ON THE FOURTEENTH DAY of the first month, midnight came silently upon Daxing City. The chickens were asleep, the horses resting in their yards and stables.
"It's cold and windy out. All windows and doors are to be tightly shut!"
Liu San-er's shout echoed in the still night. The night watchman raised a gong, and his companion, Lao-Yang, struck it with a wooden stick.
Dong.
"Lao-Yang, must we keep walking the entire night?"
Liu San-er had recently taken over for his father, who'd served on the night watch for many years before passing away the previous month from a sudden heart attack. Tonight was his first night walking the streets. At first he'd found it novel and exciting, but now he was merely cold and exhausted.
Although it mercifully hadn't snowed, no matter how snugly he bundled himself, the wind found a way to sneak through the tiniest cracks. He was soon miserable and missing the warm blankets in his small house.
Lao-Yang had little patience for the young man's complaints. "Of course!" he scolded. "This is how your father and I did things. This is only your first night—you need to toughen up. You never know what's going to happen. If something comes up, you might end up on lookout duty all alone. You must learn the streets!"
Liu San-er's face fell. "You mean I'll have to patrol alone?"
Lao-Yang tutted to himself. Such a young lad and already so lazy! How would he manage to earn a living, marry, and support a family with that attitude? Lao-Yang filled up the silence scolding him.
Liu San-er wasn't normally a patient man, but tonight he remained silent, neither retorting nor showing any irritation. Instead he abruptly asked, "Have you ever experienced anything strange during your time on the watch?"
Lao-Yang had been just warming up to his lecture. "Strange?" he repeated, annoyed by the interruption. "Never!"
"Not even once?" There was something odd about Liu San-er's tone.
"Kid, what are you thinking?" Lao-Yang said, frowning.
Liu San-er pointed. "Look behind you. What's that?"
He instinctively looked back. At a corner not far behind them was a figure in white. Their silhouette was bizarre: Only part of their body was visible, the rest hidden behind the wall. More importantly, they had no head.
Their head was cradled in their hands, its two bloodred eyes fixed on the night watchmen.
All the hair on Lao-Yang's body stood up in terror. He rubbed at his eyes, but the figure was still there—it wasn't a dream.
"R-run! It's a ghost!" He grabbed Liu San-er's hand and dragged him away, dashing through the streets. Though he was a man over fifty, he managed to keep pace with the youth, running with all his might.
At last Lao-Yang couldn't keep going. He stopped and bent over, head between his knees as he gasped for breath. "Quick…report to the constables… No…go to the county office, tell the officials! What a fright!"
"Was it that frightening?" Liu San-er asked quietly.
"You saw it, didn't you? How could you miss that their head was taken off…" Lao-Yang finally realized there was something off about Liu San-er's voice. He looked up, and his soul practically fled his body.
Liu San-er was holding his own head in his hands. He grinned at Lao-Yang. "Was the ghost you were talking about…me?"
Lao-Yang could no longer answer—he had collapsed unconscious on the ground.
***
Dawn broke over Daxing City. It was the fifteenth day of the first month—the day of the Lantern Festival.
For the citizens, it was their first Lantern Festival since moving to the new capital. And for Song Liangchen, the deputy chief of the Zuoyue Bureau, it was a very unusual one.
Though Song Liangchen was a deputy chief, her martial arts skills were mediocre at best. She barely qualified as a second-tier expert. But her strengths didn't lie in martial arts—they lay in managing internal affairs. With Song Liangchen at the Zuoyue Bureau, Cui Buqu could focus on more pressing matters without worry.
As a result, she remained comfortably ensconced within the bureau, often spending weeks without leaving its halls.
While most women enjoyed visits to jewelry and rouge shops, she politely declined such outings. Song Liangchen preferred brewing tea, reading, chatting, and playing weiqi—even when there was no one to play with but herself. Unlike Cui Buqu, who frequently fell ill yet enjoyed wandering the world, Song Liangchen was a homebody to the highest degree. A saying had come to circulate within the court: Inside the Zuoyue Bureau are three eccentrics—an invalid, a recluse, and a fake monk.
But today was different.
As dawn approached, its light turning the horizon the palest blue, Song Liangchen rose and dressed much earlier than usual. She took a seat facing the door, back straight, as if waiting for someone.
