At the hour of Chen, the morning mist hung faint and golden in the early light. The gate of Bodhi Temple was already lively with devout worshippers who had risen early to offer incense to the Buddha.
Ming Huashang met Jiang Ling and Ren Yao at the entrance. She asked: “Ren Jiejie, the arrangements for the northern capital — how did that go?”
Ren Yao nodded: “All arranged. They set out for Taiyuan today to ask about the Wu Family Puppet Troupe. Don’t worry — they’re experienced at this sort of thing; they’ll have news back in just a few days.”
Ming Huashang felt reassured. “Good. Then let’s probe the Wei household again and see if we can uncover anything.”
Ming Huashang had tried this before, but even the most gossipy servants in the Wei household knew what should and shouldn’t be said; her roundabout questions had yielded nothing. But now it was different. Ming Huashang found the servant who watched the rear gate and asked: “These past few days — what have the master of the household, the First Young Master, and Third Young Miss been doing?”
The servant stared at them with full suspicion: “The movements of the household’s principals are not for outsiders to know. What exactly are you after? Keep this up and I’ll call for the authorities—”
The five of them had entered the Wei household through the front gate last time, received as honored guests, escorted throughout by the master himself. The back-gate servant had no way of meeting them then, and even now, face to face, he failed to recognize them as the Cui family’s distinguished visitors. Jiang Ling produced a string of coins — not bothering to count how many were on it — and pressed it into the servant’s hands. “Will you talk now?”
The servant’s hands moved to push the coins back, but he instinctively weighed them in his palm, and his expression wavered. Ming Huashang saw her opening and pressed the advantage: “We mean no harm — we simply want to understand your household better, for a business matter. Rest easy — this is the capital, under the Son of Heaven’s gaze. What could we possibly do?”
In the end, the servant’s loyalty could not hold out against the solid weight of copper. He accepted Ming Huashang’s reasoning — whether it held water or not — and said: “Since you seem like decent people, I’ll tell you. The master has been in his room making puppets these past few days — sealing himself in all day, having meals sent in. No one dares to disturb him. Everyone else is keeping their heads down and behaving. Only the First Young Master still goes out as usual, to buy supplies for the puppets in the Southern Market.”
Ming Huashang asked: “I had heard the master hadn’t worked with his own hands in years — yet now he’s making puppets himself. What a distinguished client this must be, to receive such an honor.”
The servant shrugged: “What else can be done? The First Young Master’s craft is ordinary; Third Young Miss has had some kind of scare and has been shut in her room recovering, barely able to put two words together. With no one else, who is left but the master himself?”
Ming Huashang asked: “The materials the First Young Master bought — were they for the master’s use?”
“Yes,” said the servant. “The master trusts the First Young Master most; all the critical purchases are handled by him.”
Ming Huashang had seen Wei Moyuan buying fabric and pigments during her surveillance; the servant was not lying. The movements of the Wei household’s people sounded entirely ordinary. Ming Huashang asked: “Has anything seemed out of the ordinary these days?”
“Out of the ordinary?” The servant thought hard. “The master has been in a foul mood — he’s lost his temper several times already. Does that count?”
“Yes,” said Ming Huashang. With someone else’s money to spend, she was magnanimous; she pressed another string of coins into the servant’s hand and smiled. “Thank you. To be honest, we’re not here on business — we’re acting on behalf of our patron, who has heard rumors of strange happenings at the Wei household. He’s a scholar who has no interest in official life and loves to collect accounts of unusual events; he’s been writing a compilation of strange tales and is very interested in the story of the Wei puppets coming to life. He sent us to gather the details. If anything further surfaces relating to the case — please let us know. Each useful piece of information is worth a hundred coins.”
The servant had no reason to doubt this. In the current age of flourishing literary culture, it was hardly unusual for reclusive scholars to be more interested in legends and curiosities than in official careers; compiling strange tales was a popular pursuit among the educated class.
If it was for a strange tales collection, then he had nothing to worry about. One hundred coins per piece of useful information — far more than he made watching the gate at the Wei household.
But he was also cautious and asked: “What counts as ‘useful’?”
Whether something was useful was entirely up to Ming Huashang’s word — what if they refused to pay?
Ming Huashang pulled Jiang Ling forward and said: “This is our patron’s personal book-boy. One look at him and surely you needn’t worry about our patron lacking the means.”
