Around first light, two figures landed behind Xi Ping’s guest room. These were Pang Jian and Zhao Yu.

“After coming home from the Imperial College yesterday, the deceased Dong Zhang left the city under the guise of an outing in the countryside. In reality, he went to visit a grave.” Zhao Yu briefly reported the matter of Young Master Dong keeping a mistress outside the city. “In the carriage he was riding in at the time of his death, the imperial guard discovered a proposal card on red paper. The horoscope written on it is the same as on the paper money he scattered—the horoscope of his mistress.”

“I see, a romantic debt from the netherworld,” Pang Jian said coolly. “I’m afraid this Young Master Dong didn’t go to visit a grave. With the Grand Selection at hand, he was worried that his ‘golden house outside the world’ would be discovered, and he went to get his affairs in order, right?”

Compared to Kunlun and the other sects, Xuanyin attached greater value to the intelligence of its disciples. Therefore, in the Grand Selection, it didn’t choose children whose intellects had yet to develop; the males had to be over sixteen, and the females over fifteen.

The path of immortality was long, and commonplace worries were a great hindrance. The immortal sect stipulated that those who were selected could not be married.

But the Grand Selection came only once in ten years. This was too hard on the scions of Jinping’s upper ranks—before each Grand Selection, nameless bastard children and their nameless mothers died in batches. This no longer surprised Pang Jian.

“Well… he must have visited the grave too.” Zhao Yu sighed and quietly said, “The driver of Dong Zhang’s carriage last night was his mistress’s father.”

Pang Jian frowned. “Do you mean the driver who was the first to die of the bitter fleabane curse when the carriage door opened?”

“That’s right,” Zhao Yu said. “If the driver hadn’t died, we would have had to take him to the Quell and investigate him thoroughly.”

“Does he have any surviving family?”

“No, he was a widower, and this daughter was his only child. She died at the beginning of the year. He worked as a servant and had a taciturn disposition. He only came in contact with people through his work. We found nothing at his residence. There was a considerable amount of ashes from burned paper under the bed. He had clearly burned everything there was to burn… Commander, as I see it, this is typical for haunts.”

A bitter life, a solitary existence, no contact with others.

“I see,” said Pang Jian, unable to deny it. He approached the guest room and listened to the sounds within. “He’s sleeping pretty soundly. This kid can keep his cool.”

“If he can sleep peacefully under the noses of eight karma beasts, he may truly have nothing on his conscience,” Zhao Yu said. “The investigation shows that Dong Zhang’s death must be connected to the driver. Provided that the karma beasts also think there’s nothing wrong with the Viscount of Yongning, then perhaps he really…”

Pang Jian put his hands behind his back and looked at him calmly, his expression unreadable.

Zhao Yu weighed his looks and gestures and immediately changed tack. “Though it’s still too much of a coincidence to run into him twice. I think we should investigate the people he has regular contact with. They must all be Jinping residents with known backgrounds. It won’t be hard.”

Hearing this, Pang Jian smiled, thinking that this Zhao was a true son of one Great Wan’s powerful families; he didn’t let anything slip by.

Everything he had said seemed neutral, but actually he was quietly excluding the Viscount of Yongning from any chance of complicity, not omitting to hint by word and deed that Xi Ping’s family background was clean, so even if he had been pulled into some dirty business, he must be passive and innocent.

“Fine, you take the lead in the investigation, I’ll leave it to you. You know I’m a country bumpkin. I can’t compare to all of you with your great families. All those ties between those people in Dangui Lane make no sense to me.” Pang Jian looked at the pitch-dark guest room and said, meaningfully, “This pretty boy is quite well-connected.”

The well-connected pretty boy Xi Ping slept until full daylight.

He regularly went to bed late and didn’t get up until the morning was over; it had been a long time since he’d slept so substantially. His whole body had limbered up. He was just about to get out of bed and call for Haozhong to come and help him dress when something rubbed against him uncomfortably.

Xi Ping, still bleary, felt around and pulled a small silk brocade bag out from under his butt. At last he remembered that Jiangli had given him a present.

Last night had been too bizarre; he had forgotten about this detail.

