All of them were on the verge of sleep when the Young Master of the Jiang household suddenly decided the room felt stifling and demanded an additional suite. The madam was delighted to comply, and immediately had the Flower-Piled Brocade Suite prepared, then respectfully escorted Young Master Jiang’s maidservant to take up residence there.

Ming Huazhang’s reasoning was sound and principled — no one could object to anything done in the name of the investigation. Ming Huashang obediently gathered her things and followed the madam eastward.

The madam fought back her exhaustion and pushed open the door for Ming Huashang, saying with great attentiveness, “You’ll see — we keep the suites spotless every day. I just had the bedding changed to fresh linens and have also prepared hot water for you. Is there anything else not to your satisfaction, miss?”

The madam was well aware that the room next door was where someone had died, and feared Ming Huashang would find fault; her manner was the picture of ingratiating deference. Ming Huashang made a show of looking the room over with deliberate dissatisfaction, then condescended graciously: “This will do for now. I sleep lightly and cannot abide being disturbed — tomorrow morning, unless I come out myself, do not come to my door.”

The madam agreed to whatever was asked of her. She settled this precious young mistress in, stifled a yawn, and excused herself, hurrying back to catch up on her sleep.

Once the madam was gone, Ming Huashang immediately turned into a guilty-looking sneak — pressing against the walls, rapping and probing, checking for any hidden mechanisms or openings. She went over every inch of the inside and outside and confirmed there was no one spying in; only then did she finally put her mind at ease and go behind the folding screen to bathe.

She didn’t know when Ming Huazhang would arrive, and didn’t dare take too long — she washed herself quickly, then came out toweling her hair.

She sat down at the dressing table and rubbed her hair dry. In the bronze mirror she saw the rose-red bed behind her; her movements gradually slowed, and she looked around at the room, finding herself unable to quite make sense of her present circumstances.

Why did she have the strange, uncomfortable feeling of sitting in a bridal chamber, waiting for Ming Huazhang?

Ming Huashang frightened herself with her own thoughts, and hurriedly drove those sordid notions out of her mind, forcing herself to think about the dead person next door.

Ming Huazhang only treated her as a younger sister. He was uncomfortable letting his little sister share a room through the night with a man who was not family; he was worried his little sister might be afraid of the dark, afraid of the dead. That was all there was to it — he was here simply to accompany her. To think such things about her own elder brother was depraved and contemptible.

Ming Huashang was drifting in her own thoughts when she suddenly heard a movement at the window, followed by a breath of cool air against her neck. She gave a shudder and leapt to her feet in a panic.

Someone had landed nimbly and soundlessly on the floor and then turned to latch the window shut. Ming Huashang saw that tall, slender silhouette and let out an involuntary breath of relief: “Second elder brother — it’s you.”

Ming Huazhang secured the window latch and carefully checked all the window locks. Then he said, “It’s late — you should…”

He turned around — and froze at what he saw. He averted his eyes with distinct unease: “You… have you just bathed?”

Ming Huashang was still holding a dripping wet towel, and gave a guileless nod. Ming Huazhang’s expression grew even more uncomfortable. He cleared his throat into his fist, fingers going rigid. “This is a pleasure house — there could be anyone lurking outside, anything at all. How could you dare to bathe in a place like this?”

Ming Huashang explained carefully: “I checked before bathing — there are no small holes in the walls. And when I bathed I used the folding screen to surround the tub, and hung my clothes and bed sheets over the top of it. I tested it myself and confirmed you couldn’t see through before I undressed.”

Ming Huashang was being completely sincere in explaining to Ming Huazhang that she had thought things through carefully before bathing. Ming Huazhang, listening, felt only increasing awkwardness.

Some details — like undressing — did not need to be described this precisely. Ming Huazhang abruptly realized he had been staring at the folding screen the entire time. In his mind’s eye he had practically sketched out the image of her bathing behind it.

Ming Huashang had not opened the window, so the steam still lingered in the room, with a faint warm and delicate fragrance floating in the air. Ming Huazhang rigidly moved his gaze elsewhere. He noticed a pile of clothing on the round stool, a wooden comb on the dressing table with several strands of hair caught in its teeth, a shallow impression pressed into the bedding — the suite was not actually that small, and yet everywhere he looked there were traces of her.

