The Luo household employed fifty-three permanent servants, and investigating alibis for everyone in the residence was an enormous undertaking. Zhu Dachang requisitioned twenty-five more constables from the county office to assist — fifteen were posted to guard the front and rear gates against unauthorized entry or exit, while ten commandeered five of the Luo household’s guest rooms as interrogation chambers, working in pairs. Unfortunately, the servants had almost all been asleep by nightfall, and with the heavy rain the previous evening, no one had gone out, making it impossible to extract any useful information.

According to Lin Sui’an’s plan, the first people who needed to be questioned were naturally the most heavily suspected: Su Chengxian and Meng Man — not even Luo Kou could be exempted. But the moment Zhu Dachang heard that Su Chengxian was a member of the Su clan, he turned pale and kept his distance, refusing no matter what to court that kind of trouble. Lin Sui’an, having had a prior grievance with Su Chengxian, also had to recuse herself from the questioning to avoid any appearance of bias. Mu Zhong, however, was practically itching to go. Seeing the barely contained excitement on his face, Lin Sui’an had good reason to suspect he harbored an old grudge against the Su clan.

But before Mu Zhong could go make Su Chengxian’s life difficult, members of the Luo clan who had heard of Luo Shichuan’s death arrived first to make Zhu Dachang’s life difficult instead. Their demands centered on why Luo Shichuan’s body had been taken away and autopsied without the clan’s consent, and they carried themselves with the menace of people who would flay Zhu Dachang alive if the body was not returned. Zhu Dachang was beside himself with frustration, and forcibly dragged Mu Zhong along to help manage the situation.

Lin Sui’an figured she wouldn’t be of much help there anyway, so she stayed to observe the first interrogation chamber. The person currently being questioned was the servant Luo Shichuan had previously sent to Xuanyuan County to conduct an investigation — a stout, honest-looking man in his thirties by the name of Luo Erer. Having learned of his master’s death, he was weeping so hard he could barely string his words together. After half an hour of questioning with no progress, the interrogating constable grew increasingly furious. He tore off his floral headscarf and slammed it onto the low table, revealing a head of short, dark brown curls. “Stop your crying! Even women don’t blubber this much!”

The constable was called Li Nili — reportedly of foreign blood, with a slight curl to his speech, especially when pronouncing his own name, which came out with an uncanny difficulty. It was hard to imagine what his parents had been thinking when they gave him such a peculiar-sounding name.

He was the informal leader among the first six constables Zhu Dachang had brought, deeply trusted by his superior, which was why he’d been assigned to question Luo Erer. According to other servants’ testimony, Luo Erer was likely the last person among the household staff to have seen Luo Shichuan alive.

“I can’t help it,” Luo Erer wiped his nose, “the tears just won’t obey me. The master was such a good man — how could he just die like this? He had the kindest heart. He even said that since I’d done well on this errand, he’d help me shed my bondservant status. Now that he’s gone, will the Luo family still free me from the registers?”

Li Nili: “Never mind all that! Tell me when you last saw Luo Shichuan yesterday.”

Luo Erer sniffled. “After the evening meal the master called for me. He asked what I’d found out in Xuanyuan County.”

“Found out about what?”

“About the intended son-in-law — ah, no, I mean — about Master Su and Lin Niangzi’s betrothal—” Luo Erer glanced at Lin Sui’an.

Lin Sui’an: “Tell it straight.”

“To be honest, that Master Su truly had no sense of decency. He recited love poems to Lin Niangzi right in front of the whole neighborhood, and when the old Luo family elders were still alive, he swore on his life he would look after Lin Niangzi forever — the neighbors and the official matchmaker were all witnesses, and those same love poems he gave Lin Niangzi were word-for-word identical to the ones he’d sent our young miss.” Luo Erer wiped his eyes again. “I told all of this to the master. He seemed quite pleased and even invited me to have a cup of tea. How could such a fine master die in such an obscure and unexplained way?”

