Despite being in a pleasure house with a murder scene right next door, Ming Huashang had expected to lie awake — but as it turned out, she had overestimated herself.
She fell asleep almost immediately, sleeping as soundly as a stone, and woke to birdsong outside the window, mind still fuzzy, unable to tell whether she was on Zhōngnán Mountain or at the Duke Zhenguo’s estate.
“You’re awake?”
A clear, cool voice came from beyond the folding screen. Perhaps not to wake her, or perhaps worn out from a night of keeping watch, there was a slight roughness to his voice, and the trailing note of it wound inward like a curl, reaching into something deep.
Ming Huashang came back to herself in an instant, remembering this was Tiānxiāng Pavilion, that they were still investigating a case! She sat up immediately. “Second elder brother…”
She had tossed and turned all night on the pillow; her hair had been rubbed loose and unruly, and the scattered strands on top of her head were sticking up in all directions like a startled cat. Ming Huashang had no idea what she looked like. She quietly rubbed her face and prayed there were no drool marks.
Ming Huazhang sat outside the screen and unhurriedly poured a cup of tea: “Now that you’re up, come have some tea and clear your head. I have to go out in a while, and I won’t be around to watch over you — you’d better stay alert and not fall back asleep.”
The somewhat muddled edges of Ming Huashang’s thinking finally sharpened into clarity. She had to acknowledge that her second elder brother knew her well — she had indeed been planning on rolling over and going back to sleep.
Ming Huashang had slept in her clothes, and she quickly straightened herself up before stepping out from behind the screen. “Second elder brother, where are you going?”
Out of propriety, Ming Huazhang had kept his back to the bed all night without looking in. He looked up at the sound — and caught sight of Ming Huashang’s fluffy, disheveled hair.
It seems she should have let her hair dry completely before sleeping last night. Ming Huazhang’s lips curved upward without his noticing. He hadn’t observed this before — her hair really was quite thick and wavy.
A faint tenderness rose in him, tinged with something wistful. In his mind she had always been a child who refused to grow up — yet here she was, with hair grown this long.
Ming Huazhang reined in the wandering thought and said, “No one came last night, as I expected. We can’t count on taking a shortcut to catch the killer. I intend to go to the mortuary and examine Zhang Ziyun’s body — I won’t be back before midday at the earliest. I won’t be able to keep you company this morning, so try to stay with Jiang Ling and Ren Yao as much as possible. If worse comes to worst, whistle and call Xie Jichuan out. Whatever you do, do not act alone.”
Ming Huashang agreed. No wonder Ming Huazhang was already in full disguise — but a different face from yesterday’s. She asked, “Second elder brother, is the mortuary dangerous?”
Ming Huazhang gave a quiet laugh. “It’s a place to store the dead — what danger could there be? Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
The mortuary held bodies and was located in some desolate corner of the outskirts, guarded by officials. Such a place was not hard to slip into, but also offered little cover. Since Ming Huazhang said he had a plan, Ming Huashang set her worries aside and said sincerely, “Second elder brother, be careful.”
“You’re the one who needs to be careful.” Ming Huazhang stood to leave, and truly couldn’t resist reaching out to smooth down that particularly stubborn and endearing tuft of her hair. He said, “I’m going. Stay inside if you’re tired — but don’t fall asleep; and if you want to go looking for evidence, bring someone with you.”
Ming Huashang nodded and watched as Ming Huazhang pushed open the window, his figure light and swift as a wild goose, and in a few leaps was gone among the pale morning light.
Ming Huashang hung over the window for a long while, watching until she could find no trace of Ming Huazhang anywhere, and then pulled her gaze back inside. The climate in Chang’an was different from Luoyang — the mornings here held a chill. Ming Huashang rubbed her arms, looked out at the empty, quiet street, and felt an inexplicable pang of emptiness.
The pleasure quarters of Píng’kāng were not like ordinary commercial streets. They were idle by day and busy only when night fell. Ming Huashang had woken on the early side, and while ordinary neighborhoods might already be deep in the bustle of the day, for Píng’kāng Quarter the hour was still far too early — not a soul stirred anywhere, and the many pleasure houses stood silently facing each other, as though still asleep.
Tiānxiāng Pavilion too was hushed and still, with not a single person to talk to. Ming Huashang stared at the birds in the tree in a standoff. Ming Huazhang wouldn’t be back until noon — what was she supposed to do with all this time?
