“Su Yiyun of Suizhou — corrupt in intention, having committed an impropriety before the throne — hereby stripped of all academic titles and permanently barred from official appointment.”

The sharp voice fell like a blade, slicing open the darkness before him.

Su Yiyun lurched upright, drenched in sweat, gasping.

A nightmare?

Such a vivid nightmare…

The room was pitch black. Night had fallen.

When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been out?

Su Yiyun shook his head hard, steadied his breathing, and climbed out of bed barefoot. He kicked aside the wine jars scattered across the floor, grabbed a cup, poured some water haphazardly, and poured it into his mouth. The cold liquid surged down his throat and flooded his stomach — and the shock of it brought a dry heave to his throat. Then, suddenly, he saw it: the imperial decree lying on the table.

It wasn’t a dream. It was real.

Last night, he had gone to Yingtian Tower. He had performed the Aspiration for Peace — the piece he had spent a year preparing. The Holy Sovereign had flown into a rage — the Holy Sovereign was Seventh Young Mistress Jiang — he had been dragged down from Yingtian Tower — the decree had arrived — his academic titles stripped away…

Su Yiyun dropped heavily to the floor, his limbs cold as iron, everything inside him burning. The fire scorched his heart until his pupils blazed blood red.

It was over… all of it was over…

From outside the window came the laughter and noise of a crowd. On the streets, fire-trees and lantern wheels bloomed in the once-a-year riot of celebration. Song, laughter, and cheering became an array of sharp needles, piercing into his skin, sinking three parts deep into flesh.

Su Yiyun began to laugh — a wild, deranged laughter, shrill as a ghost’s wailing. As he laughed, he began to retch. As he retched, he began to weep — yet not a single tear fell.

Having come to this, what face did he have left to go on living?

Su Yiyun slowly pulled himself upright, laughing twice, sobbing twice. He removed his belt, climbed up onto the table, slung the belt over the ceiling beam, and secured it. He placed his head inside the loop, rose up on his tiptoes, and tremblingly held himself up — slowly closing his eyes.

At that very moment, the door creaked open. Someone appeared in the doorway, a teasing laugh in their voice. “Seventh Lord, you were absolutely right — Tenth Young Master Su is indeed shut up in his room looking for a way to die.”

Su Yiyun’s eyes flew open. His feet stumbled; his head slipped from the belt. He tumbled from the table and crashed to the floor, bringing with him a clattering explosion of wine jars and tea pots shattering across the ground.

Two pairs of feet stepped over the threshold and stopped before Su Yiyun. One pair was smaller, shod in black sheepskin boots. The other was larger, wearing only a pair of plain cotton boots. The sheepskin boots had mud caked along the sides; the cotton boots were immaculately white, without a trace of dirt.

“A minor setback, and this person is already trying to kill himself — what a spineless creature.” The owner of the sheepskin boots crouched down and tilted his head to look at Su Yiyun. He was a young man with a thick layer of powder on his face; when he smiled, several flakes of it crumbled away from the corners of his eyes.

Su Yiyun stared wide-eyed. He recognized this young man — he was one of the servants at Hao Liu’s residence. Earlier he had led a group in a brawl with Lin Sui’an. His name, if he remembered correctly, was… Man Qi!

“Man Qi, mind your conduct. Quickly tidy up and invite Tenth Young Master Su to be seated.”

The other figure wore a celadon robe with a black belt, its waist conspicuously narrow. He was wearing a black gauze veil hat, and his voice was faint and thin — sounding as though he might expire at any moment.

“Who — who are you people? What do you want?!” Su Yiyun staggered to his feet, clutching his disheveled clothing, and bellowed, “Get out! Out! Out!”

Man Qi simply smiled and paid him no mind whatsoever. With clean, deft efficiency, he swept up the shattered pieces and wiped away the puddles, arranged the low table and seating cushions, set out a backrest, and gestured: please, be seated. The veiled figure lifted the hem of his robe and sat down, then produced from his sleeve a black ceramic wine flask and two wine cups, and filled them both. A rich, fragrant aroma diffused throughout the room, and the liquid in the cups was green as jade, reflecting the lantern glow from outside, flickering with an eerie, shifting light.

