The person Yan Qing had in mind was none other than Jiang Zeluo — heralded as the foremost literary talent in Shun Cheng and the object of Shi Yutong’s devoted pursuit.

Jiang Zeluo was not only a poet but a musician. He had performed several violin recitals in Shun Cheng, which by all accounts had drawn enormous crowds and sold out entirely.

Yan Qing had only ever seen his photograph in the newspapers. The real person was even younger and more striking than his pictures suggested.

At twenty-five, Jiang Zeluo had already achieved this much. He was said to have once been called a musical prodigy.

What struck Yan Qing most was not just his remarkable talent, but the fact that he was humble and courteous in his manner — he carried not a trace of arrogance despite his fame. A true gentleman — that was her first impression of him.

Jiang Zeluo sat at the table with the music box, the gramophone, and a score set out before him.

He opened the music box first, closed his eyes, and listened with complete attention. The music box held only a brief melody, and it reached its end quickly.

“This is Losky’s ‘The Swan.'”

Bai Jin, arms crossed, winked at Zheng Yun — the look on his face clearly saying: See? I was right.

Zheng Yun rolled his eyes and mouthed the word “idiot.”

Jiang Zeluo had already moved on to the second piece. He placed the record on the gramophone and closed his eyes again.

Zheng Yun listened for a moment, then glanced sideways at Bai Jin with an expression that asked: Have you figured this one out?

Bai Jin pretended not to notice. This one was harder.

“This is… this is a Di nation symphony.” Jiang Zeluo played it through a second time, then said with complete certainty: “This is Sange’s ‘Song of Eternity.'”

Bai Jin said, “No wonder I didn’t know it — I’ve never listened to Di nation music. Zheng Shushi, I bet you didn’t know it either.”

Zheng Yun gave a cold snort.

Jiang Zeluo opened the score in front of him. It contained the music A Ce had been using for dance practice — a piece the troupe’s musicians had been performing to accompany A Ce as she worked to master a routine she was preparing to debut on stage.

“This one is simple enough — it’s a song I wrote.” Jiang Zeluo gave a quiet smile. “It’s called ‘Camellia.'”

Shi Ting laid all the records found in Xiu Xiu’s home before Jiang Zeluo. “Mr. Jiang, could you look through these and tell me how the record you just listened to differs from the rest?”

Xiu Xiu’s crime scene had contained this particular record — ‘Song of Eternity’ — in the gramophone when she was found. Shi Ting wanted to determine whether the record was Xiu Xiu’s own, or something the killer had brought.

Jiang Zeluo looked through the records and reached his conclusion. “‘Song of Eternity’ is a piece of classical music. All the other records here are modern popular songs. Compared to the rest, this one stands entirely apart.”

The conviction already forming in Shi Ting’s mind solidified. The record had indeed been brought to the scene by the killer — left there as a clue, connected in some way to the sequence of numbers.

“‘The Swan.’ ‘Song of Eternity.’ ‘Camellia.'”

Shi Ting quietly repeated the three titles. “Mr. Jiang, do these three pieces have anything in common?”

Jiang Zeluo’s slender fingers tapped softly against the table. “These three pieces come from three different countries, and the moods and ideas they express are all quite different. If there is something they share, it would be that they are all classical compositions — and they are all in the key of C major.”

“C major?” Everyone there knew little about music, and the term left them all thoroughly puzzled.

Shi Ting handed Jiang Zeluo the three sequences of numbers. “Mr. Jiang, do you see any connection between these numbers and what you’ve said about C major?”

Jiang Zeluo scanned the numbers. His eyes lit up with sudden understanding, and he leaned forward with barely contained excitement. “Look — the three sequences, 2646613, 76765377, 353235656 — the smallest digit is 1, and the largest is 7. And 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 correspond to exactly the seven fundamental notes of the musical scale.”

Jiang Zeluo scanned the numbers. His eyes lit up with sudden understanding, and he leaned forward with barely contained excitement. “Look — the three sequences, 2646613, 76765377, 353235656 — the smallest digit is 1, and the largest is 7. And 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 correspond to exactly the seven fundamental notes of the musical scale.”

He immediately took up the pen and paper nearby and wrote out two rows of notes in quick succession.

“If each of these seven digits represents one of the seven fundamental notes in the scale, and given that all three pieces are in C major — the fundamental notes of C major correspond as follows: 1 is C, 2 is D, 3 is E, 4 is F, 5 is G, 6 is A, 7 is B.”

He passed the written page to Shi Ting. “Director Shi, could this be the clue the killer left behind?”

Shi Ting took it. His mind raced through the mapping. “The first sequence is 2646613. 2 maps to D, 6 maps to A, 4 maps to F, the two 6s map to A and A, 1 maps to C, 3 maps to E.”

Yan Qing repeated the letters quietly to herself — and then her eyes went wide. “If you read those letters as phonetic initials, they spell out… Da Fa A Ce.”

“That’s it.” Bai Jin caught on as well. “The killer left a sequence of numbers on Xiu Xiu’s back, and those numbers decode to mean ‘Dafa A Ce.’ So the second victim was A Ce of the Dafa Dance Hall — the entire time, it was a murder announcement.”

