Cheers rose from the floor below, rendering the silence of the room above all the more pronounced. Ming Huazhang was the first to speak: “Let’s search the scene first — without any preconceptions. Whoever you currently suspect, set them aside for now. Find the clues, and the killer will naturally come to light.”
Ming Huashang knew Ming Huazhang was right, and she especially could not allow herself to commit this sort of error. She took a deep breath, set aside all speculation about who might have entered the locked room, and treated the murder scene before her as an entirely fresh case.
She deliberately went back to the little compartment, pushed open the hidden door herself, and re-experienced the scene of Zhang Ziyun’s final moments from the killer’s perspective.
The hidden door had gone long unused; it opened with some resistance, and a folding screen blocked the path, so it could only be pushed open a narrow crack.
But that was more than sufficient. Ming Huashang slipped through the gap and was first met by a decorative panel screen depicting ladies at leisure. The painting was rendered in gorgeous, vivid colours and concealed any human silhouette behind it — looking from outside, one would take it for mere decoration, with no way of guessing that a hidden door lurked behind it.
Ming Huashang moved quietly and carefully past the screen. The hidden door was built into the bedroom. Surrounding it were a bed, a dressing table, and furnishings of sumptuous, sensuous beauty. But what caught Ming Huashang’s eye above all else was the long narrow writing table behind a latticed floor-to-ceiling partition.
On the writing table sat brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone. The front legs were stained with dark reddish-brown, and all around lay a scattering of discarded sheets of paper. In front of the table, a space had been deliberately left clear; faint traces of a human outline remained.
This was where Zhang Ziyun had died. From the residual markings, one could see that Zhang Ziyun had died leaning against the writing table. There were no signs of a struggle on the floor — even the bloodstains were sparse, only a few scattered drops.
No wonder the Jing Zhao Office had ruled Zhang Ziyun’s death a suicide. He had died in such perfect tranquillity.
Ming Huashang continued to survey the other furnishings in the room. Behind a bead curtain stood a small tea table bearing a set of exquisite Western Region wine cups. The cups appeared to have been used; one had even rolled onto the floor — it was unclear whether that was the original state of the scene or the result of the Jing Zhao Office investigators bumping it during their inspection.
Beside the tea table stood an unopened jar of wine. There should have been two jars originally — the other had been half-consumed and had already been taken away by the Jing Zhao Office.
Ming Huashang examined the wine jars carefully for a while, then ultimately returned to the long writing table. There was simply no helping it — there was something on the writing table that she found very strange.
On the writing table sat a shallow water basin, half-filled with water. Faint ink floated on the surface. After standing unused for many days, a layer of dust had settled on the water.
She genuinely could not make sense of this water basin and asked: “This water basin is…”
Ming Huazhang was crouched by the table legs examining the bloodstains. At her question, he nudged Xie Jichuan: “You know more about the water marbling technique. Go and explain it.”
“I don’t.” Xie Jichuan stood up resignedly and moved to the back of the writing table, gesturing broadly over the brushes and ink: “This is a distinctive painting method called water marbling, also known as the floating ink technique. First, one fills this small basin with clean water mixed with hemp ash, then ideally lets it rest for a few hours. Then one picks up the brush, taps the teeth — and dips it into vermilion or ink, and draws freely across the water’s surface in a single, unbroken flow. Corrections made afterward are considered inferior. Once the ink has bloomed outward, one presses a sheet of xuan paper onto the water’s surface, then removes and dries it. What follows is the final step — and the most crucial one: the actual painting.”
Ming Huashang was surprised: “One still has to paint on top of it?”
“Of course.” Xie Jichuan said. “Once the ink enters the water, it becomes entirely unpredictable; the transferred impression will be all manner of strange and wonderful shapes. This is precisely where the painter’s skill and ingenuity are most severely tested. A skilled artist can work with the flow of the bloomed ink, guiding it to great effect — adding just a few critical strokes — and an exceptional artist can even paint ancient pines, fantastic rocks, or even figures from the patterns formed in the water.”
