When Han Jie said this, everyone’s spirits lifted at once.

“What story?”

“Is it real? Surely it’s not just some made-up tale from the countryside to string us along.”

“Exactly — if it’s all just words, who’s to say who the killer is or isn’t? It all depends on what the storyteller decides. And if information is deliberately withheld, how are we supposed to figure it out?”

“A fair point.” Han Jie paid no mind to the skepticism below and continued smiling: “So this time, we’ll have people reenact the scene, and I won’t say a word. Once the performance ends, you look for the killer.”

This approach was interesting. Everyone’s attention was fully engaged — even Xie Jichuan had stopped sleeping and lay lazily propped against the desk. He let out a yawn, tossed the brush back to Ming Huazhang, and said: “Let me see your notes.”

“Go ask the tutor yourself.”

“Too much trouble.” Xie Jichuan said, “For material I can learn on my own in a quarter of an hour, why should I sit through an hour or two of listening to him ramble? Give me your book — I’ll return it before the end of class today, and it won’t slow down your teaching your younger sister.”

Ming Huazhang seemed to almost smile. He turned his head, and those clear dark eyes settled on Xie Jichuan: “So confident you can do two things at once?”

“It’s a made-up story. How hard could it be?” Xie Jichuan said with an easy shrug. “I won’t even need to think. Just watch for whoever acts unnaturally in the performance — that’s the killer. Giving it more than a glance would be more than it deserves.”

Ming Huazhang only smiled faintly and tossed the scroll over: “As you like.”

Xie Jichuan reclined with his chin in his left hand, right arm raised. With a careless motion, he plucked Ming Huazhang’s notes from the air with perfect accuracy. With one hand, he idly listened to Han Jie recruiting volunteers from the class; with the other, he scanned through Ming Huazhang’s notes at a rapid pace.

Ming Huazhang was quite a tedious person — as though a sage stood forever at his back, he maintained a gentleman’s bearing in all circumstances, read and reflected every day, and everything he said was true to the books and everything he prepared was done in advance. Xie Jichuan found needless complication particularly disagreeable, and he often teased Ming Huazhang that he was more like a member of the Xie family than Xie Jichuan himself — observing all those elaborate courtly formalities not with shame but with pride.

What Xie Jichuan said with his mouth was cutting, but his actions told a different story. After all, Ming Huazhang’s logical thinking was quite sound — he had extracted the key content from the book, organized it into a clear written form, and Xie Jichuan could work through it both quickly and efficiently, far faster than reading the original himself.

So Xie Jichuan talked disparagingly about Ming Huazhang while helping himself to the fruits of Ming Huazhang’s labor. He had barely scanned through it. He thought — not even a full class period needed; a quarter of an hour to finish these notes, another quarter to finish the lesson’s content, and then the remaining time was his for sleeping. Perfect.

Xie Jichuan didn’t bother to lift his head. At the front of the room, Han Jie was energetically directing the casting. The classroom was full of noise and bustle — nothing like a classroom; more like a theater.

Han Jie pointed at people as he spoke: “The story takes place at a banquet. You’ll play the guests — let’s call them… mmm, Zhang San, Li Si, and Wang Wu. Looks like we’ll need to recruit more women next time. There aren’t enough for the performance. Oh well, the lot of you — come up and play the entertainers and serving maids.”

Though the class was large, men far outnumbered women. The women could be counted on one hand, and Ming Huashang was swept up in the proceedings and assigned to play an entertainer playing the pipa.

The previous class had been on coded language, and the room had instruments aplenty. Ming Huashang picked up a very real pipa and immediately felt a flicker of anxiety: “General, I don’t know how to play the pipa.”

“Oh?” Han Jie was caught off guard. For someone in the Luoyang nobility circles where every person generally knew at least one instrument, this was exceptionally rare. He asked: “You never learned?”

“I learned,” Ming Huashang said honestly. “I just didn’t learn it very well.”

Han Jie was taken aback. Ming Huashang blinked at him with a bashful yet unapologetic expression, and Han Jie found he had nothing to say.

She wasn’t talking about him, but Ming Huazhang felt an inexplicable flush of embarrassment on her behalf. Xie Jichuan, with typical poor timing, leaned over and said with a grin: “Well, well — you go around with ‘the gentleman is vigilant when alone’ on your lips, yet you’re so indulgent with your younger sister?”

Ming Huazhang ground out between his teeth: “Shut up.”

Under ordinary circumstances Ming Huazhang would have gone out and taken the role in Ming Huashang’s place — but Han Jie needed women, and there was genuinely nothing he could do. While Ming Huazhang was at a loss, Su Yuji spoke up: “General, let me take it.”

