The morning sun had barely risen when Chang’an stirred from sleep. The vast empire was like a wound-up clockwork mechanism, slowly beginning its day. Inside a hall of the Jing Zhao Prefecture at that very hour, scrolls had piled up all over the floor.
After uncovering a new lead the night before, Ming Huazhang and his companions had not dared to delay — they had gone straight to the Jing Zhao Prefecture to search for related records. The five of them had searched through the night. Jiang Ling and Xie Jichuan had gone to sleep in the second half of the night, and Ren Yao had persisted until dawn before she, too, finally succumbed to sleep.
Of those in the hall, only Ming Huazhang and Ming Huashang remained awake. Ming Huashang rubbed her eyes hard and spoke softly to Ming Huazhang: “Second Brother, all the case files should be here. According to the records, six years ago a couple filed a report stating that their son, Song Yanbo, had accidentally been poisoned and died while preparing medicinal herbs. They refused to accept this account and demanded the authorities reinvestigate. Song Yanbo’s father said that from a young age his son had been obsessed with pharmacology and was always meticulous and careful — he would never have made such an error, and must have been murdered. The couple beat the drums to appeal their grievance three times. The Jing Zhaoyiin of that time was pestered beyond endurance and sent someone to inquire at Hui Chun Tang, but the conclusion remained: an accident. Afterward Song Yanbo’s parents continued to come to the authorities crying out their injustice, and were eventually driven from the premises by the Jing Zhao Prefecture. The last recorded entry was three years ago. After that, the couple never appeared again.”
Ren Yao was still slumped asleep nearby, and Ming Huashang feared waking her, so she kept her voice pressed very low. Ming Huazhang looked at Ming Huashang’s pale, exhausted face and said, “You’ve worked hard. Go and sleep. I’ll continue the search.”
Ming Huashang shook her head and rallied her spirits: “I’m fine. The case matters more. If Liu Shi’s words are true, then this is yet another life lost. We don’t know whether Song Yanbo’s parents are dead or alive — we need to break this case quickly.”
“I know.” Ming Huazhang looked at the dark circles under her eyes with deep concern. “I’ll send someone right away to find Song Yanbo’s parents. I’ll also keep watch over the West Market — if there’s any news of Black Tiger, I’ll notify you immediately. Go back to the manor and get some proper sleep.”
Ming Huashang’s instinct was to refuse. “There’s no need — I’m not so delicate—”
Ming Huazhang, in a rare show of firmness, cut her words short. “There will be many more places where we’ll need you. Rest properly and you’ll find the culprit faster. If you don’t feel at ease going back to the duke’s manor, there’s a couch in the side hall — go rest there for a while.”
Ming Huashang knew he was right. She hesitated. “But what about you? I think you’re the one who needs sleep most of all. You haven’t rested properly in days, and you stayed up all last night too — even an iron body couldn’t take this.”
“Don’t worry, I know my own limits.” Ming Huazhang’s gaze softened, and he smiled. “Jiang Ling and Xie Jichuan slept for half the night and are well-rested. If I’m overwhelmed, I’ll certainly put them to work — go on and sleep without worry.”
Ming Huashang’s head felt heavy and her legs light; she truly couldn’t push through any more. She steadied herself against the table and stood, walked two steps, then turned back with a serious face. “It’s agreed — you must go and rest.”
Ming Huazhang gave a light laugh, stood up, and ruffled her hair. “Alright.”
Ming Huashang still half-doubted him. She crossed to the other side of the room and gently shook Ren Yao awake. “Elder Sister Ren, it’s too cold here — let’s sleep in the back.”
Ming Huashang supported Ren Yao and, after urging Ming Huazhang three times over, finally withdrew to the side hall. Ming Huazhang personally escorted Ming Huashang into the hall, shut the door behind them, and only then composed himself, turning on his heel and striding toward the outer courtyard.
Ming Huazhang stopped a passing bailiff. “Where is Liu Shi?”
“Already confined to the prison cell as the Deputy Magistrate ordered, awaiting sentencing.”
“And her child?”
“Deputy Magistrate, rest easy — there is someone dedicated to looking after the child, and a medical officer has already been sent for from the Imperial Medical Office.”
Only after confirming that every detail was in order did Ming Huazhang feel at ease. “Keep a close watch on Liu Shi and the child. No one is to approach without my written order. Prepare a horse — I’m going to Hui Chun Tang.”
