In the middle months of autumn, the lingering heat of summer stretched the days long. The dense forests and lush grasses of the Zhongnan Mountains were draped in the colors of dusk, and as the wind swept through the trees, the entire mountain was swathed in a whispering rustle.
The bamboo curtains were rolled high, their tassels swaying gently with the breeze. Ming Huashang sat beneath a straight-latticed window, her hair gathered into a simple ingot-shaped bun, exposing her slender neck and fair, clean face.
She wore no powder or rouge, only a light and simple white casual garment, and apart from the pale green hair ribbon at the back of her head, there was not a single superfluous adornment on her from head to toe.
The summer heat in Chang’an was stifling and oppressive. Only the moments before sunrise and after sunset offered any true comfort, and while morning martial practice was as fixed as thunder, the only time she could settle down and read in peace was this stretch of evening.
Ming Huashang’s lashes were lowered as she focused intently on a thick scroll in her hands. At that moment, someone pushed open the courtyard gate. She glanced over absently with the corner of her eye, and was about to rise when the newcomer stopped her: “Don’t bother — keep reading.”
Ming Huazhang was dressed just as neatly in white, his waist bound high, accentuating broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs. As he walked in from beneath the canopy of trees, he was a living portrait of what it meant to flourish like spring pines — tall and upright, elegant in bearing.
He held several scrolls in his arms and stopped before the window, effortlessly reading the contents of what Ming Huashang held: “Still looking at the Jiangnan Circuit scrolls?”
“Yes,” Ming Huashang said. “It’s rare for a prefectural inspector to keep such detailed records — not only does he include the autopsy report of the deceased, but he also documented the background of the perpetrator. This is precious firsthand material. Of course I have to read it slowly and carefully.”
Ming Huazhang said nothing, but leaned forward over the windowsill and placed the scrolls he had brought down beside her: “These are records Han Jie newly found. They contain accounts of the cases and the perpetrators’ confessions — they may be useful for your profiling.”
Ming Huashang was delighted to hear it and hurriedly moved to unwrap the new scrolls: “Really? This is so timely. The people who handle cases only ever care about the victims — once a perpetrator is caught, all they need is a confession and that’s the end of it. No one gives a second thought to what kind of person the perpetrator actually is. They say examining a corpse gives voice to the dead, yet when there is a living person right there — the perpetrator — no one thinks to let them speak either. If you don’t understand the depths of a cave, how can you subdue the tiger within? Only by knowing how a criminal thinks can you know how to find a perpetrator when a murder has occurred, and how to prevent one from occurring at all.”
Ming Huashang had voiced complaints like these many times before. After they had recovered the Great Luminous Palace map in Chang’an back in the fourth month, Han Jie had not given them a single day off — he had sent them straight back to training.
It was now the eighth month. In those four months, Ming Huashang had spent her days deep in mountain wilderness, riding horses, shooting arrows, and pounding sandbags — and sometimes serving as the sandbag herself for others to strike. Her stamina and endurance had improved enormously. She was no longer the little good-for-nothing who toppled with one punch and gasped for breath after two steps.
At least she could take two punches now.
Beyond martial training, Han Jie had not let them slack in the written examinations either. Over the course of four months, they had studied codes, methods of killing, methods of saving, local gazetteers of various regions, and even the peculiar knowledge of Taoist arts and geomancy — all of it was the common curriculum shared by everyone. But beyond that, Ming Huashang had been given extra lessons: while others rested in their free time after class, she was made to sit with scrolls of past cases and read.
Cases that Ming Huashang could personally witness were exceedingly few — after all, she wasn’t so unlucky as to stumble across a corpse wherever she went. Ming Huazhang strongly objected to her relying on intuition alone to solve cases. He insisted that experience was more important than intuition, and that listening to many perspectives was more important than clinging to one’s own beliefs. He had gathered many scrolls and made Ming Huashang study the diverse array of criminals from past cases, helping her sharpen her profiling ability.
These past few months had been very hard for Ming Huashang — she had no spare time beyond sleeping. But if she were to speak honestly, she had gained an enormous amount.
In the early days, she had stumbled through reading the case scrolls; later, it was her turn to find fault with them. The investigative capabilities of prefectural offices varied greatly across regions, and those who could describe perpetrators without bias were rarer still. Ming Huashang often had to wade through pages of meaningless content before she could find one or two useful lines of testimony. Her resentment ran deep, and every time she saw Ming Huazhang she could not help but complain.
