Three days prior. The seventeenth day of the third month. The first quarter of the Chen Hour.

Iron Shu, apprentice at the Iron Family Clinic in Bainye Lane of Qiumen Ward, arrived at the clinic for work as he did every morning. Upon opening the door, he caught the scent of blood. Following the smell to the consultation room, he found a dismembered corpse lying in a pool of blood. He was so badly frightened that he wet his trousers on the spot and fled at a full sprint to report it to the authorities.

Following a joint identification by Iron Shu and family members, the deceased was confirmed to be Iron Hai, physician at the Iron Family Clinic. The cause of death was a hacking assault. The interior of the clinic was in disarray, and a considerable number of valuables and medicinal materials had been stolen.

Zhao Zhengzhi, who had gone to investigate the scene, discovered a jade pendant there. Upon identification, it was determined to be a personal belonging kept close to Bai Rong, patriarch of the Bai Clan of Qingzhou.

Zhao Zhengzhi immediately led a party to the Bai Residence to make inquiries, only to find that Bai Rong had vanished. According to the Bai Family’s servants, the master of the house had retired to his room after dinner on the night in question and had not been seen to go out.

The coroner established the time of Iron Hai’s death as somewhere between the first watch and the third watch of the previous night. Furthermore, a witness claimed to have spotted Bai Rong in Bainye Lane around midnight. Combined with the jade pendant as evidence, Prefect Che concluded that the killer was Bai Rong, and ordered Zhao Zhengzhi to hunt the suspect throughout the city. Three days of searching, however, had turned up nothing.

Just when the matter was becoming a serious headache, word arrived from Chuting Station that Bai Xiang had returned to Guangdu City.

“So — Prefect Che intends to use Bai Third Young Master as a lure and bait, setting a trap to draw Bai Rong out?” asked Hua Yitang.

“Bai Rong’s whereabouts are presently unknown — it is evident he has fled to escape justice. Bai Rong has five children in total; four are traveling elsewhere, and only Bai Third Young Master shares the closest relationship with him. Che only wished to find Bai Third Young Master to ask for any leads — for instance, the sorts of places Bai Rong frequented.” Prefect Che smiled. “I never expected to be graced with the assistance of Lin Niangzi and County Lieutenant Hua. This is truly a great blessing for the people of Guangdu!”

Hua Yitang raised an eyebrow, his expression half a smile and not quite one, and drew out a long, meaningful “Oh —”

Having learned of Lin Sui’an’s identity as a covert imperial censor, Prefect Che promptly presented all the case documents pertaining to the Bai Rong matter. Every question Hua Yitang posed was answered thoroughly and in full.

Unfortunately, it was of virtually no use.

The investigation had been conducted in an extremely shoddy manner. The case records were brief and sketchy; the scene examination section contained almost nothing of substance beyond the matter of the jade pendant; the autopsy report was even more perfunctory. More frustrating still, Prefect Che and Zhao Zhengzhi maintained an ambiguous attitude throughout — outwardly cooperative, but offering precious little of genuine use, while the volume of flattering pleasantries climbed steadily higher.

Bai Xiang looked like a plague-stricken chicken, head hanging low, round belly deflated, having crumpled Hua Yitang’s sleeve into something resembling dried plum vegetable.

Hua Yitang wrested his sleeve back with profound disdain. “In Hua’s view, judging Bai Rong as the killer on the strength of this evidence alone is far too much of a stretch.”

Prefect Che curled his lip in a faint smile, his short moustache bending into an arch that conveyed sardonic indifference. “I wonder what high opinion County Lieutenant Hua might offer. Prefect Che is all ears.”

Lin Sui’an: “The most obvious problem is that the chain of evidence is insufficient.”

Hua Yitang: “The most critical point: what was the murder weapon?”

Zhao Zhengzhi: “The weapon was a straight military blade — similar to Lin Niangzi’s own.”

Lin Sui’an: “How did Brother Zhao determine this?”

“We agents spend many years dealing with blade wounds. From the injuries on the body, certain conclusions can be drawn.”