She let out a quiet sigh, and then her hand drifted to her stomach. She was hungry.
She almost embarrassed herself at her own thoughts — eat, then sleep; wake up, want to eat again. She really must be a pig reincarnated.
After entertaining herself with this self-deprecating thought, she nonetheless surrendered to her stomach’s demands, tidied herself up, and prepared to go out and buy something to eat. But when she sat down at the dressing table, she got a terrible fright.
She had been looking like this when she was talking to Ming Huazhang? Good heavens — no wonder he’d laughed!
Ming Huashang’s hair was naturally slightly wavy; when it grew long enough the wave was less obvious, but if she washed it and went straight to sleep without styling it — as she had done last night — it puffed up the next morning into what could only be described as a lion’s mane.
Ming Huashang wrestled with her hair for quite some time, and finally got herself looking presentable. She stepped out in high spirits.
The thought of going to buy food put a bounce in her stride. She was skipping down toward the stairs when she rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into a dark shape, and got a terrible fright.
Ming Huashang stumbled back a step, hand instinctively flying to her dagger. “Who’s there?”
The dark shape didn’t speak — it turned and bolted. Ming Huashang chased after it, taking the stairs two at a time to grab the figure by the shoulder. “Stop — why are you running?”
The two of them scuffled on the staircase, and the noise disturbed the madam on the floor above. The madam poked her head over the third-floor railing with her hair hanging loose, and when she saw Ming Huashang grappling with a dark figure, her brow snapped down and her face fell. “Mute, are you out of your mind? Get back to scrubbing the floor — what are you doing bothering the guests?”
Ming Huashang froze at the madam’s voice. She loosened her grip, and the person in front of her wrenched free, making sounds — ah, ah — and gesturing with his hands.
He was mute. No wonder he hadn’t spoken when she’d found him.
Now that things had calmed down, Ming Huashang took a proper look at the man. He was short and stocky, with gnarled, roughened fingers that spoke of a lifetime of hard labor. His features were passable enough, but his eyes were skittish and guarded, his shoulders habitually hunched inward — a man who looked fifty though he was only in his mid-thirties.
The madam came hurrying down, all haste and exclamation, nearly twisting her ankle on the stairs. Ming Huashang saw this and said, “Madam, do slow down. While you’re at it, you might consider having the stairs repaired — otherwise it would be a shame if a courtesan or the madam herself twisted her ankle, when the rest of Tiānxiāng Pavilion is so grand. People would laugh.”
The madam gave an embarrassed laugh and took Ming Huashang’s arm, trying to ingratiate herself. “You’re so right. How is it you’re up so early today?”
Ming Huashang leaned into her assumed persona, tilted her nose high, and said with a spoiled, imperious air, “Do I need to report my movements to you?”
The madam quickly said she wouldn’t dare. She shot the mute a covert glare and said, “What are you still standing there for? Look at that ugly face — don’t go soiling the eyes of honored guests.”
The mute had seemed anxious when the madam nearly fell, but at her scolding he lowered his head, looking completely resigned to being bullied and beaten without complaint. He turned to go. Ming Huashang said, “Wait a moment.” She drew out the words. “Madam, don’t tell me you’re deliberately covering for this mute because you have some kind of arrangement with him? Just now he was lurking here — who knows whether he was spying or trying to frighten someone — and you’d just let him walk away like that?”
“Not at all.” The madam smiled nervously, her expression going somewhat stiff. “Honored guest, you’re joking. He’s just a servant — why would I take his side? You’ve only just arrived in Chang’an and don’t know how things work in Píng’kāng Quarter. In our line of work, the courtesans won’t get up until the sun is past midday. I saw it was quiet this morning and sent him to take advantage of the lull to clean the hall, wipe down the seats — he should have been scrubbing the stairs just now. Isn’t that right?”
The last of that was addressed to the mute. He stood with his eyes half-lowered, giving no sign of whether he’d understood, but nodded along.
The madam went on to smile at Ming Huashang again: “Honored guest, he’s a rough and unrefined sort. Even if you gave him ten thousand times more courage, he still wouldn’t dare peep at you. You’re generous and magnanimous — do let this matter pass.”
