Wen Yang’s home was on Pomegranate Lane in western Chengdu, where many pomegranate trees grew. Now at summer’s end, the pomegranate flowers were half-withered, with fist-sized pomegranates hanging from the branches, heavy and abundant, quite lovely.

The Wen family was considered well-off, with a three-courtyard compound. The main hall displayed a painting of “Listening to Qin by Forest Springs,” flanked by a couplet: “Bamboo rain and pine wind with qin melodies, Tea smoke and parasol moonlight with book sounds.”

An elderly steward came to greet them, his hair and beard completely white, worry visible on his face. He first bowed to them: “Greetings, Constable Zhou.”

Zhou Ziqin quickly helped him up: “No need for such a ceremony, elder.”

The old steward led them to sit in the hall, had a young servant brew tea, and called the household cook and servants to meet them.

“Our master’s ancestors once served as Governor of Binzhou, later retiring to return to their hometown. Master is thirty-seven this year. More than ten years ago, he was also eager for official ranks, but after repeatedly failing the examinations, he lost interest. After his parents and wife passed away, the master became even more reclusive, focusing only on reading Laozi and Zhuangzi, spending his days tending to flowers and plants in the courtyard, and avoiding contact with others.”

Zhou Ziqin nodded and asked: “Then how did he come to know Fu Xinruan – that woman who died with him?”

“Master inherited mountain and forest properties from his ancestors, with good yearly income. After his wife died, he neither remarried nor took concubines. He especially liked Wang Youcheng’s poetic sentiment, saying Wang Youcheng also never remarried after losing his wife, and that adopting a clever child from relatives later would suffice.” As the steward spoke, he asked with confusion: “May I ask, Constable, who is this Wang Youcheng?”

Zhou Ziqin said: “That’s Wang Wei, Wang Mojie.”

“Oh, oh.” The steward responded, but clearly still didn’t know who Wang Wei was, and just continued: “Since master had no wife at home, he would sometimes visit women in the entertainment district, but he never brought these women of ill repute home, so I don’t know who they were.”

Zhou Ziqin lowered his voice secretly: “Now he’s not following Wang Wei’s example of living in seclusion, but instead going to the pleasure quarters?”

Huang Zixia ignored him and asked the old steward: “Elder, may I ask if your master said anything to you when he went out that day?”

“That day… he seemed to be responding to a friend’s invitation, saying he was going to Pine Flower Lane, I don’t remember very clearly… Ah, although Master had some assets, the mountain properties haven’t yielded well these past two years. He originally had a personal attendant, but dismissed him some years ago. Now the household has only me, one cook, one servant, and my grandson who occasionally runs errands.” He pointed at the young servant brewing tea and sighed: “You tell me, how can a house prosper without a woman managing it? Even a few days ago, when several people from the same poetry society came to pay respects – including a high official, I think surnamed Qi – who stayed in master’s study for a long while, he sighed to us saying our master should have found a woman to manage the household long ago.”

“So you know nothing about your master’s affairs outside?”

“Master never mentioned anything, naturally wouldn’t take us along… we truly know nothing.”

Seeing the old steward knew nothing after three questions, and the household cook, servants, and young boy all shook their heads, Zhou Ziqin could only lead Li Shubai and Huang Zixia to inspect the back courtyard.

The back courtyard contained the study, filled with rustling green bamboo, verdant parasol trees, evergreen pine and cypress, and craggy rocks – an atmosphere of lofty, proud reclusion.

Zhou Ziqin said: “This reminds me of somewhere, but where…”

While he was still scratching his head thinking, Li Shubai said beside him: “Prince E’s mansion.”

“That’s it, just like Prince E’s special tea courtyard! This kind of deliberately constructed poetic sentiment is unbearable.” Zhou Ziqin rubbed his goosebumps while walking to the study to examine its contents.

Facing the study entrance was a curio shelf. Past the shelf were two rows of bookcases and a writing desk. Behind the desk stood a screen, its ink flowing freely, written in bold cursive script – it was Wang Wei’s, signed as “Resident of Binji.”

On the wall to the right of the screen hung what appeared to be an old painting of a butterfly alighting on a pink hydrangea. The colors were somewhat faded, clearly an old piece. Among everything in the hall, only this flower and butterfly were delicately beautiful, catching Huang Zixia’s eye for a moment.

Several sheets of paper on the desk had been tidied up and placed at the head of the desk.

