Ling Zhiyan felt like something of a fool.

He had seen Ma Biao of the Eastern City Ma Clan leading his rowdy entourage into Qiuyue Teahouse, and, seized with worry, had followed them inside. As soon as they entered, Ma Biao and his men began shouting and making a scene — clearly looking for trouble. The female tea-drinkers inside rose up in righteous indignation, ready to brawl. Ling Zhiyan was just about to step forward when, at that very moment, Xue Qiuyue and Hua Yimeng walked out from the inner hall.

The afternoon sunlight was golden. Hua Yimeng’s eyes were pale and light. Her strikingly beautiful face bloomed amid the fragrance of tea, utterly arresting.

Ma Biao and his men were frozen on the spot, having apparently forgotten their own names.

Ling Zhiyan: “……”

Had he been worrying for nothing?

Hua Yimeng raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Are you gentlemen here for tea?”

Ma Biao and his men nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, we are! Miss Xue, please bring out all your finest and most fragrant teas!”

The female tea-drinkers were quite indignant. Xue Qiuyue’s gaze reassured them, signaling them to return to their seats and not cause trouble on the teahouse’s behalf. She then had the tea attendants bring out tea sets, cups, teapots, and tea leaves. Ma Biao and his companions had no real interest in tea — their eyes were glued to Hua Yimeng, their gazes oily and repulsive.

Ling Zhiyan felt a nameless fire surge straight to his head. Hua Yimeng was Fourth Young Master’s elder sister — how could she be subjected to such insult? He lifted his robe hem and strode directly toward Ma Biao’s table — when suddenly a young male tea attendant cut sideways in front of him, and without a word, pulled Ling Zhiyan to one side, lowering his voice. “Judicial Inspector Ling, please be patient.”

Ling Zhiyan frowned.

The attendant seemed frightened by Ling Zhiyan’s expression, gave a small shudder, and lowered his voice further. “Third Miss Hua said so.”

Ling Zhiyan looked up at Hua Yimeng in surprise. Hua Yimeng happened to glance over at him at the same time and gave him a warm smile.

Ling Zhiyan’s face suddenly flushed red. He looked quickly away, and his mind gradually settled. Hua Yimeng was right — Ma Biao and his group were being ordinary patrons for now, not causing any genuine trouble. If he went over and gave them a beating unprovoked, wouldn’t that just be bullying? And if word reached the elder of Yingyang’s Ling Clan and Chief Justice Chen Yanfan of the Court of Judicial Review, he would no doubt face another lecture.

Thinking of this, Ling Zhiyan found himself feeling a trace of envy for Hua Yitang and Lin Sui’an. In a situation like this, if those two were here, they would surely have beaten the men first and asked questions later, never mind the rest.

Ling Zhiyan let out a quiet sigh and asked the tea attendant, “Is there a more discreet position available?”

The attendant blinked rapidly, let out a sly chuckle, and said, “This way, Judicial Inspector Ling.”

Ling Zhiyan was guided to the northeast corner of the teahouse — an unassuming spot. The attendant even enthusiastically dragged over a three-panel folding screen and positioned it in front of Ling Zhiyan, concealing him behind it.

“From here the distance is just right — you can hear those men talking,” the attendant pointed toward Ma Biao’s table, then pointed toward Hua Yimeng and Xue Qiuyue behind the counter, grinning with lively eyes, “and Third Miss Hua behind the counter is in full view as well.”

Ling Zhiyan’s eyes went wide. “What?”

The attendant gazed yearningly at Hua Yimeng. “The Hua family’s Third Young Miss — a beauty enough to topple nations. Never mind the men; even the women are smitten with her.”

Ling Zhiyan: “…I’m not —”

“We’re all men here, sir, I understand your feelings.” The attendant stared dreamily at Hua Yimeng. “A young woman of Third Miss Hua’s family background and appearance must have suitors like fish in a river. It’s perfectly understandable that Judicial Inspector Ling doesn’t dare express his feelings, and can only keep his devoted affection buried in his heart, watching from afar to ease his longing.”

Having said his piece, the attendant poured tea for Ling Zhiyan, heaved a melancholy sigh, and walked away.

Ling Zhiyan was caught between laughter and exasperation. He wanted to leave but did not dare — Ma Biao’s group had clearly come with ill intentions. If he left and something went wrong with Qiuyue Teahouse, how would he explain himself to Fourth Young Master?

As things stood, he could only accept the situation. He would wait.

Ling Zhiyan silently pulled the folding screen a little closer — enough to better conceal his stiff posture and thin-skinned face.

