Jiang Ling sputtered his protest. Ming Huashang rubbed her nose, a little sheepish.

But a friend’s sacrifice was preferable to her elder brother’s — she could not let her principled, impeccably handsome, jewel-of-the-capital brother carry the infamy of visiting a brothel. That left Jiang Ling.

Ming Huashang put on an expression of absolute gravity and said, “Before the greater cause, what does a man’s personal honor matter? We are people who do great things — we cannot be confined by something as trivial as reputation. The people of Tiānxiāng Pavilion will be up here any moment. Let us divide our tasks while we can. Jiang Ling, Older Sister Ren — keep the madam and Yu Qiong occupied. Draw out as much information as you can, focusing especially on the relationships between the people in this establishment. I will go out and survey the layout of the building, and see if I can get to the site of the murder.”

Ren Yao hesitated slightly: “Going out alone — won’t that be too dangerous?”

“I’ll be fine,” Ming Huashang said. “We are here as Jiang Ling’s serving girls; Tiānxiāng Pavilion fears the power of the Marquis Jiang’an and won’t dare lay a hand on me. On the contrary, if you left the young master and came out with me, that would be the real tell.”

“Besides,” Ming Huashang added with a small, quick glance, lowering her voice: “My Second Elder Brother and Brother Xie are out there.”

Ren Yao let out a quiet breath: “Then that’s all we can do. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

With their plan settled, they heard noise outside the room. The three of them exchanged a look and each settled into their role. Jiang Ling arranged himself into an air of comfortable ease and said, imperiously: “Pour my wine.”

Ren Yao stared at him, wondering if he had suddenly lost his mind. But the madam and her entourage were already at the door, and Ren Yao had no choice but to suppress the urge to bring her fist into contact with his face, and smile sweetly as she poured: “Yes, young master. Let me feed it to you.”

And so she poured a brimming cup of wine and poured it directly into Jiang Ling’s open mouth. He was hit with a violent, sputtering choke. Ren Yao, keeping the delicate, docile act going, said with wide eyes: “Young master, you’re drinking so fast! Let me help ease it down.”

And gave him a hearty slap across the back. The heaving sounds coming out of Jiang Ling suggested he had been half-drowned; he looked ready to cough up not just the wine but several vital organs along with it.

Ming Huashang watched this from the side, her face doing a series of involuntary things. Her back ached in sympathy.

The madam stepped inside with her women — and walked straight into the picture of the Marquessate Heir and his cherished maidservant exchanging tender affections.

He even needed someone to feed him his wine. He was clearly a young master who had been coddled beyond all reason, and if this was how he behaved in public, heaven only knew what went on in private.

The madam felt a sudden urgency. This maidservant was clearly staking her claim — issuing a challenge. As if she had any business competing with the madam on the madam’s own territory! Laughable. Smile still firmly in place, the madam shifted her body and presented the figure behind her.

“Young master,” she said, “I was remiss before, and I have brought Yu Qiong here to make amends in person. Yu Qiong — this is the Heir to the Marquis Jiang’an. Say your greetings.”

A slender, delicate young woman stepped forward and gave a graceful curtsy: “Good evening, Young Master Jiang.”

Ming Huashang and Ren Yao both turned their attention to the new arrival. She appeared to be about twenty years of age. Her features were not strikingly beautiful — compared with Shān Chá, who had just swept out, she was in fact rather plainer. Yet it was exactly this plainness that had become her entire presence: clear and refined, unassuming, with a grace like lotus blossoms rising from still water.

Ming Huashang and Ren Yao exchanged a glance. Ming Huashang asked, “This is your establishment’s top courtesan?”

The madam was secretly delighted — she could see from the change in Ming Huashang’s face that she had struck at the weakness of these serving girls, and her confidence swelled accordingly: “Indeed. Yu Qiong became the top courtesan at sixteen and has maintained that position for four years now. The popular ones come and go in Pingkang Quarter, yet Yu Qiong’s favor has never faded.”

