Ming Huashang had been whispering with Xie Jichuan, when she suddenly sensed everyone’s eyes turn toward them. She paused, awkward, and only then noticed that in the middle of their conversation she had been unconsciously leaning closer and closer until their heads were nearly touching.
Ming Huashang quickly pulled back and walked obediently to stand beside Ming Huazhang. “Elder Brother.”
She still didn’t know what identity Ming Huazhang had assigned her, so she didn’t dare use any other address — but quietly calling him “Elder Brother” was always safe. Ming Huazhang glanced at her briefly, his gaze like the sky after the snow had cleared — bright but without warmth — and said, “Stay close.”
The steward standing nearby smiled and said, “Master Cui and his younger sister are truly close. The Cui family is indeed a distinguished noble house — not only are the young master and young miss each of extraordinary grace and elegance, but their bond is so warm as well.”
Xie Jichuan smiled slightly from behind them: “The steward is too gracious. Along the way we heard that Proprietor Wei took in three apprentices and treated them all — regardless of gender — as his own children, teaching them everything without reserve. Proprietor Wei truly has a generous and benevolent heart — no wonder his business has grown so large.”
“Not at all, not at all,” the steward demurred with a smile, though however one looked at it the smile appeared somewhat forced. At that moment, a hoarse laugh drifted in from within the Wei residence: “Distinguished guests have honored my humble home — forgive my lack of ceremony in not greeting you sooner.”
The five of them turned at the sound. The man walking at the front was dressed in a long robe. His complexion was fair, his eyes bright, and even his beard did not diminish the refinement of his appearance — one could see that in his youth he had been a handsome man. He appeared to be around forty, carrying not an ounce of heaviness; the way he moved had a distinct rhythm, and his bearing could be called elegant.
This must be the master of the Wei residence — Wei Yanqing. Ming Huashang was slightly surprised. From his voice she had imagined a decrepit old man — she hadn’t expected Wei Yanqing to be quite so distinguished in person.
With looks like that — how had he ended up with such a rough, grating voice?
Behind Wei Yanqing followed a young man who looked around twenty, with thick brows and striking features — a solid, upright appearance that was easy to like. Unfortunately his spirits were poor; he drifted through the world in a daze, and that vagueness diminished his handsomeness.
Wei Yanqing greeted Ming Huazhang, who returned the salutation. Once everyone was settled, Wei Yanqing gestured toward the young man behind him and said, “This is this humble one’s eldest apprentice, Wei Moyuan. The boy is unworthy — please do not let him invite Master Cui’s laughter.”
He finished speaking and turned to Wei Moyuan with a tone that carried a subtle pressure: “Moyuan, will you not come quickly and pay your respects to the distinguished guests?”
Great clan families had grown diminished in recent times, with the scholar-official class rising through the imperial examinations in their stead, and the old aristocracy had long since lost its voice in the court. Yet a century and more of clan supremacy could not be erased so quickly. Common people still revered the great houses deeply — above all, those who now claimed the greatest renown, the Five Surnames and Seven Lineages, who commanded enormous prestige among the populace.
Wei Yanqing had seen many of the powerful and notable over the years. Those who purchased his family’s puppets were no strangers to chancellors and high officials — but the Cui family of Boling had actually heard of him, and had even come to his door to place an order.
This was no small honor for Wei Yanqing. He was wholly intent on making this transaction a success — and here Wei Moyuan stood, looking completely absent-minded. It was enough to make Wei Yanqing silently burn with fury.
Wei Moyuan suddenly heard his master’s voice and started, immediately bowing his head in apology: “Master, forgive me — I was just thinking that the puppets still needed to be painted, and I lost my focus.”
Wei Yanqing gave him a look, then turned back with a full smile and cupped his hands toward Ming Huazhang. “My apprentice is unused to company of this caliber — I hope Master Cui will forgive him. May I ask what kind of puppets the Young Master requires? As long as it is within the Wei family’s abilities, we will do our utmost and will not disappoint.”
