“Yi Zhi Mei is dead?” Jin Shang Hua let out a cold laugh. “Good riddance.”

“You and Yi Zhi Mei have long had a grudge. You once declared you would kill him. Now that Yi Zhi Mei is dead, you become the troupe’s lead performer—the greatest beneficiary of his death. That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Me? Ha!” Jin Shang Hua burst into sudden laughter. After the laughter subsided, he turned dead serious and asked: “Can you sing opera?”

Zheng Yun frowned. “Answer my question.”

“Listen to my voice.” Jin Shang Hua leaned forward on the table, drawing closer to Zheng Yun. When he had spoken before, his voice had sounded slightly low and hoarse; now it came out in a dull, muffled rasp, as though he were speaking around something lodged in the back of his throat. “This is my real voice. What you heard before was an act—I can’t keep it up for long.”

Zheng Yun was startled to hear such a coarse and gravelly sound. “What happened to your voice?”

“Yi Zhi Mei poisoned me. My voice was ruined—I can only play supporting roles, the kind where you barely need to speak.”

Zheng Yun said: “Even though you can’t take the lead role, Yi Zhi Mei poisoned your voice, and you killed him out of revenge.”

“Officer, don’t joke with me. He poisoned me ten years ago. If I’d wanted to kill him, would I have needed to wait ten years?” Jin Shang Hua scoffed. “He had a heart condition, didn’t he? Maybe he committed too many wrongs and his heart finally gave out.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Too bad I’m no gentleman.”

“If you were to point to a person as the killer of Yi Zhi Mei, who would it be?”

Jin Shang Hua gave a cold smile. “The manager.”

“Why him?”

“A dispute over profit.” Jin Shang Hua said. “People die for wealth; birds die for food.”

Jin Shang Hua hummed a few bars of opera as he walked out of the interrogation room and said to the manager standing outside: “It’s no use hiding anymore.”

The manager was so startled he flinched, not even daring to lift his head.

The manager had met Yi Zhi Mei fifteen years earlier. At that time, Yi Zhi Mei was still a child, learning opera under a master in the troupe, spending every day either performing or practicing, then packing up all his belongings and traveling across the country. The manager had not always been the manager. He had once been the young master of the troupe, and only after his father’s death did he take over the operation and assume the role of manager.

The manager was exceptionally miserly and harsh. The troupe’s meals were plain and cheap, and wages were frequently withheld.

But nearly everyone performing in the troupe had signed lifetime contracts. Whether you rose to fame or remained unknown, you were bound to this troupe for life. Anyone who tried to perform independently would be hunted down and made to answer for it. Moreover, no other troupe would dare take in a performer who wasn’t a free agent, for fear of inviting trouble.

It was quite similar to the entertainment agencies of the modern era. Stars looked glamorous on the surface, but many had signed ten or even twenty-year contracts with their companies. Once shelved or suppressed by the company, those who couldn’t afford the breach-of-contract penalties had no choice but to fade into obscurity—living worse than ordinary people.

“Officer, you have no idea—the troupe has been struggling recently. With Yi Zhi Mei dead, it’s salt in an open wound for me.” The manager lamented. “I’m the one who’s suffered the greatest loss.”

“Yi Zhi Mei was famous throughout the land. Since arriving in Shun Cheng, he sparked a city-wide craze that left the streets empty as people rushed to see him. I heard you were taking bookings faster than you could handle them—so how can you sit here and tell me things are difficult?”

“You don’t understand, Officer. For all the bookings I’ve been taking, most of the prices offered don’t even cover the cost of setting up the stage.”

Zheng Yun frowned. “How is that possible?”

“These officials and nobles look like they throw money around freely, but they are extremely tightfisted. Many of them flaunt their power and watch for free. If you refuse them, they make it impossible for you to keep performing in their territory. When we were in Qian Guan City, the local warlord invited our troupe to perform—not only did he not pay a single coin, he demanded seven days and nights of continuous performances to host a grand feast for the entire city. He got all the face he wanted, and in the end gave only a pittance as a reward—frankly, that amount didn’t even cover the wages of our most ordinary performers, let alone someone like Yi Zhi Mei.”

“How can that be?” Zheng Yun had never heard of such a thing. “Inviting performers and then not paying—how is that any different from banditry?”

“Officer, as we’ve traveled from south to north, we’ve encountered this kind of thing far too often.”

“Then why not perform for ordinary people? They would never cheat you or bully you into doing as they please.”

“We’ve had that idea before. But the moment the troupe arrives anywhere, the local officials and nobles always get word faster than anyone else. We simply never get the chance.”

“Though it’s like this, we’re still better off than other troupes,” the manager sighed. “At least we don’t operate at a loss.”

“I heard you and Yi Zhi Mei had a financial dispute.”

The manager said: “It’s true we often argued about money. Yi Zhi Mei, now that his fame had taken off, was asking for more and more. But given the troupe’s current situation, we genuinely couldn’t offer him that much. I kept telling him to be patient—once I had made enough money, I would split the troupe’s earnings with him equally.”

“What did you two argue about last night?”

“It was about payment again. The Commander-in-Chief’s Mansion gave a generous reward this time, and Yi Zhi Mei demanded half of it. I said we should first use the money to pay back wages owed to everyone in the troupe. He refused to agree, and we got into a big argument. In the end he threatened me—said that if I didn’t give him half the earnings, he wouldn’t perform the next day.”

