Dali Court Vice President Zhang Huai sat in the interrogation chamber and sighed with intense wretchedness.

Ling Zhiyan had brought in the true culprit of the drowned bodies case the previous night. This person had been living in Fujiao Ward under the household registration identity of “Rou Qian’er,” operating a cloth trade. According to the identification of Qin Fang from the Red Grace Quarter, this person had originally been a performer of indeterminate name and surname; only one thing was known — the real Rou Qian’er had called him “Wen Lang.”

This Wen Lang was without question the most obstinate criminal Zhang Huai had encountered in all his years at the Dali Court. From the moment he entered the interrogation chamber, no matter how questioned, from first to last he had not uttered a single word. Though clearly a man, his bearing and gaze were those of a woman, and he had continued casting sickening glances in all directions. The several young prison attendants in the interrogation chamber had nearly retched; and Zhang Huai, thinking of this person’s crimes, was on the verge of retching himself.

Most infuriating of all, that Ling Sixth Young Master, seeing that the interrogation was going nowhere, had found some pretext to slip away to the records hall to idle about, leaving him behind to suffer. Zhang Huai thought with resentment that his Sixth Young Master had originally been such a steady, honest fellow — and yet after mixing with that wastrel from the Hua Family for only a few days, he had become slippery as a monkey.

As dawn approached, the reporting drums of Yingtianning Gate came rolling in wave upon wave. Ling Zhiyan had still not returned; Zhang Huai, having been awake all night, could barely keep his eyelids up, his head listing left and right, nearly wrenching his neck. Zhang Huai slapped himself on the forehead and fixed his eyes on the Wen Lang in the cell across from him. He was standing ramrod straight in the middle of his cell, staring fixedly at Zhang Huai; the oil makeup at his nose wings had smeared, and stubble was showing through, yet a faint, ambiguous smile of feminine softness still played at the corners of his mouth.

For the first time he opened his mouth. An oriole’s voice echoed off all four walls, uncannily disturbing.

He said: “Dawn has come.”

Zhang Huai jolted wide awake. “What are you going to do?!”

Wen Lang fell silent again, lowered his head, and began swaying his body slowly, as if in a dance, his posture graceful and alluring. From his mouth came a soft, trembling sound, somewhat like a sung operatic piece — too quiet to make out clearly. Very soon it became laughter — a few notes high in a woman’s voice, a few notes low in a man’s voice, the two timbres switching at will. Zhang Huai abruptly had the uncanny sensation that two people — one man, one woman — inhabited this single body.

Slowly, Zhang Huai made out what was being sung. It was a poem: “Yi — when meeting is hard and parting harder still… the east wind is powerless as all flowers wither — yi yi — the spring silkworm until its death spins silk — the candle burns to ash before its tears run dry — yi — before its tears run dry —”

The prison warden, Elder Liang, came shuffling over with goosebumps on his skin and murmured, “Assistant Minister Zhang, this person has something sinister about him. I’ve heard old-timers say that people of this sort — half male, half female — all have the ability to commune with spirits. Offend them and you offend the gods themselves—”

“If the gods would bless this sort of filth, then they are filth gods!” The door of the interrogation chamber was kicked open, and a magnificently dressed figure came striding in with great steps. The only person bold enough to show such brazen disregard for the Dali Court, other than Fourth Young Master Hua of the Hua Family, could be no one else.

Lin Sui’an carried a bundle over her shoulder; Fangke carried a paper packet with great care, as though it contained something extraordinarily precious. Mu Xia and Yita escorted a young girl whose face was ashen. The moment she saw Wen Lang, the girl’s eyes went red and tears fell silently; she sank softly to her knees on the floor.

Wen Lang’s dance movements gave a slight pause; he rose on tiptoe, turned a slow circle, raised an arm high with elegantly curved fingers, poised like a beautiful statue, and continued to sing: “In morning mirror one fears the cloudy temples changed — ah ah — at night, composing verse, one feels the moonlight cold — yi yi —”

Hua Yitang gave a cold laugh, took the bundle from Lin Sui’an’s hands, opened it, and drew out an object that he flung hard at Wen Lang’s face. Wen Lang stepped elegantly backward and dodged it; the object fell to the ground — a dirty little embroidered purse with a small red flower stitched on it.