Ming Huazhang said, “My grandmother is gravely ill, and I have come to Luoyang on my uncle’s behalf to prepare what is needed for her final passage. For something intended for my grandmother, cost is of secondary concern — what matters above all is that it is done properly. I heard along the way that your family’s puppets have encountered some difficulties?”
Wei Yanqing’s smile stiffened. He said, “How could that be? I would not presume to claim expertise in everything, but when it comes to burial puppets, if we say we are second in Luoyang, no one would dare say they are first. Those are merely neighborhood rumors — they cannot be taken seriously.”
“Is that so?” Ming Huazhang still wore that expression of cool indifference, entirely unmoved, and said, “And yet I have heard that your puppets attack their owners — that they have even caused deaths?”
Puppets were meant to serve the deceased in the underworld. If they turned and attacked their masters instead, the implications would be severe indeed. Wei Yanqing could not help but look more keenly at Ming Huazhang, only to find the young man’s bearing still cold and measured as he said, “The Cui family is not concerned with reputation — the one thing we hold inviolable is filial piety. If it is inconvenient for Proprietor Wei to speak of this, then let us say no more of it.”
When he had finished, Ming Huazhang turned to leave, his manner so imperious that it seemed not as though the Cui family had come to buy from the Wei family, but rather as if the Wei family had been begging to sell to them. Ming Huashang quietly caught her breath — they were just leaving like that? Had Ming Huazhang taken the act a little too far?
But even as she inwardly fretted, her feet did not hesitate — she followed immediately after Ming Huazhang. Jiang Ling wavered, but Xie Jichuan fixed him with a look and dragged him along.
They descended the steps and had gone barely a few paces when Wei Yanqing’s voice followed them: “Master Cui, please wait. I am afraid I have been remiss in managing my household. I had thought this to be a family embarrassment, not fit for outsiders’ ears — but since the Young Master is concerned, there is no harm in telling him the circumstances.”
Jiang Ling’s eyes flew open. He stared toward Ming Huazhang in astonishment, genuinely wondering if Wei Yanqing had some particular fondness for being looked down upon. Ming Huazhang had been so aggressively condescending, and Wei Yanqing was still rushing to please him?
Jiang Ling could not comprehend it.
Ming Huazhang was not in the least surprised. He cut Jiang Ling a quiet glance — a warning to compose himself — then turned back at a deliberate pace and raised one eyebrow slightly. “Oh? Explain.”
Wei Yanqing sighed, and said, “The rumors about puppets attacking their owners most likely originated with my second apprentice, Wei Baixuan. In truth, there was no attack by a puppet — it was simply that this child quarreled with me and locked herself inside the puppet workshop, refusing to eat or drink. I assumed she was busy making puppets and gave it no more thought. But several days passed, and when I grew uneasy and had someone force the door open, I found that she had taken her own life.”
Ming Huazhang’s brow rose slightly. “Took her own life?”
“That is correct.” Wei Yanqing let out a long sigh. “When she died, she was surrounded by puppets — it looked as though the puppets had killed her, and so the rumor of puppets attacking their masters spread. Suicide is not a thing of honor, and given the nature of our family’s trade, I feared our clients might read too much into it. I had the news suppressed, and told the outside world that the second apprentice had simply gone missing. Once enough time passes and the talk dies down, I will give her a proper burial.”
Ming Huashang found that the surname Cui was wonderfully convenient. These words — even officials from the court might not have gotten Wei Yanqing to say them.
Of course, some of that was Ming Huazhang’s own doing as well. His features were sharply, coldly beautiful, his bearing dignified and refined — standing there, he was the living image of the noble aristocratic scion that people imagined. No one would doubt whether he truly came from the Cui family, especially with that air of being a peak too remote to climb. The more aloof and dismissive he was, the more desperately others wanted to please him.
This paradoxical impulse in human nature was, in the end, simply the pettiest part of people.