Xi Ping quickly tore open the silk brocade bag and took out a piece of red jade. The color wasn’t pure enough for expensive blood jade. It was minuscule, without any decorative carvings on it. It looked like it cost less than the bag itself. But there was a faint, subtle fragrance permeating the jade. It was as sleek as soft skin. It was clear at a glance that this was something kept close by a woman year in, year out.

What did she mean by giving him a close personal possession? Any normal person could understand that. Xi Ping was getting a little fed up with this and was just about to toss the stone aside when he felt notches on its other side.

He casually turned the piece of jade over and saw the small line of writing on it: Baishao, daughter of the Ning’an Chen family, Ding Chou year, 4th month, 9th day, Mao hour.¹

Daughter of the Ning’an Chen family? Who was she?

There wasn’t so much as a flower carved on the piece of jade. What kind of signature was this? Anyway, a signature would only be accompanied by a year and month, occasionally a day. No one would write out the time of day as well, not like a horoscope…

Wait, a horoscope!

With a start, Xi Ping’s head cleared.

No… This wasn’t a signature; it was a place of origin, full name, and horoscope!

It was an old custom in Great Wan for young ladies to carry a “birthday jade” close to their bodies from childhood. When it came time to negotiate a marriage, after the matchmaking and betrothal gifts were done, the bride would give the groom her birthday jade. The groom would accept the jade and give her a pearl in return, completing the perfect pair of pearl and jade.

In other words, a birthday jade with a horoscope carved on it was equivalent to a marriage proposal.

He had heard that a birthday jade had also fallen off of Wang Baochang’s body. And he could still hear the instructions Exalted Zhao had given him at Prince Zhuang Manor—don’t accept anything with a horoscope written on it, or anything resembling a marriage proposal!

Xi Ping hurled the piece of jade to the foot of the bed, jumped up, and slapped himself all over, as though improving his circulation could protect him against turning into a walking corpse.

Overnight, he had nearly forgotten Dong Zhang’s discontented rotting face. Now, with this suspicious birthday jade as a reminder, it came back to him.

He hadn’t even had a chance to be a human’s husband yet; was he going to be forced to be a ghost’s husband? And they’d have to shave his head after he died!

Was this an appropriate fate for a tragic beauty?

No way, Xi Ping thought, he absolutely couldn’t agree to this marriage!

Without even putting on his shoes, he prepared to charge out the door, planning to let out a shout and beg the blue-robed Exalteds to “break up the lovebirds.”

Haozhong was putting away the bedding in the outer room. He watched dumbfounded as his young master shot out like a firecracker, scaring away the second half of his yawn.

“Young master, what…”

Then he saw the young master slap the guest room door and interrupt him with a raised hand, his expression imposing. In this pose, he pondered silently awhile. Then, as if sleepwalking, he turned and went back to his room.

On reaching the door, Xi Ping had suddenly remembered that it was Jiangli who had given him this birthday jade.

Jiangli wanting to hurt him… That didn’t make sense.

First, he thought he was the most lovable man on earth. He absolutely didn’t believe that a woman could bring herself to hurt him.

Second, he had done right by Jiangli, even worn women’s clothes that exposed his chest and back in public, outshining all the discontented female ghosts of Jinping. What more did she want?

Taking the most extreme view, even if Jiangli hated him out of thwarted love, she could have put rat poison in his wine any time, enough to kill him eight times over. There was no need for her to arrange a posthumous marriage for him.

Xi Ping picked up the red jade with a towel. He was puzzled—if Jiangli didn’t want to hurt him, then what was this thing?

Just then, Zhao Yu’s voice came through the window. Xi Ping heard the Exalted ask Haozhong: “Is the Viscount up?”

This was Heaven's Design Pavilion, not his own home. He couldn’t laze around in bed. So Xi Ping quickly put the jade away, hastily cleaned himself up, and went out to see Zhao Yu.

Exalted Zhao had accepted Prince Zhuang’s ancient painting. In public he avoided any behavior that would open him up to a suspicion of bias, but in private he treated Xi Ping much more kindly. First he said a lot of pleasant nonsense, all “keeping him at the head office was a mere formality, they didn’t suspect of him anything” and so on. Then he gave him a small porcelain vial. “I’ve heard that the Marquis has heart disease. Last night we disturbed him because it was truly unavoidable. These heart pills were made by an elder of mine in the sect. It is a mild medicine, suitable for use by mortals. Take it to your father for me. Another day I’ll pay a visit to apologize.”