Ming Huazhang was long accustomed to this. He rested one arm on the windowsill and sighed: “These are the scrolls from the four capitals — they’re already among the better ones. People place great value on officials serving in the capital and look down on those posted to outlying regions. Every new crop of imperial examination graduates schemes to remain in Chang’an or Luoyang, and whoever cannot manages to secure a place in the prosperous regions of Jiangnan and similar areas. Though Chang’an, Luoyang, and Yangzhou are flourishing and wealthy, they amount to only three out of the Tang dynasty’s three hundred fifty or more prefectures — less than one in a hundred. Beyond the capital’s domain lies a vast territory, and even officials who can read and understand the law are scarce there, let alone the minor clerks and runners beneath them.”
Ming Huashang looked up at the young man before her. Though they were separated by the window, their faces were quite close. The lingering heat of early autumn had not yet dispersed, and dappled green shadows fell across him as the wind in the distance stirred a sweeping rustle of leaves.
He seemed to have grown taller, his shoulders gradually widening, revealing the firm angles of a young man, yet still retaining the lean slenderness of youth — at a glance, he was like bamboo after the rain: resilient and straight, clear in spirit and upright in nature. As he spoke of the weakness of local governance in the outer provinces, his eyes were dark and earnest. He was genuinely troubled by it.
Ming Huashang had not missed his words. He had said “the Tang dynasty.” Yet the dynasty’s name at present should be Zhou.
Ming Huashang did not correct him. She said: “Second Elder Brother, as I read through these scrolls, the greatest feeling they give me is not that there is a lack of people — it is that talent is being wasted.”
Ming Huazhang grew serious at that, and asked: “How so?”
“Take Chang’an for example — you can’t say the officials of the Metropolitan Prefecture lack ability in any way. But when they investigate cases, all they know is to have their subordinates grind away at time and effort — questioning every single person near the scene, then, if no suspects are found, expanding the perimeter and staking out the area again for another round of questioning. Clerks and runners are human beings too. Prolonged labor leads to exhaustion and tedium, and toiling all day for meager wages is bound to lead someone to extract false confessions and deceive their superiors. The fault doesn’t lie with the constables and petty officers — it lies with the officials above them.”
Ming Huazhang listened attentively and nodded for her to continue.
“And when I read their investigative scrolls, it’s plain that many of the efforts were unnecessary — pure wasted labor. I can understand what the presiding officials were thinking: they are the local administrators, and failing to catch a perpetrator affects their performance record, which could very well drag down their evaluation by the Ministry of Personnel. Unwilling to take risks, they order their subordinates to cast a wide net — better to wrong one innocent person than to let a criminal escape — and never mind whether those constables and runners are worn to the bone. Yet many perpetrators clearly share common traits. For instance, men who rape and kill women very often have a history of setting fires beforehand. Those who use cruel methods to kill — inflicting suffering on the body — may well have started by harming animals. And many killings that appear savage and that officials have judged to be vengeance crimes — in my view, they are actually the result of the perpetrator being unable to perform, so he took out his rage upon the corpse. What looks like violence is actually a manifestation of…”
Ming Huashang suddenly faltered. She had been about to say that these were cases where the perpetrator was incapable and so released his frustration upon the body — that what appeared to be violence was in fact rooted in carnal inadequacy.
But how was she supposed to say such things to Ming Huazhang?
Ming Huazhang had one arm braced on the windowsill, his body half inclined toward her as he listened attentively. Today he wore a narrow-sleeved white round-collar robe, with the cuffs folded back and decorated with an elaborate pattern of jeweled flowers; beneath the cloth, his fine wristbones were faintly visible, along with the lines of his slender and capable forearms.
He had been practicing martial arts for years and was disciplined in his diet. Dressed, he appeared long-limbed and gracefully lean, but in truth his arms were not thin at all.
Ming Huazhang’s eyes were clear, black and white sharply defined, luminous and bright. Seeing her pause, he took the initiative to ask: “What is it?”
Ming Huashang didn’t know what she was thinking, but found her own face had gone red. She turned her head away and, as a cover, gave a small cough and said haltingly: “I haven’t… worked it out yet.”
Ming Huazhang gazed at her quietly. He was evidently not convinced by this excuse, but he did not press her. He said: “All right, take your time. What you’ve said makes a great deal of sense. Though the imperial examinations have opened doors for scholars from humble families, the people they select are all men of letters — and there is still a very long road between being a man of letters and being an actual governing official. The common traits you’ve identified are very useful. Have you considered compiling them into a book?”
“Me?” Ming Huashang said instinctively. “Second Elder Brother, you know perfectly well that my calligraphy and painting are terrible, my poetry is utter nonsense — that kind of thing should be entrusted to a person of great learning, and failing that, at least to some talented woman of letters.”
