The Yan Family estate was an architectural complex that blended Chinese and Western styles. Built primarily of plain grey brick, it was divided by walls into three courtyards: East, West, and South.

The East Courtyard housed the patriarch Yan Xu, Madam Yan, and their sons in a three-gated quadrangle. The south-facing courtyard caught the morning sun and served as the resting quarters of the Yan Family matriarch. The west side held the private chambers of the young misses and the two concubines’ residences, along with two Western-style three-story brick-and-concrete buildings used for offices and receiving guests. Nianwan Tower, built in memory of San Yitai, was one of these.

The fish pond Yan Qing had mentioned was just fifty meters north of the courtyard.

It was early spring in the third month. All things were stirring to life. Along the edges of the bluestone-paved path, the first faint shoots of grass were beginning to poke through the earth.

Murong pushed Yan Qing’s wheelchair to the edge of the lake and packed the fish feed into a small wooden box to make it easy for her to scoop up a handful at a time.

Jing Zhi, worried she might be cold, found a printed blanket and draped it over Yan Qing’s legs.

Yan Qing looked down at her legs and couldn’t help feeling a pang of quiet sadness. Everyone said the Yan Family’s Sixth Miss had not only a fine family background but also a face of extraordinary beauty — what a pity, they always added, that she was crippled.

When Yan Qing was ten years old, she had fallen gravely ill. After she recovered, both of her legs gradually began to go numb, until they lost all sensation entirely. In his determination to heal her, the patriarch had sought out famous physicians everywhere, and despite traveling the length and breadth of the land, all efforts had come to nothing. Yan Qing had been confined to that wheelchair for seven full years.

The golden-striped, bright-scaled koi in the pond were exceedingly lively — three or four of them crowding together, jostling one another to snatch the fish feed Yan Qing tossed in.

While the young miss and her two maidservants were happily occupied, voices suddenly drifted over from the white marble bridge not far away, followed by the sight of the patriarch walking side by side with a young man.

The young man was dressed in a black police uniform, wearing tall boots of the same color. A leather Sam Browne belt in tan buckskin divided his frame into perfectly proportioned lines. His police cap was held in one hand, the gold thread of its insignia catching the light brilliantly.

The patriarch was not a short man, but he was still half a head shorter than this young man, and when he spoke, his chin lifted just slightly.

“Miss, look — it’s Director Shi!” Jing Zhi was ever the keen gossip and was well acquainted with the servants throughout the estate. The young man had barely appeared when she recognized him at a glance. “It’s Director Shi of the Military Police Bureau!”

Yan Qing did recall the name of the Military Police Bureau. The institution was equivalent to a modern police headquarters, with the Bureau as the central command and branch offices established in various regions. It oversaw the security and law enforcement of Shun Cheng and the surrounding counties. Rumor had it that the newly appointed Director was the seventh son of the Shi Family’s supreme commander — a man who had returned from studying abroad and distinguished himself considerably. A year ago, he had promulgated the “Shun Cheng Code,” bringing order to the city, rooting out the corrupt and deviant, and making a far-reaching impact.

Perhaps because of their shared profession, Yan Qing found herself looking at the young man a moment longer than intended. He happened to be crossing the center of the bridge just then, and whether drawn by the koi in the lake below or by something else, he glanced sideways and his gaze drifted in her direction.

Even across the distance, she could see that his black hair was smooth and soft — he hadn’t followed the fashion of this era by slicking it back into a pompadour and coating it with brilliantine, but instead let it fall loosely across his forehead. Beneath that fringe, a pair of bright, deep-set eyes gleamed. His nose was high and straight, like a towering mountain ridge, but his lips were thin and faintly cool, the corners of his mouth carrying an air of aloof reserve.

Such a face would have been considered strikingly handsome in any era, and it was little wonder that Yan Qin and the women of the household were all well-acquainted with him by reputation.

The young man swept only a brief, indifferent glance before turning away, continuing forward side by side with the patriarch. And that glance — no one could say whether it had been drawn by the koi in the lake, or by the young woman feeding them at the water’s edge.

—