Just hearing it described sounded incredibly difficult. Ming Huashang said, with genuine feeling: “Remarkable.” Then she asked: “So the water here has already been used?”
Xie Jichuan nodded: “There’s ink in the water. It has been used.”
“Does that mean the water can only be used once?”
The water used in water marbling must be prepared in advance and cannot be changed mid-process, which effectively means each attempt allows only a single try. Xie Jichuan cast her a sideways glance: “What else? Why do you think water marbling is so difficult to master?”
Ming Huashang fell quiet and examined the other items on the writing table. To the left of the table was the water basin; to the right, a painting was propped up; and in the middle sat the scholar’s four treasures and sheets of xuan paper.
She had noticed this painting the moment she entered, but had forced herself to suppress her curiosity, insisting on taking in the whole room before coming to look at the work.
In the painting, the lower portion showed an incense burner, from which curls of smoke rose in graceful tendrils. Within the smoke, strange mountains, fantastic rocks, ancient pines, and immortals all seemed to float. What was most exquisite was the wooden window directly behind the incense burner — the smoke entwined with the window lattice, creating a space in which the solid and the ethereal interpenetrated, achieving a sense of dimension and strangeness that leapt off the paper, evoking the flavour of a boundless world contained within a mustard seed, of immortal realms dwelling within a jar.
The smoke and mist in this painting had been rendered through water marbling, the ink spreading in rings, floating and free, drifting and unpredictable, achieving a subtlety that human hands alone could never accomplish. The strokes added by the artist afterward were equally inspired — the fantastic rocks and ancient pines merged seamlessly with the bloomed ink, creating a masterwork of apparent simplicity serving a higher sophistication, each element enhancing the other.
Even someone as untrained as Ming Huashang could see that it was extraordinary. A pity it was only half-finished — had this painting been completed, who knew how breathtaking it might have been.
After admiring the painting, Ming Huashang looked beside it. A great many sheets of xuan paper lay piled in disorder on the table, and quite a few had fallen to the floor. It appeared someone had been here trying to reproduce that painting of the incense burner and immortal realm.
Ming Huashang pointed to the water basin and asked: “Brother Xie, is the ink in the water what’s left from this painting?”
Xie Jichuan cast Ming Huashang a cold glance: “What sort of misunderstanding do you have about my abilities? I’m not an all-knowing deity. You ask me?”
“From the evidence at the scene, I would say yes.” Ming Huazhang finished examining the bloodstains and stood up, pointing to a sheet of discarded paper on the floor. “The ink pattern on this sheet of paper is roughly similar in shape to the painting, but the spaces between the ink rings are wider, consistent with ink diffusing through water. If I’m not mistaken, Yuqiong was demonstrating the water marbling technique for Zhang Ziyun, but before the painting was finished, Yuqiong was summoned away by the madam to entertain a distinguished guest. Zhang Ziyun was left alone in the room to wait. He was a man who loved painting, and seeing such a novel technique he could not resist the urge to try it himself. He fetched a clean sheet of xuan paper, pressed it onto the water basin to transfer the ink, intending to reproduce Yuqiong’s painting — but he did not succeed.”
As he said this, Ming Huazhang gestured toward the other sheets of paper: “These are all his failed attempts.”
This was a perfectly reasonable deduction. Ming Huashang listened and felt entirely convinced. It had never occurred to her that the spread of ink could be used to reconstruct a timeline. And yet Ming Huazhang had even caught that level of detail.
Xie Jichuan looked entirely accustomed to this. He found a clear spot, sat down, yawned, and said listlessly: “I’m so tired. I want to go back to sleep.”
“Try to take this seriously.” Ming Huazhang said with a sombre face: “I have made a pledge to Han Jie — the stolen map of the Grand Ming Palace must be retrieved within ten days. This is no joke.”
“Exactly, so it all depends on you.” Xie Jichuan rested his chin in his hand and said lazily: “Whether I’m here or not makes no difference. I trust you — how quickly we can wrap this up is entirely in your hands.”
