“Of course I do.” Jing Zhi’s reply was entirely without modesty. “There isn’t a soul in the Yan Mansion who knits a better scarf than I do.”

Yan Qing laughed. “Shameless.”

“Miss, are you going to knit a scarf for Director Shi?”

“Yes.” She had long wanted to give him something, but could never quite decide what. Now that the weather was turning colder and winter was almost here — in Shun Cheng, winters often brought fierce wind and heavy snow — a warm scarf seemed like the most fitting gift of all.

“Oh, wonderful!” Jing Zhi clapped her hands in delight. “If Miss has her heart set on it, I’ll teach you step by step until you can do it yourself.”

“I’d like to weave in some rabbit fur — rabbit fur keeps you very warm.” Yan Qing asked: “Does the mansion have any on hand?”

“We don’t, but I know a shop that carries it.” Jing Zhi glanced out the window. “It’s still early enough in the day. This would be a good time for Miss to get some fresh air.”

“Good — let’s go for a walk, then.”

Jing Zhi fetched a coat and helped Yan Qing put it on, then called for Murong. The three of them — mistress and two attendants — headed out the door together.

The shop Jing Zhi had in mind specialized in yarn and knitwear of all kinds, with a wide selection of styles. Being the autumn-to-winter season, business was thriving.

Among the several varieties of yarn the shop assistant laid out, Yan Qing made her selection — a gray yarn she liked best.

“Miss has excellent taste. This color is the most fashionable of the season, and the wool is wonderfully soft — perfect for sweaters and scarves.”

“Do you carry rabbit fur?”

“Yes, of course.” The assistant brought out several boxes. “Here are a few different colors and textures of rabbit fur — please have a look, Miss.”

Yan Qing ran her fingers over them, then lifted each to her nose briefly before finally choosing a gray that matched the yarn.

Blending rabbit fur into yarn was no simple task, but thankfully Jing Zhi’s needlework skills were exceptional. With her guidance, it would be manageable.

The assistant weighed the yarn and rabbit fur, Jing Zhi paid, and the three of them stepped out of the shop in good spirits.

The moment they emerged, two black automobiles suddenly pulled up and blocked the path in front of them. From the cars stepped several men dressed entirely in black — Yan Qing counted quickly: at least seven or eight.

These men were clearly well-trained. Their builds were powerful, and one look made it plain they were seasoned fighters.

“What do you want?” Murong immediately stepped in front of Yan Qing, watching the men with sharp eyes.

One of the men in black stepped forward and inclined his head slightly. “Miss Yan, Mr. Long invites you to his home for a visit. We hope you will honor us with your presence.”

“Mr. Long?” Jing Zhi blurted out. “Is that Long Yue?”

The man in black did not reply. He simply fixed his gaze on Yan Qing with a steady, pointed look — the meaning was clear enough: his words had been a courtesy, but Yan Qing was going whether she agreed or not.

“Don’t even think about it.” Murong clenched both fists and raised them into a fighting stance. “Our Miss has no acquaintance with any Mr. Long and has no intention of going anywhere with you.”

The man in black remained expressionless and simply repeated his earlier words, even going so far as to gesture toward the car: “Miss Yan, please.”

Murong started to speak again, but Yan Qing raised her hand and stopped her.

“I’ll be fine. The two of you go back.”

Murong said urgently: “No — if Miss goes, we go with her.”

The man in black said: “I’m sorry. Mr. Long’s invitation is for Miss Yan alone.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Murong’s temper flared. “I’m not afraid to fight you right here. I don’t believe you’d dare cause a scene in broad daylight.”

“Murong, it’s fine.” Yan Qing gave Murong a light pat on the shoulder. “I imagine Mr. Long won’t keep me long.”

“But Miss—”

Yan Qing shook her head gently at her, and Murong pressed her lips together, clearly reluctant, but said no more.

“Miss Yan, please.”

Murong stepped forward quickly, and two of the men immediately moved to block her. She snapped: “My Miss cannot walk without help — can I at least assist her into the car?”

The others glanced toward the man in black — he was clearly their leader. He gave a single quiet nod, and those blocking Murong’s path stepped aside.

Watching Yan Qing’s car pull away, Jing Zhi broke into tears. “Who are these people? Will they hurt Miss?”

“Never mind wondering about that — we need to find Director Shi immediately.”

“Right, right — go find Director Shi. He’ll know what to do.”

Murong cast one last glance in the direction the car had gone. “Those men were fairly civil about it — they shouldn’t do Miss any harm. And did you see how calm Miss looked? She likely already has a sense of what this is about.”

“Miss may have a sense of it, but I certainly don’t! Come on, hurry — let’s go find Director Shi!”

While Murong and Jing Zhi sprinted off toward the military police headquarters, Yan Qing’s car turned through several alleyways before finally stopping in front of an ornately decorated mansion.

Beside the carved double gates of the mansion hung a placard bearing the name: Long Mansion.

“Miss Yan, please.” The man in black had already retrieved her wheelchair from the car.

Yan Qing braced herself against the car door and made her own way to the wheelchair. The man in black reached out to assist her, but she said quietly: “It’s all right — I can manage.”

With that, she took hold of the wheels and rolled herself steadily toward the entrance.

The man in black stared at her retreating figure for a visible moment — then quickly fell into step behind her.