Ming Huazhang reminded himself once more that they were siblings. She had listened to his unreasonable request without question and come away with him without hesitation, trusting her elder brother completely and without reserve. He could not betray that trust.

He repeated this to himself three times, feeling his inner equilibrium restored, and said, “You’ve had a full day of exertion — your body must be at its limit. Get to sleep.”

Ming Huashang had indeed had a very full day: she had been running and shooting arrows in the depths of the Zhōngnán Mountains since early morning, then rode out of the mountains at midday, met with covert informants in Chang’an in the afternoon, and then gone directly to Tiānxiāng Pavilion to engage the top courtesan, conduct interviews, and investigate the case — all without stopping. She had been exhausted for a long time.

Still, Ming Huashang hesitated. “Second elder brother, weren’t we supposed to be keeping watch tonight?”

“I’ll keep watch. You sleep with peace of mind.”

“How can that work?” Ming Huashang refused outright. “I’ll keep watch with you.”

“There’s no need.” Ming Huazhang noticed her hair, still dripping at the ends, and gave a low sigh. He took a clean cotton cloth from beside him, pressed her down into the seat at the dressing table, and gently began drying her hair. “Your value to this investigation has never been in physical combat. Keeping watch is not something we need you for. Sleep well and replenish your strength — you’ll need your full energy to track down the killer tomorrow. If we can’t catch the killer tonight, tomorrow we’ll have to find a way into the crime scene, and that’s when we’ll need your mind at work.”

Ming Huashang gradually felt herself calming down. She said, “Then let me keep watch with you for the first half of the night — you’ve had a full day too. You can’t stack everything onto yourself.”

“There’s no need — I’m not tired.”

“Second elder brother is made of flesh and blood too, so how could you not be tired?” Ming Huashang said. “Besides, on the surface I’m Jiang Ling’s maidservant — tomorrow I’ll have chances to rest, but you won’t. All right — it’s settled then.”

Ming Huashang made the decision for both of them and didn’t budge from it. Ming Huazhang pressed lightly on her hair with the cloth without saying yes or no. The room grew quiet again. Ming Huashang couldn’t help but look up and study the person behind her in the bronze mirror.

He was so tall that the mirror couldn’t capture his full frame — she could only see the broad, level line of his shoulders, and the neck that had been darkened with powder. Even so, it did nothing to diminish his beauty. Some people, seen only by their bearing, their bone structure, their presence, are already beautiful enough.

His fingers pressed through the cloth, wrapping around her hair ends and working them in slow, gentle squeezes. Those fingers — articulate and visibly strong — had a kind of violent beauty about them. Ming Huashang asked, “Second elder brother, isn’t this tiring for you?”

“Hm?” Ming Huazhang paused, then understood she was asking about the disguise on his face. “Not tiring.”

Yet by any measure, having things adhered to one’s face was far from comfortable. Ming Huashang said, “Would you like to take it off and rest for the night? You can put the disguise back on tomorrow.”

“There’s no need. If something unexpected happens, there may not be time.”

“But we have Jiang Ling — he can step forward if needed.” Ming Huashang persisted. “The powder here has rubbed off — it might as well all come off, and you can redo it tomorrow.”

Ming Huazhang frowned slightly. “Where?”

Ming Huashang turned around and pointed to the collarbone just visible below his clothing. Ming Huazhang checked in the mirror, and sure enough — the area had been powdered, but the rubbing of the collar had worn some of it away.

If it needed to be redone, there was little difference between redoing one area and redoing everything. Ming Huazhang sighed and asked, “Is there water here?”

“There is.” Ming Huashang said immediately. “The madam sent over an extra bucket of bath water — I haven’t used it. Let me go get it.”

Before Ming Huazhang could stop her, Ming Huashang had already bounded away. Ming Huazhang’s hand was still raised. His fingertips contracted, then he gave up and let it fall. “You don’t need to go to all that trouble.”

Ming Huashang’s hair was only half-dry, loose and hanging down her back. She came back with an unsteady shuffle, carrying a basin of water. Ming Huazhang had already removed the false pieces from his face and was letting them soak in a bowl of clean water.

Ming Huashang stared in fascination, holding up her hand to compare distances. “Here is higher, here is wider — and yet despite so little actually changing, the whole face becomes completely different.”

