Only now did Duan Hongning understand — this entire arena contest had been a scheme designed by Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang from the very beginning.

At the outset, Lin Sui’an had used her terrifying combat ability to intimidate the five sect masters, shaking their confidence, making them hesitate to act recklessly. Then, just as they were losing heart, she threw out a tempting bait — the powder puff contest where victory was measured by marks, rather than real combat. To make the bait even more appetizing, Hua Yitang had simultaneously employed both his psychological provocation technique and his scheme to pit the five against each other. Once those five had swallowed the bait, the entire course of the fight was within Lin Sui’an’s control — she could win at will, or lose at will, or draw at will.

In short: Lin Sui’an handled the martial suppression, while Hua Yitang handled the psychological attack. Together they had performed flawlessly — and all of this complex maneuvering had been conducted without a word of prior discussion between them. The only thing Hua Yitang had been able to rely on was a single sentence from Lin Sui’an, spoken before she stepped into the arena:

“I won’t lose. You will definitely win.”

And Lin Sui’an had trusted Hua Yitang completely to handle everything behind her back.

Duan Hongning’s gaze drifted, unavoidably, to Hua Yitang. A quarter-hour ago, he had fixed her with a look and asked:

“Duan Niangzi, did you mistake me for someone else?”

At that moment his gaze had been deep and unreadable, and his bearing had carried a cold, sharp authority.

But now, the fragrant, brocaded young man waved his fan and beamed with delight, his smile blooming like a peony on a spring day — ardent and radiant.

Duan Hongning was a little uncertain. The two of them seemed not to be a couple at all, and yet they had a trust and a wordless understanding that went beyond what most couples shared — or perhaps it was better described as an extraordinary bond, a connection difficult to put into words…

Hua Yitang was overjoyed beyond all measure. He grabbed his robe and trotted up onto the platform to stand beside Lin Sui’an, snapped open his fan with a flourish, and struck a flamboyant pose. “Five masters — are you convinced?”

Wu Chun and the other four exchanged a glance and clasped their hands together in unison. “Lin Niangzi’s skill surpasses our own — we are sincerely convinced.”

“Lin Sui’an — we won!” Hua Yitang said cheerfully.

But Lin Sui’an was not even looking at him. She was staring straight at the yellow-faced young man who had retreated into the crowd, her gaze pensive and intent.

Hua Yitang followed her line of sight and felt a flicker of displeasure. “Could it be you’re still pining over that yellow, sallow-faced ugly mug that belongs to Yun Zhong Yue?”

Lin Sui’an gave a small smile. “I’m just wondering — who would Yun Zhong Yue lend one of his face disguises to—”

Before she finished the sentence she was already off — shooting out like an arrow from a bow. The disciples of the five great sects in the audience went pale and instantly scattered like startled birds, terrified that the master of Qian Jing had gone on a killing spree and was about to use them for target practice. Their scattering, however, was a great convenience — they cleared a perfect path for Lin Sui’an. She vaulted from shoulder to shoulder, from back to back, and head to head across the crowd with a few flying twists of her body, landing directly in front of the yellow-faced young man.

The yellow-faced young man’s eyes went wide with panic. The killing aura bearing down on him rendered his four limbs completely rigid and he could not move at all. He could only watch helplessly as Lin Sui’an reached out and pinched the piece of skin behind his ear that curled up at the edge.

She had found it. Just as she suspected — a human-skin mask. Her heart leapt with triumph, and she peeled it upward—

Jin Ruo and Wu Da, drenched in sweat, sat slumped against the weeping willow. The digging sticks they had been using had snapped through one after another, and their hands were raw with blisters.

Around the old willow tree, a ring of freshly dug pits had appeared. Inside each pit lay a narrow coffin. Twenty-seven coffins in all.

Fang Ke circled the pits three times, pointed casually to one that looked the freshest, and said, “Come here. Open this one.”

Wu Da and Jin Ruo were miserable, but they could not refuse Fang Ke, so they steeled themselves and got back to work.