Zhou Ziqin picked them up to look. The first character on the first sheet was “ti,” followed by “ti yu yi yun he xu tuo huan neng zuo shi.” Zhou Ziqin read it, looking puzzled at Li Shubai and Huang Zixia. Huang Zixia frowned slightly, while Li Shubai had already continued reading: “‘Subhuti, what do you think? Can those who have entered the stream say “I have attained the fruit of stream-entry”?'”

Huang Zixia suddenly understood and continued: “Subhuti replied: ‘No, World-Honored One. Why? Stream entry means entering the stream, yet there is nothing to enter. Not entering forms, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, or dharmas – this is called stream-entry.'”

Zhou Ziqin looked at what was written on the paper, which indeed matched what they had recited, but he still couldn’t make sense of it: “What is this?”

Huang Zixia explained: “It’s a passage from the Diamond Sutra. It seems he had copied this section of scripture. But the sequence is mixed up, that’s why you couldn’t understand it at first.”

Zhou Ziqin made an “oh” sound and put down the scripture.

Huang Zixia thought for a moment, went over to flip through the scripture pages, reorganized them, and showed some surprise: “The front part is missing.”

“Huh?” Zhou Ziqin, who had been studying the book collection, turned to look at her. “Would someone want this? His handwriting is quite ordinary.”

“Yes, the line you just read is the very first line of all the scripture here.” She tidied up the other papers and placed them on the desk, weighing them down with an agate lion paperweight, then searched through the shelves and various drawers but couldn’t find the preceding sections anywhere.

“There are also these few letters remaining.” They found several letters in a brocade box. Opening them to look, Zhou Ziqin immediately became excited: “These are letters Fu Xinruan wrote to Wen Yang!”

Beloved Lang, upon seeing these words:

Many days of gloomy rain, long streets flooded, impossible to wade through. Thinking of the osmanthus before your courtyard, surely only two or three remain. Please cherish and collect them, to make osmanthus honey candy for you again.

Sichuan’s sunlight is rare, and lately, I feel increasingly pale. Today I opened the rouge you gifted me earlier – its subtle fragrance carries far, pink, and delicate, like the hydrangea butterfly painting by your desk. Please come see us soon, don’t let the colors go to waste. I shall sweep and wait, quietly anticipating your shadow.

Written by Xinruan.

Zhou Ziqin couldn’t help but sigh: “They were quite good together daily, truly loving and intimate.”

Looking at what was below, besides several letters from Fu Xinruan, most were poetry society exchanges and responses, nothing extraordinary.

Zhou Ziqin said: “It seems the first half is gone. Perhaps the steward and others threw it out as waste paper. Looking at this household, old and young alike, the cook and servants – probably none can read, how would they know what’s useful and what’s not?”

Huang Zixia shook her head and said: “Precisely because they can’t read, they would certainly treat paper with writing carefully, afraid of throwing away the wrong paper and being scolded by their master. Especially since this master seems quite proud of his calligraphy.”

“How can you tell?” Zhou Ziqin saw she had noticed something he hadn’t and asked somewhat defiantly.

“The handwriting on these papers is the same as on the screen, isn’t it? Would someone who makes their writing into a floor screen to admire not be proud of their calligraphy?”

“But the signature on the screen is ‘Resident of Binji’?”

“Wen means gentle, Yang means strong – Wen Yang thought his name combined gentleness and strength, harmoniously joined, so he took this pseudonym.”

“Really?” Zhou Ziqin was half-skeptical and walked to the courtyard, raising his hand to beckon the servant who was cleaning outside: “Hey hey, come here!”

The servant quickly ran in and asked: “What does the constable need?”

He asked: “Where did this screen in the study come from?”

“It’s master’s writing. He wrote about twenty pieces of silk before getting it right. He seemed to like this piece of writing, so he especially had someone make it into this screen.”

Huang Zixia asked the servant from behind Zhou Ziqin: “Do you ever throw away the paper basket from the study?”

“Yes, but only when the master gives permission! Ever since I threw away one of my master’s poems as waste paper a few years ago, now whenever we clean the study, we have to wait until the master is present and ask him about each piece before we dare throw anything away.”

Zhou Ziqin looked at Huang Zixia with admiring eyes, practically having “Let’s team up to defeat Huang Zixia” written in large characters on his face.

Li Shubai surveyed the study once more, then asked the servant: “When was that butterfly and hydrangea painting hung up?”

