The morning after Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang had spoken openly with each other, she wasted no time in going out — openly, in Ming Huazhang’s name.

Ming Huashang had already decided to direct her investigation toward Wei Moyuan. But when she stepped outside and stood on the busy streets of Luoyang, looking at the crowds moving in every direction — loud, lively, and countless — she felt suddenly at a loss.

It was all very well to say it. But without contacts or connections, trying to investigate one person in a city this vast — where did one even begin?

She steadied herself and thought it through. First: go to Bodhi Temple to make offerings, then use the pretext of sightseeing to approach the young monks and ask about the Wei family.

She had heard from people at the Wei household that Wei Yanqing had become deeply devout after switching trades; he had donated generously to Bodhi Temple, and even after he gave up on the idea of having children, he had not let his connection to the temple cool.

Ming Huashang had no belief in the supernatural — but she understood that devotion implied desire, and that those who had truly emptied their hearts of all longing had no need to believe in any god or Buddha. Wei Yanqing was paying for inner peace in coin; whatever he was seeking in his heart might be glimpsed through the temple.

Ming Huashang deployed her most unabashed persistence. She pried and asked and worked around the subject all afternoon, and at last managed to pry open a young monk’s mouth.

When Wei Yanqing came to the temple for meditation and retreat, he often spoke to the senior monks about the time before he came to the capital — and appeared to have never let go of his years in the troupe.

Ming Huashang pressed him at once for details. The young monk thought for a long while, uncertain: “I only happened to overhear it once while attending to Master, and I don’t remember all of it clearly. I believe the troupe was called the Wu Family Puppet Troupe, and twelve years ago it was very well known in the northern capital.”

Wu Family Puppet Troupe. Ming Huashang turned the name over in her mind, then asked: “I heard that Master Wei’s voice was ruined during his time with the troupe — do you know how it happened?”

The monk shook his head: “I’ve never heard the benefactor speak of it. Perhaps he has made peace with it.”

Made peace with it? Ming Huashang did not believe that. A man who had truly moved past his wounds would not spend years unable to bear the sound of puppet theatre, snapping at any apprentice who dared to practice it in his presence.

It was clear the temple would yield no more. Ming Huashang said her farewells and left. The next day she slipped out again.

Having absorbed the lesson from the day before, she decided that working around the outside was simply too slow a way to gather information. She needed to go directly to the source — the Wei household itself.

She positioned herself outside the gate of the Wei residence and waited. She wouldn’t believe she couldn’t eventually be in the right place at the right time to catch a useful lead.

The idea was sound; the execution yielded very little. She hired a carriage and waited outside the Wei residence. When no one appeared, she made inquiries among the neighboring residents — but a compound that large could have a murder within its walls and the neighbors would scarcely know; what could they really tell her?

Progress on the Wu Family Puppet Troupe front was equally sluggish. Luoyang drew strange and talented people from every corner of the empire; even performers from the western regions had traveled thousands of miles to sell their art in the capital. With the city gates letting in more troupes than anyone could count each day, who would recall a troupe called the Wu Family from twelve years ago? She would likely have to go to Taiyuan before she found anyone who could answer that.

On the second day of her vigil, someone from the Wei household finally came out — and it was none other than Wei Moyuan, the very person she most wanted to watch. Ming Huashang immediately told the driver to follow. She tracked him carefully all the way to the Southern Market; Wei Moyuan first entered a dye shop to inspect fabrics and discuss cloth for the puppets’ costumes, then sought out a foreign merchant for pigments.

He ran to five or six shops in succession, and Ming Huashang followed him on that entire circuit — tiring herself out thoroughly while learning essentially nothing.

By the time Wei Moyuan had purchased all his pigments, the sky had grown dark. Ming Huashang looked at the blazing bands of color burning at the edge of the sky and realized she had made a foolish mistake.

What exactly was she doing — trying to press every problem into submission through sheer personal effort?

This task would affect her assessment ranking. There was competition, certainly — but if General Han truly wanted to pit them against each other to the death, why gather them all together in the first place? Five people, separately briefed at separate rendezvous points, handling separate assignments would be both safer and more efficient. Why let them see each other’s faces?

Unless this wasn’t a task that could only end with someone’s destruction — unless there was another way forward, one that didn’t require any of them to lose.

The driver noticed that Ming Huashang had gone silent for a long time and asked: “Young Miss, should we keep following?”

