After Li Shubai entered the Western Garden with everyone, he turned back to look at those who followed. Fan Yingxi surveyed the small garden; Zhou Shang wore a puzzled expression; Master Shan looked weary but forced a smile; Wang Yun was casually examining a newly grown ivy; Yu Xuan revisited familiar ground, silent and calm.
Huang Zixia followed behind everyone, slowly entering the garden, and watching the thin glow of lotus leaves in the darkness. Maids lit red candles, illuminating the thousand-branch candelabra in the corner, and brightening the hall. After Li Shubai sat down, he looked up at Zhou Ziqian, who nodded, though slightly confused, and said: “Everything is prepared.”
In the gallery above the lotus pond, two high-hanging lamps were taken down, and the thousand-branch candelabra was moved to the corridor, with a gauze screen placed in front.
Following Prince Kui’s gesture, everyone sat on chairs brought by servants, watching the gauze screen. Just as they wondered what this meant, an old artist sat beside the screen, holding a small drum which he struck twice. By the bright light of the thousand candles, he opened a small book in his hand and began to sing:
“Old tales of Chang’an in chaos abound, today I share these stories around. In the west city lies Guangde Ward, where truth from lies must be restored.”
As he sang, he displayed images of Chang’an’s various wards on the white gauze screen, quickly changing to scenes of colorful flowers and willows, small bridges and doorways, and then a group of horsemen galloping across the bridge to arrive at a household’s gate.
Everyone suddenly realized this was a shadow puppet artist, here to perform a show for them.
Fan Yingxi and Zhou Shang hadn’t expected Prince Kui to enjoy such entertainment, much less invite them to watch it late at night. They couldn’t help but smile silently, thinking there must be another purpose, so they focused their attention on watching.
The gate opened wide, and the mounted officials dismounted and entered. The doorway transformed into an interior hall scene, where shockingly, a woman’s figure hung from a beam.
“In Guangde Ward a death occurred, a young wife’s life was lost, we heard. Officials examined every trace, and seemed clear-cut, ready to close the case. But one detail caused much debate and left frustration none could abate. Tossing sleepless, she took her life, such tragedy cuts like a knife.”
A red-robed official walked slowly with measured steps and sat in the hall. Behind him followed a girl of eleven or twelve, wearing an embroidered flower jacket, her hair in two buns, quite adorable.
The old man, imitating a child’s voice with his aged vocals, truly captured a sense of innocence: “Father, Father, wait for me.”
The red-robed official looked back at her, flicking his sleeve: “Little girl, what are you doing here? Your father, as Deputy Minister of Justice, must hear the case conclusion!”
At this point, Yu Xuan suddenly let out a soft “Ah.”
Wang Yun glanced at him, then seemed to realize something, gently tapping his head, saying: “Oh… that case.”
The shadow puppet artist turned the pages, reading the words. Meanwhile, the little girl on the screen turned in a circle, saying: “Father, I don’t like being cooped up at home reading books, nor learning embroidery with mother. If I’m to learn anything, I want to learn the great art of understanding life and death, diagnosing the balance of yin and yang!”
“Ho ho ho, little girl, such big words!” The father, matching the drum beats, waved his sleeve three times, “Go, go, go! Go play with the street children! Wait until Father concludes this case, then I’ll take you home.”
The old man’s skill was truly remarkable, in an instant producing several onlookers under his hands, each with a distinct voice, chattering as they watched.
A merchant holding a bolt of cloth said: “Let everyone know, this woman didn’t buy her wedding clothes from my shop when she married, and wearing a wedding dress of improper color led to this tragedy!”
A merchant holding a string of jewelry asked the bereaved: “Sir, yesterday afternoon, your wife ordered a pair of silver hairpins at my shop. Now that she’s dead, do you still want them?”
A fortune teller holding fate-determining banners stroked his goatee and said: “Heaven’s secrets cannot be revealed! I had already divined that your household would have both joy and sorrow this year. If only you had come to me earlier, this tragedy couldn’t have been avoided…”
By now, even Zhou Shang and others could see that this was the first case Huang Zixia had solved when she was twelve years old.
Sure enough, after the crowd of people dispersed, the red-robed official picked up his brush and said: “It seems this case is concluded, certainly a suicide—”
Before he could finish, the little girl in the flowered jacket appeared again beside him, calling out: “Father, wait!”
