Ming Huazhang lowered his hand. His eyes still held their red tracery of sleeplessness, but his gaze had already recovered its cold composure. He said, “Following your portrait, I did indeed find several candidates among those who had overlapping connections to both Duke Chengguo’s household and Director Huang’s.”
“One of them is a student who shared a dormitory with the eldest young master Cheng a year ago — a student by the name of Xu Ji, the youngest son of Xu, Auxiliary Counselor of the Department of the Secretariat. As a child he was frail and spent some time recuperating at a manor house outside the city. He moved back to Chang’an two years ago and enrolled at the Imperial Academy. He had shared a dormitory room with the eldest son of Duke Chengguo’s household — that is, Cheng Siyue’s eldest brother — and as Cheng Siyue was often running over to the Imperial Academy, Xu Ji and she had met several times. It is said that Xu Ji was very taken with Cheng Siyue and had even considered putting forward a marriage proposal to Duke Chengguo’s household. But the Cheng family was not willing, so the eldest young master Cheng declined on their behalf and asked the Academy Overseer to reassign dormitories.”
Ming Huashang listened and then asked: “You mean Xu Ji may have nurtured a grudge after being rejected?”
“That possibility cannot be excluded.” Ming Huazhang said. “I questioned the Xu household servants, and they told me that Xu Ji has a taste for female beauty. The maidservants around him are all about fourteen years old — slight and dainty, with pleasing faces — and once they turn eighteen he has them sent away. The Xu family has a manor house outside the city, not far from the Pudu Temple — about a quarter-hour by carriage — and he was recuperating at that manor four years ago. On the day Cheng Siyue died, he was in the same class as the eldest young master Cheng, and it is entirely possible that he noticed Cheng Siyue standing outside in the corridor. What’s most striking of all: that afternoon Xu Ji was absent from class and did not return for the entire afternoon.”
Ming Huashang asked immediately: “Where did he go that afternoon?”
“Pingkang Ward.” Ming Huazhang said. “He went to the Manchun Tower. The old madam there said he arrived at roughly the shen hour, as he usually does, and asked for the dancer he knew best — a woman called Hongye. He left at the you hour. The whole time he was in Hongye’s room — nobody else saw him.”
Ming Huashang furrowed her brow. “Such a long time — what was he doing?”
“Hongye said they had been composing and reciting verses together, and then Xu Ji fell asleep. Hongye, afraid that noise from outside might wake him, kept the door closed the whole time and let nobody in to disturb him. But she says she was at his bedside the whole time and can guarantee that he did not go anywhere.”
Ming Huazhang finished, and then added in a tone of cold and impartial judgment: “However, the old madam says Xu Ji intends to redeem Hongye from her contract, and Hongye has a favor to ask of him — so what she says may not be fully reliable. I went to look at the client room where Xu Ji was staying that day. The window is quite close to the ground; a man could easily jump down from it, and there is a small path behind that leads directly to the back gate.”
Ming Huashang said: “You suspect that he used visiting the pleasure house as a cover, and then quietly slipped out of Pingkang Ward to harm Cheng Siyue in the Eastern Market?”
“If Hongye lied, then given the distance between the Eastern Market and Pingkang Ward, Xu Ji could have managed it.”
“He may have had time to kill her — but not necessarily time to strip the bones and clean up the scene.” Ming Huashang pressed the point. “If he killed Cheng Siyue in the Eastern Market, with so many people on the street, how would he have done it? Even if he lured her somewhere secluded, to kill her, extract the finger bones, clean up the scene, and then dispose of the body all the way down in Tongji Ward in the southern city — is all that possible in one hour?”
“That is exactly the reason I say he fits the portrait but the time to commit the crime is insufficient.” Ming Huazhang said. “There is another person who fully satisfies your portrait — he is the teacher of Xu Ji, the eldest young master Cheng, and others: an academician of the National University by the name of Lu Du.”
That name was familiar. Ming Huashang recalled it immediately. “Is that the man with the flute we encountered that day at the Pudu Temple?”
“That is him.” Ming Huazhang said. “He was born into the Lu clan of Fanyang, and his mother was a woman of the Zheng clan of Xingyang. The Director of the Imperial Academy, admiring the fact that he carried the blood of two great houses, had recommended him to teach at the Imperial Academy — and this is now his fourth year there. Both his parents are dead; he is as yet unmarried; he is twenty-two years old. He is a well-known young talent at the Imperial Academy, and many matchmakers have wanted to arrange a marriage for him, but he is entirely absorbed in Buddhism and has declined them all.”
When Ming Huashang heard his age and marital status, her heart gave a sharp twinge, and she asked quickly: “When the murders occurred, what was he doing?”
“Four years ago he was living at the Qingshan Temple. It is said he had a poor relationship with his father, and by the time the year Huang Caiwei and her maidservant were killed, he had already been living at the Qingshan Temple for over two years. On the day Cheng Siyue was murdered, he was teaching at the Imperial Academy in the morning and attended a sutra-recitation ceremony at the Qingshan Temple in the afternoon — both confirmed by a great many witnesses.”
