Hu Da had only just returned from outside when the Military Police officers tackled him to the ground. Unlike his brother, he was slight and thin — he offered no resistance at all.

When he saw Hu Er being marched out from inside, the man let out a cry wholly at odds with his small frame: “It was all me. He has nothing to do with any of it.”

Bai Jin searched Hu Er’s room and, amid the heap of dirty clutter, found a mountaineering axe. It was nearly identical to the one in the bird’s nest shop — almost certainly made by the same workshop.

Bai Jin raised the axe and sniffed at it. A sour, metallic reek of blood hit him immediately.

The investigation proceeded smoothly. Not only had the murder weapon been recovered, but bloodied clothing had been found as well — still on Hu Er’s back, covered in dark brownish-black marks in varying patterns: spots, smears, and wipes.

He had not washed the garment at all. In the summer heat, flies buzzed around him in droning circles. He swatted one out of the air, caught it, and put it in his mouth.

—

Hu Er and Hu Da’s mother had abandoned them when they were ten years old. She had found their father too poor and too slovenly to tolerate any longer. Both brothers had clung to her legs, begging her not to go — but she walked away without looking back.

Not long afterward, Hu Er spotted her on the street walking arm in arm with another man. He ran over and called out to her. Not only did she refuse to acknowledge him — she had the man beat him. He was left battered and bleeding, and when he went home and told his father, his father told him that they no longer had a mother.

Their father earned his living gathering bird’s nests, but bird’s nests grow on sheer cliff faces, and he sometimes had to spend days in the mountains to collect even a few. What he made from selling them was barely enough to survive — much like the farmers at market stalls, the real profits went to someone else.

Hu Da was frail and could not manage heavy labor, so Hu Er went out with his father. Tall and agile, he was his father’s most capable helper.

Three years ago, while the two of them were collecting bird’s nests on Meng Mountain, Hu Er watched his father fall from a cliff. By the time he found him, the man had been crushed beyond recognition.

The shock broke something in Hu Er. His mental state began to deteriorate, and he gradually became unable to sustain the work of collecting bird’s nests. He stopped a year ago.

With no other option, Hu Da took on odd jobs to support them both. He was deeply devoted to his younger brother, especially after their father’s death, and the two had leaned on each other ever since.

Then one day, Hu Er came home with blood on his clothes. Hu Da was alarmed and asked if someone had attacked him.

Hu Er told him with an air of secrecy that he had seen a woman on the street and hit her over the head with his mountaineering axe. The woman had screamed and fled so fast she left her shoes behind. He hadn’t struck hard, and she hadn’t died — but she hadn’t reported it to anyone either, evidently deciding she had merely encountered a mentally unstable person.

Even so, the incident had left Hu Er in a state of excitement. He told Hu Da: “It felt like I was hitting that despicable woman. Her skull cracked, the blood poured out, and when I saw it running, I felt something here.”

The despicable woman he spoke of was his mother. He had always suffered from severe sexual dysfunction.

Hu Da scolded him and told him never to go out alone at night again. But one night, Hu Er went out anyway. When Hu Da found him, a woman was lying before him, her face obscured by blood. Her clothes had been pulled open, and Hu Er was crouched over her, making strange, unsettling sounds.

Hu Da shouted his name, but Hu Er didn’t hear him. He was using the hooked end of the axe to stab repeatedly at the woman’s chest, muttering “filthy woman, filthy woman” with each strike.

Hu Da rushed over and stopped him.

His first instinct was to take Hu Er and leave, but seeing the woman lying in the middle of the road where she would easily be found, he dragged her to the refuse bin at the side, covered her with rubbish, and did a basic sweep of the scene before hurrying his brother away.

Hu Da lived in fear for a long time afterward — but nothing came of it. He tried locking Hu Er in, but Hu Er was too strong, and Hu Da could not contain him.

Left with no other recourse, Hu Da took to quietly following his brother whenever he went out at night. He could not stop Hu Er from committing the acts — he could only clean up after him.

Hu Er killed three women. He was sentenced to death by firing squad. Hu Da was convicted of being an accessory and concealing crimes, and was sent to prison.

With the headbanging perpetrators caught, the residents of Shun Cheng erupted in celebration. The newspapers ran extensive coverage of the Military Police Department’s accomplishments.

Shi Guang set down his newspaper, his expression thoughtful.

“Second Young Master,” said a woman standing behind him, dressed in a floral-patterned qipao, her hands working at a massage of his shoulders. “The Military Police Department’s reputation with the public just keeps growing. Second Young Master ought to be wary.”

The speaker was Shi Guang’s yitai, Qiu Cao. Though Shi Guang had not yet taken a formal wife, Shi Madam had already selected a yitai for him. Qiu Cao had a quick tongue and a talent for telling people what they wished to hear.

Shi Guang took a cigar from his case. Qiu Cao quickly produced a lighter and held the flame for him.

“Seventh Brother may be a son born outside of the main line, and he may hold no particular favor with the Commander — but that doesn’t diminish his ambitions one bit.” He drew on the cigar. “I suspect the Military Police Department is merely a front.”