Han Jie sighed: “Very well, you two switch — Shuang Bi will serve the drinks, and Ruoshui will be the lead entertainer.”

Ming Huashang was so relieved she could have sighed aloud. She set down the pipa and quietly thanked Su Yuji, but Su Yuji didn’t respond. Ming Huashang didn’t mind, and trotted over cheerfully to the other side, pouring wine for Jiang Ling who was playing the host: “My lord, your wine.”

Jiang Ling got goosebumps all over: “Ugh, speak normally — that’s revolting.”

Ren Yao, playing a maidservant on the other side, was deeply aggrieved: “Why does he get to be the host?”

Jiang Ling immediately puffed out his chest: “Obviously because I’m handsome and naturally distinguished.”

Ren Yao gave a derisive snort: “You? The best-looking person in this room is still sitting down there — why would it be you?”

The noisy room went quiet for a moment, and everyone’s eyes drifted curiously toward the audience below. As it happened, Xie Jichuan, Ming Huazhang, and Su Xingzhi — who were day after day unanimously considered the most attractive men in the group — were all seated in the audience. So who was the best-looking?

Xie Jichuan gave a soft laugh, adding to the chaos as ever: “Don’t look at me. I consider my own appearance passable, but as for the absolute best — I wouldn’t presume to claim that.”

With Xie Jichuan having taken himself out of the running, everyone’s gaze inevitably circled between Ming Huazhang and Su Xingzhi. Ming Huazhang felt the whole comparison was a pointless waste of time and was about to step aside, when Ming Huashang said: “If we’re talking about the best-looking, it’s definitely my brother Shuang Bi.”

The classroom went still again. The trainees, though all on guard with one another and not yet close, were young people at the end of the day and couldn’t help stirring at a topic like this. They whispered among themselves: “How is his name also Shuang Bi?”

“Shuang Bi — a pair, naturally. That means two people.”

“What’s their relationship? Could they be a couple?”

These comments were not made with any particular effort to keep quiet, and Ming Huazhang heard every word. He was a little awkward about it, and said to Ming Huashang with a grave expression: “Stop making trouble.”

“I’m not wrong!” Ming Huashang said sincerely and with certainty: “The best-looking young man here is you.”

Xie Jichuan pressed a hand to his heart: “I have self-awareness, I know — but Shuang Bi choosing him so without hesitation is still rather hurtful.”

Su Xingzhi then spoke up too: “Whether in talent or in bearing, I fall far short of Brother Shuang Bi. I concede.”

Su Xingzhi didn’t know why Nandou had changed to a different name. He guessed that Nandou’s identity had been exposed, and so a woman had been brought in as a cover. Su Xingzhi played along as though he didn’t know.

He would never speak up to boost a rival’s standing and diminish his own in front of Su Yuji — with anyone else, that is. But this was Nandou: legendary within the organization, an extraordinary record with no failed mission no matter how difficult the task.

Su Xingzhi had long assumed Nandou was a seasoned, cautious man of middle age, and had never expected the real person to be so young and striking — seemingly even younger than Su Xingzhi himself.

However high Su Xingzhi’s pride, he could acknowledge he was not Nandou’s equal. And as for appearance, a man’s eyes couldn’t lie — Su Xingzhi too thought Ming Huazhang was remarkably handsome.

Jiang Ling, having lost out to Ming Huazhang, was entirely gracious about it. He waved his hand: “Anyone else I’d argue about, but if it’s him — I accept. Ranking after him is no shame.”

Ming Huashang gave a satisfied little hum of pride: “Naturally.”

Ming Huazhang was accustomed to being looked at, and it was certainly not the first time someone had praised his looks to his face. Yet somehow this time was different — for the first time, he felt genuinely flustered.

His ears were growing slightly warm. He gave a light cough and said to Ming Huashang: “Don’t make a scene.”

Xie Jichuan watched Ming Huazhang with an ambiguous smile. He had said don’t make a scene, but he hadn’t denied it. Xie Jichuan had the distinct feeling that, inside, Ming Huazhang was quite pleased.

Han Jie was quick to pull the wandering conversation back on track: “My choice of the Golden Bull has nothing to do with appearance — it’s primarily a matter of fit. The host of the banquet is an open-handed, uninhibited character who loves meeting people. He has all manner of guests in and out of his home, and the company at this banquet is diverse. Whether Shuang Bi, Weiyue, or Qianshan, none of you would be convincing in the role.”