“And then?” Li Nili pressed.

“Then I went back to wash up and sleep.”

Lin Sui’an: “Approximately what time was it when you left?”

“It was still light out when I left.”

“Was there anything in the courtyard at that time?”

“Anything?” Luo Erer looked puzzled for a moment, then understood. “Is Lin Niangzi asking about the items for the Mid-Autumn moon-viewing? Steward Meng always handles that personally every year — lowly servants like us have no part in it.”

Lin Sui’an frowned. “So you’re saying Meng Man was the last person to see Luo Shichuan?”

“The last person to see the master was Su Chengxian.” Meng Man stepped over the threshold and bowed to Lin Sui’an. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes red-rimmed — impossible to say how long he had been weeping in private. “After nightfall, I finished arranging the moon-viewing refreshments and was about to go invite Kou’er, when the master sent me to fetch Su Chengxian instead. Once Su Chengxian arrived, the master ordered me to leave, saying he had things to discuss with Su Chengxian, and that no attendance was needed that night — I was not to come to the inner courtyard again.” At this point Meng Man’s voice wavered slightly. He drew a breath, steadied himself, and said, “At that moment… I should have stayed…”

No wonder that when they’d broken down the door that morning, everyone’s first instinct had been that Lin Sui’an had killed Luo Shichuan — everyone except Meng Man. That meant he had already suspected Su Chengxian. Then again, Lin Sui’an thought, there was another possibility: that Meng Man himself was the killer.

But if Meng Man was the killer, why lock her in the sealed room? Whether from the original owner’s diary or from Lin Sui’an’s own observations over the past few days, Meng Man had shown no ill will toward her. If anything, it was someone else — if it were that person, framing Lin Sui’an made far more behavioral sense.

“Where is Su Chengxian staying?” Lin Sui’an asked.

“Follow me.” Meng Man led the way.

Li Nili and several constables exchanged glances and fell into line behind them. Su Chengxian was lodged in the attic on the northernmost side of the Luo compound, directly above the small garden Lin Sui’an had arrived in when she crossed over — a little bridge over a stream, artificial rocks and strange stones, fine scenery, good light. It was clear that the Luo family had treated Su Chengxian with considerable courtesy.

By the time Lin Sui’an arrived, a dense crowd had already gathered below the attic: Mu Zhong, Zhu Dachang, constables, and Luo clan members were all there. The clan members were shouting a chaotic jumble of “absolutely not” and “this won’t do,” several constables were wrapped around Mu Zhong’s waist, and Zhu Dachang had his sleeve, all of them hollering at once.

Mu Zhong’s voice boomed like a bell, rattling the roof tiles: “Master Su, if you don’t open this door, I’m coming in!”

“Absolutely not!” Zhu Dachang shrieked at the top of his lungs. “The Mu merchant convoy may not fear the Su clan, but Nanpu County can’t afford to offend them!”

Luo clan members: “Right, right, this won’t do, it won’t do!”

Meng Man’s face darkened to a frightening shade. He barked, “Are you actually trying to shield a suspect in the murder of our master?!”

The clan members fell silent all at once and turned to stare at Meng Man.

“Master Su is a suspect?”

“That’s impossible!”

“The Su and Luo families are about to be joined in marriage — why on earth would Master Su kill the master?”

“Meng Man, don’t speak nonsense. If word gets out, we’ll all be wiped out!”

“The master is gone. The Luo family’s future depends on the Su clan. Who are you, a mere steward, to throw your weight around here?”

“We’re thinking of the Luo family’s future!”

“You — all of you—!” Meng Man’s lips had gone blue with fury. “Outrageous! Outrageous!!”

In the midst of the chaos, Lin Sui’an strolled hands-behind-back over to Mu Zhong’s side and tilted her chin toward the attic. “What’s going on?”

Mu Zhong sighed. “Called out several times. No movement from inside.”

Zhu Dachang: “Lin Niangzi, thank goodness you’re here — please, talk some sense into Sir Mu before he does something rash.”

