In early December, a fresh snow fell over Chang’an. The weather after the snowfall was unusually fine, and Ming Huashang’s room was heated to a warmth like spring. She sat in the sunlight, carefully sketching.

Suddenly, Zhao Cai came rushing in and called out loudly, “My lady, wonderful news — the murderer who killed people and dug out their bones has been caught!”

Ming Huashang’s brush tip froze. A drop of ink fell onto the paper, landing right on the eyes in the drawing, ruining the entire image. Yet she had no mind to worry about the painting and quickly asked, “Who is it?”

“A monk from Purdu Temple — apparently he’s a notorious bandit posing as a monk, hiding right under Chang’an’s nose for five whole years! The Capital Prefecture sent people to Qingzhou to investigate and brought back a wanted notice — that’s how they found out!”

“A monk?” Ming Huashang frowned. “Is it Jinghui?”

Zhao Cai’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I think so. My lady, how did you know?”

So it really was him — and the murderer had been caught so easily? Ming Huashang felt a flicker of unreality and quickly asked, “Where is he now?”

“Already dead.” Zhao Cai patted her chest and let out a long breath of relief. “Thank goodness the murderer is dead. The New Year is almost here, and in a couple of days there will be the Lantern Festival. I was worried that if the killer wasn’t caught, we wouldn’t be able to go out to see the lanterns. Now it’s all fine — no more need to walk on eggshells whenever we step outside.”

Ming Huashang’s brow furrowed tighter. The murderer was already dead?

She asked, “Where was he found? How did he die?”

“I’m not sure exactly. It seems he feared being discovered for the murders, so he stole a sacred relic and fled. He was taking a mountain path and accidentally fell to his death.”

Ming Huashang felt her heart clench, and she asked, “So no one heard him confess to the crimes?”

Zhao Cai blinked, puzzled. “My lady, he killed so many people — even if they had caught him alive, he would have been sentenced to decapitation. What difference does it make whether he dies sooner or later? Besides, if he weren’t the murderer, why would he run?”

Ming Huashang kept her expression somber and said nothing. She furrowed her brow and thought for a while, then asked, “Where did the news that he was the murderer come from?”

“From the authorities, of course.” Zhao Cai felt her mistress was asking rather obvious questions today. “His Majesty required the case to be closed before year’s end, yet the Capital Prefecture found the culprit a full month ahead of schedule. The people of Chang’an are all praising the Capital Prefecture now! The Second Young Master was the one who handled this case, and even though it’s now been taken over by the Jing Zhaoyiin, when it comes time to award merit, the Jing Zhaoyiin certainly won’t forget the Second Young Master’s contributions!”

Ming Huashang’s eyes went wide; she didn’t even know which part to be more astonished by. “The case has been taken out of Second Brother’s hands?”

Zhao Cai nodded, watching Ming Huashang’s expression, and offered some comfort. “My lady, that’s how officialdom works. The junior does the work, the superior takes the credit — it’s always been this way. Rest assured, the officials at court all have eyes. The Jing Zhaoyiin will certainly remember the Second Young Master’s contributions.”

Ming Huashang bit her lip, then suddenly threw down her brush, lifted her skirts, and ran outside. Zhao Cai was startled and hurried after her. “Second Young Miss, where are you going? The Second Young Master is still at the Capital Prefecture and hasn’t returned yet!”

Guangde Ward, Capital Prefecture.

The officials of the Capital Prefecture had gathered together in full. The Jing Zhaoyiin sat at the head, cleared his throat, and said, “The serial murder case that has been causing such an uproar these past days — the murderer has finally been found. I have already reported this to the Ministry of Justice today. The Minister of Justice takes this very seriously; in a few days, Ministry of Justice officials will come to conduct an inspection, and very likely the Censorate will also send people. You all know what should and should not be said, correct?”

Ming Huazhang sat below the Jing Zhaoyiin and could not help raising an eyebrow at those words. The murderer had been found? And it had already been reported to the Ministry of Justice?

The Jing Zhaoyiin waved his hand and had the wanted notice sent back from Qingzhou passed around to everyone present. As the second-highest official in the room after the Jing Zhaoyiin, Ming Huazhang naturally received the notice first.