Ming Huashang silently admired Ming Huazhang’s instinct for finding a person’s weakness, and at the same time clutched his arm in feigned panic, crying out in alarm: “What? Someone died here? Elder Brother — this place is dreadful. Let’s go, please.”
Ren Yao and Jiang Ling had been listening intently, so when Ming Huashang suddenly wailed like that, both of them were startled. Jiang Ling stared in shock as Ming Huashang buried herself against Ming Huazhang’s shoulder, emitting a stream of soft, pitiful sounds — his pupils dilated involuntarily.
He had only come here because he couldn’t overrule the Marquis of Jiang’an, forced to kill time somewhere else. But — had joining the Xuan Xiaowei truly required him to go this far?
Ming Huazhang managed to keep his composure. He placed a calming hand on Ming Huashang’s shoulder and half-embraced his apparently terrified younger sister, saying, “My younger sister has a timid nature and a great fear of the dead. Pardon my boldness — the body of your apprentice: does it still remain within the Wei residence?”
Only now did Jiang Ling grasp Ming Huashang’s intent. He thought to himself: it was fortunate that Ming Huazhang had been quick enough to catch her cue and go along with it — because based on how abrupt and overwrought Ming Huashang’s performance had been, if Ming Huazhang hadn’t been there to receive it and make it flow, they would surely have given themselves away.
Something indecipherable flashed briefly across Wei Yanqing’s face, and he said, “The Young Master and Young Miss need not worry — we have made proper arrangements for my second apprentice’s remains, and they will cause no disturbance to our distinguished guests.”
Ren Yao was skeptical. “Truly?”
Wei Yanqing repeated his assurances. They were guests who had come under a guest’s pretense — insisting on being shown a corpse would be impossible to justify. Ren Yao could find no further angle of attack, and was forced to set aside the matter of the body for now.
For the sake of maintaining the performance, Ming Huashang kept her face pressed against Ming Huazhang’s chest, her shoulders shuddering in small, cooperative tremors. She quietly tugged at his robe, signaling that she wanted him to request access to the site where Wei Baixuan had died.
Anyone who had been pushed to the point of suicide had been entirely consumed by their emotions, and would certainly have left an abundance of psychological traces at the scene. And Wei Baixuan’s place of death happened to be the very workshop where puppets were made — Ming Huashang felt sure the location must hold a wealth of clues.
Ming Huazhang caught her signal and pressed her hand — but the words that came out of his mouth went in precisely the opposite direction: “Given that someone died here not long ago, the yin energy must be heavy. Fifth Sister, you should go outside first.”
Ming Huashang froze and looked up, unable to believe it. “What?”
But Ming Huazhang had already taken her by the shoulders and steered her away, turning to address Jiang Ling and Ren Yao: “Take Fifth Sister for a walk outside. Don’t frighten her.”
The steward understood that noble households of this kind were governed by many rules and customs. The delicately raised young ladies of aristocratic families could hardly be expected to go anywhere near the dead. He immediately chimed in: “The Young Master is quite right — the Young Miss is a distinguished guest. How could we ask a distinguished guest to wait outside? Why doesn’t the Young Miss come and take her ease in our garden?”
Wei Yanqing was equally quick to cooperate: “Yes indeed — it was my oversight, and I nearly gave offense to Miss Cui. The Young Miss is used to much finer things, so our humble residence may not be worthy of her notice, but I have just had the courtyard renovated — it is at least tolerable. If the Young Miss would not find it beneath her, she is welcome to stroll through the garden and rest.”
Ming Huashang was about to say something, but Ming Huazhang cut in: “Then we shall trouble Proprietor Wei.”
Wei Yanqing could not have been more pleased. He turned and gave his eldest apprentice a meaningful look: “Moyuan, will you not lead Miss Cui through the garden? Compose yourself and show some spirit — if you offend the Young Miss in any way, see how I deal with you afterward.”
Wei Moyuan had followed along in Wei Yanqing’s shadow the entire time, silent as a ghost. At these words he managed to produce a faint smile and bowed toward Ming Huashang and the others: “Miss Cui, this way, please.”