Xi Ping accepted the vial and thanked him. Then Zhao Yu said, smiling, “You’re very young, but you don’t panic in the face of trouble and have a tranquil mind. You may have a great future ahead of you.”

Xi Ping didn’t take this flattery seriously, and further deduced that Exalted Zhao must have spied on him while he was sleeping last night—only when he was fast asleep did he have anything to do with the word “tranquil.” So he asked, “Exalted, have I been cleared of suspicion?”

The laughter lines at the corners of Zhao Yu’s mouth stiffened. He couldn’t tell whether this wastrel was clever or stupid; he was very direct. So he said, “Your family background is clean. There was never any suspicion to start with. It was just as you said—we kept you here for a night only because we were worried you had crossed paths with those haunts without knowing it.”

Xi Ping readily changed his wording: “So, Exalted, am I still clean? I haven’t picked up anything dirty?”

Zhao Yu: “…”

“You… are fine for now.” Captain Zhao was sophisticated, after all; he forced his calm Bodhisattva’s face to remain fixed in place and softly said, “Go home now, don’t make your family worry.”

Squeezing the little porcelain vial Exalted Zhao had given him, Xi Ping thought that the scrap of painting that resembled vegetable peelings his san-ge had given Zhao Yu must have been rare indeed if it could make a great walker in the mortal world wish to curry favor with him.

His wicked mind cranked away, considering the situation. He felt that, rather than being a precious gift, the painting Prince Zhuang had given Exalted Zhao had given him a hold over him, however sweetly. So he tried pressing his luck: “But, Exalted, I’m still scared. Isn’t there something you can give that can… keep me safe?”

Zhao Yu stilled. The look in his eyes became slightly grim as he watched Xi Ping.

Xi Ping put on a convincing show of nervousness. “If I so much as think of the south street covered in paper money last night, I don’t dare to go home. Though I suppose it’s been cleaned up, what if there are still a few pieces in some nook or cranny, hiding in the cracks of a stone or a brick wall? Well, why don’t I go to Prince Zhuang Manor again today to scrounge a meal…”

He was interrupted by Zhao Yu placing a fan before his eyes.

The ribs of the fan were quite plain and neat. When the fan was opened, there were auspicious cloud patterns at the corners, and in the center was drawn a monster with eyes that took up half its head—just the same as the “embroidery” and “mural” in Xi Ping’s room last night.

As soon as Xi Ping opened the fan, the monster on the paper moved on its own. It first dug with its front legs, like a dog or cat burying excrement, then dashed to the other side of the fan!

“What kind of magic weapon is this?”

“It’s not a magic weapon,” Zhao Yu said. “This is Heaven's Design Pavilion’s sacred karma beast. Tradition says that it once served the Southern Sage. It abhors evil. It can pass through paper, silk, walls… any place apart from the ground where something has been written or drawn—if there isn’t anything, you can just scribble a few words. When common evil objects encounter karma beasts, they burn up. If you meet with paper money like last night’s again, you can wave it away with the fan.”

Xi Ping gave a cry and put the fan away. “Then I won’t stand on ceremony. Thank you, Exalted!”

Zhao Yu had no more attention to spare for him. He just wanted the brat to get lost. “If you remember anything else, you can send someone to let us know.”

When he said this, Xi Ping remembered the birthday jade he was carrying and was just about to mention it when a blue-rober charged over at a gallop. “Huff—Zhao-shixiong, is the commander here?”

Before Zhao Yu could answer, Pang Jian walked straight through the courtyard wall in response. “Well, what are you panicking about?”

Damn! The legendary walking through walls technique!

Xi Ping stared at Pang Jian, for a time forgetting how to speak—with this skill, he’d be able to get in any way he wanted when he came home in the middle of the night; he wouldn’t be caught at the door and scolded by his father!

Then the blue-rober jumped off his horse and took out a gaudy paper card. “Commander, Zhao-shixiong, please look at this.”

