Ci’er followed behind her.
The two of them bypassed the screen wall and exited the maid selection office, spotting a carriage parked in the back alley.
The carriage looked inconspicuous, draped in plain green curtains without any patterns.
However, the horse pulling it was a fine steed from the Northern Land.
Its coat was glossy, and its hooves were a full size larger than those of an ordinary horse.
Just by standing there, it revealed the nobility of its master.
The woman lifted the carriage curtain and stepped aside.
“Go on up.
The master is waiting for you.”
Ci’er cast her a puzzled glance and stepped onto the footstool.
The carriage interior was larger than she had imagined, carpeted with soft camel-colored felt.
In the corner sat a gold-inlaid beast-head censer.
Fine incense drifted from its openwork patterns, mixing with the heat of the charcoal fire to keep the winter cold out of the carriage.
Then, she saw the Young Master.
He sat deep inside the carriage, leaning against the wall.
His white robes blended into the half-light, half-shadow.
He still possessed that same elegant, jade-like refinement and outstanding demeanor from years ago.
However, five years had passed, wearing away his youthful vigor and adding a sharp edge to his features.
As the man who commanded the Twelve Guards of the Capital and oversaw the military affairs of the Capital, he exuded a chilling aura of unyielding authority even while sitting perfectly still, bearing down so heavily that it was hard to breathe.
Ci’er stood at the carriage entrance and curtsied in greeting.
“This humble servant greets the Young Master.”
“Sit,” Xie Chen said faintly, his voice nearly devoid of emotion.
Ci’er did as she was told, taking a seat near the door.
It was neither too far nor too close, maintaining etiquette while leaving some leeway.
Inside the dim carriage, she could smell the faint scent of orchids on Xie Chen.
It mixed with the warm breath of the charcoal fire, slowly permeating the space and creating a strange sense of oppression.
Keeping her eyes lowered, she discreetly gathered her cuffs upward, revealing a patch of her fair wrist.
Her movements were light, restrained, and perfectly measured.
Xie Chen’s gaze swept over her faintly, his voice as cold and clear as usual.
“That day, why did you leave?”
Ci’er looked up, meeting his bottomless eyes.
“To answer the Young Master, I was—”
“Tell the truth,” Xie Chen interrupted.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it brooked no argument.
The corners of Ci’er’s lips curled up slightly, though her eyes held no mirth.
“If I hadn’t left then, I wouldn’t have the chance to sit here today and tell the truth to the Young Master.
The Embroidery Bureau has strict rules.
If a candidate maid like me were to enter rashly, I would only be treated as a social climber and opportunist, drawing pointless suspicion.”
The carriage fell silent for a moment.
Xie Chen watched her, his heavy gaze sliding from her eyes and brows down to the corners of her lips, making it impossible to read his mind.
“The Painted Skin Case.
How much do you know?”
Ci’er collected her thoughts and let out a soft, unprompted chuckle.
Back when she used to chase after him, he had been exactly like this.
You take a step forward, and he stays rooted in place.
You speak ten sentences, and he replies with a single word.
When dealing with this kind of person, one had to show their value first.
However—” She paused, her tone turning serious.
“The fact that a fourth case has occurred is rather abnormal.
The victimized embroideress had her skin and flesh separated, but her entire face wasn’t peeled off.
I believe that either the killer encountered an unexpected incident during the act and was forced to flee in a hurry, or this fourth victim wasn’t his intended target.”
Xie Chen’s eyes flickered slightly.
“Did Xie Yunjin tell you these case details?”
The autopsy reports of the Painted Skin Case had never been disclosed by the Embroidery Bureau.
It was absolutely impossible for an ordinary person to know them.
Ci’er didn’t panic, nor did she deny having met with Xie Yunjin.
“I spoke out of turn outside the government office that day.
When the Second Master learned of it afterward, he came to the maid selection office and asked a few questions.” Saying this, she blinked.
“Is this how nobles investigate cases?
Just like how the Young Master is doing today?”
These words were half-true and half-false, reasonably explaining how Xie Yunjin had sought her out.
Xie Chen didn’t press further.
“Continue,” he said faintly.
Having received this cue, Ci’er decided to speak freely.
“In my opinion, the killer isn’t looking for a person, but a canvas.
He isn’t killing ordinary women, but people who happen to fit a certain characteristic.
This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment act of violence; it’s a meticulously rehearsed process.
To be able to peel off a whole face so steadily, accurately, and ruthlessly, and then embroider a pattern with golden thread, the killer must possess at least two skills.
First, he must be proficient in sword skills.
Second, he must be a master of embroidery.
But an ordinary butcher couldn’t embroider a pattern, and an ordinary embroideress wouldn’t be able to wield a blade like that.”
