After dinner, Qin Yao quietly drew Feng Boyu away to the study and told him everything about the Yin-Pointing Talisman’s self-combustion, without leaving anything out.

Feng Boyu could not conceal his astonishment: “You mean — Wen Niang did not actually hang herself, but was killed by an evil spirit?”

Knowing Feng Boyu had never had any dealings with demons and ghosts, and that he would likely have difficulty accepting this conclusion right away, Qin Yao took the Yin-Pointing Talisman from her robe and showed it to him, explaining patiently: “The Yin-Pointing Talisman is an entry-level talisman commonly used by those of the Daoist path. Although it is low-level and rather crudely made, it is convenient to use and reasonably reliable at detection, which is why Daoists often use it to check whether an evil spirit is at work.”

But precisely because it could only detect malevolent energy that had accumulated to a certain degree, a Daoist of Qing Xuzi’s deep cultivation would normally not deign to use it. Heavier concentrations of resentment were something Qing Xuzi could sense directly without any external aids, while the Fathomless Mirror — the temple’s treasured instrument — was more than capable of handling subtler ghostly energy that escaped ordinary detection. So there had never been a use for the Yin-Pointing Talisman.

Qin Yao and A’Han had actually found a pile of unused Yin-Pointing Talismans while clearing out the Qingyun Temple storage room. Thinking it a waste to throw them away, they had each tucked a bundle into their robes to carry around.

Though Feng Boyu very much wanted to believe Qin Yao’s assessment, his tone still carried a note of doubt: “But I once heard you and Daoist Qing Xuzi say that although Lin Yao Niang died in a horrifying manner, it was not the work of an evil spirit — and that night outside the Court of Judicial Review, when the Daoist used his treasure mirror to examine Rou Qing’s belongings, there were no signs of any demonic activity either. How is it that malevolent energy turns up on Wen Niang’s remains when she was the one who died in prison?”

Qin Yao did not rush to respond. She gazed at the rosewood brush stand on the desk and thought for a moment, then looked up at Feng Boyu: “Big Brother Feng, may I use the paper and brush on the desk?”

Feng Boyu was briefly surprised, then nodded: “Please go ahead.”

Qin Yao rose, went around to the back of the desk, pushed up her sleeve, and began to write.

Feng Boyu stepped closer, intending to read over the desk what Qin Yao was writing. He had just reached the table when a delicate, sweet fragrance — distinctly feminine — hit him full in the face. His composure slipped, and his gaze drifted involuntarily to Qin Yao’s glossy black hair. The fragrance was coming from the coils of her bun — something like magnolia, yet with a hint of winter plum as well, subtle and elusive, hovering at the edge of perception.

He worked hard to hide the fact that he had lost his composure, and forced his gaze calmly downward toward what Qin Yao was writing. But he stared for a long time and realized he hadn’t taken in a single word — he was simply and mindlessly fixed on the sight of Qin Yao’s fair, pale wrist holding the brush.

Qu Ziyu came looking for Feng Boyu. He walked in the door, took in the scene at a glance — and his mind rang like a struck bell. His expression shifted through several changes. He hesitated for quite a while, then slowly retreated back out.

Qin Yao stopped writing then, and directed Feng Boyu’s attention to the contents of the page: “Big Brother Feng, look — these are the women who have died in Pingkang Ward over this period. The first victim was Xue Li’er, whose throat was cut out. The second victim was Lin Yao Niang, whose eyes were gouged out. Next came Wen Niang, who was found hanged in prison. The last was Rou Qing, a dancer from Xiaozhong Shan, whose nose was sliced off.”

Feng Boyu looked at the page in Qin Yao’s hand and saw that she had indeed listed each victim’s name and manner of death in order, clearly laid out, easy to take in at a glance.

“I used different methods to examine Xue Li’er, Lin Yao Niang, and Rou Qing, and confirmed that the deaths of all three were indeed carried out by human hands — with no involvement by an evil spirit. And it was precisely for that reason that Master and I never thought to examine Wen Niang’s remains.”

Feng Boyu said with dawning understanding: “It was after I mentioned that Wen Niang’s body was decomposing too quickly that you began to suspect the cause of her death?”