Ming Huazhang suddenly reached forward and flicked her ingot-shaped bun lightly, a faint smile on his lips: “Don’t sell yourself short. Those so-called talented scholars and women of letters write poetry to glorify power and sing the praises of the mighty — while you write to give voice to the dead and defend the rights of the living. You serve no lords, you exalt no powerful men — your cause is far nobler than theirs. By rights it is they who should feel ashamed before you. What is there for you to fear?”
Ming Huashang was taken aback and still hesitated a little: “But I…”
“Take it gradually,” Ming Huazhang said. “If such a book could be written and spread throughout the realm — teaching officials how to allocate their limited manpower, and teaching constables how to track down criminals — how many false and wrongful cases might there be fewer of in this world? Huashang, you take one look at a murder scene and can already sketch the profile of the perpetrator. Your gift is no less than Xie Jichuan’s. Today, talented people are all single-mindedly pursuing official careers, serving emperors — no one is willing to serve the common people. I hope you will not squander your gifts. Do something that truly matters.”
Ming Huashang raised her eyes and met Ming Huazhang’s gaze. His expression was calm and steady, as deep and still as a quiet pool — and in that stillness, a quiet force resided without a word being spoken.
She hadn’t always understood before — why he read and trained without tiring, studying and practicing with relentless diligence, the most self-disciplined person she had ever met. He already had everything. What was he still striving for?
Now Ming Huashang finally understood. He wasn’t merely aspiring to be a gentleman in words alone — he genuinely believed in the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, and was putting into practice his own understanding of the way of the gentleman.
Ming Huashang found herself unconsciously moved by that clear and upright spirit, and slowly nodded: “All right. I’ll try.”
The mountain wind passed through the room, the bamboo curtains overhead swayed gently, and the two of them held each other’s gaze, their faces no more than half a foot apart. Ming Huazhang suddenly realized that their distance seemed just a little too close. He was thinking about how to resolve this without making it obvious, when the courtyard gate behind him was suddenly pushed open and a bold, blunt voice barged in: “I’m dying of heat. Ming Huashang, did you write your policy essay yesterday or not…”
Ming Huazhang immediately straightened up, and Ming Huashang quickly sat upright, using the book she held as a cover. Jiang Ling came charging in and froze at the sight: “What are you two doing?”
In truth, Jiang Ling meant nothing by it — Ming Huazhang was Ming Huashang’s elder brother, so his presence in her room was perfectly normal, and so was speaking to her through the window. But the way both of them hastily pulled apart set off something odd in him.
Ming Huazhang saw how at home Jiang Ling looked, and his expression grew none too pleasant: “What are you doing here?”
“I came to copy — ah, that is, to see how Ming Huashang wrote her policy essay.” Jiang Ling was thoroughly familiar with this place and didn’t wait for Ming Huashang to invite him in. He made himself at home rooting through her things, entirely unaware that this was a young woman’s room. He found Ming Huashang’s coursework, looked through it, and raised his head in surprise: “You haven’t written it?”
“That’s right,” Ming Huashang said candidly. “I was waiting for all of you to finish so I could use yours as reference.”
Jiang Ling pulled a peculiar face and said: “Funny you should say that — I just came from Xie Jichuan’s place, and he hasn’t written it either.”
Ming Huashang asked: “What about Elder Sister Ren?”
“Her?” Jiang Ling made an exaggerated grimace. “Even if she did write one, would you dare to copy from it?”
Ming Huashang went quiet for a moment, then looked past him toward the gate behind his back. Jiang Ling was startled and spun around at once, let out a long breath of relief when he saw only an empty doorway, and said: “You nearly frightened me to death. I thought that tomboy had come.”
“Elder Sister Ren, Brother Xie — you’re here.”
“There you go again.” Jiang Ling clicked his tongue in disdain and said with contempt, “Even if the tomboy really had come, I wouldn’t be scared of her. I used to let her have her way, but she couldn’t beat me anymore ages ago — in class I just spare her face out of courtesy. If I were serious, knocking her flat on the ground would be as easy as flicking a finger.”
Ming Huashang looked at him with an expression that seemed to want to say something but stopped herself: “Maybe think about that again?”
“What’s there to think about!” Jiang Ling drew himself up with a proud and haughty air. “Someone like Xie Jichuan — that pretty-faced dandy — I could take out five of him with one punch. The only reason I haven’t is because I need to look at his essays, so I give him face. That’s the only reason.”
“Is that so?”
Jiang Ling answered without hesitation — and then felt something was slightly off. Why was the voice coming from behind him?
Jiang Ling turned slowly around. He found “the pretty-faced dandy” himself standing at the doorway, smiling pleasantly at him: “I see. Thank you for your restraint all this time.”
Jiang Ling saw Ren Yao standing beside Xie Jichuan, grinding her teeth in fury, and felt his head buzz. Ren Yao cracked her knuckles one by one, and let out a cold laugh: “Very well then. I’d like to see who ends up flat on the ground.”
