Three months later, Shengjing City.
Just after the water clock struck the hour of midnight, crimson plum blossoms bloomed one after another on the bluestone slabs in the backyard of the Ministry of Revenue Vice Minister Zhao Xuande’s residence.
Threads of rain, carrying a biting chill, smeared the still-wet bloodstains into an eerie pale pink, winding along the cracks in the stone slabs like tiny streams.
Twelve Jinyiwei officers held tung oil torches, encircling an intricately carved bathing tub. The flickering flames stretched their shadows long and distorted against the damp brick walls.
Everyone maintained a tacit distance of three paces—neither daring to approach too closely and offend the noble, nor to stand too far and appear negligent.
Before the bathing tub, a tall figure crouched halfway. The hem of his black brocade robe was already soaked through with blood, spreading a dark stain across the blue bricks.
The torchlight danced across his sharply defined profile, outlining a jawline as if carved by a blade and those fathomless phoenix eyes.
"Your Highness, the coroner has examined him. He says Minister Zhao died from drowning."
Jinyiwei Centurion Zhang Cheng reported with trembling fear, his voice hushed low, afraid of disturbing this fearsome figure.
The man addressed as "Your Highness" slowly raised his head. Under the torchlight, his amber eyes shimmered with an uncanny golden glow.
He was none other than the youngest son of the current emperor, the Lingyuan Prince Nan Yanxiu, renowned for his iron-fisted methods.
It was said that at thirteen, he followed the army into battle, infiltrating the enemy camp alone to take the enemy general’s head. At sixteen, he cracked the Ministry of Rites embezzlement case that shocked the court. By twenty, he took charge of the judiciary, handling cases without a single miscarriage of justice.
Yet, this young prince was known for his unpredictable temperament and ruthless methods. Court officials trembled in his presence, none daring to utter a word.
"Drowning?"
Nan Yanxiu let out a soft chuckle. His slender, jade-like fingers suddenly pressed against the back of the deceased Zhao Xuande’s neck, his nail scraping a white mark across the skin.
Those fingertips were cold as blades, as if they could slice through any lie.
"Lord Ye, have you ever seen a drowned person… with a needle mark on the back of their neck?"
His voice was unhurried, yet it made everyone present unconsciously hold their breath.
The patter of rain and the crackle of burning torches were clearly audible. The air was thick with the scent of blood and damp earth.
In the corner, a young Jinyiwei officer’s torch fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering sparks.
He hurriedly knelt, forehead pressed to the ground, not daring to look up.
Jinyiwei Commander Ye Xiaoshuo quickly stepped forward. By the torchlight, he indeed saw a hair-thin needle hole on the back of Zhao Xuande’s neck, surrounded by an eerie bluish-purple discoloration, like a blooming datura flower.
That bluish-purple hue was not from bruising but rather the trace of some toxin seeping into the flesh. The edges of the needle hole were slightly sunken, as if pierced by an extremely fine instrument in an instant, not even allowing time for blood to seep out.
"And there’s more."
Nan Yanxiu drew a dark-gold dagger from his waist. The blade flashed coldly as he precisely sliced open the skin near the needle hole. His movements were exceedingly gentle, yet they sent chills down everyone’s spines.
"If it were drowning, why is the bone near this needle hole green?"
The tip of the blade lightly flicked, scraping off a small patch of skin to reveal the pale bone beneath.
Yet, the bone was not pure white but tinged with a faint green, as if stained by some potent poison.
Ye Xiaoshuo’s breath hitched, his pupils contracting sharply. "This… could this be…"
He dared not speak the name, but everyone knew what he was thinking.
Nan Yanxiu unhurriedly took a plain handkerchief from his sleeve and meticulously wiped his fingers.
The handkerchief was embroidered with a branch of ink plum blossoms, faintly visible amidst the bloodstains, making his fingers appear even paler and more slender.
Suddenly, his movements halted, his gaze falling upon the carved crevices along the edge of the bathing tub.
He leaned down, his fingertip gently flicking out to pick up something—a red jade earring.
The earring shimmered with an eerie blood-red glow under the firelight. Even more bizarre, the jade seemed to have blood-like threads flowing within it, revealing peculiar veins under the lamplight, as if it were alive.
"It seems someone has slipped up."
