“Ha.” Jin Shanghua, upon hearing all of this, couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “You’re absolutely right. But what can you do about it?”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling with a trace of satisfaction. “With nothing but a packet of medicine found in my room, can you prove that I poisoned Mei Wuzi? With nothing but Mei Wuzi’s unsubstantiated testimony, can you prove that I was the one who leaked that information?”

“You’re right — we don’t have the evidence to convict you.” Shi Ting fixed his gaze on the retreating figure. “But I have an old saying to send you off with… what is owed will always be repaid — the time just hasn’t come yet.”

“Very well then. I’ll wait for my reckoning. Ha.” Jin Shanghua walked out of the interrogation room, still laughing.

Bai Jin watched him go, unable to conceal his frustration. “And we’re just letting him walk?”

“Without evidence, speculation cannot convict a person.”

“It’s infuriating.” Bai Jin said indignantly, “Even if he didn’t kill with his own hands, he played a crucial role in making it happen — and who knows how long he spent plotting and scheming this scheme of making someone else do his killing for him.”

The law was without sentiment, yet there were times when the law also had limits beyond which it could not reach. All that could be done was to continue perfecting it, strengthening it — so that one day it might be truly invincible, a force for the good of all people.

Shi Ting was just about to head back to his office when an officer came rushing in from outside, rendered a quick salute, and reported: “Director, Jin Shanghua has been struck by a car.”

“Struck by a car?” Shi Ting’s brow furrowed slightly. “Who hit him?”

“Unknown — the driver fled the scene. But according to eyewitness accounts, it appeared to be A Jiu.”

“What is Jin Shanghua’s condition?”

“No danger to his life, but his leg is broken. He may never be able to perform on stage again.”

Bai Jin said, “We’d only just said ‘what is owed will always be repaid’ — I didn’t expect the reckoning to come so quickly.”

“A Jiu still had unresolved feelings for Yi Zhimei. Once he worked out the connection, it was inevitable that he would go after Jin Shanghua.”

“Unresolved feelings? Didn’t they break up long ago? The way A Jiu carried on, it was as though Yi Zhimei’s life or death meant nothing to him whatsoever.”

Shi Ting shook his head. “Their breakup was likely because of Yi Zhimei’s skin disease, not because A Jiu had found someone new. Yi Zhimei ended things out of his own shame and self-consciousness, but A Jiu still had feelings for him — and not only that, they would occasionally still meet privately.”

“Now that you mention it, there was a vial of male enhancement tonic in A Jiu’s room.” Bai Jin scratched his head. “So A Jiu had been keeping a quiet eye on Yi Zhimei all along, putting on a show of indifference. He must have noticed that Jin Shanghua played an indirect role in Yi Zhimei’s death, and that’s why he ran him down. Jin Shanghua spent ten years carefully plotting his revenge — quite a feat of endurance. And this small theater troupe of theirs — truly a portrait of every kind of human nature. It leaves you speechless.”

Shi Ting said, “Any new developments on the blunt-force assault cases?”

“No witnesses, and the attacker strikes at random — it’s difficult to investigate.” Bai Jin thought for a moment. “Should we ask Miss Yan to help?”

Shi Ting shook his head. “Leave it. We’ve already put her out enough — she’s not a member of our division, and we’ve been imposing on her a great deal already.”

After Yan Qing had examined Yi Zhimei’s body at the General’s Mansion, she had most certainly faced questions from Master Yan when she returned home. He could only wonder how she had managed to smooth things over.

“Oh, that’s right, Seventh Brother — the Third Miss called and asked you to come by her place. Don’t forget.”

“Understood.” Shi Ting checked his watch. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

—

On the day of the poetry gathering, Yan Qing and Yan Yan rode together in the same car.

Yan Yan was just fifteen this year — guileless and mischievous by nature. Her mother, Li Zhen, was Master Yan’s Si Yitai, and had once served as a handmaiden to San Yitai, Wen Wan.