The bowl of plum soup beside her had gone from lukewarm to completely cold before the people she was waiting for finally arrived.
They were travel-worn and weary, covered in frost and snow. Zhangsun Bodhi strode in at the head of the group. Whenever Song Liangchen saw her fellow deputy, she pondered the most serious of questions: Did his bald head feel cold in the winter? She thought it must, because when he removed his hat upon entering, she saw the inside was lined with gray fur.
At another time she might have teased him, but today she kept her peace. Zhangsun's expression was even more solemn than hers.
"He's dead."
Song Liangchen's brow creased, yet she showed no sign of surprise. "Liu Fang?"
Zhangsun nodded slowly. "Liu Fang."
"Cause of death?"
"Suicide."
The furrows in Song Liangchen's brow deepened as she adopted a look of confusion, as if unsure she'd heard properly. "Suicide?"
Zhangsun Bodhi wasn't much of a talker. He echoed, "Suicide."
After a moment of silence, Song Liangchen stood. "I'm going out for a walk."
For someone who so rarely left the house to be moved to stroll around outside was as extraordinary as gold falling from the sky.
"I'll come with you," said Zhangsun Bodhi.
They left. Though no words passed between them, there was no question of their destination. They struck out for the East Market.
This market was the most prosperous area in Daxing City, bustling with taverns and shops. It was said that in the east market, there was nothing money couldn't buy—only prices one couldn't afford.
The capital had just welcomed the new year, and the festive spirit lingered in the air. This morning it was especially heightened—for the three days beginning with the day of the Lantern Festival, the court permitted citizens to enjoy the celebrations without a curfew. From tonight onward, the capital would transform into a vibrant city that never slept, overflowing with light and celebration.
During these days, not only did the court host events for worship, they organized brilliant firework displays for the public to enjoy. On the streets, the people partook in their own lantern riddles, tea ceremonies, singing, dancing, and fire tricks. Many merchants from the Western Regions, caught by the freezing winds and snow, chose to celebrate the new year here before returning home. They seized the opportunity to showcase an array of novelties that complemented the festivities.
Wherever Zhangsun and Song Liangchen went, they were greeted with cheerful smiles.
Noblemen and aristocrats, eager to outdo one another, strove to put on the most ostentatious display as evening drew near. Meanwhile, the common folk were in high spirits. A year's good harvest and the emperor's lenient policies had filled them with optimism. With the curfew lifted, these three nights promised to be even more lively than the celebration of the new year. Although it was early yet, the east market was buzzing with activity, and many had already arrived to enjoy the temple fair.
Song Liangchen nearly lost her shoes in the crowd, while Zhangsun's muslin hat had vanished completely, leaving his smooth head bare and conspicuous. By the time they reached the entrance of the teahouse, Song Liangchen was miserable and exhausted, as if she'd just fought the fiercest battle of her life.
In these days, tea had not yet gained the popularity it would later enjoy, and so-called teahouses offered a variety of drinks and snacks. Next door was a shop selling freshly baked donkey-meat pastries, which attracted long queues every evening. Both establishments served as secret lookouts for the Zuoyue Bureau; the size and variety of the crowds made them prime spots for gathering and relaying information.
All the waiters were in the employ of the Zuoyue Bureau. They recognized the two deputies straight away and ushered them into the inner room. The room was cleverly designed for eavesdropping: Both walls were lined with curtains, isolating its occupants from the crowd while allowing them to clearly hear the conversations of the guests.
"There was another ghost sighting last night!" The speaker was a middle-aged man, his voice rough. From his accent, Song Liangchen guessed he hailed from a small merchant family in a neighboring county and was visiting the city for the Lantern Festival.
"I heard it too! At an entertainment house on the south side of the city, right? Someone saw three headless noblemen, all dressed in white!"
"How do you know they were noblemen? Did you see them?"
"That's just what everyone's saying! Dressed in white and wearing golden crowns—who else could they be? I heard their heads were detached from their bodies, just like you know who—the people who were beheaded in the past."
"Which people?"
"Hey, have you heard the folk song that's been going around the city recently? It goes, 'The willow flowers wilt, the drizzling rain falls, good and evil will reap their own rewards.'"
"You're saying—"
"Shh!"