His eyes held a look of pity and sympathy — clearly he had concluded she was a young woman who had been wronged by a man and had come out to catch him in the act. Ming Huashang had no inclination to set him straight. She smiled at the driver and said: “Thank you, uncle — please take me to the Marquis of Jiang’an’s estate.”

Her voice had grown a little tired after the long day, but her eyes were still bright and clear, untouched by any shadow.

The driver felt a particular warmth toward this young woman, who was pretty and personable and scrupulously polite. He couldn’t help himself: “Miss, from your speech and bearing you’re clearly from a fine family — why would you distress yourself over any man? Men’s hearts I understand: once they have a wandering eye, there’s simply no keeping it caged. The harder you watch, the more he wants to stray. That young man — yes, he’s passable enough to look at — but a man who spends all his time around rouge and powder tends to be soft in character and weak of spirit. You’d get the worst of it being with him, truly not a good match.”

Ming Huashang listened with a helpless smile. She leaned against the carriage window and said: “Thank you for the warning, uncle. Once I’ve found out what I need to know, I’ll have peace of mind — I understand what matters.”

The driver asked no more. He gave the horse a firm slap and called out cheerfully: “Sit tight, young miss — off we go.”

The Marquis of Jiang’an’s estate stood in a prosperous part of Luoyang, and they arrived quickly. Ming Huashang climbed down, paid the driver for the full day, and said: “Thank you, uncle — you’ve taken much trouble today.”

Looking at this young woman, the driver could tell that though her clothes were plain, the fabric was of the finest quality; she was clearly from a wealthy or noble background. Yet for all that, she was genuine and unaffected — whether speaking to him, a peddler on the road, she offered her thanks without even a trace of condescension.

Whoever is fortunate enough to marry such a woman will be truly blessed. The driver said: “Miss, it’s getting dark — night roads are dangerous. Finish your business and head home quickly; don’t dawdle on the road.”

Ming Huashang was momentarily startled that someone she had met twice could show such warmth. She thanked him sincerely: “I understand. Please take care on the road yourself, uncle.”

After the driver had gone, Ming Huashang walked to the gatekeeper of the Marquis of Jiang’an’s estate and said: “Excuse me — has the Young Master returned?”

The gatekeeper looked Ming Huashang up and down. Their Young Master was known throughout the capital as a wastrel, but his exploits had always run to horse-racing and cock-fighting — he had never been known to involve himself with women. The gatekeeper said cautiously: “Who are you? What business do you have with the Young Master?”

Ming Huashang said: “I’m from the veterinary hall in Enshun Quarter — my surname is Han. Some time ago I treated the Young Master’s beloved pets, but I realize there was a small oversight in one of the prescriptions. I’d like to speak with the Young Master in person. Please be kind enough to let him know — those little ones are lively and precious, and it would be a shame if the wrong medicine harmed them.”

The Marquis of Jiang’an’s household was grand and powerful; even officials of some rank who came calling might be dismissed by the gatekeeper without ceremony. But when this young woman mentioned the Young Master’s precious pair of animals, the gatekeeper did not dare take chances, and hurried inside to convey the message.

Inside the estate, Jiang Ling had just returned. These past three days he had had no idea how to investigate anything, so he had simply wandered about Luoyang as usual — little different from how he ordinarily passed his time. He had just sat down when the gatekeeper brought word that his precious pets had been given the wrong medicine.

Ha. As if. His animals were in peak condition — fierce and full of energy. When had they ever been ill?

Jiang Ling was on the verge of sending the person away with a sharp word, when something stopped him mid-thought.

Enshun Quarter — wasn’t that where they had gathered for that secret meeting? And she said her surname was Han…

Could this be someone Han Jie had sent to find him?

Jiang Ling turned it over a while and ultimately couldn’t afford to be careless. Suppressing his exhaustion, he rose himself and went to the door.

Jiang Ling came out and scanned the street. He didn’t see Han Jie — but he did catch sight of a familiar face. His first instinct was to say: “Ming—”

“Young Master, my surname is Han,” said Ming Huashang, stepping forward and cutting him off before he could finish. She gave him a meaningful look. “There is a matter with the prescription I need to clarify — won’t you step this way? I’ll prepare a fresh dose for you.”