Everyone nodded, finding this entirely agreeable. Ming Huashang noticed that Han Jie was not simply telling a story — he was meticulous to the point of fussiness about every detail, endlessly criticizing trainees who weren’t playing their parts convincingly enough.

“You’re playing a vain and arrogant scholar from Yangzhou — at the very least, your accent should shift to Yangzhou’s.”

The young man playing the scholar Li Si was impatient: “It’s just one line. Is all that really necessary?”

“Of course it is,” Han Jie said. “When you’re on an outside mission and your cover is blown by a single wrong line, do you think your target will show you any mercy?”

The trainee had no answer and was forced to comply. Ming Huashang had been enjoying watching others get put on the spot, when the trouble abruptly turned her way: “You too — what is this, holding your head up so high? Does that look like someone serving drinks? An entertainer isn’t a maidservant. Your head should be up, but your shoulders down — no arching your back. Humble, pliant, graceful with the sleeve.”

This was the way of things. Wherever there were men and wine, women were sure to follow. But once a banquet began, there was no expecting those men to keep their hands to themselves, while the wives of officials were almost always noblewomen of comparable standing — bringing a well-born lady to sit among a crowd of men at a feast was simply not done.

So everyone tacitly understood: when hosting a banquet, one sent for women from the pleasure quarters to add to the atmosphere. These women were worldly and accomplished — skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting; able to smooth over awkward moments and keep the mood lively; undisturbed by being grabbed or touched; and willing to stay the night. All in all, a highly efficient arrangement.

The wives in the inner courtyard knew this perfectly well too, and mostly looked the other way. When a husband went to a feast at someone else’s estate and stayed the night, everyone understood what that meant.

This, too, was one of the reasons Ming Huashang had no wish to marry. The official sons of Chang’an and Luoyang grew up in this kind of world — their fathers, uncles, and friends all behaved this way. Even if a household’s rules were strict, once a man entered officialdom, social engagements were often set in pleasure houses, and refusing to go marked you as out of step with your peers. How could anyone be expected to stay pure after spending enough time in such an environment?

Ming Huashang had once found such customs deeply contemptible. Now that she herself had become the entertainer serving drinks, she realized how fortunate she was — she had not been born into the lowly register from the start.

She noticed that Han Jie was not merely staging a story — he was using this as a way to teach them how to conceal their identities and assume different roles. Ming Huashang cast aside her dismissiveness and thought carefully about the banquets she had attended before, pondering how to inhabit the role of a woman whose only currency was her appearance.

Jiang Ling watched Han Jie directing everyone around and said hopefully: “What about me? What do I do?”

Han Jie glanced at him flatly: “You don’t need to do anything. Because you’re the victim.”

Jiang Ling drew a sharp breath: “…”

He had known it was too good to be true.

Ren Yao snorted, feeling considerably better. She had wondered why she had to play a submissive maidservant while Jiang Ling got to enjoy himself. As it turned out — he was the victim.

Ming Huashang, in her role as the entertainer seated beside the host, turned to Jiang Ling and said with genuine sincerity: “This is a one-of-a-kind opportunity — all of us are going to have our eyes on you the whole time. Make the most of it.”

“…So I should be thanking you?” Jiang Ling said.

“No need.” Ming Huashang said cheerfully: “Just tell me what you were thinking when you died. That’s enough.”

Han Jie finally trained the performers to a barely satisfactory degree and signaled for the scene to begin. Ming Huazhang had written it off at first as a farce, but he slowly grew serious. He glanced back casually and noticed that Xie Jichuan had stopped looking at the notes — at some point his full attention had shifted to the stage.

Ming Huazhang said quietly: “Not in a hurry to sleep anymore?”

Xie Jichuan shook his head: “The game up there is more interesting. Shall we wager?”

Ming Huazhang noticed Ming Huashang pressing close to Jiang Ling’s side. The fine line between his brows drew together barely perceptibly, and his voice turned ever so slightly cold: “On what?”

“Who figures out the killer first,” Xie Jichuan said. “The loser copies the winner’s books for ten days.”

Ming Huazhang cast a brief glance at Xie Jichuan, his voice like wind through trees and ice against jade: “That confident you’ll win?”

“Just tell me if you’re in or not.”

“Fine.” Ming Huazhang accepted simply, then said: “When I win, I don’t need you to copy books for me. Just have a copy made of your family’s collected case records from the Southern Dynasties and give them to me.”

Xie Jichuan hissed through his teeth: “You really do just open your mouth and say anything, don’t you. Do you have any idea how long the Southern Dynasties were, and how many characters there are in those case records? You’re not going to the Court of Judicial Review — why do you want to read those?”