Ming Huashang didn’t really think the mute had been peeping at her, but whether he’d been peeping at the crime scene was another matter. Ming Huashang was keenly aware of the purpose of their visit — and before the picture had become clearer, they could not afford to scare the prey into hiding. She feigned an aristocratic air of annoyance and said, “I’m sure you wouldn’t dare. Step aside — I’m going to arrange food for the young master.”
The madam agreed readily and stepped back. As Ming Huashang descended the stairs, she used the motion of lifting her hem as cover to let her peripheral vision drift backward — and saw the madam scold the mute briefly, then fix him with a sharp glare and order him to go clean the upper floors.
Ming Huashang entered the bright and splendid main hall, her thoughts turning quietly inward. If her memory was right, hadn’t it been the mute who’d brought Zhang Ziyun his wine before his death?
Could the death of Zhang Ziyun have something to do with the mute as well? Why else would he be sneaking around near the scene?
Ming Huashang turned these thoughts over in her mind as she crossed the hall and stepped out into the morning light. She had been worrying about the case — but her attention was quickly stolen by the striking sights and scenes of Chang’an.
This was the first time she had truly wandered the streets of Chang’an, and everything felt fresh and exciting — especially the food. As for Ming Huazhang’s warning not to go out alone… in the face of food, not even the Heavenly Emperor himself could have stopped her. His admonition had been tossed right out of her mind.
Píng’kāng Quarter was beautifully situated — only one street away from the Eastern Market. Ming Huashang wandered along, eating as she went, and only turned back with reluctant satisfaction when she could eat no more, picking up an extra portion each for Jiang Ling, Ren Yao, and Xie Jichuan.
Yesterday Xie Jichuan had been the only one with his own room. Ming Huashang thought he probably didn’t need the gesture, but she’d bring food for him as a token of goodwill.
On her way back, she happened upon the mute scrubbing the stage. Except he appeared to have drifted off in his thoughts — he was staring at the seal on the second-floor east room, cloth in hand, motionless.
Ming Huashang made no effort to quiet her footsteps. The mute heard her, looked up, and quickly bowed his head to scrub again, as though he was frightened of her.
Ming Huashang, keeping up her persona as a haughty and arrogant favored maidservant, walked past with her chin high and didn’t spare him a glance. She went up the west second-floor walkway and knocked at the door of the Guanghan Moon Chamber. “Young master, are you awake?”
The door was quickly opened, revealing a face with no will to live, completely drained of energy. Jiang Ling had not slept nearly enough and could summon no enthusiasm for anything — but when he saw what Ming Huashang was holding, he jolted awake: “What’s that?”
Ming Huashang held up the parcel and smiled. “I bought breakfast for all of you — come inside.”
Jiang Ling glanced out at the hall and, keeping up his manner of a young master’s dignity, gave a dignified nod. Once the door was shut, his imperious air dissolved without a trace, and he asked with wide, eager eyes, “What did you get?”
Ming Huashang set the large and small parcels out on the table and said, “I’m not very familiar with Chang’an yet, so I don’t know which stalls are best — I just bought a little of everything from the Eastern Market as I went. Don’t worry, I tried everything myself first — the flavors are guaranteed.”
Jiang Ling had already sat down across from the table, eyes lit up like a dog waiting to be fed. Ming Huashang set out the congee and fixed him with a stern look: “Ren-jie isn’t here yet — go call her.”
Jiang Ling climbed to his feet without enthusiasm, went to the bedside, and called out, “Hey, tough girl — wake up, there’s food.”
Ren Yao had been on watch for half the night and had only just fallen asleep; her temples were throbbing. Something was droning in her ear. Ren Yao, unable to stand it any longer, shoved the offending nuisance aside — then felt a grip on its throat and sent it crashing to the floor.
Ming Huashang was arranging the dishes when there was a thunderous crash from behind her, followed by a cut-off yelp from Jiang Ling, then struggling sounds and a muffled whimper.
Ming Huashang looked back without expression: Ren Yao had straddled Jiang Ling from on top with a murderous look on her face, one hand clamped over his mouth while he twisted and flailed beneath her.
Ming Huashang blinked. She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for what she might be about to witness. “That — are you two still eating or not?”
Jiang Ling and Ren Yao sat at the table, both expressionless. Ming Huashang looked back and forth between them and felt embarrassed on their behalf. “The congee is freshly made from the market — they say they simmered the bone broth all night, and it won’t taste as good once it cools. Shall we talk while we eat?”