Jiang Ling blinked, asked no further questions, and followed her away. Once they were out of sight of the Marquis of Jiang’an’s estate, he said with genuine bafflement: “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re still trying to investigate at this hour.”

That was, in fact, exactly what she was doing — not only investigating herself, but hoping to bring Jiang Ling along. Ming Huashang asked: “What have you been up to these past two days?”

“What else — wandering the streets, looking for leads,” Jiang Ling said, glancing at her sidelong. “What — come to spy on me?”

Ming Huashang said with complete openness: “To be honest, I’ve made almost no progress. So I’ve come to ask if you’d like to work together.”

Ming Huashang’s gaze was genuine and unaffected, without a hint of jest. Jiang Ling faltered, caught slightly off guard: “Work together — with me?”

His father sighed at the sight of him and said he had accomplished nothing; his eight-year-old younger brother could already compose verses, so what could he do? In those moments, the well-read and well-mannered stepmother would always offer a few gentle words of consolation, defending Jiang Ling with measured grace. Jiang Ling had no patience for sitting through that performance of dutiful father and filial son, and much preferred to be out riding all day — but deep down he understood that his father and stepmother were right.

He truly was without learning or achievement, and his father had had to use his own influence to get him placed in the Empress’s private guard. A place like this would never be scrutinized by the public eye; mistakes would not be judged openly; it was the perfect posting for a second-generation idler who had no ability but still needed prestige. Jiang Ling might have resented it, but he went.

He had long since accepted the verdict passed by fate and family upon him — an uneventful young wastrel who would never amount to anything. It had never occurred to him that someone would recognize his worth and come to seek him as a partner.

“Indeed.” Ming Huashang looked at him with eyes bright as scattered stars. “Jiang Ling — I’ve realized this task isn’t something I can do alone. Shall we join forces? Whatever reward comes at the end, we’ll share it equally.”

Jiang Ling raised an eyebrow and regarded her with a puzzled, searching gaze. Ming Huashang held his look without wavering.

She guessed that Jiang Ling might suspect her of planning to use him and discard him afterward — such things weren’t uncommon. She was still debating whether to propose some concrete terms to demonstrate good faith when she heard Jiang Ling say: “All right.”

Ming Huashang paused, caught off guard: “You don’t even want to ask how the reward would be divided?”

“A minor matter,” Jiang Ling said, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze drifting vaguely toward the last light burning in the evening sky. “I don’t care.”

Ming Huashang had not expected Jiang Ling to be so easy to persuade — all her prepared arguments had nowhere to land. She paused for a moment, then matched his briskness: “Good — then let’s go find Ren Jiejie.”

Jiang Ling started: “You want to find her too?”

“Of course,” said Ming Huashang. “We’re a team — we don’t leave anyone behind. My brother and Elder Brother Xie I can’t convince, but the three of us should go forward together, shoulder to shoulder.”

Jiang Ling hesitated. “She might not—”

“Don’t worry.” Ming Huashang pressed her hand to his arm. “Ren Jiejie is a reasonable person — I can persuade her. All you need to decide right now is whether you want to join this team. If you do, we’ll go find her right now.”

Jiang Ling fell silent, appearing to still be thinking it over. Ming Huashang read his face, and gave him a firm clap on the shoulder: “A real man stands tall — why are you being so wishy-washy? Are you coming or not?”

Jiang Ling could not withstand being baited, and immediately let out a string of grumbles: “Who’s being wishy-washy — I’m coming, aren’t I?”

Young hearts are like crystal — easily seen through, easily shattered, but also never carrying any filth. One single push was all it took; suddenly they ran hot and earnest again, and all the earlier wariness and distance was forgotten without a second thought.

Ming Huashang and Jiang Ling walked together toward the Marquis of Pingnan’s estate. Approaching Ren Yao was considerably simpler — Ming Huashang had no need to worry about propriety between a man and woman; she simply gave her name to the gate steward directly: “I am Ming Second Miss of Duke Zhenguo’s household — I have something I’d like to say to Miss Ren. Please be kind enough to let her know.”

Before long, Ren Yao appeared. She was genuinely glad to see Ming Huashang, but when she spotted Jiang Ling standing behind her, she paused: “You two…”

Before she could finish, Ming Huashang had already taken her arm and was steering her: “Come — I know a wonton shop with wonderful food. My treat.”