The fog in front of them had been clearing layer by layer. Shi Ting moved quickly to the second sequence. “76765377 maps to B, A, B, A, G, E, B, B — Baba Ge BB. The manager said that Boba’s nickname was BB — Boba of the Baba Cabaret.”

He then wrote out the last sequence, and as the corresponding phonetic letters took shape on the page, Shi Ting’s expression sharpened. “EGEDEGAGA — E Ge De Ga Ga.”

“Ga Ga — what a strange name. Who is that?” Yan Qing asked, puzzled.

Shi Ting said, “E Ge De is the dance hall hosting the event next week. Ga Ga is the stage name of Egede’s star dancer, Qin Peipei. The killer’s next target is Qin Peipei.”

“Qin Peipei, of all people.” Bai Jin stroked his chin. “She’s no ordinary dance hall girl. By all accounts she’s strikingly beautiful and talented, and she moves in circles with a great many government officials — she’s a well-known socialite in upper-class circles. Oh, and that Di nation man named Huicun has apparently been smitten with her since the moment he laid eyes on her. He’s wanted to take her as a concubine for quite some time, though he’s held back by propriety.”

“Whatever Qin Peipei’s circumstances may be, we need to put people on her immediately. The killer could move within the next few days.” Shi Ting rose and extended his hand to Jiang Zeluo. “We are deeply grateful for your help, Mr. Jiang.”

Jiang Zeluo shook it. “Director Shi is too kind. Preserving the peace and safety of the city is not only the duty of the Military Police Division — it is the obligation of every citizen. I am proud to have been of service.”

Yan Qing looked at Jiang Zeluo and felt her regard for him rise considerably. People of genuine talent were rare; those whose talent was matched by genuine character were rarer still.

“Director Shi, might I have a brief word with Miss Yan? If it’s not inconvenient.”

Shi Ting paused, then looked at Yan Qing.

Yan Qing nodded. “Of course.”

Once Shi Ting and the others had left, Jiang Zeluo said, “Miss Yan, I have long admired you.”

“The admiration is mutual — I’ve long admired you, Mr. Jiang, truly.”

“Your ‘Farewell to Cambridge’ and ‘April on Earth’ have had a profound influence on me. I have been wanting to ask where your inspiration came from, and I am very curious about your creative process.”

Yan Qing pressed a hand to her forehead. “Mr. Jiang, to be perfectly honest — neither of those poems was written by me. The one who wrote them is Xu Zhimo and Lin Huiyin.”

Jiang Zeluo smiled. “I understand that you don’t wish to become famous — otherwise you would have made a name for yourself long ago. But these two names you mention — I have read widely through both Chinese and foreign poetry, and I have never come across either of them. If they truly existed and possessed such talent, they could not possibly have remained unknown.”

Yan Qing stared at him, at a loss.

Why did no one ever believe her?

She could only offer her silent apologies to Mr. Xu and Miss Lin — she really had no wish to claim credit for their work.

“Miss Yan, might I trouble you for a correspondence address? When I write new poems in the future, I would very much like to have your guidance.”

Faced with such genuine humility, Yan Qing found she could not refuse. She wrote down her address.

Jiang Zeluo accepted it with great care, as though receiving something precious. “I hope we may become friends in the world of letters — fellow students, exchanging thoughts and learning from one another.”

Yan Qing’s head began to ache at the thought. She really had no expertise in poetry or verse. Reciting a poem from memory was one thing; discussing and analyzing the craft was another matter entirely.

“If Mr. Jiang doesn’t think too little of me, I’m willing to count you as a friend.”

Jiang Zeluo laughed warmly and cupped his hands in a formal bow. “Then I shall take my leave. I hope we’ll have the chance to exchange ideas again.”

As he reached the door, words drifted from his lips in a soft murmur: “I think of you, far away beneath the moon on the Xiao and Xiang rivers — and I lie awake in dreams listening to the endless cry of apes.”

“A fine verse, a fine verse indeed.”

Yan Qing quickly offered another silent apology to the venerable Wang Changling.

After Jiang Zeluo left, Yan Qing made her way to Shi Ting’s office.

Shi Ting was bent over his desk, writing something. A strand of hair had fallen forward across his brow. At the sound of footsteps, he didn’t look up, but asked, “Has Mr. Jiang gone?”

“Mr. Jiang is truly remarkable — we owe this breakthrough to him.” She took a seat across from him. He lifted his head, and she gave him a small smile. “But my husband is more remarkable still. To single out the clues connected to the cipher key from all those objects at the scene — that’s precisely what makes Director Shi who he is.”

Shi Ting regarded the sudden flattery with mild exasperation. “Afraid I’d be jealous?”

“Director Shi is magnanimous — why would he be jealous? Jealousy is beneath a person of his stature.”

“I’m no immortal. I’m as ordinary as anyone.”

“No, no — in my eyes, Director Shi is a celestial being above the cares of the mortal world.”

Shi Ting reached across the desk and gave her cheek a light pinch. “Flatterer.”

“By the way — is Qin Peipei a particularly important figure?” Yan Qing looked at him curiously, her eyes bright with interest.

—