“Does this look familiar?” Hua Yitang said coldly. “This is the purse that Li San Niang carried with her at all times.”

Zhang Huai started — he remembered. Li San Niang was the first victim in the serial drowned-bodies case.

Wen Lang slowly lowered his arms, folded his hands one over the other against his lower abdomen in the way a performer holds himself before going onstage. His eyes were liquid and languid, the corners of his mouth faintly curled. “I don’t understand what you are saying.”

Hua Yitang gave a cold snort and turned back to grab something from the bundle. Lin Sui’an stopped him. “Let me.”

With that, she drew out an object from the bundle, gave her wrist a light flick, and with a rush of wind and lethal force the object shot through the wooden bars of the cell and slapped against Wen Lang’s left cheek with a sharp crack. Wen Lang gave a muffled cry; his entire body flew backward, hit the floor, and spat out a tooth in a mouthful of blood. What Lin Sui’an had thrown was also a purse — pink, embroidered with delicate orchid sprays.

Zhang Huai swallowed. What remarkable skill this Lin Niangzi possessed!

“Does it come back to you now?” Hua Yitang said. “This is Tian Cui’er’s purse.”

Zhang Huai understood: Tian Cui’er was the second victim.

Wen Lang covered half his face, staring at Lin Sui’an in terror. Lin Sui’an picked up the third purse — it was green, with no embroidery, only a pale yellow silk tassel hanging from it — and tossed it over with a light, floating motion. But three feet from Wen Lang the purse suddenly accelerated, striking his shoulder heavily. Wen Lang scraped along the floor, sliding back two feet, his back thudding against the wall.

Hua Yitang: “This is Song Qi Niang’s purse.”

Wen Lang could no longer manage to smile. Half his face was swollen; the other half was frighteningly white. He spat another mouthful of blood. “Tang law stipulates that torture and forced confessions are strictly prohibited; any violators are to be charged with dereliction of duty. Surely the Dali Court would not knowingly break the law?”

Zhang Huai scratched his head: “Well, about that—”

Hua Yitang: “Tang law stipulates that in adjudicating and examining a case, physical evidence and witness testimony must both be complete. Hua is simply presenting physical evidence before the criminal so that he may examine it clearly. What is wrong with that?”

Zhang Huai: “Precisely, precisely — listing the evidence is an essential step.”

Prison Warden Elder Liang: “Who saw any torture or coerced confession?”

Several young prison attendants shook their heads repeatedly: “No one, no one.”

Lin Sui’an gave a short laugh, gave the bundle a shake, and the remaining purses flew out — hurled in a barrage at Wen Lang’s face, one landing with perfect precision between his legs. Wen Lang’s cry of pain lost all softness and became the shrill shriek of a slaughtered pig.

Hua Yitang walked up to the bars of the cell, gripping his fan, looking down with cool contempt at Wen Lang rolling on the floor. “All of these were what you had Yingtao carry at all times — the purses you carefully collected as mementos, whose original owners all died at your hands. Fifteen in total. Now, do you remember?”

“I… don’t know… what you are talking about…” Wen Lang raised his head, both eyes scarlet as fire.

“No! Stop hurting him! I did all of it!” Yingtao knelt on the ground and wept aloud. “It was I who abducted those women, and I who killed them. I did it all. Take me away!”

Wen Lang coughed up two mouthfuls of blood, his entire body curling on the floor, shaking violently. Yingtao’s weeping grew louder.

Hua Yitang turned, swept aside his robe, and crouched in front of Yingtao; his gaze was as sharp as a blade, rapid-fire questioning beginning at once: “You say it was you who abducted those women — then tell me: what method did you use to abduct them? Where did you abduct them? What method did you use to kill them? How did you dispose of the bodies? How did you dispose of them after disposal? Where exactly were they disposed of?!”