Nan Yanxiu’s lips curved slightly as he held the earring up to the light for a closer look.
On the back of the red jade was carved an extremely small character for "Yue," delicate yet sharp in its strokes, flickering faintly in the firelight.
Ye Xiaoshuo leaned in for a look, his expression suddenly changing: "This is… the personal belonging of Yue Linyan, the top courtesan of Fuyun Lou! At last month’s fifteenth Huakui competition, I saw her wearing it…"
"Oh?"
Nan Yanxiu raised an eyebrow, his thumb rubbing the earring, the slight scraping sound of his nail against the jade barely audible. "Lord Ye is quite knowledgeable about the jewelry of courtesans."
Ye Xiaoshuo’s face stiffened, fine beads of sweat forming at his temples. "Your Highness, please understand, this humble official merely… merely saw it while investigating the case under orders…"
Nan Yanxiu offered no comment, turning away as his black cloak traced an arc through the rain.
After taking three steps, he suddenly stopped again, picking up a withered leaf from the scattered garments of the deceased—
The edge of the leaf was unnaturally charred black, with a faint scent of sulfur lingering in its veins.
"Tomorrow, go to Fuyun Lou and ask," his voice, tinged with coldness, came through the curtain of rain, "if anyone has… lost any jewelry recently."
Only after Nan Yanxiu’s figure vanished into the rain did Ye Xiaoshuo let out a long sigh of relief, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
Though this Lingyuan Prince was only twenty-three years old, his eyes seemed capable of piercing through one’s heart, sending chills down the spine.
The rainstorm grew heavier, large raindrops pounding against the bluestone slabs, stirring up a fine mist of water.
Nan Yanxiu strode through the puddles toward the carriage waiting outside the estate, his black brocade boots crushing a soaked fallen leaf, emitting a faint, crisp sound of shattering.
That sound, mingled with the rain, reached his ears with unusual clarity.
"Your Highness, watch your step on the stairs."
His personal guard, Mo Yu, immediately opened a thirty-six-ribbed oil-paper umbrella, the ink bamboo painted on its surface appearing even more verdant in the rain.
Lowering his voice, he said, "Don’t you think… this method… is identical to that of Qian Yu, the prefect who died in Yingzhou three months ago?"
Nan Yanxiu paused briefly, retrieving the earring from his sleeve.
The red jade shimmered with an eerie glow in the rain, droplets striking its surface and producing clear, tinkling sounds, like pearls falling onto a jade plate.
"Indeed." Nan Yanxiu’s gaze darkened as he tucked the earring into a brocade pouch inside his robe.
Mo Yu unconsciously tightened his grip on the umbrella handle. "It seems… Qing Gusha has struck again!"
The "Qing Gusha" he spoke of was the leader of a mysterious assassin organization that had struck fear into the imperial court for nearly three years.
Rumors circulated that this figure was elusive, targeting corrupt officials exclusively, each time delivering a fatal strike with a specially crafted silver needle to the back of the neck.
Even more bizarre, the bones of the deceased would take on a bluish tint, and a lotus brand would invariably appear over the heart, like some mysterious sacrificial mark.
"What should we do then?"
Mo Yu asked in a hushed tone, his eyes scanning the surrounding rain with vigilance.
His left hand had already quietly rested on the soft sword at his waist, rainwater trickling slowly down the shark-skin pattern of the hilt.
Nan Yanxiu raised his gaze toward the end of the long street, where the crimson silk lanterns hanging high from Fuyun Lou swayed faintly in the rain.
Beneath the lanterns, a slender figure holding a plain paper umbrella was looking up in this direction. As the umbrella tilted upward, a glimpse of a jade-white chin was revealed.
"Investigate."
Nan Yanxiu suddenly let out a soft chuckle, retrieving a sugar lotus seed from his sleeve and placing it in his mouth.
The cloying sweetness melted on his tongue, yet it could not mask the faint, elusive hint of bitter almond.
Amid the curtain of rain, the carriage slowly departed from the Zhao residence.
Just as the carriage curtain fell, Nan Yanxiu flicked his finger, sending a sugar lotus seed flying through the air, striking a crow perched on a nearby treetop.
The crow let out a mournful cry as it fell, its feathers stained with a strange bluish-purple hue.