The bailiff clasped his hands in acknowledgment, then seemed to remember something. “Deputy Magistrate, should we wake Scholar Xie and Lieutenant Jiang?”
Ming Huazhang glanced at the light of the sun and descended the steps with long strides. “Let them sleep. When they wake, tell them to find me at Hui Chun Tang. And — no one is to disturb or approach the side hall. No one.”
·
Ming Huashang’s mind was still turning over the case, and she woke after only two hours of sleep. Ren Yao was at the table inspecting her weapons. Hearing the sound of Ming Huashang rising, she asked quickly, “Did I wake you?”
“No — I just couldn’t sleep properly.” Ming Huashang pressed her neck, working out the stiffness, then asked, “Where are Second Brother and the others?”
“I’m not sure. I was just about to go out and find them.”
By nature, Ming Huashang was the laziest of people — no matter how long she slept, she always needed to linger in bed for a while after waking. But today she knocked her shoulders loose, then immediately swept up her skirts and climbed down from the couch. “I’ll come with you.”
Afraid of losing time, she rinsed her face without ceremony and headed out, not even pausing to consider her appearance. Yet to her astonishment, she discovered on stepping out in such haste that Jiang Ling and Xie Jichuan had still not woken.
Ming Huashang and Ren Yao looked at each other: “…”
Ming Huashang marched over to the two men’s hall with great displeasure. Xie Jichuan had already gotten up and had put himself in perfect, elegant order, even changing his clothes. He glanced back at Ming Huashang and Ren Yao and clicked his tongue disdainfully. “Don’t you have a mirror? You look a mess.”
Ming Huashang was speechless. She ground her teeth. “This is the Jing Zhao Prefecture — how would there be a mirror?”
Xie Jichuan looked even more astonished. “Isn’t that something you carry with you at all times?”
Unlike Ren Yao and Ming Huashang, Xie Jichuan and Jiang Ling operated on the principle of mutual indulgence. Xie Jichuan had called for water, washed and arranged himself without the slightest consideration for anyone still sleeping, and Jiang Ling had more than lived up to expectations — he slept right through all the clattering and clanging without being disturbed in the least. Ren Yao, seeing that Jiang Ling was still asleep, was furious. She marched to the bedside, grabbed his ear, and let out a thunderous roar: “Still sleeping?! Get up!”
·
Hui Chun Tang.
The once-bustling medical hall had gone quiet all at once. The master of the house had died a violent death; the mistress was gone; the only apprentice left was a half-grown child — muddled and useless — so even after all this time, Hui Chun Tang had not been properly tidied, and remained a scene of desolation and ruin.
Before the charred remains of the wooden shelving, a crimson-robed figure stood sideways, posture as unhurried as a brushstroke of ink — slender and tall, like an immortal from beyond the world who had strayed into a wasteland at the end of days. He was the single bright note amid the heavy gloom of dusk.
Ming Huazhang’s fingertips were pale as jade. They rested on the yellowed page, slowly turning it. The medicine boy stood to one side with his hands clasped together, speaking haltingly: “My lord, all the prescriptions are here. Is there… something wrong with the formulas?”
Ming Huazhang had studied a smattering of pharmacology with the Xuan Xiaowei — he was no expert — and could only make rough sense of things through a combination of knowledge and guesswork. Yet even so, he could plainly see that the prescription on the sheet with the newest-looking paper was entirely different from the medicine he had last purchased from Hui Chun Tang.
Ming Huazhang pointed to the prescription. “What does this treat?”
The medicine boy glanced at it and said, “These are Master’s family heirloom secret formulas — Master treasured them greatly. He always kept them locked in a chest and never allowed me to go near them. I don’t really understand them either.”
Hui Chun Tang’s Chu family was renowned for its skill in treating heart ailments. If these were kept among the family’s secret formulas, then they would be related to treating such conditions as well, would they not? Ming Huazhang picked up the ledger with his other hand and turned through it without haste. “If these are family heirloom secret formulas, why is there no record of dispensing medicine according to this prescription in your accounts?”
The medicine boy was stumped. He shook his head blankly. “I haven’t been with my master long. I haven’t even learned how to prepare the herbs yet — Master never taught me to read prescriptions.”
