Tatargan felt as though he were seeing a ghost.
The eighteen men accompanying him were all renowned fighters with names and reputations in the jianghu. Each one cost three guan of silver per month in wages — as the saying goes, one raises troops for a thousand days to use them in a single moment, and the money had proven well spent. Without fail, anyone who had ever stood in their way — provocateurs, troublemakers, those who came looking for conflict — had been swiftly and thoroughly dealt with. So when Tatargan found only a slight, frail young woman standing in the courtyard, his immediate instinct was that he had stumbled into extraordinary luck — eighteen seasoned fighters against one small girl; surely this was too easy for words.
What he had never, not in his wildest imaginings, anticipated, was that today he would kick an iron plate.
Before the sound of his voice had even died away, the young woman blurred into a swirl of black, grazing past his shoulder, swinging her scabbard in a wide arc with a whooshing rush of air. One sweeping strike — boom — and eight men to the left were sent flying. Another — boom — and ten men to the right were knocked flat. It was a style of assault Tatargan had seen only on a battlefield. A horse-slaying blade — six chi long, one and a half chi wide, weighing sixty jin — required three strong young soldiers working in coordination simply to operate it, and a single swing could hold an entire pass against ten thousand men. This young woman’s blade was only two chi long, and the blade had not even cleared the scabbard — yet somehow she had produced the devastating force of a weapon that could sweep through an army. If this was not supernatural, what was?
Not a single person screamed. Not a single person tried to flee. There was simply no time. To Tatargan, it felt as though the world had gone dark, then bright, in an instant. He spun in horror and looked back to find the young woman standing amidst the bodies strewn in every direction, one hand closed loosely around her short blade, the scabbard tapping idly against her shoulder — as though that torrential, storm-like assault had been nothing more than a casual stretch.
She arched one eyebrow, smiling like a weasel that had just caught a chicken. “Ward Headman, why the hurry? What have you been up to that you’re so afraid of being seen?”
Her gaze sharpened to a cutting edge.
“Have you murdered someone? Or are you hiding a body?”
The blood in Tatargan’s entire body surged upward. A thunderous roar filled his ears. He had not heard a single word the young woman said — only one voice was screaming in his mind:
Finished, finished, finished! We’ve been found out! It’s all over!
Lin Sui’an felt something was off. Tatargan appeared to have been thoroughly terrified by her — both knees trembling uncontrollably. Then, without warning, he dropped to the ground with a slap, falling to his knees — the carefully waxed little ringlets of his moustache had completely come undone. This was entirely inconsistent with the criminal profile Hua Yitang had drawn up. The killer was a cruel, self-possessed, and cautious individual; even if caught in the act, he should not have reacted this way. Could they have been pursuing the wrong lead after all?
Lin Sui’an kicked open one of the large wooden crates underfoot, spilling a cascade of embroidered pouches across the ground. She picked one up and pried it open — inside were tea cakes, their fragrance deep and lingering, clearly of superior quality. She pierced two burlap sacks nearby. White granules poured out. Lin Sui’an pinched a small amount between her fingers, smelled them, and touched the tip of her tongue to them.
Salt.
Then, at that very moment, a thunderous rumbling shook the ground. Thick columns of smoke billowed skyward in several directions simultaneously — from the looks of it, covering the entire span of Fujiao Ward. Tatargan lurched upright as though struck by lightning, wrenched a small cloth pouch from his waist, and flung a large handful of red aromatics into the air. Of all the rotten luck — a gust of wind chose precisely that moment to blow. An eye-watering, nose-stinging cloud of fragrance came crashing directly into Lin Sui’an’s face, as though a hundred copies of Hua Yitang had materialized around her, each one draped head to toe in sachet balls, all writhing in chaotic unison. Lin Sui’an sneezed three times in quick succession. Tears blurred her vision entirely. She scrubbed at her face — and when she looked up, Tatargan was bolting out the gate like a rat whose tail had caught fire.