The pack of young wastrels led by Ma Biao were notorious ne’er-do-wells in Yidu. At first, overawed by Hua Yimeng’s appearance, they had indeed behaved themselves for an hour. But as time wore on, their true colors showed — calling for wine, calling for food, and even hinting that Hua Yimeng come and pour drinks for them. No sooner had the suggestion begun to take shape, however, than the female tea-drinkers on all sides glared daggers at them, and the feisty cook even took up her cleaver and stationed herself beside Hua Yimeng. Ma Biao’s group immediately lost their nerve and hastily laughed it off.

After a while, still unsatisfied, they tried in turns to show off everything they had — performing poems, singing songs, and at one point inexplicably launching into an arm-wrestling competition — all in a bid to attract Hua Yimeng’s attention. The women throughout the teahouse watched them with expressions one might reserve for trained monkeys.

After all their maneuvering, they had not won a single smile from Hua Yimeng, and had instead collected a heap of contempt. The group was growing impatient — yet the female patrons were planted in their seats like nails, sitting from noon to dusk, and then from dusk into evening, taking turns going to relieve themselves, with sharp eyes and fierce demeanors, not one willing to leave.

Ma Biao’s expression turned impatient. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the teacup — then suddenly, his eyes lit up. He spotted Qu Hui, who was serving tea, and instantly perked up. He raised his voice. “Well, isn’t this Wu Zhengli’s wife, Lady Qu? Haven’t seen you in a while — how has she come to look so haggard?”

The young wastrels chimed in:

“Ma brother, you don’t know — this woman was too willful, insisting on a formal separation from the Wu brother.”

“Alas, to think the mistress of the head of the Wu family has now sunk to working in a teahouse. Truly pitiable, truly heartbreaking.”

“The Qu family’s men are all scholars with their heads in books. Now that the Wu family’s backing is gone, whether they can even survive is a question — no wonder Lady Qu has to come out and show her face in public.”

Qu Hui froze.

Ling Zhiyan thought: this is going badly. He swiftly rose to his feet, poised to act.

“So what if she shows her face? We have our hands and feet — we earn our own money and feed ourselves, and as long as we live with peace in our hearts, that is enough.” Xue Qiuyue walked over and patted Qu Hui on the shoulder.

The female patrons echoed her words.

Qu Hui looked at Xue Qiuyue. A small light kindled in her eyes.

The young wastrels exchanged glances, revealing smug, gloating smiles.

“We feel it’s unfair on Lady Qu’s behalf — you separate from Wu Zhengli, and before the door has even cooled, someone else has already moved in, looking every bit like she’s about to become Wu Zhengli’s new wife.”

Qu Hui’s expression shifted.

The young wastrels laughed louder.

“Flustered! She’s flustered!”

“See — a hundred days of being husband and wife; she said the separation with her own mouth, but her heart still lingers.”

Ma Biao leered. “We went to visit the Wu brothers today — their days look quite comfortable. Wu Counselor is in fine health; a mere fifty lashes have made no impression on him at all. He was lying on the bed chatting and drinking tea with us, full of vigor. I estimate he’ll be on his feet in a few days. He even invited us to come hear songs and drink at Red Fragrance House some other day.”

He darted his eyes. “The head of the Wu family has six beautiful maidservants attending him, fruits and pastries laid out by the bedside — I rather thought he’d put on some weight, with good color in his cheeks too. Oh, and there’s a marriage-luck bell from Da Ci Temple hanging at his bedside. The writing on the marriage slip is delicate and small — the sort that must have been written by a woman’s hand.”

Another young wastrel stoked the fire: “And there was a love poem written there too — something about ‘on this night, this night of all nights, I behold this fine person.'”

The color drained from Qu Hui’s face in an instant. Her lips turned a sickly greenish hue, and the light in her eyes extinguished bit by bit, leaving them black and terrifying.

Hua Yimeng took a step forward and pulled Qu Hui behind her. “A disgusting, worthless man — better off without him!”

Qu Hui grabbed her own sleeve. Her body shook violently.

“Well said! If he is not a worthy match, then let him go!” Xue Qiuyue called out clearly.

The female patrons all chimed in.

Ma Biao sucked in his cheek. “Miss Xue, that’s a bit extreme. Women are fragile — without a man to depend on, life becomes terribly difficult. Take this Qiuyue Teahouse, for instance — Miss Xue rises early and works late, yet earns only a thin profit. If Miss Xue were willing to accept recruitment by my Ma family, she could obtain goods from our Ma family’s tea team at three parts below market price from now on.”