Lin Sui’an raised an eyebrow. So that was why Zhao Zhengzhi had paid such particular attention to her and Jin Ruo’s weapons — had he been suspecting the two of them?

Hua Yitang: “Where is the blade now?”

Zhao Zhengzhi: “…It has not yet been found.”

Prefect Che: “It is naturally still in Bai Rong’s possession.”

Hua Yitang: “Did the witness ever see a blade in Bai Rong’s hands?”

Prefect Che faltered. “…On that point… I did not press the witness to clarify.”

“Did the witness personally see Bai Rong kill anyone?”

“…Not directly.”

Hua Yitang fanned himself. “The body was hacked into a bloody ruin — does Prefect Che not find that strange?”

Prefect Che: “Strange in what way?”

“I am told Bai Rong is prone to fainting at the sight of blood.”

Bai Xiang: “Exactly, exactly! My A’Ye faints at the sight of blood — he cannot even bear to watch a chicken being slaughtered. How could he possibly go and hack someone apart, let alone hack them that many times?!”

Prefect Che shook his head with a smile. “The matter of fainting at the sight of blood is supported by no evidence — it cannot be relied upon.”

Bai Xiang: “I am a witness myself! Every servant, maid, groom, and cook in the Bai household knows it!”

“They are all Bai Clan people — they cannot be beyond suspicion of covering for their master.”

Hua Yitang: “Even setting aside the question of whether Bai Rong faints at the sight of blood — hacking Iron Hai’s body into such a state so clearly speaks to a crime of fury and passion. What was the motive?”

Prefect Che straightened his posture with a look of supreme confidence. “There are things the others may not know. Bai Rong suffers from a chronic headache condition that has left his temperament volatile and unpredictable. In recent years he has become increasingly irascible, prone to beating and scolding the servants, and rude to the physicians who came to treat him. He went through several clinics in Guangdu City without being satisfied with any of them. Iron Hai had only begun treating Bai Rong in the past few months. Apparently, the two had a quarrel just days before the incident. In Prefect Che’s view, that is the motivation behind Bai Rong’s killing!”

Hua Yitang glanced at Bai Xiang with some surprise. “Is this true?”

Bai Xiang lowered his head. “My A’Ye’s temper is indeed rather poor.” He paused, then muttered, “It was all because your elder brother Hua Yihuan provoked him…”

Hua Yitang: “…”

Prefect Che: “Do the two of you have any further questions regarding this case?”

Lin Sui’an shook her head. “No more.”

Hua Yitang rose, smoothing his robes and adjusting his sleeves. “Nor does Hua.”

Bai Xiang paled in horror. “Hua Yitang!”

“Excellent!” Prefect Che was overjoyed, clapping his hands together. “Zhao Zhengzhi, go at once to the Biandan Tower in the Foreign Quarter and reserve a table for a welcoming banquet. Prefect Che will personally host Lin Niangzi and County Lieutenant Hua —”

Before he could finish, Hua Yitang and Lin Sui’an had already turned and were walking out. Prefect Che hurried to catch up. “Where are the two of you headed?”

The red-robed, pale-faced man following close behind them turned back with cold indifference. “Lead the way. To the mortuary.”

Lin Sui’an knew very well that, for all the imposing ring of her title as covert imperial censor, once she was on someone else’s turf, without some genuine ability to command respect, the most she could hope for was surface cooperation and covert obstruction.

This was the essence of what people meant when they said: even a dragon struggles to overpower the local snake.

If she wanted to get to the truth of this case, relying on Prefect Che was clearly not an option — they would have to conduct their own investigation from scratch.

The first order of business, naturally, was to examine the corpse.

Prefect Che had plainly not expected them to make such a move. He stood far back in the doorway of the mortuary, handkerchief pressed to his mouth and nose, his face rendered a ghastly grey-green in the dim light.

“The Prefect’s Office has only one coroner, who fell and broke his leg two days ago — he has taken sick leave and cannot come.”