It was small comfort that Wuwei Zi — tied to the old willow tree — at least got to rest while they sweated, though he had the nerve to make sarcastic remarks. “Boundless blessings of the Infinite Heavenly Worthy — the three of you are truly bold beyond measure. To disturb the eternal rest of the dead in such a manner — are you not afraid of resentful souls clinging to you and cursing your every step unto the end?”

Jin Ruo, without even looking back, flung a large clump of mud that landed with a splat on Wuwei Zi’s robe. “One more word and I’ll plaster your mouth shut.”

Wuwei Zi’s face twitched — and he actually fell quiet.

All the coffins were thin red-wood caskets of reasonably decent quality. Once opened, they were found to be empty of any padding — only a roll of tattered straw matting inside each one. Fang Ke put on his face covering, outer garment, and gloves, jumped down into the pit, rolled back the straw mat, and made a sound of disapproval.

Jin Ruo and Wu Da held their noses and peeked over — the body inside the mat had long since decomposed to bare bones. Strangely, there was not a single item of clothing over the skeleton — it was impossible to tell whether the clothing had simply rotted away or whether the body had been buried unclothed to begin with.

Wu Da said, troubled, “With only bones left, there probably isn’t much we can determine.”

Fang Ke gave a dismissive sound, spread a white cloth over the edge of the pit first, then methodically drew out tweezers, a small saw, an iron ruler, arranged ink and blank examination forms in a neat row, and began the examination.

“Bones can tell us far more than most people imagine. We can determine the deceased’s sex — for example, the male mandible’s ascending ramus curves slightly inward, while the female’s is straighter; the sciatic notch is wider in females than in males; women who have given birth leave marks on the pubic bone. The lengths of the femur and tibia allow us to estimate height. The thickness of the hand bones reveals whether the deceased was left- or right-handed. Those who engaged in heavy physical labor have denser, more robust bones than those who lived in comfort and ease. The thickness of the bone callus at a fracture site can tell us how long before death the injury occurred; the degree of fusion of the bone shaft can tell us approximate age—”

Fang Ke’s voice dropped lower and lower, as though he were speaking to himself alone. “The age of children is easier to estimate than that of adults — particularly the teeth. Before the age of twelve, the baby teeth fall out and the permanent teeth come in…”

Wu Da listened with deep admiration. “Fang Coroner’s reputation as the Court of Judicial Review’s finest is well deserved — truly exceptional skill.”

Jin Ruo was genuinely moved. “Fang Coroner doesn’t usually speak during an examination. He must be keeping us company to strengthen our courage!”

Fang Ke finished the first skeleton with swift efficiency, his brush moving like a dragon’s tail across the examination form. He climbed out of the pit, his pale face revealing nothing. “As they say — you can paint a person’s outer appearance but not their bones. No matter how many disguises a person can wear, the bones will never lie.”

Wu Da followed Fang Ke’s dark, intent gaze, and realized with a jolt that these last words had been directed straight at Wuwei Zi, who sat bound to the willow tree. A chill ran down his spine. He pulled at Jin Ruo’s sleeve. “Could Fang Coroner be looking at the old Taoist unfavorably and planning to dissect him as well afterward?”

Jin Ruo snickered but said nothing.

The grueling physical labor resumed. Jin Ruo and Wu Da, those two wretched souls, opened the coffins while Fang Ke examined the remains — one pit after another, one coffin after another. At first the two of them were still somewhat frightened; but gradually, as their strength nearly gave out and their minds went numb with exhaustion, even fear became a luxury they had no energy for. They had evolved into two purely mechanical coffin-opening tools.

By the time all twenty-seven remains had been examined, Jin Ruo and Wu Da had simply collapsed flat on the burial mounds — only a breath of life separating them from the occupants of the coffins below.

Fang Ke sat on a burial mound and took his time organizing the examination records. Then he stood. “Twenty-seven sets of remains — all skeletal. Based on the local temperature and soil humidity, the time of death was more than six months ago. The skeletons are uniformly slight and thin, indicating that all the deceased were malnourished in life. Among them, thirteen had suffered bone fractures. Based on femur and tibia measurements, none of the deceased stood taller than five chi. Their baby teeth had not yet fully fallen out—” He paused briefly. “Twenty-seven individuals. All were children under the age of twelve. Of these, twenty were girls and seven were boys.”

