Ling Zhiyan was presently feeling utterly overwhelmed.

Ma Biao and his pack of young wastrels had suddenly collapsed inside Qiuyue Teahouse, throwing the whole place into chaos. Xue Qiuyue hastily summoned doctors she knew — yet three physicians came and all were at a loss, declaring they had never seen anything like this condition, surmising it was likely poisoning, though as for what kind of toxin, they genuinely could not determine.

Xue Qiuyue was badly shaken, nearly dropping to her knees before Ling Zhiyan on the spot. If this matter could not be resolved, Qiuyue Teahouse was finished.

Ling Zhiyan stopped a Pure Gate vendor and had him carry a message back to the Yidu government office — asking Constable Wu Da to bring the constabulary officers to assist. But the vendor returned saying Wu Da had led his men to the paupers’ graveyard and could not get back for the time being. Jin Ruo, the Junior Gate Master, had gone to Red Fragrance House looking for Lin Niangzi. Fortunately, Fangke the coroner had already returned to the Hua estate.

With Ma Biao and his group deteriorating rapidly, and Qu Hui still unconscious, Ling Zhiyan made a decisive call — he commandeered the teahouse carriage and had everyone transported back to the Hua estate at full speed.

Fangke had just changed out of the dirty clothes from his gravedigging when Ling Zhiyan dragged him off to tend to the patients. He looked thoroughly displeased and stretched his face into an expression as long and pale as a mountain ridge. He examined Qu Hui first — it was merely a rush of blood to the head that had caused her to faint temporarily, nothing serious. Hua Yimeng arranged for female attendants to help Qu Hui to a room to rest. Fortunately, the room she had used before was still available, so it served perfectly well.

Fangke examined Ma Biao and his companions, rolling his eyes so far back they nearly touched the ceiling. “Using a counterfeit Hundred Flowers Tea as the medicinal catalyst for the antidote — it is a miracle they are not already dead.”

Ling Zhiyan was startled. Mu Xia promptly relayed to Hua Yimeng the message that had come back from the Pure Gate.

“Coordinator Gan found several tea shops selling counterfeit Hundred Flowers Tea. Following the trail, she discovered these shops had all been taken over by the Ma family in the past two months. The source of the loose tea has yet to be traced. In appearance it resembles the Hundred Flowers Tea from Qingzhou at roughly seventy percent similarity — the taste and flavor are inferior, but the price is lower. A fair number of people who were greedy for a bargain and couldn’t tell the difference have bought the Ma family’s tea.”

Fangke gave a cold laugh. “A slightly inferior taste would be one thing, but the medicinal properties of this counterfeit tea fall disastrously short — as a catalyst for the antidote, it not only fails to counteract the poison but actually accelerates the rate at which the toxin spreads. Fortunately, they drank some genuine Hundred Flowers Tea at Qiuyue Teahouse — otherwise they would have forfeited their lives.”

Yita was completely baffled. “The Ma clan — even cheat — their own people?”

Mu Xia: “Could it be — they themselves also believed they were selling genuine Hundred Flowers Tea —”

Hua Yimeng’s eyes flashed. “Which means the Eastern City Ma clan also has a superior supplier?”

Yita raised his hand. “Jinwu brother says, if the Pure Gate can investigate this — can the pay go up?”

Hua Yimeng produced two pouches of gold leaf and tossed them to Yita. “Tell Jin Ruo — if the Pure Gate truly uncovers it, the reward will be doubled.”

“Third Miss is magnificent!” Yita’s flattery thundered through the heavens.

Hua Yimeng shook her head with a laugh, said her goodbyes to Fangke and Ling Zhiyan, and hurried to the back courtyard to look in on Qu Hui.

Fangke had been compelled to shoulder the burden alone — directing Mu Xia, Yita, and the four Qinglong men to move Ma Biao and his group to the side hall. He wrote out prescriptions, located the herbs, prepared the medicine, and simmered the decoctions. A vigorous series of measures, using substantially increased amounts of Hundred Flowers Tea as the catalyst — only then were the poison’s effects in the men finally stabilized.

Ling Zhiyan had to dispatch someone to Red Fragrance House, notify the families of Ma Biao and his group, send someone to the Yidu government office to file a report, and placate Xue Qiuyue — he was so busy his feet barely touched the ground, breaking into a sweat. Only when Ma Biao’s group had stabilized did he manage to sit down and take a breath. Mu Xia thoughtfully brought him freshly brewed Hundred Flowers Tea, but the moment the cup touched his lips, Hua Yimeng came rushing back, quietly pulling Ling Zhiyan aside, producing a handkerchief from her sleeve.

Ling Zhiyan’s earlobes immediately turned red. “This — this this this — what is the meaning of this?”

Hua Yimeng rolled her eyes in the time-honored Hua family fashion. “This is a handkerchief the maidservants discovered on Qu Hui while helping her change clothes and wash, hidden close to her body inside her inner garment.”

Ling Zhiyan retreated half a step at lightning speed. A woman’s intimate personal item — how could Hua Yimeng so casually produce it for an unrelated man to examine?