Her father started, turned to look at her, and asked: “Is my dear daughter hungry?”
“No.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“Not that either.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Even less so.”
“How vexing, go play quickly, don’t disturb Father’s official business!”
“Father, this lady didn’t commit suicide, but was made to look like she did after death—she was murdered!”
The red-robed official’s body suddenly trembled: “Daughter! At such a young age, how dare you speak such nonsense? The intricacies of investigating and judging cases, how could a mere child understand?”
“But Father, did you not hear what that person said?” The little girl pointed to the side, where the jewelry merchant immediately appeared, “Father, when you talked with colleagues at home, you mentioned that when people are about to die, their hearts turn to ashes. Have you ever seen someone whose heart had turned to ashes go to a jewelry shop to order silver hairpins before taking their own life? And they only chose the style, hadn’t even received them!”
“Ai-ya!” The red-robed official trembled dramatically before the gauze screen again, and the old man began to sing: “One word awakens one from dreams, one phrase resolves hatred it seems. The Huang family has a daughter Zixia, whose fame spreads far across all streams!”
With a turn of the old man’s hand, the little girl had grown into a graceful young woman, traveling over thousands of mountains and waters, arriving at Chengdu Prefecture where lotus and hollyhocks bloomed.
Amidst the flourishing flowers, the story ended. The old man put down his shadow puppets, stood up, and bowed to everyone: “Ladies and gentlemen, this shadow play I performed for you was popular in Chang’an years ago, but for various reasons is rarely performed now. At Constable Zhou’s request, I hastily reviewed the script to perform again, please forgive any roughness!”
“Excellent, excellent,” Zhou Shang smiled.
The thousand-branch candelabra was moved back indoors, and in the bright room, Li Shubai turned back, coldly observing everyone’s expressions. Who wouldn’t praise entertainment personally selected by Prince Kui? Only Yu Xuan sat motionless in his chair, his gaze still fixed on the corridor where the white gauze screen had been taken down, leaving only empty darkness, deep and indistinct, making one’s heart tremble.
His face was extraordinarily pale, even taking on a frightening iron-blue tinge, making his handsome features appear lifeless, like a stone carving.
Those around noticed his strange behavior, and Master Shan, who was closest to him, stood up, patted his shoulder, and said softly: “Patron Yu, the shadow play is over, why not awaken?”
Yu Xuan lifted his head slowly, bewildered and dazed, about to look at him when Huang Zixia interrupted: “Master, the show isn’t over yet. Why not sit quietly and watch? Why interfere with His Highness’s entertainment?”
Master Shan was startled, realizing she had seen through his intentions, and after softly intoning Buddha’s name, had no choice but to step aside.
Li Shubai gestured to Huang Zixia, giving her a slight nod.
Huang Zixia gazed at Yu Xuan in the bright light of the thousand-branch candelabra, where the warm golden candlelight, like a layer of yet-to-solidify gold, flowed slowly across his pale, handsome features, revealing a strangely twisted beauty.
In her heart, like that flowing color, welled up an indescribable pain that almost suffocated her. This suffering, mixed with fear, confusion, resentment, and melancholy, burned in her chest, almost robbing her of the strength to speak.
But she finally opened her mouth, using all her strength to part her lips.
How strange—after speaking, it was as if a Milky Way flowed from her heart, gurgling and cool through her throat, and so the burning pain in her chest disappeared, replaced by an inexplicable excitement, like the force of a new sprout breaking through the soil after being buried underground all winter, making her reckless, like staring directly at the noon sun, facing everything bloody laid before her, regardless if her eyes would be blinded.