Lin Sui’an: “Are you certain he’s still in there?”

Mu Zhong: “The servants say no one has been seen coming or going since last night.”

Lin Sui’an raised her eyes and studied the attic — doors and windows tightly shut, the dark tiles gleaming, ominously silent amid all the shouting.

“Does the Mu merchant convoy truly not fear the Su clan?” Lin Sui’an asked.

Mu Zhong smiled with satisfaction. “They’re not in our league.”

Lin Sui’an nodded, walked to the door, and knocked. “Su Chengxian?” She gave the door a push. It didn’t move — latched from the inside.

Zhu Dachang: “Lin Niangzi, what are you—oh my ancestors!”

Both door panels suddenly burst free of their frame with a tremendous crash and slammed onto the floor inside, splitting into four pieces and sending up a large cloud of dust. Lin Sui’an stared at her palms in mild surprise — the strength in this body was even more extraordinary than she’d imagined. She had used only the slightest force, yet she’d sent the entire door flying.

Behind her, dead silence fell, as if everyone in the courtyard had vanished — not even the sound of breathing.

Lin Sui’an had no time to observe their reactions. She walked straight into the room to investigate.

It was a high-quality guest room, the furnishings several grades above her own quarters, the bedding considerably thicker. The bed was in disarray, no shoes on the floor, no clothing on the rack. After a thorough search, Lin Sui’an found no sign of Su Chengxian’s bags or personal effects. Making a circuit of the room, she noticed the rear window was open. She pushed it wide and discovered critical evidence in the weeds outside — a leather cord stained with blood, and a blood-smeared fire-starter.

Lin Sui’an quickly withdrew from the room and invited Mu Zhong, Zhu Dachang, and the constables in to examine the findings.

“The grass outside the rear window has been crushed underfoot in several places. Su Chengxian apparently—” Lin Sui’an looked at the thunderstruck Luo clan members. “Fled.”

*

“The city gates open at the start of the chen hour. The body was discovered at chen hour, second quarter. The constables sealed the Luo compound’s front and rear gates at roughly si hour, third quarter.” Mu Zhong strode out through the Luo compound’s main gate. “From the start of chen to si hour, Su Chengxian had a full two hours to make his escape.”

“The ward gates open two quarters after the city gates. Even if Su Chengxian left the moment the ward gate opened at chen hour, second quarter, he would not have reached the city gates by then.” Zhu Dachang hurried along at Mu Zhong’s side, two constables trailing behind. “Yanren Ward has no east gate, only a west gate, and that one backs onto the Eastern Market. To leave the city, he’d have to exit through the ward gate, head north onto Liren Street, and circle west past Chun Road and Lihui Ward — there wouldn’t be time.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

Good grief — all those streets and wards and gates and she’d understood none of it.

Lin Sui’an had previously crammed in some basic knowledge about this world’s urban planning. The settlement system here used enclosed ward districts, and all cities — whether small county towns or great capitals — were laid out in ward-block grids, differing only in scale. In essence, the wards were residential blocks, each enclosed by walls and gates. By day the city and ward gates were open; at night they were shut and a curfew was enforced, confining everyone to their own ward. The main streets were also patrolled by watchmen. Anyone caught sneaking out at night would be flogged and had to pay to be released — the going rate, reportedly, was one thousand copper coins per person.

Nanpu County ranked in the lower-middle tier of county classifications — a densely-populated county — and the county seat was accordingly modest compared to a great capital: sixteen wards, two city gates, two main thoroughfares — Liren Street running east-west, and Chunman Street running north-south. The Luo residence lay in Yanren Ward, south of Liren Street, east of the Eastern Market, directly across from Qingping Ward where the county office stood. Prime location, by any measure — one would have thought it conveniently accessible.

“It takes that long to leave the city from here?” Lin Sui’an was stunned.

