Dusk fell quickly, yet Lin Xiao was nowhere to be seen. Qin Yao was growing anxious, and kept lifting the carriage curtain to peer out.

Qing Xuzi’s expression had grown increasingly taut. After Qin Yao’s hundredth peek, he finally could contain himself no longer and let out a long, heavy harrumph: “When he comes, we’ll know well enough — there’s no need to keep looking out! Do settle down!”

Qin Yao quickly stuck out her tongue and obediently returned to her seat.

Qing Xuzi continued to grumble: “Such a lack of integrity in a man so young. If he wasn’t coming, so be it — but why put us through the misery of waiting more than two hours for nothing!”

Qin Yao hastily mustered a conciliatory smile: “But he already sent someone ahead to let us know he had something come up and might be a little late — it’s not as if he demanded we wait for him, is it?”

This remark triggered some mechanism in Qing Xuzi’s mind, and the old man was off: “A true gentleman walks through this world with nothing more important than his word — more precious than his very life. Look at your master here — when have I ever failed to honor my word? When have I ever left a task entrusted to me anything less than perfectly fulfilled? Take, for instance, that peculiar business at the household of the Military Commissioner of Luzhou last year—” And on he went, without end.

Qin Yao silently twisted her mouth. You do fulfill your tasks, Master — but when have you ever done so without being paid?

That thought gave rise to a new puzzlement in her mind.

By all accounts, her master had earned no small amount of money over the years — but where had it all gone? The Qingyun Temple was in a constant state of disrepair, and no thought had ever been given to renovating it. What was more, he couldn’t even be bothered to organize the annual incense-burning ceremonies that even the most ordinary temple held each year. In all things he was excessively frugal and stingy, with not a shred of the distinction one would expect from the greatest living Daoist master of the age.

Consider Abbot Yuan Jue of the Dayin Temple — a fellow man of religion, yet what a vastly different style of operation he ran. Every five years the Dayin Temple was freshly renovated; every so often a scripture-recitation assembly was held; he moved in and out of the imperial palace, cultivated connections with the powerful and the privileged, and had made himself an extraordinarily prominent figure in Chang’an. Now that, one had to say, was what it truly meant to know how to prosper. But her master? Whenever a high official or noble came calling, he finished the job, collected his payment, and left without so much as warming up any goodwill toward the patron — let alone taking the opportunity to raise the profile of the Qingyun Temple. The result was that after all these years, the Qingyun Temple remained nothing more than a small shrine — its scale far outstripped by the Dayin Temple, which had been founded in the same year.

So did her master love money or not?

Qin Yao studied Qing Xuzi covertly, trying to puzzle him out.

All at once a gust of wind swept past outside the curtain, carrying with it a breath of cool, damp air. A’Han set down the flaky pastry he had been eating and looked up in surprise: “Oh — it’s raining.”

Qin Yao lifted the curtain to look. Sure enough, the sky had turned a dim, murky grey, and wisps of rain drifted down like floating catkin, landing on one’s face with a light, soft touch — every bit worthy of the phrase “mist and rain.” But this beautiful sight did not last long: the rain came on quickly, and the sky seemed to tear open all at once. The fine wisps became heavy columns of water that came crashing down in torrents. In an instant, the world beyond was nothing but a vast expanse of white.

This was the first rain of spring — yet it had arrived with such force. Qin Yao hastily pulled the carriage window shut and shook the raindrops from her arm, saying despondently: “Let us stop waiting. With rain like this, the Young Lord most likely won’t be coming.”

“Hmph! We should have done so long ago! To have wasted half the night like this!” Qing Xuzi shifted his legs, stiff from sitting too long, and called out irritably to their coachman, old Master Liao: “Back to the Qingyun Temple!”

The carriage was just about to set off when A’Han suddenly tilted his head and dropped his voice: “Listen — hoofbeats.” A’Han’s five senses were keener than those of both Qin Yao and Qing Xuzi combined, and he could often perceive movements that the other two could not.

