The young man who died at the bamboo grove mountain residence was named Zhang Xian, a xiucai¹Xiucai: a degree holder in the lowest level of the imperial civil service examination system; often translated as “licentiate,” qualifying one for further exams and conferring local scholarly status. from Liang County of Shuqing.

Yesterday, the Shuqing yamen had still intended to close the case as death by excessive ingestion of Hanshi San, but today, the constables unexpectedly came to the door again and took Madam Yu and her husband away on charges of murder. Even stranger, they also took Mengshi, whom they had questioned yesterday.

“The one who stopped the yamen from closing the case is Cen Zhao of the Cen Residence on Zhiliao Lane in Shuqing. He once served as an official in Yujing in his early years, and retired to return to his hometown Shuqing six years ago.”

Hooves trampled the muddy mountain path. As soon as Zhezhu finished speaking, he lowered his eyes to glance at the girl in his arms, keenly sensing several subtle changes in her expression. “You know him?”

“Who doesn’t know the name Cen Zhao?” Shang Rong nodded, then replied with feigned calm, “When I was at Xingluo Temple before, I also met him once.”

So the old gentleman Cen who Madam Yu mentioned—the one who often visited the mountain residence—was Cen Zhao. Shang Rong remembered that he had once risen to Minister of Personnel, and was also a Grand Scholar of Wenhua Hall.

Even though Emperor Chunsheng did not favor him, upon reading his poetry and prose he still could not help but sigh, “peerless.”

The reason Cen Zhao was not favored by Emperor Chunsheng was because he was excessively upright, and had repeatedly submitted memorials urging the emperor to face the reality of human birth, aging, illness, and death, and not to rely too heavily on mystical practices in pursuit of immortality.

A vast and lengthy discourse, yet all it did was tactfully explain one plain sentence—“Everyone dies. Even if you are the emperor, you must accept it. Stop meddling with those useless things.”

This matter had already caused an uproar when Shang Rong was young. Emperor Chunsheng had nearly punished Cen Zhao for it, but because several court officials and Empress Liu pleaded on his behalf, Cen Zhao preserved his life—though he was still demoted by Emperor Chunsheng and sent to serve for several years as magistrate of Jia County, on the border of Tingzhou and Yunchuan.

Jia County was famously impoverished. Cen Zhao came from a distinguished family and had never endured hardship since childhood, so everyone believed he would surely complain bitterly there and regret it endlessly.

Emperor Chunsheng thought the same.

Yet within seven years, Cen Zhao resolved the floods, reformed the farmland, and rescued the people of Jia County from calamity. When the “Umbrella of Ten Thousand People” from Jia County was presented in the Golden Throne Hall, the entire court was astonished.

Emperor Chunsheng could no longer punish him, and transferred him back to Yujing, promoting him to Minister of Personnel.

“He originally intended to recommend Zhang Xian.”

Zhezhu lifted his head to face the damp mountain wind.

After hearing this, Shang Rong said, “If Zhang Xian truly used Hanshi San regularly, Old Mister Cen would not have recommended him. So Zhang Xian’s death absolutely isn’t as simple as taking too much Hanshi San himself. Otherwise, his corpse would not have been hidden.”

Cen Zhao especially detested the unhealthy trend among the younger generation of obsessing over seeking immortals and pursuing the Dao. He even dared to submit memorials pointing out the emperor’s faults—how could he admire a Zhang Xian who indulged in Hanshi San?

Let alone recommend Zhang Xian to his own students at court.

Were the ones who hid Zhang Xian’s body truly the two people who had insisted on renting the bamboo grove courtyard that day?

Shang Rong had originally thought the authorities would naturally uncover whoever hid the corpse. Who would have known that in just one night, Madam Yu and her husband would be nailed down as the murderers beyond dispute.

“If not for Cen Zhao, this case would have been concluded as Zhang Xian dying from excessive ingestion of Hanshi San,” Zhezhu’s calm voice carried a trace of mockery. “Once Cen Zhao intervened, they hurried to find a scapegoat. Mengshi is the witness they selected.”

“He thought of this, which is why he wanted you and me to leave.”

If he and Shang Rong were still at the bamboo grove courtyard in Taoxi Village at this moment, and the constables failed to obtain the testimony they wanted from Mengshi, they would likely return and take the two of them back to the yamen as well.

Mengshi knew they did not wish to deal with officials, and along the way had avoided them whenever possible. That was why he asked the woman who helped in the primary school kitchen to send the book back.

“The Daozhang probably wouldn’t be willing to give false testimony to frame Madam Yu and her husband.” Shang Rong grew even more uneasy.