“On any ordinary day it’d take a brisk walker about half an hour to get from Yanren Ward to the East Bridge Gate. But today is the fifteenth of the eighth month.” Zhu Dachang pointed ahead.

This was Lin Sui’an’s first glimpse of a ward gate since arriving in this world. Frankly, it was a little underwhelming — a gap hacked through a bare rammed-earth wall, plugged with a squat two-story timber gatehouse, grimy with age. The ground floor had a black-lacquered, copper-studded wooden door; the second floor had only pillars, no walls, with two watchmen draped over the upper railing, gawking at the scene below.

Beyond the Yanren Ward gate, a sea of people surged: shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, packed with people, baskets, vegetables, firewood, and all manner of livestock — chickens, ducks, goats, pigs — with the occasional stray dog weaving through, a riot of crowing and bleating and human clamor, all pressing slowly in one direction toward the Eastern Market across the street.

Mu Zhong brushed a chicken feather off his head. “The fifteenth of each month is Nanpu County’s major market day. The East Bridge Gate is entry-only until the Eastern Market closes for the day.”

Zhu Dachang gestured, and the constables pushed their way forward with shouts and shoves, managing to carve out a narrow path — even so, progress was painfully slow.

Lin Sui’an gritted her teeth and followed in Mu Zhong’s wake, wishing desperately for a gas mask. The damp, stifling stench hurled itself into her nostrils with gleeful abandon — a thick slurry of yellow mud mixed with duck feathers and sheep droppings, sucking stickily at the soles of her shoes with every step. Something butted into her shin; she looked down to find a mud-caked old sow regarding her with unmistakable disdain before waddling away, its hefty rear end swaying with dignity.

Lin Sui’an: “…”

No wonder the constables had taken so long to return earlier. Traffic congestion, apparently.

A full quarter-hour of pushing later, Lin Sui’an finally caught sight of Liren Street. The southern side was packed solid with people, while a row of watchmen stood in the middle maintaining order, leaving the northern half of the road clear.

Zhu Dachang: “This is a rule the former county magistrate left behind — on major market days, half the road in front of Qingping Ward, where the county office sits, must be kept clear for official use in emergencies. I used to think it was pointless. Turns out it was useful after all today.”

In the distance, dust billowed as Li Nili came galloping down the clear northern lane and vaulted from his horse. He reported urgently, “The travel-permit registers at the West Double Gate show no record of Su Chengxian leaving the city today. The constables have all spread out — every one of them is carrying Su Chengxian’s portrait.”

Lin Sui’an relaxed slightly. Su Chengxian was a stranger here, with no local connections, no martial arts, and no stomach for hardship. She doubted he could stay hidden for more than a few days. As long as the city and ward gates were sealed, catching him was only a matter of time — like fish in a barrel.

“If I were Su Chengxian, rather than waste time and effort trying to escape the city, I’d find somewhere to hide and wait until the Eastern Market closes, then slip out with the crowd — much safer.” Lin Sui’an said.

Mu Zhong nodded. “Is there anywhere in the city where a person could lie low?”

Zhu Dachang: “There are a few empty houses in Tinghu Ward on the south side.”

Mu Zhong: “Search them.”

Zhu Dachang signaled, and four constables sprinted off.

“There’s actually one more place,” Zhu Dachang added. “Nanpu County sits on the main road to Yangdu, so the Eastern Market frequently hosts large merchant convoys passing through. Those convoys are a murky lot. With only the handful of people we have at the county office, it might be difficult to—” He cut a sidelong glance at Mu Zhong.

Mu Zhong smiled. “Lin Niangzi, would you care to take a stroll through the Eastern Market?”

Lin Sui’an: “Hm?”

Zhu Dachang: “Many thanks, Sir Mu! We’ll be in your debt!”

Mu Zhong waved a hand. “I’m just showing a new friend around. Nothing more than that.”

“Of course, of course, absolutely!” Zhu Dachang scurried along behind them. “I’ll keep Lin Niangzi company too.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

The two of you really ought to take your act on the road.

