Lin Sui’an thought Hua Yitang was a very strange person.

Most of the time he was showy, smug, and insufferable — but every now and then, for just a brief moment, he would show a strange expression: brow faintly furrowed, the corners of his eyes tinged faintly red, lips pressed slightly inward, as if he had suddenly been pricked by a needle but refused to cry out, bearing it silently.

Like right now. His voice dropped unexpectedly low — sliding over her like the soft warmth of morning light across dewdrops. “From now on — I will never let you live that kind of life again.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

Was this man imagining something extraordinary.

“You…” Lin Sui’an chose her words carefully. “Are you perhaps… misunderstanding something?”

Hua Yitang: “A hero’s past is no one’s business. I understand.”

“Pardon?”

“You and I are partners. It goes without saying between us — no need to belabor the point.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

She very much felt the need to belabor the point!

Hua Yitang suddenly gripped Lin Sui’an’s arm. Solemn and sincere, he said, “Trust me.”

Lin Sui’an couldn’t get out a single word. The moonlight was shaken into tiny fragments by the wind, and they fell like scattered stars into Hua Yitang’s eyes — so beautiful it looked like a dream, one she didn’t dare break and couldn’t bring herself to look at directly. She could only shift her gaze away and pretend to admire the scenery — and didn’t notice that in the moment she looked away, Hua Yitang’s brow had faintly furrowed.

Honestly, there was nothing worth looking at here. Inside and outside the courtyard was pitch black all around, with only a few vague, blurry tree silhouettes. And especially with Hua Yitang beside her like some enormous source of light that outshone everything else around him, Lin Sui’an’s attention kept drifting back to him against her will — and she kept having to forcibly drag it away again.

What was stranger still was that Hua Yitang, who usually kept the conversation going, had suddenly gone quiet as well. The atmosphere became distinctly awkward.

“Should we… ahem,” Lin Sui’an said, steeling herself to fill the silence with something, anything, “both go back inside and sleep… ahem, rest—”

Suddenly, from outside the courtyard came a soft crack — as if something were lurking in the darkness.

Lin Sui’an was immediately on alert. “Who’s there?!”

A foot appeared from the shadows, followed by legs, a body, and finally a head. It was Ming Shu. His broken arm was in a splint and hanging around his neck in a sling, leaving him to cup his fist with only one hand in salute. “Greetings to Hua the Fourth. Greetings to — to Lin Niangzi.”

Ming Shu’s ferocious, fierce-looking face had somehow taken on an expression of shyness, and Lin Sui’an’s skin broke out in goosebumps all over.

Hua Yitang was even more alert than Lin Sui’an this time, stepping forward half a pace. “What is it?”

“Chief Inspector Ling says the records hall is rather quiet, and if the Fourth Young Master has rested enough, he might wish to come take a look…” Ming Shu, noticing Hua Yitang’s displeased expression, hastily added, “But if the Fourth doesn’t wish to, there is no need to press the matter.”

Hua Yitang: “The search in Jing Yun Ward isn’t going well for Ming Feng and the others?”

Ming Shu: “That’s right.”

“Ling the Sixth is asking me to come help sort through the case files to find other clues about Dong Cheng?”

“…That’s right.”

“Does Ling the Sixth always speak so circuitously?”

“…Alright. Lead the way.”

Ming Shu: “Is Lin Niangzi coming as well?”

Lin Sui’an thought this question was oddly worded. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Ming Shu quickly looked away. “Chief Inspector Ling said that if Lin Niangzi is tired, she should rest well and there is no need to come.”

Oh ho! So Ling Zhiyan was looking down on her classical Chinese reading ability?

Lin Sui’an was mildly annoyed. “Of course I’m going.”

The records hall was located in the southwest of the prefecture yamen, directly opposite Ling Zhiyan’s quarters. To get there required cutting straight across the entire yamen. On the way, Ming Shu’s pace kept varying — now quick, now slow — his gaze drifting left and right. Something was clearly weighing on his mind.

Hua Yitang walked behind him, fanning himself and studying Ming Shu’s back for a long moment. Then he said out of nowhere, “Ming Shu — why are you blushing?”

Ming Shu gave a jolt, stopped dead in his tracks, turned to sneak a glance — and in so doing, turned not just his face red but his ears as well.