“Everyone, that was the first case Huang Zixia ever solved. One case ended, one criminal was punished, but another story began.” Her voice was slightly hoarse but very steady, so calm it carried almost a hint of cruelty. “If Prince Kui hadn’t seen the files before and told me what happened afterward, I wouldn’t have known—that the newly married husband who strangled his wife in a moment of rage had lost his father in childhood and had a younger brother. Their mother was alone and helpless, spending days and nights carrying her younger son on her back while leading her elder son, weaving cloth until she became thin and withered in her thirties, her hair turning white early. A widow raising two children, the hardships need not be mentioned. Finally, when the elder son turned eighteen, their fortune changed—the elder son was incredibly clever, earned some capital selling needles and thread door to door, borrowed some money, and took over a tavern. He managed it well, business flourished, and soon someone arranged a marriage, and he wed a beautiful wife. Just when it seemed the whole family’s suffering would turn to sweetness, who knew that because of an argument, disaster would strike—the son strangled his daughter-in-law, disguised it as suicide, and when discovered, couldn’t escape the law and was executed in the street. Naturally, creditors came after the tavern, sold it to pay debts, and even emptied the house of belongings. The widowed mother had endured hardship for over ten years and had just seen a few good days, when suddenly one night, her son was dead, and her daughter-in-law was dead. She couldn’t bear this blow, and on the day her elder son was executed, she went mad…”
At this point, despite her best efforts to control herself, she couldn’t help but look at Yu Xuan.
She saw his body trembling, the veins at his temples throbbing, and she could almost feel that sensation of blood flowing desperately within.
But she bit her lip, forcefully turned her gaze away, and continued almost cruelly: “After going mad, the mother, one night, hanged herself inside the house, in the same place where her daughter-in-law had hung. Her younger son was fourteen at the time, and when he woke in the morning, saw his mother’s body hanging from the beam in the empty house. Whether from shock or something else, he took down his mother’s body and watched over it for three days and three nights, neither making a sound nor moving. If the neighbors hadn’t noticed something wrong and broken down the door, he would have died silently beside his mother.”
Master Shan softly intoned “Amitabha” and stood up silently, seeming unable to bear hearing more, wanting to leave.
Zhou Ziqian, standing in front, raised his hand to stop him, saying: “Master, since you’re here, please stay. Why not remain seated and hear it through?”
Master Shan had no choice but to lower his eyes and sit back down.
Huang Zixia paid no attention to the commotion below, continuing slowly, almost cruelly, with the story: “The neighbors took the unconscious younger son to a medical hall, helped bury his mother in the paupers’ cemetery beside his elder brother. The younger son’s life was ultimately saved, but having been brought back from the brink of death, he remained dazed in the medical hall, appearing simple-minded, and one day left the medical hall, disappearing without a trace—perhaps becoming one of the thousands of street beggars.”
She stopped here, pausing for a long while before saying: “This is all the records Prince Kui saw in the case files. And—after I recently arrived in Chengdu Prefecture, I encountered several other cases, and suddenly seemed to piece together what happened next in this story.”
The room was completely silent. Though Fan Yingxi and Zhou Shang weren’t quite clear why she was telling this story from years ago, seeing Li Shubai sitting upright in his chair, listening intently, they too didn’t dare move, just sat to Li Shubai’s left and right, listening carefully.
“What I’m about to say is all speculation, without solid evidence, so please just take it as such.” Though Huang Zixia used words like “speculation” and “take it as such,” the expression on her face let everyone know that what she was saying was crucial, and extremely important. So everyone held their breath, no one daring to make a sound.
“That younger son perhaps came south with refugees during a famine several years ago. At that time, many people ended up in Chengdu Prefecture. As time passed, he gradually came to his senses, but stranded in a strange land, alone and helpless, as a child he had no way to return to Chang’an, and could only survive by begging on the streets of Chengdu Prefecture. However, he was extraordinarily intelligent and eager to learn. Having already started his education at home, he picked up some old books from the school and eavesdropped on teachers’ lectures from corners, and before long, surpassed the regular students, earning the teachers’ praise and the reputation of a child prodigy, until…” here her voice finally trembled involuntarily, “even the newly appointed Governor Huang of Sichuan heard of his reputation, and after meeting and talking with him, was amazed by his talent, so… took him as an adopted son and brought him into his household.”
Hearing this, Zhou Shang and Fan Yingxi couldn’t help but draw in sharp breaths. And Zhang Xingying, who had been standing like a spear behind Li Shubai, involuntarily let out an exclamation.
Li Shubai listened quietly, continuously gazing at the layers of lotus shadows outside.
Wang Yun had long since lowered his fan, focusing intently on Huang Zixia, almost forgetting to blink.
Only Yu Xuan remained unchanged, still maintaining that posture, sitting in his chair. The flickering candlelight cast distorted shadows across his face, making him appear utterly wan and terrible in the alternating light and darkness.