She paused to observe Xie Chen’s expression.
He remained stoic but was listening intently.
Ci’er continued, “Looking at the first three cases, the killer operates with a strict method, and his handiwork is uniform and standardized.
Every time, he exhausts his energy to perfect the process.
A person like this must have a paranoid personality, demanding perfection and tolerating no flaws.
“Yet, this fourth case was concluded hastily.
Whatever the reason, it is a tremendous regret for him.
When an obsessed perfectionist is interrupted by external forces, he will inevitably feel frustrated, restless, and eager to make up for his mistakes.
So, next—” Ci’er raised her clear, dark eyes.
“He will either be so desperate to mend his flaws that he takes greater risks and accelerates his crimes.
Or, he will grow wary, return to the old scenes to review everything in detail, pull back to observe, and lay low for a while.”
The carriage fell quiet for a moment.
Xie Chen looked at her, his gaze now filled with scrutiny.
“Why would you think of this?”
Ci’er smiled, her tone casual.
“When I used to wander from village to village with my father, I saw a lot of animal temperaments.
Some donkeys are born stubborn, some oxen silently gore people, and some dogs bite without barking.
People and livestock are actually not that different.
Once you figure out their temperament, you can guess what they’re thinking and what they’ll do next.” She tilted her head and added, “My father used to say that livestock don’t lie.
People don’t lie either—the things hidden beneath their skin can’t stay buried forever.”
Xie Chen didn’t speak, just sitting there and watching her.
Was the bronze censer burning too fiercely, or was the carriage just too small?
She couldn’t tell.
She only knew she could hear Xie Chen’s breathing—extremely light and shallow, both strange and familiar, as if surfacing from the depths of her memory across a span of five years.
A thought suddenly occurred to her.
She wondered if she had a sachet in her hands right now, could she still shove it at him like she had back then?
Could she still say something as young and frivolous as that she wouldn’t marry anyone but him?
And would this man play along?
“Qing Tang,” Xie Chen suddenly spoke.
“Take her back.”
Ci’er was slightly stunned.
She wondered if it was over just like that.
She still had so much left to say, so many tricks left unused.
She pondered how she was supposed to entice a man like this; Xie Yunjin had truly given her an impossibly monumental task.
“Come down, miss,” a woman’s voice called from outside.
A corner of the carriage curtain was lifted, letting the cold air seep in.
Ci’er bowed her head to take her leave and braced herself against the floorboards to slide out.
The curve of her waist was exceptionally supple as she moved, seeming both unintentional and deliberate.
Just as one foot stepped onto the footstool, Xie Chen’s voice drifted from behind her.
“That injury on your wrist…”
Ci’er’s movements paused.
“How did you get it?” Xie Chen’s gaze landed on her wrist.
Tied there was a braided red string, wrapped tightly in a thin circle, long frayed and worn from use.
Beneath the red string, a shallow scar could vaguely be seen, slicing diagonally across her wrist bone.
“I’ve made a fool of myself before the Young Master.” Ci’er lowered her eyes and shrank her wrist back into her sleeve, as if afraid of being seen.
“Once, when I was helping my father geld a donkey, the beast was in so much pain that it kicked out its hind legs.
I lost my grip on the knife and accidentally cut myself.”
After a moment of silence, Xie Chen offered a faint grunt of acknowledgment.
He said nothing more.
Ci’er stepped onto the footstool and alighted from the carriage.
The cold wind blew against her, finally dispersing the suffocating sense of oppression that had filled the cabin.
She stood there, watching the carriage slowly drive away.
Only when it disappeared at the end of the alley did she slowly raise her wrist, brushing her fingertip over the shallow scar.
Thank goodness for it.
It had successfully fooled Xie Chen.
Wei Yinzhao’s body didn’t retain scars.
Whether it was falling from a tree while climbing or scraping herself while riding a horse in her childhood, no matter how deep the wound, the scar would gradually fade away once it healed, leaving no mark behind.
Her mother used to say this was a heaven-sent blessing for the Wei family’s daughters—coming into this world clean, leaving it clean, living a flawless life.
Therefore, she had gone to painstaking lengths to leave this scar.
After Xie Yunjin rescued her from the Stone Prison, he used the best scar-removal ointment to treat her torture wounds.
She had deliberately avoided applying it to this one line.
She even repeatedly sliced the wound open to delay its healing, picking off the scabs as soon as they formed, and waiting for them to form again.
After repeating this cycle an unknown number of times, she had finally managed to leave this shallow mark on her wrist.
Only by not forgetting could she refuse to forgive.
This was her “path.”
It was also the greatest difference between her and the “deceased” legitimate daughter of the Wei family.