Lin Sui’an was barely a step behind him. She had entered through the rear gate, so only as she burst out the front did she realize the compound faced onto a main street. The street held a fair number of pedestrians — directly opposite, a household had four or five ox-carts and one horse-drawn carriage parked out front, with several workers in the midst of unloading goods. All eyes were now drawn upward toward the columns of smoke, the onlookers frozen in place watching. Tatargan was quickly recognized — someone called out to ask what had happened. He ignored them completely, shoved several people to the ground, and pointed back at Lin Sui’an, shouting something in a language she could not understand.
This shout was all it took. The crowd immediately snatched up whatever was within reach and began hurling it at Lin Sui’an — baskets, carrying poles, tree branches, turnips, rotten cabbage leaves, clods of earth. None of these were proper weapons, yet they were no less dangerous for it. Lin Sui’an still had the fragrant powder all over her face and hadn’t finished wiping it off. One look at this scene, and she had a very clear idea of what Tatargan had been shouting. She silently cursed under her breath, tucked Qian Jing behind her back, dropped low, and darted forward in two rapid S-curves, evading every projectile without a scratch. In a loud voice, she announced: “The Court of Judicial Review is conducting official business — anyone who obstructs will be charged as an accomplice!”
The declaration worked. Everyone stopped dead. Someone even helpfully pointed her in the right direction: “He went that way!”
In the span of those few exchanges, Tatargan had leaped onto the carriage across the street, kicked the driver off the box, and was galloping away in frenzied flight. The servants who had been unloading the goods ran after him, shouting. Lin Sui’an clicked her tongue, pressed her palm against the ground and pushed sideways, sending her body into a horizontal spiral in midair. She rotated once in the air and landed on top of the courtyard wall at the edge of the street — a tamped-earth wall only one chi wide at its crest. Lin Sui’an drove off with her toes and sprinted several steps along the top of the wall, then launched herself skyward for a second time. Her body stretched taut like a fully drawn bow, then contracted — and she vaulted more than three or four zhang through the air, landing with a thud squarely on top of Tatargan’s carriage roof.
Tatargan glanced back, his face draining of all color. He yanked hard on the reins. The horse reared back with a shattering whinny. The entire carriage swung into a wild skidding turn. Lin Sui’an seized the roof of the carriage with both hands just in time — her body swung out violently, half of her suspended in the air. From inside the carriage came a thud, followed by a woman’s scream. There was someone inside.
The carriage was nearly out of control. Tatargan, partly his own undoing, had been flung from the box as well, still gripping the reins, his lower half dragged along the ground, screaming at a pitch that rivaled a slaughtered pig. The situation was not good. Lin Sui’an tightened her core and pulled her legs in, applied force simultaneously through both hands and both feet, and launched herself in a split through the air, coming down perfectly astride the panicking horse’s back. With her right hand she snatched the reins and gave a firm upward pull, hauling Tatargan back onto the carriage. With her left hand she grabbed a fistful of the horse’s mane and yanked sideways — the horse let out a piercing cry, reared onto its hind legs, then came crashing back down. The carriage stopped.
Tatargan hung off the side of the carriage. His trousers and shoes were scraped through to raw, bloody flesh. The reins had cut deep grooves into his palms. He gazed up at Lin Sui’an in a state of near-collapse, his little moustache now matted with mucus and tears — apparently too frightened to produce so much as a sound. From the look of him, he had no more energy left to run anyway. Lin Sui’an tore off a length of the reins to bind his wrists, then pushed open the carriage door.
Huddled in the corner of the carriage was a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, clutching a red wooden box to her chest, crying her eyes out. Her hair was done up in the double topknots common among Tang household maids.
“Are you all right?” Lin Sui’an asked.
The girl shook her head. She was quite lovely — a pair of eyes like rain-soaked grapes, wide with the startled look of a frightened creature, stealing a single cautious glance at Lin Sui’an.
