Lin Sui’an remembered Rou Qian’er — that woman with the voice like an oriole whom she had encountered during the pursuit of Tatargan. At the time, Hua Yitang’s imagination had run wild with the idea that the woman had improper designs on Lin Sui’an. Lin Sui’an had only felt that the woman’s gaze was peculiar and unsettling. Looking back on it now, perhaps her sixth sense had been sounding a warning — that this woman had a problem… hadn’t it?

Lin Sui’an: “Are you certain that Rou Qian’er of the Zimu establishment has already died?”

Qin Fang: “This I… I only heard it from others. I don’t know whether it’s true.”

“Rou Qian’er. She lives at No. 333, Three-Turn Street, Fujiao Ward, situated directly across the lane from Tatargan’s private residence. She has long been in the cloth trade and is well acquainted with cloth merchants of both the South Market and North Market. Neighbors say Rou Qian’er is a self-made businesswoman, kind-natured, and often helps those around her. During the recent exposure of Tatargan’s crimes, it was she who encouraged the residents of Fujiao Ward to come and give testimony at the Dali Court.” Ling Zhiyan seemed to be asking the others, yet also seemed to be speaking to himself. “Is this Rou Qian’er the same person as Rou Qian’er of the Zimu establishment?”

Since the name Rou Qian’er had appeared, Hua Yitang had fallen silent, his fan tapping against his temple one beat at a time. Then he said abruptly, “Brother Fang — might I borrow some brush, ink, and paper?”

Fangke reluctantly passed them over. Hua Yitang dashed off a quick portrait and handed it to Fanba Niang. “This is Rou Qian’er of Fujiao Ward.”

Fanba Niang and Qin Fang put their heads together and studied it for some time, then shook their heads in unison.

Fanba Niang: “I remember Rou Qian’er had two teardrop moles below her eyes.”

Qin Fang: “Rou Qian’er was far better-looking than the woman in this portrait — she had a melon-seed face, eyes that slanted upward at the corners like a phoenix’s, and a smaller mouth.”

Ling Zhiyan: “…Could it simply be a coincidence of names?”

“Wait — this Rou Qian’er looks somewhat familiar to me.” Qin Fang held the portrait upright and tilted it toward the light. “Fanba Niang, don’t you think so?”

Fanba Niang stared hard for a long while and shook her head. “I can’t place her.”

“No, no — I’ve definitely seen this person before. Now where was it?” Qin Fang stared at the portrait and fell into deep thought.

Fangke sighed. “Do you have any remaining Painting Spring Balm here?”

Fanba Niang: “We threw all of that out long ago. Who would keep such an unlucky thing?”

Lin Sui’an asked Jin Ruo: “How is the Thousand Purity search going?”

Jin Ruo stuffed two pieces of meat into his mouth and chewed with oil running down his chin — he was by far the most relaxed one there, eating the most enthusiastically. “Don’t worry. I’ve sent people out. There’ll be news soon.”

The atmosphere in the hall was subdued. Ling Zhiyan sat with a grim expression, saying nothing. Hua Yitang reclined against his armrest, eyes half-lowered, his fan opening and closing, opening and closing, producing a rhythmic tap-tap-tap, his thoughts inscrutable.

Lin Sui’an went over all the leads known so far and found herself glumly realizing that the case had once again reached a bewildering standstill. They knew the killer’s motive, the method of killing, and had built a psychological profile of the killer; they had found the ward where the killer lived and had even tracked down the Painting Spring Balm that had been banned five years ago. Yet this killer seemed like a reflection in water or an image in a mirror — every time they were about to touch it, it dissolved.

Had they overlooked some crucial clue?

Or was what they needed now simply — the luck of a protagonist’s special fortune?

Lin Sui’an even found herself thinking that perhaps having Hua Yitang perform a wild ritual dance to invoke the spirits would be more efficient.

Fangke’s brow was furrowed. He poured the liquid from the small porcelain bottle into a wine cup, coating just the bottom. He trimmed some coarse-edged white paper into strips about a finger’s width — seven or eight of them — dipped each one slightly in the liquid, and laid them side by side on the table. He then took out five smaller porcelain bottles, arranged them in front of the strips, waited a moment, and then, one by one, sprinkled the powder from each small bottle onto the half-dried strips. His movements were extraordinarily fine and precise, as though performing a chemistry experiment.

Yita sat beside him, her large blue eyes filled with curiosity, not daring even to breathe. Lin Sui’an could no longer restrain herself; she also shuffled over and crowded in to watch.

The tops of the eight small paper strips gradually changed color — some turned blue, some orange, some green, some red, resembling something like a reagent color chart.

Lin Sui’an: “What is this?”