Ming Huashang looked at Xie Jichuan in amazement. His manner was so completely at odds with her mental image of a scion of the Xie Family. But then she thought back to how he slept through lectures yet could seamlessly resume teaching the moment he woke, and decided it made perfect sense.
This was very much like Xie Jichuan.
Ming Huashang did not have Xie Jichuan’s natural gifts, and had no desire to pile all the pressure onto Ming Huazhang. After a brief moment of quiet admiration, she got down to her own work conscientiously. Xie Jichuan tilted his head and watched Ming Huashang kneel before the writing table, motionless, staring at the scroll, until curiosity finally got the better of him: “Little Sister, are you here keeping me company in my idleness, or are you actually working on the case?”
Ming Huazhang was searching for clues and spared Xie Jichuan an icy glance.
A rare display: Xie Jichuan actually seemed aware that he was being idle.
Ming Huashang came back to herself and slowly shook her head: “I’m thinking about what the person who painted this was feeling at the time.”
“Hmm?” Xie Jichuan’s interest was piqued. “You can tell that from a painting?”
“Of course.” Ming Huashang said. “Writing reflects the writer, calligraphy reflects the calligrapher — and painting reflects the painter. Imagination is a mirror of the creator’s inner world, and paintings especially so.”
Then she sighed at length: “Such important evidence, and yet the Jing Zhao Office didn’t take it away. Their investigative competence is genuinely worrying.”
Xie Jichuan agreed wholeheartedly: “Indeed. So, Second Little Sister, what did you see?”
Ming Huashang pointed to the water-marbled painting on the right and the discarded sheets scattered around it: “These were painted by two different people.”
Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, his tone turning faintly odd: “Isn’t that blindingly obvious?”
“Be quiet.” Ming Huazhang walked slowly over, his expression very grave. “Let her finish.”
“The one on the right has vivid colours and fine, delicate brushwork, yet the feeling it gives is one of extreme caution — as if something is being deliberately held in check. The floating ink in this particular shape could have led in many directions, yet the artist painted fantastic rocks and ancient pines, a floating immortal realm, then added an incense burner and window lattice — everyday objects with a decidedly feminine quality — binding the bloomed ink in place, as if telling the viewer outside the painting that all of this is merely fantasy. I feel that the person who painted this was in a state of profound emotional suppression when she painted it. She desperately wanted a world beyond the mortal realm — one she could step into through the smoke and escape — yet she was deeply pessimistic in her heart, knowing it was all an illusion, that she could never shed her chains. The incense would burn out, and then she would have to wake up.”
This fit Yuqiong’s psychology perfectly. Even without having met Yuqiong, anyone hearing this description could form a general impression of the painter. Xie Jichuan rubbed his chin and said: “I see. In future, I must not paint in front of others carelessly.”
He listened to all of that and came away with only this conclusion? Ming Huazhang paid Xie Jichuan no attention, and instead asked Ming Huashang: “And the copies made by the other person — can you read anything from those?”
“His brushwork is too sparse. I’ll try my best.” Ming Huashang said. “His painting is actually strange in its own way. He had a model right in front of him, yet he used no colour pigment at all. Every single discarded sheet, without exception, is black and white. The black strokes are wild and chaotic, producing a deeply unsettling feeling. I think that when he was painting, his inner state was violent — even the lines are full of aggression.”
Ming Huazhang asked: “Is there more?”
Ming Huashang touched one sheet after another and said: “The sheets lower in the pile show greater disorder in the ink, suggesting that as time passed, his inner state grew increasingly turbulent. But look at these sheets — they are clearly sitting on top, yet they show only the water-marbled transfer, with no brushwork added.”
Xie Jichuan said: “Maybe he grew tired of it. In the end he was too agitated and couldn’t be bothered to draw anymore?”
“That doesn’t follow.” Ming Huashang frowned, murmuring: “When a person’s emotions have built to a peak, there must be some form of release — they can’t simply subside on their own. But in these sheets, I see no violent outpouring, only stillness and concealment.”
