Although the Master was ill and unable to go out or receive visitors, Song Cheng managed the entire affairs of the Yan Mansion on the Master’s behalf. Except for matters of importance, which he would consult with the Master and Yan Xu, all the day-to-day household affairs were his sole responsibility.

Every year, the Yan Mansion had new outfits made for the servants in time for the New Year. While these outfits were not of the finest quality, they were still made of pure cotton — both in style and in fabric, they were quite decent.

On the day of the fittings, several tailors would come to the house to take measurements, with the servants from each courtyard gathered together in turn to be measured and registered one by one.

Bai Jin wore a face mask, a cotton hat, and a faded, well-worn cotton jacket, walking alongside two tailors.

Song Cheng had arranged for him to be disguised as an assistant accompanying the tailors to record measurements — a task that required no specialized knowledge, only the ability to write. And in the course of taking records, he could also observe the people gathered before him.

They began with the courtyard belonging to Madam Yan. The servants were arranged into two rows — the attendants and the maids standing separately.

As the tailors measured, Bai Jin asked each person’s name and recorded it.

“Press your handprint here.” Bai Jin tapped the paper in front of him.

One young maid looked puzzled. “Why do we need to press fingerprints?”

Bai Jin improvised: “Last year someone used another person’s name to claim their outfit. For safety this time, everyone must press their handprint — left hand and right hand both.”

The young maid said “Oh” and pressed both hands down in turn.

Bai Jin’s sharp eyes fell on the maid’s two hands. Her hands were not particularly fair, but neither were they rough — her daily duties were evidently light ones.

The maid finished pressing her prints and it was a male servant’s turn. Bai Jin noticed this man was missing three fingers on his left hand — though given how well the wounds had healed, it must have been some years ago.

Every pair of hands was different. Sometimes a person’s occupation could be read from their hands alone.

Bai Jin observed each person’s hands without revealing his attention, right until all the servants had been measured and registered. He had found no burn marks on anyone’s hands.

Bai Jin’s heart sank with disappointment. He had thought this would be an obvious lead — he hadn’t expected to come up empty-handed.

“Is that everyone?” Bai Jin asked, unwilling to give up.

Song Cheng compared the completed registration list against the Yan Mansion’s existing records and said with certainty: “Not one more, not one less. All accounted for.”

“Strange. So perhaps our assessment was wrong?” Bai Jin muttered to himself. “Maybe the killer wasn’t among the Yan Mansion’s servants at all…”

Still not satisfied, Bai Jin pressed Song Cheng again: “Steward Song — is there anyone newly arrived, unregistered yet, or who came for only a few days and left before you had a chance to record them?”

Song Cheng shook his head: “Every servant in the Yan Mansion is carefully selected, and each signs a contract before entering. No one simply comes and goes. All who have signed contracts are recorded in the register, which is kept by a dedicated keeper. There is no question of anyone being missed.”

Seeing Song Cheng’s grave expression, Bai Jin quickly said: “Steward Song, I’m not suggesting your record-keeping is lax — I’m just asking on a whim.”

Song Cheng said: “Squad Leader Bai, on the matter of the register, I can give you my absolute guarantee that it is without error. But there is one thing — as you can see, the Yan Mansion is large, and there are many servants. The number of people I personally know does not exceed ten. So if someone has slipped in among them, no matter how accurate the register, it won’t help.”

“Doesn’t the Yan Mansion have guards? How could an intruder slip in without anyone knowing?”

Song Cheng replied: “What if someone from inside is sheltering them?”

Bai Jin stared at him and blinked. A thought flashed through his mind in an instant.

Song Cheng was absolutely right. If someone had truly infiltrated the Yan Mansion disguised as a servant, hiding quietly in some corner of the grounds, then even if he had every servant in the entire compound brought out for inspection, it would be useless — because this person simply would not appear.

Though it was only a guess, Bai Jin had a kind of intuition built up from years of experience. He was almost certain: the killer was still inside the Yan Mansion, only hidden.

With that thought, he suddenly leaned close to Song Cheng and said a few words in a low voice. Before Song Cheng had a chance to react, he received a punch to the stomach, and the items in his hands vanished.

“Someone come!” Song Cheng caught his breath and pointed in the direction Bai Jin had fled. “Quick — catch that man!”

Bai Jin dashed into a courtyard, clutching his bundle of things. At that hour, the Yan Mansion’s servants were all gathered in the main courtyard collecting other items.

After entering the courtyard, Bai Jin found it completely deserted. He ran back and forth through it — and didn’t encounter a single person.

Hearing voices closing in from outside, he knew people were coming after him. He made a nimble leap over the wall and sprinted toward the next courtyard.

After all his trips to the Yan Mansion these past days, Bai Jin had the layout committed to memory. He was convinced that if the killer was truly still inside the compound, they would be hiding in someone’s personal courtyard, disguised as one of the residents’ servants.