Ren Yao didn’t even look at Jiang Ling and picked up her spoon. Jiang Ling gave a cold snort, picked up a fried ring cake, and bit through it with a crack.
From the sound of his teeth grinding against the bread, it was as though he was gnawing on someone’s bones. Ming Huashang’s lip twitched involuntarily, and she kept the smile going. “So — how did the night watch go? What did you find out?”
As Ming Huazhang had predicted, Ren Yao said dispiritedly, “Nothing. No one went near the second-floor scene all night.”
Ming Huashang had already prepared herself for this and was not disappointed. She asked, “Did anyone leave their room?”
Ren Yao thought for a moment. “When I took over from Jiang Ling in the second half of the night, the madam had gone out to relieve herself and stayed out for a very long time before coming back.”
“Shanchá went out too,” Jiang Ling added. “She walked around in the corridor for quite a while — hard to say what she was doing.”
Both of them? Ming Huashang was surprised. She quickly asked, “What about Yùqióng?”
Ren Yao let out a sigh. “I was especially keeping an eye on her — but she didn’t come out at all. Her door never opened once through the night.”
This was an unexpected outcome. The person they’d suspected most hadn’t moved — and instead two people they’d had no suspicion of had entered the picture. Had they wrongly accused her?
Ming Huashang was quiet for a moment, then said slowly, “There may be one more person we need to consider.”
“Who?”
“The mute,” Ming Huashang said. “This morning at the hour of mǎo, when I came downstairs, I ran into him at the stairway entrance to the second floor.”
“Him?” Jiang Ling raised his brows, somewhat taken aback. “Now that you mention it — I remember, toward morning I could see she was exhausted, so I had her go to sleep first and kept watch myself. I did see a servant cleaning the hall — I didn’t think much of it and didn’t notice when he went upstairs.”
“So now we have three suspects.” Ming Huashang dipped a finger in tea and traced on the table. “The madam, the mute, and Shanchá.”
“Shanchá?” Jiang Ling couldn’t believe it. “She injured her leg, and she was dancing the whole time that day — she couldn’t have committed the crime. Last night she was probably just going to relieve herself, and walked slowly because of her leg.”
“But we can’t rule her out for that reason.” Ming Huashang, who had a better relationship with Shanchá than anyone, was strikingly cold-headed now — not the least bit inclined to clear a suspect simply because she was pitiful. “There’s also Yùqióng — I still feel there are too many coincidences surrounding her.”
Ren Yao said, “No one went near the Romantic Contemplation Suite last night. Listing these people as possible suspects just because they stepped out of their rooms — isn’t that too hasty?”
Ming Huashang shook her head slowly. “No — what matters is observing each person’s reactions. Whether or not they entered the room is secondary. Killers come in many types, but their psychology after the killing tends to be similar. When something they thought was buried gets dug back up, the one who can’t stay calm is the one who can’t be exonerated. Plenty of people saw Zhang Ziyun making a scene before the hour of xū on the evening before last — we can confirm he was still alive before xū. From that, we can roughly determine his time of death fell between xū and hài the previous evening. If we cross-reference those who had contact with the Romantic Contemplation Suite during that window with those who left their rooms last night, whoever satisfies both conditions has a significant probability of being the killer.”
Ming Huashang laid out her reasoning with clarity. Ren Yao followed it and thought it through: “The evening before last, between xū and hài: the madam sent the mute to bring wine to Zhang Ziyun; Shanchá was preparing for the dance; Yùqióng was summoned to the west second floor to accompany a patron. After hài: Shanchá returned to her room to rest; the madam was the first to discover Zhang Ziyun’s death; Yùqióng was still accompanying her patron. And those who left their rooms last night: the madam, the mute, and Shanchá. The overlap — only the madam and the mute.”
Ren Yao said with considerable disbelief, “It’s really them?”
“No matter how unlikely things appear, only the facts can prove the truth.” Ming Huashang said. “And what’s more — I heard from Shanchá that the wine sent to Zhang Ziyun that night was specified by the madam, then carried up by the mute.”
Jiang Ling asked, “What are you getting at?”