Ming Huazhang caught something not quite right in her words: “You mean…”
A scene was gradually forming in Ming Huashang’s mind. If Zhang Ziyun’s body had not been moved, these sheets would have been scattered precisely at his side. She hesitated for a moment before saying: “These discarded sheets were not painted by Zhang Ziyun.”
Ming Huazhang immediately understood, and he and Xie Jichuan spoke almost simultaneously: “The killer!”
Ming Huazhang’s expression changed at once. He moved directly to the writing table to study those sheets. Even Xie Jichuan snapped to attention and asked: “But what would the killer be doing with paper at the murder scene? Surely they didn’t come here to paint?”
Ming Huazhang tried not to disturb the other sheets, and carefully picked up one of them. He held it up to his eyes and slowly adjusted the angle. Ming Huashang found herself holding her breath without realising it and asked: “Second Brother, what did you find?”
Ming Huazhang’s gaze was focused and cold: “This sheet of paper is not flat.”
“Xuan paper is never flat to begin with.”
“This is different.” Ming Huazhang gestured for the two of them to come and look. “Look at the raised portion in the middle — doesn’t it look like a face.”
Ming Huashang immediately leaned over beside him. Xie Jichuan showed no inclination to step forward and look, but asked: “So what’s your thinking?”
Ming Huazhang turned the sheet lightly in his fingers, subtly angling it toward the light coming through the window so that Ming Huashang could better see the raised portion, while sparing a fraction of his attention for Xie Jichuan: “You didn’t even question whether I might be wrong?”
“You never act without basis.” Xie Jichuan said. “Since you say there’s something here, I’m not wasting energy checking. What do you think these sheets of paper were used for?”
“Don’t forget that Zhang Ziyun died of asphyxiation.” Ming Huazhang said. “The moment I came in I was looking for the murder weapon. This room is full of silk and satin — many things here could smother someone to death. If Huashang hadn’t pointed it out, it might not have occurred to me that wet paper can also serve as a murder weapon.”
Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow and immediately blurted out: “Huashang?”
Ming Huazhang finally reached the end of his patience, turned, and fixed Xie Jichuan with a cold stare: “Can you not be serious for once?”
Xie Jichuan spread his hands obligingly: “Fine, fine. Then what? Using a single sheet of paper to kill someone still seems like quite a stretch.”
“A single ordinary sheet of paper would not do, but for a target who is already unconscious, whose legs are impaired, and whose hands are bound, a stack of wet paper is sufficient to suffocate anyone.” Ming Huazhang carefully ran his fingers over the sheets on the floor and said: “The killer used the red silk ribbon to climb through the ventilation window, then opened the hidden door, and afterward also used the red silk ribbon to bind Zhang Ziyun’s hands — the red threads under his fingernails must have gotten there in exactly that way. There are six sheets with those distinctive raised impressions, which should be more than sufficient to kill a man. It would be best to test this, though.”
“There’s no need to go to that trouble.” Xie Jichuan had no desire to assist with any such test and said: “Our objective is to retrieve the painting. The exact manner of Zhang Ziyun’s death is actually beside the point. A small discrepancy in the murder weapon doesn’t significantly matter. If the murder weapon really was paper, then who would the killer be?”
The killer had used materials at hand, and since Zhang Ziyun was unconscious at the time, anyone who had entered would have had the opportunity. Ming Huazhang said: “Before, we were unaware of this hidden passage, which means Yuhu’s surveillance was entirely meaningless. Anyone who climbed the east building staircase had the opportunity to enter the private room through the passage without touching the doors or windows. The key question is: on that day, who went up the east building staircase and knew the hidden passage existed?”
The first condition applied to many people, but satisfying both conditions simultaneously seemed to narrow the field to only a very few options.
