Ming Huazhang stood in the hidden room, candle in hand, moving its light slowly across the drawers of the wooden cabinet. He removed his gloves and walked out. Inside the meditation chamber, the abbot of the Pudu Temple saw him emerge and hurried forward. “Amitabha. Young Deputy Prefect, this room housed the sacred treasures that our temple has long guarded. To think that they have now been stripped bare by an evildoer — we beseech the Deputy Prefect to uphold justice for us.”

This was the abbot’s personal meditation chamber. It was not much more elaborate than the rooms of ordinary monks — only a bit more spacious. The outer section served as a sitting room; beyond it lay a sleeping room, a tea room, and at the far eastern end, a quiet room containing a Buddha image, cushions, a wooden fish drum, and other objects — the abbot’s place of private devotion.

To all appearances this was a perfectly ordinary meditation chamber. Yet on the north wall of the quiet room, directly behind the golden Buddha statue, there was a hidden door concealed in the wall. Behind the door lay a small hidden room containing numerous sacred treasures.

At this moment the hidden room had been ransacked into a state of complete disorder, and every one of the sacred treasures inside had disappeared without a trace.

Ming Huazhang was still making a careful study of the hidden door and the surrounding walls, inch by inch. He heard the abbot’s words, and bowing with neither servility nor arrogance in return, said: “Abbot, please set your mind at ease. It is the duty of the Jing Zhao Prefecture to protect the people of Yongzhou, and we shall do our utmost. This temple has been the site of repeated strange occurrences of late. I will need to make a thorough inspection of the entire premises, and I hope the abbot will cooperate.”

The abbot pressed his palms together, intoned a phrase of the dharma, and said: “But of course. The Deputy Prefect is entirely free to proceed.”

Ming Huazhang paced the room, and at last came to a stop before that brilliantly gilded statue. The abbot, seeing him there, said: “To reply to the Deputy Prefect — this is the place where this old monk practices cultivation. News that the Pudu Temple housed sacred treasures spread at some unknown point — in truth, these sacred treasures are not gold or silver; they have no resale value. But many thieves have still been lured by the very name of ‘sacred treasure’ and come seeking them eagerly. In order to live out my days in peace, this old monk had no choice but to conceal the sacred treasures in a hidden room behind the meditation chamber, and to place a Buddha image before the hidden door, so that I might sit here each day in prayer and personally keep watch. It was not expected, after all of this, that the sacred treasures should still have been taken from right under this old monk’s nose.”

Ming Huazhang gave a slight nod. “How did the abbot discover the theft?”

“Last night, after this old monk finished his devotions, I went into the hidden room as usual to dust the sacred treasures and recite sutras — only to find on entering that the treasures had vanished. This old monk searched the temple the whole night through. Today I was about to report it to the authorities when the Deputy Prefect arrived.”

Such a convenient coincidence — they had come today to arrest the monk, and the abbot had discovered the theft of the sacred treasures just the night before? Ming Huazhang asked: “Did the abbot touch anything in the hidden room?”

“I did not. When this old monk entered, it was already in this state.”

“Does the abbot dust the sacred treasures every day?”

“Not at all.” The abbot said. “The sacred treasures are dharmic implements — they ward off evil and protect the righteous, and must not be moved carelessly. This old monk enters once a month to recite sutras over them, and does not disturb the sacred treasures at any other time.”

Ming Huazhang nodded slowly and asked: “Aside from the abbot, is there anyone else who knows of this hidden room, or who has ever entered it?”

“There is not.” The abbot was certain of this. “The matter of the sacred treasures is of the utmost importance. This old monk has never disclosed their existence to anyone unrelated to the affair. Not even this old monk’s two closest disciples, who have studied under him, know of this room.”

“Has anyone entered the abbot’s meditation chamber unaccompanied in recent times?”

The abbot shook his head. Ming Huazhang tapped his fingers lightly against the scabbard at his side and said: “Then this is rather strange. By all accounts no one other than the abbot should know of this room, nor should anyone else have entered it. Yet the things inside have vanished while the furnishings outside remain entirely undisturbed, and you noticed nothing in all your daily prayers. Which would mean that the sacred treasures may very likely have been gone for as long as a month already.”

The abbot sighed and pressed his palms together again in a deep act of contrition: “It is this old monk’s failing in cultivation, the shallowness of his merit and virtue — that is what brought this calamity down upon us.”