“He had a poor relationship with his father?” Ming Huashang quickly asked. “Is there any more information about him?”
“I also suspected him,” Ming Huazhang explained, “but he truly does not have an alibi. In the morning he taught the Gongyang Commentary at the Imperial Academy. After the si hour session ended, without stopping to eat, Lu Du drove his carriage directly from the Imperial Academy to the Qingshan Temple to hear the sutra lecture. The eminent monk leading the lecture was the abbot of the Pudu Temple, and when Lu Du arrived at the hall he greeted the abbot and the novice monks one by one, then went into a small incense room to hear the sutras, and did not leave until the ceremony ended at the end of the you hour.”
“A small incense room?” Ming Huashang asked at that point. “Were there other people in the room with him?”
Ming Huazhang understood what Ming Huashang was suspicious of, and took out paper and brush to sketch a map of the Qingshan Temple. “This is the main hall of the Qingshan Temple. The abbot was seated on the cushion at the very front, with a large crowd of devotees seated below, but there were also those who preferred not to be seen, or who found the main hall too cramped and uncomfortable, and they would make an additional donation of incense money and retire to a small incense room for private use. They are called incense rooms, but in fact they are just small alcoves partitioned off on the east and west sides of the main hall with wooden boards — once a gauze curtain was hung, it was more private than sitting out in the open hall. But the curtains were not thick; you could see a person inside from outside. The abbot’s lecture lasted nearly three full hours from start to finish. Lu Du sat the entire time in his alcove, and many people outside could see him — it can be confirmed that he never left.”
Ming Huashang frowned and thought for a long while before asking: “Where did he go after the ceremony ended?”
“Straight home.” Ming Huazhang said. “Both the novice monks of the Qingshan Temple and the gatekeeper of Lu Du’s household can attest to this, and the timing is consistent.”
So: two men who fit the portrait — Xu Ji had witnesses and insufficient time, while Lu Du’s movements were perfectly accounted for. Neither, as it appeared, had any real ability to have committed the crime.
Ming Huashang felt her spirits sink. She began to wonder whether she had been too predisposed from the start, shaping the portrait toward what she wished the killer to be, and thereby overlooking the truth. Perhaps she ought to look to the experience of seasoned constables and veteran investigators in catching criminals. Her own instincts were not necessarily right every time.
Ming Huashang let out an almost inaudible sigh and asked: “If we set aside the portrait, are there any other suspicious persons?”
Ming Huazhang looked at her quietly for a moment, reached out and patted the back of her hand, and said with steadiness and calm: “There are.”
Ming Huashang’s heart sank a little further.
Even Ming Huazhang — who had trusted her without question — had prepared a second avenue, and had not staked everything on the psychological portrait. Ming Huashang understood perfectly well why Ming Huazhang did this; it was the quality that a mature and responsible leader should have. She only regretted that she remained so useless.
Ming Huazhang’s voice was steady and rational, and his hand remained on Ming Huashang’s the whole time — silently expressing his support for her. He had never doubted her, but he was obligated to the case; having a fallback was his principle, always.
Ming Huazhang said: “I divided the people handling the chain-murder case into two groups. One group was given your portrait and tasked with finding candidates who fit it. The other group has no knowledge of the portrait’s characteristics and is working purely by conventional investigation and experience. The second group has so far identified two persons of interest: a day laborer at the Imperial Academy named Wu Yi, and a monk at the Pudu Temple named Jinghui.”
“Oh?” Ming Huashang raised an eyebrow. “A monk?”
“Don’t rush — let’s take them one at a time.” Ming Huazhang said with methodical composure. “Wu Yi is a laborer at the Imperial Academy, doing heavy work. On the twenty-second day of the tenth month, Cheng Siyue left by carriage at the noon hour, and before long Wu Yi left the premises as well. Cheng Siyue went to the Eastern Market and then disappeared — Wu Yi likewise remained in the Eastern Market for a considerable time and did not return until very late.”
Ming Huashang asked: “You mean he followed her out shortly after she left, and ultimately killed her in the Eastern Market?”
“That is possible. But he was not at the Imperial Academy four years ago — he was working at a noodle stall in Chang’an at the time, and during the day had no chance to leave the city. His connection to the deaths of Huang Caiwei and her maidservant is tenuous, which makes him a less likely candidate for the serial killer.”
Ming Huashang exhaled quietly and asked: “And the other one?”
The investigation had suffered setback after setback, yet Ming Huazhang’s tone remained unhurried and unruffled as he described the next suspect: “Jinghui was someone I came across by chance when I had people check the identity certificates of the monks at the Pudu Temple. Jinghui is not comfortable in the water, and he speaks with a Guanzhong accent — yet his certificate states that he is from Xiangzhou, and that when he was seven, his home county was struck by flood, making him the only member of his family to survive; he was later taken in by a monk, and after that took Buddhist vows under the name Jinghui.”
The moment she heard this, Ming Huashang was on high alert. “A man from Xiangzhou who survived a flood at the age of seven — yet who cannot swim?”
“Yes.” Ming Huazhang said with composure. “I have already sent people to the Fanyin Temple, where Jinghui was tonsured, to investigate his background and appearance. If they do not match the current monk called Jinghui, it means Jinghui met with some misfortune and his identity certificate has been stolen and used by another.”
