Beyond the walls of Chang’an, beside the Yellow Canal, the just-budding willow trees had been burned black. At the center stood a pavilion that had collapsed on one side. The destroyed half was a ruin; the remaining half was scorched beyond recognition, yet through the lingering heat and traces of smoke, one could still make out fragments of the once-magnificent sun, moon, and flower designs that had adorned it.

A crowd of onlookers had gathered at the water’s edge, pointing at the pavilion and exclaiming. Constables in blue robes kept urging them back: “Clear the way — do not obstruct the authorities.”

A group of young men and women moved freely through the cordon, looking jarringly out of place among the surrounding officials. Jiang Ling had been digging through the debris for some time and couldn’t help asking: “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything will do.” Ming Huazhang’s voice came from a distance. He was crouched in the ruins, carefully moving fragments of stone, not looking up as he spoke. “Anything you think shouldn’t be here — bring it back.”

A constable, seeing Ming Huazhang working directly at the epicenter of the explosion, was so alarmed he could barely stand still. “Deputy Magistrate, there may still be residual explosive powder here — please come out and let your subordinates handle—”

Ming Huazhang paid him no attention. He raised his hand and examined something closely between his fingertips.

It was a scrap of cloth, incompletely burned, still faintly showing what had once been a red-and-yellow pattern of interlocking squares. But why would there be fabric in an ownerless pavilion?

Ming Huazhang was still turning this over in his mind when a familiar young woman’s voice called from outside: “Second Brother — come and look at this. What is it?”

Ming Huazhang signaled a bailiff to preserve the evidence, then rose, pulling off his gloves as he strode quickly toward Ming Huashang. “What is it?”

Ming Huashang was crouching beneath a tree, pointing at a small black fragment. “Second Brother, does this look like porcelain to you?”

Ming Huazhang bent down, hovering over her, and carefully picked up the piece. Jiang Ling, Ren Yao, and the others, hearing something was happening, hurried over. “What’s going on?”

Ming Huazhang examined it carefully, then waved for someone behind him. “Bring an evidence bag. You’re right — this was originally a porcelain cup. The explosion shattered it and a fragment landed here.”

“A porcelain cup?” Jiang Ling raised an eyebrow. Even he, unversed in the ways of ordinary life, knew a roadside pavilion wouldn’t contain fine porcelain. “Did the culprit leave this?”

“Uncertain.” Ming Huazhang wiped his hands clean and helped Ming Huashang up from the ground. “But one thing is certain — today there was more than just the victim in this pavilion. I found partially burned fabric in the remains of the structure, and Huashang also found porcelain fragments, which reinforces my conjecture. A tablecloth on the stone table, a teacup beside it — the victim surely didn’t coincidentally wander to an out-of-the-way city-side pavilion for some fresh air, only to happen upon an explosion. There is only one explanation: he had arranged to meet someone here. He was waiting for someone — and may already have met that someone.”

Ren Yao asked, “Who was he waiting for?”

“That depends on who the victim is.” Ming Huazhang looked up, watching the blue-robed young man now walking unhurriedly toward them through the sunlight. “I was about to look for him, and here he comes.”

Xie Jichuan tucked his sleeves, steps measured and calm — even in the midst of a chaotic explosion site, he moved with the effortless elegance of someone strolling through a banquet. Jiang Ling waited as long as he could bear, then could bear it no longer. “There’s nobody watching you — could you walk a little faster?”

Xie Jichuan shot Jiang Ling a cold glance, inwardly reflecting that summer insects cannot understand ice, nor should one play music for an ox. He swept his sleeve, completed the remaining few steps with the same unhurried grace, and said, “Was there something?”

Ming Huazhang had no patience to waste. “Has the coroner finished the examination? Who is the victim?”

When the five of them had seen the black smoke, they had rushed to the city’s edge ahead of the Jing Zhao Prefecture’s men — which meant the scene had not been overly disturbed. Ming Huazhang had personally inspected the explosion point; he’d sent Xie Jichuan to oversee the body examination, and the other three to search the perimeter.

Xie Jichuan brought out a scented ball and used it to freshen his sleeves. “Truly remarkable of you — you always assign me the most karmic-debt-accumulating tasks, without even a word of concern.”

Ming Huazhang looked at him in silence, his patience clearly reaching its limit without a word spoken aloud. Xie Jichuan put the scent ball away and mentioned the main point with a light, casual air. “People from the Shengde Medicinal Hall came to identify the body. The victim is indeed Yan Jingcheng. I also asked people in the vicinity — the pavilion is in a secluded location, blocked by trees on all sides. No one noticed anyone going in or out.”