Lin Sui’an reached in and helped her out of the carriage. The girl’s legs had gone completely to jelly — the moment her feet touched the ground she began to slide. Lin Sui’an had no choice but to keep one arm around her waist and let the girl half-hang against her side. They were immediately surrounded by onlookers who had gathered at a distance, none daring to come close, all pointing and whispering toward Tatargan — almost all of them Persians or foreigners of various origins, utterly incomprehensible to Lin Sui’an. Tatargan’s face was growing paler by the moment, as though he had a fairly good idea what was being said, and that it was nothing flattering.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached from the end of the street. The workers who had been unloading the goods came running up first, followed by a graceful, tall woman in understated clothing — hair pinned in a high coil, a pale green stole draped over her shoulders — supported by another maid with double topknots, stumbling toward them at a half-run, her voice ringing out soft and clear as a golden oriole. “Yingtao — Yingtao — where are you? Oh! Yingtao — are you all right?”
The little girl in Lin Sui’an’s arms let out a wail and flung herself down at the woman’s feet. The woman hurriedly helped her up, turning her this way and that for inspection, eyes reddening. “It’s all right now — you’re safe.”
“Mistress, I was so frightened! Yingtao thought she’d never see Mistress again! Waaah, waaah, waaah—”
The woman bustled about wiping away Yingtao’s tears, glanced at Tatargan, and turned to Lin Sui’an with an expression caught between bewilderment and fury. “Ward Headman, whatever is the meaning of this? Could it be that my monthly dues weren’t enough? If that’s the case, you could have simply said so — why go so far as to trouble my little maid?!”
Tatargan looked at the woman with a weary, lifeless expression, and fell silent.
“What monthly dues?” Lin Sui’an asked.
The woman’s gaze shifted to Lin Sui’an. Her features were quite ordinary — even with carefully applied powder, rouge, flower-petal decorations at her temples, and lip color, the most one could say of her was that she was plain. Yet her eyes were something else entirely. She likely had some foreign ancestry — her irises were an unusually light color, and as her gaze moved, it carried the impression of a thousand unspoken words. One look from her, and Lin Sui’an’s heart skipped half a beat.
“Mistress, it was this lady who saved me,” Yingtao murmured. “She is quite remarkable.”
The woman’s expression shifted into one of dawning comprehension. Her lips curved into a slight smile. She dipped into a graceful curtsey. “Many thanks, lady, for saving my Yingtao. My name is Rou Qian’er. And you, if I may ask?”
“My surname is Lin.” Lin Sui’an studied Rou Qian’er’s bearing — her posture was exquisite, neck long and elegant, spine perfectly straight — she had clearly received formal deportment training. “Think nothing of it; it was no trouble.”
Rou Qian’er glanced again at Tatargan, as though something had just become clear to her, and took small, measured steps to Lin Sui’an’s side, dipping into another slight curtsey. “May I be so bold as to ask, Lady Lin — has the ward headman committed some offence?”
As she spoke, she looked up at Lin Sui’an again with those eyes — warm, lingering, as though brimming with sentiment. Lin Sui’an’s breath caught. Every hair on her back stood on end.
At that precise moment, a jade-handled fan came plummeting from above and struck Rou Qian’er directly on the top of the head with a solid thwack. Rou Qian’er let out a startled yelp and stumbled backward, hands flying to her head. By pure reflex, Lin Sui’an’s hand shot out and caught the fan. She looked up.
Ling Zhiyan came striding over in long, purposeful steps, with Ming Shu and Ming Feng close behind. All three of their faces were black as coal, as though they had been spit-roasted over a fire. In complete contrast to these three, Hua Yitang’s elaborate layered robes gleamed an unsettling white, his striking features set in an expression of sharp intensity — like a peony in full and aggressive bloom.
He moved swiftly, robes billowing, sweeping over like a gust of wind. He snatched the fan from Lin Sui’an’s hand, stepped in front of her, and looked Rou Qian’er up and down with eyes half-narrowed in deliberate appraisal. Rou Qian’er lowered her head and stepped back two more paces.
Ling Zhiyan surveyed the scene and raised his voice: “Ward Headman of Fujiao Ward, Tatargan, has been found guilty of smuggling and stockpiling contraband salt, and trafficking illegal tea. Eleven illegal warehouses within Fujiao Ward have been seized, with full evidence in hand!”