“What is it?”

Xi Ping craned his neck and glanced at it. “A Flower Viewing Invitation from Overflowing Splendor?”

“Yes, it’s a ticket to a private room for the last day of the Flower Viewing Festival,” the blue-robed half-immortal said. He rubbed the paper card between his fingers until it came apart; the card actually had two layers. When the layers were pulled apart, crooked writing the dark red of blood was revealed inside. It was a horoscope!

“Let me see it.” Pang Jian narrowed his eyes, then turned and asked Xi Ping, “Did you touch one of these?”

“No.” Xi Ping shook his head. “I didn’t need a ticket. They took one look at my face and let me in.”

“Oh, well, pardon my manners,” Pang Jian said with undisguised sarcasm. He looked away, and his expression cooled. He ordered: “Bring me Overflowing Splendor’s boss, its madam, all the stewards, whoever wrote these invitations, and whoever bought the pen, ink, and paper. Throw them all in the Quell and question them!”

Xi Ping stared blankly.

Every child in Great Wan knew about the “Quell.” Naughty children had all grown up hearing “If you don’t behave, I’ll have you shut up in the Quell.” It was said that this was the place where Heaven's Design Pavilion kept haunts. A hundred thousand evil monsters wailed there every night. If a mortal went in, they wouldn’t come out.

Was this…so serious?

But no one apart from him seemed to have any objections.

Zhao Yu asked, “Should we close down Overflowing Splendor?”

“Of course! What are you waiting for? A breeding ground for filth like that should have been closed down long ago!” After casting these misplaced aspersions, Pang Jian shot Xi Ping an impatient glance. “Viscount, if you haven’t received anything like this, please leave. Or is there something else?”

There was absolutely nothing else. Xi Ping made himself scarce. He picked up the page Haozhong and left.

He was starting to realize that not just anyone could stay in Heaven's Design Pavilion’s “guest rooms.”

Without a prince for a cousin and an imperial consort for an aunt, however big your business, however wide your network, if you fell under suspicion of being connected to a haunt, you would soon end up in the Quell waiting to be interrogated.

So… it went without saying what would happen to a prostitute, as unmoored as wild grass.

In the blink of an eye, Xi Ping came to a decision. He had to conceal the birthday jade.

Such a sensitive thing at such a sensitive time—if the Exalteds learned of it, they would certainly throw her in the Quell. With Jiangli’s constitution, what hope did she have of surviving?

Anyway, he didn’t know what was going on with the birthday jade yet. He couldn’t get her killed like this.

The bustle of the Flower Viewing Festival had been like a fire with oil thrown on it, dazzlingly luxuriant, but it had vanished as if blown away by a strong wind. The brothel of two nights ago had become a rathole. After the raid, the monkeys had scattered, and even the silks at the door had faded.

Apparently none of the stewards had escaped; they had all gone into the Quell.

As for the girls, because of their status, they couldn’t precisely count as people, so they weren’t sent to squat in prison; instead, like Outstanding Splendor’s cats, dogs, and parrots, they were shut up in the house and not permitted to go out, to make it convenient to question them—this was what Haozhong went and found out after Xi Ping came home from Heaven's Design Pavilion.

Xi Ping asked, “What about Jiangli? Has she also been shut up in the house?”

“Miss Jiangli isn’t there,” Haozhong answered. “By coincidence, she left for the south of the city this morning.”

“Why did she go to the south of the city?”

“She said she’d gone to Southern Sage Temple to burn incense and make a vow before, and it seems the Southern Sage heard her—she took the camellia crown, didn’t she? So she’s gone to fulfill her vow.”

Xi Ping nearly split his sides laughing—Southern Sage Temple was over ten li south of Jinping. Legend said it was built on the spot where the Xuanyin’s founder had ascended to heaven. Xuanyin had nearly written “men and women must not mingle” into the decrees of heaven—and someone had actually gone to pray for the camellia crown at Southern Sage Temple!

“As if!” said Xi Ping. “If he’d really heard her, the old Southern Sage would have sent down a bolt of lightning to cook her! What was she thinking?”