This outcome was not entirely unexpected, and yet the faces of the other four grew considerably more solemn.

Leaking roof on a rainy night — that probably described their current situation best.

A third explosion had occurred in Chang’an, and the victim was none other than the very Yan Jingcheng they had spent the entire morning searching for. The palace had already been dissatisfied with the pace of the investigation. Now that the incident had repeated itself, they had no idea how they would be held to account.

Even Jiang Ling, as careless as he was, scratched his head and felt a flash of frustrated anger. “We’ve been looking for Yan Jingcheng all morning — we were so close. Maddening — and once again he’s slipped away from us.”

Ren Yao, thinking of how they had once again narrowly missed the culprit, felt simultaneously urgent and furious. She couldn’t help blaming herself. “If we’d found him a little faster today, if we’d gone to look for Yan Jingcheng yesterday — could we have caught the culprit by now?”

“Enough — there’s no use thinking about what’s already done. Let’s deal with what’s in front of us.” When everyone else could not suppress their frustration and dejection, Ming Huazhang’s composure was as steady as ever. He spoke in an orderly manner. “Now that the victim’s identity is confirmed, what follows will be simpler. Come with me — let’s reconstruct what happened.”

Ming Huazhang led the way toward the pavilion. In moments like these, his coolness, steadiness, and methodical thinking were the best kind of reassurance. It felt as though no matter what had happened, there was a solution. The others’ agitation gradually settled, and they followed Ming Huazhang.

“The steps at the edge of the pavilion are relatively intact; the deeper toward the center, the worse the collapse, suggesting the explosion originated from the middle. People nearby said the pavilion originally had a set of stone table and stone stools. I’ve examined the debris — the heavily damaged face has no ornamentation; the face with carvings is comparatively intact. This suggests the explosives were placed beneath the stone table, the tabletop covered with a cloth to conceal the bomb. The victim Yan Jingcheng came to this pavilion to wait for someone, sat unaware beside the table, and was killed instantly when the explosive ignited.”

Ming Huazhang spoke while gesturing at the corresponding locations, so that a vivid picture of the scene took shape in the minds of the others. He continued: “This means the tablecloth and the teacup on it were very likely prepared by the culprit — that is, whoever had arranged to meet Yan Jingcheng here. The culprit arrived first and set up the scene: placed the explosives, spread the tablecloth, poured the tea, and when Yan Jingcheng arrived, made up an excuse to leave. The culprit’s escape route had been scouted in advance to avoid all witnesses.”

Ming Huazhang’s reasoning was meticulous. The others raised no objections, but there was one gap in the plan. Xie Jichuan asked: “How did the culprit ignite the explosive? Yan Jingcheng was a shrewd, self-serving merchant — if the culprit openly lifted the tablecloth in front of him and lit a fuse, Yan Jingcheng would have reacted. And if the culprit tried to detonate it after already leaving the pavilion, that makes even less sense. By now, warnings about unidentified packages are plastered all over Chang’an. If Yan Jingcheng noticed an inexplicable fuse strung across the pavilion, wouldn’t he think twice before sitting down?”

Ming Huazhang considered the question in silence. He was pondering it as well — how had the culprit ignited the explosive? He caught a glance of Ming Huashang in his peripheral vision, and a sudden flash of insight hit. “The teacup. The time and location must have been chosen by the culprit, who could come early to set up the scene. He places the explosive near where Yan Jingcheng will sit, runs a fuse beneath the tablecloth all the way to where he himself will be seated. That way, when they sit drinking tea together, he can light the fuse without anyone noticing, then find an excuse to leave.”

Xie Jichuan pressed back: “How does he ensure that Yan Jingcheng sits in the exact position he intends? What if Yan Jingcheng chose the very seat where the fuse runs?”

“Still the teacup.” Ming Huazhang said. “You’ve been invited to meet someone in a pavilion. When you arrive, there are two teacups on the table — one of which has already been used by the host. Where do you sit?”

Xie Jichuan thought it through and accepted the explanation.

Ren Yao worked hard to follow their reasoning and summarized it in her own words: “You’re saying that Yan Jingcheng seemed to be choosing his own seat freely, but from the moment he walked in, the culprit had invisibly controlled his every move. That way the culprit could be certain Yan Jingcheng would sit exactly where planned, and the whole scheme could succeed in one stroke?”

Ming Huazhang nodded and gave his affirmation without delay. “Precisely.”