Every face is unique, but when recognizing someone, the critical reference points are few. Once the nose bridge, cheekbones, and chin are altered, it is enough to transform the face entirely. Fortunately, Ming Huazhang’s bone structure was so clean and supple that it offered ample room for adjustment in any direction.

Without needing to be told, Ming Huashang picked up a warm, damp towel and gently wiped the black powder from Ming Huazhang’s face.

Ming Huazhang had intended to do it himself, but on reflection Ming Huashang had a better eye for it, and so he let her be.

The sensation was strangely remarkable — wherever Ming Huashang passed the towel, it was as though a rough stone were being opened to reveal the jade within, the coarse and ugly outer layer falling away to expose the clear and fine-grained gem beneath. Ming Huashang wrung the towel and wiped away his excessively coarse, dark eyebrows, uncovering his true brows — long and graceful, relaxed and distinct, each hair defined.

The contrast before and after was so vivid that Ming Huashang had never understood so directly just how handsome Ming Huazhang’s bone structure was, how beautiful his features. She gazed at the face still dotted with droplets of water, and said sincerely, “Second elder brother — you are genuinely beautiful.”

Ming Huazhang had been sitting with his eyes closed, his head tilted slightly back, letting her do as she pleased. At her words, his eyelids lifted a fraction — and in that instant it was as though a sky had split open, as though clouds had parted to reveal the moon. The light in his eyes seemed to hold the reflection of a shimmering lake.

He gave her an amused sideways glance and said indifferently, “It is merely an outward appearance.”

Ming Huashang went blank. Thinking she had tired herself out, Ming Huazhang took the towel from her hand and attended to his own neck. Moving briskly, he inevitably dampened his collar. Ming Huashang caught a glimpse of the elegant line of his neck and the water droplets trembling there, and found herself oddly unable to look directly at him. She quietly turned her gaze aside.

Ming Huashang’s head was buzzing; she felt as though her whole body was twisting itself into knots. Flustered and at a loss, she said, “Second elder brother, why did you come in through the window?”

This was, of course, a pointless question — Ming Huazhang was disguised as a servant of Tiānxiāng Pavilion; could he have just walked in through the front door? Ming Huashang regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth. She’d only spoken because she couldn’t bear the silence any longer, and had said whatever came to mind without thinking — and ended up asking the most stupid question possible.

She wanted to bite her own tongue off. She had so few good qualities to begin with, and now he would probably think she was an idiot.

Ming Huazhang’s thinking was entirely different. He had climbed through a woman’s window in the dead of night — it was entirely necessary to explain himself. He said, “Xie Jichuan is keeping watch outside. I wanted to test whether coming in through the window was possible without being spotted by watchers on the street, so I tried it. My judgment was careless in this matter.”

Ming Huashang immediately waved it off. “It’s all right — we’re siblings. Why stand on such ceremony?”

To call this out as a sibling relationship at this precise moment somehow felt like confirming something. Ming Huashang’s conscience troubled her and she looked away. Ming Huazhang lowered his eyes and silently rinsed the cloth in the basin.

The only sound in the room was the water. The atmosphere became even more inexplicable than before. Ming Huazhang felt this was not a silence that should be allowed to continue, and said, “I nearly forgot — he’s still outside. Second younger sister, do you still have your whistle?”

Ming Huashang was bewildered, but pulled a small whistle from the collar of her garment. “Yes.”

“Good — consider this a test.” Ming Huazhang said. “Whistle the code and ask him whether he saw me just now.”

Ming Huashang thought through the characters and their corresponding short-and-long sequences, then blew out a halting, stuttering bird-call.

Very soon, a cuckoo cry floated in from the window. Ming Huashang was still straining to decode the long and short patterns when Ming Huazhang gave a light laugh, and with a splash of water wrung out the cloth.

Drops of water ran along his long and well-proportioned fingers — this simple act of wringing out a cloth, he made look graceful. Ming Huazhang said, “As I suspected — it won’t do. It seems the crux of the matter is still: how did the killer get past dozens of pairs of eyes and enter the locked room without making a sound.”

