The location of the Embroidery Bureau’s mortuary was chosen with particular care.
It was neither beneath the Imperial City nor beside the Ministry of Justice Prison.
Instead, it was tucked behind a pharmacy, adjacent to a Charitable Mortuary.
The pharmacy was named Jisheng Hall.
The proprietor who saw patients in the front hall was surnamed Sun.
Rumor had it that he was retired from the Imperial Hospital.
By day, he specialized in treating incurable and complex ailments; by night, he guarded the door and ran errands for the Embroidery Bureau.
He was an eccentric man.
He did business with the living and handled errands for the dead, never letting one interfere with the other.
When Xie Yunjin brought Ci’er inside, Doctor Sun was grinding medicinal powder with a stone mortar and pestle.
Seeing that he had brought a young woman, the doctor showed no surprise.
He merely lifted his eyelids.
“Second Master, you’ve arrived.”
“Carry on, Mr.
Sun.
I’m just here to fetch something,” Xie Yunjin said.
Xie Yunjin walked further inside with the ease of familiarity.
Passing by the stone mortar, Ci’er subconsciously stopped in her tracks.
“This medicinal scent…”
“The Fever Relief Pill you take every month comes from Mr.
Sun’s hands.” Xie Yunjin turned his head to look at her, smiling carelessly.
“It’s made in a mortuary.
Do you find it dirty?”
Ci’er didn’t reply.
Instead, she turned to Doctor Sun and bowed formally.
“Thank you for your trouble, Mr.
Sun.”
Only then did Doctor Sun look up, looking her up and down once.
He said nothing more, only giving a slight nod in return.
Pushing the door open revealed a descending flight of stone steps.
It was damp, gloomy, and bone-chillingly cold.
The medicinal smell of lime, mugwort, and atractylodes in the air mixed with the faint stench of corpses, sending a terrifying chill down the back of one’s neck. Read the latest chapters at g.com.
Ci’er followed behind him, counting the steps as she descended.
Thirty-six steps—exactly matching the number of the “Thirty-six Evil Spirits.”
Three mortuary rooms were interconnected.
Bluestone corpse slabs lined both sides, each with a tag noting the deceased’s number, name, date of death, and time of encoffinment.
On one of the corpses, the white cloth draped askew.
Its arms were raised, its waist arched backward like a bowstring, and its ten fingers splayed out.
It looked as if it were flying, or perhaps trying desperately to grab onto something.
The posture was far too familiar.
Ci’er’s fingers subconsciously curled inward.
The statue of the Goddess in the Wei Family Ancestral Hall had a very similar pose.
Her grandmother once told her that it was the foundation of the Wei family’s two hundred years of history.
The Goddess flew high so she could see and protect the Wei family descendants.
But now, this sacred posture was pinned onto the corpse of a famous brothel courtesan.
Naturally, it wasn’t for worship, but a desecration.
Ci’er composed herself, forcing down the surging blood in her chest.
“Why did Second Master bring me here?”
Xie Yunjin pointed to a table on the west side.
“You should take a look at the item over there.”
A wooden box rested on the table.
It was black lacquer painted with gold, its corners polished to a shine from wear.
Ci’er approached.
Inside the black velvet-lined box lay a piece of facial skin embroidered with a pattern.
The golden thread embroidery was eerie and macabre, resembling ghostly talismans and incantations.
It was identical to the rubbed pattern on the Embroidery Bureau’s notice board.
“The third victim, the new bride of the Taiping Posthouse Minister’s House.” Xie Yunjin stood beside her, resting his hands on the edge of the table.
“Her facial skin was peeled off alive on their wedding night.
The groom knew nothing about it and slept until the sun was high in the sky.
He went mad on the spot.”
Ci’er said nothing.
She lowered her head and leaned closer to the bizarre facial skin, examining it inch by inch.
Xie Yunjin didn’t rush her.
He simply tilted his head, his gaze shifting from the skin to the side of her face.
He quietly traced the line of her nose, the corners of her lips, and her jawline, like a hunter seeking out the softest, most vulnerable spot on his prey.
“This stitching technique…” Ci’er straightened up, her voice very soft.
“What about it?”
“It’s an ancient craft from Lingchuan.” She paused, confirming her judgment once more.
“It’s called Appliqué Embroidery.
To a layman, it looks completely ordinary, but in reality, every stitch has a minuscule bevel that allows the embroidery thread to change with the angle of light and shadow.
The emphasis is on hiding the slanted within the flat, blending the ethereal within the solid, keeping the embroidered surface tight and firm…”
She raised her head.
“There aren’t many people left who still know how to do Appliqué Embroidery nowadays.”
“What does that bring to mind?” Xie Yunjin pressed.
“It brings to mind the people beneath the Painted Skin…” Ci’er said softly.
“When they were alive, their faces must have blushed and smiled.
When their wedding veils were lifted on their wedding night, they were hoping for a long life with a good husband and a happy marriage.
Who could have expected that they would meet a hand waiting to peel their faces off?
The joys of the mortal realm are thinner than paper.”
Xie Yunjin lowered his head, his gaze locking onto her dangerously.
“I was asking if the pattern looks familiar.”
Ci’er withdrew her hand, her voice flat.
“Second Master doesn’t think that I am the murderer, do you?”
“Wei Yinzhao.” Xie Yunjin leaned down, bracing his long arms on the edge of the table beside her.
His shallow breaths brushed against her brow bone.
“Even now, do you still not understand?”
The pale, bluish light of the mortuary illuminated his face, making it appear even more stern and cold.
“You are the last direct female descendant of the Wei family, and the only source of the thousand gold blood.”
Ci’er’s back pressed against the freezing edge of the table, her jaw tightening slightly.
The Wei family.
They were originally merchants, but their noble reputation was no less than that of high-ranking aristocratic clans.
However, their ancestral teachings contradicted worldly customs—the family business was passed down to daughters, not sons.
Husbands married into the family, children took their mother’s surname for generations, and their bloodline was forever locked deep within the women’s quarters.