Ming Huazhang said: “His familiarity with the secret mechanisms of the meditation chamber suggests he had been observing it for quite some time. Abbot — do you have any person in mind as a suspect?”

The abbot had not yet spoken when one of the attending novice monks could no longer contain himself and blurted: “It must be Jinghui!”

“Jingzhi.” The abbot remained the very picture of compassion, unruffled. “Do not speak false words.”

Ming Huazhang swept a look over the master-and-disciple pair and said, without undue haste: “I will be frank with the abbot: my reason for coming here today is precisely to deal with the matter of Jinghui of your esteemed temple. If the temple knows anything pertaining to Jinghui, please speak plainly.”

The abbot remained silent. Jingzhi said with obvious indignation: “Two days ago we discovered that Jinghui had vanished. If he had nothing to feel guilty about, why would he run? I have always felt that Jinghui was not a man truly devoted to the Buddha. He was idle and lazy in ordinary times, skulking about in a surreptitious manner. On several occasions brothers from the temple stumbled upon him lingering in the main hall, laying hands on the golden dharmic implements. Before our last trip to the Qingshan Temple for the ceremony, Jinghui — who usually could not wait to go into Chang’an, making up any excuse to do so — was completely out of character and specifically volunteered to stay behind and look after the temple, without following the rest of us into the city. He must have seized the opportunity while we were all absent from the temple to steal into our master’s room and take the sacred treasures. Now, seeing that the day when our master would go in to recite sutras over the sacred treasures was nearly upon him, he was afraid, and has run away with the goods!”

Ming Huazhang asked: “Abbot — when did you last see the sacred treasures?”

“The twentieth day of the tenth month.”

“When did you first notice that Jinghui was gone?”

“Two days ago.”

Ming Huazhang calculated the timing. Today was the twenty-first day of the eleventh month; the abbot inspected the sacred treasures on the twentieth of every month. On the twenty-second of the tenth month, the Pudu Temple went to Chang’an for the sutra lecture, leaving the temple empty. If Jinghui had taken advantage of that absence to slip into the abbot’s room and steal the treasures, and two days ago — the nineteenth of the eleventh month — the time for the abbot’s inspection was nearly at hand and he grew frightened and fled, that was an account that did hold together.

Ming Huazhang asked: “Where is Jinghui’s room?”

A novice monk immediately stepped forward to lead the way. Ming Huazhang took two steps, then stopped and turned back. “Abbot — forgive the intrusion — but may I ask what the sacred treasures actually are?”

The abbot’s brows and whiskers did not stir. He paused for one brief instant, pressed his palms together, and said: “All conditioned phenomena are impermanent — this is the law of arising and ceasing. When arising and ceasing both have ceased, that stillness is bliss. The sacred treasures are dharmic implements for dispersing evil spirits and supplicating on behalf of the world’s wronged souls who have accumulated debts of karma — to release them from their attachments, free them from suffering and bring them to joy, and help them be reborn in the Pure Land.”

Ming Huazhang was unmoved. He fixed his eyes on the abbot’s and pressed, without relenting: “So what are the sacred treasures?”

The abbot said nothing. Ming Huazhang did not back down either — the unspoken air between them carried something of a refusal to stop until he had what he came for.

Under ordinary circumstances the abbot would not have feared a secular official. But now the Pudu Temple was entangled in a murder case, and a single misstep might drag the entire temple into the disaster. The abbot, in the end, yielded a fraction and spoke the truth: “Bone horns and bone flutes.”

Ming Huazhang’s brow lifted sharply, and he immediately pressed further: “What bones?”

The abbot intoned “Namo Amitabha,” lowered his eyes, and said with serene compassion: “Human bones — donated by donors.”

Even with his prior expectation of something like this, Ming Huazhang was still briefly taken aback when he heard the words. He recovered himself: “Buddhism preaches compassion for all living beings. Using human bones to fashion dharmic implements — what kind of compassion is that?”

“The donors acted of their own free will — it is all merit and virtue.” The abbot bowed his head and recited the Buddha’s name. “The body and mind are both illusion — neither real nor unreal, neither arising nor ceasing. Birth and death exist only for ordinary people; for the Buddha there is no birth and no death — all is symbolic teaching. If the Deputy Prefect has doubts, he is welcome to investigate. The sacred treasures kept by the Pudu Temple were all donated in a spirit of sincere devotion by various patrons. We have never committed the sin of taking life.”

Ming Huazhang fixed him with a steady look. “And how do you know they gave this willingly?”

