Jiang Li’s words fell like water into hot oil, instantly igniting shock throughout the hall. The name “Bride Butcher” had haunted Chang’an for half a year, a figure so ruthless that even children ceased crying at night. Yet who could have imagined that this person was once the young master of Ningxiang Pavilion—and in truth, the real owner behind Fuxiang Studio? And now, the claim of a corpse being swapped sent chills down every spine.
Kang Long stammered in disbelief: “What? That body wasn’t Yun’er? Yun’er isn’t dead?!”
The crowd, already familiar with fragments of the case, erupted into anxious murmurs. Xue Qin stared at Jiang Li, standing beside Pei Yan, her face pale with incredulity. “Elder Sister… how do you know all this—”
Pei Yan himself had not foreseen this turn. From the second-floor window, Kang Jingming maintained a mask of calm, his voice steady: “Miss Xue, what are you saying? I don’t understand a word.”
Jiang Li’s tone sharpened, cold as steel: “On the seventh day of the sixth month, Wang Yan disappeared. On the twentieth, a heavily decayed corpse wrapped in Wang Yan’s clothing was found in the western moat. Because of the rot and the garments, both the authorities and her family assumed the remains were hers. But you did not know—Wang Yan broke her arm as a child, and the bone still bears the mark. The corpse’s decay exposed the bones, and by chance I had learned of her old injury. That was when I realized something was wrong.”
“If the remains were not Wang Yan, then who was the victim? And where is the real Wang Yan? These two questions have consumed the officers over the past few days. Later, the coroner at the Court of Judicial Review discovered that the first corpse had once suffered from ‘crane’s knee wind.’ After much inquiry, we found an old physician at Renfeng Hall in the southern city who had treated her. He recalled that the young woman came in mid-April, carrying a heavy fragrance upon her body—peony, love seeds, albizia, spikenard, musk, and wood incense among them—”
Jiang Li’s words rang firm. Chen An reacted first: “That’s our ‘Everlasting Longing’!”
Jiang Li glanced at him and nodded: “Exactly—the Everlasting Longing of Fuxiang Studio. But here lies the puzzle: Everlasting Longing was first sold on the thirteenth of April. If the girl visited Renfeng Hall before that date, how could she already be wearing it? The physician could not recall the exact day, so doubt remained. Until today, when I visited the Kang household and discovered how close it lies to Anshan Ward, where Renfeng Hall stands—”
“Patients with crane’s knee wind suffer leg pain; naturally they seek the nearest clinic. That coincidence struck me. Linking the clues together, I uncovered a chilling possibility: the murderer may be master and servant working in concert. Ningxiang Pavilion has long been renowned, and Fuxiang Studio’s recipes closely resemble it. Could it be that the hand behind Fuxiang Studio was tied to Ningxiang Pavilion all along? At that moment, I thought of Kang Yun’s maid, Cuizhu.”
“Cuizhu was from Mizhou. One cause of crane’s knee wind is eating too many cold fruits—and Mizhou is famed for its orchards, especially loquats and apricots in April. More importantly, Cuizhu was caught stealing just before Kang Yun’s misfortune and expelled from the household. When the authorities re-investigated, they found she had pawned stolen goods. I visited three pawnshops, and each reported the same: the girl who brought in those jewels wore a hooded cloak, was slender of build, and spoke in a soft, melodious voice. This matched exactly the Bride Butcher’s method of luring victims. Thus, I suspect someone impersonated Cuizhu to visit the pawnshops.”
“Cuizhu’s first visit to the pawnshop was on the fourth day of the sixth month, when Wang Yan had not yet gone missing. That made me wonder—could the first victim have been Cuizhu herself? After her death, the killer might have staged a false Cuizhu to leave traces at the pawnshop, creating the illusion she had merely been expelled from the household. But if Cuizhu was truly dead, how could her mistress, Kang Yun, have failed to notice?”
“At that point, I recalled the Kang family’s testimony: Kang Yun had secluded herself for over a month to study incense, attended only by Cuizhu. The only person who saw her daily was you, Kang Jingming. You went to great lengths for her, yet the mistake lay with the first corpse. Wang Yan and Cuizhu were not central to you—so wasn’t the real error the misidentification of your sister’s remains?”
Jiang Li’s voice rang clear: “It was at this point that everything fell into place. I returned to the mortuary, and when I examined the second body with a coroner’s methods, I found a fracture in the arm bone. That corpse was not Kang Yun at all—it was Wang Yan. The real Kang Yun has never appeared before us!”
From start to finish, Jiang Li laid out the truth, leaving Fu Yunheng dumbstruck. He gasped: “So Wang Yan’s brother never imagined that while her body was misidentified, his sister’s corpse was right before his eyes?”
The crowd, already bewildered, now reeled in shock. Only Kang Jingming gave a wry smile and shook his head. “Miss Xue is imaginative indeed—two corpse swaps? Why wouldn’t the killer simply use Cuizhu to stand in for my sister?”