Ming Huashang, half-guessing and half-deciphering, eventually made out that Xie Jichuan had said: “Not even remotely subtle — only a blind person wouldn’t have seen you.” Then from outside came another melodious bird call: “You’re something else — you’ve been so quiet this whole time, I thought you’d dropped dead.”

Ming Huazhang spread the cloth open and meticulously draped it over the drying rack. He said to Ming Huashang, “Tell him: I’ll outlast him regardless, and he’d better worry about himself.”

Ming Huashang blew the message out in her stilted fashion. A moment later the familiar cuckoo cry rose again: “Little sister, never mind him — tell him to speak for himself. What kind of person makes such a sweet little lady sleep next door to a crime scene? Only he would have the gall.”

Ming Huazhang needed no proxy this time. He took out his own whistle, and even his mournful cuckoo calls conveyed a note of cold detachment. “Get lost — find somewhere to watch the second-floor windows, and if you fall asleep, don’t bother coming back.”

Silence came from outside for a long while. Ming Huashang pressed her ear to the window crack and looked — Píng’kāng Quarter was still ablaze with lights and song and dance as always, with no one noticing the short, plaintive calls. Ming Huashang asked, “Second elder brother, where did Brother Xie go?”

“Never mind him — he wouldn’t put himself to any discomfort.”

In the lamplight, Ming Huazhang was strikingly, startlingly beautiful — a trim and radiant young man, like jade come to life. But the way he tidied up the water basin was crisp and efficient. These mundane tasks did nothing to diminish his bearing; instead they cast over him a warm and human glow.

He was a star impossibly distant — and also the warmth of the world immediately at hand. He was the clear radiance of the moon — and also the pillar that could hold everything up.

In the moment of Ming Huashang’s distraction, Ming Huazhang had already put the basin away, wiped the table dry of moisture, drawn a folding screen in front of the bed, and smoothed the bedding flat. He touched the top of her head and said, “Your hair is dry enough — come lie down. You needn’t worry about anything else.”

Ming Huashang hesitated. “I’ll keep watch with you…”

“There’s no need.” Ming Huazhang looked back, and the light in his eyes was like the Milky Way in full flow — clear and brilliant, but also gently authoritative. “Sleep. Keeping yourself at your very best at all times is the greatest help you can give me.”

Ming Huashang finally yielded, and let Ming Huazhang settle the blanket over her. The screen was drawn closed, and the light instantly grew dreamlike. Through the painted surface of bamboo and plum, his silhouette was clean and unencumbered, indistinct yet upright — like a snow pine, never to be bent or broken by cold wind or driving rain.

There was a puff of breath, and the candle went out. Only a small lamp in the corner continued to cast its quiet glow. Ming Huashang buried her face in the blanket and said, her voice slightly muffled: “Elder brother — good night.”

The room was so still one might have heard moonlight passing through it. A moment later, from the darkness, came a low, gentle voice: “Good night.”

At this moment, on the other side of Tiānxiāng Pavilion, Jiang Ling had his ear pressed flat against the door frame, his entire face squashed out of shape. He listened for a while, thoroughly baffled: “What are they doing over there — whispering sweet nothings to each other?”

“Shh!” Ren Yao glared at Jiang Ling. She had waited for a long time before concluding there were no more bird calls, and then said uncertainly, “Perhaps… they are transmitting important intelligence?”

Jiang Ling’s lips moved, then stopped. His knowledge of the whistling code was passable at best, but even he could tell the whistle for “get lost.” Was that what counted as important intelligence?

Jiang Ling looked at Ren Yao’s expression — she was earnestly writing down the long-and-short patterns — and decided not to press the point. Silence crept through the room. Jiang Ling scratched his head, feeling rather awkward.

It hadn’t seemed so strange with three of them, but now that Ming Huashang was gone, he realized how odd it was for a man and a woman to be sharing a room. Ren Yao was still writing out the code, and Jiang Ling, unable to stand the awkwardness a moment longer, coughed and said, “How about we figure out how to keep watch tonight?”

Ren Yao didn’t really have much left to write down — Ming Huazhang and Xie Jichuan had blown through the code so quickly that she’d missed a lot of it before it was over. Jiang Ling had broken the ice; Ren Yao let out a slight breath of relief and said, “Fine. You take the first half of the night, I’ll take the second.”