“This is the ten-year-aged Mancui that is famed throughout the Tang Kingdom — five gold taels per jar, an exceptional rarity. Even if Tenth Young Master Su wishes to die, surely he would not mind having one cup before he does?”

Su Yiyun gripped his lapels and stepped back two paces. “Who are you? What do you want?!”

Man Qi shook his head. “Seventh Lord, I think this person has lost his mind — he doesn’t seem to understand human speech.”

The veiled figure shook his head as well, then produced something else from his sleeve. “No matter — if he cannot understand speech, he need only be able to see.”

What he drew out was a scroll-book. Four cun in length, red binding cord, blue-green mounting. The title was a line of verse, and at the lower end was a large crimson seal bearing the characters “Phoenix Returns to the Wutong Hermit.”

Su Yiyun’s expression went white with shock. “This — how is this still here? Didn’t Lin Sui’an already destroy it?!”

The veiled figure: “Tenth Young Master Su, please look carefully — this volume is not the same as the one on the Yunshui River.”

Su Yiyun looked again, more closely, and realized the verse title was not “Flowers bloom — you must pick them while you can,” but rather the second line: “Lest you wait until the flowers are gone and find nothing to pick.” His legs turned to water, and he sank to the floor.

“Now — does Tenth Young Master Su wish to speak with me?” the veiled figure asked.

Su Yiyun was shaking violently, his whole body trembling as though being shaken in a sieve. He crawled forward on all fours, his lips white as paper, unable to produce so much as a single coherent word.

The veiled figure sighed. “It seems Tenth Young Master Su is rather nervous. In that case, perhaps I should speak, while Tenth Young Master listens. If anything I say is inaccurate, I hope Tenth Young Master will not hesitate to correct me.”

Su Yiyun’s eyes were stretched wide open, and he shook his head in frantic denial, a terrified sound — something between a choke and a cry — escaping his throat.

“Let us begin with this scroll-book.” The veiled figure undid the binding cord and slowly unrolled it. The dragon-scale-mounted pages fanned open — white as snow, all blank — except for the first page, which bore a single painting. The background showed a graceful pavilion with curved eaves, green pines and leafy scholar trees. Within the pavilion were two figures, entangled together. Both were men. Both had their eyes open and were fully conscious — their expressions blissful, their faces flushed. The figure above was Jiang Dongyi; the figure below was none other than Su Yiyun.

Su Yiyun clasped his head and let out a scream — a sound unlike anything that should come from a human throat, more like some animal on the edge of death.

“Spring Indolence Hermit is, without doubt, a master of sensual illustration celebrated throughout the Eastern Capital. This painting demonstrates profound skill, effortless elegance, exquisite attention to detail — a work of the highest quality.” The veiled figure spoke calmly. “I have no doubt it was precisely for this reason that Tenth Young Master Su introduced Spring Indolence Hermit to Jiang Dongyi.”

Su Yiyun curled himself into a ball, banging his head against the floor — again, and again, until the blows drew blood within moments.

“Why does Tenth Young Master Su react so violently? Could it be that, after all this time, the memory of who Spring Indolence Hermit is has grown dim?”

Su Yiyun: “Silence!”

“Spring Indolence Hermit — real name Dan Yuanming, courtesy name Baiping — a man of talent from Suizhou, and a fellow townsman of Tenth Young Master Su.”

“Silence! Silence! Silence!”

“Thanks to the introduction made by Tenth Young Master Su, Dan Yuanming was able to establish a connection with Jiang Dongyi and eventually became a secret illustrator for the Jiang Family. One must say, the peculiar tastes of the Taiyuan Jiang Family —” the veiled figure clicked his tongue twice — “are truly something to behold.”