After Wen Wan’s death, Master Yan had taken Li Zhen as a concubine. Though he did not particularly dote on her, out of the love he bore for Wen Wan and the bond he felt through her, he treated Li Zhen with special care. Li Zhen’s standing in the household was second only to Madam Yan.

“Sixth Sister, have you never been to a poetry gathering before either?” Yan Yan pressed her face eagerly against the car window, looking left and right.

Yan Qing was reading a newspaper. The paper carried a detailed account of the Yi Zhimei poisoning case — the case had at last been solved, the killer brought to justice, and those who had taken a life had ultimately paid with their own.

The journalist who had written the piece was clearly an admirer of the Military Police Division, and the language throughout was full of praise and adulation.

The final lines read: “The Military Police Division is to Shun Cheng what a guardian deity is to a temple gate — what a security lock is to a home — what a steadying pillar is to a sea in turmoil.”

“Sixth Sister, can you hear me?” Yan Yan pouted her rosy lips.

Yan Qing folded the newspaper and gave a small smile. “You asked about the poetry gathering?”

“Yes! You haven’t been to one before either, have you?”

“No.” The former Sixth Miss had lived a secluded, reclusive life, and naturally no one had ever invited her to such refined gatherings of accomplished young women.

“Does everyone have to compose poetry? What do I do if I can’t?” Yan Yan wrinkled her brow. “I’ve heard that Fifth Sister’s close friend, Ma Xiaotong, is a great talent — she publishes poems in newspapers and literary magazines all the time.”

Yan Qing was unconcerned. “If we can’t write poetry, we just go to watch. That’s all.”

In truth, there were two reasons she had agreed to attend. First, it was Master Yan’s wish. Second, she had also made inquiries — Madam Liu’s husband was Shun Cheng’s foremost cloth merchant, with fabrics sold across the entire country, and Yan Qing had an unusual idea that would require a batch of specially made raw fabric.

When the car arrived at the Liu Mansion, Yan Qin and Yan Ling had already alighted and were speaking with another young woman.

This woman had her hair fashionably waved in a shoulder-length curl, and wore a high-collared, embroidered cheongsam with a trim border. Long pearl earrings rested against her shoulders.

She held a small white Western-style handbag, wore a pair of heeled shoes, and as she spoke, her chin tilted subtly upward, carrying a faint air of superiority.

Yan Yan grew excited. “That’s the great talent Ma Xiaotong — she’s come to our house before. I’ve seen her.”

Yan Yan pushed Yan Qing forward, and Yan Ling, spotting them, quickly made introductions: “Miss Ma, these are my Sixth and Seventh Sisters — they’ve come along to watch.”

But Ma Xiaotong’s gaze carried an unmistakable disdain. “Madam Liu’s poetry gatherings have always been graced by accomplished women of talent. Since when have just anyone been allowed to come along and watch? I must ask Madam Liu about this — the standards for her gatherings seem to have slipped somewhat.”

Yan Ling looked embarrassed. “They’re only young girls — please forgive them, Miss Ma.”

“Xiaotong, what have you prepared for today? That last poem of yours — ‘I wait in the wind for spring to come; you wait in the spring for my return’ — has been on everyone’s lips.”

Yan Qin linked her arm through Ma Xiaotong’s and, chatting and laughing, the two of them swept through the gate.

Yan Ling looked a little uncomfortable. “That Miss Ma is rather aloof and proud of herself — please don’t take it to heart, you two.”

Yan Qing gave a small smile. “Fifth Sister, which family does this Miss Ma belong to?”

“Miss Ma’s father is the Minister of Education here in Shun Cheng. So Miss Ma was raised from childhood in an environment of great refinement — she has accomplished everything: music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.”

Whether she was accomplished or not was another matter, but her character was genuinely something to be desired.

“Fifth Sister, Sixth Sister, let’s go in,” Yan Yan said, too young to concern herself with any of this — her only thought was getting inside to see what it was all about.

The Liu Mansion was expansive and opulent, its architecture and furnishings a testament to wealth and grandeur.