Ming Huashang could see that the madam had probably misread the situation rather significantly. But that was fine — Ming Huashang played into it, assuming an expression of jealous resentment: “Her? Really?”

“Ah, young friend, don’t underestimate our Yu Qiong.” The madam, intent on putting these two serving girls in their place, launched into an enthusiastic catalogue of praise. “Yu Qiong is beautiful with a fine figure, yes, but those are honestly the least remarkable things about her. What truly sets her apart is her talent. She is accomplished in music theory, literate in the classical tradition, her playing of the pipa draws full-house applause, and her painting skill has attracted no end of scholars and heroes. Young master, if you leave Pingkang Quarter and ask among educated circles — who does not know of Yu Qiong of Tiānxiāng Pavilion?”

Ming Huashang gave a cold sniff of disdain: “An empty name, a showy trick.”

Jiang Ling had served his time well enough in the Xuan Xiaowei’s training that he grasped Ming Huashang’s intent at once. He wrinkled his brow with displeasure: “I came to Pingkang Quarter for entertainment, not to watch you make a scene. You find this unsuitable, that not to your liking — what exactly do you want?”

Ren Yao added fuel to the fire: “Exactly, little sister. Now that the young master has found someone new, you should know your place. Don’t ruin the young master’s mood.”

The madam had not even had time to marvel at the neatly delivered three-way sting before Ming Huashang brought her palm down hard on the table, shot to her feet in a fury, and with the air of a firecracker well and truly lit: “Fine! This courtesan is accomplished, elegant, and superior to me in every way — I clearly have no right to waste the young master’s valuable time! I’ll leave now!”

With that, she stormed forward like a lit fuse, pushed past both Yu Qiong and the madam with force, bowed her head, and charged out. The madam, with exaggerated suffering, grabbed the place she had been knocked: “Oh my — young master, about this situation…”

“Never mind her,” Jiang Ling said, his face equally cold. “Let her go. She is becoming completely unmanageable.”

The madam quietly savored her satisfaction, offered a few token words of mediation, and then gave Yu Qiong a meaningful look. Yu Qiong calmly surveyed them all, then gathered up her pipa and settled herself before the low table. Her fingers drifted across the strings, and immediately a cascade of silver-bright notes went flowing into the room.

Yu Qiong inclined her head toward Jiang Ling: “Young master, please be at ease — allow me to play a piece for you. I hope I will not be too much of a disappointment.”

Ming Huashang swept out of the Guanghan Moonlit Courtyard in a simulated fury. She heard the pipa start up behind her, and knew this much had gone to plan. With no more audience for her performance, Ming Huashang let the anger drain away and replaced it with the hollow expression of someone just wronged, and moved slowly down the corridor, taking in everything she could.

Tiānxiāng Pavilion was built with great splendor, and the stage in particular was breathtaking in its lavishness. The rooms on either side had been made to sacrifice quite a bit for it: to preserve unobstructed views of the stage, the east and west sides each had a row of private rooms with no connecting passage between them. Ming Huashang was currently standing on the west corridor of the second floor. To reach the private rooms on the east side, she would have to go downstairs, cross through the main hall, and then climb the staircase on the east to come up again.

Quite a nuisance.

Ming Huashang decided to go down and take a look. As she made her way toward the staircase, a door suddenly opened beside her, and both she and the person who emerged gave a start.

Ming Huashang got in first: “What are you sneaking about for?”

The small serving girl recognized her as one of the Jiang Heir’s attendants. Inwardly she fumed — using the master’s power to bully the servants — but she did not dare antagonize the Jiang’an Marquessate, so she ducked her head: “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anyone outside. Please forgive me.”

Ming Huashang looked past the girl at the door behind her: “What is this place?”

“A room for the attendants to rest,” the girl said meekly. “The east and west private rooms are not connected, which makes deliveries awkward. The madam had this small side room put together as a temporary storage and resting place for the servants. The young mistresses use it when they need a moment to collect themselves between entertaining patrons.”