Ming Huazhang lowered his head to examine the portrait. The paper looked quite old — the edges had gone yellow and brittle, and the ink had faded considerably. Even so, one could still make out the figure depicted: a face full of coarse flesh, gloomy and vicious. If one were to shave off his thick beard, lighten his skin a little, and slim his face somewhat, wasn’t this exactly the monk Jinghui that the people of Chang’an all knew?

Ming Huazhang looked at the inscription beside the portrait: “Ringleader of the Tianshoulv fifth-year official silver heist — Cen Hu.”

The Jing Zhaoyiin spoke at the opportune moment: “Yesterday, the men I sent to Qingzhou to gather information returned, bringing back the wanted notice and a letter from the Qingzhou Prefect. Jinghui was indeed an impostor. He was actually Cen Hu, a bandit who murdered and robbed — and the ingot of official silver found under his bed is the proof. The Qingzhou Prefect writes in his letter that Cen Hu was a ruthless killer who delighted in violence, and that during his time as a bandit in Qingzhou he frequently preyed upon women. Six years ago, he and his gang had the audacity to rob a tribute shipment of silver, which enraged the authorities. The Qingzhou Prefect sent troops to encircle and wipe out the bandits. Cen Hu and his men were routed and fled; the Qingzhou Prefect put out a wanted notice but never caught him — none of them ever imagined that he would disguise himself as a monk and swagger about openly in Chang’an. Looking at it this way, the murders on Cen Hu’s hands are far more than just the few young women here in Chang’an — and the real Jinghui was quite possibly among his victims as well.”

So it turned out that the men Ming Huazhang had dispatched to gather information had returned the day before, but the Jing Zhaoyiin, being one rank higher, had intercepted them first. Only after settling everything to his satisfaction did he announce the results to everyone. In this way, the credit for identifying Cen Hu naturally fell to the Jing Zhaoyiin.

The assembled officials in the hall sneaked glances at Ming Huazhang. He sat with ramrod composure, straight-backed as bamboo, staring intently at the wanted portrait, as if completely unbothered by having his credit stolen.

The Capital Prefecture officials secretly admired the Deputy Prefect’s remarkable self-restraint — he could hold himself together even when someone seized his credit right in front of his face. In truth, the officials had misjudged Ming Huazhang. His lack of reaction was not the product of a magnanimous nature; he was simply thinking about other things.

The men sent to Qingzhou had been dispatched by Ming Huazhang. The letter from Qingzhou had been handed directly to the Jing Zhaoyiin, with no third party involved in between. The false Jinghui’s identity seemed firmly established, with seemingly no room for doubt. And yet Ming Huazhang could not shake the feeling that something was off.

Why did he always feel as though an invisible pair of eyes was watching them? Had the Capital Prefecture truly uncovered Cen Hu’s identity through its own investigation?

The Jing Zhaoyiin finished reading the Qingzhou Prefect’s letter. Flush with success and brimming with self-satisfaction, he continued: “With the Qingzhou Prefect’s corroboration, the truth of this case is now clear. Six years ago, Cen Hu was put on a wanted list for robbing official silver. On the road, he encountered Master Jinghui and by some means killed him, assumed his identity, and five years ago hid himself at Purdu Temple on the southern outskirts of Chang’an — which was still called Qingshan Temple back then. The time of his arrival in Chang’an aligns with the timing of the first murder, and all the subsequent killings are also connected to him.

“This official surmises that he bore a grudge against the authorities for destroying his gang, and so deliberately targeted the daughters of officials. Four years ago, Huang Zijiu’s daughter Huang Caiwei frequently came to Purdu Temple to burn incense. Taking advantage of his position, he lured Lady Huang to a secluded place, killed her, and disposed of the body by digging out her bones in that cruel fashion. This year, on the tenth day of the tenth month, the woman Chu Jun from Pingkang Ward came to Purdu Temple for a dharma assembly. After it ended, he lured Chu Jun away and killed her, discarding the body on the official road not far off.