Jiang Ling, who had given up on deep analysis long ago, focused only on the most practical questions. He glanced around at the expressions of the others and asked earnestly: “So — bringing it back to where we started — who arranged to meet Yan Jingcheng here?”

With that single question, Jiang Ling silenced three of the others. Xie Jichuan noticed that Ming Huashang’s expression had been one of quiet contemplation, and out of curiosity he asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Ming Huashang’s eyes shifted. She came back to herself and said a beat late: “Oh — I was thinking about something else. Why is the victim Yan Jingcheng? We went looking for him — not because we knew he’d be blown up, but because we wanted to ask him about the black-market medicines. Why is it such a coincidence that the person we were looking for turns out to be the next victim?”

This reframing made all four of the others turn serious. They had been reasoning from the given result and simply thinking of the culprit as crafty, once again slipping through their pursuit. Ming Huashang was raising a new angle: why was the person they sought the one to die? Was Yan Jingcheng’s death an accident or a coincidence?

Xie Jichuan’s brow tightened. “Could it be the culprit is deliberately toying with us — whoever we look for, he kills?”

This conjecture was chilling. Ming Huashang furrowed her brow and mulled it over for a moment, sensing something was off without being able to name it. “If that were so, why is Liu Shi still alive? She was also a key piece of information when we were breaking the case.”

Xie Jichuan touched his chin. “Come to think of it, you’ve made me realize something. Could it be that Liu Shi being alive is actually the anomaly? The first explosion was during the Lantern Festival, when people released lanterns. By normal reasoning, Liu Shi — as a mother — would also have been standing before the Hundred Years Lamp. She should have been blown up alongside Qian Yi. But the child happened to cry, she was attending to the baby, and so survived by chance.”

Jiang Ling and Ren Yao nodded, finding this reasoning convincing. Ming Huazhang listened to all of it in silence, then said: “I’d had this feeling before — the culprit always seems to be one step ahead of us. Black Tiger dies yesterday; Yan Jingcheng dies today. That in itself makes me more convinced there is someone inside the Jing Zhao Prefecture feeding information to the culprit.”

Ren Yao and Jiang Ling both looked genuinely shaken. Even Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do.” Ming Huazhang was calm and methodical. “The culprit has now staged three consecutive explosions, yet Yan Jingcheng was blown up while Black Tiger died inexplicably inside a prison cell, within such a short interval. The culprit’s methods shouldn’t vary so dramatically. There are only two possible explanations. One — the person who killed Black Tiger was someone different; two — Yan Jingcheng’s death was always part of the culprit’s plan, while Black Tiger’s death was the unplanned one.”

Ming Huashang nodded emphatically. “Yes — that’s how I see it too.”

Ming Huazhang, seeing that the others had no further objections, continued: “Whether it is scenario one or scenario two, what it tells us is that yesterday, after we captured Black Tiger, some piece of information we haven’t noticed must have threatened the culprit. So the culprit was forced to kill Black Tiger first, and today has brought Yan Jingcheng here to be killed.”

Jiang Ling had given up on thinking entirely and was content to be a useful tool. Ren Yao grew more confused the more she heard, and asked in bewilderment: “Black Tiger helped Yan Jingcheng move stolen goods — besides that, he said nothing else. What did we miss?”

Xie Jichuan quietly considered the account books in his sleeve and felt a measure of relief that they had moved quickly and extracted the books first. Had they not, the books would certainly have been burned by those with an interest in concealing them. Xie Jichuan’s gaze swept the crowd with an unreadable expression. “Is it someone behind Yan Jingcheng?”

Ming Huazhang looked toward the back of the crowd. He was tall, with exceptional vision, and could clearly see the Jing Zhaoyiin and a group of officials in red approaching. He quickened his words: “There are now two paths. First — investigate the people inside the Jing Zhao Prefecture. But because many people knew we were looking for Black Tiger, moving openly would tip off the informant. We’ll have to do it quietly. Second — investigate who Yan Jingcheng met with recently, and with whom he had today’s appointment.”

No sooner had Ming Huazhang finished than an attendant from the Jing Zhaoyiin’s party approached. Ming Huazhang raised a hand to forestall whatever the man was about to say. “I know the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate officials have arrived. I only have one thing left to say, and it won’t take long. I may not have the time to move with you all from here on. I’ll arrange the first path myself — you follow the second. No matter what progress is or isn’t made, meet me at the Jing Zhao Prefecture at the Hour of You tonight.”