*

Having just seen the chaos outside the Eastern Market, Lin Sui’an had expected the inside to be equally disordered. But once through the ward gate, she was pleasantly surprised. What first met the eye were two intersecting roads — roughly half the width of Liren Street — with shops of all heights fronting the streets, and countless narrower lanes branching off into the depths of the market. The merchants who entered seemed to dive into the market like fish returning to the sea: two turns and a weave and they vanished into a side lane, as if swallowed by something, with only the occasional squeal of a pig or bleat of a goat drifting back.

Zhu Dachang and the constables were visibly tense, staying glued to Mu Zhong’s side — ostensibly to protect Sir Mu, though as far as Lin Sui’an could tell, Mu Zhong protecting them was the more accurate picture. Mu Zhong first took Su Chengxian’s portrait into a hat shop on the east side of the ward gate and made a circuit inside; presently, the shop dispatched seven or eight young men who scattered into the market at a run, portraits in hand.

Mu Zhong wandered around at his ease, and it seemed as if everyone in the Eastern Market knew him — shopkeepers came out one after another to greet him, and the most remarkable thing was that Mu Zhong could address every single one of them by name, chatting away with each in high spirits.

Remarkable, Lin Sui’an thought. She herself was the sort of person who could go a week without speaking an unnecessary word — someone constitutionally averse to socializing, in the modern sense. For a presence like Mu Zhong, she could only feel something akin to reverence. After watching for a bit, she quietly slipped away to browse the stalls on her own.

The Eastern Market was naturally nothing like a modern commercial street, but its scale far exceeded Lin Sui’an’s expectations. Every shop had a tall signboard standing at person-height out front, listing goods, grades, and prices. Scanning a few at random, she found that nearly every product was divided into three grades — upper, middle, and lower — for instance:

Pepper and Bamboo Shoot Shop: Fresh shoots, per liang — upper, 7 wen; middle, 6 wen; lower, 5 wen.

Fruit Shop: Dried grapes, per sheng — upper, 23 wen; middle, 22 wen; lower, 20 wen.

Novelties Shop: Grape-patterned bronze mirror — upper, 550 wen; middle, 520 wen; lower, 500 wen.

Five hundred copper coins for a mirror! Lin Sui’an was dumbfounded. She leaned in to read the signboard a second time, and the moment she did, the shopkeeper burst out of the store, visibly rattled, his voice unsteady.

“I am honored to meet the Sixth Leader! Your distinguished presence graces my humble establishment! Please, take whatever you like — consider it my gift to you!”

Lin Sui’an felt a little awkward and bent her head to study the signboard, straining to eavesdrop on Mu Zhong and the shopkeeper’s small talk — business lately, where the goods come from, pricing and so on. The topics were dull enough that her attention soon drifted, and she began idly poking at this and that until, at the very top of the signboard, she spotted a strange symbol. It resembled both a character and a seal, shaped vaguely like a flower. After puzzling over it for some time, she recalled it was the pictograph for “flower” — hua. She glanced around and realized that the Pepper and Bamboo Shoot shop, the Fruit shop, the General Goods shop, the Hat shop, the Gold and Silver shop, and the Mortuary Goods shop next door all bore the same mark.

Mortuary Goods shop — was that a funeral business? Lin Sui’an clicked her tongue. So this was a single-brand operation? Fruit, vegetables, gold and silver goods, clothing, and apparently the funeral trade as well — that was quite a range.

The portraits sent out into the market trickled back one by one; all reported no sighting of Su Chengxian. The proprietor of the Novelties shop studied the portrait and shook his head as well, then lowered his voice and added, “The southeast corner has been unsettled lately. A number of unfamiliar faces have come through. Hard to say.”

Mu Zhong: “Which shop started the trouble?”

“The foreign-girl tavern.”

Oh ho!

Lin Sui’an’s eyes lit up. Now that was something she could stay awake for.