Haozhong said, “Young master, why don’t I go meet her on her way back? I can tell Miss Jiangli to find someplace to hide instead of going back to Overflowing Splendor. There’s such a fuss there now…”

“Fine.” Xi Ping hesitated, then nodded. “Here, if you see her, ask her why she gave me…”

At this point, he stopped talking. For a long moment, there was no follow-up.

Haozhong waited for a long time and finally couldn’t resist asking, “What did she give you?”

“Forget it, don’t worry about it, I’ll go myself.” Xi Ping glanced at the sky. If he went out now, he was sure to make it back before nightfall. So he stepped right into his riding boots. “Close the windows and doors. If my dad and the others ask, say I didn’t sleep well at Heaven's Design Pavilion and I’m making up for it.”

“Wait, young master… Hey, young master!” Haozhong’s small features twisted. Before he could protest, Xi Ping had run off.

A perfectly good Viscount; what a pity he had grown legs.

Though Xi Ping didn’t believe that Jiangli wanted to hurt him, it was still hard not to get hung up on her giving him such a thing at a time like this: both Wang Baochang and Dong Zhang had only come to grief after running into him, the altered Flower Viewing Invitations just happened to come from Overflowing Splendor, and Jiangli, who had for no reason at all given him a birthday jade as a gift, just happened to leave the city and avoid the investigation at Overflowing Splendor.

If this was all coincidence, then there were too many coincidences.

A normal person in his position, after seeing Dong Zhang’s death with his own eyes and being dragged into this strange business, would have handed the birthday jade over to Heaven's Design Pavilion by now.

But the Viscount’s accomplishments in the ways of courting disaster were tremendous. He had never adhered to common sense.

He had decided to say nothing and go to Jiangli himself to have her explain the story behind the birthday jade.

Even if this thing really would get him in trouble, the previous victims had both died late at night. If he could just get back before nightfall, he would still have time to go to Heaven's Design Pavilion and beg to be saved. If there was nothing wrong with the birthday jade, and he pissed himself with fear because there was a horoscope written on it and got a young woman thrown into the Quell over it, could he still claim to have balls?

So, full of guts and his own sort of reasoning, Xi Ping left the city by the south gate.

Exiting the south city gate, you came upon the Grand Canal. On the banks of the canal, apart from crude laborers’ houses, there were factories shrouded in smoke, the machines inside them droning without regard for night and day. Near the banks a layer of green oil floated atop the water, making a foul stink.

Along the canal were peddlers selling mixed grain flatbreads. The vendors, more dead than alive, cried out “two for one.” Workers naked to the waist squatted by the banks, eating amid the brackish reek from the dirty water.

The atmosphere was foul. In the Southern Mountains, the Sage’s Road alone was unstained by a speck of dirt.

This mountain road went to Southern Sage Temple and had a carved marble railing on both sides, taller than the height of a man. Carved into the railing weren’t auspicious animals or clouds, but inscriptions to eliminate dust and expel dirt. Inlaid along the bottom of the railing were jade stamp spiritual stones. Accompanied by rare glimpses of spring in the south of the city, it seemed like an immortal road that had accidentally ended up in the mortal world.

As soon as Xi Ping left by the city gate, he covered his nose. He puffed out his cheeks and chest, holding his breath until he had ridden quickly onto the Sage’s Road. Then he opened his nostrils and breathed.

To go to Southern Sage Temple, you had to make the trip there and back by the Sage’s Road. Reckoning the time, Jiangli would be coming back now. He could meet her on the way. Jiangli’s driver Lao-Zhang was a hunchback, particularly hunched; you could spot him from two li off. And the road wasn’t busy now. He couldn’t miss them.

But instead, Xi Ping rode all the way to the foot of Southern Sage Temple Mountain without seeing a shade of Jiangli.

The sun had begun to sink into the west. It wasn’t the New Year or any festival, and it wasn’t the first or fifteenth of the month; there were hardly any worshippers at Southern Sage Temple. There were just a few carriages tied up at the post outside the temple. Xi Ping asked around; everyone said they hadn’t seen Hunchbacked Zhang.

In spite of himself, he felt an apprehension: could he rely on that dog Haozhong?

Just then, someone chimed in next to him: “The hunchbacked driver? I saw him. He didn’t stop at the post.”