Such things were not rare. The Buddhist doctrine preached the renunciation of all worldly things, and once a monk or nun had taken their vows, they were no longer required to pay taxes or perform labor service for the court. Presenting their personal identity documents at any temple gave them free lodging and meals. Since the Northern and Southern Dynasties, court nobility had gone to great lengths to promote Buddhism, and the monasteries had come to control enormous quantities of land and population. A monk’s identity certificate had become a highly coveted item. If one could get hold of a monk’s certificate and travel disguised as a monk, one could legitimately evade the authorities’ pursuit, while also winning the trust of wealthy households — a method beloved by many brigands and bandits.
The “Jinghui” they were looking at now could very well no longer be Jinghui at all.
Ming Huashang thought of the time at the Pudu Temple when someone had been lurking furtively outside the guest room where Huang Caiwei had stayed. “Was it him — the one who was spying on us?”
“That is not certain.” Ming Huazhang replied. “I quietly asked around among the monks at the Pudu Temple about Jinghui’s conduct. They said Jinghui’s attitude was very poor — he skipped the morning and evening services as often as not, was always keeping to himself, going and coming at unpredictable hours, and many people within the temple had a poor opinion of him. Some even said that Jinghui appeared to have a habit of stealing things.”
Ming Huashang could not help raising an eyebrow. “Stealing? Is there any evidence?”
“None as yet, and it cannot be ruled out that the monks there disliked him and were deliberately maligning him.” Ming Huazhang gave his assessment fairly and impartially. “The other reason the monks suspected Jinghui of theft was this: on the twenty-second day of the tenth month, when the abbot led his disciples into the city for the sutra lecture, Jinghui — who normally loved going to Chang’an and would use any excuse, with or without business, to get himself into the city — did the very opposite and volunteered to stay behind and look after the temple, without accompanying his fellow monks into the city.”
“Was he the only one in the temple?”
“He was.”
Ming Huashang turned over in her mind the layout of the Pudu Temple. With the thought taking shape, she said slowly: “Which means that even if he secretly left the Pudu Temple that day, no one would have known.”
Ming Huazhang nodded in agreement: “I took Jinghui’s portrait around to the city-gate guards to ask — but unfortunately that was over ten days ago. With so many people coming and going through the gates each day, they genuinely could not remember whether or not Jinghui had appeared.”
Ming Huashang propped her chin on her hand, her eyes slightly unfocused as she gazed at the candle flame, murmuring softly: “Such a coincidence — Cheng Siyue’s murder and the Pudu Temple’s entry into Chang’an for the lecture, on the very same day?”
When coincidences become excessive, they cease to be coincidences. Ming Huazhang said: “He is currently the most likely suspect. Jinghui arrived at the Qingshan Temple five years ago, and not long after, the first murder took place. Four years ago, Huang Caiwei and her maidservant were killed at a Buddhist temple. This year, when Cheng Siyue was murdered, the Pudu Temple happened to be in Chang’an for a ceremony — the timing is far too convenient. And the victims span a wide range — different identities, different levels of wealth, different personalities — yet before the Buddha all are equal. The beggar woman gathered alms near the Qingshan Temple; Huang Caiwei and her maidservant were at the temple to pray; while Cheng Siyue was out strolling in the streets. Not one of them would have been naive enough to follow a complete stranger without hesitation — unless that person was wearing the robes of a monk, presenting himself as a man who had left behind worldly life and shown compassion to all living things. Before that, their guard would simply fall away.”
Ming Huashang nodded in agreement. “That makes sense. Even if it isn’t him, he was lurking outside the room that day — he must know something.”
Ming Huazhang said: “I have already had people keeping watch on Jinghui. The moment those sent to the Fanyin Temple return and confirm his identity, we can bring him in for questioning.”
After all, Jinghui was a figure of the Buddhist world, and in Chang’an more than half of the nobility kept shrines to the Buddha. Arresting someone without evidence would be difficult for Ming Huazhang to answer for.
In just a few brief sentences Ming Huazhang had made clear the suspicious and the exculpatory points of each suspect, and Ming Huashang, thinking of the enormous amount of work that lay behind those few words, was filled with deep admiration.
It seemed she would have to keep on sending food to the Jing Zhao Prefecture. At the rate Ming Huazhang was pushing himself, he was going to work everyone there to death sooner or later.
Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang talked until very late before she left. There was nothing to do for now with no new evidence; the investigation had reached an impasse. Their only hope was to question Jinghui and see if that brought a new turn. But Xiangzhou was far from Chang’an, and in the bitter depths of winter, those sent to the Fanyin Temple were gone for fully half a month before they returned.
The constable brought back a portrait of Jinghui. The figure in it was slight and pale, with gentle, kind-looking features — and bore almost no resemblance to the current “Jinghui.”
Ming Huazhang said not a word and immediately led his men to the Pudu Temple to make the arrest. But when they arrived, they learned that Jinghui had gone missing two days earlier — and more grave still: the temple’s sacred treasure had vanished along with him.