“The most ironclad piece of evidence is the death of Lady Cheng. On the twenty-second day of the tenth month, Purdu Temple went to Qingchan Temple to give a dharma lecture, and everyone stayed together — all except him. He must have wanted to steal the sacred relic, so he deliberately stayed behind to keep watch, and after securing it, went into the city to kill Cheng Siyue and discarded the body near the city gates. But this year was different from the past: the Capital Prefecture’s investigation was extremely thorough, and he feared exposure. So he reverted to his old ways, and on the nineteenth of the eleventh month, stole the sacred relic and fled. The monks of Purdu Temple reported that the false Jinghui was found to be missing at the hour of shen on the nineteenth. At that pace, he would have reached the pass area around the hour of you, when the sun was setting and the light was dim. Rushing to escape, he slipped and fell off a cliff, his body smashed to pieces on the spot. This has been confirmed by the coroner, who found on the body of the false Jinghui — that is, Cen Hu — a travel document, money, and a shattered bone flute, all consistent with what Purdu Temple reported. With both witness testimony and physical evidence in hand, we can close the case.”

Everyone present listened and nodded repeatedly. Every explanation was reasonable and plausible; the causes, effects, and timeline all matched. One had to say that the Jing Zhaoyiin did have a certain stroke of official fortune: four years ago no one had caught the murderer, and quite a few Capital Prefecture officials had been reprimanded for it — so many people had rotated through the position over the years like a revolving door. Yet the moment the Jing Zhaoyiin had just been promoted to head the office, the case was cracked, and the killer turned out to be a fugitive whom the Qingzhou Prefect had failed to catch six years prior. With such a record of achievement in hand, what need was there to worry about future promotions?

The Capital Prefecture’s clerks and bailiffs alternated between sighs of awe and expressions of envy, all of them heaping flattery on the Jing Zhaoyiin for his perspicacious judgment and godlike skill in breaking cases. The Jing Zhaoyiin stroked his beard, smiling with satisfaction. Amid the hall full of cheers and congratulations, only one person remained silent, completely out of step with the rest.

Ming Huazhang carefully finished reading the Qingzhou Prefect’s letter, then abruptly cut through the room’s celebratory noise: “If Cen Hu’s intention on the twenty-second of the tenth month was to steal the sacred relic, then why would he also leave Purdu Temple and go into the city to kill someone?”

The congratulatory sounds in the hall faltered, and everyone turned to look at Ming Huazhang. Under all those scrutinizing gazes, he remained exactly as he always was — cool-headed and composed, perfectly at ease — and asked, “His motive was material gain. Once he had secured the relic, he should have found somewhere to hide it first. Why go to the unnecessary trouble of creating complications? And if his true aim was the premeditated murder of officials’ daughters, how could he have known in advance that on that particular day Cheng Siyue would be going to the Imperial Academy, and would be walking alone to the Eastern Market?”

Everyone present was stumped by the question. The Jing Zhaoyiin thought for a moment and then asserted with confidence, “He must have gone into the city to fence the relic after stealing it, but failed to find a buyer. In a fit of rage and humiliation, he happened to run into Lady Cheng in the Eastern Market. He recognized her identity and was seized by malicious intent, killing her to vent his frustration.”

Ming Huazhang raised an eyebrow. “And how was this sequence of events established?”

“A reasonable inference.” The Jing Zhaoyiin’s face turned stern, his official authority radiating broadly as he declared, “He was a violent bandit who murdered and robbed without scruple, and had a prior history of preying upon women. Only someone like him could commit such a brutal act. Besides — if it wasn’t him, then why did he run?”

“A prior criminal record does not prove he committed the subsequent killings. The fact that he had done brutal things before cannot be used to conclude that he is the murderer once a new killing occurs. His death on the mountain road does not prove there was no third party present at the time. He may well be the murderer — but he may also be a victim.” Ming Huazhang enunciated each word with crystalline clarity, his tone unwavering. The chain of statements fell like silver beads on a jade plate — clear, upright, and cold, carrying a dignity that could not be challenged. When he finished, he became aware that he had been too confrontational. He lowered his gaze slightly, clasped his hands in a bow, and said, “This subordinate believes we cannot yet confirm that the murderer is Cen Hu. I respectfully ask the Jing Zhaoyiin to reconsider.”

Ming Huazhang was dressed in long crimson robes and sat beneath the plaque reading “The Mirror Hangs High.” Even the motion of bowing, performed by him, was resilient and upright — his character untainted by the dust of the world, like cold snow wreathed about pine and bamboo, grace and severity coexisting with striking beauty, inviolable and awe-inspiring.