With the servants all away elsewhere just now, searching would be far easier.

“Thief! Stop the thief!”

The Second Yitai, Guo Yanrong, was sitting in the parlor drinking tea when she heard the commotion outside. She set down her teacup and asked: “What’s all the fuss about?”

“I’ll go and look.” Yan Ling walked quickly to the front gate, pushed it open, and saw two male servants searching anxiously in all directions.

“What are you looking for?” Yan Ling asked.

A servant replied respectfully: “Fourth Miss, please be careful. Just now a thief struck Steward Song and then made off with a money box. We don’t know where he’s run off to.”

“How did you let a thief get in? What kind of job are you doing?”

“Fourth Miss, you may not know — this thief came in with the tailors. Nobody expected him to do something like this. Steward Song has said this thief may be armed, and everyone should watch out for themselves.”

Yan Ling hurried back inside and told Guo Yanrong that a thief had gotten into the Yan Mansion.

Guo Yanrong said anxiously: “What are we to do? A thief out of nowhere — the servants have all gone to the front, and if that thief gets in here, what will we do?”

Guo Yanrong had always been timid. Even in her sleep, she hung two locks on her bedroom door and had maids keeping watch outside through the night. The slightest sound in the dead of night would startle her awake.

Guo Yanrong had endured years of wandering with her family in her youth — they had been constantly on the run, never sleeping peacefully, for the fear was always that one night you fell asleep and never woke up again.

The experiences of her childhood had left Guo Yanrong with a condition that persisted even now. So the moment she heard there was a thief, she was already in a panic, at a complete loss.

“Mother, don’t worry.” Yan Ling reassured her. “That thief is only looking for a way out of the Yan Mansion. He won’t come wandering into our courtyard. He knows how many male servants are in a place like this — once they catch him, it’s either half beaten to death or sent to the magistrate’s office for imprisonment. He’d rather sprout wings and fly away right now.”

Calmed by Yan Ling’s words, Guo Yanrong slowly began to settle down.

Yan Ling added: “And even if that thief does barge in, isn’t there still that person here?”

“That’s right, that’s right — there’s still that person.” Guo Yanrong patted her own chest. “All right, I won’t worry anymore.”

The moment Guo Yanrong finished speaking, a noise came from outside. She instantly sprang up from her chair in fright.

“We’re done for, we’re done for — call for help! That must be the thief breaking in!” Guo Yanrong said, and ran back into the inner rooms.

Yan Ling was also frightened — after all, she was just a young woman. If this thief truly meant her harm, she would be no match for him at all.

Yan Ling rushed over to try to shut the front gate, and had taken only two steps when a dark figure slipped in.

The figure was dressed in an old padded jacket, a cotton hat pulled over his head, and a white cotton face mask covering the lower half of his face completely.

Yan Ling’s gaze dropped and landed on the box in his arms. She recalled what the servant had said — that a thief had beaten the steward and stolen money. This box, it seemed, must be holding that money.

“Ah!”

Yan Ling’s face drained of color. She let out a terrified scream.

The scream nearly split Bai Jin’s eardrums. But Yan Ling’s reaction was entirely human — any ordinary woman who saw him like this would cry out in alarm.

Bai Jin paid no attention to Yan Ling, and sprinted into the inner rooms. He needed to confirm whether any of these rooms had someone hidden in them.

“Ah — ah!”

Behind him, Yan Ling continued to scream. She screamed and ran — in the opposite direction, toward the side rooms, shouting as she went: “Help! Help!”

Bai Jin thought to himself: this Fourth Miss must be out of her mind. Even if she wanted to run, she should have bolted out the gate. Instead she ran deeper into the house — if he were actually a thief, she would have been cornered right there.

“Fool,” Bai Jin muttered, and was about to head toward another side room when something clicked in his mind.

Yan Ling wasn’t fleeing. She was seeking help.

She was shouting “help” — and she was calling it toward someone.

There was someone else in this room!

The moment Bai Jin realized this, he wheeled around and went after Yan Ling. She had barely made it to the door before Bai Jin caught hold of her arm. Before she could scream again, she had already collapsed onto the floor.

Yan Ling had never found herself in a situation like this before. Weeping and wailing, her voice trembled with terror.

“Xiao Han — save me, save me!”

The moment she said those two words, Bai Jin’s eyes lit up. He was almost certain there was another person in this room — and from the way she addressed them, it did not sound like someone from the Yan Mansion.

Thinking that the other person might know martial arts, he drew his service revolver from his holster. Amid Yan Ling’s sobbing, he kicked the side room door open with one foot.

A dark shape flew straight at him. Bai Jin tilted his head to the side, and an enormous antique vase sailed past his ear and shattered against the floor not far away with a loud crash.