“This is a coloring solution I made myself — it can perform a basic analysis of the components in a fragrance or balm. Unfortunately, it is not yet complete—” Fangke suddenly paused and turned his head to stare at Lin Sui’an. “What is that scent on you?”

Lin Sui’an raised her sleeve to her nose. “It’s the fragrance Tatargan spilled on me. Is there still a smell?”

Fangke frowned, sniffed again, turned his head and sneezed. “Not that one — it’s a different fragrance.”

Lin Sui’an was greatly curious and sniffed her clothes and sleeves all over. “I don’t smell anything.”

“You, stay still.” Yita stood up, circled Lin Sui’an twice, brought her nose close to Lin Sui’an’s left shoulder and sniffed — her blue eyes immediately lit up. “Here!”

Before the words had even registered, Fangke had already snatched a small damp cloth from the chest and slapped it against Lin Sui’an’s shoulder with lightning speed. Before Lin Sui’an could even react, Fangke had already retrieved the cloth, cut it into fingernail-sized pieces with small scissors, stuffed them into a porcelain bottle, added several mysterious liquids, stoppered the bottle, and held it in one hand, shaking it up and down, left and right in a vigorous series of motions — his technique resembling that of a bartender mixing cocktails — then fetched a wine cup, wiped it clean, poured out the liquid inside, and repeated the previous procedure, running a fresh color test.

Lin Sui’an rubbed her damp shoulder and watched as those small paper strips changed color one by one — three strips blue, two green, one red, two orange. The distribution of colors was remarkably similar to the previous experiment.

Fangke: “A fragrance has been deposited on your shoulder that is almost identical in composition to Painting Spring Balm.”

Lin Sui’an: “What?!”

“Besides Tatargan, who else have you been in contact with? Where have you been?”

“That’s quite a long list,” Lin Sui’an said, thinking back. “I went to a desolate garden’s hidden passage to rescue Jin Ruo, met with the brothers of Thousand Purity, the residents of Fujiao Ward, rescued a small maidservant, encountered—” Lin Sui’an’s eyes went wide. She remembered — at the time, Rou Qian’er had been standing right at her left side.

Good heavens!

Tianku came hurrying into the garden and murmured several words in Jin Ruo’s ear. Jin Ruo gave Tianku a rather surprised look, wiped his mouth, rose, and leaned close to Lin Sui’an, speaking in a low voice. “The brothers have scoped out the residents near Tatargan’s private residence and private storehouse. Three households fit the conditions Hua Yitang laid out — all dealing in cloth trade. Two of them have proprietors who are away from the Eastern Capital year-round. The third fits all the other conditions, but there is one point that doesn’t quite match.”

Lin Sui’an: “Which point?”

Jin Ruo: “That household has no man. The proprietor is a woman. The only one who attends to daily meals and living in the household year-round is a single small maidservant; all other maidservants and male domestic servants who help out daily are hired short-term, replaced every three months.”

Hua Yitang’s eyes flew open. Lin Sui’an and he spoke in near-perfect unison: “It’s Rou Qian’er?!”

Jin Ruo nodded.

“A man — yes, yes, it was a man!” Qin Fang pointed at the portrait of Rou Qian’er and cried out. “I’ve remembered! I once saw someone at the Zimu establishment who looked very much like the person in the portrait, but it was a man — no, no, when I saw him he was a woman, he was dressed as a woman, an actor who was actually a man, but actually a man!”

Qin Fang’s words tumbled out in incoherent disorder. Ling Zhiyan immediately seized on the key point. “You’re saying this Rou Qian’er is a performer skilled in cross-dressing as a woman?”

“Exactly!” Qin Fang gulped a breath, trembling with excitement. “And what’s more, this actor was Rou Qian’er’s beloved!”

At these words, everyone leapt to their feet simultaneously.

Hua Yitang’s eyes blazed with light. “It’s him!”

By the time the group arrived in force at Fujiao Ward, the curfew hour had long since passed. Moonlight spilled over the main gate of “Rou Residence.” Within the courtyard, a faint gleam of lamplight seeped through. The wind blew, dappled tree shadows swayed faintly, and the place felt both tranquil and uncanny.

The Tenth Elder Ding Kun and Qihe stood guard outside the gate. They saluted Lin Sui’an and Jin Ruo. “Since returning from the Dali Court, the person has not left the premises.”

Ling Zhiyan led the Dali Court constables and agents forward. He knocked — three knocks, knock knock knock. The door creaked open on its own. It was unlocked.

“Rou Qian’er’s” voice, melodious as an oriole’s, drifted out softly: “Please come in, honored officials.”