So Ma Biao had come to absorb Qiuyue Teahouse. Ling Zhiyan silently tightened his grip on the scabbard at his waist.

Xue Qiuyue’s expression turned cold enough to frighten. “I have already refused this matter.”

“Miss Xue need not be so absolute.” Ma Biao said, “Just take the Hundred Flowers Tea your teahouse uses — it is clearly an inferior-grade product. If you used my Ma family’s Hundred Flowers Tea, you would get both a lower price and better quality. Wouldn’t that be ideal?”

“Who are you calling inferior-grade?!” Hua Yimeng’s brows shot upward; she rolled up her sleeves. “Damn it all, this old lady isn’t going to stay mild-mannered any longer!”

Watching a woman of breathtaking beauty transform before their eyes into something so ferocious — Ma Biao and his group were unable to adapt. They were all stunned. Ma Biao was still parroting his line: “My Ma family’s Hundred Flowers Tea is the most authentic —”

“Authentic my grandmother’s leg!” Hua Yimeng exploded in fury. “So it’s you lot of bastards who’ve been selling counterfeits passed off as our Hua family’s Hundred Flowers Tea!”

Ma Biao and his companions were dumbfounded. “Hua — Hua Family?!”

“Sisters, together!” Hua Yimeng raised her arm, and every tea attendant, tea master, cook, servant, and female patron surged forward at once — hitting, kicking, tearing, clawing — raining blows down in a torrential onslaught.

Ma Biao and his men crouched on the floor covering their heads, releasing cries of terrified panic. Ling Zhiyan leapt forward, hurriedly holding back the fierce surge of women. “The Tang Code specifies: those who surround and gang up to beat a person shall receive forty strokes of the light rod; if blood is drawn, it constitutes injury; anything beyond the hands and feet, including all other implements, even a weapon with the blade not turned, also qualifies — Ladies, conducting such a mass beating may well be inadvisable —”

“Judicial Inspector Ling, you’ve come at just the right time!” Ma Biao raised his head and saw who it was, and nearly wept with relief. “These madwomen beat us good citizens for absolutely no reason — Judicial Inspector Ling must enforce the law impartially and punish every last one of them —”

Before the words were out of his mouth, Ling Zhiyan swung his scabbard and cracked it across Ma Biao’s face with a resounding thud. Ma Biao’s nose instantly gushed blood; he toppled to the ground foaming at the mouth.

Ling Zhiyan’s temple throbbed, a vein twitching. “Shut up!”

Every woman in the room was stunned. They stared at Ling Zhiyan in unison. Hua Yimeng’s eyes looked ready to fall out of her head. Ling Zhiyan was a little embarrassed, and quickly cupped his hands in apology. “I acted on impulse just now — my conduct was improper —”

Suddenly, everyone’s expression changed drastically.

Ling Zhiyan felt a chill run down his back. He spun around — and saw the young wastrels’ faces flooding with a strange greenish pallor, and then, with a retch, they spewed out a bright, churning mess of multicolored vomit. Ling Zhiyan was shocked. In a split second’s decision, he grabbed Hua Yimeng and pulled her clear to three feet away. There was no time to bring Qu Hui along — she was drenched head to toe in the vomit, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed into Xue Qiuyue’s arms. The women around them let out cries of alarm and scattered in all directions.

The young wastrels then collapsed rigid on the floor, limbs convulsing uncontrollably.

Ling Zhiyan was stunned. “This — this is —”

“Sixth Young Master,” Hua Yimeng draped her left arm over Ling Zhiyan’s neck and pinched her nose shut with her right hand, “could it be you’ve been framed?”

Ling Zhiyan: “Huh?”

Side Skit

Mu Xia drove the carriage, hauling Jin Ruo and Fangke home to the Hua estate at full gallop. Jin Ruo was curled up trembling in the corner of the carriage. Fangke was sharpening his corpse-dissection knife. The blade scraped against the whetstone in a teeth-aching screech — scrape, scrape, scrape, scraaaaape —

Jin Ruo was on the verge of tears: Could it be that Doctor Fang, furious over failing to catch Yun Zhong Yue, was so enraged that he planned to dissect him for sport?

Also on the verge of tears was Wu Da. He had been dumped in the paupers’ graveyard, waiting for the constable’s men from the city government office to come help with the aftermath. He curled into a ball beneath a willow tree, clutching the broken whisk Yun Zhong Yue had left behind, muttering to himself: “Let the debts find the debtors, let the great and lesser ghosts not come for me — Wuliangtianzun, Amitabha… someone please come rescue me!”