Qin Yao immediately strained to listen. Sure enough, amid the chaotic sound of rain she could make out a staggered rhythm of hoofbeats — growing closer and closer, heading straight in their direction. She opened the carriage window and squinted hard through the downpour. A lone rider could dimly be made out racing through the curtain of rain at tremendous speed, and in no time at all came to a halt before the carriage.

Qin Yao’s face lit up at once. She called out urgently: “Young Lord!” and hurriedly threw open the curtain to invite him inside.

The moment Lin Xiao stepped in, he brought with him a gust of fresh, cool wetness. His outer robe was soaked through, his shoes and socks utterly drenched.

Even after he removed his cloak, droplets still ran steadily down from his ink-black hair, lending his complexion a pale and jade-like brilliance, his features strikingly handsome as a painting.

He wiped the rain from his face and looked at Qin Yao with an apologetic expression: “I’m sorry — I’m late.”

As he spoke, the dim carriage lamp cast a layer of shadow along the straight bridge of his nose, and his eyes, dark as lacquer, appeared even deeper than usual. For the first time Qin Yao truly registered how extraordinarily good-looking the person before her was. She fell into something of a daze before catching herself and responding: “It is I who should be apologizing — we have put the Young Lord to great trouble.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help but wonder why her cheeks had begun, for no apparent reason, to feel warm.

Lin Xiao then offered his apologies to Qing Xuzi.

Qing Xuzi gave a nod of acknowledgment and returned the courtesy, then said with great solemnity: “The Young Lord is, indeed, a man who keeps his word and honors his commitments — this humble Daoist is genuinely impressed.” He appeared to have entirely forgotten what he had been saying about the man not moments before.

Qin Yao looked at Lin Xiao’s soaking garments with concern: “Young Lord, your clothes are wet through — I fear you’ll catch a chill. We should find somewhere first to change into dry clothing.”

A faint smile surfaced in Lin Xiao’s eyes, and he nodded: “The Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review, Liu Zan, is still waiting for us inside. He is certain to have a spare change of clothing there — let us go in first and sort things out.”

The group entered the Court of Judicial Review and found several officials waiting in the main hall, among them a lean-faced middle-aged man of refined bearing seated behind a desk, reviewing case files by lamplight.

The moment he saw Lin Xiao enter, he rose quickly from behind the desk and stepped forward to greet him. “How did you get so thoroughly soaked?” Moving closer, he added: “There are a few clean changes of clothing in my duty room — if you don’t mind, why not go and change? Otherwise you’ll almost certainly catch cold.”

Lin Xiao addressed him as “Lord Liu” and said with a smile: “I was just about to ask you for a set of clothes.” This poised middle-aged man of distinguished manner was Liu Zan, the Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review — one of the nine chief ministers of the court. Hearing Lin Xiao’s words, he immediately led him to the back hall to change.

This was Qin Yao’s first time inside a government institution of this rank, and she could not help looking about her with quiet curiosity. The interior was austere, heavy with an air of authority everywhere, though the lights were dim and the tones deep — which, for no particular reason, lent the place an eerie quality. She quietly activated her celestial sight and cast it into the shadows: sure enough, several wisps of souls drifted about, hovering near the officials — and upon noticing that Qin Yao had spotted them, they vanished with a whoosh into the darkness.

Qing Xuzi sat in the pose of a meditating monk, apparently oblivious, but A’Han had taken in the whole scene with perfect clarity. Knowing there was no need to pay such wandering spirits any mind, he simply grinned ingenuously and blinked at Qin Yao.

Before long, Lin Xiao emerged in a change of deep reddish-brown everyday clothes. Qin Yao rarely saw him in such a rich, warm color — yet rather than looking ostentatious, it suited him remarkably well, lending him more gravity and distinction than usual.