He was like the wind that blows down from the mountains as the ice and snow begin to melt — even as the human world below is already filled with blooming peach and plum trees, their fragrance riotous and joyful, he still carried with him a clarity and sternness that at every moment reminded all living things that winter had not truly retreated. And so it was at this moment: everyone else was rejoicing that the case was solved, while he alone, without any regard for feelings, spoke words that dampened the mood.

Silence fell around them. The Jing Zhaoyiin’s expression darkened. He said with displeasure, “Deputy Prefect Ming, His Majesty and the common people are still waiting for a result. Do not come here sowing confusion and undermining morale.”

“I am not trying to dampen anyone’s spirits — this case still has too many unanswered questions.” Ming Huazhang refused to relent, pressing on: “If Cen Hu’s objective was the sacred relic, why would he go into the city to kill on the twenty-second day of the tenth month? Even granting that it really was him, where did he commit the murder? How did he lure Cheng Siyue away from the crowd? There were so many people on the street — why did no one notice?”

So many questions left everyone speechless. Someone shrugged and said dismissively, “He was a hardened bandit who murdered and robbed for a living. He certainly had his methods.”

“And just what were those methods?” Ming Huazhang, utterly indifferent to the social niceties, pressed relentlessly: “We were ordered to thoroughly investigate the serial murder case. If, for the sake of closing it quickly, we simply find someone to take the blame — and if the real murderer strikes again in the city, killing more women — how do we account for ourselves to the people of Chang’an? How do we account for ourselves to the parents and kin of the victims?”

A deathly silence fell over the room. No one spoke. In the bright candlelight of the hall, the Jing Zhaoyiin slowly opened his mouth: “Deputy Prefect Ming, I know you have put in no small effort on this case. But solving it is not your credit alone, and you cannot seize on every minor detail to make trouble just because things haven’t gone your way. I have already reported this matter to the Ministry of Justice. Whatever the outcome, let the gentlemen of the Ministry of Justice deliberate and decide.”

The Jing Zhaoyiin rose to his feet, flicked his sleeve, and left. “Dismissed.”

He walked away without looking back, leaving the officials in the hall exchanging glances with one another. Many of them stole looks at Ming Huazhang, but said nothing, each pulling aside someone they were close to and departing. Ming Huazhang seemed not to notice anyone watching him; he rose unhurriedly. Zhao Lian was the last to leave — he hesitated, as if wanting to say something, but in the end heaved a heavy sigh, clasped his hands in a bow toward Ming Huazhang, and strode away.

By the time Ming Huazhang walked back to his own Deputy Prefect’s chambers, he found the door already pushed open, with people going in and out. A bailiff saw him and said with some awkwardness, hands clasped, “Deputy Prefect, the Jing Zhaoyiin has given orders to move all the case files to the main hall to await inspection by the Ministry of Justice and the Censorate.”

Ming Huazhang swept his clear, cold gaze across those present. Everyone his eyes fell upon lowered their heads; not one dared to meet his gaze. Ming Huazhang said nothing, and calmly replied, “If those are the Jing Zhaoyiin’s orders, then move them.”

The bailiff acknowledged the command and signaled for his subordinates to move quickly. Everyone in the Capital Prefecture was bustling with busy energy and flushed with excitement. Ming Huazhang stood in their midst, and by contrast became the only idle person in the room. All the files related to the case were moved away by the Jing Zhaoyiin’s people; Ming Huazhang sat quietly for a short while, and then, with the case documents gone and no verdict for him to write, he found he had nothing left to do. He tidied his things and, for the first time in his life, left early to return home.

·

Ming Huashang was sitting inside Qinghui Courtyard. She had expected to wait until dark, but hardly any time had passed when she heard movement outside the door. She stood up in surprise and ran quickly to the entrance. “Second Brother!”

Ming Huazhang came walking along the covered corridor, wrapped in a heavy cloak. Before he could even push open the door, it was flung open from the inside, and a figure carrying the warmth of the indoors came rushing at him. He instinctively caught her, and once he saw who it was, his face immediately went stern. “What nonsense is this — who let you run out here without proper shoes?”