“That’s hard to say… master has several collected paintings, some of mountains, some of rivers. When he’s in a good mood he changes which one to hang. As servants, we naturally don’t know when they were hung.”

“When do you remember first seeing this painting?”

“Uh… should be recent days, anyway shouldn’t be long ago, hadn’t seen it before.”

After the servant left, Zhou Ziqin looked around and said: “Seems there’s nothing else unusual, should we stay here longer?”

Huang Zixia pointed in the direction of Pine Flower Lane: “Let’s go, see the crime scene.”

Just as they walked out of Wen Yang’s door, Huang Zixia’s steps involuntarily stopped when she saw someone standing at the street corner.

She saw on the other side of the lane, a tall, straight figure standing by the river under green bamboo.

The bamboo rustled and swayed, his figure slim and graceful, the two complementing each other perfectly.

Huang Zixia stood motionless watching him, while Zhou Ziqin excitedly waved to him and asked: “Oh? Aren’t you Academic Yu Xuan? Do you remember me? We’ve met in the capital!”

Yu Xuan nodded to him, his gaze lingering slightly on Huang Zixia, first bowed to Li Shubai, then said to Zhou Ziqin: “I actually have something to discuss with the young Constable.”

“Tell me, tell me!” Zhou Ziqin bounced over.

He pointed to an empty jar and bamboo basket beside him, saying: “This morning, I went to Guangdu Temple to get some pure water to pay respects at Governor Huang’s grave.”

Huang Zixia’s body suddenly trembled, unconsciously tightening her hands. The reins gripped tightly in her unconscious grasp dug into her palms, gradually turning them blue-purple, but she was completely unaware.

Li Shubai saw this but said nothing, only raising his hand to lightly pat her shoulder. She suddenly came to her senses and slowly loosened the reins, but her body still hadn’t moved.

Zhou Ziqin completely failed to notice their reactions, only made a surprised sound, and asked Yu Xuan: “Is today some special occasion?”

Yu Xuan shook his head and said: “No, it isn’t.”

“Then…” Zhou Ziqin looked at him somewhat puzzled.

“As long as I am in Chengdu, I go sweep the grave daily.” As he spoke, his gaze slid from Zhou Ziqin to fix on Huang Zixia. His gaze was clearer and purer than the gleam of the flowing water beside them, his voice lower and more muted than the wind passing through the bamboo grove: “Last night I happened to dream of past events, was moved by memories, so went to Master Mushan to get some pure water and brought some fruits to pay respects.”

Zhou Ziqin habitually loved discussing trivial matters, and immediately asked: “Is Master Mushan’s pure water famous? Seems many people go to ask for it.”

Yu Xuan nodded and said: “Master Mushan’s spiritual cultivation is profound, he’s Shu Prefecture’s most famous eminent monk. Recently, there’s even a story in Chengdu that spring behind his meditation room, after hearing his many years of sutra recitation and being transformed, suddenly surged one night, changing from an inch-square spring eye to a foot-wide flowing spring. People all say it’s a miracle. So everyone rushes to fetch water, saying that if it receives Master Mushan’s sutra recitation, it becomes pure water that can purify the six senses of the living and help departed souls achieve rebirth.”

Huang Zixia held the horse’s reins, standing in the bamboo grove, listening to him speak eloquently, unconsciously falling into reminiscence. She remembered years ago when they walked side by side through Chengdu’s streets and alleys, every plant and stone in his words seemed to have a story, captivating listeners.

Zhou Ziqin nodded and said: “Another day I’ll go get some water to drink too.”

Yu Xuan nodded, bowed to Zhou Ziqin, and said: “Young Constable Zhou, today after returning from my adoptive father’s grave, I went straight to the yamen looking for you, then followed here, because there is an important matter I need to inform you about.”

Zhou Ziqin quickly asked: “What matter?”

“A few days ago when I went to clean the graves, I discovered signs that someone had disturbed my uncle and adoptive brother’s graves, though the brick and stone structure was still intact, only the outer clay layer was disturbed. I wonder, could someone have attempted to rob the graves?”

The smile on Zhou Ziqin’s face suddenly froze, and he couldn’t help looking back at Huang Zixia, awkwardly twitching the corner of his mouth at her.

He had just been bragging about his grave-digging skills, but unexpectedly Yu Xuan had discovered them right away – though what Yu Xuan certainly couldn’t discover was that the grave diggers were all standing right in front of him, and one was the current Prince Kui, while another was the constable he had come to for help.