Ming Huashang was entirely unwilling — yet by her real identity or her false one, she had no means of overruling Ming Huazhang, so she could only follow Wei Moyuan toward the garden.
Once Ming Huashang, Jiang Ling, and Ren Yao had gone, Ming Huazhang turned to Wei Yanqing and said, “Since the rumors were a misunderstanding, I am relieved. I should like to see the puppets — would you lead the way?”
Wei Yanqing was only too delighted, and said with a smile, “Of course — right this way, Young Master.”
Wei Yanqing walked ahead. Xie Jichuan drifted without a sound to Ming Huazhang’s side and said with a lilt of amusement, “You’re willing to let her out of your sight?”
“I am not.” Ming Huazhang’s expression remained that same mask of cold aloofness, his lips barely moving — impossible to tell he was speaking at all. “Which is why I sent those two along.”
Jiang Ling’s and Ren Yao’s capacity for strategy was debatable at best, but if something truly dangerous arose, they could at least absorb the first blow. Stationed at Ming Huashang’s side, they would serve well enough as a shield.
Xie Jichuan gave an almost inaudible laugh, equally low: “Her gift is one of a kind. Han Jie almost certainly recognized that — it must be why he wanted to bring her in. If she can truly sketch a portrait of the killer, then sending her away like this — aren’t you hampering the investigation?”
“There is no need.” Ming Huazhang said. “The case can be solved without a portrait. But she will have to leave the Xuan Xiaowei eventually, and the deeper she becomes entangled in this, the more it harms her.”
Xie Jichuan shrugged. “As you like. After all, it is not my promotion at stake.”
On the other side of the residence, Wei Moyuan led Ming Huashang through the garden. Ming Huashang was quiet; Wei Moyuan was equally quiet.
One could see that Wei Yanqing had accumulated considerable wealth over the years — the residence was imposing — but with so few people in the Wei household, most of the courtyards sat vacant and untended. Trees and undergrowth had grown wild and dense, blotting out the sky above, and walking through the silent corridors carried a subtle, creeping sense of unease, as though the air itself had grown faintly haunted.
Ming Huashang studied Wei Moyuan quietly. He was clearly in poor spirits, walking along entirely immersed in his own thoughts.
A man as shrewd as Proprietor Wei would not have trained an apprentice who lacked even the basic courtesy of a host — unless Wei Moyuan had recently suffered something so great that he could no longer register external stimuli at all.
Ming Huashang kept her expression natural and asked with a look of idle curiosity: “Wei Da-langjun, what kind of tree is this?”
Wei Moyuan came to himself and looked over. “Ah — that is a scholar tree.”
The scholar trees were tall, planted in a row along the wall. In late summer they would have been magnificent in flower, but now they bore no blossoms — only dark, gnarled branches twisting upward, which from a certain angle resembled a row of ghostly claws, reaching and grasping at something in the empty air.
Ming Huashang asked, “Why are there so many scholar trees?”
Wei Moyuan made an effort to be more present and said, “Master says scholar tree pods carry many seeds — many seeds, much fortune, many children — so when he bought this courtyard he planted a great many.”
The seeds carried a phonetic echo of the word for “children.” One could sense the intensity of Wei Yanqing’s hope for a child — yet the more desperately one wishes for something, the more it eludes one. Jiang Ling said, “I see Proprietor Wei is not particularly old — how is it that after so many years of hoping, he still has no children?”
Ren Yao shoved into Jiang Ling hard, glaring at him furiously: “Do you have any idea what to say and what not to say?”
Wei Moyuan was Wei Yanqing’s eldest apprentice, and with the Proprietor having no biological children, the household fell to him to inherit. Raising this subject in front of Wei Moyuan — wasn’t that just inviting trouble?