“Shut up!” Su Yiyun erupted to his feet, lunging forward with both hands to seize the veiled figure by the throat — but quick as lightning, a nine-section chain whip came whistling out and snapped around Su Yiyun’s neck. Su Yiyun was yanked bodily into the air, a savage red welt left scoring his throat. His hands had not even come close to touching the veil.

Man Qi dragged Su Yiyun to one side with the ease of someone walking a dog and said coldly, “You’ve already done what you’ve done — are you afraid of someone merely speaking of it?”

The veiled figure sighed. “Man Qi — that temper of yours really does need work. Far too impulsive.”

“I can’t help it,” Man Qi said, hauling Su Yiyun back toward them with visible reluctance. “Seventh Lord, please hurry up — I still want to go browse the night market.”

“Then I’ll be concise.” The veiled figure continued: “Tenth Young Master Su’s assumption was correct. The scroll-book you so desperately wanted — the one Lin Sui’an destroyed on the Yunshui River — was indeed the scroll-book of Jiang Dongyi’s grandfather, Jiang Yongshou. As for the scroll-book belonging to Jiang Dongyi himself — the one that records your own involvement — Dan Yuanming had already delivered it to me long ago.”

Su Yiyun’s eyes cracked open in horror. “What?!”

“Dan Yuanming was, in fact, one of ours. However, the man had too calculating a mind — he always wanted to keep a path of retreat open for himself. First he deceived you, then used your connections to win Jiang Dongyi’s trust, then deceived Jiang Dongyi out of two scroll-books, and finally deceived even me — claiming he had obtained only one, and privately keeping the other for himself. In the end, his cleverness proved his own undoing.”

The veiled figure gestured to Man Qi to drag Su Yiyun closer to the table and pushed the wine cup forward. “That said, if it were not for Tenth Young Master Su’s introduction, we would never have obtained the earth-shaking secret of the Jiang Family of Ganzhou. I am genuinely grateful to you for that.”

Su Yiyun was gripping the nine-section chain whip around his neck, blood running from the wound along his fingers, down his arm, dripping one by one into the wine cup. The jade-green wine and the fresh red blood slowly blended together, turning as black as ink.

“And so — I wish to help Tenth Young Master Su ascend to the position of head of the Su Family of Suizhou.”

An incoherent sound clawed its way out of Su Yiyun’s throat. Man Qi let out a grunt, withdrew his arm and drew back the nine-section whip, and took his place beside the veiled figure with ill-concealed reluctance.

Su Yiyun collapsed against the table, his chest heaving violently through several gasping breaths. He slowly lifted his head. His pupils were stained with the frenzied light of madness. “You’re serious?!”

The veiled figure nodded. “Nothing could be more serious.”

“I don’t even know who you are — why should I trust you?!”

“Ah — my apologies for the oversight.” The veiled figure raised his arm and removed the gauze veil. As his robe sleeve slid back from his elbow, it revealed a slender, pale forearm — covered all over in a chaotic patchwork of scars, as though he had been carved up by a thousand blades.

Su Yiyun looked at the face beneath the veil — young, bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the latticed window. Moonlight fell at an angle across his nose bridge, half luminous, half in shadow.

“My name is Qi Yuansheng,” he said, tilting his head with a light smile — his features as fine and delicate as a woman’s, beautiful as a painting. “Or you may call me — Seventh Lord.”

On the sixteenth day of the first month — the second day of the Lantern Festival — Lin Sui’an finally experienced the legendary annual Eastern Capital Night Market.

Two words sufficed: blazing as noon, and so crowded you could be crushed to death.

Mu Xia had uncharacteristically foregone the luxurious carriage. Hua Yitang had uncharacteristically forgone his extravagant, cumbersome wide-sleeved robes, and chosen instead a clean, practical foreign-style fitted outfit. He had even left off his incense ball, and the fan had been swapped for a pocket-sized version that could be tucked into a sleeve at any moment.

Just before they left, Yita had actually made a solemn point of instructing Fangke: “Doctor Fang — stay close. Don’t get lost.”