Even more peculiar was who he was sneaking a glance at: not Hua Yitang, but the person beside Hua Yitang — Lin Sui’an.

Lin Sui’an: What in the world?!

Hua Yitang’s eyes shifted. He made an attempt to position himself in front of Lin Sui’an, and was shoved to the side by her.

“Ming Shu — if there’s something you’d like to say to me, feel free to speak plainly,” Lin Sui’an said. “Hemming and hawing is not the way of a martial world person.”

Hua Yitang stared at Lin Sui’an in shock, his eye twitching, no doubt spinning some outlandish scenario in his imagination.

Ming Shu swallowed. “It’s — it’s just that earlier, during the fight against Black Ghost, Lin Niangzi came to my rescue. A life-saving grace such as that — I have no way to repay it fully, save only—”

Lin Sui’an’s eye also twitched. Don’t tell me this man is about to say “save only to offer myself in marriage.”

“Ahem — ahem — ahem — ahem!” Hua Yitang nearly coughed out both lungs. “Come to think of it, Lin Sui’an also saved my life, and as the saying goes, there is an order of precedence in all things—”

Lin Sui’an shoved Hua Yitang to the other side: you trouble-stirring nuisance, go stand somewhere that isn’t here!

Ming Shu paused. “Lin Niangzi saved Hua the Fourth as well?”

“It was nothing — just a matter of drawing my blade when I saw injustice. No need to mention it,” Lin Sui’an said.

Ming Shu’s expression visibly tensed. “Then — then what gift of thanks has Hua the Fourth offered?”

“Naturally the most precious thing the Hua Family has—” Hua Yitang’s head had barely peeked around the corner when Lin Sui’an shoved him back for the third time.

“You and I had a misunderstanding before, and I accidentally hurt you. Consider this making us even,” Lin Sui’an said with a smile.

“Lin Niangzi is truly generous.” Ming Shu beamed, his whole body visibly relaxing. “I’d thought Lin Niangzi was traveling alone and might be short on funds, so I’d prepared a string of coins as a thank-you gift — humble though it is, it’s practical.” He paused. “I was originally worried Lin Niangzi might find the amount too little — but look at me, how petty of me! Someone of Lin Niangzi’s caliber, and with a friend like Hua the Fourth — surely you’re not short on money.” Ming Shu let out a hearty laugh, and pointed ahead. “Honored guests, the records hall is in the courtyard just up ahead. I still have things to attend to — I’ll take my leave.”

And with that, he strode away with a spring in his step.

Lin Sui’an: “…”

No! Wait! You should have said that sooner! I need money!

“Ahem — ahem,” Hua Yitang covered half his face with his fan. “That Ming Shu — quite a straightforward fellow, actually.”

Lin Sui’an turned a glare on him. “Hua Yitang — you owe me one string of coins!”

“Hmm?”

“It’s entirely your fault!”

Hua Yitang watched Lin Sui’an’s indignant retreating figure, and the corner of his mouth hidden behind the fan curved gently upward.

Ah, now there’s an idea. The more I owe her, the less she’ll be able to leave.

The records hall was laid out something like a modern library. Along the south side stood row upon row of shelves piled with scrolls of all kinds. A low writing desk lined the window, and in the darkness, candlelight flickered. When the night breeze blew, the label tags hanging from the scroll cases knocked against each other with a soft tap-tap-tap, their characters blinking in and out of the firelight.

Three people sat at three separate writing desks, all wearing the pale blue official robes and headwraps of ninth-rank-lower-grade scribes. Two of them had already fallen asleep over their desks. Only the one closest to the door was still diligently reading through case documents, the candlelight bright on his brow — his features delicate as a woman’s.

It was Qi Yuansheng.

Lin Sui’an paused and recalled the investigation report Ming Shu had given Ling Zhiyan before they’d questioned Wang Hao.

Qi Yuansheng. Age twenty-three. Ancestral home: Gaoyi County, Henan Prefecture. Parents died early; grew up in poverty; only child. In the fourth year of Xuanfeng, passed the standard examination for legal studies — not a high placement, and with no background or connections. Appointed as a scribe in the Division of Justice at Yangdu Prefecture, the lowest rank of ninth grade lower, with virtually no prospects for promotion.