Ming Huashang took in the side room and the Guanghan Moonlit Courtyard — they were adjacent, the side room next to the staircase entrance. She asked: “Can you get from the side room into the Guanghan Moonlit Courtyard?”

“Of course not.” The girl said quickly. “This is the servants’ area — we couldn’t go disturbing the patrons.”

Ming Huashang gave a nod, then, with the air of a proud peacock who felt no particular obligation to say farewell, descended the staircase without a backward glance. The girl was furious but held it in, shot a glare at her retreating back, and went off to her duties.

Back on the ground floor, Ming Huashang was struck once again by the splendor of the main hall. She turned over Moon Fox’s account in her mind and, working from the directions he had given, located the position: Zhang Zi Yun’s room had been on the east side of the second floor near the north — the “Wind Sentiment Longing Garden.” Moon Fox had been watching from the main hall on the first floor, directly across from the room, which would put his seat in the western section of the audience area beside the stage.

Ming Huashang traced her way around the hall, and it struck her: the Guanghan Moonlit Courtyard and the Wind Sentiment Longing Garden were directly opposite each other, and both sat adjacent to staircases. If what the serving girl had said was true, might there not also be a small servant’s room next to the Wind Sentiment Longing Garden on the east side?

Ming Huashang made up her mind to go and look. As she crossed through the main hall, the enormous landscape screen behind the stage stopped her in her tracks. She looked up involuntarily.

The painting rendered with ink-wash the rise and fall of distant mountains, each crest and hollow layered upon the next. The contours of the peaks were edged in malachite pigment, the blue-green shifting at every angle it was viewed from. In the blank space below, an old fisherman in a bamboo hat sat in a small boat on the river, casting his line.

In a thin frame of silk, the painting contained the depth of a thousand miles of mountain and river. Time and space were compressed together here. Ming Huashang said sincerely: “This is a magnificent painting.”

A passing serving girl, overhearing, offered: “Yu Qiong elder sister painted it.”

Ming Huashang was astonished: “She painted this enormous piece all by herself?”

The girl nodded and said, “Many people come to Tiānxiāng Pavilion to hear Yu Qiong elder sister play the pipa, but her greatest skill is actually her painting. When the madam had the stage renovated, she wanted to put carved decorative walls at the back. Yu Qiong said that was too fussy — she suggested a screen instead, saying it would make the room look larger and take up no floor space, without blocking movement on the east and west sides. The madam didn’t believe her, and told her to show her what she meant. Yu Qiong elder sister painted for a month, and produced this screen.”

Ming Huashang nodded with genuine agreement: “You’re right — decorative walls or carved partitions would crowd the stage, make it feel hemmed in and narrow. This screen is perfectly placed. I noticed the moment I walked in that the hall felt open and clear.”

The serving girl said with obvious pride: “And that’s not all — Yu Qiong also knows the water-transfer printing method. Even court painters haven’t been able to replicate it…”

The girl was in full flow when a cold sound came from above. Ming Huashang looked up. Shān Chá was leaning against the railing, her expression sharp as a knife.

The girl went silent at once. Shān Chá twisted her handkerchief and came swaying over, her manner blade-like with sarcasm: “You really are a proper little dog, aren’t you — barking at everyone you meet, just trying to drag every last customer over to her side. A pity, then, that she is cursed from birth and probably can’t absorb this much good fortune.”

The internal rivalries of Tiānxiāng Pavilion were evidently considerable. This was the second time Shān Chá had openly taken a jab at Yu Qiong. Ming Huashang recalled that the madam had said Yu Qiong had been top courtesan for four years — and here before her was Shān Chá, vivid and young and bristling with ambition. It appeared to be a competition between the reigning queen and the one who hoped to take the crown.

Ming Huashang felt there was more behind Shān Chá’s words, and it seemed she was sitting on no small amount of material about Yu Qiong. Ming Huashang deliberately pretended not to believe her and said, “Really? Couldn’t it be that you simply resent her, and you’re speaking ill of her out of spite?”

