“I mean, sure, but…” Jin Ruo’s eyes looked ready to pop out. “Isn’t this a bit excessive?”

Lin Sui’an: “Wow.”

It was just past the first hour of the You hour, the early evening lights just beginning to come on. They stood before a large residence in Red Makeup Ward — a special compound consisting of a six-entry, six-exit courtyard suite, with a small wooden plaque reading “Mei Wu’s” hanging above the gate. The compound’s interior layout was perfectly symmetrical left and right: elegant covered walkways wove through and around the entire residence, and looking inward from the gate one could see a brightly lit main hall with curtains swaying, a rippling pool, fragrant blossoms, and tendrils of evening mist drifting through — like a scene from a celestial realm.

“Mei Wu is the most famous leading courtesan in Red Makeup Ward,” Jin Ruo explained to Lin Sui’an, who appeared not to know what this place was. “This is the gold-burning establishment that Red Makeup Ward is known throughout the land for.”

A woman in a pomegranate-red skirt stepped gracefully forward and curtseyed to Hua Yitang. “Fourth Young Master, everything has been prepared as you instructed.”

Hua Yitang smiled slightly. “I’ve troubled you.”

The woman said: “The Fourth Young Master is too formal. These past few days, it is thanks to the Fourth Young Master sending money, medicine, and physicians that the ladies have been able to rest and recover in peace. Lending you a venue is a small thing.”

Hua Yitang nodded. “The invitations have all been delivered?”

The woman smiled. “By the count of the hours, everyone should be arriving now.”

Before she finished speaking, the sound of hoofbeats and whinnying horses came from the direction of the ward gate, and more than ten magnificent carriages arrived one after another, pulling up in a row on the open ground in front of the residence.

“The Fourth, we’re here!” The first to come forward was Pei Shijun, with more than twenty young men in white at his back — all roughly twenty years of age, nearly all of them the familiar faces from Furong Tower. At the sight of Hua Yitang they were all smiles, crowding forward to bow, warmly cordial.

“He can’t have called together every notable wastrel in Yangdu, can he?” Jin Ruo said in astonishment.

“The Feng Family’s side doesn’t appear to be here,” Lin Sui’an said.

“Of course not. By now everyone’s heard — there’s a maniac loose in Yangdu who kills only wastrels, each death worse than the last. Even Feng Yuyi’s been taken. The yamen is frantic, searching the whole city. Every wealthy young man with even a brush of the wastrel label has been scared out of his wits, not setting foot outside his door, terrified he’ll be the next one.” Jin Ruo rolled his eyes. “And this man Hua has decided to gather all these wastrels together in Red Makeup Ward — which means this is clearly—” Jin Ruo thought about it and then it clicked. “He’s doing it on purpose.”

“Even though Dong Cheng said the next target was Hua Yitang, we can’t rule out that it’s a feint,” Lin Sui’an said. “Dong Cheng is no small fighter. These wastrels would be more vulnerable if they were isolated. Concentrating them in one place for protection is more prudent.”

“You’re saying that Hua Yitang might just be a decoy, and that any of the wastrels could be Dong Cheng’s next actual target?”

Lin Sui’an nodded. “Right now we are visible and the killer is hidden. Rather than cowering at home in anxiety, it’s better to take the initiative — draw the killer out and capture him in one go, eliminating the threat for good.”

“True enough — there are only so many thieves you can guard against before you run out of time.” Jin Ruo thought for a moment, then said, “Wait, but the Feng Family’s side definitely won’t come. If Dong Cheng goes after them, then—”

“That’s exactly why Hua the Fourth has set up such a large stage,” Ling Zhiyan said, arriving quickly with Ming Shu and Ming Feng. The latter two had their mouths hanging open wide enough to see their uvulas. Ling Zhiyan looked out at the stream of carriages pouring through the ward gate and said, “He’s probably gambling on it. On one side: the timid and cowardly wastrels barricaded behind closed doors. On the other: the arrogant and boastful wastrels hosting a late-night feast with music. Which side is more likely to stoke Dong Cheng’s killing fury?”

Did that even need to be asked? Lin Sui’an thought. A madman like Dong Cheng would choose Hua Yitang’s side without a second thought.

Jin Ruo found himself lowering his voice. “He’s using his own group of wastrels as bait — which means this is almost as if he’s doing it to… protect the Feng Family’s side?”

Ling Zhiyan touched his nose. “I didn’t say that.”

Lin Sui’an laughed quietly. She would bet that Hua Yitang would sooner die than admit it.