“Does Second Young Master mean that Seventh Young Master is trying to compete with you for power and position?”

“Who wouldn’t want to sit in the seat of lord over Bei Di? But whether one actually gets to sit there — that comes down to ability.” He recalled something and turned his head. “That gift I had you arrange to send to the Yan Mansion — did she accept it?”

“Returned again.” Qiu Cao let out a low huff. “That Sixth Miss Yan really doesn’t know what’s good for her. When has our Second Young Master ever humbled himself for anyone like this?”

Shi Guang’s brow furrowed. “If she were like you, I wouldn’t be going to the trouble. That’s a narrow view.”

Qiu Cao looked wounded. “Qiu Cao was wrong to speak out of turn.”

“You may go.” Shi Guang was losing patience.

As Qiu Cao stepped out, Zuo Liang was just walking in. “Second Young Master, Minister Han’s daughter Han Xiling was injured — seven stitches to the forehead. Word is she’s been making quite the scene at home.”

“Miss Han is a beautiful woman. Seven stitches on the forehead is a regrettable thing — the feelings are understandable.” Shi Guang gave a thin smile. “The papers have been full of praise lately — the Military Police Department has solved yet another major case, the public is inspired, and so on. Help me put a word out there. Let’s see how long that praise holds.”

—

“What is this paper printing such nonsense for?” First thing in the morning, Jing Zhi came bursting in, her round face flushed with outrage, a newspaper clutched in her hand.

“What’s happened?” Yan Qing was feeding Big Tiger.

Big Tiger, mimicking her, squawked, “What’s happened?”

Jing Zhi couldn’t help letting out a laugh despite herself. She thrust the newspaper at Yan Qing with a helpless expression. “Miss, have a look — they’re saying terrible things about the Military Police Department.”

“Haven’t they been praising them for days now?”

“The paper is saying that while the Military Police Department did solve the headbanging case, they used unconscionable methods — letting a female officer serve as bait. The perpetrator was caught, yes, but this female officer had her head bashed in, needed seven stitches, and is now permanently disfigured.”

“Han Xiling went of her own volition — it was never a Military Police Department order.”

“But that’s not what the paper says. Look at it — it’s dripping with sarcasm, picking apart everything the Military Police Department does. I used to think the New Moon Report was a decent publication. Hmph. I’m canceling the subscription.”

The language in the article was cutting, and heavily sensationalized. It reminded Yan Qing of a saying: start with one photo; invent everything else.

“Someone can’t stand the Military Police Department being in the limelight, and wants to use this to damage its name.” Yan Qing set the newspaper down. “The department is riding high right now — there are plenty of people watching it closely.”

“The Military Police Department works for ordinary people like us. Why would anyone wish them ill? Do they want bandits roaming free through Shun Cheng, killing and burning wherever they please?”

“Those calculations run deeper than you’re imagining.” Yan Qing sighed softly. “I wonder how things are on Shi Ting’s end.”

The Military Police Department had reason to fear public opinion — especially an accusation as damning as this, that they had manipulated a woman and used her without scruple.

“If Miss is worried, why not go and see for herself?”

“On what pretext?”

“Tell them Big Tiger is ill.”

Big Tiger: “……”

A brick, ready to be placed wherever it was needed.

Jing Zhi thought for a moment. “What if we asked Miss Han to come forward and set the record straight?”

Yan Qing shook her head. “If Miss Han appeared, people would say she was only speaking under pressure from the Military Police Department. It would only add fuel to the fire.”

“Then what can we do? Are we just supposed to stand by and watch these papers spread lies?” Jing Zhi was beside herself. “Saying anything makes it worse, but saying nothing makes it worse too. This is maddening.”

Yan Qing thought for a moment, then suddenly asked, “The papers that have been after my manuscripts — they haven’t given up, have they?”

“No,” Jing Zhi said. “Miss’s manuscripts are nearly impossible to come by. If word got out that one was available, all those papers would be fighting each other for it. And Miss may not realize this, but you’re already a name in Shun Cheng. ‘Farewell, Cambridge’ is on everyone’s lips — people are eagerly waiting to see what you’ll write next.”

“In that case, I think I have an idea.”

Yan Qing wheeled herself to the writing desk and picked up her brush and paper. “Have Di Huai contact the editors of these papers for me. Tell them I have new poetry to publish, but I have one condition: it must run on the front page, in the largest format available, for three consecutive days. If they can manage that, I won’t ask for any payment.”

Jing Zhi still couldn’t see how this connected to the Military Police Department’s situation. “Miss — isn’t this rather beside the point?”

Yan Qing smiled. “Do you know what the surest way to bury a piece of news is? It’s to have an even bigger story break over it. I don’t know if this will work, but it’s worth trying.”

It was a trick well-known in certain circles: when a scandal erupts, release something more explosive to drown it out.

She knew her own name wasn’t as large as the Military Police Department’s — but for the moment, a new poem from her was the freshest, most captivating thing she had to offer.

Whether it would achieve the desired effect remained to be seen. But it was worth taking the chance.