On the way to the mortuary, with Lin Xiao and the others following him, Liu Zan said: “After you spoke with me this morning, I had someone pull out the case files on the two women for review. The woman whose throat was gouged out was named Xue Li’er — she had been the star performer at the Chunying Establishment, just sixteen years old. She was found dead in Qiulin Lane in Pingkang Ward ten days ago, and was later transferred here from the Chang’an Prefecture’s prison. She had no family to speak of; she had been sold into the Chunying Establishment as a small child under a permanent bond. The ones who came to give their statements at the time were the Chunying Establishment’s proprietress, Bai Mingzhu, and several of Xue Li’er’s close companions there.”

“According to their accounts, in the month before the incident, Xue Li’er had frequently found pretexts to go out, and once gone would be away for half a day at a time, returning only at dusk. The proprietress thought nothing of it at first, but gradually grew suspicious and sent someone to follow Xue Li’er in secret. Each time, however, the tail would inexplicably lose track of her midway. Fortunately, Xue Li’er always returned to the Chunying Establishment of her own accord before long, never missing her evening performances, and the proprietress was forced to let the matter go. Her roommates at the Establishment said that in the time before the incident, Xue Li’er’s behavior had been completely normal — she chatted and laughed with them as usual and did not appear to be burdened by any troubling matter.”

“The other woman — the one whose eyes were gouged out — was named Lin Yao Niang. Her body was discovered yesterday at the Weiyan Establishment and later transferred here from the Imperial Censorate’s prison. She, too, had been sold to the Weiyan Establishment’s proprietress, Wen Niang, as a child. According to Wen Niang’s account, Lin Yao Niang had not yet officially begun receiving clients — she spent her days in the establishment studying the performing arts. But her looks were exceptionally striking, and on occasion other establishments would pay a high price to have her accompany their patrons.”

Qin Yao nodded to herself inwardly — no wonder she had seen Lin Yao Niang at the Donglai Establishment that day.

Liu Zan continued: “Wen Niang said that in the days before the incident, Lin Yao Niang had not made any new acquaintances and rarely went out — nothing suspicious there. But Wen Niang herself previously gave false testimony before the Imperial Censorate, framing the Finance Ministry’s Minister Wang’s young son as the killer, and she has already been taken into custody. She is to be brought before the court for interrogation tomorrow morning, so everything she said before carries no evidentiary value.”

Lin Xiao nodded thoughtfully. “Both women were killed in succession, and both were registered as bond women of Pingkang Ward. Is there any evidence to suggest they were killed by the same person?”

“That—” Liu Zan considered for a moment, “—that will have to wait until Wen Niang has been interrogated tomorrow before we can draw any conclusions.”

By now they had reached the mortuary. The guards at the door, seeing the group approach, led them inside.

The mortuary was large and entirely empty save for two bodies laid out in the center of the room, covered with white cloth — evidently placed there separately on Liu Zan’s instructions.

Qing Xuzi examined Xue Li’er’s body first.

When the white cloth was drawn back, a faint, sour smell of decay rose immediately to meet them — the body had clearly begun to decompose. Though the woman’s features remained intact, her face was bloated and ashen-blue, her lips a pale, dark color; nothing of her original appearance could be made out. Most striking of all was the wound at her throat — large as a bowl, deep enough to expose bone, having nearly severed her neck clean across.

Qing Xuzi stroked his beard and stood in silence for a long moment before turning to examine Lin Yao Niang’s body.

Lin Yao Niang had not been dead long, and her remains had not yet begun to smell, but her hair was disheveled and loose, her complexion white as paper, and her eye sockets were a mass of mangled flesh and blood — if anything, she looked even more horrifying than Xue Li’er.

Qin Yao drew close to Qing Xuzi’s side and said in a low voice: “Master, did you notice — there is not the slightest trace of grievance aura around either of these two women. If it weren’t for those two terrible wounds on their bodies, no one would ever guess they had been killed in such a brutal manner.”

Qing Xuzi made no direct reply. After deliberating for a moment, he instructed Qin Yao: “Bring me the Wuya Mirror.”