Jiang Ling was yanked forward without warning, and his expression froze awkwardly on his face. He couldn’t very well wrench himself free of Ming Huashang, so he could only force a smile at the servant — and the effect was decidedly that of someone very wealthy.
Not every foolish young master’s family could afford to raise a book-boy that well-fed and well-kept.
The servant’s eyes swept over Jiang Ling, and though he found it implausible that this was a book-boy, he was now convinced the household was very rich.
His lingering doubts dissolved without his even noticing. The attendant alone was this prosperous — he didn’t dare imagine what the master must be like. Surely people of that kind didn’t stoop to cheat anyone out of a hundred coins?
Ming Huashang declared with sweeping generosity: “Rest assured — our patron is a true scholar; he cares nothing for money, only for kindred spirits. As long as the story is good, money is simply not an issue. And if you don’t have time yourself, bring a friend — if the information they bring has value, I’ll give them a hundred coins too, and you’ll get twenty coins as an introduction fee.”
The servant’s face broke into a grin — just talking earned him money? Where would he find such a windfall? He agreed immediately: “No problem. I have contacts inside — I’ll ask them to look into it right away.”
“Wonderful.” Ming Huashang pointed to the locust tree at the corner of the street. “If you have news, come stand under that tree and we’ll come to you. And please, bring friends — we can all earn together!”
Once they had moved away from the Wei household’s rear gate, Ren Yao had been holding back all the way. Now she finally spoke: “Second Miss, you truly are generous.”
“Indeed,” said Jiang Ling with a drawn-out tone. “Someone who didn’t know might think you were spending your own money.”
Ming Huashang said with full gravity: “Between comrades, we must trust one another and help one another. What are a few coins against that? You are my most valued teammates. I would put my life and safety in your hands; if either of you asked it of me, I would walk through fire — there is nothing I would not do!”
Ming Huashang’s words landed with force and conviction. Jiang Ling, hearing such a declaration of brotherly loyalty, felt a surge of magnanimity — how could he begrudge a few hundred coins? He said generously: “Exactly — money has a price, but loyalty is priceless. Standing here is exhausting anyway. There’s a tavern up ahead with a clear view of that locust tree. Let’s go in and have a proper drink!”
Ming Huashang wavered: “What if someone comes out of the Wei household…”
Jiang Ling waved a dismissive hand: “That kind of errand is what people are for. Following someone around on foot — who has the energy? You — over here!”
A few street urchins crept cautiously over from the corner and asked: “Sir, what do you need?”
Jiang Ling gave each of them a few coins and said: “Go buy something good to eat. When you’re full, keep watch on the Wei household for me. If anyone comes out, follow them — see where they go and what they do, then come report back to me, and I’ll give you the other half of the coins. Understood?”
The little group of young beggars cheerfully agreed, shouting “May the gentleman prosper!”, and then tumbled over one another rushing off to buy food.
Jiang Ling watched them scamper away and let out a quiet sigh. He turned to Ming Huashang and Ren Yao: “These children have been fending for themselves since they could walk. They’re sharp-eyed and quick to read people — sharper than the best-trained attendants from a marquis’s household. Let them follow; it won’t raise a hair of suspicion. And it gets them a decent meal or two.”
It was only now that Ming Huashang understood Jiang Ling’s thinking. Of course — Luoyang was magnificent and prosperous, a great artery of the empire, and people from every land looked on in longing at the city’s grandeur. But many people were unconsciously overlooked. These beggar children were among them — whatever they went, whatever they did, likely no one would pay them any mind at all.
Letting them do the surveillance was truly silent and soundless.
Ren Yao looked at the backs of those children, frowning slightly. She asked: “Why not give them more? A few coins buys almost nothing — barely one meal at best.”
“That’s exactly why it works,” said Jiang Ling. “The court has its rules; the street has its rules. If they’re given too much, they can’t protect it — and they might end up getting hurt over it. Only just enough for one meal will actually reach their mouths.”
This was something neither Ming Huashang nor Ren Yao had ever encountered. Ren Yao was especially struck — if not for Jiang Ling’s word, she would almost certainly have given those children enough for proper sustenance out of simple goodwill. And by tomorrow, there might have been a few small bodies floating in Luoyang’s drainage channels.
Ming Huashang looked at Jiang Ling with a changed expression: “I really never expected — you have such a careful, attentive side to you.”
Jiang Ling clicked his tongue and swaggered off toward the tavern: “This young master is brilliant and perceptive in all things. Is there anything I can’t do?”
