The night wind sighed and swept through the dusk as it closed in around the world. Ming Huazhang returned from Chang’an Prefecture in Guangde Ward, bringing a whole body’s worth of cold air with him. His attendant followed behind, arms full of a great stack of case files: “My lord, you have been out and about all day today — you should take your rest. These documents can wait until tomorrow…”
Ming Huazhang pushed open the door, casually unfastened his cloak, and said lightly: “Put those scrolls in the study…”
As he spoke, his hand paused in the act of setting down the cloak. He turned around; his gaze cut like a cold blade across Shu Li.
Shu Li, left to keep watch at the Qinghui Courtyard, could only bow in helpless contrition to beg forgiveness.
He had tried to dissuade her, but the Second Young Lady had been set on coming in, and had forbidden him to tell the young master — there was truly nothing he could do.
Ming Huazhang looked into the pitch-dark room, and could almost feel the chill of the deep-autumn floor creeping up through the dark. He leveled one last stern glare at Shu Li, wordlessly signaling for everyone to set the case files down where they stood and leave at once.
The attendants did not dare disobey the Second Young Master. They bowed and withdrew without a sound, not even daring to make a noise as they pulled the door shut. Ming Huazhang put away his cloak and slowly stepped into the inner chamber.
With the door closed behind him, that faint sound of breathing became all the more distinct. Ming Huazhang gently lifted the curtain aside — and sure enough, there she was, wedged between the curtain and the wall, already fast asleep against it.
Ming Huazhang’s mood was both exasperated and resigned, and in the end it all became a single sigh. He accepted his fate, bent down, and gathered her into his arms.
Ming Huashang only felt as though she had dozed off for a moment. At some point she had been a little cold, but then she was inexplicably warm. She nuzzled against the smooth, cool fabric in front of her and went on sleeping in blissful unawareness, until at last she was roused by a surge of hunger.
She climbed blearily up from the pillow. Something slid off her shoulder; she instinctively grabbed it, and discovered it was Ming Huazhang’s outer robe.
Ming Huashang held the robe in a stupefied daze for quite a while before her mind slowly came back to her.
She had been hiding in her elder brother’s room to startle him, and had accidentally fallen asleep — and now she had woken up on his couch?
Beyond the folding screen, a faint and hazy light seeped through. A red-robed figure sat upright in the shadows beyond, the screen casting his silhouette in blurred outline, obscuring his features and making his posture seem all the more lean and graceful, his face like a jade carving. He turned a page, his fingers passing through the soft light of the screen, appearing all the more slender and pale: “Are you awake?”
Ming Huashang, unable to face this catastrophic situation, quietly collapsed back onto the couch and tried to convince herself that if she opened her eyes again, this would all turn out to be a dream.
Ming Huazhang let out a soft laugh and said with unhurried ease: “You did a fine job of erasing your traces — those months in the Zhongnan Mountains were not wasted. But you forgot that going too far is as bad as not going far enough. If you were on a mission, you would have been caught by now.”
Who said she would be caught! Ming Huashang yanked his robe away in indignation and shot back stubbornly: “Who says? I can run and jump perfectly well — how exactly would I have been caught?”
Ming Huazhang fixed her with a steady gaze, a faint almost-smile on his face: “So what you mean is — next time I should tie you up?”
Against her will, an image rose unbidden in Ming Huashang’s mind: she wakes to find herself on her elder brother’s couch, both hands bound… Ming Huashang jolted in alarm, sat bolt upright, and quickly drove that image from her head.
Heavens, what was she thinking? Her elder brother was the most upright and principled of men — honest as the clear wind and bright moon — how could she taint him with such thoughts?
Ming Huazhang rose and poured a cup of tea, then came toward her through the screen. He saw Ming Huashang sitting somewhat stiffly on the couch, an abnormal flush on her cheeks. Ming Huazhang leaned forward and reached out to feel her temperature: “What’s wrong?”
Ming Huashang hastily dodged. Ming Huazhang’s hand paused; he looked up and studied her intently. Ming Huashang caught her elder brother’s gaze, felt herself burning all over, and in her panic began to say nonsense: “Second Elder Brother, why are you here? No, wait — when did you get back?”
Ming Huazhang watched her evasive eyes, did not press further, lowered his hand, and said: “I came back at the Hour of the Dog. Have some water — your lips have gone dry.”
Only then did Ming Huashang realize he had only been handing her water. She took it somewhat awkwardly and sipped it in small mouthfuls. Ming Huazhang stood before the couch, his eyes dropping to her gradually moistening red lips, and without warning said: “You asked me what I wanted to eat tonight — is this the meal you’ve prepared for me?”
Ming Huashang choked so hard she nearly drowned on her water. She knew her elder brother was the most proper and upright of people; he absolutely did not mean it that way — but the words…why did they sound so strange?