“If Dong Cheng really does come, won’t everyone here be in danger?” Jin Ruo asked again.

“Inspector Ling — you went to the yamen to borrow men. How did that go?” Lin Sui’an asked.

Ling Zhiyan was somewhat helpless. “Prefect Zhou refused to cooperate. It’s just the three of us.”

Just as expected. Zhou Changping was plainly setting this up to get Hua Yitang and Ling Zhiyan killed.

Ming Feng immediately declared his resolve: “That pack of incompetents — good riddance that they didn’t come. The two of us can take on ten men each without breaking a sweat.”

Ming Shu: “And with Lin Niangzi here — taking on a hundred wouldn’t be a problem.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

She wouldn’t dare be so confident. She had already quietly checked the residence inside and out, and found quite a few people concealed throughout — all sturdy, strong men, obviously the Hua Family’s people.

“Still — Hua the Fourth doing all this: if these wastrels found out the truth of it, wouldn’t they blame him for it?” Ling Zhiyan was a little concerned.

“Inspector Ling, you don’t need to worry about that,” Jin Ruo indicated with his eyes. “They probably all know.”

Ling Zhiyan was surprised. He pricked up his ears, and fragments of the wastrels’ voices drifted over.

“The Fourth, you needn’t say more — we all know this is dangerous.”

“That killer truly deserves to die. Yan He, Jiang Hongwen and their lot — never mind them — but Chen Zhu was just a scholar. Dying so wrongfully like this makes a person furious!”

“So what if we’re wastrels? We’re men of seven chi, all of us. We’re nothing like those cowards from the Feng Family. If that killer dares come, so many of us together — are we supposed to be afraid of him? The moment he shows up, we’ll all rush him at once, pin him down, and I’ll spit right in his face!”

“Exactly! Today the Feng Family cowers and hides. When we capture this killer and earn our merit, let’s see what face they’ll have left to compete with us over territory!”

“We’re here today to show them that not just anyone gets to be a wastrel! They don’t deserve to call themselves wastrels!”

“This killer is truly absurd — today he decides wastrels are the root of all evil; what about tomorrow if he decides pig farmers, sheep sellers, and scholars are also the root of all evil? Who gave him the right to decide alone who is good and who is evil?”

Hua Yitang smiled like a tree full of blossoms on a bright spring day, and clasped his fists. “Every word you’ve said hits the mark!”

Ling Zhiyan’s expression was deeply moved. He was quiet for a moment, then said: “I had heard stories of the Yangdu wastrels and of Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master, and had let them color my views. Seeing this today — I was indeed too narrow-minded.”

Jin Ruo said in a sour tone: “If Hua Yitang heard those words, he’d get so smug it would be insufferable.”

More than that — his tail would practically poke a hole in the sky. Lin Sui’an thought.

More than fifty wastrels arrived one after another, and with Hua Yitang at the forefront they filed arm-in-arm into Mei Wu’s residence. Lin Sui’an and the others followed along, passing through a world of blooming flowers and drifting mist until they reached the main hall.

Despite being called the main hall, it was in reality a wide, open pavilion with latticed walls on all four sides. From the beams hung layer upon layer of curtains and drapery in bright red and green — a festive combination. Around the outside, raised pavilion stages had been constructed, and musicians in fine dress sat in neat rows upon them. Inside, the feast had long since been laid and the table was covered in a full spread of dishes and wine. Mu Xia oversaw the banquet, guiding Lin Sui’an and the others to their respective seats. Lin Sui’an sat to Hua Yitang’s left, Ling Zhiyan to his right. Jin Ruo, Ming Shu, and Ming Feng were delighted, digging in freely before even settling into their seats.

Lin Sui’an noticed that the woman who had greeted Hua Yitang at the entrance had quickly stepped back after seating everyone, and there were no courtesans to be seen anywhere in the hall. She also scanned the musicians outside — all young men, though dressed in musician’s robes. But their skin was dark and weathered, their knuckles thick and rough. And there were familiar faces: Mu Zhong cradling a pipa, Wa’er embracing a leather drum, A Long fiddling with a konghou.

Mu Xia raised his voice: “Begin the music — let the feast commence!”

The music crashed in. Ling Zhiyan spat out a mouthful of tea. Jin Ruo, Ming Shu, and Ming Feng nearly choked.

Lin Sui’an was quietly relieved she’d been sharp enough not to eat or drink anything yet.

These musicians were plainly all hands from Mu Zhong’s merchant caravan — barely any of them actually knew how to play. It was, without question, a case of all musical incompetents — not even “making up the numbers” so much as being pure noise. The sounds that emerged were entirely out of tune: like crows squawking, like dogs howling. Not a single note was on pitch.