Having said this, Ming Huazhang swept his sleeves and gave the attendant a nod. “I’m finished. Please lead on.”

The attendant cast a glance over Ming Huashang and the others, then walked off stone-faced with Ming Huazhang. Ming Huashang watched him go with a trace of anxiety. Ming Huazhang caught her expression and smiled calmly. “It’ll be fine.”

His gaze was clear and his posture upright. Even with the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate all mobilized at once, and the situation this grave — in front of him, it was just an ordinary matter.

Ordinary matters, by definition, have solutions. He had conducted himself with integrity and a clear conscience, and was therefore unafraid of scrutiny or reproach.

Ming Huazhang walked away with the messenger. Even when he was a great distance off, Ming Huashang stood motionless, staring at his retreating figure. Xie Jichuan waved a hand in front of her face. “Snap out of it. He’ll be fine. Better to use this time thinking about ourselves.”

Jiang Ling had a fish’s memory — nothing lingered in his mind if he didn’t want it to. Because he wasn’t worried, he didn’t know how long the road ahead was, and so at this moment he could still cheerfully say: “Let’s go — we’ll look for whoever arranged to meet Yan Jingcheng, and if we’re quick we might still make it back for lunch!”

As it turned out, they didn’t get so much as a sip of water, let alone a meal. Ming Huashang and the other three returned to Yan Jingcheng’s residence. This time they had a legitimate reason to ask questions. Unfortunately, after questioning everyone in turn, no one knew who Yan Jingcheng had had an appointment with that day.

After escorting Yan Jingcheng’s concubine away, Ming Huashang noticed Xie Jichuan subtly press a hand to his abdomen, his refined brow creasing slightly. She rummaged through the pouch she carried and produced a small paper parcel, which she held out to Xie Jichuan.

Xie Jichuan glanced at the oil-paper parcel, then looked at her, and asked in surprise: “What are you doing?”

“This morning I was afraid of getting hungry, so I packed myself some pastries. Don’t worry — I wrapped them myself with a handkerchief, clean hands, no touching. Completely sanitary.”

Xie Jichuan stared at her without moving. Ming Huashang was about to assume he wouldn’t take it and started looking for a way to put it away gracefully — when, unexpectedly, Xie Jichuan reached out and accepted it. Ming Huashang was delighted. “Eat quickly — you didn’t eat breakfast, and with the day this busy we’ve had no time for lunch. Your body must be struggling.”

“Lunch?” Outside, Jiang Ling had perfectly captured the key word, and poked his head in with enthusiasm: “We’re having lunch? You were eating in secret without me, Ming Huashang!”

“Get out of here!” Ming Huashang’s patience snapped. She pressed a hand to his face and shoved him firmly back. “Do you ever show this much enthusiasm for investigating cases? Get out and do your job!”

Ming Huashang dragged Jiang Ling outside. The door closed, and the voices from beyond became indistinct. Xie Jichuan looked down at the oil-paper parcel — neat and clearly assembled with care — and slowly untied the ribbon.

Inside, the pastries were arranged in tidy rows. All of them were varieties that kept well in the cold and were easy on the stomach. By their flavors, none of them were things Ming Huashang would normally choose for herself.

Xie Jichuan slowly picked up a piece and placed it in his mouth. The pastry dissolved on his tongue, sweetness spreading like a stream flowing to his fingertips and toes, soothing the knot of protest in his stomach and easing the pain considerably.

The Xie family line was thin, and Xie Jichuan was the only son of his branch. Once, he had felt this was ideal — as the only one, the family could concentrate all of its resources entirely on him. But in this moment, Xie Jichuan felt an unexpected pang: why had he never had an elder sister or younger sister?

So this was what it felt like to be noticed and thought of. It was not a burden at all.

Ming Huashang finally managed to send Jiang Ling away. She stood beneath the eaves, staring distractedly at a tree just beginning to bud. Xie Jichuan walked out from the room and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Ming Huashang looked at the treetops, murmuring, “I keep feeling that the culprit must have had a pattern for selecting targets. But what pattern is it?”

Xie Jichuan said, “Perhaps the culprit simply enjoys the sensation of cat-and-mouse play, and picks victims at random.”

“No.” Ming Huashang shook her head. “An isolated case might be a random killing, but a serial case never is. I keep feeling I’ve heard the name Yan Jingcheng somewhere before, but I absolutely cannot remember where.”

Xie Jichuan glanced at her. “Then let’s ask some of the others in the Yan household. Perhaps someone will say something that jogs your memory.”