The group exchanged glances. Lin Sui’an took the lead; Ling Zhiyan and the Dali Court constables secured the perimeter; Jin Ruo, Tianku, and the others held the rear position; Hua Yitang, Fangke, and the others who did not know martial arts were protected in the center.

The courtyard was larger than imagined. Entering through the main gate, one first came to a large open space where seven or eight passenger carriages and five or six ox-carts for goods were parked. Directly opposite was a large decorative screen wall. Passing around it one could see a half-open main hall with all four sides of bamboo screens and curtains rolled high. Four tree-shaped candelabra stood on either side, each half a person’s height, covered with white candles, with congealed wax hanging below in solidified formations. The candlelight swayed without a sound. Amid the grotesquely shaped wax formations and candlelight, a Rou Qian’er sat.

She wore a great red pomegranate skirt, large red silk scarves draped over both elbows — red as blood. Her hair was dressed high with only a single golden step-shaker ornament pinned in it. She sat with her body turned slightly to one side, posture elegant, chin raised high, making her neck appear long and graceful. Her eyes seemed to hold moisture, gazing at everyone with tender expression.

Last time, her vaguely suggestive flirtation had made Lin Sui’an so uncomfortable that she had not looked closely. Observing now, although this person’s movements and bearing were portrayed with exquisite verisimilitude, and even managed to conceal the Adam’s apple, still lacking the ability of Yun Zhong Yue to compress bones to such a supernatural degree, the skeletal frame of the torso and arms was considerably more robust than that of an ordinary woman. Lin Sui’an even suspected that all those contrived glances and that voice had been deliberate distractions from the moment before, drawing her attention away from the flaws on this person’s body.

Ling Zhiyan gave a quiet order; the Dali Court constables and agents fanned out from the main hall to search the entire compound. Rou Qian’er covered her mouth and gave a light laugh. “There is no need to search, Judicial Inspector Ling. There is only myself in this residence.”

Ling Zhiyan did not respond. Hua Yitang fanned himself and stepped forward, letting his eyes travel up and down over this person with a languorous gaze. “You knew all along that we would come?”

Rou Qian’er sighed softly and gazed toward Lin Sui’an with a distant look. “The moment I saw this Lin Niangzi, I guessed as much. I simply did not expect it to be this soon.”

Ling Zhiyan’s eyes were sharp as blades: “You murdered fifteen women including Feng Er Niang, desecrated their corpses, your methods brutally cruel and sending shivers through all who hear of it. Do you admit your guilt?!”

“Judicial Inspector Ling, please do not make groundless accusations,” Rou Qian’er said, producing an exaggerated look of surprise. “I am a feeble woman, a perfectly law-abiding businessperson — I have never done anything wrong.”

Hua Yitang gave a cold snort. “Qin Fang!”

Qin Fang poked her head out from behind Mu Xia, looked carefully, and then pointed at “Rou Qian’er” and cried out: “That’s the one! Without a doubt!”

Before the words had finished, Lin Sui’an drew Thousand Purity and sliced upward — a sweep of ink-green blade light extinguished half the candles and with a sharp sound shredded the upper clothing on Rou Qian’er’s torso. It fell away like tattered withered leaves, revealing a bare upper half: flat across the chest, large-boned — unmistakably a man.

Rou Qian’er’s expression changed drastically; his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. He scrambled in confusion to cover his body, then paused, laughed again, and casually draped the silk scarves that had been hanging from his elbows over his shoulders. “If I recall correctly, I don’t believe there is any provision in Tang law prohibiting a man from wearing women’s clothing, is there?”

This time he used his real voice — a fairly clear male tenor, very similar to a boy’s voice just before the voice change. Presumably, his ability to imitate a woman’s voice year-round came from a natural talent far surpassing that of ordinary people.

The constables and agents who had gone to search returned and gathered at Ling Zhiyan’s side, reporting in low voices. Ling Zhiyan’s expression darkened. He cast a cold look at Rou Qian’er and called out: “Take this person back to the Dali Court! Interrogate thoroughly!”

Rou Qian’er rose without the slightest hurry, stepped forward with graceful, swaying steps, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. Even as he was escorted away by constables, the smile did not diminish in the slightest. His eyes were full of high-and-mighty provocation and contempt.

As expected, Ling Zhiyan’s next words were bad news.

“This residence has been swept unusually clean. Not a single piece of evidence related to the killings or the desecration of corpses was found. It appears to have been deliberately and thoroughly cleaned out in advance.”

Cleaned out? Who cleaned it out?!

Lin Sui’an’s mind buzzed. “What about the little maidservant in his household — the one called Yingtao?”

[Author’s note: The case is wrapped up, finally! The little skit at the end: Hua Yitang: Hmph, I just knew that whoever had designs on my Lin Sui’an couldn’t be any good!]