Jiang Ling raised an eyebrow and said slowly, “No matter how useless I am, I’m not going to put a woman on the front line. I’ll take the second half.”

The second half of the night was considerably harder than the first. Ren Yao gave him a faint, dismissive sound and said, “That’s not necessary. I am stronger than most men — and certainly stronger than you. It’s perfectly natural for the stronger party to take on more.”

Jiang Ling was quiet for a moment and stopped thinking about sleeping. He drew up his knees, sat on the floor, and looked over at Ren Yao with genuine curiosity. “Why are you always so tightly wound? Why does everything have to be about proving who’s stronger and who’s weaker?”

Ren Yao said with contempt, “Should I be like you, then?”

Compared to Ren Yao, Jiang Ling was far too loosely wound. He sat bouncing his leg and said, “You make a fair point. But at least I live happily. I sometimes wonder — are you actually happy living the way you do?”

Happy? Ren Yao felt a moment of blankness. When she came back to herself, she gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Young Master Jiang, apart from someone like you who knows nothing of the hardships of the world, how many people in this world live for happiness? Being alive at all is a blessing — happiness is nothing but a game for the wealthy and the idle.”

Jiang Ling propped his chin on his hand and said, “I disagree with that. Your birth, your parents, the people around you — none of those can be changed. If you dwell bitterly on all of that, you’ll spend your whole life under a shadow. But if you change how you look at things, you’ll find that those things aren’t actually what’s preventing you from being happy. No one’s life is easy — so given how difficult the world already is, why not let yourself enjoy it a little?”

Ren Yao let out a short, scornful laugh. “You can say that because you’ve never actually suffered. Do you know what it feels like to work for ten years and still be outdone by a single word from someone else? Do you know what it feels like to be in your own home and yet feel like a complete outsider — to have to be careful and apologetic at every turn, and not even be allowed into the ancestral hall on your own father’s death anniversary? You don’t understand any of that, so don’t talk to me about the hardships of the world.”

The room fell completely silent — you could have heard a pin drop. Ren Yao naturally crossed her arms and turned away, closed her eyes, and prepared to sleep. After a moment, a voice came from behind her: “I understand.”

Ren Yao kept her eyes shut and didn’t even bother to respond to this posturing from the pampered young master. But Jiang Ling drew up his legs and leaned against the chaise, staring at the shadows on the floor, and spoke: “Being in your own home and feeling like an outsider — of course I know that feeling. Every New Year’s Eve, every Lantern Festival, every Dragon Boat Festival, every Mid-Autumn Festival, every Double Ninth, every Winter Solstice — every holiday with a name and every holiday without one — I’d watch my father, my stepmother, and my younger brother together, all warmth and laughter, and I was the outsider every single time. You look down on me for being a rake and a wastrel — that, I’ll admit to. But apart from eating, drinking, and amusement, I don’t know what else to do with myself.”

Ren Yao had opened her eyes without realizing it, looking at him with surprise. Jiang Ling had tilted his head back against the chaise; his Adam’s apple was a raised ridge in the darkness, thin and solitary. He stared up at the ceiling beams and said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to work toward, or what working hard would even mean. Actually, some of the time I’m rather envious of you all — at least you have somewhere you’re trying to go.”

Ren Yao went still. In her mind, Jiang Ling had always been the image of idle frivolity and blunt carelessness. She had never imagined he harbored thoughts this delicate and perceptive.

He understood everything. He simply didn’t speak of it — and whenever the sun rose, he chose to go on laughing and making a spectacle of himself.

Jiang Ling had spent an unusually long time thinking such deeply sincere thoughts — it didn’t feel like himself at all. He yawned and turned his head with a vague lack of interest — and found Ren Yao sitting halfway up on the bed, looking at him with something unsaid behind her eyes.

Jiang Ling raised his eyebrows and said with mild surprise, “You got up? Can’t bear to part with me — want to swap shifts?”

Whatever nameless feeling had been quietly stirring in Ren Yao’s chest was promptly fed to the dogs. She gave Jiang Ling a cold, irritated glare, turned her back on him, and said flatly: “I just thought you were too noisy. Be quiet — I’m going to sleep.”

Jiang Ling smiled to himself without making a sound, and said with just a touch of impudence, “At your service, Young Marquis Ren.”