Wei Moyuan gave a slight cough and said, “It is of no matter. To speak plainly — Master was once a puppeteer in an opera troupe in his younger years. He accidentally consumed something harmful and fell gravely ill; afterward his voice was ruined. Unable to perform, he was driven out of the troupe. He took me with him, and the two of us drifted and scraped by, never properly tending to his health. Eventually we managed to find a foothold in Luoyang, the puppet business gradually took shape, and for the first time we had money to spare. Master then sought medical advice, but the physician told him the illness had left a deep, lasting injury, and that having children would likely be difficult going forward. Over the years Master has spared no effort in seeking remedies and praying at temples, but to no avail. In time his longing faded, and later when he took in Second Apprentice Sister and Third Apprentice Sister, he poured himself entirely into teaching the three of us and no longer spoke of heirs.”
All three of them were rather taken aback — none of them had imagined Wei Yanqing carried such a history.
Puppet theatre had many schools, but broadly speaking they all required the performer to simultaneously manipulate the puppet and sing — demanding extraordinary skill from the performer in every regard.
No wonder, Ming Huashang thought, that Wei Yanqing’s gait carried such a distinct, unhurried rhythm — he had trained for it. Once his voice gave out, performance became impossible for him; but his deep knowledge of puppetcraft eventually led him to build a livelihood making burial puppets for the dead — an unintended path that brought unexpected flourishing.
Ming Huashang said, “So Proprietor Wei had such a past. If I may ask — what school of puppetry did he once perform?”
“String puppetry.”
An expression of genuine admiration lit Ming Huashang’s eyes. “String puppetry — the most difficult of all styles. Truly remarkable! And Da-langjun, as Master Wei’s senior apprentice, you must also perform beautifully?”
Ming Huashang had a pair of beautiful almond-shaped eyes, and she was always smiling — when she looked at a person and said “truly remarkable,” almost no man could hold himself steady against it. Wei Moyuan was no exception; he almost answered before the words reached his lips, when the thought of his master’s particular aversion surfaced and stopped him. He lowered his gaze and said, “I fear I must disappoint the Young Miss — I have no skill in puppetry.”
Ming Huashang let her disappointment show plainly. “Is that so? My family rarely allows me to go out. I have never managed to see puppetry performed.”
Looking at a sixteen-year-old girl whose earnest anticipation visibly faded before his eyes, even Ren Yao felt a pang — let alone a man. Sure enough, Wei Moyuan began to feel remorse, and said, “Miss Cui, I am sorry. But the voice is Master’s wound — the moment he hears puppetry he becomes furious, and he forbids any of us from practicing it in private. If there is anything else the Young Miss would like to see, I will gladly do whatever is in my power — but puppetry…”
Ming Huashang hadn’t truly been interested in watching a performance anyway. Seeing how uncomfortable he was, she quickly said, “Not at all — it was thoughtless of me to put Da-langjun in a difficult position. Da-langjun is truly devoted. Though Proprietor Wei has no children of his own blood, having the three of you as apprentices to keep him company may be worth more than any ordinary son could offer. When the time comes for Proprietor Wei’s old age, Da-langjun as his son, Second Apprentice Sister as his daughter-in-law, Third Apprentice Sister as his daughter — what a blessed man he is…”
As Ming Huashang said this she made a show of catching herself and clapping a hand over her mouth. She discreetly tugged Ren Yao’s sleeve, waiting for Ren Yao to play along. Ren Yao’s face flushed crimson trying to come up with something — she simply couldn’t perform — and in desperation she pinched Jiang Ling hard.
Jiang Ling yelped involuntarily: “A man—”
He had been on the verge of cursing aloud, but catching the gazes of both Ming Huashang and Wei Moyuan at once, he wrenched his words around with visible effort, and said instead with a tone of solemn heaviness: “Don’t mention painful things. Didn’t Proprietor Wei just say — the Second Apprentice Sister took her own life? There is no daughter-in-law left.”
Ming Huashang exhaled. Thank goodness — Jiang Ling had smoothed it over. The troupe still had to rely on her to hold things together. Ming Huashang picked up the thread, her wide eyes brimming with four parts remorse, three parts grief, two parts pity, and one part carefully measured trepidation: “Forgive me — I forgot that Second Young Miss has already… Ah, Wei-langjun, please accept my condolences.”