But what had made the Liu Mansion truly famous was not the family’s fortune — it was the fact that the master of the house, Liu Huan, for all his vast wealth, had taken only one wife. Liu Huan cherished his wife with every tenderness he could offer, while Madam Liu herself was gifted and beautiful beyond compare.

The poetry gathering was held in the rear garden. Several small white round tables had been arranged throughout the flower garden, and on each table sat lotus-shaped sharing platters filled with an assortment of pastries and dried fruits.

By the time Yan Qing’s group arrived, quite a number of young ladies had already gathered in the courtyard. Each of them came from distinguished families, and their dress was fashionable and splendid — some in Western-style gowns, some in cheongsams.

The moment Yan Qing appeared, all eyes turned to her.

In terms of beauty, no one in this gathering could rival Yan Qing. But when they caught sight of her wheelchair, looks of unmistakable disdain appeared on more than a few faces.

“That’s the one who’s to marry the second young master of the Shi Family?”

“The second young master of the Shi Family — he’s destined to succeed the General and become the ruler of Bei Di.”

“It’s incomprehensible. Why would the Shi Family allow a woman in her condition to come in as the mistress of the household?”

“Not to be boastful, but every one of us here is more suited to that position than she is.”

The women whispered and murmured among themselves, and Yan Qing pretended not to hear any of it.

“Hello.” Just as everyone seemed to be giving Yan Qing a wide berth, a bright, clear voice rang out beside her.

Yan Qing looked toward the hand extended in her direction — fine and pale as jade. Following that hand upward, her eyes brightened at once.

The young woman wore a white Western-style dress, with a sweep of dark hair drawn back on one side. Two small red earrings swayed gently at her ears.

“Hello.” Yan Qing hadn’t expected anyone to approach her, and she quickly extended her own hand, giving the girl’s a light shake.

“My name is Qiao Yiran. I’m a journalist for the New City Daily.” When Qiao Yiran smiled, two shallow dimples appeared on her cheeks.

Yan Qing felt that the name was familiar, as though she had encountered it somewhere before.

A moment later, it came back to her — the newspaper she had been reading in the car, the article about the Yi Zhimei poisoning case, had been written by someone named Qiao Yiran.

“So it’s Miss Qiao — I was just reading your article.”

“You read it?” Qiao Yiran was delighted. “Then did you find any errors or omissions?”

“None at all. It was very well done.”

“I’ve actually been very curious about you for a long time, and I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Qiao Yiran said, smiling with an open, guileless warmth. “I write frequently about cases solved by the Military Police Division, and I have a good relationship with several of their officers. Lately they’ve been mentioning you constantly — saying you’re the person even the forensic examiner Dr. E calls ‘Master.’ Do you know, I genuinely have enormous, enormous admiration for you.”

Qiao Yiran spoke freely, unable to contain the excitement on her face — like a devoted young fan encountering an idol. “Yan Qing, you don’t mind me calling you that, do you?”

“Not at all.” Yan Qing was a little taken aback by her enthusiasm.

“You’re truly remarkable — where did you learn all of that specialized knowledge? You’ve practically opened up an entirely new field of forensic medicine in this country. I’m ready to call you the founding master.”

Yan Qing smiled. “Nothing so dramatic as that.”

“I have absolutely no interest in this sort of sour, pretentious poetry gathering.” Qiao Yiran made no effort to hide her feelings on the matter. “A group of self-proclaimed literary talents here to make a show of their refinement and show off their abilities.”

Then she turned back to Yan Qing with a bright smile and added, “I came because I heard you would be here.”

Yan Qing was still not quite accustomed to being admired in this way, and felt a little flustered, uncertain what to say.

“By the way, why hasn’t Madam Liu appeared yet?” Qiao Yiran glanced around.

“Which family is Madam Liu from, exactly?” Yan Qing knew only that Madam Liu’s husband was Shun Cheng’s foremost cloth merchant — she knew very little about the woman herself.

“You don’t know?” Qiao Yiran looked mildly surprised. “Madam Liu is the General’s third daughter — she and Director Shi are full siblings, born of the same mother.”

Yan Qing’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”