Just as Hua Yitang had inferred from the case files, this person had an excellent reputation among the yamen clerks. He was said to be a man of few words but warm at heart, always ready to help his colleagues, living simply — essentially commuting back and forth between his home and the yamen’s records hall, with absolutely no connection whatsoever to any of the murdered wastrels.

His direct supervisor, Adjutant Li, had assessed him as follows: Scribe Qi is exceptionally capable, frugal and hardworking, diligent without complaint.

In short: up before the chickens, to bed after the dogs, eating worse than the pigs, working harder than the oxen.

A textbook ancient 996 worker drone — no other word for it but miserable.

This person’s life story was like a blank page — there was simply nothing to investigate. And with the emergence of Dong Cheng and the charred corpse, Ling Zhiyan had cleared him of suspicion. He was already a scribe in the Division of Justice, so it was entirely natural for Ling Zhiyan to draft him to help with the work.

“We had just gotten to Qi Yuansheng and the two adjutants when Wang Hao and Dong Cheng suddenly appeared,” Hua Yitang said, his voice neither too loud nor too soft — but in the silence of the records hall, it was unusually clear.

He was saying it for Qi Yuansheng’s ears.

This was exactly what Lin Sui’an had been wondering too. And once again Hua Yitang had said it before she could.

Qi Yuansheng set down the scroll in his hand, rose, smoothed his robes, and bowed properly. “Greetings to Hua the Fourth. Greetings to Lin Niangzi.”

Hua the Fourth fanned himself and raised an eyebrow at him. Lin Sui’an stood to the side and watched.

Qi Yuansheng looked from beneath half-lowered eyelids. “If I am not mistaken — did Inspector Ling not say the same thing to Lin Niangzi once?”

Lin Sui’an was momentarily taken aback.

“When the headless corpse was discovered at Liuyue Tower, Lin Niangzi and Hua the Fourth appeared at precisely the right moment.”

Hua Yitang’s fan went still.

“Inspector Ling had just finished interrogating the two of you when Jiang Hongwen’s body appeared.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

Qi Yuansheng raised his eyes. His pitch-black pupils were calm as still water in a cup. “The feeling of being treated as a suspect because a coincidence cannot be explained — I would think the two of you understand it better than I do.”

Lin Sui’an thought: He makes a compelling point, and I find I have nothing to say.

Could this person also simply be unlucky, just like her?

Was the “dark villain aura” she’d sensed from him actually nothing but a “cursed-with-bad-luck aura”?

Hua Yitang gave a dry cough. “Scribe Qi — Inspector Ling sent me to ask: any findings?”

Qi Yuansheng pointed to a stack of scrolls under the desk. “I’ve reviewed backward to major crimes in and around Yangdu from three years ago. Nothing found as yet.”

“How many are left?” Hua Yitang asked.

Qi Yuansheng pointed to the innermost bookshelf. “All of those.”

Row upon row of scrolls packed in so tightly there was no room to spare. Lin Sui’an immediately lost heart. Ming Shu had been quite decent to warn her in advance that she didn’t have to come. She really should have stayed in bed under the covers.

Hua Yitang chose a spot as far from Qi Yuansheng as possible. The two of them made five or six trips back and forth, hauling away about a third of the scrolls from the shelves and dividing them up to read through. Lin Sui’an managed two rows of characters before her head started spinning — she sat there squirming as if on a bed of pins, holding up a scroll as a pretense while her gaze slid over to Hua Yitang’s face.

Hua Yitang’s reading speed had accelerated further. A casual glance was enough for each scroll, and before long, the pile of finished ones at his feet had grown into a small mountain.

Could it be that when he said he could review ten years’ worth of criminal case files in one hour, it wasn’t boasting after all — it was the truth?

Was he some sort of super-powered human processor?

Lin Sui’an was still letting her mind wander when Hua Yitang suddenly looked up. “That person is strange.”

“Hmm?” Lin Sui’an replied.

Hua Yitang indicated with his eyes, and Lin Sui’an followed his gaze directly to Qi Yuansheng by the window.

Surely you don’t also think he has a dark villain’s aura? Lin Sui’an thought.