Xie Jichuan said: “According to the servants of Tianxiang Tower, the compartment was built at the madam’s direction — she could not possibly not know about the hidden door. That day she was arranging the banquet throughout the tower, moving about constantly, and had ample opportunity to approach Shantea’s silk ribbon and cut a section from it, conceal it on her person, then slip unseen onto the staircase and enter Feng Qing Si Yuan using the method we tested. Smothering someone takes less than the time to drink a cup of tea — she could have killed Zhang Ziyun and reappeared downstairs without anyone noticing she had been absent for even a moment.”
With no one objecting, Xie Jichuan continued to lay out his supporting arguments: “Several people had complained about the staircase on multiple occasions, yet the madam persistently refused to have it replaced. And she was also the one who sent the wine. Only she knew that Zhang Ziyun was unconscious — that’s why she could walk in and open the hidden door so openly and kill him on the spot using whatever came to hand. If it had been anyone else, even someone who knew about the passage and could access it, they would not have dared simply to walk in. Then there’s last night — she also went out. This morning, she very likely instructed the mute servant to go probe things out in the private room. Why would she do all this if she had a clear conscience? Looking at all this, the madam’s likelihood is very high.”
Ming Huazhang thought of the ventilation window in the compartment wall and furrowed his brow slightly: “But the madam’s figure — she likely couldn’t fit through the ventilation window.”
“She was once a top courtesan herself — perhaps she has some particular technique.” Xie Jichuan said. “Besides, the mute servant is utterly loyal to her. She can also use the mute servant. She meets every condition. It must be her. We should take her away for interrogation.”
Ming Huazhang was still frowning. Logically, the madam was the most suspicious. But he could not ignore the facts. The madam was a plump woman, and the mute servant, though small, was still a man. Could either of them truly pass through the ventilation window?
Ming Huazhang rose and said: “No — I need to go measure the window opening. We need to test whether they can actually get through.”
Xie Jichuan’s brows rose sharply, the disbelief plain on his face: “You gave your solemn pledge — the painting must be retrieved within ten days, and today is already the second day. We also have to guard against Tianxiang Tower moving the painting out. Time is critically short. Given evidence this solid, what are you still hesitating for?”
Ming Huazhang still could not bring himself to act decisively. They were operating in the shadows, and the interests entangled in this matter were extremely complex. They would not be going through the normal legal channels of official investigation. Once they took someone away for interrogation, there would be no possibility of releasing that person afterward — which meant their first move would have to be a killing blow.
There were many ways to make a madam die by apparent accident. But Ming Huazhang could not help asking himself: “What if I am wrong? The dead cannot be brought back. If we make a mistake, that is a human life.”
Xie Jichuan paused, then said with deliberate meaning: “She is nothing but a brothel madam.”
Such a person had no power, no standing, no virtue. She might socialize with powerful figures on the surface, but in truth, her death would attract no one’s attention. Within two days, a new madam would take her place. That she had risen to her position meant she had harmed no small number of brothel women. Her death would be no loss.
Ming Huazhang understood what Xie Jichuan was implying, and for a moment could not answer. His eyelashes lowered, and sunlight cast fine shadows beneath his eyes, like the wings of a butterfly. After a brief silence, he raised his eyes swiftly. Light glanced across his pupils, refracting a brilliant glassy sheen.
His gaze was firm, and he held his position with the same quiet stubbornness as before: “No. If it is true, then it is true; if it is not, then it is not. There is no such thing as ‘probably.’ I’m going to measure the ventilation window.”
Xie Jichuan raised an eyebrow, clearly somewhat disappointed. At that moment, Ming Huashang suddenly said: “Actually, I also have a few doubts.”
Ming Huazhang stopped in his tracks and turned with genuine attention: “What doubts?”
Ming Huashang met Ming Huazhang’s eyes. His gaze was dark and steady — as if whatever she said, he would take it seriously. She found her courage: “There is one thing that doesn’t add up. The killer laid such an elaborate trap — everything points to an absolute determination to kill Zhang Ziyun. So why did the killer not bring a weapon, but instead had to find one on the spot after entering the sealed room?”