The gathered onlookers erupted at once, an explosion of all manner of foreign languages filling the air.
Lin Sui’an was taken aback. She poked Hua Yitang. “Smuggling?”
Hua Yitang kept his gaze on Rou Qian’er. “An unexpected gain.”
Lin Sui’an: “……”
Good heavens — the case they came to investigate had gone nowhere, yet they had stumbled into an entirely different one they had not anticipated. Was this bad luck or good?
Hua Yitang suddenly sniffed. “What is that smell?”
Lin Sui’an felt a flicker of embarrassment. “Some fragrant powder that Tatargan flung when he was fleeing. I accidentally got some on me.”
Hua Yitang’s gaze finally moved away from Rou Qian’er. His brow creased. He raised his fan and began fanning it briskly at Lin Sui’an. “Persians know fragrance better than anyone — why would he carry something so inferior on his person? Go give yourself a thorough wash when you get back.”
Lin Sui’an sneezed.
Ling Zhiyan: “Anyone with knowledge of Tatargan’s unlawful activities may report to the Court of Judicial Review. All verified reports will be rewarded.”
The entire street went abruptly silent. People exchanged glances — some appeared not to have understood, others seemed to have been stunned speechless.
Rou Qian’er stepped forward. Her voice, soft and melodic as a golden oriole, rang out like a clear song. “Is what this official says truly meant?”
Ling Zhiyan nodded. “It is.”
Rou Qian’er’s eyes grew bright with sudden tears. She stood there, momentarily dazed, then knelt in a deep bow. Her voice shed its softness, turning sharp and clear. “Tatargan has oppressed the common people and collected unauthorized head taxes from us. We have suffered beyond measure — we beg this official to redress our grievances!”
Ling Zhiyan was visibly shaken. “Is this truly so?!”
Rou Qian’er’s servants and maids dropped to their knees as one, and before long, every person on the entire street had followed suit. This time, what they cried out was not in any foreign language — it was Tang Chinese.
“Tatargan abused his position as ward headman to bully and oppress the people — preying on men and women alike!”
“Tatargan kept a group of formidable hired thugs, calling themselves the Eighteen Arhats. Anyone who dared report him would be beaten severely and then expelled from Fujiao Ward!”
“Tatargan had connections with the market supervisors in the South, North, and West Markets — especially with Cui of the South Market, whom he called his sworn brother. Anyone who crossed Tatargan would find themselves driven out of all three major markets, their livelihood finished!”
“We left our homelands for one reason — to feed our families. We couldn’t fight him.”
Ling Zhiyan: “Then why did you not report him to the Capital Prefecture?!”
“We went. It was useless. The Capital Prefecture said they couldn’t handle matters involving foreigners and told us to go to the Court of Foreign Affairs — but the Court of Foreign Affairs said we were long-term Tang Kingdom residents with Tang household registrations, so we didn’t fall under their jurisdiction, and told us to go to the Capital Prefecture.”
“Tatargan has people inside the Court of Foreign Affairs! They’re all in it together! They just bully us because we’re foreigners!”
“The Capital Prefecture must have taken his money!”
“Officials of the Court of Judicial Review — you must stand up for us!”
Lin Sui’an listened in complete astonishment. This was the Eastern Capital — first among the Tang Kingdom’s five great capitals, its political, economic, and cultural heart — and yet a mere ward headman, who did not even hold a proper government title, had the audacity to act as an unchecked despot, utterly brazen and unrestrained.
Hua Yitang murmured: “The blind spot directly beneath the lamp…”
Ling Zhiyan’s expression had gone stony. He ordered men to bind Tatargan securely. Ming Shu asked Lin Sui’an for directions, then led men to the empty compound. They returned before long, dragging back the dozen-odd thugs who had been knocked unconscious. When the crowd caught sight of the notorious Eighteen Arhats reduced to beaten pig-heads, another wave of cheering broke out. Rou Qian’er and a large number of the Persian residents formed a queue and followed Ling Zhiyan toward the Court of Judicial Review to give testimony. Before leaving, Rou Qian’er personally led Yingtao to Lin Sui’an and made a formal bow.