“What?” Shān Chá went rigid with offense. Her voice pitched upward: “I’m speaking ill of her? Ha. Who’s the one who went to perform at the Wei household and came home with a corpse on her hands? Who’s the one sitting here snatching customers in her own house, then failing to keep them happy and bringing the authorities down on us? If it weren’t for her causing all this trouble, would Tiānxiāng Pavilion be in this sorry state? I practice until I drop, I starve myself, I sleep with my legs tied up in training — I’ve worked so hard to hold customers here, and then along she comes, spreading misfortune wherever she goes, and undoes everything I’ve built!”

Shān Chá’s voice was sharp and did nothing to contain itself. The serving girl was mortified: “Shān Chá elder sister, the madam said not to air our internal business…”

“What do we have in common?” Shān Chá snapped coldly, flinging back her sleeve. “She carries her own misfortune — she brought ruin to her whole family, she visits a patron and he dies on her, she entertains a guest in the house and he kills himself. If we’re talking about dishonor, it’s hers alone, and has nothing to do with me.”

The serving girl kept casting anxious glances at Ming Huashang: “Shān Chá elder sister…”

Ming Huashang had poked carelessly, and now found herself holding an unexpected windfall. She hardened her expression and demanded coldly: “What authorities? What deaths? What are you talking about?”

Shān Chá’s overheated brain cooled just enough for reality to register — she had done exactly what the madam had strictly forbidden and blurted out everything. Ming Huashang watched them both dodge her eyes in silence, then said, her gaze going cold: “Very well. If you won’t say, I’m going straight to the young master. Do you dare conceal things from our Marquis Jiang’an’s estate? Don’t try it.”

“Please, don’t,” Shān Chá panicked, and hastily grabbed Ming Huashang’s arm. She said, stumbling a little: “The Jing Zhaoyin’s men already came and asked. They said the patron took his own life — it has nothing to do with us.”

“Took his own life?” Ming Huashang raised an eyebrow, and pressed coldly on: “You had a death in this building? Where?”

Shān Chá pointed reluctantly up at the second floor, at the Wind Sentiment Longing Garden, then quickly withdrew her hand: “It’s true. Zhang San — his given name was Zi Yun. The authorities have been here and it is truly not our concern.”

“Where is the body now?”

“Zi Yun. Zhang, styled Zi Yun.”

“Where is he now?”

Shān Chá knew that families of standing considered death a bad omen. As for herself — she was barely sleeping because every time she closed her eyes she thought about a dead man lying one floor up. She was quick to clarify: “After the authorities finished their inspection, they had the body taken to the public mortuary. Don’t worry — the madam brought in an eminent monk to perform rites. He took his own life; he has no grievance against us and won’t be lingering about.”

Ming Huashang looked up toward the second floor and could indeed make out, faintly, the bright strips of official seals across one of the room doors. She pointed and asked, “Have they done a purification ceremony in there?”

Both Shān Chá and the serving girl showed visible discomfort at this, which told Ming Huashang everything she needed to know — the scene inside was essentially intact. She silently offered her apologies to the Marquis Jiang’an’s household — she bore them no ill will — and then, expression cold, bore down on them with the full weight of her borrowed authority: “Well? Why have you gone quiet?”

Ming Huashang was a flawless demonstration of the old saying: a minister’s doorman outranks a seventh-grade official. Shān Chá could not afford to antagonize the young master’s maidservant, and said with forced patience: “It hasn’t been done. After the madam found the body, she hurried to report it to the authorities. The officers came to search and found no signs of foul play. Then they had constables seal the door. They said someone would come to ask questions later and we were to cooperate at all times. We rely on the goodwill of the authorities for our business — we would never dare tamper with the official seals on the door. We could only invite monks from the Green Dragon Temple to chant sutras for the soul’s passage in the hallway outside.”

