A cold moon hung like a hook, silver frost crystallizing in the chill. A crossbow bolt came flying straight at Ming Huazhang’s vital point. Fortunately, Ming Huazhang had been alert and pulled back in time — yet even so, the bolt buried itself deep into his arm.

Ming Huazhang let out a muffled groan, and without hesitation snapped off the arrow shaft, then drew his blade to fight back. Several figures in black burst through the windows, their white blades carving cold arcs through the moonlight, every stroke aimed directly at a vital point — the intent to kill was unmistakable.

Ming Huazhang gripped his blade in one hand, the edge moving as dense as drifting snow, and in the blink of an eye had exchanged several moves with the black-clad men. The movements were too fast to follow — all one could hear was the sharp, rapid clash of metal.

Ming Huazhang blocked a downward slash from one of the attackers. The posture required force from his arm, and the crossbow bolt’s head drove deeper into muscle, pressing against bone. Blood oozed out in a steady stream, quickly dyeing his clothes crimson.

The black-clad man noticed this, and pressed his blade down with even greater force, hoping to exploit the wound and take Ming Huazhang’s life. Ming Huazhang held his blade steady with one hand, withstanding the full weight of the press — his arm did not waver.

His gaze was sharp and commanding, his eyes clear and cold, bright as the reflection on a river’s surface, as though capable of exposing every flaw. Ming Huazhang fixed his stare on the black-clad man and asked, “Who are you?”

The man let out a cold laugh and surged forward with sudden force. “The ones who will kill you.”

At almost the same instant, Ming Huazhang moved — without warning he withdrew his blade, using leverage to send the man crashing to one side. The maneuver demanded extraordinary control and balance, yet Ming Huazhang steadied himself as though momentum itself had no claim on him. He swept his hand out and scattered a cloud of white powder.

The black-clad men took it for poison and immediately covered their mouths and noses. When the haze cleared, they found Ming Huazhang had vanished without a trace. The leader cursed bitterly: “We’ve been tricked. He’s wounded — he can’t have gotten far. Pursue him.”

In his meditation chamber at Pude Temple, the abbot had returned and knelt on the floor, reciting sutras. He had felt unsettled all evening — his eyelid would not stop twitching — and found he could not continue. He was just about to go below and check the altar when a blaze of torchlight erupted outside, and a group of men shoved his door open without ceremony, barking harshly: “There is a fugitive hiding in your temple. Bring everyone out. We intend to search.”

At the sight of these men in black, soldiers with murderous intent in their bearing, the abbot was stunned. “Good patrons, this is a sanctuary of the Buddha — blades and weapons have no place here. Pude Temple is already locked for the night; no fugitive could have entered. Even if one had, I shall investigate and hand the person over to the authorities myself. I beg you to withdraw, and not to give offense to the Buddha—”

The black-clad man looked the abbot over, let out a cold laugh, and suddenly drew his blade. “Those highborn patrons may keep you in incense and oil, but not me. I don’t believe in the afterlife — I’m not afraid of retribution. Keep talking and I’ll send you to meet the Buddha right now.”

The abbot’s expression grew deeply grave. The exalted status of the Buddhist order rested on the donations of the faithful; a man who held no faith meant monks were no different from ordinary people.

The abbot believed himself to have connections throughout the capital — he thought even the authorities were not above his notice. Why fear a band of common soldiers? He held his ground and said, “Amitabha. Good patron, a great many highborn donors keep their incense and oil here at Pude Temple. To show such disrespect to the Buddha will not sit well when those devoted patrons come to ask questions.”

The black-clad man gave a dismissive sneer, produced a token, and said, “This belongs to Prince Wei’s household. Let him try to find anyone who dares object when Prince Wei searches for what is his.”

When the abbot heard these men came from Prince Wei’s household, he folded his hands and fell entirely silent. The man noted the abbot’s expression and let out a contemptuous snort, then turned and declared with ruthless authority: “Surround the temple. Search it — don’t let even an ant through.”

The black-clad men sealed every exit at Pude Temple and ransacked the interior, turning beds upside down. They tore through boxes and overturned cabinets while all the novice monks stood shivering in the bitter wind. Yet the men in black ransacked the temple over and over and still found no sign of the “fugitive” they sought.

One of the underlings came forward to report: “Boss, we’ve searched everywhere — there’s nobody. Could he have escaped?”

“Impossible,” the leader said flatly. “We had eyes on every exit from the start; our people are everywhere outside. Even if he had wings he couldn’t fly out — how could he simply vanish into thin air?”

The subordinate saw the leader’s expression and dared say no more. And yet the fact remained: Ming Huazhang had disappeared from Pude Temple as though the earth had swallowed him.