The mansion was three stories tall, built in a grand Western style, at once imposing and refined.

In the front courtyard stood a cascading water fountain, its flowing sound clear and pleasant.

Yan Qing was guided through to the main hall, where she finally recognized a face — familiar, though only from a brief encounter.

“Miss Yan doesn’t seem frightened at all.” Long Yunxiao stubbed out the cigarette between his fingers and rose from the sofa.

Yan Qing smiled slightly. “Mr. Long would not hurt me. What is there to be frightened of?”

“Oh? And how do you know I won’t hurt you?”

He strode toward her in a few long steps, until he stood directly before her.

“Mr. Long must have seen who I was accompanying that day on the river cruise. And as it happens, I also know which line of business Mr. Long is in. Black and white are clearly drawn — Mr. Long would not be so idle as to go looking for trouble with the military police headquarters, would he?”

Long Yunxiao let out a laugh. “They say Miss Yan is razor-sharp and quick-witted. The reports were not exaggerated. Then perhaps Miss Yan would care to guess — why exactly have I asked you here?”

“Mr. Long came to know of me through Long Yue, and my contact with Long Yue has been minimal. So whatever has caught Mr. Long’s interest must be my role as forensic consultant.”

A look of genuine appreciation crossed Long Yunxiao’s face. He had long wondered what had drawn Shi Ting to a girl with paralyzed legs. Now he understood — her beauty was merely the least remarkable of her qualities.

“Since Miss Yan has already guessed, please come and have a look for yourself.”

Long Yunxiao took hold of her wheelchair and pushed her deeper into the mansion.

Yan Qing noticed that both walls along the corridor were hung with paintings — just like the ones she had seen at Long Yue’s place, each one heavy with saturated color and deeply abstract, impossible to make out clearly.

To most eyes, these paintings might look like a child’s scribbles, or the failed attempts of someone with no artistic gift. But Yan Qing had encountered Picasso and Van Gogh before, and she could only say one thing — the painter had genuine talent.

Noticing that Yan Qing’s attention kept returning to the paintings, Long Yunxiao paused, his gaze settling on one canvas in particular — low in color, seemingly chaotic.

“Does Miss Yan find these to be childish nonsense? Or the failures of someone without any skill?”

“Is that what Mr. Long thinks of them?”

Long Yunxiao’s expression darkened. He said nothing.

Yan Qing went on: “I don’t know much about painting, but to put it in proper terms, these works blend Cubist, Realist, and Surrealist techniques. The objects and figures are violently distorted and fragmented, built up from blocks of geometric color, with abstract forms — and through all of it, the painter is expressing suffering, torment, and even hope. They appear to be nothing at first glance, but when you look with care, you can feel the intensity of what the artist was trying to say.”

Long Yunxiao turned to stare at her, visibly shaken. From the first moment he had come into contact with Yan Qing, that feeling seemed never to leave him.

She was intelligent and perceptive, with a clarity of vision that was truly unusual. She was far from a simple woman.

He finally understood now why Shi Ting had been drawn to her. Any man of sound mind would find it difficult to resist her.

She was like a riddle — full of mystery, full of wonder — compelling you to draw near and unravel her, to explore her further.

And that pull was dangerous.

He gave a quiet laugh. “Miss Yan is correct. I didn’t ask you here to view a painting exhibition.”

Long Yunxiao turned his attention back to the matter at hand and pushed her forward. “Of course not.”

The mansion was equipped with a lift, somewhat resembling a modern elevator but far less sophisticated. It carried them down to a basement level.

The basement was wide and spacious, brightly lit, and though it lay underground, it was clearly well-ventilated at all times.

Everything Yan Qing saw as she was wheeled through looked much the same as the floors above — as though someone lived here.

“Does someone live here normally?” Yan Qing asked.

“No.” Long Yunxiao’s answer carried a faint echo in the underground space.

Yan Qing swept a look around. “Someone must clean it every day, then.”

She drew in a slow, quiet breath. “Formalin…”

Long Yunxiao looked over at her. “You can smell it?”

“It would be dangerous for anyone to live here — chronic poisoning would be a real risk.” Yan Qing said: “I suspect Mr. Long has a substantial amount of formalin stored in this basement.”

Long Yunxiao rolled up his sleeve without a word. Sometimes, silence is answer enough.

“Formalin is a preservative, composed of a thirty-five to forty percent aqueous formaldehyde solution. Its primary application in medicine is the preservation of corpses. Given that Mr. Long has gone to such lengths to bring me here, I would venture to say that somewhere in this basement, there is a body submerged in formalin.”

She looked at Long Yunxiao evenly. “Am I correct?”

A flicker of shock crossed Long Yunxiao’s eyes — a feeling that had been with him, it seemed, from the very first moment he met Yan Qing.

She was brilliant and astute, her mind sharp and clear. She was no ordinary woman at all.

He finally understood now why Shi Ting was drawn to her. Any man of sound judgment would struggle to escape her pull.

She was like a puzzle — full of mystery, full of fascination — drawing you irresistibly forward, making you want to solve her, to discover what lay within.

And that attraction was lethal.

He gave a quiet smile. “Miss Yan has guessed correctly. Let me take you to see.”

Yan Qing thought to herself: this Long Yunxiao was truly something else — he had actually stored a body in his basement.

—