Ren Yao had spent years training with the spear and had few friends, let alone people who came to call on her at home. So despite finding Jiang Ling an opponent and feeling little enthusiasm about seeing him, she offered no real resistance — and half-willingly, half-without-knowing-quite-how, followed Ming Huashang to the crescent-moon wonton restaurant.

Ming Huashang was extraordinarily knowledgeable about food; in all the time Ren Yao had known her, she had never seen her eat the same thing twice. Ming Huashang sat in the private booth and warmly recommended to the other two: “The pine mushroom filling here is the best. And are fresh shrimp in season? The shrimp-and-pork filling is excellent too. Do you eat cilantro?”

Once the three of them had ordered and the waiter had set the bowls on the table, only the three of them remained in the booth. Ming Huashang sipped her broth and asked: “How is the investigation into the Wei family going?”

The other two were both silent. Ming Huashang took the lead: “Then I’ll go first. I managed to coax the young monks at Bodhi Temple into telling me that Wei Yanqing once performed in Taiyuan, with a troupe called the Wu Family Puppet Troupe. I believe something of great significance happened within that troupe twelve years ago — something Wei Yanqing still has not recovered from, which explains why he keeps making offerings to secure peace of mind.”

Ren Yao instinctively wanted to ask how Ming Huashang could be so certain Wei Yanqing’s devotion was tied to the troupe, and how she could claim he had never recovered — but as the words reached her lips, she remembered the nature of their relationship, and hesitated: “This is your lead — telling us…”

“This is my gesture of good faith,” said Ming Huashang, swallowing a pine mushroom wonton and looking at them both directly. “I came to find you both today because I genuinely want to form an alliance. Let us share our leads and solve this case together.”

Ren Yao went still, her expression hesitant and doubtful. Ming Huashang asked: “Ren Jiejie, Jiang Ling — why did you want to join the Xuan Xiaowei?”

Setting aside Ming Huashang’s own reasons for the moment — both Ren Yao and Jiang Ling were heirs of marquis families, people who wanted for nothing, with more money than they could spend. What would make either of them want to come and serve at someone else’s pleasure?

Jiang Ling was indifferent either way; since they all knew about each other, he had no psychological barrier about saying: “Because my father told me to. Joining the Xuan Xiaowei puts you in the Empress’s field of vision — that’s enormously useful for a future career.”

Ming Huashang looked at Ren Yao. Ren Yao tightened her grip on her chopsticks. This was the wound she least wanted anyone to touch — something she labored for day after day, yet never dared speak aloud in front of others.

She didn’t know if it was the fragrance of the wontons clouding her senses, or some effect of eating her fill that made thinking impossible. Whatever the reason, for the first time in her life, Ren Yao said in front of a man what had always been her most difficult secret: “I want to inherit my father’s marquisate.”

Women had no right of inheritance — let alone inheriting a marquisate, or walking among men in all the settings that entailed. Everyone had mocked her for dreaming the impossible: her father’s old subordinates, his friends — even her own grandmother did not understand her.

To fulfill her wish, she had no choice but to appeal to imperial power. The Empress herself was a woman; perhaps she alone could tolerate the existence of a woman marquis.

Ming Huashang returned the gesture in kind, and spoke openly of herself as well: “I want to live my life in peace and on my own terms. Perhaps you both think I’m very good at making people like me — but in truth, I despise managing relationships. And above all I detest the thought of spending the second half of my life with nothing to do but earn my husband’s favor, my mother-in-law’s favor, and the favor of my husband’s colleagues’ wives. Jiang Ling is here because of his father’s command; Ren Jiejie is here for her family; and I am here for myself. Not one of us can back down — so we are all determined to fight for this case to the very end.”

Ren Yao set down her chopsticks and looked at her with an expression that was dark and unreadable. But then Ming Huashang shifted: “Yet I think we don’t have to walk the road they’ve laid out for us. Cornered beasts at each other’s throats — who wins in the end? Only the spectators in the stands, who laugh themselves sick. Will you trust me? Let’s work together and take this case down as one.”

Ren Yao would rather not make things ugly. People she could actually speak with were rare; what good would it do her to burn the bridge? Still, Ren Yao frowned: “But Ming Huazhang said only one person can be rated Di-rank.”

“That might itself be part of the assessment.” Ming Huashang had already finished her wontons. She set down her chopsticks and leaned her forearms on the table. “Put yourself in the position of someone above — would you rather have one subordinate who is brilliant and competent but utterly without loyalty, or three subordinates who each have their weaknesses, yet can cooperate to accomplish difficult tasks?”