Ming Huashang was wearing the soft shoes one wears indoors, with only a thin layer of cloth for a sole. It was the twelfth month — standing outside in shoes like that was as good as going barefoot. And the clothes she had on were light and thin as well: a single layer of a short jacket over a skirt, which would block out nothing.

Ming Huashang gave a light huff and said, “It was all to see you. Second Brother, why have you come back so early? I heard the Capital Prefecture has closed the case — what is going on?”

So word of today’s events had already spread outside. Ming Huazhang gave a quiet sigh and gestured to a servant to lift the door curtain. He bent down effortlessly and picked Ming Huashang up, and said, “Come in and I’ll explain.”

Ming Huashang noticed the servants behind them and was about to insist on walking herself; before she could even struggle, Ming Huazhang had already stilled her with a firm hold. “Don’t move about.”

Ming Huashang dared not move. Ming Huazhang set her back down on the couch and personally tucked a hand warmer and blanket around her feet. Ming Huashang felt uncomfortable being held by the ankle and tugged ever so slightly at her foot. “Second Brother, that’s enough — I’m not cold.”

“Cold enters from the feet; this can’t be taken lightly.” Ming Huazhang ignored her. Only once he had her feet properly wrapped did he sit down on the edge of the couch and say, “These past few days you’ve been busy practicing your painting — what brought you over here?”

Ming Huashang looked at him and asked carefully, “Second Brother, about the case…”

Ming Huazhang sighed. “The Jing Zhaoyiin has now taken full control over the cases involving Huang Caiwei, Chu Jun, Cheng Siyue, and the others. He has submitted a memorial to the Ministry of Justice stating that the murderer behind all of these killings was Cen Hu — that is, the false Jinghui. The Ministry of Justice has already sent men to conduct their inspection, and the case will be closed any day now.”

Ming Huashang felt a knot tighten in her chest. She had assumed this was merely a difference of opinion within the Capital Prefecture — it had already gone this far?

The conclusion was riddled with errors. The serial killer’s actual target had never been Huang Caiwei but rather Yuyan — that was difficult to discern, so setting it aside for now — but how could the case involving Chu Jun, which was so clearly different from the others, have been attributed to the same perpetrator?

Ming Huashang frowned and asked, “Can’t the Jing Zhaoyiin see that the differences between Chu Jun’s body and the other cases are too great? How can he dare close the case like this?”

One whole day of arguing with reason and yet being powerless to change anything seemed at that moment to have dissolved entirely into the concern shining in her eyes and the warmth in the palms of her hands. Ming Huazhang’s body relaxed without his being aware of it. He said with helpless resignation, “I reminded them many times, but the Jing Zhaoyiin is determined to proceed, and he has even pulled back the men I had stationed at Pingkang Ward. They need a murderer — they want the murderer to be someone with weight and dramatic appeal, a notorious fugitive like Cen Hu. As for the inconsistencies and loose ends, no one is willing to listen right now. In the Capital Prefecture, I am like a cup of water trying to put out a cartload of burning firewood. I am truly powerless.”

Ming Huashang had rarely seen Ming Huazhang wear such a weary expression. His voice was low, carrying a faint undercurrent of sorrow that caused her heart to clench.

She kept her brow tightly furrowed and asked, “What about the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review? Has no one there raised any doubts?”

“By the time they find the inconsistencies, it will likely be too late.” Ming Huazhang’s expression was very grave. He said, “The year’s end is almost here. When the New Year arrives, many people will go out to visit relatives and friends, and during the Lantern Festival, even more women will take to the streets to watch the lights. The common people trust the court — it is only because they believe the Capital Prefecture has caught the killer that they dare go out without worry. If the murderer is still hiding in Chang’an and strikes again at innocent women during those days of the Lantern Festival, with what face could I look upon the people of Chang’an?”

Ming Huashang’s heart grew heavier and heavier. The Cen Hu affair was riddled with suspicious points, yet the Jing Zhaoyiin refused to investigate properly and chose instead to close the case in accordance with his own biases. During the days of the Lantern Festival, many officials’ daughters would leave their residences, offering the perpetrator abundant opportunities to strike. If the murderer repeated his methods — brutalizing women — Ming Huazhang would inevitably face censure, and beyond that, he would never be able to forgive himself.

She could not stand by and watch the murderer and a mediocre official destroy Ming Huazhang. She had to find the real killer before the New Year.