Qin Yao nodded: “Over the years, I have accompanied my master in dealing with many cases of demon-slaying and ghost-exorcism, and I have seen the remains of many people killed by vengeful wraiths. Unlike the bodies of those who die naturally, these tend to decompose extremely rapidly because of the malevolent energy that clings to them. So after you mentioned it, I thought to use the Yin-Pointing Talisman to examine Wen Niang.”

Feng Boyu said, thinking aloud: “So could it be that after Wen Niang was confined at the Court of Judicial Review, an evil spirit crept into the prison and killed her, deliberately making it appear as though she had hanged herself?”

“I don’t know.” Qin Yao shook her head as she thought. “I only feel that the manner of death of those women is too peculiar — it seems to resemble the method a particular type of evil entity uses to harm people, yet I couldn’t find any evidence of an evil spirit’s work on any of them. Now that I’ve managed to detect malevolent energy on Wen Niang’s remains, yet she is the only one of all the victims whose facial features were left intact — so I… I find myself confused as well.”

Hearing this, Feng Boyu’s eyes lit up. He rose, paced a few steps, and turned to look at Qin Yao: “You’ve reminded me of something. I recall that when Wen Niang tried to frame Wang Yi Kun that day, the fabricated testimony she brought was riddled with inconsistencies and full of obvious holes that the Censorate saw through immediately, one by one. Afterward she was imprisoned for the failed false accusation. At the time, both I and Wen Yuan found it strange — a woman who had made her living in the pleasure quarters for so many years yet who acted and spoke with such foolishness. Now, thinking back, what if she did it deliberately?”

“Deliberately?”

Feng Boyu’s suspicion began to take shape: “From the time Wen Niang took in Lin Yao Niang, she raised her as a cash cow for years. She kept a close eye on her at all times, terrified that Lin Yao Niang might develop a mind of her own behind her back. So any wind of change where Lin Yao Niang was concerned — whoever she befriended — Wen Niang would have known about it without fail.”

He paused: “I have a vague feeling that when Lin Yao Niang was murdered, Wen Niang knew — nine chances out of ten — who the killer was.”

Qin Yao’s eyes went wide: “You mean — Wen Niang knew who the killer was, and fearing she would be silenced, deliberately played the fool and framed Wang Yi Kun, hoping to be thrown into prison, so that she could hide from the killer there?”

Feng Boyu said nothing — he only watched Qin Yao in quiet silence.

“But that’s absurd!” Qin Yao found it impossible to fathom. “If you wanted to escape a killer’s pursuit, there are countless better places to go. She could have fled Chang’an — gone beyond the passes, gone to Sichuan! There are so many places in this wide world where one could find refuge. Why on earth would she flee into a prison?”

Feng Boyu didn’t rush to contradict her. He thought quietly for a moment, then spoke again: “Wen Niang was born to a lowly station and had scrambled through the mire of the pleasure quarters for years. Her way of thinking is entirely unlike yours or mine. She had probably already thought through ten thousand ways to escape from the moment she found Lin Yao Niang’s body — and if escape were truly possible, she would naturally have preferred not to endure the misery of imprisonment.”

Qin Yao slowly began to understand: “Yet she went against every instinct and chose the most seemingly foolish path—”

Feng Boyu smiled faintly: “Whether it was a foolish path or a clever one — without being in Wen Niang’s position at that moment, we cannot make that judgment. Let us first consider this: if Wen Niang knew she could not outrun the killer, could not escape death no matter what she did, and was desperate to survive — she would have no choice but to find an unconventional way. In such a moment, even the confinement of a prison cell, which any ordinary person would dread and avoid, might have been her last and only hope of staying alive—”

Qin Yao was still for a moment, then nodded slowly: “I hadn’t thought that the person behind all of this could make her fear so deeply. Looking at this, the killer is likely no ordinary commoner.”

She thought for a moment and continued: “What’s more, judging from the cases so far, this person’s mind is extremely meticulous. They have gone this far — killed four people — and left virtually no traceable weakness. No wonder Wen Niang, for all her desperate scheming, still couldn’t escape the other party’s pursuit in the end.”

Feng Boyu’s gaze held a note of approval.

Qin Yao opened the paper in her hand again and studied the names of the victims: “If what we suspect is true — that these four women were killed by this person of power and influence — then what was their purpose in cutting away the victims’ facial features? Pure sadistic pleasure in cruelty? Or something else entirely?”

Both of them were lost in thought. Neither spoke for a long time.