Fangke blinked languidly, replied with an indifferent “hmm,” and Lin Sui’an thought it was a gross overreaction — as a modern person with years of experience surviving the Spring Festival mass transit rush, she was hardly going to be fazed by a mere Lantern Festival —

She had been too hasty!

Lin Sui’an stood at the gate of Hua Family’s Sixty-Six Residence and stared at the stream of people — stretching without end for what must have been several kilometers, with absolutely no visible terminus — and felt a creeping numbness along her scalp. The volume of this crowd was easily a match for the morning and evening rush hour on Subway Line 10.

Fangke turned on his heel and tried to flee back inside. Yita caught his sleeve. Those enormous, sky-blue eyes brimmed with anticipation. “Look at the lanterns together — they’re beautiful!”

Fangke agreed with a suffering expression. Lin Sui’an also tried to escape, and was hauled bodily into the crowd by Hua Yitang with considerable force. She struggled a few times, realized it was entirely futile — the current had taken her — and could only be carried forward by the tide of people with no means of turning back.

To her left, a young lady’s headful of jeweled pins had one knocked askew by the crowd, nearly poking Lin Sui’an in the eye. Ahead, a young lady was wearing some fragrance that kept making Fangke sneeze. To her right, an older man was carrying his daughter on his shoulders; the little girl waved her rabbit lantern and shrieked at the top of her lungs, and Yita joined in with equal gusto. Ahead and to the left, a cattle cart had become stuck, and the old ox pulling it — whether startled or suffering from an upset stomach — had raised its tail and deposited a large, liquid contribution onto the road. The hapless driver had no choice but to stand atop the cart and bow repeatedly in apology, while the crowd shouted curses and laughter and flowed around the obstacle. The congestion grew worse.

Hua Yitang’s small fan flapped rapidly beside Lin Sui’an’s face, barely managing to disperse some of the odor.

“Each ward in the Eastern Capital has its own lantern wheel — six in total. The largest is in the South Market, but I’ve heard the North Market and West Market are also quite good. Where do we want to go?”

Mu Xia: “Luonan City will be even more crowded. Let’s go to the North Market — it’s closer.”

Lin Sui’an threw up her hands: “Do we even have a choice? Let’s just go wherever the crowd takes us.”

Fangke: “Can I go home and sleep?”

Yita: “Whoa — a lantern wheel!”

The crowd ahead erupted in cheers. Lin Sui’an looked in that direction — and was struck dumb.

Under the ink-blue sky stood an enormous lantern wheel, like a great Ferris wheel radiating ten thousand rays of colored light, lighting up the sky above the North Market.

The lantern wheel stood approximately as tall as Yingtian Tower. From its center outward, it had seven layers, with the number of lanterns decreasing with each successive ring. The bamboo poles anchoring the wheel were wrapped in five-colored silk that created a rainbow gradient of colors. The lanterns themselves were no ordinary ones — each lantern shade was studded with gold and silver, and the tassels were semi-translucent, shimmering with light. From the count alone, there had to be tens of thousands of them at minimum.

Wave after wave of laughter, cheering, music, and singing surged over from the direction of the lantern wheel. The crowd before them began to loosen and spread out — it turned out that a vast open space had been cleared in front of the North Market, and a series of brilliant lantern walls partitioned it into different corridors, allowing the crowd to be admitted into the lantern wheel viewing area in separate streams.

The channeling area had six elevated platforms, each manned by two people directing the flow and shouting themselves hoarse. Judging from the color of their official robes, they were all seventh-rank officials or above. Lin Sui’an even spotted Wan Lin, Military Advisor of the Capital Prefecture, holding an enormous leather water pouch. His voice had long since gone raspy, and after taking a gulp of water and barely swallowing it, he spat it straight back out and bellowed: “Zone C is over capacity — Zone B, move up immediately! Zone A — are you deaf?! Cap the numbers! Cap them! CAP THEM!”

Hua Yitang raised his arm high and waved his fan, trying to wave hello — but Wan Lin couldn’t see him from that distance.

The Capital Prefecture’s officers and constables had turned out in full force, mopping sweat from their brows as they maintained order. Fortunately the crowd was reasonably cooperative, and the lines were flowing smoothly enough.