“I’m wondering whether we’ve been fixating too much on the locked room, and let our own thinking lead us astray,” Ming Huashang said slowly. “Perhaps we should strip away all the elaborate trimmings and go back to the essentials. No matter how intricate the locked room is, there are only two purposes behind it: to kill, and to steal the painting. Think about it from Zhang Ziyun’s perspective — he had just killed his good friend Wei Tan and stolen the diagram of the Great Luminance Palace that the Empress was requesting. Both overt and covert court operatives were hunting him. At such a time, he would surely be like a frightened bird, alert and on edge to an extreme — impossible to ambush without a fight. Yet no sound of struggle was heard from outside. So I suspect that after the hour of xū that evening, Zhang Ziyun was drugged unconscious — or simply poisoned to death.”
Ren Yao tried to follow Ming Huashang’s thinking: “You mean the locked room was a genuine locked room — Zhang Ziyun was alone when he died?”
“It’s the only explanation that holds,” Ming Huashang said. “Otherwise, even if the disparity in strength were great, Zhang Ziyun would have fought with everything he had — at the very least, he could have destroyed the painting. He had no reason to submit to death without resistance, unless he had already lost consciousness by then.”
Jiang Ling said, “So you think there was something in the wine?”
“Yes,” Ming Huashang said. “Either the madam put the substance in the wine beforehand and then had the mute carry it up, or the mute added it to the wine during transport. And another thing: it was the madam who opened the door — she could well have been the wolf crying wolf.”
Jiang Ling turned it over in his mind. The logic held — but something still felt off. Ming Huashang also felt there was an unsettling snag, as though she’d overlooked something crucial.
The more she thought, the more she went in circles. She said, “Without knowing the state of the body, all we can do is speculate. Once my second elder brother comes back with a confirmed cause of death, the picture of the killer will become much clearer. In the meantime, you two keep your eyes on things inside the building — I’m going to take food to Brother Xie.”
Jiang Ling suddenly remembered there was one more person: “Do we need to bother? He’s a son of a distinguished family — he won’t let himself go without.”
“That’s different,” Ming Huashang said. “If he eats well because he takes care of himself, that’s his business; if I bring him food, that’s my gesture. I’ll be off.”
Ren Yao made to stand: “I’ll go with you.”
“No need.” Ming Huashang stopped her. “Ren-jie, I slept through the night — I can handle something small like this. You, on the other hand, were up for half the night and desperately need sleep. Go rest — you’ll need your energy in top shape for everything that follows.”
Ren Yao thought to herself: it’s just delivering food, how dangerous can it be? And so she let Ming Huashang go without argument.
Ming Huashang went out of Tiānxiāng Pavilion with her parcel under her arm, thinking she needed to find a quiet spot to blow the whistle and draw Xie Jichuan out. She deliberately turned toward a more secluded path — and then suddenly froze, and ducked behind the wall.
Ming Huashang carefully peered around the corner. Up ahead — that seemed to be the madam and the mute.
The madam was muttering and scolding. The mute wore the same resigned, silent expression as always. Ming Huashang steeled her nerve and stretched out her ears, straining to hear what the madam was saying.
The madam seemed agitated and was saying something like: “…you really are useless — what did I tell you? How much of the substance did you use?”
Substance? What substance?
Ming Huashang leaned out a little further, listening with all her might. The mute made a series of gestures, and the madam’s expression eased slightly. She said, “You’re certain you used Layered Dream Powder?”
Ming Huashang was so absorbed in eavesdropping that she failed to notice the parcel in her arms bumping against the wall, producing a dull knock. She snapped her body back instantly, praying the two in front of her hadn’t heard. The madam, however, had uncommonly keen hearing — she looked back and scanned sharply toward the corner. “Who’s there?”
Ming Huashang held her breath and moved as softly as she could, easing backward step by step. The madam had spent enough years in the pleasure trade to sense something was wrong; she strode in this direction: “Who is it back there?”
The madam’s footsteps were drawing closer. Ming Huashang felt despair rising — just as she was trying to think up some excuse to talk her way through it, a pair of cool hands suddenly appeared from behind and covered her lips.
Ming Huashang’s eyes went wide. The person behind her breathed a soft “shh” in her ear and whispered, “Don’t speak — follow me.”
He carried a faint, subtle bitter scent. It was in that moment that Ming Huashang learned: when Xie Jichuan wasn’t smiling, his voice could be this flat and detached.