Daozhang Mengshi, who had only just barely retrieved his life from the prison in Rongzhou, had clearly been in the courtyard last night performing rites for his daughter’s departed soul—yet today he had again entered the Shuqing yamen.

Shang Rong looked up and saw the boy’s face growing paler and paler. She immediately grasped the hand holding the reins and said, “Zhezhu, are you feeling unwell?”

Zhezhu’s tone was casual. “Just a little sleepy.”

Within a deep and dense mountain forest, the horse tied beside a tree swished its tail, nibbling at the fresh shoots growing from the ground, while Shang Rong sat on a stone, back to back with the boy.

“Do you really not need my help?”

Shang Rong asked softly.

“No.”

Zhezhu replied briefly, rummaging through the bottles and jars in the bundle. A porcelain bottle rolled off the stone and, along the uneven ground, carried bits of grass until it came to rest against the edge of Shang Rong’s embroidered shoe.

Zhezhu fell silent for a moment.

Why did it have to be that bottle.

Shang Rong lowered her eyes and saw the porcelain bottle. She picked it up and tentatively reached back to hand it to him.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering shimmering shadows across the ground. She stared at her own shadow, and suddenly, her knuckles brushed against a slightly cool hand.

Something dripped down from his arm.

Without thinking, Shang Rong turned her head. She saw that the hideous wound on the boy’s arm had split open again, dark red drops of blood sliding down the crook of his arm.

Amid the mottled, shifting light and shadow, the boy’s clothes were half undone, his eyes pitch black, his face pale and indifferent.

“You lied to me.”

Shang Rong said suddenly.

He had clearly said earlier that his wound was not bleeding, that they had only stopped here to change the medicine.

Their touching fingers separated at once. Before the boy could take the medicine bottle from between her fingers, she turned around, opened the stopper, and no longer trembled in fright as she had the first time.

Thinking back to that time, while applying medicine to his wound, she had said, “Back in Nanzhou, you clearly forced me to apply medicine for you. But this time, when I want to help you, you refuse?”

She did not realize how close her breath was to him as she spoke.

Though she wore a mask full of flaws, and even the hands applying medicine were yellowed by layers of cosmetic powder, his lashes flickered, and somewhat unnaturally, he turned his face aside.

He did not speak, nor look at her. Yet lowering his gaze, he saw the two shadows—the one belonging to her and the one belonging to him.

Quietly drawing close, merging into one.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Zhang Xian was not originally from Tongshu Village of Liang County. He was born into poverty. His father died early, and after his mother remarried into Tongshu Village, he followed her and had lived there ever since.

By the time Shang Rong and Zhezhu arrived at Tongshu Village, it was already dusk.

“What are you looking for Zhang Xian’s house for?” The old man returning from herding cattle sized up the young pair before him. “Something happened to his family. Zhang Xian is dead. His mother went to Shuqing City and came back, then this afternoon she jumped into the river.”

Jumped into the river?

Hearing this, Shang Rong’s eyes filled with shock.

Following the old man’s directions, Shang Rong and Zhezhu reached the entrance of Zhang Xian’s house, only to see that inside and outside the narrow courtyard gate were packed with people. Through the gaps in the crowd, the vague figure of an elderly man with graying temples could be seen. He hunched his back and silently stared at the corpse covered with a white cloth.

“What a pity… the young master of the Zhang family had already passed the county examination. A true xiucai. He could even enter a place like Yeshan Academy, surely he would have become an official in the future…”

“Isn’t that so? Just when their Zhang boy was about to make something of himself, how did he end up being murdered?”

“Madam Zhang worked so hard and gave everything to raise a xiucai son. In the blink of an eye he was gone. She probably couldn’t bear it for a moment and did something foolish…”

Many people chattered at once. Half of Shang Rong’s face was hidden beneath her hood. Only when Zhezhu took her hand did she come back to her senses, following close behind him step by step.

“Zhezhu, if the Daozhang keeps refusing to speak, will he be unable to get out?” Shang Rong could not help asking.

“They only want Mengshi to say that he personally witnessed Madam Yu and her husband attempting to move the corpse. If Mengshi refuses, they won’t go so far as to kill him. At most they’ll charge him with giving false testimony,” Zhezhu thought for a moment, then said leisurely, “Having his hands or feet broken is possible.”

His hands or feet broken?

Shang Rong’s fingers tightened in an instant.

Zhezhu felt the pressure of her grip. He glanced lightly at her face. “Don’t worry. He can still be saved.”