“I — I lured them onto a carriage and then used a sleep drug,” Yingtao’s voice grew smaller and smaller, her tone very uncertain. “Then — then… used a knife to kill them…”

“What kind of sleep drug? Where is it now? How long and wide was the killing knife? Where did you obtain it? Where is the knife now?!”

“These things I — I can’t clearly remember… but — but I really did do it. I remember there was one woman at Houzai Gate, right next to the dock, at that sweet shop. I pretended to bump into her, and to make amends I offered to see her home. On the way I used a sleep drug—” Yingtao wept so hard she couldn’t continue.

Hua Yitang narrowed his eyes: “The two women who went missing in Fujiao Ward — you used the same method to lure them onto the carriage?”

“Yes, yes — exactly the same—”

“Complete fabrication!” Hua Yitang’s voice turned suddenly sharp. “The real culprit deliberately avoided Fujiao Ward for all of the abduction and body-disposal locations. None of that was done by you! You are taking the blame for him!”

“No, no! It really was me!” Yingtao grabbed hard at Hua Yitang’s sleeve, her face streaming with tears. “That blind woman — I really did do it! I still remember — that blind woman was called Qu Si Niang. There was a blind grandfather at home too. She had a beautiful smile — like sugar…”

Hua Yitang shut his eyes tightly, and said nothing.

Lin Sui’an looked toward Wen Lang in the cell. He was still in the same posture — prostrate on the ground, his shoulders and torso faintly trembling, both arms tucked tightly against his cheeks. Lin Sui’an suddenly realized that he was not trembling from fear or pain — he was secretly, silently laughing.

He was rejoicing. Rejoicing that Yingtao was taking the blame for him!

A surge of fury shot from her chest straight to her head. The Thousand Purity blade at her waist gave an involuntary ring, releasing the bloodthirst it had long suppressed.

Hua Yitang gestured for Fangke to hand over the paper packet. He opened it and used his fan to lift out what was inside. Yingtao’s shoulder gave a sudden, violent jerk — her body seemed to be instinctively recoiling — yet the light in her eyes blazed up suddenly, as though she regarded this object with great reverence and yearning.

Zhang Huai was very curious. His position was somewhat off to the side, and the light in the interrogation chamber was poor; he leaned over and looked carefully — then his expression transformed to one of shock. He stumbled backward three large paces, clutching his chest, barely stopping himself from retching.

It was a human skin face — not the kind of “imitation human skin” made by jianghu practitioners from animal hide, but an absolutely genuine human facial skin. By whatever method it had been preserved, the surface was still relatively smooth and presentable, but the inner side had already rotted and grown moldy with black hair — as revolting as revolting could be.

Hua Yitang shook the human face skin off his fan. “Why did you wear this skin upon your face?”

Yingtao convulsed violently, snapped her gaze toward Wen Lang, and a radiant light appeared in her pupils.

Wen Lang’s trembling stopped. He lay motionless, like a stone carving.

Hua Yitang: “Did you want to become her?”

Yingtao shook her head repeatedly. “No, no! I never had such thoughts! I know I am not worthy! I only wanted to let the Madam’s face come out for some fresh air — just as the Master had done before.” She stared fixedly at Wen Lang, tears dripping steadily to the floor. “The Master simply loved the Madam too deeply. But the Madam died. The Master was lovesick to the point of distraction, even wishing to live on in her place. When he saw women who resembled the Madam, he would think of her. He only wanted to relive the beautiful times he had shared with the Madam. He only wanted to be with the Madam forever. What wrong did the Master commit—”

Lin Sui’an listened with her mouth agape: What was this? Some kind of frenzied devotee to his obsessive love story?!

“Relive beautiful times?” Hua Yitang laughed. “Is that what he told you? Then do you know how he ‘relived’ them?”

Yingtao turned her head blankly to look at Hua Yitang. Hua Yitang put aside all traces of a smile. His handsome features revealed a cruelty and ferocity dark as midnight. “He strangled them, smothered them, asphyxiated them with charcoal fumes — then used the fragrant balm that your so-called Madam loved best to coat their entire bodies, preserving the corpses, affixing the Madam’s facial skin to the corpses’ faces, and desecrated the corpses repeatedly!”