Xi Ping looked around and saw an old man harnessing an ox cart near the teahouse, getting ready to wind up business for the day.

As he worked, the old man muttered, “That man with a back even more bent than mine. When he finished making his purchase, he went south. I didn’t see him come back.”

“What did he buy?” said Xi Ping.

“Flowers.” The old man put his hands together and gestured toward Xi Ping, illustrating. “I brought a lot of white flowers today. Here I thought I'd never sell all of them, but he bought the whole lot. Someone in the underworld has a guest today.”

Someone in the underworld…

Xi Ping stilled. He looked south in the direction the old man was pointing—that was the direction of the south city’s Blissful Village.

The Blissful Village was a set of graves, done up quite properly, with someone to guard and take care of it daily, but it wasn’t a proper graveyard. Most of the names carved on the gravestones were false names—slave girls gone missing from beside the sons of the noble and wealthy, daughters who had lost their chastity and committed suicide, concubines kicked out of noble residences, batch after batch of “famous flowers” wilted on either side of a pleasure boat… These people, who couldn’t see the light of day, who couldn’t leave behind their names, all settled here when they had left the land of the living.

Jiangli had claimed to be going to Southern Sage Temple to fulfill a vow, but actually she had snuck off to the Blissful Village to visit a grave?

Xi Ping found out from the old flower seller that they hadn’t come back, so he urged his horse towards the Blissful Village.

He felt no taboo about the dead, and there was nothing to fear about the Blissful Village. Though it was a graveyard, it had long since become one of Jinping’s destinations. Each year on Qing Ming and the Winter Clothing Festival, rich and idle young men would get together to go burn paper goods at the Blissful Village. This was known euphemistically as “paying homage to the souls of beautiful women.” They didn’t come empty-handed. Since they were already coming, they had to leave behind some eulogies, so the old pagoda trees and ancient cypresses were stuck full of nonsensical funeral orations. It was as if the trees had a skin condition. It was sickening enough to disperse any trace of ghosts.

When Xi Ping reached the Blissful Village, perhaps because of the damp in the air, a fog rose in the woods. He pulled his horse to a stop. The horse snorted and continuously beat its two front hooves against the ground, like the drum at the end of a trial.

Animals were always unusually sensitive to places where bodies were buried. Xi Ping took no notice. He raised his voice and called for the grave guard. “Master Six, are you there?”

Master Six was the solitary old man who guarded the graves. He lived in a little cottage outside the Blissful Village. Every month, he received twenty jin of grain and half a string of copper coins. In his spare time, he raised chickens and grew vegetables in his yard.

The chickens weren’t there now. There was only the old man, on his own, bent as he loosened the soil for his vegetables.

Perhaps because he was old, his movements were unusually heavy, like a machine ready to rust.

“Hey, old man, take a break.” Xi Ping took a piece of silver from his pocket and flicked it into Maser Six’s little yard. “I want to ask you something. Has anyone come here today?”

Master Six stared at the silver bead fallen at his feet. He stopped digging and nodded slowly.

Xi Ping said, “A young woman with a hunchbacked driver, right? Did they leave?”

“Uh-huh.” Master Six may have been senile. It cost him an effort to speak. After a long time, he finally spat out the words, “Still here.”

“Fine… Oh, right, do you know who they came to pay their respects to?”

The old grave guard was hard of hearing. Xi Ping asked twice, but he didn’t hear him. All his focus was on digging.

“Tsk, old fogey.” Xi Ping ran out of patience. It was getting late, and he didn’t waste any more time talking to the old man. He urged his horse on into the woods.

Strange to say, while his horse had been unwilling to go into the woods earlier, this time there was no need for its master’s urging. As soon as his grip on the reins slackened, it darted in.

The fog became thicker and thicker. Soon man and horse disappeared into the woods, as if they had been swallowed by the fog.

Then, the thick fog spilled over from the woods and surrounded the grave guard’s little cottage.

The solitary grave guard hit the reeking earth with his rake. With a pop, something fell from his face and into the hole in the earth. When it fell, it rolled out…

It wasn’t a bead of sweat. It was a clouded eyeball.

The old man went on brandishing his rake again and again, completely unaware.