Wu Da was stunned. “Chi — children? This many?!”

Fang Ke’s face showed nothing. “There may be more children’s remains to be found. We simply have not located them yet.”

Wu Da: “How can this be?! If this many children died at the hands of others, why has the authorities never received a single report?”

Fang Ke was silent. Jin Ruo’s face had gone the color of iron. “Wu Constable, have you ever heard of Baisheng?”

Wu Da looked as though his tongue had been cut out. Not a word came.

He had been born and raised in Yidu, and had grown up listening to his father’s stories from years of constable work — of course he knew what “Baisheng” was.

Those were the favored amusement and plaything of the aristocratic and noble families — children, boys or girls, chosen only from those under twelve. After being subjected to every conceivable cruelty and abuse, they were discarded in the wilderness like animals, hence the name: “Baisheng,” white livestock.

The wind picked up again. The vapors of death rose from the wasteland of the unconsecrated burial ground. The tangled branches of the old willow tree thrashed like wild, disheveled hair. Fang Ke stood in the center of a ring of black, gaping pits, the examination records rustling and snapping in his hands, his red robe spreading and billowing outward like blood spilled across a vast, desolate landscape.

Jin Ruo sighed deeply. “This is what you wanted us to see, isn’t it?”

Wu Da was bewildered: Who is Jin Young Alliance Master speaking to?

A voice rose from behind them — the first half aged and old, the second half abruptly turning clear and bright, like a single drop of dew in the moonlight.

“To speak the truth — even I had not expected it…”

Ruo Jing’s blade light shot out like a silver ribbon. Jin Ruo’s attack flew toward Wuwei Zi. Wuwei Zi’s body contracted sharply — and slipped free from the ropes with effortless ease. The robe bloomed into four overlapping phantom-images. Jin Ruo’s blade cut only air. In the next instant, Wuwei Zi drifted like a wisp of smoke to the crown of the weeping willow and was gone into the night wind.

Jin Ruo sheathed his blade and spat. “I’ll let you off today.”

Wu Da’s jaw hit the ground. He pointed at the empty sky. “Yun — Yun Yun Yun Yun Yun — Yun Zhong Yue?!”

Lin Sui’an tore away the yellow-faced young man’s human-skin mask. Beneath it was not the face she had imagined — it was a round face, with narrow, slanting eyes, and traces of red cosmetic still on the cheeks.

It was Man Qi.

She had walked right into a trap.

Lin Sui’an immediately whipped her head around, scanning in all directions. The disciples of the five great sects were jostling and shoving in the chaos, a confused mass of bodies. Abruptly, three figures broke from the crowd and sprinted for the exit with everything they had. Lin Sui’an’s instincts were already carrying her toward them — then she caught herself and swiveled to look. Man Qi had already melted back into the crowd and vanished without a trace.

The opportunity had slipped away in a heartbeat. Lin Sui’an could only feel regret, and vaulted back to the platform. The disciples of the five great sects had been given quite a fright; they crowded into every corner, figuring that if Lin Sui’an charged again, at least they’d be closer to a way out.

Hua Yitang drifted over with his fan. “Who was it?”

Lin Sui’an: “A servant from the Hao Liu household — a boy called Man Qi.”

Hua Yitang gave a long, drawn-out “Ah—” and turned to look over at Wu Chun and the others.

Wu Chun scratched his head, cleared his throat, and had his disciples bring forward a wooden case. Inside lay the “Ten Purity Collection” that had been shown to Lin Sui’an earlier — a map showing the Five Mound Alliance’s territorial divisions — along with a stack of property deeds.

“Martial world people keep their word — we bet and we accept the loss. Since we have lost to Lin Niangzi and Hua Fourth, all of this belongs to you now.”

Hua Yitang took the wooden case but did not rush to examine its contents. He tilted his head and gave Wu Chun a long, thorough look, then suddenly smiled. “Dare I ask, Alliance Chief Wu — who gave you this ‘Ten Purity Collection’?”

Wu Chun sighed. “A young man who called himself ‘Seventh Master.'”

Side story:

Ling Zhiyan: Still no scene for me?