A piercing shriek erupted in the courtyard. Ming Huashang reacted quickly and scrambled to the window, shouting outside: “If you want to fight, go outside! Don’t wreck my courtyard!”
The reply was a series of dull thuds of flesh striking the ground — whether or not they heard her was another matter entirely. Ming Huashang knelt half-upright at the window, looking rather pained: “Those chrysanthemums I worked so hard to grow — I still need them for the moon cakes in a few days. Don’t crush them.”
Xie Jichuan unhurriedly skirted around the scene of the altercation, stepped calmly up onto the veranda, and said to Ming Huazhang: “I knew you’d be here — you had me searching everywhere. Han Jie wants to see you.”
“What about?”
“Most likely regarding the descent from the mountain,” Xie Jichuan said. “The Empress intends to spend the Mid-Autumn Festival in Chang’an and has issued an order to set out. The imperial procession is expected to enter the city in three days. This relocation of the capital is a grand and sweeping event — the Three Departments and Six Ministries, princes and princesses, dukes and marquises and earls are all accompanying the imperial entourage, and the Duke Zhenguo estate is among those in attendance. Your reason for being in Chang’an is ostensibly to prepare for the imperial examinations — now that Grandmother and Father are arriving, it would be improper for you not to appear.”
Once the elders arrived in Chang’an, Ming Huazhang’s movements would no longer be so free. He let out a quiet sigh and said: “Understood. Thank you for passing along the message. I’ll go find Han Jie now.”
He finished speaking, then looked toward the other two who were beating each other with great enthusiasm, and lowered his voice: “Enough. The final assessment is nearly upon us. Instead of preparing for the examination, you’re here causing trouble.”
Ming Huashang, her heart aching for her moon cake ingredients, fumed in agreement: “Exactly.”
“That includes you.” Unexpectedly, Ming Huazhang turned the tables on her, saying: “With nothing in your head but food — Jiang Ling pushed open your door without notice and was rummaging through your room, and you just let him?”
Ming Huashang was a little bewildered, and said in surprise: “But… it’s always been like this…”
That this was apparently not even a first offense made Ming Huazhang even more irritated. Xie Jichuan saw this and said: “It’s a small matter. You’re being rather petty to make an issue of something so trivial.”
“A small matter?” Ming Huazhang turned a cold look on Xie Jichuan. “A man entering your younger sister’s room without knocking, rummaging through her private quarters — and you’d call that a small matter?”
Xie Jichuan spread his hands and said with complete sincerity: “I don’t have a younger sister.”
Ming Huashang nearly laughed out loud. Ming Huazhang glanced over at her, and she immediately fell silent, docilely resting her chin on the windowsill. Ming Huazhang looked at her wide-eyed, bewildered, and guilelessly self-righteous expression, and rapped her forehead hard in exasperation: “Nothing but food in your head.”
Ming Huashang didn’t dare dodge and took the blow full-on. She propped both hands under her chin and huffed, eyes flashing in indignation: “What’s wrong with food? Food comes first in all things under heaven.”
Ming Huazhang’s gaze swept over her, and Ming Huashang, under the withering pressure of her elder brother’s stare, said reluctantly: “Fine, I know. I won’t let him copy my assignments anymore.”
“And?”
Ming Huashang thought hard: “Lock the door when I’m reading?”
Xie Jichuan, who had been left standing there for quite some time, remarked languidly: “That’s about enough of that. I didn’t come here to watch you two display your model sibling bond. You’re here in Chang’an under the pretext of preparing for the imperial examinations, and with the special examination less than a month away — if you don’t pass, that would be quite the laughingstock.”
Ming Huazhang appeared entirely unexcited about this examination, and said with indifference: “It’s nothing but a show. The spots are all pre-determined. What does it matter whether one sits the examination or not?”
“That’s not the same thing,” Xie Jichuan said. “The Empress went out of her way to hold this examination specifically so that you could enter officialdom. If you don’t go, what was the point of the rest of us serving as your backdrop?”
Ming Huashang leaned on the windowsill, her eyes rolling back and forth between the two of them, and asked: “Brother Xie, are you also sitting for the ninth-month examinations?”
“Yes indeed,” Xie Jichuan said with a smile. “Not just me — Qian Shan from the other group is sitting for it too. Second Little Sister, who do you think will take first place?”
Ming Huashang smiled without showing her hand, and said sweetly: “It will certainly be my elder brother.”
There was nothing wrong with what she said. Ming Huazhang was her nominal elder brother, Su Xingzhi was her true elder brother, Xie Jichuan was Ming Huazhang’s friend and could loosely be called an elder brother too. No matter who took first place, it would be her elder brother.