Wei Moyuan managed a rigid smile and lowered his gaze, his eyes evasive. Jiang Ling said, “Why that mournful look? A man of real character fears nothing in finding a wife — find another woman, grow old together serving Proprietor Wei. Isn’t that the simple answer?”
“That is true,” Ming Huashang said, watching Wei Moyuan’s expression with care. “I do not know why Second Young Miss took her own life, but if she truly loved you, then surely her wish would have been for you to be happy. Once she is properly laid to rest, find a woman you love — she will not blame you for it.”
Wei Moyuan’s lips moved without sound. An expression crossed his face — guilt, and relief, and pain, all tangled together at once.
Ming Huashang was about to press on when suddenly, from within the courtyard, a harrowing, piercing cry of a woman rang out: “Ah — she’s here! She’s come again!”
Wei Moyuan heard it and jerked his head up, alarm flaring through his eyes in an instant: “Zhu Yan!”
He disregarded his master’s instructions entirely and bolted like a man in a frenzy. Ren Yao was startled by his sudden movement, her guard snapping up instinctively: “What is he up to?”
Ming Huashang looked toward the direction he had gone. “Follow him.”
Ming Huashang, Ren Yao, and Jiang Ling ran after Wei Moyuan into a courtyard. Unlike the other empty, neglected yards, this small garden was strikingly neat and graceful — clearly a woman’s private quarters, and one belonging to a woman who was deeply cherished.
Ming Huashang had already formed a guess: this must be the living quarters of Wei Yanqing’s third apprentice, the most pampered of his younger apprentice sisters — Wei Zhùyàn. Ming Huashang lifted her skirts and stepped over the threshold, and sure enough, a young woman was standing in the room.
She wore only a single layer of clothing, her hair hanging loose and unbound, and through the curtain of her hair one could faintly make out fine-boned, delicate features. But any sense of beauty was entirely gone from her now. She was seizing everything within reach — not even looking at what she was grabbing — and hurling it madly to the ground: “I know it’s you! Bai Xuan, you are already dead — why won’t you let me go?”
Wei Moyuan saw this and cried out in anguish: “Zhu Yan, there is nothing in this room — you are having a delusion!”
He lunged again and again toward Wei Zhùyàn, but each time the things she was hurling wildly kept him at bay. Wei Zhùyàn’s quarters had been well-appointed with no shortage of decorative objects, but right now — precious white jade or rare Sogdian gold, it made no difference — everything became a projectile, flung one after another at the enemy only she could see.
She was utterly deranged in appearance, as though something truly terrifying stood before her. And yet the thing she was flinging herself at, striking with every ounce of her fury, was nothing more than a puppet.
The puppet was about half a person’s height, its face as white as paper, but its eyes, rouge, and lips were rendered with exquisite precision, its clothing crafted exactly as on a real person, every detail faithful — even its fingers had been made as five separate digits. It lay on the ground, enduring in silence whatever Wei Zhùyàn chose to do to it.
Wei Zhùyàn reached her limit and heaved the bronze mirror from her dressing table, hurling it down with all her strength. The mirror had been polished to a paper-thin gleam — but thrown like this it became a blade, and it caught the puppet squarely at the neck. The puppet’s head was knocked free, bounced twice on the ground, and rolled in a wandering, unsteady arc until it came to rest against the hem of Ming Huashang’s skirt.
Ming Huashang looked down. The puppet head — its features striving toward the lifelike, only its eyes filled in with solid, unbroken black — had snagged on the edge of her skirt. Its lips curved in a faint and indeterminate arc, its expression deeply strange, like something doing its utmost to imitate life without quite grasping what life was. Those unusually large black eyes were fixed and motionless, yet Ming Huashang felt the sudden, irrational conviction that it was watching her.
And then — as she looked — those eyes seemed to blink. And from them came two trails of bloody tears, tracing uneven lines down over its curved, upward lips.