For Ming Huashang, this was magnificent news. Trained constables searched methodically and did not destroy a crime scene; after placing official seals, they kept unauthorized persons away. The interior of the room should still be in roughly the same condition as when the murder occurred. The more intact the scene, the clearer the picture she could form.

But it brought a problem with it: there were official seals on the door. How was she to get inside?

The imperious borrowed-authority act would not be enough to justify tearing off seals without raising suspicion. Getting into the scene would require a longer plan. Ming Huashang turned this over quietly and asked: “And what about the Wei household death you mentioned earlier — what happened there?”

On this topic, Shān Chá’s confidence was considerably harder: “That has even less to do with us. A few days ago, Wei Tan — a celebrated figure in Chang’an — held a banquet and hired our people from Tiānxiāng Pavilion to provide entertainment. By rights I should have been the one to go, but the madam played favorites and gave the invitation to Yu Qiong. Yu Qiong went to the Wei household to play the pipa, and midway through the banquet, Wei Tan suddenly began convulsing and frothing at the mouth. The steward rushed to fetch a physician — but before the physician arrived, Wei Tan was already dead. With such a great commotion, of course the authorities were summoned. Yu Qiong and the others were held for questioning and not released until the curfew bell.”

She snapped her handkerchief dismissively: “They say Yu Qiong was supposedly an official’s daughter once, if you’ll believe it. But the moment she was born, her family got swept up in a treason charge. She goes to the Wei household, and the master of the house dies. She entertains Zhang San here, and he kills himself. I say she’s nothing but a cursed wretch who brings catastrophe everywhere she sets foot.”

The serving girl, unable to take any more, turned red in the face: “Shān Chá elder sister, please mind what you say. How Wei Tan died has never been determined — the authorities are still investigating. As for Zhang San, he took his own life because he was obsessed with painting. Yu Qiong elder sister was in the Guanghan Moonlit Courtyard with another patron at the time — how could she possibly have known? And using someone’s background against them — that is truly indecent. She was originally a daughter of a respectable family. If her family hadn’t been caught up in the treason accusation when she was four years old and she hadn’t ended up in the entertainers’ registry, we wouldn’t be fit to so much as carry her shoes. Shān Chá elder sister — heaven is watching, even at arm’s length. Think before you speak.”

Shān Chá gave a contemptuous sniff, her eyelids drooping with satisfied malice: “Oh, how frightening. Does that mean I should bow down before her and call her young miss?”

She cackled, and the serving girl, trembling with anger, stamped her foot and ran off.

Ming Huashang had been an involuntary audience to quite a production. She looked at Shān Chá’s self-satisfied air and felt not contempt, but sorrow.

What Shān Chá had just said was undeniably vicious — taking such pleasure in the rawness of Yu Qiong’s history was the behavior of someone with a very stunted conscience. But was that Shān Chá’s fault?

Ming Huashang turned the question over honestly: if she had been raised in Shān Chá’s position from birth — not enough to eat, never properly dressed, never permitted to study, taught only to use her looks to attract men, her livelihood dependent entirely on male approval — she too might have become exactly this.

That “livelihood,” of course, was a relative term.

A flower that has never received sunlight or rain cannot be blamed for not growing upright, radiant, and full of character.

Ming Huashang saw that Shān Chá’s contempt for Yu Qiong was the same thing as a kept woman looking down on a brothel girl, or a proper wife looking down on a concubine. They were all someone else’s attachments. Too afraid to fight back against the true source of their lifelong misery, they turned the blade on women even weaker than themselves. As long as they could create a rank below them — as long as they could grind their heel into a woman more unfortunate — they could fancy themselves elevated.

But they were not.

The weak despising one another, providing cover for the exploitation of the powerful — there is no point in it whatsoever.

The girl who so loyally championed Yu Qiong had gone off to a quiet corner to pour out her feelings to a fellow maid and curse Shān Chá as a petty person who would surely come to a worse fall. Ming Huashang, however, reached out and patted Shān Chá on the hand: “Would you show me where you all live?”