Qin Yao suddenly thought of something, and her expression went pale: “Big Brother Feng — I once heard my master speak of something from decades ago. There was a demonic entity that, in order to resurrect a fallen companion, went around harvesting people’s facial features. It would then assemble the collected features together, arrange a ritual formation, and perform a summoning ceremony. Because the technique was so supremely vile, it eventually alarmed both the Buddhist and Daoist orders. When the eminent masters of both faiths joined forces and destroyed that demonic entity — shattering both its soul and its form — they established an unwritten rule: that whenever an evil entity employs that type of dark art, any member of the Buddhist or Daoist orders, regardless of affiliation, has the right and duty to destroy it—”

A suspicion was forming in her mind: “Big Brother Feng — could it be that some demonic entity, in order to avoid drawing the attention of the Daoist community, is deliberately working through a human instrument to commit these harms? That way, any search would find no trace of demonic involvement on the bodies?”

Feng Boyu frowned: “But if we’re right in our earlier assumption, the killer behind the murders of Yao Niang and the others is no common figure — their actions have been careful and methodical, showing that they have not lost their reason. So why would such a person willingly submit to the command of a demon and commit these indiscriminate killings?”

The two of them peeled back layer after layer, dissecting the case — yet the deeper they went, the thicker the fog became.

Qin Yao slowly shook her head: “I don’t know. But if the killer is truly collecting facial features to complete the ritual formation—”

She said this and reached out a pale finger, gently tracing it across the paper in her hand. Her voice was quiet but serious: “Throat, eyes, nose — now only the tongue remains. If we don’t find the killer soon, at least one more woman will be murdered.”

On Chang’an’s West Market: a modest, unremarkable wine shop. It was just past the morning hours — the busiest time of the West Market — yet inside this particular wine shop, it was cold and nearly empty, with not a single patron drinking.

Behind the counter sat a plump, affable-looking middle-aged man. His face was white and round and smooth, utterly without sharp edges — like a freshly steamed large white steamed bun.

The bun-faced shopkeeper’s mood appeared entirely unaffected by the poor business inside. His face wore an unchanging, warmly approachable smile, and he kept glancing hopefully toward the entrance of the shop, as though at any moment he expected a great wave of customers to come flooding in.

After a while, the doorway finally showed some activity — first, the staggered sound of horses being reined to a halt, then a brief silence, before several very young men walked in without any announcement.

The one leading the group wore a jet-black long robe, a precious sword at his waist, and was strikingly handsome. He entered, swept the interior with a once-over, then cast the bun-faced shopkeeper a mild, indifferent glance, flicked aside the hem of his robe, and sat down at the table nearest the entrance.

The bun-faced shopkeeper’s small, round eyes darted around. He smiled and came bustling out from behind the counter, intending to bow in greeting to the young gentleman — but he had barely taken two steps when one of the guards behind the young man drew his long sword with a sharp swoosh and said in a low, harsh voice: “Stop right there.”

That guard was extremely young, his features handsome, his gaze sharp as a knife blade, his tone deeply unfriendly.

The bun-faced shopkeeper pulled his feet to a sharp halt. A flash of viciousness crossed the depths of his eyes — he went through several changes of expression, then quickly settled his face back into something almost obsequious: “This humble one was too forward. May I ask what brings the young gentlemen here today?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned back and pointed to the row upon row of wine jars neatly arranged on the shelf behind the counter, saying brightly: “The shop carries an excellent vintage of green-ant wine — always well-received. Would the young gentlemen like a taste?”

The young gentleman in question glanced at the wine jars and, with some interest, said: “I hadn’t expected a shop as unremarkable as this to carry such good wines. I wonder, though — in addition to the green-ant wine, does your shopkeeper also brew other fine vintages? Such as, say — the Hundred Flower Powder?” His voice was low with a magnetic quality, his tone entirely pleasant — yet the bun-faced shopkeeper’s face drained of color in an instant, the white bun turning a sickly green.

His eyes locked onto Lin Xiao. His expression turned dark and grim. He was silent for a moment, and then suddenly lunged backward. That fat, ungainly body moved with uncanny agility, leaping lightly onto the countertop.

Then he slapped the counter. Apparently activating some hidden mechanism, the entire shelf of wine jars let out a slow creaking sound and rotated backward, revealing a narrow gap.