Lin Sui’an’s group entered through Zone D. The lanterns on the lantern walls here were specially made “shadow lanterns” — their shades printed with different patterns, so that candlelight shining through projected clusters of shapes onto the ground below, forming scattered petals that appeared to bloom wherever one stepped.

The crowd spread out considerably here, and children who had been riding on their parents’ shoulders hopped down and went skipping through the petal-shadows with peals of bell-like laughter. The infectious joy touched everyone around them. Yita was practically bouncing with the urge to join in, and cast a glance back at Hua Yitang. Hua Yitang smiled. “Go ahead.”

Yita yanked the unsteady Fangke along and the two of them shot off at a run. Mu Xia called out and chased after them — and then they rounded a corner and were gone.

Ahead, the night sky brightened. It was a three-zhang flowering fire-tree of lanterns — a towering scholar tree hung all over with seven-colored lanterns. These lanterns were yet another variety: each one had a gemstone of a different color set into its tassel, so that when the wind blew, they rang together in a bright cascade of sound like music.

Rounding the fire-tree of lanterns, the view opened up completely. Beneath the towering lantern wheel, over a thousand women in magnificent, brilliantly colored robes danced and sang in a great circle. Their diaphanous shawls billowed in the night breeze like a continuous rolling cloud sea dyed with the colors of a sunset — dreamlike and surreal.

Lin Sui’an stared, transfixed. She couldn’t move for a long moment. Hua Yitang didn’t hurry her. He stood beside her, watching quietly.

The young woman’s face was filled with wonder and a deep, moving emotion. The light of the towering lantern wheel reflected in her eyes — blazing like the Milky Way, like a galaxy bursting into bloom.

The rims of her eyes grew faintly red. She said softly, “It’s so beautiful.”

Hua Yitang gazed steadily at Lin Sui’an’s profile, and said, “Mm. Truly beautiful.”

Suddenly, Lin Sui’an pointed forward. “Where do those lantern corridors lead?”

Beneath the lantern wheel were seven or eight more lantern corridors, each with a different fire-tree of lanterns at its entrance. People were both entering and emerging. Hua Yitang reluctantly shifted his gaze and glanced over. “The different fire-trees mark the paths to different night market districts. The dragon lanterns lead to the lantern tower district, the phoenix lanterns lead to the music and dance quarter, the tiger lanterns to the acrobatics quarter, the leopard lanterns to the juggling quarter, the rabbit lanterns to the food stalls quarter, the flying-bird lanterns to the —”

“What’s the spirit-dance quarter?”

Hua Yitang smiled. “Famous spirit-mediums from all over the land performing their rituals. Want to go take a look?”

“Pass!”

“Let’s check out the food stalls — Jin Ruo is bound to be there.”

Following the rabbit-lantern corridor to its end, they found themselves in the heart of the North Market, where the lanes were packed with food stalls. Exhausted revelers were sitting right on the ground along the streets, faces flushed red from the steam and heat of cook fires, eating with tremendous enthusiasm and cheer.

Lin Sui’an spotted Elder Ding Kun, the Tenth Elder, his neck-cloth soaked through with sweat, standing atop a three-chi cooking stove, stirring a great pot of meat congee with a wooden ladle more than four chi long, calling out as he stirred: “Lamb congee! Three coins a bowl! Lamb congee! Five coins for two bowls — Lin Niangzi, you came! How about a bowl?”

Lin Sui’an waved him off. “Where’s Jin Ruo?”

“Further in —” Ding Kun was busy ladling out congee and collecting payment. “Three bowls of congee — please wait a moment, right away!”

