“This is the file on the Chen Family Massacre.” Shi Ting passed over a kraft paper envelope.

Yan Qing was slightly taken aback. She didn’t reach for it right away. “This must be a classified file. You’re just handing it to me like this — is that all right?”

“If you find it troublesome, you don’t have to bother.” He moved to retract it.

“All right, all right, I know what you’re doing.” Yan Qing pursed her lips. “You know perfectly well I won’t refuse.”

She gave a small huff before taking it, then pried open the seal with barely concealed eagerness.

Shi Ting found something unexpectedly endearing about her show of feigned irritation. The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly.

The Chen Family Massacre had remained unsolved for years, eventually becoming one of those cold cases gathering dust at the bottom of the archives. The incident had caused a significant stir at the time, but as the years passed, it had gradually faded from public conversation. Most people had come to believe it was the work of bandits, and many felt it was understandable that the Jinlin Guard had been unable to crack it.

Inside the file were a number of black-and-white photographs — each one arresting and disturbing. Even without color, the brutality of the original scene was unmistakable.

Among them was a photograph of the Chen family’s steward — the body from whose blood patterns Yan Qing had deduced the killer’s right hand had been injured. His neck bore two stab wounds, just as she had anticipated: one shallow, one deep. The shallow wound was not fatal; the deep one had been delivered afterward by the killer as a finishing blow. This confirmed that her reading of the blood evidence had been entirely accurate.

As she turned to the photographs of the three children, Yan Qing’s brow furrowed more and more deeply — until she reached one particular photograph and her gaze sharpened with sudden focus. “What is this?”

“This is Chen Youwei, the eldest son of the Chen family. His throat was also cut, killed in a single blow — but unlike the other bodies, a patch of skin had been removed from his back. A complete section, clean and even, approximately thirty centimeters on each side.”

Skinned?

Yan Qing brought the photograph close to her eyes and examined it carefully. “The instrument used for this was very sharp. The edges of the wound are clean and precise — this was no ordinary knife. This is a skinning knife.”

“A skinning knife? Is it possible to determine whether the knife used for the skinning was the same weapon that killed the thirteen members of the Chen household?”

Yan Qing shook her head. “Killing uses the blade’s edge — and whether it’s a skinning knife or a blade like a short sword, the edge is sharp either way. From the wound photographs alone, I cannot determine whether the skinning wound and the throat wound were made by the same instrument.”

“I have a bold hypothesis.” Shi Ting’s expression grew more intent. “If the killer used a blade of some kind to kill the thirteen members of the Chen household, while using a dedicated skinning knife for the flaying — could this suggest the killer was carrying two weapons: one for killing conveniently, one for skinning conveniently? That both killing and skinning were primary objectives?”

“Then why did the killer only remove one patch of skin from Chen Youwei’s back? Was there something about that patch of skin that could identify the killer?”

“Whatever the reason, the skinning was a primary objective for the killer. It may be a clue that could identify them — or it may be something the killer needed to obtain.”

Yan Qing handed the file back to Shi Ting, an apologetic note in her voice. “I’m sorry — I can’t find any clue of real value in this.”

“It’s fine. Without having seen the bodies in person, a few photographs is genuinely asking too much of you.”

Shi Ting took back the file and was about to say “Let’s head back” when a street peddler pushing a small cart came slowly along the path on the other side of the road — the tinkling of the rattle drum on his cart drew Yan Qing’s eye to the small wares and trinkets displayed on it.

In the Ming and Qing dynasties, peddlers had wandered lane by lane with their carts, selling household goods and small novelties — some even sold grain, dried fruit, and sweet cakes. The moment the rattle drum sounded, children would come running in clusters to gather round. Even if one bought nothing, just standing there and looking was a simple pleasure.

Seeing Yan Qing’s gaze fixed on the cart laden with goods, Shi Ting said, “Shall we go take a look?”

“Yes, let’s.”

As he pushed Yan Qing over, the peddler promptly stopped and pulled his cart to the side, launching cheerfully into his pitch in the local accent.

“Good day to you, officer and miss — everything on this cart I’ve hunted out myself, quality goods, excellent value. Whatever catches your eye, I’ll give you the very best price.”

“Is there anything you like?” Shi Ting asked the person beside him in a low voice.

What caught Yan Qing’s interest was a wind-chime birdcage hanging from the cart’s rack. The wind chimes were made of yellow brass, already turned dull and worn — clearly of some age. The chime had three pendants, each strung with a small brass bell, suspended in a triangular arrangement beneath the birdcage above. Even the little feeding trough inside the cage was brass, polished to a bright shine.

Yan Qing couldn’t resist extending one finger and lightly tapping one of the brass bells. A clear, sweet chime rang out.

She had always been drawn to curious, unusual little objects — whenever she came across one, she could barely put it down.

The delight spread all the way to the corners of her mouth, curving in an arc like a crescent moon — or like a peach blossom opening slowly in warm spring air, light and understated, yet breathtaking in its own way.

A smile like that held an almost spellbinding power. It drew every flicker of Shi Ting’s attention and concentration toward it. It was only when the brass bells sounded again that he realized he had been staring at the line of her profile for quite some time.

“How much is this?” Shi Ting reached into his trouser pocket for his wallet.

The peddler, seeing a potential buyer show interest, broke into a beaming smile. “Not much at all — only two silver dollars.”

“Two silver dollars?”

The peddler’s eyes shifted. “One silver dollar. One is fine.”

Shi Ting had never bought anything from a street cart before and had no idea such things could be bargained down. He had only asked again because he hadn’t quite caught the first price — but the peddler, startled, had immediately dropped to his lowest offer.