Pei Yan’s tone was icy: “Because by the time Wang Yan was murdered, Cuizhu’s body had already begun to rot. To avoid detection, the killer first discarded Cuizhu’s corpse as Wang Yan’s. Then, come the seventh month, with Wang Yan’s nails stained, he cast off Wang Yan’s body as Kang Yun’s. Thus, two layers of deception convinced everyone that Cuizhu had been sent home, and the dead were Wang Yan and Kang Yun.”
Kang Jingming gave a half-smile. “My lord, have you forgotten? The killer’s chosen victims were all new brides. Cuizhu was no bride-to-be.”
Pei Yan replied: “The killer targeted brides to cut out their hearts. But when the first victim’s remains were found, the organs had already been consumed by corpse insects. There was no way to prove whether her heart had been taken. Her death was likely an accident, later used by you as a pawn to mislead the authorities.”
Before Kang Jingming could speak, Jiang Li pressed on: “If I’m not mistaken, Cuizhu died in late May or early June. When she visited the physician in April for her knee ailment, her body carried a strong fragrance—not because she had purchased ‘Everlasting Longing’ but because she served daily at the side of the one who was creating it. Before the incense was ever sold, she was already steeped in its scent!”
Kang Long’s eyes flickered. “Miss Xue, are you saying that ‘Everlasting Longing’ was not developed by Fuxiang Studio, but rather…”
Jiang Li nodded. “Indeed—it must have been Kang Yun who created it.”
Kang Long was incredulous. “But how could that be?”
Pei Yan explained: “You once said that early this year Kang Yun sent out a sum of silver, and afterward no one knew where it went. If I’m not mistaken, that money was given to Kang Jingming. At that time, Kang Yun’s marriage had just been arranged, and knowing that once she wed, his life would grow difficult, she sought to help him establish himself. That was the true origin of Fuxiang Studio.”
Darkness clouded Kang Long’s vision. “It was Yun’er who helped you…”
At the mention of Kang Yun, Kang Jingming’s face stiffened. Beside him, Chen An felt as though the splendid hall around them was dissolving into illusion. Seeing Kang Jingming remain silent, he could not help but protest: “My lord, my lady—what talk of false Cuizhu, what bride‑killer? You’ve said so much, yet all it proves is that the authorities misidentified a corpse. What does that have to do with our master? Even if Miss Kang helped him set up his shop, that was out of deep affection. What connection has it with murder?”
Jiang Li’s voice cut cold: “Yesterday I met a performer who once trained with the Changfu troupe. I noticed a tattoo on his neck, but could not recall where I had seen it before. This morning, when I saw the ink‑stained character ‘Fu,’ it came back to me. That day outside the Ningxiang Pavilion, Kang Jingming’s servant struggled with someone, his collar torn open, exposing his neck. At the time, his skin was bruised black and blue, hiding the tattoo from view…”
Pei Yan continued: “Seven years ago, Dong Qing of the Changfu troupe was caught stealing and sold to the Yichun brothel in the east of the city. At fifteen—four years ago—he tried to escape a client’s abuse, was recaptured, and nearly beaten to death. It was you, Kang Jingming, who paid to buy him, kept him at your side, and renamed him Kang Qing. He possessed an extraordinary gift for mimicry: he could reproduce anyone’s voice. Slender and delicate in build, he could even pass convincingly as a woman. Of the five victims and their families, some visited Ningxiang Pavilion, while others visited only Fuxiang Studio. At first, the authorities excluded both shops. But if the two proprietors were one and the same, everything falls into place.”
The guests had come merely to sample incense, never expecting such revelations.
Princess Qingyang spoke: “Hechen, Miss Xue—you said the bride‑killer murdered to take the hearts of brides‑to‑be? I did not misunderstand? He carved out their hearts? If the killer is Kang Jingming, then for what purpose did he take them?”
Pei Yan faltered. “Kang Jingming, you may deny it. But once Kang Qing is captured, he will confess. Dismemberment leaves traces. When Fuxiang Studio is searched to its foundations, you will have no defense. Guards—!”
Lu Zhuo, who had accompanied them, obeyed at once, leading a squad of armed men to surround the place.
Kang Long stepped forward, shouting: “Kang Jingming, where is your sister? You ungrateful wretch! She raised you with bitter toil, and just as she was about to marry and live in peace, you brought ruin upon us! Where is Yun’er?!”
As the guards pressed in, Kang Jingming suddenly gave a chilling laugh. His gaze shifted to Princess Qingyang and the others holding open incense boxes. “May I ask, Your Highness, ladies, gentlemen—did the balm and rouge laced with human hearts serve you well?”
His ghostly words froze the hall. In the next instant, the delicate incense boxes were overturned, and dozens of women’s voices shrieked in terror.