“Deputy Prefect — this old monk is a man who has left the mundane world behind, and does not take life.” The abbot was perfectly composed. “Bone horns and bone flutes are fashioned only from the bones of the dead. The bones of young women who died unjustly, women who died in childbirth, or those who fell in battle are the most suitable. Those who died as a result of both mother and child perishing in the same instance carry the deepest resentment; those who fell in battle and were left to rot unburied carry ferocious anger. And so it is precisely their bones that are used to craft these dharmic implements, to help them release their attachments and be reborn in the Pure Land. If the Deputy Prefect is suspicious, he is at liberty to look into it — the sacred treasures kept by the Pudu Temple all came from donors who presented them in sincere devotion, and there has never been any killing to obtain them.”

Ming Huazhang looked at him steadily. “Abbot, would it be convenient for you to write down a list of those who donated? After all, human bones are no ordinary matter — only by inquiring of the next of kin can I confirm it was a donation, rather than a murder.”

The novice monks in the room showed displeasure. One of them blurted out: “How bold — our abbot is an eminent monk of the highest attainment; countless faithful would travel any distance just for a single audience, and you dare speak to the abbot this way?”

“I am aware that the abbot is versed in the highest dharma — yet I, the Deputy Prefect of Jing Zhao, deal only in public reason, and have no faith in gods or Buddhas.” Ming Huazhang’s tone was even and mild, yet there was thunder in the stillness. “Abbot, all this hesitation — do you have a guilty conscience?”

The novice monks looked indignant. The abbot serenely recited a phrase of the Buddha’s name and said: “All that this old monk does is guided by the Buddha. My conscience is clear. Since the Deputy Prefect doubts, this old monk will write it down. Only — those who donated the sacred bones include no small number of high noble families, and these patrons may not wish to have the private affairs of their ancestors pried into.”

Ming Huazhang gave a quiet laugh. “Thank you for the warning, Abbot. You need only write it down — if anyone questions me for it, I will answer for it alone.”

Having run up against such an utterly intractable opponent, the abbot had no recourse but to take up brush and paper and write down the list of families who had donated the bones. Ming Huazhang showed no inclination to leave; he simply stood there and waited patiently for the abbot to finish. When the abbot set down the brush, Ming Huazhang said unhurriedly: “Abbot — I will be visiting each donor listed here in turn. The list is complete, I trust?”

The abbot paused for the briefest instant, then pressed his palms together and replied, with gentle warmth: “But of course.”

Ming Huazhang pocketed the list and left without a further word. He had no compunctions about making enemies or about offending the Buddha — this fugitive monk “Jinghui,” and the sacred treasures of uncertain provenance, he would pursue and investigate to the very bottom.

When Ming Huazhang entered the Pudu Temple he had immediately stationed men to surround Jinghui’s room. Learning now of the theft from the temple, he split into two parties: he himself led one group to the abbot’s side to investigate the sacred treasures, while the other party searched Jinghui’s room.

Ming Huazhang came around to find the constables clustered at the entrance, straightening up to salute as they saw him approach. Ming Huazhang swept his eyes over the room’s disordered bedding and belongings and asked: “What have you found?”

“To report to the Deputy Prefect: all objects of value from the room are gone — it appears to have been a premeditated escape. We found no trace of Jinghui’s whereabouts, but we did find this beneath his bed.” The constable came running forward with the item held out. “Deputy Prefect, please look.”

Ming Huazhang took it and turned it over — on the underside of the silver ingot was stamped the official seal of Qingzhou Prefecture.

In this era silver mining was limited, and silver did not circulate commonly in the marketplace. The vast majority of it was presented as tribute to the court for use in silver vessels and ceremonial objects, and ingots this large were the exclusive preserve of the officially operated silver offices. For a private individual to possess such an ingot, it either pointed to collusion between officials and merchants in smuggling, or to bandits raiding government silver.

One of the constables beside him said: “A piece of silver this large — how would a monk come to have it?”

“What monk? Did you not see the official seal of the prefectural office on it — he hasn’t even had it melted down? He’s obviously a fugitive or a bandit who robbed a monk of his travel documents and made his way to Chang’an. No wonder he dared kill so many people — turns out he was a scoundrel from the start.”

“Then why didn’t he take the silver ingot when he left?”

“Did you not see that it was found under the bed? He was probably in such a hurry when he fled that he dropped one.”

“So he was a dangerous criminal, hiding in a Buddhist temple all this time. That is truly frightening.”