Hua Yimeng pulled Ling Zhiyan back. She held the handkerchief open with both hands. “Embroidered on this is half a cluster of begonia flowers.”

The handkerchief was an ordinary silk one — the style commonly used by Yidu women. The half-cluster of begonia flowers looked as though it had been sliced cleanly in two by a sharp blade: the left half entirely blank, the right half in full bloom — most peculiar.

Ling Zhiyan’s head buzzed with a sudden flash of clarity. He quickly retrieved the rubbing of the embroidery Xiao Lian had left before her death, folded the handkerchief and aligned it with the rubbing — the two half-embroideries fit together to form one complete, full-blooming cluster of begonia flowers.

Hua Yimeng was utterly stunned.

Ling Zhiyan: “Where is Qu Hui?”

“Still unconscious — several attendants have been posted to watch over her.”

Ling Zhiyan picked up the case file and handkerchief and strode to the side hall, where he found Fangke dozing off.

“Doctor Fang, look at this!”

Fangke scanned it with drowsy eyes. His eyelids snapped open. Both pupils shot out a spark of light. “Where did this handkerchief come from?”

Hua Yimeng: “Qu Hui was keeping it close to her body.”

Fangke held the handkerchief up to the candlelight and examined it carefully for a long while. “The needlework bears some resemblance to Xiao Lian’s — yet not entirely.”

Hua Yimeng: “Qu Hui mentioned she had once learned embroidery from Xiao Lian — perhaps this is an imitation.”

Fangke’s gaze stirred. He gestured for the two of them to follow him back to his own garden.

Fangke’s garden, called “Reflections in Snow,” was the coolest of all the courtyards in the Hua Clan’s Ninety-Nine-Mansion Estate — something he had requested himself. It had three side rooms: the main bedroom; the left room served as a storeroom, strictly off limits to outsiders, and no one knew what strange and peculiar things were kept inside; the right room was Fangke’s workspace.

Inside the entrance stood a heavy work table — four feet wide, eight feet long — laid out with knives, pliers, tweezers, scissors, hooks, whetstones, and bottles and jars of varying sizes and colors. On the right side of the table hung an anatomical diagram of the human skeleton, drawn with supreme precision, swaying lightly in the draft — as though the skeleton itself had come to life. Ling Zhiyan looked more carefully and saw that the inscription at the bottom of the skeleton diagram read: Yangdu Hua Fourth Young Master — it had been drawn specifically for Fangke by Hua Yitang.

Fangke lit the candles, settled behind the work table — which also had a special high-backed chair, made to Mu Xia’s specifications — and from the embroidered sample, carefully picked out two threads with small tweezers. He laid them flat on white paper, dipped a small brush into the liquid in a porcelain bottle, and applied it carefully. Once the threads were fixed to the white paper, he used small tweezers to hang both sheets of paper on a rope to dry. He then cut two strips from the silk handkerchief, applied the same liquid to those, and laid them on two separate sheets of white paper as well.

Ling Zhiyan and Hua Yimeng watched, thoroughly baffled.

“What is Doctor Fang doing?” Hua Yimeng asked.

“Testing whether these embroidery threads contain anything else.” Fangke, both hands tucked into his sleeves, fixed his dark eyes unblinkingly on those two sheets of paper. When the liquid on the paper had nearly dried, he picked up a blue spray bottle and directed it at the first sheet of paper — “pshh” — the liquid emitted a fragrant, pungent smell. Ling Zhiyan immediately recalled Hua Yitang’s scented sachets. Hua Yimeng identified it at once. “Is that water-bathed silver toad?”

Fangke glanced at the paper and made an affirmative sound. “Water-bathed silver toad and the properties of Longshen fruit counteract each other — it helps the color-revealing agent to develop quickly.”

Ling Zhiyan: “Doctor Fang suspects this handkerchief was also soaked in Longshen fruit juice?”

Fangke nodded. Sure enough, before long, a faint blue line appeared on the paper, as if a brush dipped in diluted blue dye had traced along the path of the embroidery thread.

Fangke then sprayed water-bathed silver toad on the third sheet of paper with the handkerchief strip. He waited for a while. No color change.

“There are trace amounts of Longshen fruit in the embroidery thread — so small as to be almost negligible. The handkerchief fabric itself contains no Longshen fruit.” Fangke said.

Ling Zhiyan frowned. “What does this mean?”

Fangke said nothing. He picked up a blood-red spray bottle and directed it at the second and fourth sheets of paper. This liquid had a simultaneously sour, foul, and rancid smell — like the feet of a person who had gone ten years without washing.

Hua Yimeng pinched her nose and stepped back two paces. “What is this?!”

“A color-revealing agent I synthesized by distilling several dozen rare herbal roots and foreign spices — it took hundreds of trials to produce this small bottle.” Fangke pursed his lips and blew out the candle. “It reveals color upon contact with human blood.”