Hua Yitang pulled Lin Sui’an into the crowd. A few stalls down, they spotted an extra-large stall flying a banner that read “Jin Family’s Powder Dumplings,” with eight tables, two great pots, and by far the longest queue — three deep, all the way around. Second Elder was tending the fire, face so blackened with charcoal soot it was unrecognizable. Seven Stars stood in a ring around the prep area, heads sheened with sweat, forming dumplings with flying hands — in methodical, practiced fashion: scoop filling, wrap dough, squeeze between the fingers — a single dumpling, the size of a fingernail, formed and dropped into the boiling pot, cooked through, scooped out and tossed into the hot oil, and out came a golden, crispy powder dumpling.

Jin Ruo was overseeing the boiling pots. A young girl beside him was handling the frying — and the young girl was unexpectedly Zhong Xue. The one doing the shouting was, of all people, Little Beggar.

Little Beggar was wearing new clothes, his hair neatly combed, standing up straight and tall as a post, his voice full of confidence and energy: “Jin Family’s Powder Dumplings — golden, crispy, fragrant meat filling! Eat one and you’ll want two — eat two and you’ll want four — so delicious! Jin Family’s Powder Dumplings, so delicious! Just five coins a bowl! Oh — oh oh oh — oh oh —”

Hua Yitang clicked his tongue. “In Heyue, we rescued Little Yan. Here in the Eastern Capital, we rescue Zhong Xue. Could it be that this fellow Jin Ruo has set his ambitions on having beloved companions scattered to every corner of the land?”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

“Hua, get over here and help wrap dumplings!” Jin Ruo called out with great irritation. “Can’t you see we’re short-handed?!”

Hua Yitang shook his head. “Hua is a man accustomed to having his food served and his clothing laid out for him. I simply cannot manage.”

Jin Ruo wiped the sweat from his face, and looked toward Lin Sui’an with a pitiful expression. “Shifu —”

The word “Shifu” from him melted Lin Sui’an completely. She immediately washed her hands and joined the dumpling-wrapping team — proceeded to produce three dumplings the size of her fist, was promptly relieved of duty with a “Shifu, please don’t trouble yourself,” and subjected to a sustained round of mockery from Hua Yitang.

Since she couldn’t contribute usefully, Lin Sui’an settled comfortably into the role of guest and ate to her heart’s content. Hua Yitang helped himself to six bowls with absolutely no self-consciousness — when he went back for a seventh, Jin Ruo physically removed him, and Lin Sui’an treated him to a prolonged bout of scorn.

The next stall was Third Elder’s “Jade Grain Paste” — similar to the green bean cakes of the modern era. Nearby they ran into Yita and Fangke, who were lining up to buy deep-fried “fire moths.” Mu Xia came by, carrying two enormous bags of “silk cages” — a kind of flat bread — and said she was bringing them back for Hua Yitang as a late-night snack.

Turning a corner, they came across Ling Zhiyan, sword at his hip, accompanied by Ming Shu, Ming Feng, and a patrol of Court of Judicial Review officers, walking their rounds. Hua Yitang shoved a piece of jade grain paste at Ling Zhiyan and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had barely managed two bites when a commotion erupted somewhere ahead — a thief, apparently. Ling Zhiyan clamped the jade grain paste between his teeth and charged off with his men at a sprint. Within moments, cheering arose from the crowd — the thief had been caught.

Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang glanced at each other with a smile.

Hua Yitang: “Keep walking?”

Lin Sui’an: “Keep walking.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they walked forward, into the brilliance of the sea of lanterns, into the warmth of the human world.

Bonus scene:

At the same time — the Female Emperor sat with a bowl in hand, chewing a powder dumpling, frowning at the pile of memorials stacked on her desk.

“There are so many troublesome unsolved cases all across the Tang Kingdom. Which one should I pick for Little Hua and Little An?”

This case arc is finally wrapped up — wiping away tears.

It’s technically one case arc, but actually three cases woven together: the Jiang Dongyi case, the Yun Zhong Yue case, and the sunken corpse case. When I was drafting the outline I absolutely did not anticipate it would get this complicated — tears, and lying down flat.

The two Conan-possessed protagonists are about to go on a journey. Can you guess where their first stop will be?

Hehehe.

P.S.: You guessed right — handsome characters don’t die from falling off cliffs. In fact, they level up. (Dog head)