Ming Huazhang’s expression remained unchanged. He continued reading through the ledger to the end without finding any related dispensing records. His thinking was now essentially settled. Even with his meager knowledge of pharmacology, he could see that the composition of this prescription was far more sophisticated, and that the ingredients were very cheap — the cost of one dose was a fraction of what Hui Chun Tang charged for its celebrated family formulas. If someone took this prescription and opened a new pharmacy elsewhere in Chang’an, Hui Chun Tang’s business would be finished.
Ming Huazhang closed the ledger and asked the medicine boy, “You had a senior fellow apprentice named Song Yanbo?”
The medicine boy gave a small nod. Ming Huazhang asked, “How did he die?”
“Master said Senior Brother accidentally made a mistake in the preparation process while working with medicinal ingredients, and was poisoned to death.” The medicine boy spoke earnestly. “So Master was very strict with me — he never allowed me to touch the ingredients carelessly. Everything I did each day, and how much of any herb I used, had to be reported to him.”
Ming Huazhang nodded slowly. “Are there any of your senior fellow apprentice’s belongings left in Hui Chun Tang? Letters or handwriting, preferably.”
The medicine boy scrunched up his face in thought, then said, “I’m not sure — let me look.”
This medicine boy was slow to react and not particularly sharp; his only virtue was obedience. He rummaged for a long while and dragged out a bundle of scrap paper from beneath his bed. “Senior Brother left these behind. They were going to be thrown out, but I forgot. Does handwriting count?”
Ming Huazhang nodded. “It does. Thank you.”
The medicine boy retreated. Ming Huazhang sat in the medicine boy’s cluttered little room and slowly went through what Song Yanbo had left behind.
The boy was right — it was a pile of scrap paper: storybooks, picture albums, oil paper wrappers, all manner of things. Ming Huazhang sorted diligently through the miscellany in search of useful clues. Then, at last, familiar voices came from outside. Ming Huazhang let out a quiet sigh, raised his voice, and said, “No need to ask — I’m in here. Come in quickly; there are things to show you.”
Ming Huashang, Xie Jichuan, and the others entered to find Ming Huazhang standing amid a scattering of papers that covered the entire floor. Xie Jichuan found the mess inside distasteful and stopped in the doorway, unwilling to step over the threshold. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve come at a good time.” Ming Huazhang held up a sheaf of paper and showed it to Xie Jichuan. “Is all of this one person’s handwriting?”
“No.”
“What about these two sheets?”
“Yes.”
“Roughly how long ago was the ink written?”
“How would I know?” Xie Jichuan said. “Different inks fade at different rates, and you’re too far away — I can’t see clearly.”
Ming Huazhang glanced at Xie Jichuan and said coldly, “Are your legs just for decoration? Have you forgotten how to walk?”
Xie Jichuan let out a yawn, apparently treating his ears as decoration as well, and stood his ground without the least shame. “Yes.”
“Let me come, let me come!” Ming Huashang bounced up on her toes and picked her way to Ming Huazhang’s side like a darting rabbit, stepping into the gaps between the papers. She craned her neck eagerly. “Let me look! Second Brother, what is this?”
Ming Huazhang indicated what he was holding and said, “This is a secret formula I found in a hidden compartment inside Hui Chun Tang, stored together with Chu Ji’s family heirloom formulas. This is a handwritten draft by Song Yanbo. Both are in the same hand, and judging by the color of the ink, they are at least six or seven years old.”
Ming Huashang made a sound of understanding. “So your meaning is — Chu Ji stole his apprentice’s prescription?”
“That appears to be the case.” Ming Huazhang passed the formula and the handwritten draft to Ren Yao and Jiang Ling. “My conjecture is that Song Yanbo showed considerable talent in medicine, and was taken on by Chu Ji as an apprentice. Chu Ji had been famous for years and everywhere presented himself as an old-established divine physician. While he taught his apprentices the practice of medicine, he never passed on his own signature techniques. What he didn’t expect was that his apprentice had the fearlessness of youth. In his spare time between preparing medicinal herbs for Chu Ji and doing odd jobs, Song Yanbo frequently ran experiments of his own using leftover scraps from the medicine workshop, and actually succeeded in formulating a new prescription. This formula was more gentle and balanced, and most importantly, it cost far less than Hui Chun Tang’s signature medicine.”