"Enough about ghosts; it's all just rumors. None of you have seen them. I've got bigger news! Last night, something happened at the Duke of Shu's residence!"
"The Duke of Shu? From the Liu family?"
"That's right. The Duke of Shu, Liu Fang. He died last night! It caused quite a stir: The palace, the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, a bunch of other officials—they all sent people over!"
"How do you know?"
"How do you think? My neighbor delivers vegetables to the Duke of Shu's home."
"Wasn't there also a funeral for the Duke of Shen just the third of this month? Though I heard the duke died of old age."
"Truly? How ominous!"
Voices rose and fell in heated discussion before dropping back to murmurs. It was as if the speakers were shielding a hidden treasure, unbundling it cautiously for their companions to see, wary of outside eyes but unable to stop themselves from boasting.
Zhangsun and Song Liangchen remained silent, listening intently. Only when they confirmed they'd heard everything there was to hear did Song Liangchen heave a sigh. "Shall we return?"
Zhangsun Bodhi nodded.
The two left their tea undrunk on the table. They'd arrived in a rush and left just as quickly.
The gossip at the teahouse offered little new information, but it confirmed their initial suspicions. Ghost sightings, mysterious deaths, folk songs. A dark undercurrent stirred beneath the surface of the capital.
When they arrived back at the Zuoyue Bureau, Zhangsun Bodhi finally spoke up. "Liu Fang left behind a letter."
"Why didn't you say so earlier?" asked Song Liangchen.
"You didn't ask."
Song Liangchen sighed. She should have been used to her partner's methods by now. Unless the one asking was Cui Buqu, Zhangsun would only answer what he'd been asked. His lips were practically sealed shut. "Well, where is it?"
"The Ministry of Justice took it with them. They want to bring it into the palace," Zhangsun Bodhi said. "But I had a chance to look at it. He only wrote one line. I didn't know what it meant then, so I didn't tell you."
"Then do you know now?"
"Liu Fang's final message was the last words of that folk song: 'good and evil will reap their own rewards.'"
Song Liangchen's heart went cold. "'The willow flowers wilt, the drizzling rain falls, good and evil will reap their own rewards?'"
Zhangsun Bodhi nodded.
A good folk song had to be simple and straightforward to catch on. The moment most people heard that line, they'd think first of the song.
The willow—yang—suggested the Yang family, the royal family of the Sui dynasty. Rain—yu—referred to the Yuwen family, toppled rulers of the previous dynasty.
Everyone knew Yang Jian had usurped his son-in-law's throne to obtain his current glory. In the wake of his ascension, the whole Yuwen family had suffered terrible fates. Almost every single member was deemed a threat and executed. The song transparently alluded to the inevitable retribution awaiting the Yang family, who'd carved a bloody path to the throne.
"On the third of the first month, the Duke of Shen, Li Mu, went mad. He gravely wounded his servant before taking his own life with a sword. To avoid unnecessary speculation, the palace reported he'd passed away due to illness," Song Liangchen said.
"And on the fourteenth—last night—the Duke of Shu, Liu Fang, hung himself. Then came the rumors of ghost sightings, followed by the spread of this new folk song. The empress had also fallen ill. Both Li Mu and Liu Fang were supporters of the emperor's ascension." She turned to Zhangsun Bodhi. "Tell me, do you believe in vengeful spirits?"
Zhangsun rubbed the prayer beads in his hands and murmured a Buddhist chant. "The Buddha resides in the heart. Ghosts reside in the heart as well."
Song Liangchen was silent a moment. "If only the lord chief was here!" She couldn't help sighing. "He left Guangqian County so long ago; surely he should be back by now!"
"Hoping I'll come back and resolve all your troubles?"
Song Liangchen jerked her head around. A figure strolled toward them from the small front courtyard.
He was tall and slender, clad in a simple white cloak. When devoid of expression, the paleness of his handsome face was especially stark. Faint weariness was permanently etched between his brows. But when he smiled, his bland demeanor became as radiant as a solitary red plum blossoming against white snow: illuminating everything around it, leaving no room for any other.
He had grown thinner again, but his eyes were bright—wickedly sharp, like a sword drawn from its sheath, ready to slice through all obstacles. In his presence, no challenge seemed insurmountable. Despite his frail and sickly body, this man could support half the nation on his shoulders.