The bun-faced shopkeeper aimed a strange grin at Lin Xiao, spun on his heel, and made to slip through the gap and vanish.

But at the very moment he stepped to the gap, the two guards who had just been standing behind the young lord glided in front of him like apparitions. Before he could let out a sound of shock, he felt both legs go suddenly numb, and his body toppled to the ground with a crash.

Chang Rong and Wei Bo, expressionless, one on each side, picked up the bun-faced shopkeeper and deposited him at Lin Xiao’s feet.

The shopkeeper lay with his eyes shut and his heart turned to ash. He prided himself on being a first-rate fighter who had been roaming the martial world for years, with unrivaled lightness skills above all — he had always managed to escape any danger with his whole skin intact. But today, up against a few barely-grown young men, he had been beaten this ignominiously.

And what made it worse was that fighters of this caliber were willing to take orders from that silk-clad young lord, which spoke volumes about the young lord’s standing. Without even needing to think about it, he was most likely of the imperial family.

He sighed inwardly in silence. This time, he had truly landed himself in serious trouble.

At some point unknown to him, the shop door had been closed. The afternoon sun was entirely blocked out by the heavy door panels, leaving the interior in dim shadow.

Lin Xiao looked down with cold eyes at the bun-faced shopkeeper at his feet and said: “Speak. Who did you sell the Hundred Flower Powder to that day?”

The shopkeeper said not a word. His mouth was clamped as tight as an oyster shell. Whatever he had done that ran contrary to righteousness did not mean he had abandoned his own professional code of conduct and bottom line.

Lin Xiao, seeing this, glanced at Chang Rong and Wei Bo. The two understood at once and bent down, hauled the shopkeeper upright, and forced him to tilt his head back and look at Lin Xiao.

At the sight of the shopkeeper’s righteously defiant expression, Lin Xiao was briefly taken aback — then said mildly: “You have a certain backbone, I’ll grant you that. The question is how long it will last.” He drew Chixiao Sword and pressed it firmly against the shopkeeper’s right shoulder.

The shopkeeper felt a tremendous force descend, and then every acupuncture point in his body suddenly began to tingle and itch unbearably — as though countless mice were gnawing at him from the inside, enough to drive a man insane. He was both horrified and terrified, and he clenched his teeth, trying to suppress this sensation with his inner energy — but the feeling only grew stronger and stronger, until in the end it was truly enough to end his life.

This was a torment worse than death — a kind of slow lingering agony. The bun-faced shopkeeper’s resistance finally collapsed entirely. He trembled violently and shouted out loud: “I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”

Lin Xiao sheathed the sword.

Chang Rong said in a low, stern voice: “From now on, answer whatever the young lord asks. If a single word is false, you’ll experience something a hundred times worse than what you just felt.”

The shopkeeper knew there was not so much as a grain of exaggeration in those words. He dared not pretend to be brave or strong any longer. Still breathing in ragged gasps, he nodded with frantic eagerness.

Lin Xiao spoke again: “He Yuan Dao — a native of Shu Province, skilled in the preparation of various rare poisons. Known throughout the martial world as the Poison Saint. In recent years, you fled to Chang’an after being pursued by enemies in Sichuan, and used this wine shop as a cover to quietly resume your trade — selling the various toxic wines and drugs you concoct. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” With every one of his cards already completely in the other man’s hands, the bun-faced shopkeeper — or rather, He Yuan Dao — deflated entirely, like a frost-struck eggplant.

Lin Xiao continued: “Over the past two months, to whom have you sold the Hundred Flower Powder?”

The Hundred Flower Powder was the poison those brigands at the Court of Judicial Review had consumed. The substance had no color or odor, and after ingestion it typically produced no symptoms at first, not activating unless the person engaged in intense combat or used their inner energy — at which point it triggered and caused the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys to dissolve completely, beyond the power of any healer to save. Hence its name. It was not an uncommon substance, being occasionally traded in the market, which was why the autopsies on the brigands’ bodies had identified their poison almost immediately as the Hundred Flower Powder.