“She did bring a weapon.” Xie Jichuan reminded them. “When Zhang Ziyun was found, there was a dagger stabbed into his neck.”
“But that was a prop used to stage the appearance of suicide — it had nothing to do with killing him.” Ming Huashang said. “Say the madam is the killer. Standing in her position, I simply cannot understand why, if I am going to kill someone extremely important and absolutely must not fail, I would enter the room without bringing a murder weapon. Furthermore, if I had smothered Zhang Ziyun with wet paper and then scattered the murder weapon among the discarded sheets — absolutely undetectable — then why would I go out last night? The authorities already ruled it a suicide. What would I still be anxious about?”
Xie Jichuan was extremely confident in his own judgment, but the issue Ming Huashang had raised, though not enormous, was nonetheless genuinely impossible to explain away. He knitted his brows to search for an answer. Ming Huazhang gently rapped Ming Huashang on the top of her head, his face solemn: “Proper investigation requires rigour. Do not use ‘I’ to stand in for the killer.”
Ming Huashang had expected Ming Huazhang to say something weighty, but it turned out to be this. She said helplessly: “It’s just a figure of speech. And besides, one has to adopt the killer’s perspective to spot the problems.”
“That still won’t do.” Ming Huazhang was unexpectedly adamant about this. His expression was ice-cold, without any room for negotiation. “I have been meaning to say this for a while. You are you, and the killer is the killer. Investigation is a mission. This case will end, and there will be a next one, but your life is your own. You should observe the killer and the victim like a bystander — calm and rational — not place yourself in either party’s position.”
Privately, Ming Huashang was not entirely convinced. She was not a child — surely she understood this much. Ming Huazhang was making a mountain out of a molehill. Not wanting to openly dismiss his good intentions, she nodded perfunctorily: “All right.”
Ming Huazhang’s manner was firm and unrelenting. His fingers pressed the top of her head and turned her to face him directly: “Did you actually take that in?”
Xie Jichuan truly could not bear the two of them being so insufferably long-winded. He coughed and said: “If I may interrupt — regarding the madam not bringing a weapon, I have a theory. She staged Zhang Ziyun’s death as a suicide, which means that when she decided to kill him, she had already planned out every step. There was no need to bring a weapon.”
“But the brushes and paper were prepared by Yuqiong.” Ming Huashang said. “How could the madam possibly have known in advance that there would be paper in the room?”
Xie Jichuan said: “She is the madam, after all. Zhang Ziyun entered Tianxiang Tower, and Yuqiong invited him upstairs to share their appreciation of painting — the madam couldn’t have been unaware of this.”
“But how would she know what paper Yuqiong intended to use? How would she know that Yuqiong would be called away mid-visit by a distinguished guest? How would she know that Yuqiong would be demonstrating the water marbling technique, with a ready supply of water on hand to wet the paper and use for the killing?” Ming Huashang’s gaze was sharp and direct. “Brother Xie, you have reversed the chain of cause and effect. You are working backwards from a conclusion to implicate the madam in the murder.”
Xie Jichuan might appear carefree and untouched by the world, but in truth he was deeply proud of his intelligence. This was the first time anyone had ever told him to his face that he was wrong. Xie Jichuan opened his mouth to refute her — and found himself at a loss for words.
He realised that Ming Huashang was right. He had presupposed the madam as the killer and had been continuously seeking evidence to confirm that conclusion. But at this point, what was the evidence even worth?
Xie Jichuan fell silent. Ming Huazhang observed this with considerable surprise, and cast Ming Huashang a glance before stepping in to conclude the search: “All right. Today we have broken open the locked room, found the murder weapon, and made very good progress indeed. Going forward, we continue to gather clues and inquire into the movements and activities of the women and debt-bonded servants in Tianxiang Tower two days ago — with particular emphasis on the madam. Jiang Ling and Ren Yao are still out there buying us time. Let us go to them first before they are put in a difficult position.”
