“Gold-flecked stationery is essentially ordinary xuan paper. During its making, glue is mixed with fine gold or silver powder, or gold and silver foil, which is then applied to colored waxed paper, giving it a shimmering effect. Thus, it is also called gold-and-silver five-colored wax paper.”
Bo Ruoyou used two bamboo tweezers, carefully working in the porcelain dish. “Because of this, gold-flecked paper is thicker than ordinary xuan paper and less prone to ink spreading. Many enjoy writing poetry or painting on it, as it appears more antique and refined. In a noble household, it is common. But since this piece was swallowed by the deceased and remained in the stomach for days, most of the ink has dissolved. Fortunately, the paper is thick, so there is a way to salvage it.”
She lifted her head. “I will need indigo grass.” As she bent over, sleeves rolled up, a pale wrist and slender arm were revealed. Her delicate waist seemed even more graceful, and though she was absorbed in her work, an air of quiet elegance surrounded her.
Huo Weilou glanced at her. “What kind of indigo grass?”
“Polygonum indigo or Isatis indigo will do.”
Indigo plants were commonly used for dyeing cloth. Huo Weilou nodded and stepped outside to give instructions.
Bo Ruoyou lowered her gaze again, carefully handling the crumpled paper.
The fragment was only palm-sized, swallowed after being balled up, then partially dissolved in the stomach over several days. The outer layer was now thin and fragile. Bo Ruoyou dared not be careless, fearing the writing would be lost.
After rinsing it twice with clean water, the soggy lump began to take shape. Eunuch Fu, watching closely, exclaimed: “It really is gold-flecked paper!”
As the water diluted the grime, faint gold and silver specks shimmered. Yet the sheet was thin and soft, with only occasional ink strokes visible.
Eunuch Fu sighed. “How can this be deciphered?”
Bo Ruoyou replied: “To read every word is impossible. But I will do my utmost.”
Eunuch Fu glanced at Huo Weilou. “Marquis, did the questioning in the front courtyard yield anything?”
Huo Weilou’s expression was grave. “Not much different from Zheng Wenyàn’s account.”
Eunuch Fu sighed. “Then we cannot prove the Third Master lied. His intentions may be suspect, but without evidence, we cannot convict him.”
His bright eyes turned back to Bo Ruoyou. “It all depends on whether Miss Bo can recover the writing.”
Huo Weilou, too, was watching her. He had handled cases in provincial courts many times, yet this was the first time he had encountered someone like Bo Ruoyou — a mere coroner more diligent than the chief officials, and most importantly, truly skilled. If she were a man, she could be taken into service.
A trace of regret flickered in Huo Weilou’s eyes. At that moment, Bo Ruoyou wiped her brow with the back of her hand. As she lifted her gaze, she met his look and paused, puzzled.
The emotion in his eyes vanished instantly. He frowned. “How long will it take for the writing to appear?”
His tone was stern again, as if that fleeting moment had been her imagination. She thought for a moment. “Perhaps tomorrow.” She glanced out the window — the sun was already near its zenith. “It must be done while today’s sunlight is strong.”
Huo Weilou frowned, dissatisfied with the delay. Bo Ruoyou suddenly recalled his displeasure from yesterday, when he learned that she was the coroner summoned by Prefect He. The thought crossed her mind: Huo Weilou looks down on women.
She quickly corrected herself. “At the earliest, by nightfall today.”
His brows eased, his eyes brightened. What superior does not delight in such subordinates? Again, regret stirred in his heart, though none of it showed on his face.
“Marquis—” The voice came suddenly. Prefect He hurried in. Huo Weilou turned.
Prefect He entered and reported: “I sent men to the ancestral hall. They have met Nanny Yu. She lives there alone. According to her, she has not stepped outside the hall for years. She only knows the old madam has died. She did not even know Second Master fell from the tower.”
Prefect He’s expression grew strange. “This woman is peculiar.”
Huo Weilou looked at him.
Prefect He’s round face wrinkled. “I cannot explain it well. But to live alone in the ancestral hall for so many years, never leaving — it seems impossible. And, Marquis, you have not seen her. She gives one a chill. Heavy with yin energy—very heavy.”
After a long pause, Prefect He chose the word “yin energy.”
Huo Weilou frowned. “Where is she now?”
Prefect He replied: “Still in the ancestral hall.”
Huo Weilou glanced toward Bo Ruoyou. “Take me to see.”