He Yuan Dao put on a show of trying to recall, and said thoughtfully: “Though many people have bought poisons from me in the past two months, those who bought the Hundred Flower Powder specifically were very few—”

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Lin Xiao making a slight movement, and thinking he was about to be tortured again, he hastily straightened up: “I remember now — it was indeed a man who came to my shop late one night last month to buy it. But he had his head wrapped in a long cloth scarf, and the voice he used was not his natural voice, so even though I tried to determine his identity, in the end I—”

Lin Xiao’s eyes went flat. Chang Rong gave him a cold look. He Yuan Dao panicked and slapped himself hard across the face, crying out rapidly: “I remember! I remember! After that person left the shop, I secretly followed him for a stretch. He walked all the way to the end of the West Market street. Once he was certain no one was behind him, he removed the cloth wrappings he had on both arms. I caught a vague glimpse — that man’s left hand had only four fingers.”

Seeing that Lin Xiao still gave no reaction, He Yuan Dao swore to the heavens: “I truly know nothing else! The Hundred Flower Powder requires many rare ingredients to prepare and costs a great deal — the price is astronomical, and at most I sell it to one or two buyers in a year. So every time someone comes to buy the Hundred Flower Powder, I make a point of watching them closely.”

Lin Xiao appeared to know He Yuan Dao’s methods quite thoroughly and knew he would never leave a buyer’s background uninvestigated, so he pressed further: “Do you know where that person lives?”

He Yuan Dao shook his head: “I followed him out of the West Market, but there was already a carriage waiting for him at the roadside. Seeing the carriage was guarded by several attendants, I was afraid of being noticed and had to abandon the attempt. But that carriage rode smoothly and was quite large — not the sort of thing an ordinary household would use. Combined with the fact that those guards were all deeply cultivated in their inner energy, I suspected that man was likely someone of standing.”

He Yuan Dao was about to continue when Tan Qi walked in from outside, went to Lin Xiao’s side, and spoke quietly into his ear.

He Yuan Dao watched out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but it seemed as though the very moment the young lord heard his subordinate’s report, a ripple appeared in those previously still and calm eyes, and the cool expression on his face softened considerably.

He was still finding this strange when he saw the silk-clad young lord suddenly stand, give a brief command to the two young guards behind him: “Deliver him to the Court of Judicial Review.”

And then with clean, decisive steps, he walked out.

The previous evening, before leaving the Feng residence, Qin Yao had taken the trouble to ask Feng Boyu for the address of the jewelry shop where the Xiaozhong Shan dancer Rou Qing had ordered her earrings.

After a restless night, Qin Yao decided she would go to that shop and take a look for herself. After lunch, Qin Yao told her mother only that she was making a trip back to Qingyun Temple, obtained her permission, and then set off with A’Han from the Qu estate, heading straight for the West Market.

Compared to the East Market, the West Market carried a far more varied range of goods — from expensive to cheap, everything under the sun was available. Qin Yao and A’Han were separated by the dense, jostling crowds several times before they finally found the shop they were looking for, tucked away in a narrow, inconspicuous alley at the far end of the West Market.

A row of carriages lined the entrance — some plain and low-key, others impressive and grand — oddly at variance with the drab, dusty-looking facade of the shop itself.

“Runyu Zhai—” Afraid she had the wrong place, Qin Yao studied the shop’s signboard carefully for a good while before nodding to A’Han: “This must be it.”

The two of them went inside and immediately found that while the shop’s exterior was plain, the interior was decorated with expensive elegance and refined taste — comparing favorably to the famous摘星楼 in every regard. 摘星楼 had grown increasingly ostentatious in recent years, to the point where every table and chair looked as if it had been gilded and studded with gems — rather overbearing. But Runyu Zhai was arranged with tasteful refinement throughout, and though it was a jewelry shop, it somehow managed to carry an air of scholarly dignity.

The moment the shopkeeper saw Qin Yao and A’Han come in, a broad, welcoming smile appeared on his face. He came forward: “Welcome. May I ask whether you are here to have jewelry made, or to collect a previously ordered piece?”

Qin Yao did her best to adopt a seasoned, practiced air, looking around the shop’s interior as she sauntered casually further inside: “I heard from a friend that your shop does excellent work — that if you provide them with a design, they can make virtually any kind of jewelry you might wish for. Is that true?”

The shopkeeper nodded without hesitation, smiling: “That is no exaggeration, young miss. Our founder was a craftsman by trade, and the art of jewelry-making has been passed down in this family through the generations — the finest in all of Chang’an. As long as you can describe what you want, there is virtually nothing our craftsmen here cannot make.”