Ming Huashang smiled and followed. Ren Yao took two steps, then couldn’t help but turn and look back toward the corner of the street.
The children had bought steamed buns and were scrambling to grab them from each other; in no time they were gone. A vague heaviness settled in her heart. She turned back, and saw Jiang Ling’s slouching, devil-may-care silhouette ahead of her.
She had always thought herself the most pitiable person in the world — someone who had done nothing wrong, yet was being forced to watch everything she was owed slip into someone else’s hands. Now, for the first time, she wondered — perhaps there were many people in this world who had no right to even claim the word “pitiable.”
They were simply alive — and surviving had already cost them everything they had.
Jiang Ling had secured a street-facing private booth. They sat at the second-floor window, with a clear view of the locust tree in the corner of the street. Ming Huashang insisted categorically that Jiang Ling was not to have any wine; Jiang Ling grudgingly ordered a few light snacks instead. He had even been about to order a troupe of performers in, which Ming Huashang also stopped.
Left with nothing to do, Jiang Ling could only drink plain water and wait through a restless morning. By the afternoon, their campaign of gold began gradually to bear fruit.
One person alone, however capable, can only see and hear so much — but once the people around you are mobilized, you have truly eyes in every direction.
Reports trickled in one by one, brought by various individuals to Ming Huashang in exchange for “useful information.” Someone said Wei Yanqing had been in a foul mood these past few days, losing his temper frequently and apparently searching for something; someone said Wei Zhuyan’s condition had grown increasingly worse — she would stare into empty spaces, muttering that ghosts were lurking outside, and refused to leave her room even when Wei Yanqing summoned her; someone said the First Young Master had bought the wrong materials, been scolded by the master, and — in what seemed to be an exchange of words — had somehow managed to provoke the master into a genuine fury.
Ming Huashang was surprised: “Wei Moyuan actually talked back?”
“He did,” the little maidservant said, equally incredulous. “The First Young Master is always the most respectful and obedient — for him to answer back really left the master furious.”
When something happens that is out of character, there is always something behind it. Ming Huashang pressed for the details of the argument. The maidservant racked her memory: “I was sweeping the rear courtyard when I saw the First Young Master come in carrying a black cloth bundle. I didn’t pay it much attention, but a moment later, raised voices began to drift from the master’s room. I was afraid of being caught in the middle and grabbed my broom to back away — but I still caught snatches: the First Young Master saying ‘The Wei family were entertainers before, and now they’re merchants — we’ve always been of the lowest rank; a man should know his station.’ Then the master threw a cup and shouted ‘How dare you speak to me like this? Everything I’ve suffered, haven’t I done it all for you?’ Then the steward went in, and I fled before anything else could spill my way.”
Ming Huashang grew thoughtful. Jiang Ling found this entirely unremarkable — his father delivered precisely this sort of scolding every ten days or two weeks. Seeing Ming Huashang sit there with a furrowed brow, he waved his hand in front of her face. “Why so serious? What — has your father scolded you too? Shouldn’t be — you’re a girl, surely your father wouldn’t actually—”
Ming Huashang gave the maidservant a hundred coins and encouraged her to spread the word among her friends, then let her go. Once the maidservant had gone, Ming Huashang said: “Don’t you find it strange? Wei Moyuan actually talked back?”
“What’s strange about it?” Jiang Ling found it entirely unremarkable. “Isn’t that what most people do?”
Answering back to elders — this was the sort of thing Jiang Ling did often enough, given his temperament. But on Wei Moyuan it was decidedly out of place. Ming Huashang integrated the various reports the servants had brought, and said: “Have you noticed — Wei Moyuan has been buying supplies far too frequently?”
Jiang Ling said: “They make puppets — buying materials is normal. Besides, Ming Huazhang just placed an order posing as the Cui family; of course the Wei household would want to finish it quickly.”
Ming Huashang thought about it and still shook her head: “No — something’s off. They’re in the puppet business; even a prestigious client like the Cui family, they must have seen plenty of those over the years. Why would that throw them into disorder? The master struck me as far too agitated. Let’s go to the Southern Market — I want to see for myself what Wei Moyuan has actually been buying.”
It was already late in the day; the Southern Market had already begun to close. Ming Huashang, Jiang Ling, and Ren Yao agreed on a time and place to meet the next day and went their separate ways.