Ren Yao, who read very few books, truly could not see where the hasty scrawl — barely tethered to the page — resembled the neat, upright script of the prescription; but since both Ming Huazhang and Xie Jichuan, whose brushwork was accomplished, declared them to be the same hand, it was certainly so. Ren Yao furrowed her brow, thoroughly perplexed. “Isn’t that a good thing? Song Yanbo was Chu Ji’s apprentice. If the apprentice invented a cheaper formula, who knows how many lives it would have saved — shouldn’t a master like Chu Ji feel proud?”
Xie Jichuan gave a light, contemptuous laugh. “People can accept that someone richer than themselves grows richer still. What they absolutely cannot accept is the beggar at their door surpassing them. If a master is outstripped by a young, impoverished apprentice who started with nothing, how could he feel pride? That would be humiliation.”
Ren Yao felt even less able to put it into words. “So he killed his apprentice? But if he had kept the apprentice’s formula and sold it from Hui Chun Tang, they both could have earned far more money.”
Exactly how Chu Ji had come across the formula was impossible to know — perhaps Song Yanbo had excitedly shared his results with his master; perhaps Chu Ji had stumbled upon it by chance. But it was easy to imagine what Chu Ji must have felt in that moment: sheer, terrified fury.
Chu Ji and Song Yanbo had quarreled. The murderous intent had taken root, and Chu Ji had seized upon an opportunity during a medicine-preparation session to kill Song Yanbo. As long as the rising talent was dead, Chu Ji could remain the celebrated, everlasting legend everyone expected of him.
No one could have anticipated that this scene had been witnessed by an unassuming fish-selling woman — who later became the proprietress of Jin Xiu Tower, and who had used that same hidden method to kill her own husband.
No one in the room spoke. After a time, Ming Huashang let out a long, quiet sigh. “Human nature is like this — everyone understands the principle, yet no one can truly see through it. The world really is governed by cause and consequence, and retribution never fails. Chu Ji eliminated the person he thought of as his competition, never imagining he would spend the rest of his life living in the shadow of his apprentice. The last time I heard the medicine boy speak of it, he said that sometimes Chu Ji would drive everyone out of the medicine workshop and shut himself inside to work alone with the herbs. If I’m not mistaken, what he was attempting to replicate was Song Yanbo’s formula.”
As the Imperial Medical Office had said before — having a prescription does not mean one can unlock its secrets. The method of preparation, the order in which the medicines are combined — all of these determine the medicinal properties, and a hair’s breadth of difference leads to a thousand-league error. Chu Ji had never stopped trying to crack Song Yanbo’s formula, and never found the way in.
This should have been a situation where both gained. Song Yanbo needed Hui Chun Tang’s reputation and established name; Chu Ji could have brought an extraordinarily gifted, supremely promising young man fully under his wing. Had they collaborated, both master and apprentice could have reaped fame and fortune. Instead, it had come to this — Chu Ji guarding a mountain of treasure he could not reach, a genius felled in poverty and obscurity, and a formula that should have benefited countless people lost to the world.
All five of them felt their spirits sink. Ming Huazhang collected the formula and the manuscript with calm efficiency and called the bailiffs in to seal the evidence. The medicine boy’s room was very small, and Ming Huashang voluntarily went outside to give the others space to work.
She watched the constables moving about busily in all directions, and then suddenly said: “We’ve investigated so much, and yet the question at the very beginning is still unanswered. Liu Shi won’t admit any connection to the explosives. So — who killed Chu Ji?”
Chu Ji had enjoyed a sterling reputation among the common people. If not for this explosion, everything he had done to his apprentice might have remained buried forever beneath a surface of acclaim and splendor. Liu Shi had already confessed to killing her husband — there was no reason for her to lie. Feng Liang had no opportunity to commit the crime. Then who else would want to kill Qian Yi and Chu Ji?
Song Yanbo’s parents and loved ones? Or could it be that there was still something between Qian Yi and Chu Ji — some connection they had not yet uncovered?
Ming Huazhang was occupied. Xie Jichuan suggested going to look at the explosion site. Ming Huashang had no better ideas, so she agreed. The four of them were searching the site for traces left by the explosives when a bailiff suddenly ran in, shouting: “Deputy Magistrate! Word has come from our men in the West Market — they’ve found Black Tiger!”