The constables spoke among themselves, one after another — though indignant, their faces had all relaxed somewhat. They had been running about like headless flies for two months, and had at last found someone. Ming Huazhang looked at the silver ingot, then swept his gaze over Jinghui’s room, and said: “Come here.”

Everyone fell immediately silent and clasped their fists. “Deputy Prefect.”

“Zhang Wu — take five men, bring this silver ingot to Qingzhou, and inquire of the Qingzhou Prefect whether there is a record of bandits stealing official silver five years ago that remains unsolved. If there is, bring all the relevant documents back, and if possible have a local person draw a likeness of the perpetrator. Zhao Lian — take the rest of the men and search the mountain.”

Everyone acknowledged the orders. Zhang Wu counted off his men and left. Zhao Lian asked: “Deputy Prefect — do we not watch the main roads?”

Ming Huazhang tightened his fist, and stood with his hands behind his back. His eyes were dark and unfathomable, veiled as though in layers of mist — the depth of them impossible to gauge at a glance. “No need. If he truly is a bandit, he would never risk taking a main road. The mountain paths are his first choice. If I am not mistaken, we should find him in the mountains.”

Zhao Lian thought about it and agreed, acknowledged with a word, and left. After everyone else had gone, Ming Huazhang stood alone in the austere and cold meditation room, and let out a quiet, soundless sigh.

After the Fanyin Temple confirmed that the Pudu Temple’s monk Jinghui was an impersonator, the Jing Zhao Prefect attached great importance to the matter and dispatched a large number of men to search the southern outskirts, even calling upon the Northern Palace Imperial Guards. At last, three days later, at the foot of a narrow and treacherous mountain pass, the remains of a body were found — pulverized by the fall. By the clothing and appearance, it was indeed the false Jinghui.

The body was found by men from the Jing Zhao Prefect’s own force, and the Jing Zhao Prefect was the first to be notified. By the time Ming Huazhang received word and arrived at the scene, the entire site had already been taken over by the Jing Zhao Prefect’s people, and Ming Huazhang — who had been the first to discover the lead — had been relegated to the status of an outsider.

Ming Huazhang was kept back at the outer perimeter by the Jing Zhao Prefect’s people, catching only fragments of what the coroner was saying: “Multiple broken bones throughout the body, no external injuries — a fall, without question.”

The Jing Zhao Prefect stroked his beard with an air of self-satisfaction. “Then it seems he fell to his death while fleeing. So the killer is him!”

Amid a chorus of flattery, Ming Huazhang’s voice rang out — clear and cool, utterly at odds with the surrounding mood: “Coroner — are there any blunt-force trauma wounds or traces of sedative on the body? If someone had knocked him unconscious or drugged him and then pushed him off the cliff, the body would still look like a fall.”

The chorus of praise for the Jing Zhao Prefect cut off abruptly, and everyone turned to look at Ming Huazhang. The Jing Zhao Prefect looked somewhat put out, and with a great show of authority commanded the coroner: “Check whether the deceased bears any marks of blunt-force attack or a struggle, and whether there is anything suspicious about him.”

The coroner complied, and after a short while reported back: “To report to the Jing Zhao Prefect: the fatal injury is a complete fracture of the occipital bone — the back of the skull was shattered, the fragments of bone driven into the brain. This would have occurred upon impact with a stone during the fall. If the injury had been caused by a human blow, it would be very difficult to achieve this depth of penetration. Apart from this, there are no other external wounds. His body, other than a bone flute, his identity documents, and nothing else of note — I tested the nose and mouth with a silver needle, and the needle did not change color; there was no unusual odor in the oral cavity either. This should not have been caused by any substance.”

The Jing Zhao Prefect announced, with weighty deliberateness: “Blunt force and poisoning can be ruled out. This location is deep in the mountains; as a fake monk, he would surely not have drunk tea or eaten food offered by a stranger, so the probability of someone drugging him is extremely low. It appears, then, that this is unquestionably a death by falling.”

The bystanders immediately praised the Jing Zhao Prefect’s meticulous mind and penetrating logic — when in fact all he had done was parrot the very suspicions Ming Huazhang had raised moments before. Ming Huazhang noticed that the Jing Zhao Prefect’s people kept, in an unhurried but deliberate way, edging themselves in front of him. He found it almost absurd: the case was not even solved yet, and they were already maneuvering over who would claim the credit?

If only they would put this energy into solving the case.

Ming Huazhang had no wish to stand here watching the Jing Zhao Prefect posture. He quietly withdrew from the crowd and walked toward the spot from which the body had fallen.