Zhang Huai finally could hold it no longer and retched alongside the prison attendants.

Yingtao’s face went deathly pale. The tears in her eyes seemed to have been suddenly drawn dry by a parched, empty well, leaving only scarlet-rimmed sockets. “You’re lying! You’re lying! The Master said — he only, only had conversations with them; it was those women who refused to behave, making a scene and seeking death, and the Master had no choice but to…”

Fangke slapped the autopsy examination records in front of Yingtao with a crack. “The fragrant balm on all the corpses’ faces and the fragrant balm on that facial skin are almost identical in composition. The desecration of the corpses is real. I can compare the bodily fluid found within the corpses’ private areas with his own—” Fangke gave a sideways glance at Wen Lang, “—though I fear he may not have the requisite capacity anymore.”

Yingtao froze, staring blankly at Wen Lang.

Wen Lang slowly straightened his body, tilting his chin slightly upward, his eyes shimmering and glittering. “Yingtao, do not listen to their lies. I have always kept myself pure for Qian’er.”

Hua Yitang gave a cold, continuous laugh. “What a devoted lover you are — pure and clear in the mind, while thoroughly bestial below.”

Wen Lang’s face turned ashen. “What do you know?! Qian’er is dead. Naturally I cannot engage in intimacy with a living person. Put on Qian’er’s face — and they become Qian’er. My heart belongs only to Qian’er. My person belongs only to Qian’er—”

“Eat filth!” Hua Yitang spat in his direction. “I’ll cut you down—”

“Shh—” a chill green flash came faster than the sound of Hua Yitang’s voice, sweeping cleanly through the wooden bars of the cell, carving a thin line of blood across Wen Lang’s throat — a trickle of red slowly dripped down along the line.

Everyone was thunderstruck, staring in profound alarm at Lin Sui’an as she let the blade complete a lazy flourish and slid Thousand Purity back into its scabbard. Wen Lang’s eyes bulged outward. His body lurched, he sat down heavily, his head tilted — tilted — and did not fall off. He touched his throat; a hoarse sound came from within his windpipe.

“Since only the head was willing to stay pure, then only the head need be kept.” Lin Sui’an said. “What a pity — the light in here is too dim. I could not see the position clearly enough. It came out crooked.”

Only then did everyone remember to breathe, and nearly suffocated for the delay.

Zhang Huai’s legs went weak, and he mopped at his face repeatedly.

He had thought this Lin Niangzi had lopped Wen Lang’s head clean off with that one stroke.

Fangke glared ferociously at Hua Yitang. “Could you please think before you speak?!”

Hua Yitang covered his mouth and mumbled, “I was just expressing myself — who could have known Lin Sui’an would actually go ahead and slash at him?!”

Mu Xia: “To dare slash at someone in the Dali Court prison — Lin Niangzi may well be the first and only person in all of recorded history to have done so!”

Yita: “My pig-person — impressive!”

Yingtao snatched up the human skin from the floor, scrambled to the bars of the cell on all fours, gripped the wooden bars with both hands, and held on with all her strength. “Master — were you lying to me? All those vows of eternal devotion you spoke of with the Madam — undying love through the seas running dry and the rocks crumbling — were all of those lies told to deceive me?!”

Wen Lang’s entire body trembled — this time with genuine fear. The hatred blazing from Yingtao’s eyes was sharper than Lin Sui’an’s blade, severing at one stroke all his years of plotting and scheming. He twisted out a distorted smile. “Yingtao, I would never deceive you. In this life, I love only Qian’er and no one else…”

Suddenly the door of the interrogation chamber opened. Ling Zhiyan walked in carrying several scrolls of case documents, with the dust-traveled Jin Ruo following close behind.

Jin Ruo handed the document in his hands to Lin Sui’an and said in a low voice, “I found the vessel used to transport the corpses — there was still a lingering stench inside that hadn’t been cleared away in time. There was also a small storeroom hidden in the South Market, packed full of charcoal — in all likelihood used to produce the carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“Excellent.” Lin Sui’an let out a breath of relief — this meant the chain of evidence was now linked.