Zhao Zhengzhi frowned. “The autopsy report from before is already in the case file — the cause of death is written out plainly and clearly. Is there any need to examine the body again? Moreover, the position of coroner requires a court appointment. Autopsy findings from an ordinary physician cannot be submitted as evidence in court —”

Fang Ke set his wooden chest down on the edge of the autopsy table with a resonant thud, then drew from inside his robes a rectangular bronze plaque. Carved in relief around its entire border were Taoist five-element incantation texts — the craftsmanship was reminiscent of the Night-Roving Order token, and the plaque itself was small and refined, no larger than half a palm. On the front was engraved “Coroner of the Traveling Trade”; on the reverse was inscribed “Issued by the Court of Judicial Review,” with Fang Ke’s personal seal at the base — to be stamped in the signature field upon completion of an autopsy, serving as a certified mark of authoritative authentication. Aesthetically speaking, it far outclassed that dull, nondescript covert imperial censor’s token.

The plaque was strung on a double-loop braided cord, which Fang Ke draped over his middle finger — the manner of display was uncannily reminiscent of a certain rude gesture from the modern world.

Only those who had passed the Court of Judicial Review’s most exacting four-tier examination were equipped with such a coroner’s appointment plaque — the equivalent of a senior professional designation among coroners.

Prefect Che and Zhao Zhengzhi fell instantly, utterly silent.

Fang Ke opened the large wooden chest, completed the spirit-sealing talisman, and put on his gloves.

Hua Yitang pressed a fragrant handkerchief into Lin Sui’an’s hand and in the same motion took hold of her wrist. Jin Ruo backed away several large steps.

Fang Ke slowly lifted the shroud.

It was a deeply gruesome corpse. Zhao Zhengzhi’s earlier description of it as having been “hacked into pulp” was not an exaggeration. Nearly every inch of the body had been broken open — skin, muscle, tendons, and vessels all erupting and turning outward in disarray. The wound at the throat was deep enough to reveal bone. The wounds on the abdomen were the most chaotic of all, as though meat had been minced there. The only portion left comparatively intact was, remarkably, the face, which retained a relatively complete set of features.

Fang Ke calmly swept his gaze across the body and glanced at Lin Sui’an, then began by prying open the deceased’s eyelids.

Lin Sui’an’s pupils contracted sharply. A burst of blinding white light flooded into her vision — then, in an instant, a blade-wind swept across a throat. Bright red blood splattered. The blade turned, its ring slicing through the air — and then a fierce arc of blade-light carved a Z-shape from top to bottom, shifting and flashing through the light and shadow, sweeping toward the abdomen —

Oh!

Lin Sui’an stumbled back half a step, heart hammering like a drum, breath coming in quick, ragged pulls.

Hua Yitang was very close. His left arm hovered beneath her waist in a barely-supporting hold. His right hand gripped her wrist, fingers tight as iron clamps. His gaze was fixed entirely on her face — not blinking, breath held, more tense than she was by three full measures.

Fang Ke had already begun examining the surface wounds on the abdomen. Judging by the progress of the autopsy, it had been several tens of seconds — the memory vision from her golden finger still lasted around three seconds, but the time she lost consciousness in the real world had grown longer. This was not a good sign.

“How is it?” Hua Yitang asked quietly.

“It should have been the moment just before death,” said Lin Sui’an.

Hua Yitang gritted his teeth. “I was asking how you feel. Are you dizzy? Is your vision blurring? Are your ears ringing? Is your heart racing? Do your feet ache? Do your teeth hurt? Do you want water, or food, or sleep?”

Lin Sui’an almost laughed. “I’m all right.”

Hua Yitang exhaled in relief. Glancing sideways, he saw Fang Ke produce a small saw and prop one foot on the edge of the autopsy table, one foot on a wooden stool, bearing down with formidable intensity as he sawed away at the ribs with a rhythmic grinding sound. Hua Yitang promptly pulled Lin Sui’an back, careful to avoid getting a face full of blood and flesh.

Prefect Che and Zhao Zhengzhi made a dash for the door, retching sounds reverberating to the heavens. Jin Ruo held out for a moment, then fled. Lin Sui’an lasted another quarter-hour before also escaping. To everyone’s surprise, Hua Yitang — who usually ran first — actually held his ground and remained in the mortuary.