The Xie family had flourished for a hundred years. During the era of the Southern and Northern Dynasties, they had shared rule over the eastern half of the Yangtze. Emperors in the south changed year after year, but the great clans of Wang and Xie stood immovable — at their height, from the Chancellor down to the generals with real power, more than half the officials at court bore the surname Xie. The Xie family’s private archives were likely far more detailed than anything the court had compiled as official Southern Dynasties history.

Ming Huazhang didn’t answer. Xie Jichuan paused, then understood: “Oh — for her to read. You opposed her joining so strongly at first — and now she says publicly that you’re the best-looking, and you fold this quickly?”

Ming Huazhang kept a composed expression: “We are brother and sister. Don’t talk nonsense.”

Xie Jichuan smiled at him, his gaze filled with something unspoken. Ming Huazhang looked toward Ming Huashang at the front — careful in her movements now, yet utterly lovely in her role — and said almost too quietly to be heard: “I opposed her again and again and only ended up helping her shine, inadvertently pushing her into the Xuan Xiaowei. Perhaps it was fate. Since it can no longer be undone, all I can do is protect her to the best of my ability — at least keep her safe.”

Ming Huashang’s gifts were singular. Ming Huazhang had recognized it back at Flying Phoenix Villa. At the time he had demanded she conceal her ability and tried to hide her among the crowd, but it had been in vain.

Her capabilities had already come to the Xuan Xiaowei’s notice. Continuing to hold her back would only squander her talent and increase her risk in the field. Better to cultivate it properly — to help her move from relying on instinct to drawing on experience and skill, building a systematic way of reasoning.

No one could rely on natural talent forever. He had no wish to see her burned through too early, fading before her time.

On the stage, the banquet was underway. Guests raised their cups and exchanged toasts, talking at length in high spirits. Maidservants wove through the crowd without a moment’s pause. Lovely young women rested against the sides of scholars, speaking softly and laughing gently. At the center of attention, a cold and proud woman sat holding a pipa. Her fingers swept swiftly across the strings, and music poured out — passionate, with a hidden undercurrent of severity.

Ming Huashang was surprised. Su Yuji really could play the pipa? She had thought Su Yuji was only striking a pose.

Comparing herself to Su Yuji, Ming Huashang felt a wave of shame. Su Yuji had been raised in the countryside and still managed to excel at music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and musical theory — she truly was Ming Huazhang’s sister, born with the blood of a gifted scholar flowing through her. By comparison, Ming Huashang was truly hopeless.

And from what she could see, Su Xingzhi was also remarkably talented. Providence was unfair beyond measure — a whole family of gifted scholars, and when it came to her, the ink had simply run dry.

Ming Huashang was brooding over this when a guest came forward to toast the host, and she quickly pulled herself together, doing her best to play the role of the entertainer.

The so-called great scholar Li Si lavished praise on the host’s talents in the most extravagant terms. Zhang San, seated across on the low couch, laughed and joined in. The host was pleased by all the flattery and raised his cup, only to find it empty. Ming Huashang quickly picked up the wine pot and poured it full with a steady stream, handing it to Jiang Ling with soft, honeyed words.

Jiang Ling threw back the cup in one bold gulp, completely caught up in the scene. Trainees stumbled through their best attempts at a Yangzhou accent, racking their brains for words of flattery. Han Jie watched from outside with cool detachment, and then said suddenly: “Good. The Golden Bull can die now.”

Everyone froze all at once. Han Jie clapped his hands: “The story is over. Start looking for the killer.”

Jiang Ling, still mid-speech and full of enthusiasm, was completely at a loss: “I died? How did I die?”

Ming Huashang immediately looked at the wine cup: “Poison. Poison in the wine?”

“What?” Jiang Ling was even more confused. “Everyone was drinking. Why did only I die?”

Han Jie stood back and said not a word. Ming Huashang pressed Jiang Ling down to play dead: “The corpse should not be speaking. Don’t interfere while we find the culprit.”

The other performers gradually rose to their feet, exchanging glances: “If the poison was in the wine, then the only person who touched his cup was you, wasn’t it? You’re the killer.”

Ming Huashang blinked. She had been laughing at Jiang Ling only moments ago, and had not expected to so quickly find herself caught in the same trap. She furrowed her brow, and a feeling of resistance rose instinctively within her: “No. The poison doesn’t have to be in the cup alone — it could be in the wine pot. That pot of wine had just been brought out. The steward who carried it in, the guest who offered the toast, and naturally myself as the attendant — all of us touched that pot. Any one of us could be the killer.”