Remarkably, this group of wastrels appeared thoroughly entranced by this cacophony of music. Pei Shijun was even humming along. They passed wine cups back and forth, reciting poetry and playing drinking games without missing a beat, working up quite the lively atmosphere.

Hua Yitang raised his cup with a smile. “The skill to be oblivious to all this — that takes years of practice. I truly envy it.”

Everyone: “…”

Lin Sui’an: I give up.

Ling Zhiyan ate a couple of bites, then produced a scroll from his sleeve and laid it on the table. “Based on the Ten Cruel Punishments as a lead, I sorted through the case files and found a case from Zuan County three years ago — the victim was found with eyes and heart gouged out, the manner of death exceedingly brutal…”

Hua Yitang opened it and glanced through. “I’ve seen this one. The culprit was named Xi Zu — a small merchant who entered a residence at night to kill. He was caught on the spot; witnesses and evidence were all in order. He was sentenced to death by strangulation three years ago.”

“Look here,” Ling Zhiyan pointed to the file. “Xi Zu was short and slight, but one eyewitness insisted the killer was a hulking brute. Qi Yuansheng found a pair of brothers in the sealed wanted posters — the elder brother was named Zheng Dong, the younger Zheng Xi. They operated year-round on the road between Zuan County and Xuchao County, killing travelers and stealing their goods, also by gouging out hearts and eyes, and all of their victims were wealthy merchants and gentry — calling it ‘robbing the rich to aid the poor.’ The elder brother Zheng Dong bears a strong resemblance to Dong Cheng. But five years ago, these two brothers abruptly vanished from the martial world.”

“Zheng Xi — Zuan County — Xi Zu. Xuchao County — Zheng Dong — Dong Cheng—” Lin Sui’an said. “That’s unlikely to be a coincidence.”

Ling Zhiyan: “The person Xi Zu killed was a wastrel with a very bad reputation. According to Xi Zu’s testimony, he came upon this man attempting to force himself upon a young woman of good family, tried to save her, and in a moment of rage killed the man. And that young woman — upon learning Xi Zu had been sentenced to death — hanged herself.”

“What was the relationship between that young woman and Xi Zu?” Lin Sui’an asked.

Ling Zhiyan shook his head. “Unknown.”

Hua Yitang was quiet for a moment. “Ling the Sixth — what are you actually trying to say?”

Ling Zhiyan: “I wonder whether the real reason Dong Cheng kills is simply because of the wastrel identity, or something else.”

Lin Sui’an raised an eyebrow. Ling Zhiyan’s meaning couldn’t be clearer: if any of you brats have ever done anything like forcibly taking a woman of good family, now is the time to speak up.

Hua Yitang fanned himself at a leisurely pace, and smiled.

Jin Ruo looked disgusted. “Inspector Ling, you really give them too much credit. These two groups of wastrels only know how to fight over territory, curse at each other, and brawl — small fights every three days, big fights every five, taking turns beating each other up and going home to recover, visiting physicians more regularly than they visit Red Makeup Ward. Where would they find the energy for anything else?”

Lin Sui’an thought back to the nearly thousand entries in the “grudge ledger” Hua Yitang had written earlier. True — they were too busy fighting to have time for anything else.

Ling Zhiyan thought for a moment. “Hua the Fourth only recorded the past three years. What about the three years before that?”

Hua Yitang’s expression darkened. He refused to answer.

“Three years ago, the Fourth was still a good child — studying diligently at home every day!” Pei Shijun raised his cup and laughed heartily.

The wastrels all burst out laughing together.

Ling Zhiyan was taken aback. Lin Sui’an was very curious. “What happened that made you decide to become a wastrel?”

Hua Yitang gave a dry cough and raised his little fan. “With my looks and my family background — if I hadn’t become Yangdu’s foremost wastrel, wouldn’t that be a terrible waste of natural gifts?”

Ling Zhiyan pressed his hand to his forehead. Jin Ruo made a gagging expression.

Lin Sui’an laughed out loud — and then, laughing, a strange thought suddenly surfaced.

Was it possible that Hua Yitang becoming a wastrel had some ulterior purpose?

The feast continued for most of the night. Hours of eating, drinking, and revelry left even seasoned wastrels struggling to keep up; they were dropping off to sleep here and there. Mu Zhong and the other so-called musicians were still playing with dedicated effort, and after a whole night of grinding through it, they had actually managed to produce something faintly resembling a melody.