Ming Huashang nodded, downcast. For now, that was the only course of action left. Xie Jichuan and Ming Huashang walked through the Yan residence. He glanced at a painting of a fine horse hanging on the wall and said, without mercy: “No refinement whatsoever, and yet he copies people of taste and hangs a painting of a magnificent steed. ‘An old thoroughbred in the stable still aspires to go a thousand leagues’ — as if someone like him deserves the comparison.”

Ming Huashang stopped suddenly, eyes widening, thinking rapidly. Xie Jichuan looked back. “What’s wrong?”

Ming Huashang stared blankly for a moment, then clapped her hands together. “I’ve got it!”

Ren Yao came out of the room looking for Ming Huashang and Xie Jichuan. Seeing the two standing in the corridor, she walked over quickly. “What is it? Have you figured something out?”

Ming Huashang felt as though the sky had cleared all at once — not a moment could she stand still. She said urgently to Ren Yao, “Elder Sister Ren, you three keep questioning people here — I need to go out for a moment!”

She said it and sprinted off. Ren Yao called after her, bewildered: “Where are you going?”

Xie Jichuan passed the oil-paper parcel to Ren Yao. “You three keep asking. I’ll go after her.”

With that, he too was gone like a gust of wind, leaving Ren Yao standing alone on the corridor, half a parcel of pastries in hand, thoroughly bewildered. Jiang Ling sauntered out from the back, casually helped himself to the food from Ren Yao’s hand, and watched Ming Huashang’s retreating figure as she bolted away in the distance. Speaking around a mouthful, he asked, “Where’s she off to? Did she go to eat?”

Ren Yao bit down hard, tightened her fist, and crashed it onto the top of his head. “Food, food, food — is food all you ever think about?!”

Ming Huashang burst out of the Yan residence and was running down the street, gasping for breath, when behind her came the sound of hoofbeats. She looked back — Xie Jichuan was pulling his horse to a stop beside her, leaning down and extending one hand. “You weren’t actually planning on running there yourself, were you? Get on — it’s faster on horseback.”

Ming Huashang was in a hurry to test her theory and didn’t stand on ceremony. She grabbed his hand and swung up. Xie Jichuan caught her on, then without a single word, drove his heel into the horse’s flank without warning. The stallion let out a cry and shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Ming Huashang gripped the horse’s mane and didn’t dare open her mouth. She had ridden with Ming Huazhang before — he was fast too, but in an entirely different way. Ming Huazhang’s riding had a steadiness, a predictability; Xie Jichuan was the absolute opposite — he loved dramatic speed, sudden turns, abrupt stops. Ming Huashang was jolted in a state of pure terror, inwardly praying without pause that the road to Hui Chun Tang would be short — shorter, shorter still.

Xie Jichuan rode through more than half of Chang’an at full gallop, and at last the destination came into view. The moment the horse stopped, Ming Huashang jumped down and sprinted into Hui Chun Tang, lifting her skirts.

Xie Jichuan tied the horse and followed inside without haste. He had assumed Ming Huashang had found a new lead, but instead she was standing before a wall, staring at the plaque hanging above.

Xie Jichuan scanned it. The characters were ordinary in their ugliness, the wood unremarkable — he truly could not see what was worth noting. Yet Ming Huashang looked extremely agitated, murmuring: “The Great Physician’s Utmost Devotion — yes, that’s it, that’s it!”

Xie Jichuan made a genuine effort to think it through, but came up empty. This was the rare occasion when he could not follow another person’s reasoning. He had no choice but to ask: “What have you realized?”

Ming Huashang turned around. Her eyes were blazing. “I know how the culprit chose the next target. The first victim, Qian Yi, received a gold longevity lock a few days before the explosion — with a horse’s head carved on it. The second victim, Chu Ji — the character ‘ji’ meaning a horse — also received an anonymously sent plaque a few days before the explosion, inscribed with the words ‘Great Physician’s Utmost Devotion.’ And the third victim — was named Yan Jingcheng!”

Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of deep thought. “You mean to say…”

“It’s a forewarning!” Ming Huashang gripped Xie Jichuan’s hands with excitement, eyes ablaze with two brilliant flames. “The culprit leaves the name of the next victim at the previous crime scene. The horse’s-head longevity lock for Chu Ji — horse, ‘ji.’ The Great Physician’s Utmost Devotion plaque for Yan Jingcheng — ‘jingcheng’ means utmost devotion. So Yan Jingcheng’s death scene must contain information about the culprit’s next target!”