Qin Yao smiled and nodded, then pulled a piece of paper from her robe and opened it for the shopkeeper to see: “That’s wonderful. Not long ago I saw someone wearing a pair of earrings that I greatly admired. I’ve searched many jewelry shops but couldn’t find the same design anywhere. I wonder if your shop could make a replica of what’s drawn on this paper?”

The shopkeeper looked down at the paper and paused slightly: “What a coincidence! The earrings drawn here were indeed made in this very shop. I recall a young gentleman came in just a few days ago asking about this exact pair of earrings.”

He held up a hand to indicate height: “That young gentleman was about this tall, and very handsome indeed.”

Qin Yao guessed he was most likely referring to Feng Boyu, and quickly said: “That only goes to show how exceptionally fine those earrings are — anyone who sees them never forgets them.” Then, putting on the look of someone eagerly pursuing something dear to her heart: “Since they originated here, making another pair of the same earrings shouldn’t be too difficult. How about this — I’ll place an order today, and come back to collect when they’re finished.”

The shopkeeper smiled with a hint of difficulty: “Young miss, in all honesty, the design of these earrings is not particularly challenging — but the material is another matter. To capture that look of lifelike, radiant raindrops, nothing will work except azure-vein crystal. You likely know that azure-vein crystal is an extraordinarily rare find — in all the years this humble shop has been open, we have come across only one piece. And that piece was brought in by the very young miss who ordered the earrings herself. It was only thanks to her azure-vein crystal that our master craftsman was able to make such exquisite earrings. So if you want an identical pair made, you would first need to find an azure-vein crystal.”

Qin Yao’s heart gave a lurch. The earrings had been made from azure-vein crystal — that explained why they had gleamed with such a mesmerizing radiance even in the dead of night. But Rou Qing was merely a dancer at Xiaozhong Shan, still under contract and not yet free — hiding even a small private savings would have been extraordinarily difficult for her. How on earth had she come to possess an azure-vein crystal?

And stranger still — a gemstone this rare, if it fell into an ordinary person’s hands, would be treated as a priceless treasure, guarded with reverence, possibly passed down as a family heirloom for generations. Yet Rou Qing had seemingly used it on a whim to have a pair of earrings made—

She was so deep in thought that A’Han tugged her sleeve and called her: “A’Yao, A’Yao.”

Qin Yao looked up to find the shopkeeper staring at her with a somewhat embarrassed expression. He had evidently been talking at great length while Qin Yao, utterly oblivious to his presence, had heard nothing at all.

Qin Yao gave a sheepish laugh: “My apologies, my apologies — I was so busy wondering where I might find an azure-vein crystal that I wasn’t listening to what you were saying. What were you saying just now?”

The shopkeeper’s face brightened again. He led Qin Yao to a shelf: “A buyer with as discerning an eye as yours is rare these days. We may not have the earrings you’re looking for right now, but our shop has many jewelry pieces with novel and distinctive designs — the only ones of their kind in Chang’an. I dare guarantee: you won’t find a duplicate anywhere outside this shop.”

Qin Yao happened to still have a good deal more she wanted to ask the shopkeeper, so she let him lead her over to the shelf and said: “It’s a pity to have my heart set on something and not be able to get it. By the way — you mentioned that the young miss who ordered the earrings brought the stone herself. Did she have any other pieces made in this shop?”

The shopkeeper was taking down several rosewood jewelry boxes decorated with flowing cloud patterns from the shelf as he replied: “That young miss came by quite a few times before. She was very pretty, soft-spoken and gentle — a real beauty. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes with a companion, but most of the time she would only look and not buy. As you know, our shop’s jewelry is excellent, but the price really is…”

Really is too expensive, Qin Yao thought privately, sneaking a glance at the price tag on one of the pieces.

As though reading Qin Yao’s unspoken thoughts, the shopkeeper gave a knowing smile and picked up where he had left off: “So when that young miss suddenly came in with such a rare stone and placed an order for earrings, I was a bit puzzled myself. Not only that, but on that same day she also bought quite a few other pieces in the shop — as though overnight she had come into a great deal of money. She spent freely, without batting an eye.”

A sudden windfall? Qin Yao’s brows knitted together. Could it be that her suspicions, and Feng Boyu’s, were correct — that the deaths of Rou Qing and the others were indeed connected to some powerful figure in Chang’an?