“Whether it was Ling the Sixth’s interrogation earlier, or my probing just now, he responded to everything with precise measure — neither deferential nor haughty,” Hua Yitang said, tapping the scroll with his fingertips. “Just like these case documents — dry, by-the-book recordings, with no hint of any emotion mixed in.”

Like a puppet with no feelings. Lin Sui’an thought — though what she said was: “Perhaps he simply has an introverted temperament.”

Hua Yitang narrowed his eyes. “You’re also strange.”

“Hmm?”

“Clearly you suspect him — so why are you making excuses for him?”

“My instinct suspects him. My reason tells me there’s no evidence.”

“Why does instinct suspect him?”

“Because he’s good-looking,” Lin Sui’an blurted out.

Hua Yitang’s eyelid gave a violent twitch.

Qi Yuansheng suddenly looked up in their direction — she wasn’t sure if he’d heard — and Lin Sui’an raised the scroll to cover her face.

Truly, that reason was too absurd to utter out loud.

Hua Yitang began letting his scroll fall with pointed, successive slaps, visibly losing motivation to work. Lin Sui’an forced herself to concentrate on the text to relieve the awkwardness. She struggled through two more rows, growing increasingly drowsy, her eyelids beginning to crash together in rapid succession — and finally, no match for the relentless assault of sleep, she slumped down onto the scroll and drifted off.

Hua Yitang glanced sideways at Lin Sui’an and ignored her, continuing to read. A moment later he glanced at her again. His expression softened. He looked around — no blanket, no covering of any kind. He thought for a moment, then opened several scrolls flat and laid them over Lin Sui’an like a cover. Satisfied, he returned to work.

Lin Sui’an’s sleep was restless and uneasy, her body heavy as if a great stone lay upon her. She seemed to hear a faint rustling sound at her ear. In her half-dream she saw the charred corpse’s memory again — dense, close-packed characters dancing and jumping, forcing themselves against her eyes, demanding she wake up immediately. She struggled for some time, and finally managed to pry her eyes open in a daze. The scrolls in her blurry vision overlapped with the fragmentary memory in her mind.

Oh!

Lin Sui’an jolted fully awake, sitting bolt upright. Something clattered behind her — for some reason a pile of scrolls had fallen. Outside the window the sky was already bright. With the improved light of daytime, Lin Sui’an grabbed a scroll from the table — she still couldn’t read most of the characters or understand the meaning — but the texture of the paper, the style of the text, the layout, the spacing between lines and columns — all of it was very similar to what she had seen in the charred corpse’s memory.

Could it be that the obsessive final memory of that dead person was… a case scroll?!

“I’ve already read that one,” Hua Yitang said.

“How many scrolls have you read?” Lin Sui’an asked.

“Over eight hundred or so. Why?”

“Have you seen the characters ‘Ten Cruel’ anywhere?”

“Pardon?”

Lin Sui’an frowned. Could she have misread the characters?

“Lin Niangzi — what did you just say?” Qi Yuansheng’s voice called from across the room.

Lin Sui’an snapped her gaze toward him. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but for the first time, in that one instant, she saw something resembling human emotion appear on Qi Yuansheng’s face — something that looked like… surprise.

“‘Ten Cruel,'” Lin Sui’an said. “Have you come across that in the case files?”

Qi Yuansheng looked at Lin Sui’an in silence for a moment, then suddenly stood. He crossed the room in a few quick strides to the northwest corner of the records hall, where a stack of small wooden boxes reached from the floor to the ceiling, coated in dust. Qi Yuansheng lifted his long robe, braced himself against the edge of the boxes, and began to climb up, feeling along the carved numbers on each box as he went.

Very quickly he found one small box and pulled it free. The stack of boxes began to sway precariously. Qi Yuansheng’s body lurched and he fell straight down — but his arms stayed locked tightly around the small box. Fortunately Lin Sui’an’s reflexes were quick: she launched herself forward and caught him around the waist, helping him land safely.

Qi Yuansheng didn’t offer a single word of thanks. He opened the box, rifled through it, and produced a scroll. The case cover had faded, the bookmark had fallen away, leaving only half a trailing thread. Qi Yuansheng carefully drew out the contents — not a paper scroll at all, but a bamboo tablet. He lay flat on the ground and ran his finger across it, reading character by character.