“Did you agree to his demand?”

“I agreed.” The manager sighed. “Did I have a choice? If he really hadn’t performed today, our entire troupe would never have been able to leave Shun Cheng. That’s the Commander-in-Chief’s Mansion—who would dare offend the Commander-in-Chief?”

“Did he threaten you like this often?”

“Yes.” The manager lowered his head.

“Besides the heart condition, did Yi Zhi Mei have any other illnesses?”

The manager thought for a moment. “There seemed to be something else, but I don’t know what it was. He was always secretive about it, very guarded, as though he was frightened of anyone finding out.”

“If you were to point to a person as the killer, who would it be?”

The manager said: “Didn’t he die of a sudden heart attack? How could there be a killer?”

“Just go with your instinct and point someone out.”

“Then—A Jiu.”

“That acrobatic performer?”

The manager nodded. “Actually—A Jiu and Yi Zhi Mei had that kind of relationship.”

A Jiu did not deny the existence of a romantic relationship between himself and Yi Zhi Mei. A Jiu performed acrobatic roles in the troupe—tall and handsome—and shortly after joining the troupe, he and Yi Zhi Mei had become close.

Their relationship was an open secret within the troupe; everyone knew that A Jiu was Yi Zhi Mei’s person.

Because of Yi Zhi Mei’s backing, A Jiu had often bullied others in the troupe, and no one had dared resist.

But this comfortable life hadn’t lasted long. Yi Zhi Mei suddenly became cold and distant toward A Jiu. When A Jiu sought him out to demand an explanation, Yi Zhi Mei had berated him harshly, leaving A Jiu deeply humiliated.

Without Yi Zhi Mei’s protection, A Jiu’s life in the troupe grew worse with each passing day.

“Why did you and Yi Zhi Mei end things?”

A Jiu was a large, imposing man. He sat there expressionless. “He moved on to someone new.”

“Who was his new interest?”

“I don’t know.” A Jiu blinked. “If I knew, he would have been my first target.”

“Last night you heard him and the manager arguing. What were they arguing about?”

“An unequal distribution of spoils.”

Zheng Yun frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Take the words at face value.” A Jiu said. “They had quite a few financial disputes and argued often.”

“Why did you want to kill Yi Zhi Mei?”

“I didn’t kill him.” A Jiu denied it. “Why would I want to kill him?”

“Love turned to hatred—loving someone who doesn’t love you back.”

A Jiu laughed. “Officer, your imagination is truly remarkable. What good would killing him do me? Could I inherit his money? Could I earn his love?”

“People who kill for love don’t need it to do them any good.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. The Military Police Bureau doesn’t use forced confessions, does it?” A Jiu said. “Before I joined the troupe, I ran with a rough crowd. Your tactics don’t work on me.”

Zheng Yun looked at him. “If you were to point to one person as the killer, who would it be?”

“Mei Wu Zi?”

“Why Mei Wu Zi?”

“Because Yi Zhi Mei often berated him and had even locked him up and starved him before.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” A Jiu fixed an unblinking gaze on Zheng Yun. “Does that mean all of us are suspects?”

Zheng Yun handed the interrogation records to Shi Ting.

“Looking at this, all four of them are suspects. Mei Wu Zi was regularly beaten and scolded; the manager had financial motives; Jin Shang Hua had his voice ruined by poison; and A Jiu was a discarded former lover. They all have a motive.”

Shi Ting read through the report carefully.

“In your view, which of them is lying?”

“These performers are something else—it’s truly hard to tell what’s real from what’s an act. I think every one of them is concealing something, and every one of them told some lies.”

Shi Ting nodded. “Now we wait for the autopsy report.”

As they were speaking, there was a knock at the door outside. E Yuan pushed Yan Qing in.

“Any results from the autopsy?” Shi Ting asked.

Yan Qing handed him a report. “We’re currently waiting for the toxicology test results. It will take three more days.”

“Three days?” Zheng Yun said. “Our authorization to hold the manager and the others only lasts two days. After two days, these people must be released.”

“What is the troupe’s itinerary going forward?”

“With Yi Zhi Mei dead and the troupe’s lead performer gone, the manager has decided to take the troupe back south.”

Once the troupe left, the killer could very well vanish without a trace, and capturing them again would most likely become impossible.

“Seventh Brother, we can’t yet confirm whether this is a murder case.” E Yuan said. “But one thing is certain—Yi Zhi Mei did not die of sudden cardiac death. His body shows none of the hallmarks of sudden cardiac arrest.”

Zheng Yun said: “If it wasn’t sudden cardiac death, then the likelihood of homicide is very high.”

“Yan Qing.” Shi Ting said. “Come with me to the troupe’s lodgings. Yi Zhi Mei died on stage, but the primary crime scene is probably not at the mansion. If the killer used poison, they wouldn’t have chosen a public setting with so many eyes watching. And those close to Yi Zhi Mei have also confirmed that to protect his voice before a performance, he would not consume any food or drink in the six hours leading up to going on stage.”

“Understood.” Yan Qing replied. “If the killer truly did use poison, there may be clues to be found at Yi Zhi Mei’s lodgings.”

—