Ming Huazhang’s near-authoritative manner set the direction of the investigation, forestalling any internal dissent. Both Ming Huashang and Xie Jichuan accepted this without objection. They returned to the compartment through the hidden passage. Ming Huazhang restored the passage to its original state and said: “You two go out first. I still need to measure the dimensions of the ventilation window. I’ll follow shortly.”
Ming Huashang said: “Two people would be too conspicuous. Brother Xie, you go first.”
Xie Jichuan looked at the two of them without a word, then slipped out the door and disappeared. Once he was gone, Ming Huazhang drew out his soft rope and carefully recorded the dimensions of the ventilation window from every angle, while saying unhurriedly: “Go ahead and speak. What did you want to say?”
Ming Huashang gave a small laugh, reached over to assist Ming Huazhang, and said: “I was afraid Second Brother would be lonely, so I stayed to keep him company.”
Ming Huazhang gave a quiet laugh and did not press further. Ming Huashang said she was helping, but since it was pitch dark she was not of any real use. She hesitated for a moment, then said quietly: “Second Brother, who do you suspect?”
“You just finished lecturing Xie Jichuan on this — and now you are trying to lead me into making the same mistake?”
“No.” Ming Huashang felt awkward and said in a small voice: “Actually, I suspect Yuqiong more than anyone. After seeing the crime scene and that painting, I am more and more inclined to think it is her.”
“Her?” Ming Huazhang’s tone was noncommittal. “That day she was in the west building — many people saw her there. She couldn’t possibly have crossed to the east building.”
“This is the one thing I truly cannot figure out.” Ming Huashang muttered. “But I really do think it is her. When I was questioning Brother Xie’s reasoning, all those uncertainties I raised — Yuqiong would be able to control every single one of them. Think about it: she is a famous courtesan of the whole capital, and Zhang Ziyun was only a down-and-out scholar. Why would she personally receive him? And out of all the unoccupied private rooms on the second floor, why choose the one with a hidden door that just happens to be directly beneath her own room?”
Ming Huazhang gave a neutral sound and asked: “What do you think the reason is?”
“Don’t forget — she attended the banquet at the Wei estate, and witnessed Weitan’s death with her own eyes. It is very possible she also discovered Zhang Ziyun’s deception. Weitan died and, just days later, so did Zhang Ziyun — and both had connections to her. I really cannot bring myself to treat this as coincidence.”
“Evidence?”
Ming Huashang pursed her lips slightly: “There may be evidence, but it would require searching Yuqiong’s room to find it.”
Ming Huazhang finally could not keep from smiling, and turned to look steadily at Ming Huashang. Feeling his eyes on her, she felt a prickle of unease and raised her brows: “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Ming Huazhang said with amusement. “Only relief — that you are a member of the Xuan Xiaowei. Because otherwise, I might have had to go looking for you in the county jail.”
Ming Huashang was thoroughly annoyed. Her expression fell, plainly written across her face: I am not pleased. Ming Huazhang knew when to quit while he was ahead. He reined in his smile and said sincerely: “Huashang — in all things, one must have evidence. Personal bias is not enough. I will take into consideration everything you and Xie Jichuan have suggested. Going forward, I will investigate both Yuqiong and the madam closely.”
Ming Huashang’s expression remained conspicuously displeased. Just as she was about to retort, voices sounded outside the door. Ming Huazhang’s face changed at once. He immediately pulled Ming Huashang close and the two of them flipped around behind the shelving to hide.
At that moment, the door to the compartment was pushed open. A shaft of light from outside pierced in, illuminating the blurry outlines of the clutter within the room.
“Since the young master is in a mood to gamble, do you remember where Madam put the gaming pieces?”
“I don’t know — look on the shelf.”
Ming Huashang listened in despair as the footsteps grew closer and closer, inwardly cursing Jiang Ling for betraying them. Ming Huazhang tightened his grip and pressed her firmly against the wall, hidden in the shadow of the shelf. The shaft of light from the doorway nearly grazed the hem of their clothing.