Noticing that Shi Ting was already reaching for the money, Yan Qing hurried to say, “I was only looking.”

“You like it — let’s take it home. It’s not expensive.” He paid the peddler, who accepted the money with great satisfaction and unhooked the birdcage, placing it in Yan Qing’s hands.

“What an eye for quality, miss — this is a genuine antique, this is!”

On the way back, Yan Qing held the birdcage, still turning over the peddler’s words. “Do you think it really is an antique?”

“I had a look at the base of the cage just now. There’s a seal mark — it appears to be an artifact from roughly three hundred years ago.”

Yan Qing was genuinely astonished. “So it really is an antique? Haven’t we gotten quite the bargain?”

“The peddler called it an antique to help sell it. He most likely picked it up for next to nothing himself — one silver dollar was already a profit.”

“People in ancient times really were extravagant — using something this fine just for a bird.” She gave one of the brass bells a light flick. “What sort of bird should I put in it?”

While they were speaking, Murong came striding over to meet them. She greeted Shi Ting first, then was immediately drawn to the birdcage in Yan Qing’s hand.

“Miss, this birdcage has such an elegant, antique feel — it’s beautiful. You bought it from that peddler just now, didn’t you?”

Yan Qing smiled and nodded, still delighted with the cage.

Murong suddenly remembered something. “Miss, you didn’t have any money on you — did Commander Shi buy it for you?”

Only then did Yan Qing think to repay Shi Ting. But before she could say a word, he declined. “It’s not worth much. Consider it a gift.”

He glanced at the river surface in the distance. “It’s going to rain. We should head back.”

Yan Qing had barely arrived home when the rain came pelting down.

She changed into fresh clothes, washed her face, had the servants place Jing Lan’s ashes in safekeeping for the time being, then settled by the window to examine the birdcage.

Outside, raindrops pattered against the two magnolia trees. Their snow-white blossoms perched on the branches like small white doves, lending a fresh, clean brightness to the spring day.

“Miss, why not hang it here under this eave?” Jing Zhi set down a freshly brewed cup of ginseng tea in front of Yan Qing — steam rose gently from it, carrying warmth. “When the wind blows, you’d be able to hear the ding-ding-ding of the bells.”

“That would be nice.” Yan Qing stroked the brass bell gently, and Shi Ting came to mind.

In her previous life, she had been so consumed by work that even though she technically had a fiancé — a match arranged since birth — she had never received a single gift from him. And the rough-and-tumble men of the bureau had been blunt and unromantic, never given to such gestures.

When she counted it up, aside from her second uncle, this was the first time she had accepted a gift from someone of the opposite sex.

“Commander Shi is really so good to Miss — first the coffee, now the birdcage. At this rate, he’ll probably be sending a bird over tomorrow.” Jing Zhi gave a bright little laugh and leaned out of the window to catch the raindrops on her palm.

Murong gave her a stern look. “Don’t talk nonsense. Commander Shi is simply showing his gratitude — Miss has helped the Jinlin Guard a great deal.”

Jing Zhi stuck out her tongue. “Right, right — and Miss is going to marry the Second Young Master of the Shi Family.”

The Second Young Master of the Shi Family?

Hearing those words, Yan Qing suddenly had no more interest in watching the rain or admiring the cage. Shi Guang’s face was one that genuinely repulsed her — but in this semi-feudal society, the commands of one’s parents and the arrangements of a matchmaker were like chains around one’s wrists.

With that weighing on her heart, Yan Qing dreamed that night. In the dream, Shen Liang held a jagged piece of glass, his expression savage, his eyes cold and vicious. He said to her: Yan Qing, no matter where you run, you will never escape.

Then, in an instant, Shen Liang’s face became Shi Guang’s. He walked toward her in a bright red wedding robe, while everyone around offered their congratulations. And Yan Qing could see, behind his back, a gleaming shard of fish tank glass held in his concealed hand.

“Tweet-tweet.”

“Tweet-tweet.”

Just as she was fleeing through the dream in all directions, a strange sound reached her.

It grew louder and louder, as though right beside her ear, pulling at Yan Qing until she forced her eyes open.

Morning light streamed in warmly through the window. After the night’s rain, the sky was perfectly clear and the magnolia blossoms glistened, washed clean and white by the rain.

Jing Zhi had hung the birdcage under the eave. The cage, which had been empty before, now held a small bird.

The bird’s back feathers were marked with black stripes — at a glance, its coloring resembled a tiger’s coat — while its tail feathers were a glossy blue-green.

“Good morning! Good morning!” The strange sound was coming from its beak. The mischievous parrot hopped about inside the cage.

Yan Qing was thrilled. She sat up quickly from the head of the bed.

“Good morning, Yan Qing! Good morning, Yan Qing!”

Hearing her own name from the bird’s beak was such a surprise that Yan Qing let out a gasp of delight.

“Miss, you’re awake.” Jing Zhi stepped in carrying a basin of wash water, grinning as she nodded toward the window. “Commander Shi sent it over first thing this morning.”

“Shi Ting sent it?” Yan Qing rubbed her eyes.

“Didn’t I say so — Commander Shi bought you a birdcage yesterday, so naturally he had to send a bird to go with it today.”

“Yes, yes, you were absolutely right.” Murong followed her in, shaking her head with a helpless smile.

The two attended to Yan Qing as she washed and dressed. The moment she was ready, she went straight to the window.

The parrot bounced back and forth on its perch, calling out without stopping: “Good morning, Yan Qing, good morning, Yan Qing.”

—