Ming Huashang laughed awkwardly, her fingers fidgeting against her nails: “I originally prepared a surprise for you — I was going to startle you first and then call for food to be served, but who would have thought that I…”
She had been so useless as to fall asleep.
Ming Huazhang watched her and gave a quiet smile, its meaning unclear: “It truly was a surprise.”
Ming Huashang felt as though this one evening had burned through every last shred of dignity she possessed for the rest of her life — and what made it worse was that she was hungry on top of it all. She actually had the nerve to be hungry!
Ming Huazhang had long since had the kitchen prepare light, easily digestible food, and now that she was awake, he had it laid out. Ming Huashang thought: with all dignity already spent, she might as well not torture herself — she would eat what ought to be eaten. She sat there eating her lily and lotus seed porridge with abandoned relish. Ming Huazhang normally did not eat after dark, but watching her eat with such obvious enjoyment, he could not help himself and drank half a bowl as well.
After the meal, the attendants cleared away the bowls and chopsticks, leaving only the two of them in the room. Ming Huashang was just thinking of something to say to ease the lingering awkwardness when Ming Huazhang had already walked behind his writing desk and beckoned to her.
All those fluttering, anxious little thoughts in Ming Huashang’s mind instantly evaporated. She told herself — she had known all along that her elder brother was the most proper, most principled of men; his eyes held nothing but the case. She lifted her skirts and walked to the desk: “Second Elder Brother, what is it?”
Ming Huazhang handed her a sheet of paper and said: “This is the portrait profile of Chu Jun that you requested. After you suggested that there might be more than one culprit, I made another trip to the mortuary and conducted a second examination of Chu Jun’s wounds. Her lower legs had been cut off cleanly at the joints; the bone at the cut had been completely shattered, indicating that the person who wielded the blade used brute force. This is a completely different style from the wounds on Huang Caiwei and her servants. After examining the bones, I took the opportunity to sketch Chu Jun’s face for you.”
This had been drawn by Ming Huazhang based on the deceased’s features — the closest approximation to the truth possible given current conditions. Ming Huashang took it and studied it carefully, then asked: “What did Huang Caiwei look like?”
“This is the second thing I wanted to tell you.” Ming Huazhang said. “I have already sent a message to the National Academy’s Chancellor, requesting to inquire about the circumstances surrounding Huang Caiwei at the time. The Chancellor has not yet replied. Once he agrees, I will find a pretext and bring you along to his residence. I have also found the address of the coroner who examined the female beggar’s body, and I will send someone to seek him out in his home town. As for what you want to know, write out a list — I’ll have someone take it.”
Ming Huashang nodded repeatedly, fumbling about for a brush. Ming Huazhang picked one up from the pillow rest, inked it, and handed it to her. Ming Huashang took it and bent her head to sketch and write. Ming Huazhang sat beside her, reading through the case files.
He had apparently been reading these when she woke up earlier. Ming Huashang glanced at them curiously and asked: “Second Elder Brother, what are these?”
“The personal documents and certificates for all thirty-three monks at Purdu Temple,” Ming Huazhang said. “After you left, I went back through Purdu Temple once more and still could not find the person who spied on us today. Their testimonies are airtight. I had originally thought perhaps the culprit was not one of the Purdu Temple monks — but today someone was spying on us. That overturns my earlier assumption. There must be something wrong with one of that group, and I intend to investigate their identity and background one by one. I refuse to believe nothing will turn up.”
Ming Huashang clicked her tongue in disbelief: “I only took one afternoon nap, and you’ve already accomplished this much?”
“Nothing has been accomplished,” Ming Huazhang coolly corrected. “The investigation has only just begun. We are still a long way from cracking the case.”
Ming Huashang was at a loss for words, and once again felt keenly the gulf between a person of casual habits and a person of relentless drive.
Ming Huazhang needed to verify the identity certificates for all the Purdu Temple monks one by one — a colossal workload. Ming Huashang had a clear sense of her own limitations and did not dare linger and disturb him. She rose and said: “Second Elder Brother, shall I head back then?”
Ming Huazhang looked up and swept her with a glance, as though about to say something, but ultimately gave a calm nod: “All right. I’ll have Shu Li walk you back. Tomorrow, stay in the manor — the culprit hasn’t been caught, and it’s too dangerous outside. Don’t go running out for the sake of some food.”
Ming Huashang answered helplessly: “I know.”
Ming Huashang brought Chu Jun’s portrait profile back to her room. Ming Huazhang, worried she might sneak out, had even deliberately left her a scroll of case files, recording the testimonies of people connected to Chu Jun — including the madam of the pleasure house and others. Since there was currently no concrete evidence in either the Huang Caiwei case or the female beggar case, Ming Huashang stayed home and studied the culprit in the Chu Jun case carefully.
Looking at Chu Jun’s records alone, Ming Huashang could dimly sketch out a figure in her mind. But when she tried to put that together with the two earlier cases, she was completely at a loss.