Lin Sui’an watched her departing figure with a vague, unsettled feeling she could not quite name or place.
“That woman has designs on you.” Hua Yitang said abruptly.
Lin Sui’an: “What?”
Hua Yitang looked somewhat uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Some men are drawn to other men. In the same way, some women are drawn to other women — especially ones as striking and capable as you.”
Lin Sui’an nearly burst out laughing.
Hua Yitang grew urgent. “I’m being serious! Don’t underestimate that type of woman — if she sets her sights on you, it will bring nothing but trouble!”
Lin Sui’an shook her head, half-amused, half-resigned, and waved her hand. “How is the investigation into the body-sinking case going?”
Hua Yitang shook his head. “Tatargan altered the household registration records to cover up his salt-stockpiling operation. Much of the information in those records is wrong — it can’t be trusted or used.”
Lin Sui’an: “Where is Jin Ruo?”
“When the Pure Gate Sect sent word of Tatargan’s private storehouses, they mentioned that Jin Ruo had gone to investigate a certain garden compound. After that, there has been no word at all.”
A garden compound. Which garden compound?
Lin Sui’an thought for a moment and asked Hua Yitang for the addresses of all the private storehouses, then turned and walked away. Hua Yitang quickstepped after her. “Where are you going?”
“The compound that Tatargan went to first is not among these addresses — it must be a sentry point. Earlier, I spotted members of the Pure Gate Sect watching the area nearby. Let’s go take a look.”
The compound was located in the southern district of Fujiao Ward. Starting from the eastern district, the walk for Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang took a full three quarters of an hour. The entire way, Lin Sui’an made no attempt to conceal Qian Jing, yet not a single Pure Gate disciple appeared to meet them. An uneasy feeling was building inside her. Could Jin Ruo and the Pure Gate Sect have run into trouble?
The compound looked the same as before on the surface — gates shut, utterly silent. No Pure Gate members in sight anywhere outside either.
To be cautious, Lin Sui’an scaled the wall into the garden first and did a quick sweep — a two-courtyard compound, ordinary residential layout, nothing unusual. She opened the gate to let Hua Yitang in, then searched every room.
As Lin Sui’an had suspected, this was some kind of relay point. Each room showed signs of prior habitation — simple bedding, clothing, cooking implements — and it was clear everyone had departed in great haste, leaving personal belongings behind, the water in the kettle still faintly warm.
In the left side room of the second courtyard, Lin Sui’an found several pairs of thin-soled cowhide boots, which reminded her of the identical footwear on the eighteen thugs who had been knocked down earlier — suggesting this was where the hired fighters typically lodged. In the main room of the second courtyard she found the clothes Tatargan had changed out of earlier, along with a pair of mud-caked leather boots.
“Nothing left behind at all,” Lin Sui’an murmured.
“You said Tatargan suddenly appeared out of a room — and you stumbled into them?” Hua Yitang asked.
Lin Sui’an nodded. “There must be a hidden passage or a concealed door.”
“The salt-stockpiling compounds also had hidden storage rooms — it seems Tatargan has quite a fondness for building secret chambers.” Hua Yitang circled the room twice, running his hands over every item of furniture. Lin Sui’an knew he was searching for the mechanism to a hidden room, and pitched in herself — moving the table, pushing the bed, twisting the bowls and dishes on the table, even pressing every raised brick on the walls.
Yet no mechanism was found.
“Ah, searching for mechanisms is such a tedious, finicky task — it really only suits Jin Ruo,” Hua Yitang sighed. He picked up a ceramic bowl from the table, turned it upside down against the wall, pressed his ear to the base, and began rapping steadily against the wall with his other hand. Knock knock. Knock knock. Lin Sui’an copied him, upending another bowl, listening intently — and heard nothing at all. A thread of anxiety was beginning to coil in her chest.
“Going on like this won’t work. Perhaps we should go outside and find some of the Pure Gate disciples for—”
“Found it!” Hua Yitang stepped back several paces. “The sound here is different from the rest of the wall — there’s definitely something here.”
