TGCFNM -Chapter 137 How Could Just One Day Separate Us

When Jiang Zisheng started to defend himself, Chu Ling turned her gaze to Zhang Ercai.

Zhang Ercai panicked and stammered, “My lord, it really wasn’t me… really not me… I—I wouldn’t dare kill anyone… I can’t even kill a chicken!”

Chu Ling, clearly disgusted, stopped looking at him and instead turned to Jiang Zisheng. “On the sixteenth of this month, Taoniang was murdered at home. Where were you? Is there any witness who can prove you had no opportunity to commit the crime?”

“I can… I can,” Madam Jiang rushed in. “That night we stayed home, drank a little peach wine, and both of us got somewhat drunk. Then we went to rest. When morning came, he was lying next to me, sleeping peacefully.”

“Besides you, is there anyone else who can testify?” Chu Ling asked. “You are a close relative; your testimony alone cannot fully clear him of suspicion.”

Madam Jiang thought desperately, but in the end shook her head, looking sad. “No, there isn’t anyone else.”

Chu Ling looked at Jiang Zisheng and said, “So far, the evidence found includes: the footprints under Taoniang’s window, palm prints on the beams, the carved knife marks that injured Zhang Ercai’s head, and finally, the cloth and wire used to strangle Taoniang.”

Jiang Zisheng listened quietly, completely calm.

Chu Ling continued, “The murder weapon was not at Taoniang’s house; it was taken away. So I suspect the killer has a habit of taking the tools used for murder. That’s why, after having you brought here, I ordered a search of both your carpenter workshop and your home.”

Madam Jiang immediately said, “There’s nothing at home—no murder weapon at all.”

Chu Ling nodded. “Indeed, there’s nothing. The home is very clean; everything is at the workshop.” With that, Chu Ling had Wang Wei and Wang Yan carry in a wooden chest.

The chest was not large, roughly the length of an armspan and about a meter tall, like a small cabinet.

Wang Wei and Wang Yan placed the chest on a chair that had already been brought in, facing Jiang Zisheng and the crowd outside.

Chu Ling looked at Jiang Zisheng. “Do you recognize this chest?”

Jiang Zisheng shook his head in confusion. “This… was found in the workshop?”

“Yes,” Chu Ling said. She did not immediately open it but instead asked Jiang Zisheng, “Your right hand was injured as a child, correct?”

Jiang Zisheng nodded. “Yes, my lord. I was struck by wood as a child, so it lost some strength. When I was an apprentice, I mainly used my left arm for the heavier work, but my right hand wasn’t idle—it handled fine, detailed carving.”

“After you left eight years ago and then returned, why did you stop doing carpentry yourself and only act as the owner?” Chu Ling asked.

Jiang Zisheng replied, “My lord, over all those years I saved up some silver outside. When I came back, I wanted to open a workshop. As for why I only act as the owner, I felt a bit physically incapable. Every time I carved, my mind would become distracted and unfocused.”

Chu Ling nodded and continued, “Eight years ago, after the florist’s daughter you were betrothed to was killed, you left that place of sorrow and moved elsewhere, correct?”

Jiang Zisheng shook his head. Remembering the old grief, his heart still ached. “When I suddenly heard the terrible news, I was stunned. I wanted to go to Master Song’s house in person, but my parents stopped me. Later they took me to Back Gate Street, where we stayed for more than half a year before leaving again.”

“Where did you go next?” Chu Ling asked.

Jiang Zisheng said, “I’ve been everywhere, but never stayed long. Every time, my parents would rush to move, and they wouldn’t let me interact with any girls. It wasn’t until my sister got married and they finally settled down that I met my wife.”

Madam Jiang’s eyes were red, her voice choking with emotion: “My husband is an extremely gentle and kind man. How could he possibly kill anyone? He wouldn’t even dare to kill a chicken.”

“After you married, you moved back on your own. Did your parents know?” Chu Ling asked.

Jiang Zisheng shook his head. “They didn’t know. It’s just…” He glanced at his wife, quietly holding her hand. “Zhizhi has been gone for many years, and Uncle Song has been alone. I wanted to come back to take care of him in his old age and see him through to the end.”

“All right.” Chu Ling exhaled. “I’m sorry, Madam Jiang. I need to ask about how you two met back then. I hope you don’t mind.”

Madam Jiang immediately nodded.

“All right, Jiang Zisheng, how did you meet the florist’s daughter Zhizhi, how did you fall in love with her, and when was the last time you saw her?” Chu Ling asked.

Jiang Zisheng looked at his wife reassuringly, then recounted their story of meeting and falling in love to Chu Ling, a trace of regret and pain appearing on his face. “She didn’t dare to go out, and she couldn’t, so every time I visited, it was while Uncle Song was away. I would bring her things, or sneak over at night to see her.”

“The last time I saw her was the night before she was killed. That night, I took my wages and secretly bought some peach wine. Uncle Song had gone out for something, and I was afraid she’d be scared alone, so I climbed over the wall to see her. I accidentally broke a brick.” Jiang Zisheng lowered his head and smiled, full of nostalgia. “I was startled, she was startled too, but I gave her the peach wine to cheer her up. After we drank some together, I left…”

Jiang Zisheng suddenly trailed off, unable to continue, because what followed was Zhizhi being murdered, in a brutal way.

Chu Ling looked at him, confirming: “You mean the night before she was killed, right?”

Jiang Zisheng nodded. “I remember the time. I’m certain.”

Chu Ling tilted his head, observing him. Jiang Zisheng didn’t seem to be lying, but according to Zhizhi herself, after drinking the peach wine she felt warm and opened the window—seeing a dark figure. This meant the murderer killed her that very night. There wasn’t a full day in between.

Outside, Uncle Song suddenly burst in, white hair disheveled, eyes full of hatred. He grabbed Jiang Zisheng with a fierce grip.

“How could it be the day before?” Uncle Song looked at him, tears sliding down his cheeks. “I was dragged away to handle business and returned late. When I got back, I saw the broken brick, and then smelled wine and blood coming from my daughter’s room. I went in—and my daughter was dead, lying there in her room!”

Jiang Zisheng froze, opening his mouth: “It’s true… it really was the day before.”

“On that day, I ran into your father. He said you were going to Wang’s restaurant to repair tables and chairs. That would take almost a whole day, right?” Uncle Song demanded angrily.

Jiang Zisheng widened his eyes and nodded.

“That’s the day! The day I will never forget!” Uncle Song roared. “How could it be a day apart? How could it be possible?”

Jiang Zisheng looked dazedly at Uncle Song, muttering: “How could it be… how…? It was clearly a day apart… clearly a day apart…”

Chu Ling frowned, looking at him. “If you truly believe it was a day apart, then do you have a memory of that day?”

Jiang Zisheng froze.