Lin Sui’an faced the row of old locust trees opposite the mortuary, turned her palms inward and outward in alternation, breathing in the fresh outdoor air deeply, calling up the memory vision from her golden finger. The more she recalled, the more familiar it seemed — that blade technique… cleave, thrust, turn, sweep, carry —

“Master, is there something you forgot?” Jin Ruo sidled up and knocked Lin Sui’an’s shoulder with his own.

Lin Sui’an: “Hm?”

“Remember what you promised before — you said that once the weighted corpse case was solved, you’d tell me a secret.”

Lin Sui’an remembered the promise she had made to Jin Ruo then, pulled him a little apart from the others — Prefect Che and Zhao Zhengzhi were still retching in oblivion and had no attention to spare — and lowered her voice. “The truth is, I can see the memories of the deceased.”

Jin Ruo: “…”

Lin Sui’an blinked, then nodded again.

“Haah —” Jin Ruo heaved a world-weary sigh. “Master, I really think you should keep some distance from that Hua fellow in the future. Picking up his habit of talking big is not a good thing.”

Lin Sui’an raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

Jin Ruo stuck out his tongue. “Believe you, my ghost!”

Lin Sui’an felt helpless.

Sure enough — a claim this outlandish could only be accepted without reservation by Hua Yitang, who was afflicted with the same kind of strangeness.

Before long, the door of the mortuary opened. Hua Yitang and Fang Ke walked out. Fang Ke held a completed autopsy report form; the color of Hua Yitang’s face bore a close resemblance to it.

Fang Ke: “Deceased Iron Hai, male, age fifty, height seven chi six cun. Cause of death: two fatal wounds — one located three cun below the larynx, where the trachea was severed; one located half a cun below the navel, where the internal organs were transversely lacerated. Death was instantaneous. There are additionally forty-eight blade wounds on the body, all inflicted post-mortem, varying in size and depth. Although the fatal wounds and post-mortem wounds are similar in character, they were not made by the same weapon, but by two weapons of similar form.”

“What did you say?” Zhao Zhengzhi wheeled around. “There were two identical blades?!”

Fang Ke: “There are no two identical blades in this world — only blades that resemble each other.”

Prefect Che: “What this coroner means is — the killer first used one blade to hack the victim, then used a second blade to mutilate the body? Does that make any sense?”

Fang Ke sighed. His expression conveyed a contempt that the word “stupid” alone could not adequately describe. “It was not one person, but two — using two blades of similar form. The killer had greater strength, struck decisively, with force penetrating to the bone. The one who mutilated the body had lesser strength, struck hesitatingly, reaching only skin and muscle.”

Hua Yitang also produced a sheet of paper. “Based on Brother Fang’s assessment of the weapon, I have sketched a rough rendering of the murder weapon.” At this, he clicked his tongue. “Quite unexpected.”

Prefect Che and Zhao Zhengzhi fixed their eyes on the drawing and went pale with shock. Zhao Zhengzhi snatched the drawing and spun around to stare hard at Lin Sui’an and Jin Ruo, his expression ferocious.

Lin Sui’an and Jin Ruo blanched, and without exchanging a word, both drew the weapons at their hips simultaneously.

The weapon in the drawing was a straight military blade in form, but a full one chi and four cun shorter than a standard blade — only two chi in length — and the blade itself was wider by a fraction, roughly three fingers’ breadth. Aside from the color being uncertain, it bore nine-tenths of a resemblance to Qian Jing and Ruo Jing.

Oh—

Lin Sui’an understood. In the golden finger vision, the blade technique she had seen was unmistakably the first form of the Ten Purity Manual, “Blood Ten Feet from a Slit Throat,” and the third form, “Cauldron Blade Disembowelment.”

Jin Ruo scratched his head in frantic bewilderment. “So… right now, the prime suspects are —”

Lin Sui’an pointed at her own nose with a look of rueful absurdity. “The two of us — what?”