Hua Yitang tilted his head and looked at Ling Zhiyan. “People always say that the Longxi Bai clan is full of bookworms. Could it be that the Xingyang Ling clan is full of scroll-worms? You truly do sleep with case files every single day.”

Ling Zhiyan ignored him completely, unrolled a scroll of case documents:

“Eight years ago, consecutive incidents of a ‘fox spirit bewitching women’ occurred in Feng Prefecture and Li Prefecture. In each case, the young unmarried daughters of wealthy and merchant households were seduced by a fox spirit, robbed of their purity, and driven to madness. The stories spread as though miraculous. In truth, however, before each of these women was violated, they shared one common factor: they had all engaged a female instructor to train their deportment in sitting, standing, and walking. This female instructor had an ordinary appearance but beautiful poise and a compelling voice, and claimed to have taught etiquette in a great noble household. She was very sought after. But after these women were ‘bewitched by the fox spirit,’ this female instructor also vanished from the face of the earth.”

Wen Lang stared at Ling Zhiyan in shock.

Ling Zhiyan’s expression did not change at all. “I traced the location records of these case documents upward and found the first fox spirit case. It occurred in Zhilian County, Quanzhou. In neighboring Zhishan County there had once been a performer of some renown; when the troupe disbanded, he too vanished without trace.”

“The performer’s name was Bei Meng Wen. His appearance was ordinary, and though he was male, he could imitate a woman’s voice — clear as an oriole’s song. I compared portraits of Bei Meng Wen with those of the female instructor. It is you.” Ling Zhiyan set down the case scroll. His dark pupils watched Wen Lang quietly. “Bei Meng Wen — you did not love Rou Qian’er, just as you did not love any of the women you ruined. You deceived Rou Qian’er, induced her to leave her former life, and then killed her — merely to assume her identity and live on in the Eastern Capital. Because you knew that those fox spirit cases would eventually be traced back to you.”

Wen Lang’s face went the color of death. Not a word came out.

“Is what he said true?! Master!!” Yingtao cried out with fierce force.

“Don’t you understand even now? Everything was a fabrication and a lie — his dreamlike love for Rou Qian’er, his longing, his undying devotion — all of it was invented to deceive you, so that at the critical moment you would take the blame for him.” Hua Yitang stood beside Yingtao and said coldly. “This so-called love was nothing more than a selfish, self-serving tool.”

“It isn’t true! I did love Qian’er! I admit I had several women before, but only Qian’er was my one and only. My love for Qian’er was pure!” Wen Lang screamed.

Yingtao hurled the human skin she was holding with all her strength, then collapsed to the ground in a howl of grief. “It was him! He did all of it! He deceived me! He deceived me!”

Wen Lang tremblingly spread out the crumpled skin, his blood-stained fingers caressing the position of the skin’s lips, as though gently applying lip balm with tender care.

“Qian’er, only you understand me — that’s right, isn’t it? You know, don’t you? I love you. I love only you, just you and no one else, forever and always. That’s right, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?…”

The edges of Rou Qian’er’s facial skin slowly curled inward. In the candlelight, an eerie oily sheen played across its surface. It was as if a new face were growing up out of the floor — blood-red lips parted in a grin that was half weeping, half laughing.

In that instant, Lin Sui’an’s vision went white, and she saw a fragment of faded memory.

Bei Meng Wen, dressed in men’s clothing, stood in pale, wintry sunlight, holding a fan, singing softly in an operatic cadence.

“The road to Penglai is not so far — the bluebird faithfully goes to seek it out — Qian’er, do you like this melody?”

“Mm. As long as Wen Lang sings it, it is beautiful.”

A dried and gaunt hand reached forward, holding a large red embroidered purse — stitched with a pair of mandarin ducks.

“Wen Lang — this is the formula for the improved Painting Spring Balm that I have perfected. When I die, use it to coat my body, and my body will not decay. Then you can see me every single day. We will never be parted.”

“Very well. Never to be parted.”

[Author’s note: The case is finally closed — good heavens! Throwing confetti! Things can be a bit lighter after this!]