He had been able to break into the Rongzhou prison because Prefect Qi Yusong had cooperated from within, but the prison in Shuqing City would not be so easy to enter. Besides, he still had matters unfinished in Shuqing and did not wish to provoke the authorities for now.

So the one who could resolve the predicament of Mengshi and Madam Yu’s couple at present was only Cen Zhao.

Rushing from Tongshu Village to Shuqing City beneath the stars, Shang Rong fell asleep from exhaustion at the inn, but her sleep was deeply unsettled. Perhaps because she kept thinking about Zhezhu’s words at dusk—“hands or feet broken”—in her dream she truly saw Mengshi with his limbs severed.

The cloth bag on his body was soaked with blood. The small jar inside rolled out—it contained his daughter’s ashes.

Shang Rong woke with a start. In the hazy light, she saw that the boy had already changed into a moon-white robe. His hair was combed neatly into a topknot, with a silver hairpin gleaming brightly. He looked very much like a scholar.

He had only taken one bite of a bun when he lifted his eyes and met her gaze.

“Want one?” he asked.

Of course Shang Rong wanted to eat.

She did not know what time it was now. After eating two buns, she went behind the screen and changed into a coarse cloth skirt. The embroidered shoes on her feet, stitched with brilliant lotus flowers, were replaced with plain cloth shoes without any pattern.

“I know you don’t like dressing like this,”

Zhezhu propped his chin with one hand and looked her over. “After we leave the Cen Residence, I’ll buy you something else.”

Their trip to Tongshu Village had not been without gain. At the very least, they had learned that Zhang Xian had a fiancée named Tian Mingfang, a native of Tongshu Village.

Two years ago, when Tian Mingfang’s mother died, the Zhang family and her family had agreed that the children would marry this year. Half a month ago, Zhang Xian and Tian Mingfang had come together to Shuqing City.

Now Zhang Xian was dead, but Tian Mingfang had disappeared without a trace.

Shang Rong was now going to pretend to be Tian Mingfang and enter the Cen Residence to meet Cen Zhao.

A sudden heavy rain arrived in the afternoon. Worried the rain would wet her mask, Shang Rong tugged her hood lower. Raindrops pattered against the edge of the umbrella, and she could not help glancing again at the boy beside her.

At this moment, he too had concealed part of his appearance with a mask. The dim daylight reflected beneath the umbrella. He glanced at the Cen household servant who had come to receive them at the gate, then lowered his eyes to look at her.

“Let’s go.”

Shang Rong pressed her lips together and stepped up the stone steps with him.

Passing through the broad and elegant courtyard, the rain dripped softly from the eaves. As soon as Shang Rong entered the hall, she saw the elderly man seated in the grand chair, his hair gray, dressed in a dark bluish-green robe.

A brazier burned in the room. A small pot sat warming within it, water inside simmering with several pieces of dried tangerine peel, easing the dryness of the charcoal fire and adding a faint, moist citrus fragrance to the air.

The moment Shang Rong saw him, her mind suddenly recalled an autumn night from six years ago—the only time she had returned to Prince Rong’s residence after entering the palace.

“Your Highness Prince Rong,”

Separated by a single door, she heard from inside a voice choked with suppressed sobs, teeth clenched, saturated with disappointment: “This subject sees that every bone in your body, has been completely broken…”

Then the door opened, and the one who walked out was him.

So many years had passed. Shang Rong could no longer remember the face she saw then, yet she clearly remembered her father inside the door calling him—

Qingshan.

Qingshan was Cen Zhao’s courtesy name²Courtesy name — a formal name (字, zi) given to a person upon reaching adulthood in traditional Chinese culture..

“Miss Mingfang?”

Cen Zhao’s eyes were sharp and vigorous, his gaze first settling on Shang Rong. “I have heard that you and Zhang Xian were long betrothed. Now that such a thing has happened, it truly is fate’s cruel play…”

Shang Rong came back to her senses at once, lowering her head and bowing. “Sir Qingshan, Xian-lang has been murdered, yet I have nowhere to seek justice. Now I can only hope that Sir Qingshan will obtain justice for Xian-lang.”

Mist and rain veiled the courtyard. Zhezhu had just handed the rain-soaked paper umbrella to a maidservant. Hearing her say this, he could not help turning his face slightly from outside the threshold to look at her.

Xian-lang.

Who taught her to call him that?

Footnotes

• 1
  Xiucai: a degree holder in the lowest level of the imperial civil service examination system; often translated as “licentiate,” qualifying one for further exams and conferring local scholarly status.
• 2
  Courtesy name — a formal name (字, zi) given to a person upon reaching adulthood in traditional Chinese culture.