Lin Sui’an leaned in to look — the bamboo tablet was carved in small seal script, which she couldn’t read at all. She quickly called Hua Yitang over — but got no response. She turned to find him standing with his back to the light, narrowing his eyes at Qi Yuansheng, his expression shifting between light and shadow.

“Here.” Qi Yuansheng rose with the bamboo tablet, holding it out for the two of them to see.

Only then did Hua Yitang move his gaze from Qi Yuansheng to the bamboo tablet. He read aloud in a low voice: “The forces of yin and yang and punishment and virtue each have seven stations — chamber, hall, courtyard, gate, alley, thoroughfare, field—” He paused. “Is this the Huainanzi, the ‘Heavenly Patterns’ chapter?”

Qi Yuansheng: “Further along.”

Hua Yitang skipped several rows. “Ten Cruel Punishments: to tremble the livestock offender, to subdue the demon and specter manner — first, beheading; second, death by a thousand cuts; third, dismemberment by carriage; fourth, roasting on a rack of fire; fifth, pulverizing the spine; sixth, live burial; seventh, boiling; eighth, disembowelment; ninth, pouring molten lead; tenth, poison by pigeon—”

Hua Yitang could read no further.

Lin Sui’an’s mind raced. “The first victim — Yan He — beheaded. The second body — death by a thousand cuts. The third victim, Jiang Hongwen — dismemberment. The fourth charred corpse — roasting on a rack of fire. The killer is murdering according to the methods recorded in this text?”

“Utter rubbish!” Hua Yitang flung the bamboo tablet to the ground.

Qi Yuansheng silently picked it up, dusted it off with his sleeve, and continued reading. “After the Ten Cruel Punishments come the Ten Pure Purifications. After ten cruelties — comes ten purities.”

Lin Sui’an’s mind went clang. She snatched the bamboo tablet away.

Ten Purities?

The Ten Purity Collection?!

The bamboo tablet fragment Luo Shichuan had given her read: “A thousand manner of demons and monsters, all may be purified — hence the name: Thousand Purity.”

The blade manual of Qian Jing was called the “Ten Purity Collection.”

Qian Jing was the keepsake of the Ten Purity Sect’s leader.

And now, on this very bamboo tablet, appeared the line: “After ten cruelties — comes ten purities.”

Something in the shadows seemed to be quietly connecting all of these threads — and Lin Sui’an thought again of her ability — the ability to see the final obsessive memories of the dead.

Could the “something” binding all of this together be… death itself?

Yes — this body she now inhabited had already died once before…

“Lin Sui’an!” Hua Yitang’s voice exploded in her ear. Lin Sui’an flinched. The bamboo tablet was pulled from her hands, a wind scraped across her back, and she was ice cold all over — her clothing had been soaked through with sweat, and she shuddered.

Hua Yitang’s face had gone pale. He grabbed Lin Sui’an by the arm and turned to walk. “Back to the Hua Residence immediately. I’ll have Mu Xia brew two cauldrons of ginseng soup for you to drink, and then you go straight to sleep.”

“It’s really not that serious,” Lin Sui’an said quickly, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“The body is not something to gamble with!”

When he shouted those words, Hua Yitang’s heart was still pounding wildly. Just a moment ago, Lin Sui’an had suddenly gone blank-eyed, her face drained of all color — she had looked, for a moment, not like a living person but like a corpse that had died long ago.

Lin Sui’an was somewhat bewildered. Hua Yitang’s eyes had gone red again. Had she really looked that frightening? Had she scared him to the verge of tears?

Inexplicably, she felt a twinge of guilt.

“Hey, surname Qi,” Hua Yitang said, “tell Ling the Sixth I have pain in my lower back, pain in my feet, pain in my chest — I’ve gone home to recover from illness.”

Lin Sui’an couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh. “Hey—!”

But Qi Yuansheng was looking toward the door. “Someone is coming.”

Hua Yitang brightened. “Ming Shu, your timing is perfect — quickly get a carriage ready for—”

“Fourth Young Master, Lin Niangzi — something’s happened,” Ming Shu came running in, dripping sweat. “Wang Hao is dead!”