imagine every soldier having one. The greatest power a human mind has ever conceived.”
Feng was visibly shaken as he stepped forward to try and formulate a reply. But the anger etched in his face was still fearsome—as fearsome as the weapon that Cí had just described, if not more so. He pointed at Cí and yelled.
“Majesty! I demand that this prisoner be immediately punished for these foundless accusations! They are an insult to you, dear Sovereign. This court has never heard such disrespectful lies. None of your antecedents would ever have permitted such a thing.”
“Leave the dead in peace,” said Ningzong. “First, you ought to worry about your own impertinence.”
Feng’s anger quickly turned to a blush.
“Imperial Highness…this insolent fool, the one they call Corpse Reader, is in reality nothing more than an expert in dissimulation. Where’s the proof? Where, I ask you? His words are like fireworks, as explosive as this supposed gunpowder he speaks of. Hand cannons? All I see is a bronze flute. What would it shoot anyway? Rice? Cherry stones?” He turned to face Cí.
The emperor squinted. “Calm yourself, Judge Feng. I am not yet pronouncing your guilt, but much of what young Cí says seems logical. The question is, why might he want to accuse you, if not to uncover the truth?”
“Majesty, is that so difficult? Spite! Sheer spite! As you know Cí’s father was once in my employ as an accountant. I hadn’t intended to bring this out in public today, but I found out that his father had been falsifying accounts and stealing from me. I had to fire him. Out of affection, I hid the truth from Cí himself. To protect him. But the Songs are all the same! When he found out, he went crazy and somehow decided it was all my fault.