After his outburst, the leader knew the matter still had to be resolved. He had made a military pledge to Prince Wei this time — if he still could not capture the Dual璧, it would be his own head on the line.

The leader drew a deep breath. The frigid air was like a blade drawn across the throat, the cold snapping him sharply back to his senses. He said with cold menace, “He’s wounded, and on a night like this, fleeing into the mountains is a death sentence. He will have to enter Chang’an. Send word — tell everyone inside the city that if any injured man appears, take him alive regardless of who he is.”

·

A carrier pigeon swept into Prince Wei’s mansion. Prince Wei read the message, then paced slowly to the candlestand and watched the flame lick up the strip of paper, consuming the words.

The Dual璧 has been sighted at Pude Temple. His right arm is injured. The trail of blood disappears near Chang’an. Awaiting Your Highness’s instructions.

Prince Wei recalled that a few days earlier, the informant Cansing had sent a new message: the Jingzhao Prefecture case had been closed, but the Dual璧 had not submitted the mission report, which meant they were still investigating on their own. As long as Prince Wei kept watch over the key locations in the case, the Dual璧 would surely walk into the trap.

When the verdict came down, Prince Wei had felt some relief, and had deployed additional men at Pude Temple to watch over Huang Caiwei’s courtyard. So many days had passed without movement that he’d almost thought the Jade Shatter plan would fall through — and now, today, came this welcome surprise.

The Dual 璧 had revealed himself, and his arm was injured at that. He had to be somewhere within Chang’an. Prince Wei read the description of the Dual 璧 in the message and found his thoughts drifting, unbidden, to Ming Huazhang.

The Dual 璧 had not submitted the mission, which meant that after the case was closed, whoever continued investigating it was very likely the Dual 璧 himself. Add to that the fact that they had been watching for some time and still hadn’t spotted him in the open—

Could it be that the Dual 璧 was inside Jingzhao Prefecture all along?

Prince Wei narrowed his eyes slowly. How had he made such a glaring oversight — completely blind to what was right before him? The person he sought might be the very one with the most legitimate access to the case.

The Deputy Prefect of Jingzhao: Ming Huazhang.

“Prepare my carriage,” Prince Wei said coldly. “To Duke Zhenguo’s estate.”

Chang’an was under curfew by now, but for Prince Wei, rules were as good as nothing. When the household of Duke Zhenguo’s estate heard that Prince Wei had arrived, the whole place was thrown into a panic. Duke Zhenguo rushed out to meet him and asked, “Your Highness, to what do we owe this late-night visit?”

Prince Wei paid the Duke no attention and swept inside with imperious momentum. “I hear your son is exceptionally learned. I have some questions and have come to ask Ming Second Son.”

So it was Ming Huazhang he had come for? Duke Zhenguo felt his heart sink, though he struggled to keep a smile on his face. “Your Highness, Second Son has already retired for the night. I would not presume to trouble you so. If there is something you wish to convey, please let me relay it — I will bring him to Prince Wei’s mansion to pay his respects tomorrow.”

Prince Wei fixed his gaze on Duke Zhenguo and gave a cold laugh. “I’m told Ming Second Son is exemplary in his self-discipline. At this hour, he has already gone to sleep?”

Duke Zhenguo managed a placating smile. “Naturally — even the most devoted scholar still needs to sleep.”

Prince Wei smiled, then let the smile drop instantly. He asked coolly, “Has he already retired — or is he not in the residence at all, and cannot be seen?”

Duke Zhenguo looked puzzled. “Your Highness, whatever do you mean?”

Prince Wei watched Duke Zhenguo’s clumsy performance and laughed inwardly. Their reaction only deepened his conviction. Without ceremony he pushed past the Duke and charged straight toward Ming Huazhang’s courtyard.

“I have been troubled by a question for some time, and today, I will have an answer from Ming Huazhang.”

Duke Zhenguo, seeing what Prince Wei was doing, was alarmed and hurried after him. At first his urging was soft and deferential; when he saw Prince Wei growing ever more brazen — pressing deeper into the compound without stopping — Duke Zhenguo could endure no more and said threateningly, “Your Highness, this is the inner quarters of the Ming household. The honor of the women of this household is at stake. Even as His Majesty’s nephew, you cannot conduct yourself so recklessly. Tomorrow I will most certainly memorialize the Emperor and request the Censorate render a verdict—”

For an uninvited intrusion into a subject’s private home, if it were made public, Prince Wei would face censure — but the women of the Ming family would not come out unscathed either. Duke Zhenguo had resorted to a tactic that would wound both sides, which only made Prince Wei more certain something was being concealed. If Ming Huazhang had not returned, or if he carried a wound, it would confirm that he was the Dual 璧.