Ming Huashang reasoned that Wei Moyuan, having bought the wrong materials, would almost certainly go out again the following day. Jiang Ling once again hired the beggar children for the price of a meal to keep watch; sure enough, the children proved their worth and came running to alert him the moment Wei Moyuan had walked far enough that he wouldn’t notice. The three of them followed at a distance into the shop and asked the proprietress: “The young man who just came in — what did he want?”
The proprietress looked the three of them over without expression. She recognized the quality of their clothing at once and broke into a welcoming smile: “Welcome, dear patrons. This is a small business of mine — I’m afraid I can’t divulge what a client has asked for…”
Jiang Ling set a coin purse down on the counter without ceremony and asked: “What about now?”
The proprietress’s eyes kept drifting toward the coin purse; her smile grew increasingly strained. Ming Huashang said: “Proprietress, don’t worry — we’re not up to anything bad. To be honest, that young man is being considered as a match for our elder cousin, and we’re worried our cousin will be taken advantage of. What would a man be doing in a fabric shop? Who knows if he has a kept woman on the side.”
Ren Yao, standing behind, silently watched Ming Huashang assign them all new identities yet again — this time they had become junior cousins who had come to spy on a potential fiancé.
The proprietress was completely unprepared for a full family drama to walk in off the street. She laughed in spite of herself and said frankly: “Miss, I think you’ve misunderstood. That young man wasn’t buying fabric for a woman — the cloth he wanted was for men.”
“Is that so?” Ming Huashang put on a skeptical, pressing expression. “How do I know you haven’t agreed with him to say that and mislead me?”
The proprietress privately concluded that there probably was no elder cousin at all — this was almost certainly the fiancée herself. Tang dynasty women were famously spirited; there was nothing unusual about one thrashing a man half-dead for straying. The proprietress saw no cause for alarm, and led Ming Huashang and her companions into the back of the shop: “Have a look, Miss — this is the fabric that young man just bought, and these bolts here as well. This weight and weave is sturdy and serviceable, but the color is a dull grey — no use for a young woman’s clothing. He must have bought it to send to a brother or friend.”
Ming Huashang went through each bolt in turn, carefully memorizing the colors. Then she lifted her chin with an air of satisfaction and said: “I suppose not. Has he come in before?”
“He has,” said the proprietress, smiling patiently. “And he bought the same kind of fabric. You may set your mind at ease, Miss.”
Ming Huashang gave a slow nod, and the three of them stepped outside. Jiang Ling sighed: “Another day almost gone, and nothing accomplished.”
“Who says we have nothing to show for it?” said Ming Huashang. “At the very least, we can confirm that whatever has been making the master of the Wei household so anxious these past few days — it isn’t the order my brother placed.”
Jiang Ling and Ren Yao both looked confused: “Why not?”
“When I was tracking Wei Moyuan the other day, I saw with my own eyes that he came into this shop. Today was apparently his third visit. The proprietress just told us he buys the same fabric every time — repeatedly buying the same material in a short span means the Wei household is making a certain kind of puppet and failing each time.”
For a puppet to look lifelike, its clothing had to be cut from real fabric and adhered to the wooden frame in multiple layers, no less elaborate than dressing a living person. But once a puppet was ruined, all the fabric was wasted — and the next one had to be cut and layered entirely from scratch.
Jiang Ling nodded slowly, not quite following — he hadn’t expected that simply asking about the routine consumption of common materials could lead Ming Huashang to piece together this much about the master’s behavior. He said with genuine feeling: “General Han really didn’t misjudge anyone. You were truly born for this work.”
To see the whole from a single detail — a natural intelligence agent.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Ming Huashang. “I don’t know the exact terms my brother agreed on with the master of the household — but if the purpose of the puppet is to accompany a grandmother in burial, it would naturally be made in the image of a woman. So why would it require men’s fabric? This tells us that before my brother came along, there was already another, very important client who placed an order with the master — and it was urgent.”
Jiang Ling nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Everything makes sense to you,” said Ren Yao with disdain. But Ming Huashang’s words had also sparked something in her — Ren Yao’s mind flashed to where the vague sense of familiarity she’d been carrying since the shop had come from: “Now that you mention it — the fabric Wei Moyuan bought just now, that’s the standard material used by the Imperial Guards.”
Ming Huashang and Jiang Ling both felt a chill. Neither of them had anywhere near Ren Yao’s instincts in this area, given that she came from generations of military service. The three exchanged a look, a creeping unease taking hold: “Could it be — Wei Yanqing is making puppets dressed as Imperial Guards?”
Everyone knew — puppets were made for burial. What kind of person would need Imperial Guards buried with them?