At this point the shopkeeper had set the jewelry boxes on the table and was opening them one by one before Qin Yao: “These are some pieces our master has made recently — all freshly crafted, still practically new. Have a look — is there anything here that catches your eye?”

Qin Yao looked down and saw several boxes containing jewelry of varied shapes — a vivid green jade butterfly, a pearl flower set with red agate, a pair of earrings made from thumb-sized South Sea pearls. Each piece was radiant with light, an inspired work of craftsmanship.

The most distinctive piece was a plum blossom hairpin in the center. Whatever material it was made from, it was crystalline and translucent throughout, the five petals carved with extraordinary realism, a trace of rosy pink at the center of the flower contrasting exquisitely with the pure white of the pin itself. It was truly a work of consummate artistry.

Even Qin Yao, who had never been particularly fond of fine jewelry, could not suppress a low gasp of admiration. She picked up the hairpin and examined it closely.

The shopkeeper was not at all unfamiliar with that reaction — nearly every woman who fell for a particular piece would have the very same look on her face. He smiled with quiet pride: “What do you think? This hairpin is called Searching for Plum in the Snow. According to our master, it draws on the imagery of a verse by the great poet Meng of this dynasty. It is made from East Sea Cold Jade — an exceptionally rare material. In all the years we’ve had it, our shop has obtained only a palm-sized piece, and our master felt it was too small for a bracelet and too precious to waste on earrings, so he fashioned it into a hairpin. You’ve come at just the right time — this pin was only put out on display today. If you came tomorrow, I’d wager it would already have been sold.”

Just as the shopkeeper predicted, Qin Yao had indeed taken a liking to this hairpin. She held it in her hand and could hardly bring herself to put it down — yet without even needing to ask the price, she knew that something this precious was surely far beyond what she could afford.

After turning it over admiringly for quite a while, she forced herself — as though cutting off a piece of her own flesh — to set the hairpin back in its box, and said with studied indifference: “Hmm. Not bad, I suppose, but it still falls a little short of those raindrop earrings.”

With that, she made a show of preparing to rise and leave: “Well, since those earrings require azure-vein crystal, I suppose I’ll try to track one down. If I actually find one, I’ll come back to have them made.”

She had been sitting here so long without buying a thing, pestering the poor man with so many questions — she was thoroughly embarrassed about it now, and intended to make a clean, full retreat.

But the shopkeeper was still unwilling to give up. He tried to block Qin Yao’s departure: “Please wait a moment, young miss — there’s one more piece you haven’t seen yet.” He turned, reached up to the topmost shelf, and carefully brought down a box of purple sandalwood. He opened the lid with great care.

Inside lay a strand of brilliant red coral beads — at first glance they appeared unremarkable, but looking closer, one realized that every single coral bead had been carved into the shape of a magnolia blossom, the carving intricate and painstaking in its detail.

“This was custom-ordered by our master specifically for a longtime patron of the shop. Coral of this quality is quite uncommon. If you are interested, our shop still has a strand of unworked beads — while we couldn’t make an identical piece, you could choose another design to have made for you.”

Admittedly fine — but still not as lovely as the Searching for Plum in the Snow. Qin Yao smiled politely but without interest, shook her head, and couldn’t help reaching over once more to pick up the Searching for Plum in the Snow and turn it in her palm.

The shopkeeper read her expression and said with a low laugh: “I can see that hairpin truly has your heart. Let me just remind you — all of our shop’s pieces are unique. Miss them, and you’ll never find another.”

Qin Yao was silently reciting what might as well have been a calming incantation, trying to drive every wayward thought out of her head, when A’Han, who had been quietly silent all this time, suddenly said: “Oh — isn’t that the Lan Prince’s Young Lord?”

Lin Xiao was wearing a jet-black long robe that day, a jade-colored silken sash at his waist, his hair not capped but pinned up with a single ebony hairpin. His whole appearance was clean and elegant.

Qin Yao was surprised. She rose to greet him: “Young lord, what brings you here?”

Lin Xiao walked over, nodded to A’Han first, then looked at Qin Yao and explained: “I happened to be in the West Market on a case, and one of my men mentioned seeing you nearby — so I came over, and indeed, here you are.”

His gaze dropped to the plum blossom hairpin in Qin Yao’s hand, and he said softly: “Shopping for jewelry?”