The room plunged into total darkness. Ling Zhiyan and Hua Yimeng strained their eyes wide. The embroidery thread on the second sheet of paper began to glow faintly — a pale green light, like a firefly. The handkerchief strip on the fourth sheet of paper remained a solid black.

“The embroidery thread has trace amounts of human blood on it — possibly from skin flakes that contained blood.” Fangke’s voice rose from the darkness, as though a phantom were whispering at their ears, making one’s blood run cold.

Hua Yimeng shuddered. “What does that mean?”

The candle relit. In the candlelight, Fangke bared his teeth in a smile — his red gums looking as though soaked in blood. “The embroidery thread bears human blood, and the blood contains Longshen fruit — but the handkerchief does not. Is that not interesting?”

Ling Zhiyan slowly reasoned it through: “That is to say, the embroidery thread and the handkerchief were originally separate. The thread came into contact with human blood before it was stitched onto the handkerchief.”

Hua Yimeng: “…That sounds absolutely revolting.”

Fangke lifted the handkerchief and, holding it to the candlelight, stared intently at the half-cluster of begonia flowers. “How much embroidery thread would be needed for this design?”

Hua Yimeng pinched her nose and leaned in for a closer look. “Hard to say — the design is complex, likely quite thread-heavy. Adding up all the colors, I’d estimate two or three skeins.”

“One skein of embroidery thread is roughly half a finger-width thick and two feet long. Two or three skeins would be the thickness of a rope.” Fangke circled his hand around his neck in demonstration. “If wound around the throat and pulled tight —”

Hua Yimeng covered her mouth. Ling Zhiyan was thunderstruck. “Are you saying the embroidery thread on this handkerchief is the murder weapon that killed Xiao Lian?!”

“Unfortunately, I can only verify that the embroidery thread contains human blood — I cannot determine whose blood it is.” Fangke was somewhat regretful. “It may be Wu Zhengli’s blood, or the blood of some other person who consumed Longshen fruit.”

Ling Zhiyan turned and walked out immediately. “Where is Qu Hui?”

Hua Yimeng followed close on his heels. “Still in the Lianfang Pavilion.”

The two of them moved at a swift pace, heading urgently toward Lianfang Pavilion. The Hua estate was enormous — from Fangke’s Reflections in Snow garden, they had to pass through the Qiongshan Covered Walkway, cross the Muyun Courtyard, and wind around the Cangyan Warm Pavilion — a full quarter-hour of walking before they finally came within sight of Lianfang Pavilion’s gate. The four attendants on guard were still in their original positions. Hua Yimeng exhaled with relief. “Is Lady Qu still asleep?”

The four attendants bowed. “She has not woken — Qinglian is inside watching over her.”

Ling Zhiyan stepped quickly to the door of the side room and knocked three times. No response from inside. He pressed his ear to the door and listened — his expression shifted. With one kick, he smashed the door open.

A maidservant lay sprawled on the floor. Beside her was a stone inkstone. The maidservant had been knocked unconscious. The rear window stood open; pale moonlight fell on the empty bed.

Qu Hui was gone.

Hua Yimeng sucked in a sharp breath and shot Ling Zhiyan a quick glance.

Ling Zhiyan’s brows knitted tightly. He lifted the window panel and swiftly surveyed the ground outside, then turned and walked back out again. “She has not been gone long. The Hua estate has many attendants — someone must have seen her.”

Hua Yimeng fell into step beside Ling Zhiyan. “Qu Hui stayed at the Hua estate for a time before. She is familiar with the layout and the guard rotation. The Ninety-Nine-Mansion Estate covers nearly half a ward’s worth of ground — with pavilions, towers, ponds, lakes, trees, forests, and hillocks all throughout. If she wanted to avoid everyone and hide, she would be very hard to find in the short term.”

Ling Zhiyan’s steps halted. “No — if she wanted to flee, she had plenty of opportunity to escape during the days she was staying here before. She is not running. She is not hiding. She is going somewhere.”

Hua Yimeng paused, then quickly worked it out. “Today Ma Biao and his group specifically mentioned Wu Zhengli — and that wind bell at the bedside… At the time Qu Hui’s expression was already not quite right —”

The two looked at each other, and said in unison: “She’s gone to the Wu family’s residence to find Wu Zhengli.”

Side Skit

Jin Ruo rushed to Duan Jiu’s estate, intending to report his accomplishments to Hua Yitang and Lin Sui’an — how hard he had worked digging up the corpse today, how dashingly he had driven off Yun Zhong Yue, how hard he had sprinted all the way to Red Fragrance House —

Duan Hongning: “Lin Niangzi and Fourth Young Master Hua have gone to Da Ci Temple.”

Jin Ruo: “What?”

“By my reckoning, they should have reached the Matchmaking God’s shrine by now and gotten their marriage-luck bells.”

Jin Ruo was instantly furious, flipped onto his horse, and galloped after them.

I dug up corpses all day long and was half scared to death, and you two are out there having a moonlit romantic outing?! This is too much!

His back ached, his feet hurt, and he’d gotten heatstroke too. What a miserable day.