Jiang Ling and Ren Yao both fell silent. Ming Huashang continued: “And don’t forget — General Han once said the Xuan Xiaowei mirrors the Golden Bull Guard. If they parallel the Golden Bull Guard, then they are also a military unit. Why have we been organized into groups of five, like a military formation? Why did General Han have us make our own rendezvous arrangements while he stepped entirely back?”

Ming Huashang brought her palm down firmly on the table, her eyes shining: “I believe we are meant to be teammates who can trust each other and support each other — not rivals. I believe in human determination. I believe that together, we can prevail.”

Jiang Ling had also finished his bowl. He set down his chopsticks and said in earnest: “Ming Second Miss, you truly have a gift for speaking.”

Ming Huashang smiled modestly: “You flatter me.”

Jiang Ling had never eaten cilantro before; this time, at Ming Huashang’s encouragement, he tried it — and found it wasn’t bad at all. He waved a hand and said: “I have no objection. Besides, wandering around on my own is boring; at least with company I have someone to pass the time with.”

Ming Huashang turned her expectant gaze toward Ren Yao. On her own, she had no hope of holding her ground against Ming Huazhang — who was set on keeping her out. But if the three of them joined forces, the calculation might shift entirely. It all came down to Ren Yao’s answer.

Under the gaze of two pairs of eyes, Ren Yao felt a slight tension. She knew rationally she should choose the safest path — she could not afford even the smallest risk right now. Yet the wonton bowl warming her palms radiated a steady, gentle heat, and she simply could not bring herself to say the word “no.”

At last, Ren Yao gave a hesitant nod: “We can try.”

“Wonderful!” Ming Huashang was delighted. She smiled with genuine satisfaction. “I knew Ren Jiejie was someone of real feeling. Then let’s pool everything we know and plan our next steps together.”

Jiang Ling had no objection — he hadn’t gathered anything useful anyway. He glanced at Ren Yao’s bowl, which had barely been touched, and said with undisguised disdain: “Are you feeding fish? You’ve eaten that little in all this time — Ming Second Miss is nearly through her second bowl.”

That single comment managed to offend both women at once. Ming Huashang and Ren Yao both looked at him with the same sour expression: “What did you say?”

Ming Huashang took an indignant bite of her vegetables; Ren Yao abandoned any thought of maintaining her composure and began eating with purpose. Once Ming Huashang saw that Ren Yao had eaten enough, she said: “I have a feeling Wei Moyuan is definitely hiding something. Jiang Ling, Ren Jiejie — do either of you have reliable people who could make the trip to Taiyuan, and find out what happened to the Wu Family Puppet Troupe back then?”

“Easily done,” said Ren Yao. “We have plenty of old soldiers in our household who are used to traveling long distances. I’ll have them set out for Taiyuan — if all goes well, they should be back with information in five days.”

The late Marquis of Pingnan had fought on the frontier for years; the household was full of loyal veterans. Even after the Marquis and his son were gone, those men continued to serve Ren Yao — they would not hear a word from the collateral branch. If Ren Yao wanted something done, she had no shortage of people to do it.

That was excellent news. Ren Yao had resolved, with barely any effort, a problem that had plagued Ming Huashang for days. Ming Huashang breathed a sigh of relief and continued: “We’re grateful to Ren Jiejie for that. We can’t be idle during these five days either. I’d like to know the daily movements of Wei Moyuan and Wei Zhuyan — but the servants in the Wei household are tight-lipped, and I haven’t been able to get anything out of them.”

Jiang Ling let out a short scoff. Ming Huashang and Ren Yao both looked at him: “What are you laughing at?”

“Since when are servants tight-lipped?” The young man who knew every corner of Luoyang’s leisure world and was known as the capital’s foremost idle aristocrat was utterly dismissive. “Throw money at them. I don’t believe they still won’t talk.”

Ming Huashang was silent for a moment. Right — money. Why had she never thought of something so straightforward?

Probably because she was poor.

Ming Huashang, who wanted for nothing in terms of food and clothing but always seemed to be short of actual spending money, looked at Jiang Ling and exhaled with envy: “Fine — as you say. Tomorrow at the hour of Chen, we meet at the gate of Bodhi Temple.”