Prince Wei ignored Duke Zhenguo’s threat and shoved the door open. The lamp at the entrance was blown out by the wind, and the room fell half into darkness. The figure behind the screen turned in surprise. Ming Huashang, brush in hand, rose and greeted them with wide eyes: “Father — Your Highness?”

Duke Zhenguo frowned at the sight of her. “This late, what are you doing here?”

Ming Huashang held up the brush in her hand, her almond eyes perfectly innocent. “I came to have Second Brother teach me painting.”

Duke Zhenguo’s brow furrowed into an expression that was deeply displeased. But it was Prince Wei who wore the more unpleasant look. He stared at the upright silhouette behind the screen and, refusing to be fooled, stepped past it.

The young man wore an ink-blue round-collared robe; in the lamplight, his features were as fine as jade, his bearing graceful. Unhurriedly, he finished grinding the ink, then lifted his gaze. The black of his pupils reflected Prince Wei’s image back at him with cool, measured calm. “Your Highness, Prince Wei. You have forced your way into my home in the dead of night — what is your business?”

Prince Wei examined him from head to foot several times, seemingly searching for any sign of disguise. Ming Huazhang sat calmly and let him look. Prince Wei knitted his brow deeply, unable to make sense of it. Still unwilling to give up, he asked, “I hear Deputy Prefect Ming takes his cases very seriously. How is it that tonight you have the leisure to teach your sister to paint?”

By protocol, Prince Wei was lord and Ming Huazhang his subject — yet Ming Huazhang sat behind his writing table without the slightest intention of rising to bow. He adjusted his writing weight with unhurried hands. “The case has already been solved; the Prefect is writing the closing verdict. If Your Highness has questions, please go ask him directly. Tonight I am neither on duty nor have official business — I came home to teach my sister to paint. Is that somehow a fault?”

Teaching a sister to paint was of course no fault — but how could this man be Ming Huazhang? Prince Wei demanded suspiciously, “Were you truly painting? Who knows what you were doing before I arrived.”

Duke Zhenguo was the first to find this intolerable. He said coldly, “Your Highness, I beg you to mind your words.”

Prince Wei was unmoved. “When did he return?”

The servants around them folded their hands and said with some awkwardness, “In reply to Your Highness, Second Young Master returned at the hour of Xu. He has been in this room teaching Second Young Mistress to paint ever since — we witnessed this ourselves and can all testify to it.”

He had been back since the hour of Xu? That was impossible. Prince Wei grew only more suspicious. “You are all servants of the Ming household — of course you would lie for your masters. Do you know the crime of deceiving a Prince of the Second Rank?”

The servants exchanged uncertain glances, deeply flustered. “But Second Young Master truly did return at the hour of Xu — the gatekeepers and all the servants along the path saw him. If Your Highness does not believe us, you may ask the passersby outside. We would never dare speak falsely.”

With every person giving the same account so openly and without any sign of guilt, the certainty Prince Wei had harbored began, despite himself, to waver. Could he have been wrong? Was the Dual 璧 not Ming Huazhang after all?

Then what explained the business at Pude Temple?

Prince Wei’s gaze fell on the half-finished painting on the writing table. A piece this detailed could not be completed in less than an hour or two. He said suddenly, “I’ve heard that Ming Second Son excels in both the literary and martial arts — that his poetry and painting are both peerless, and that he and Young Master Xie are known together as the Twin Talents of the Capital. I have already had occasion to admire Young Master Xie’s remarkable brushwork. I wonder whether tonight, I might be given the pleasure of witnessing the other talent?”

The lamp flame in the room crackled and hissed. Ming Huazhang calmly drew his long sleeves back, inclined his head with easy indifference, and said, “Since Your Highness is in the mood, your servant would not presume to refuse. However, a painting takes considerable time — I must ask Your Highness to be patient.”

As he spoke, he moved the writing weight aside and, picking up his brush, continued the scroll below from where it had stopped — the style and brushwork a seamless match. Ming Huashang quickly brightened the oil lamp and leaned in close to watch, asking a question here and there. Prince Wei stood before the table and scrutinized Ming Huazhang’s right arm. He watched him wield the brush in broad strokes, wrist suspended, moving without the slightest hesitation — nothing at all like a man who had been wounded.

Could he truly have been mistaken? Had Ming Huazhang returned home early to teach his sister to paint, while the Dual 璧 was someone else entirely?

Prince Wei had never truly come to watch Ming Huazhang paint. After waiting a while and seeing that his movements remained perfectly easy and composed, he grew bored, turned, and left. Duke Zhenguo shot Ming Huashang a sharp look, but had no choice but to see Prince Wei out first, and so could only snap at her in passing, “Stop this nonsense. What are you doing here at this hour? Go back to your own courtyard.”

Ming Huashang talked back without an ounce of meekness: “If I laze about you scold me for being idle; if I apply myself to learning to paint you scold me for causing trouble. Will you ever be satisfied?”