This was a rocky scree. Above it ran a narrow mountain path — jagged boulders, uneven footing, easy to slip. The false Jinghui had slid off a slope and plunged onto the broken stones below. The Jing Zhao Prefect had found the approach below the cliff too difficult and had ordered the false Jinghui’s body moved to flat ground.

The body was now surrounded by people, but the actual site of the incident stood entirely empty. Ming Huazhang examined the bloodstains on the stones. Three days had passed; the blood had turned dark reddish-black and, combined with frost, had congealed on the stone surface — a gruesome sight. In one spot the blood was especially dense and thick. Ming Huazhang put on his gloves and carefully lifted the stone to look underneath.

The shape matched the wound on the false Jinghui’s skull. That, then, was the fatal stone. Ming Huazhang called a constable over, had him mark the location and take the stone as evidence back to the Jing Zhao Prefecture.

The constables busied themselves around the rocky scree. Ming Huazhang stepped back and surveyed his surroundings — and noticed a white fragment lying off to one side.

He picked it up. The object in his hand was smooth and pale, its texture something between stone and jade. Ming Huazhang recognized it quickly.

This was bone. Human bone, to be precise.

Why should there be human bone near where the false Jinghui had fallen? Ming Huazhang searched the area, and found that there were actually quite a few fragments scattered about. He picked up one of the more intact pieces: this time there was no mistaking it — a leg bone.

The abbot of the Pudu Temple had said the false Jinghui had fled with the sacred treasures. Then these, apparently, were what those “sacred treasures” consisted of.

Ming Huazhang held the long, pale tibia in his hand and could not help but raise his eyes toward the cliff.

Zhao Lian approached from behind and said: “Deputy Prefect — the body is over there. What are you looking at, standing here?”

Ming Huazhang looked back, his expression cool and flat. “Just looking. Any new developments over at the body?”

“Nothing. It’s too cold here; the coroner can’t do a thorough examination. The Jing Zhao Prefect has already ordered the body hauled back to the mortuary house, and they’re heading to the Pudu Temple for questioning next.”

“Questioning about what?”

“What else would it be — naturally, the false Jinghui’s identity.”

Ming Huazhang gave a short, neutral sound and said no more. Zhao Lian, watching the Deputy Prefect’s expression carefully, said: “Deputy Prefect — are you troubled about the case? It’s true that it was entirely thanks to you noticing the problem with the identity certificate that we found the false Jinghui. Your contribution to this case is the greatest — but these matters…”

Zhao Lian’s expression was pained, and he did not know how to put it to Ming Huazhang. This was the unspoken rule of government: when you were a newly appointed official you did the legwork for your seniors, and when you yourself had finally become a veteran, the newcomers below would do the legwork for you. The long-suffering daughter-in-law eventually became the mother-in-law — it had always been this way.

Ming Huazhang’s expression was distant. He raised his eyes toward the cliff, as if he had not heard Zhao Lian at all, and said: “Zhao Lian — do you think that falling from a cliff this high would be enough to shatter your bones?”

“Of course it would.” Zhao Lian answered without a moment’s thought. “At this height, you’d be smashed to pieces.”

“That is because a person has the weight of flesh and blood.” Ming Huazhang murmured quietly to himself. “What if there were no weight — if it were just a dry, bare bone?”

Zhao Lian frowned. He had never encountered this kind of situation — nobody grows only a bone and no flesh. “It should still be able to shatter, I suppose. The false Jinghui had the sacred treasures on him when he fled and fell — didn’t that break all those bone flutes and bone horns to pieces?”

Ming Huazhang stared at the fragments of bone caught in the crevices of the stones and said nothing. Zhao Lian, seeing that Ming Huazhang’s expression was wrong, said: “Deputy Prefect, isn’t it possible you’re overthinking this? He was a highway bandit who had robbed the official silver, and on top of that he impersonated a monk — it’s not at all surprising that someone like him would commit murder and strip the bones. We’ve been looking for so long, and all the others have checked out, and he’s the only one who ran. If he didn’t have something to feel guilty about, why would he run? Don’t worry, Deputy Prefect — we won’t be wrongly accusing anyone. There’s no need to fixate on minor details.”

Was he fixating on minor details? Ming Huazhang stared at the fragments of bone in his hand and said nothing, then suddenly said to Zhao Lian: “Bring me an evidence bag. Collect every fragment of bone on this scree — every piece, no matter how small. All of it.”