Hua Yitang leaned against the armrest, eyes half-closed, one hand propping his cheek and the other holding his fan and lightly tapping his knee — once, twice, slower and slower. Following his rhythm, Mu Xia signaled to Mu Zhong and the others to stop playing and withdraw.

Ling Zhiyan, Ming Shu, and Ming Feng grew visibly more tense. Jin Ruo stood and stretched.

The Zi hour was approaching. The breeze was cool as water.

Pale moonlight spread flat across the ground, and every pebble on the sandy earth seemed to cast its own shadow of quiet desolation.

Lin Sui’an gripped Qian Jing. She heard footsteps — one step at a time, unhurried, drawing closer from a distance.

Ling Zhiyan shot to his feet. Ming Shu and Ming Feng drew their long blades from their sheaths.

A long shadow stretched in from the doorway. At its other end were a pair of black cloth boots — the boot sides caked with mud, as though the wearer had walked a very long way.

The visitor was dressed entirely in black, the black ghost mask still upon his face, of broad and powerful build, a horizontal blade in hand, with a cold, murderous blade-light that seemed to lower the temperature of the room.

“I thought he’d try a sneak attack,” Jin Ruo said coldly. “I didn’t expect him to walk straight in.”

Lin Sui’an couldn’t manage a laugh. Someone who moved like this had only one reason: he feared nothing.

Hua Yitang rose, his robes flowing as he walked to the center of the main hall. He snapped his fan open with a crack — a signal. Mu Xia and Mu Zhong led the Hua Family’s people out with blades in hand, surrounding Dong Cheng in the center from all sides.

Dong Cheng removed his mask and tossed it aside. The face beneath it was about eighty percent consistent with the description Wang Hao had given: a long face, long eyebrows, even his philtrum longer than most. Between his brows lurked an air of violent menace — a man who had spent years with blood on his blade.

“Admirable courage,” Hua Yitang smiled. “At least you haven’t disappointed me.”

“You gathered all these wastrels here because you were afraid I’d go after them?” Dong Cheng smiled too. “Hua Yitang — you underestimate me. They’re not worth my blade getting dirty for.”

“Who are you calling not worth it!”

At Pei Shijun’s shout, the wastrels who had just appeared to be fast asleep all got to their feet, steadying each other as they lined up behind Hua Yitang, reeking of wine and glaring at Dong Cheng.

Dong Cheng threw back his head in wild laughter, the sound echoing across the desolate night sky.

“Dong Cheng — you have no way out tonight!” Ling Zhiyan shouted. “Why not surrender?!”

Dong Cheng stopped laughing, wiped the tears of amusement from the corners of his eyes. “You wastrels really are quite entertaining — much better sport than Feng Yuyi.” He pulled a small wooden box from his clothes and threw it over. It landed at Hua Yitang’s feet, hit the ground with a crack, and fell open to reveal its contents.

Inside was a blood-soaked human hand — and a jade pendant.

The wastrels erupted into noise, stumbling back. Several were so frightened they sat down hard on the ground.

“That’s Feng Yuyi’s jade pendant!”

“Is that Feng Yuyi’s hand?!”

Hua Yitang’s legs went slightly unsteady. Lin Sui’an’s quick reflexes caught him with a palm at his back. One had to say, Yangdu’s foremost wastrel’s expression management was truly remarkable — he was shaking to the roots of his jaw and still somehow managing to hold a perfect mocking smile.

“Trying to use Feng Yuyi as leverage against me? Have you been kicked in the head by a donkey?” Hua Yitang said. “Everyone in Yangdu knows — I, Hua Yitang, and Feng Yuyi are like fire and water. I’ve been hoping he’d die sooner rather than later!”

“Correct — all of Yangdu knows it,” Dong Cheng said, rolling his shoulders loose. “Hua the Fourth, I should also remind you: Feng Yuyi has two hands.”

Lin Sui’an’s brow furrowed. Something is wrong.

Suddenly, the ward gate outside blazed with torchlight and the sound of battle cries erupted. A group of fierce and ferocious men poured in with torches blazing, and at their lead were Feng Song, Yan Yan, Bai Fan, and the others.

And at that exact moment, Dong Cheng dropped sharply to his knees and clasped his fists high toward Hua Yitang, shouting for all to hear: “Your subordinate has not disgraced his mission! The bloodlines of the Yan, Bai, Jiang, and Feng Families have all been extinguished! They are now at their last gasp! Tonight, the Hua Family wipes out the Feng Clan and all their followers — and seizes dominion over Yangdu! This is the night!”