Lin Sui’an’s energy surged. She drew Qian Jing from its sheath, delivered two swift slices, and then a powerful kick. The wall collapsed — revealing a dark, black passage beyond. Hua Yitang fished a luminous pearl the size of a chicken’s egg from his sleeve, and flashed her a grin. “Onward.”
The passage was very low — they could only advance crouching down. It grew narrower as they went. At first there was just enough room for the two of them to walk side by side, but further along it could only accommodate one person at a time. Lin Sui’an held the luminous pearl aloft in front, with Hua Yitang following behind — first gripping her sleeve with one hand, then with both hands, and then, as if two hands clutching a sleeve was no longer sufficient comfort for his quailing spirit, he switched to gripping her waistband with both fists while emitting a series of low, quiet, suppressed sounds, rather like a thoroughly frightened puppy crawling forward on all fours.
If there were a mirror right now, Lin Sui’an was quite certain she would be able to see her own eyes rolling straight up to the ceiling. She gritted her teeth and pressed forward, dragging this dead weight with her, until gradually the passage began to widen again. A faint trace of light filtered down from above. Lin Sui’an pocketed the luminous pearl and signaled Hua Yitang to hang back — then raised Qian Jing and drove it sharply upward. With a crash, something shattered, and strong light flooded down from above. Then, without warning, a blade came slicing straight down toward Lin Sui’an’s head from out of the light.
In an instant, Lin Sui’an twisted her right wrist — the scabbard of Qian Jing rang against the descending blade with a sharp metallic clang, deflecting its course. The blade’s edge stopped bare inches from Lin Sui’an’s cheekbone. Lin Sui’an’s left hand closed around the blade. A sharp crack — she snapped it in half. Her feet drove against the ground and she erupted from the passage like a dragon surging from the sea. Qian Jing rang from its sheath, and a searing arc of green light tore through the air, coming to rest — flat against a person’s throat.
That person was holding the broken blade, great drops of sweat falling onto Qian Jing’s edge. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me — don’t move!”
Lin Sui’an narrowed her eyes. “Elder Ding?”
“Yes, yes, that’s me.” Ding Kun, the tenth elder of the Eastern Capital’s Pure Gate Sect, used two fingers to cautiously nudge Qian Jing aside, easing his neck clear inch by inch. “Lady Lin — how did you find your way here?”
Only then did Lin Sui’an take in her surroundings. She was standing in an abandoned garden, wild grass grown taller than a person, scattered irregularly with unusually shaped rockery stones. She had emerged from a dried-up well. Not far away, several figures — she could make out Tianshu among them — were waving their scabbards back and forth through the undergrowth, clearly searching in growing desperation for something.
“Lin Sui’an! Are you all right?! Lin Sui’an! Lin Sui’an! Damn it! Everyone out there, listen well — if you dare harm so much as a single hair on my Lin Sui’an’s head, I swear I will make you beg for death and be denied it!”
Hua Yitang’s bellow was amplified several times over by the echo of the dried well, deafening and thunderous, drawing the Seven Stars and all their companions rushing over from across the garden. The moment they saw Lin Sui’an, they broke into wide, relieved grins, all clasping their fists in salute. “Lady Lin, thank heaven you’re here!”
“What has happened? Why did the Pure Gate Sect suddenly go silent?” Lin Sui’an asked, already moving. She bent down and reached into the dried well. “Give me your hand — I’ll pull you out.” She felt Hua Yitang’s wrist in the dark, gripped it, and heaved upward with a smooth swing. Hua Yitang shot out of the well with a shriek, robes fanning out brilliantly in the air like a flower in full bloom — and then came back down with another shriek, landing neatly. Seeing a ring of faces staring at him, he promptly snapped open his fan and arranged himself into the pose of an otherworldly sage.
Ding Kun, Tianshu, and the rest stared blankly. Lin Sui’an dusted off her hands and looked around. “Where is Jin Ruo?”
Everyone exchanged glances, expressions turning grave.
Ding Kun wore the look of a man at his wit’s end. “The Young Sect Master has gone missing inside this garden.”