Was it a group committing the crimes together? That didn’t quite feel right either.
Ming Huashang overturned her thinking and started again, over and over, until she began to doubt herself. She needed more information about the victims — yet the runners sent to find the old coroner had only just set out and had not yet returned; and on the Huang family’s side, Ming Huazhang had tried to negotiate several times, but the Chancellor Huang refused to see either of them.
The National Academy’s Chancellor oversaw countless students, presided over ceremonies every year, and offered sacrifices at the Confucian Temple — a position of the most rarefied eminence and respect. Yet his daughter had died in such a degrading, sordid manner. Chancellor Huang considered it a deep disgrace. In ordinary times he would not permit his wife or attendants to so much as mention Huang Caiwei’s name; and now Ming Huazhang wanted to reopen old wounds and appear at his door to question him. How could the Chancellor possibly endure that?
Others might still have to consider the face of Duke Zhenguo’s manor or Chang’an Prefecture — but the National Academy’s Chancellor did not. The Huang family’s gates remained tightly shut, refusing to admit anyone from Chang’an Prefecture. Even when Ming Huazhang took the initiative after court to seek out the Chancellor for a word, Chancellor Huang received him with an icy glare.
Chang’an Prefecture had been rebuffed at the door. The case ground to a halt.
Without realizing it, ten days slipped by.
In Chang’an the rumors grew uglier by the day; the Jing Zhaoyiin pressed repeatedly for progress, and even the Ministry of Justice had begun to inquire. Ming Huazhang became increasingly busy — he left as soon as the ward gates opened every morning, and did not return until almost curfew at night, dashing between several locations each day. Ming Huashang could barely catch a glimpse of him.
In the Duke’s manor, Old Madam Ming complained once again that Ming Huazhang should not have gone to Chang’an Prefecture. The title of Fourth-Rank Deputy Magistrate sounded prestigious, but the position was demanding, heavy with responsibility, and thankless. If Ming Huazhang had listened to her and gone to the Hall of Assembled Worthies or the Broad Learning Academy or some other such leisurely post, would he need to be out braving bitter cold and harsh winds day after day as he was now?
After Old Madam Ming finished, the Second Madam and Third Madam chimed in with agreement. Ming Huazhang was the only man in the Duke’s manor to have entered public service. His career trajectory had a direct bearing on the marriage prospects of Ming Yu and Ming Shuo.
In a great household, one’s fortunes rise and fall together. If Ming Huazhang followed in the footsteps of the previous several Chang’an Prefectural Magistrates and was dismissed from office before long, the lives of all the women in the manor would plummet accordingly. The Second Madam and Third Madam were a spent force, their lives more or less set — but what about Ming Yu and Ming Shuo? Their lives were only just beginning.
A scene of lamentation and despair hung over the Yanshou Hall; everyone wore expressions of worry and gloom. In times like these, the distinction between legitimate and concubine-born daughters was utterly irrelevant. The daughters of Tang were deeply bound to their maternal families — if a woman’s brothers were successful, even a concubine-born daughter who married into another family could live comfortably; but if the maternal family had no one of standing, even a legitimate daughter with a generous dowry could be sold off by her in-laws without a soul to speak on her behalf.
This was precisely why, even though Ren Yao was Marquis Pingnan Manor’s only daughter, the Old Madam of the Ren family was still urgently seeking to adopt a concubine-born son. In this era, when daughters held no right of inheritance, all glory and disgrace had to be entrusted to men — one’s father in the first half of life, one’s son in the second.
Ming Huashang sat in the Yanshou Hall listening until she could bear it no longer. She stood up and left under some vague excuse. Outside, Zhao Cai ran after her and asked: “My lady, why did you leave?”
“What else should I do?” Ming Huashang turned the question back on her. “Sit there and listen to them bemoan their fate, waiting for some divine being to appear from the heavens and pull Duke Zhenguo’s manor to safety? Second Elder Brother going to Chang’an Prefecture is a fact. Not having caught the culprit is also a fact. Rather than complaining about what cannot be changed, one should think of ways to change the current situation.”
Zhao Cai understood the reasoning well enough — but Chang’an Prefecture had been investigating for four years without finding the culprit. What could the two of them possibly do? Zhao Cai tried to reassure Ming Huashang: “My lady, don’t worry — the Second Young Master will surely come through all dangers safely.”
Ming Huashang pressed her lips together and said nothing. In her view, Zhao Cai’s blind optimism was no different from the Old Madam’s and the Second and Third Branches’ blind pessimism over in the Yanshou Hall. Ming Huashang furrowed her brow and kept turning over where her portrait profile had gone wrong and why she could not find the culprit, when a servant woman came rushing in, wild with panic, and cried out: “My lady — you simply mustn’t go out! There’s been another murder in Chang’an!”