When facing one’s own mother tongue, one’s understanding runs deeper and one’s associations multiply — but for a foreigner, Chinese characters, whether simple or complex, are likely nothing more than an assortment of oddly shaped boxes.

Bai Youwei looked at those characters again, and after a moment of consideration, she took out a fresh sheet of paper and used a pencil to mark out the positions of all the guests in the inn.

First, the second floor:

Room 201: Su Man. Room 202: the woman holding the baby. Room 203: Robert. Room 204: Willard. Room 205: the bald man.

Then the third floor:

Room 301: Zhu Shu. Room 302: the businessman. Room 303: the basketball boy. Room 304: Lu Yuwen. Room 305: the female guest who had been murdered.

And finally the fourth floor:

Room 401: Lin Kui. Room 402: the lisping man. Room 403: Yan Qingwen. Room 404: Carl. Room 405: the middle-aged woman with the tarot cards.

…

Interestingly, the first room on each floor — 201, 301, and 401 — were all occupied by members of Yan Qingwen’s group.

This meant that the occupants of the rooms further down each corridor would find it difficult to use the staircase without being spotted by one of Yan Qingwen’s people, since the staircase was right beside the doors of rooms 201, 301, and 401.

That must have been a small advantage the game had arranged for Yan Qingwen — a pity he hadn’t had a chance to make use of it before being abruptly arrested.

With the layout mapped out, Bai Youwei decided to take a walk up to the fourth floor and see the so-called scene of the crime for herself.

Su Man stayed behind to look after Lu Yuwen. Zhu Shu went up with Bai Youwei.

There was no carpet on the staircase, and their footsteps rang out clearly with every step.

Bai Youwei became increasingly certain that after luring people out of their rooms with her screaming, the woman from Room 202 had hidden in Room 402, the nearest room available — because if she had fled downward, it would have been impossible not to make audible footsteps.

If that was the case, then — were the occupants of Rooms 202 and 402 among Robert’s group?

…Then again, not necessarily.

When the victim had been found collapsed outside Yan Qingwen’s door, the scene had clearly been staged. She had been killed somewhere else and only then moved there.

To transfer someone who had originally been staying on the third floor all the way up to the fourth would have been beyond what the woman from Room 202 could have managed alone. She must have had help.

Who could that have been?

Bai Youwei looked at the dried bloodstains spattered across the door, and quietly turned the question over in her mind.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the staircase direction —

Su Man came rushing up, and called out to Bai Youwei and Zhu Shu: “Lu Yuwen’s awake!”

Bai Youwei blinked, then said immediately: “Come on, let’s go down.”

The three women hurried back downstairs and returned to Lu Yuwen’s room.

Lu Yuwen was propping himself up on one arm, struggling to sit upright.

The moment he saw Bai Youwei, he asked urgently: “The note — where’s the note?”

Bai Youwei took it out and gave it to him, and along with it, the other paper covered in the same strange characters.

“How much do you remember of what happened before you lost consciousness?” Bai Youwei asked.

Lu Yuwen looked at the characters and let out a small breath of relief. He was more alert this time than when he had first woken — less hazy — but still bone-tired.

He rubbed his temple with one hand and said hoarsely: “I don’t remember… I only remember finding that note in the flower pot. The moment I turned around, someone attacked me… It was a man. His sleeve… was white.”

Su Man and Zhu Shu both looked toward Bai Youwei.

Zhu Shu hesitated. “Even if we can confirm the sleeve was white, it probably won’t help us narrow down the suspects — because the guests in rooms 302, 203, and 204 all wear white sleeves.”

The moment Lu Yuwen said it, Bai Youwei couldn’t help but think of that young man in white shirt and black trousers — the one who had reached out and taken the paper from her hand, his cuff pulling back to reveal a stretch of wrist: pale, refined.

—