Prefect He nodded at once. Huo Weilou looked at Eunuch Fu, who said quickly: “Marquis, rest assured. This old servant will stay here.”
With that, Huo Weilou left the mourning hall. Stepping outside, though the sun was shining, the wind that met him was bitterly cold. Not far away, two servants carried heavy offerings toward the hall.
Huo Weilou noticed their hands, red from the chill. His phoenix eyes darkened, and suddenly he thought of Bo Ruoyou’s slender fingers holding the bamboo tweezers, pale and delicate, as if they had been chilled by snow. He withdrew his gaze.
He spoke none of what he thought, only observed the Zheng estate’s gardens. Since the ancestral hall lay apart from the main residence, the farther north he went, the more vast the estate seemed. “Was this garden built by the Zheng family?”
Prefect He could not guess the intent of the question, so answered plainly: “No. This garden was once the residence of a prince of the former dynasty. At its construction, water was drawn from Huahua Creek south of the city, forming three inner lakes. Later, dynasties changed, the garden was abandoned, and the lakes dried. About sixty or seventy years ago, the Zheng patriarch purchased it, restored it, and made it the ancestral home.”
The farther north they went, the more ancient pines and cypresses appeared. If the Zhengs had built it themselves, it would have cost dearly. As the official overseeing officials, Huo Weilou naturally noted such details.
Passing through a moon gate, they truly left the main residence. Ahead lay a dense bamboo grove. Though the sun was high, dappled shadows filled the path. Crossing the secluded way, they soon reached the ancestral hall hidden beneath towering pines and cypresses.
The trees rose like umbrellas, heavy with snow, their canopy so thick it seemed to blot out the sky. Standing outside the hall, one felt no sunlight — only a heavy, oppressive yin energy.
Though ancestral halls often stood among pines and cypresses to symbolize solemn reverence, this scene truly matched Prefect He’s words: “full of yin energy.”
They entered the courtyard. Snow covered the ground, marked only by a few sets of footprints, left moments before. Prefect He hurried ahead and called at the door: “Nanny Yu? The Marquis has come. Open the door—”
Inside was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Just as Prefect He frowned, the door suddenly opened without warning. Yet he had heard no footsteps approaching.
At the threshold appeared a face pale from years without sunlight. Nanny Yu was past fifty. Her features were already withered like aged parchment, mottled with brown spots, her eyes lifeless and hollow. At first sight, she was chilling to behold. Her face appeared in the crack of the door. She glanced at those outside, her gaze settling behind Huo Weilou. Whatever thought crossed her mind, her expression shifted slightly. Pressing her lips together, she opened the door fully. She wore plain black clothing, not mourning white. The room inside was dim, and she seemed to merge with the darkness itself.
Prefect He hesitated at the threshold, but Huo Weilou strode directly into the ancestral hall.
The entrance opened into a spacious main hall. The ancestral tablets of the Zheng family stood in the north, a faintly flickering perpetual lamp beneath them. On either side were side rooms: one for incense and offerings, the other Nanny Yu’s quarters.
Huo Weilou’s sharp eyes swept the hall, then fixed on Nanny Yu. She stood with hands clasped behind her back, head bowed, refusing to meet his gaze.
Huo Weilou asked: “How many years have you been here?”
“I have been here fifteen years.” Her voice carried the stiffness of one long unused to speech, hoarse and strange.
Huo Weilou pressed: “For what reason?”
Nanny Yu pursed her lips. “I am guilty. I came here to atone.”
Head lowered, she seemed like a lifeless doll hidden in the dark. Huo Weilou was silent for a moment before asking: “What guilt?”
Nanny Yu did not answer.
Huo Weilou frowned. Prefect He said: “You are speaking to Marquis Wuzhao. The old madam’s death is suspicious. I urge you to speak truthfully, to seek justice for her, and honor the bond between mistress and servant.”
Nanny Yu kept her head bowed. “The old madam was past fifty. She died a natural death. In a few days, I too will follow her. Beneath the earth, I will resume our bond as mistress and servant.”
Prefect He shivered involuntarily. To speak calmly of one’s own death, of reunion underground…
In the darkness, Huo Weilou gave a cold laugh. “You do not fear death. But have you thought of the other descendants of this house? You were once close to the old madam. If you will not say why you were punished, then speak of Zheng Wenyàn’s ill-omened birth.”