“You—!” Duke Zhenguo glared at this disrespectful daughter, then with one last fierce look said, “You wait — I’ll settle this with you when I return.”

Duke Zhenguo went to escort Prince Wei out. The remaining attendants, familiar with Second Young Master’s habits, discreetly pulled the door shut as they withdrew. The moment it closed, the imperious airs fell from Ming Huashang’s face and gave way to open worry. “Second Brother — are you all right?”

Ming Huazhang pressed a hand to his arm. His face was as white as snow, his brows drawn tight, and he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Ming Huashang was beside herself. “You’re covered in blood — how can it be nothing? Let me find something to remove the arrow.”

A sharper-eyed observer might have noticed that beneath the ink-blue round-collared robe, Ming Huazhang wore close-fitted combat clothes, still stained with blood. Ming Huazhang’s mind was only beginning to clear when Ming Huashang had already fetched a box and, reaching out, began to undo the clasps of his robe. Ming Huazhang was startled and instinctively drew back. “You mustn’t.”

“Hold still!” Ming Huashang pinned his hand and gave him a reproachful look. “The wound is that deep and you dare move around?”

Ming Huazhang’s lips parted as though he meant to say something; in the end he pressed them shut and relented.

Ming Huashang carefully opened his robe. Ming Huazhang’s upper right side was now fully exposed to the air, the wound plain to see in every detail. Ming Huashang took one clear look and sharply drew in her breath.

The head of the bolt had embedded itself entirely in flesh and blood — the barb had all but disappeared. Ming Huashang took up a piece of cord, hooked it around the iron groove, and slowly began to pull it out, even her breathing soft and measured.

Ming Huazhang watched the sweep of her lashes so close to him, and found he had forgotten entirely about the pain. That short span of distance — and yet Ming Huashang was already damp with exertion, a faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. She shifted her angle and asked anxiously, “Does it hurt?”

Ming Huazhang roused himself from his daze and murmured a response, not certain himself what he had actually answered. He became suddenly aware of heat — since Ming Huashang had come, the brazier in his room had burned all day, and the charcoal seemed to be burning too brightly; even these two layers of clothing seemed too much.

Most of all: Ming Huashang was leaning close to his shoulder, studying the wound with great care, and her hair brushed lightly against his skin. That faint, wandering sensation spread through his whole body, and for the first time Ming Huazhang found sitting still almost unbearable.

He had to find something to talk about to draw his attention elsewhere. He asked, “How did you know Prince Wei would come?”

“I didn’t — I guessed.” Ming Huashang finally drew the arrowhead free and exhaled in a long, slow breath of relief. She quickly took up the white cloth and pressed it firmly against the wound. She worked her teeth around the stopper of the wound-medicine flask and carefully applied the medicine, her breath warm and gentle against the wound. “You were very late coming back, and I was afraid you’d run into trouble, so I had someone put on your clothes and walk in through the front gate in your place. Fortunately, they were all easily fooled. And fortunately, you came home with everything intact.”

After Ming Huazhang had been ambushed at Pude Temple, he had used a diversion to shake off his pursuers and slipped into the temple’s secret passage. His suspicion had been right — the other end of the passage led out of the temple grounds. He had endured the wound and made his way back to Chang’an, barely entering the city before the gates were shut — but there he had been met with a more pressing problem.

Chang’an was under curfew. The streets were empty of pedestrians, but the patrol formations were visibly heavier than usual. With a wound on his body, he could barely hope to slip through the checkpoints.

Just as Ming Huazhang was thinking through his options, Ren Yao and Jiang Ling arrived. The two of them could hardly have been passing by coincidence — they must have received word from Ming Huashang.

Following the serial murders, the Empress had ordered the Feathered Forest Army to patrol the city, and Ren Yao and Jiang Ling were among those deployed. Jiang Ling had little talent for most things but possessed an outsized sense of entitlement — he went to the street corner and made such a scene that Prince Wei’s men were thoroughly tangled up with him, while Ren Yao took advantage of the opening to lead Ming Huazhang, disguised as a patrolling soldier, away from the area and escort him back to Duke Zhenguo’s estate.

Ming Huashang had sent someone to impersonate Ming Huazhang, fabricating evidence that he had returned home early. She had also sent word to Jiang Ling and Ren Yao so they could intercept him in time. She had even thought to leave a half-finished painting in the room to prove he had been there all evening — and with that, she had pulled off the astonishing deception that fooled Prince Wei.

One could say that Ming Huazhang owed his life entirely to Ming Huashang.

Ming Huazhang’s gaze settled on her clear, spring-water eyes, and he found he could not look away. His throat moved. In a low voice, he said, “Thank you.”