“Speak,” Shen Du said.
Zhu Yan hesitated for a moment, reaching out to touch the voucher. Her suspicions grew.
This year had seen little rain. On Guyu, the Empress had come to Ximing Temple to pray for rain. Since then, it had rained twice, the most recent being on the fifteenth of last month. Logically, that rain should have soaked into the soil, decomposing the corpses. Why was this voucher still intact, except for the covered part?
But this was just her speculation, without enough evidence to link it to the case. Zhu Yan shook her head and suggested, “It’s nothing. I just find this voucher suspicious. But since we have this evidence, we should probably visit the Li Family Bank.”
As the sun set, painting the sky with an evening glow, they headed towards the Li Family Bank in the southwest of the Western Market, a somewhat remote location.
Having rushed out in the morning, Zhu Yan had only eaten a steamed bun. Now her stomach was protesting. She had to negotiate with Shen Du, “Um… husband.”
Shen Du stopped, looking at her with interest. “Why are you calling me husband now?”
Zhu Yan didn’t bother arguing at this point. Food was paramount, and she feared fainting from hunger, which would be even more embarrassing.
“I’m hungry. I barely ate this morning. You must be tired too, right? Why don’t we find a restaurant for lunch before continuing?”
Jing Lin inwardly grumbled: You haven’t even walked a step yet. But after recent events, he dared not provoke Zhu Yan, who seemed to easily anger his master and use him as a shield.
“Since my wife is begging, of course, I’ll agree. Otherwise, people might spread rumors that I, Shen Du, am starving the Zhu family’s sixth daughter, fabricating tales of my cruelty,” Shen Du said.
Zhu Yan struggled to suppress her desire to leave. This wasn’t a rumor, but fact. Who didn’t know how the White Yama earned his reputation? No fabrication is needed.
But she was too hungry to argue. “As you say, husband.”
Outside the palace gates, Zhu Yan walked into the nearest restaurant. Shen Du looked up to see it was Taibai Tower.
Not far from Pingkang Ward, the place bustled with Persian merchants, Uyghurs, and people of all sorts. Listening closely, one could hear a cacophony of indistinguishable languages.
A prosperous and harmonious era, China at peace, heaven and earth in harmony, and all things thriving.
Looking at Zhu Yan, she had already ordered several dishes and a pot of tea, and was still ordering:
“Sesame pancakes… no, wait, ancient tower cakes, extra pepper roasted. Also soup buns, water-basin mutton, cucumber braised chicken, crab roe piluo, stir-fried alfalfa…”
The waiter looked troubled: “Madam Shen, you know how expensive pepper is…” Seeing Shen Du sitting there, cold and solemn with eyes like Ashura’s, he stopped. “Madam Shen has excellent taste.”
He had hit the mark. Why?
Outsiders all said the White Yama had threatened his wife with a knife on their wedding day. But looking at them now, it was a rumor.
Seeing Madam Shen chattering away ordering food, while the White Yama sat “gazing lovingly” at her, what else could this be but love?
Believing he had grasped the truth, the waiter happily took the order to the kitchen.
Shen Du patiently observed her willow-like waist, her eyebrows rising as she spoke. Her face, free of makeup, unlike most official’s daughters, was somehow more pleasant. He glanced at Jing Lin, who was about to speak, and Jing Lin retreated, arranging for everyone to be seated.
Zhu Yan, completely oblivious to the waiter’s meaningful glance, turned back confused to see Shen Du staring disapprovingly at a suspected oil stain on the table, unwilling to come closer.
Wordlessly, Zhu Yan took out a handkerchief and wiped Shen Du’s side of the table clean. When she looked up, her almond-sized silver eyes reflected the cold, distant figure opposite.
“My wife is truly virtuous, strictly following the ‘Female Principles’,” Shen Du remarked.
“You’re too kind.” Hmph, it’s only because I fear you’ll leave in disgust and refuse to eat. Dignity is small, starvation is big.
Zhu Yan pretended not to hear Shen Du’s sarcasm, ignoring his probing gaze and changing the subject:
“What are you thinking, husband?”
“Do you believe the killer is a woman?” Shen Du rubbed the rim of his cup, watching Zhu Yan wolf down her food. Only after she had eaten and drunk her fill did she answer, “Eighty percent sure.”
Hearing this, Shen Du frowned, recalling the male corpses they had found. Most were adult men, not light. Unless using tools, it would be difficult for a woman to transport them.
Seeing his disbelief, Zhu Yan put down her chopsticks and said seriously: “Think carefully. Why would a man destroy every woman’s face? Of course, there have been cases of men killing and mutilating bodies before, but usually, it’s just one person, and there’s always a direct emotional connection. But now we have so many female corpses, all with their faces destroyed, and no direct connection between them. If it’s a man, what’s the purpose of slashing their faces?”
“What’s so difficult about that? A man hurt by a woman, harboring resentment, encounters women who resemble her. His hatred is triggered, leading him to kill and mutilate. It’s quite reasonable.”
“Heh, if hurt by a woman, it must be emotional pain. In that case, shouldn’t he resent the other man who interfered in the relationship? He should be slashing men’s faces instead.”
Shen Du’s face darkened like the sky during the plum rain season.
Zhu Yan swallowed her soup bun, inwardly annoyed at her slip of the tongue. Just as she was about to explain in detail, she saw Shen Du tearing at an ancient tower cake, his eyes fixed on her. She decided not to explain:
“Whether it’s a man or a woman, why don’t we make a bet, Da Ge Ling?”
Zhu Yan had doe eyes and cat-like lips, an oval face with skin like snow. When her slender brows furrowed, they were like distant mountains appearing through the mist. As her eyebrows relaxed, the mountains seemed to hide in the clouds again, becoming indistinct.
But what Shen Du noticed now was the sesame seed at the corner of Zhu Yan’s pale pink lips. Without thinking, his fingertip touched the corner of her tightly pressed lips.
The point of contact exploded like water hitting hot oil, quickly spreading to Zhu Yan’s cheeks, turning them as pink as the evening clouds.
Before Zhu Yan could react angrily, the hand had already withdrawn. Shen Du’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes still as cold as the snow on Mount Li, as if that moment had been just her imagination.
Seeing the tiny black sesame seed on Shen Du’s fingertip, the blush on Zhu Yan’s face didn’t fade. As for Shen Du, his thin lips curled slightly as he lowered his voice teasingly:
“Surely my wife doesn’t think I’m interested in her?”
“Of course not,” Zhu Yan replied, moving further away. The small ripple that had just stirred in her heart returned to stillness.