Nanny Yu’s shoulders flinched. She suddenly lifted her gaze, looking past Huo Weilou as though someone stood behind him.
Prefect He’s heart jolted, and he too glanced back. But behind Huo Weilou was only a portrait of some Zheng ancestor hanging on the wall.
“Fifteen years ago, a concubine of the Marquis bore a child. I failed in my care, and both mother and child died. I should have been beaten to death. But the old madam, remembering our bond, sent me here to atone. That is why I came.”
After speaking, Nanny Yu turned and knelt before the ancestral tablets of the Zheng family, chanting scripture. Her back looked like a stone statue.
Prefect He wanted to press further, but Huo Weilou raised his hand to stop him. He knew Nanny Yu would not speak again today.
A cold smile touched Huo Weilou’s lips as he turned to leave.
Prefect He followed, rubbing his arms covered in goosebumps. “Marquis, this woman is too strange. When I came earlier, she only opened the door halfway, answering from within. Truly unsettling. Marquis, what should we do now?”
“Investigate the household servants. See who has been here fifteen years or more, and confirm her story. As for the rumors of Zheng Wenyàn’s ill-omened birth, question every elder in the estate.”
At the courtyard gate, Huo Weilou paused. Looking back at the hall door, his eyes grew cold again. “The more one feigns mystery, the more substance lies behind such talk of ill-omen.”
Without another word, he left the ancestral hall.
Meanwhile, in the western mourning hall, the Embroidered Uniform Guards had procured indigo grass. Bo Ruoyou was soaking the fragile gold-flecked paper in the colorless juice. Eunuch Fu watched eagerly.
Bo Ruoyou explained: “This liquid appears clear, but once cloth or paper is saturated and then exposed to sunlight, it takes on color. The paper is thin, so the effect will be weak. But wherever ink remains, the strokes will show.”
Eunuch Fu was astonished. “How do you know this?”
Bo Ruoyou smiled. “My foster father taught me. Two years ago, in a county case, the killer sank a letter in a lake. The writing was faint and unreadable. My foster father used this method to reveal the words.”
Eunuch Fu exclaimed: “Then your foster father must be a remarkable man.”
Bo Ruoyou only smiled silently. After soaking for half an hour, she laid the paper flat on a cloth and placed it in the sun to dry. Eunuch Fu stared without blinking. As the paper dried, its yellow-brown surface began to change, and faint strokes of ink appeared.
As the sun slanted westward, more characters emerged, though only one or two could be barely recognized. Bo Ruoyou’s face grew solemn. She carried the paper back inside, asked the constables to bring a brazier, and began to roast it gently.
By dusk, Huo Weilou and Prefect He returned to the mourning hall.
Prefect He spoke of the ancestral hall visit with deep unease, while Eunuch Fu marveled: “A noble house, yet everywhere so strange.”
Night was falling. Bo Ruoyou had said the writing would appear by dark. Eunuch Fu had forgotten, but she had not. Holding the paper at just the right distance from the fire — too close and it would scorch, too far and nothing would happen — her face glowed red in the heat. Her bright eyes reflected the flames, and as the firelight danced, a delicate charm seemed to shimmer across her features.
Huo Weilou stood at the doorway. What began as a fleeting glance became a gaze he could not pull away.
At that moment, Bo Ruoyou’s brows lifted, her bright eyes lit up, and her lips curved high. “The words are visible…”
It was the first time Huo Weilou had seen her smile like this. The flowing charm of her expression seemed suddenly alive, like dawn breaking through mist and smoke, seizing his attention. His mind, usually fixed only on cases and duty, faltered. He fell a step behind Eunuch Fu before moving forward.
In the dim firelight, Eunuch Fu could not help but read aloud the words appearing on the paper: “On my seventh day, your death will come.”
“Yin year, yin hour, for my…” He hesitated. “What character is this?”
The ink was distorted, hard to read. But Huo Weilou recognized it.
“Yin year, yin hour, for my life to be repaid.”
His voice was cold as he spoke the eight characters. Eunuch Fu and Prefect He shivered. Bo Ruoyou suddenly frowned. “Today… is the old madam’s second-seventh day…”
TL Note: This indicates the 14th day, calculated as two weeks (2 × 7 days)
Prefect He and Eunuch Fu did not understand her meaning. But Huo Weilou straightened instantly.
At that moment, an Embroidered Uniform Guard rushed into the mourning hall. “Marquis, Third Master Zheng has met with an accident!”