IT WAS A COLD night, heavy with dew and filled with the murmurs and wails of ghosts.
Drifting between dreams and waking, the guests at the inn heard a voice that sounded both very near and terribly distant. It blew in with the chill wind, sweeping into their rooms and under their blankets, funneling into their ears and shaking them out of slumber.
Then came Feng Xiao's shout. Even the ghost was shocked into silence, never mind the living.
Cui Buqu wasn't a corpse, and he shared a room with Feng Xiao. He, too, jerked awake. Due to his poor health, whenever he was woken abruptly his heart pounded like a drum. This time was no exception.
Feng Xiao looked over, his face the very picture of innocence. "Did I wake you? Sorry, I was yelling at someone outside. You should sleep a little longer."
He'd expected Cui Buqu to explode. But as the seconds ticked past, Cui Buqu remained on the bed, clutching his blanket in drowsy bewilderment. Had Cui Buqu been shocked silly by his shouting? Feng Xiao stepped over to the bed and took hold of Cui Buqu's chin, turning Cui Buqu's face toward him.
Cui Buqu was like this whenever he woke up. How long his daze lasted depended on whether he'd had enough sleep. And right then, it was clear sleep was sorely lacking. It was at times like this that Cui Buqu's guard was at its lowest and he became easier to bully.
Feeling mischievous, Feng Xiao patted his head. "My good child," he said in a kindly tone. "Time to get up and see some ghosts."
Finally Cui Buqu's gaze sharpened. He slapped Feng Xiao's hand away and sighed. "Not only must we see ghosts, we'll have to become them."
To anyone else, he'd have seemed to be speaking nonsense. But Feng Xiao not only took his meaning, he thought it deeply interesting. "Has someone come up with the same plan as you?"
Cui Buqu didn't answer. "Do you remember when we first checked in? The guide Cheng Cheng mentioned there was a ghost behind the inn, and that they'd found a body in the well."
"I looked into it. Apparently a couple of bones were found at the bottom. No one can say when they appeared, or who left them. They may have been tossed in after the victim's death, or the victim may have been thrown in and died down there. The incident was a long time ago, and no one stepped forward to identify the body, so the whole thing was clumsily covered up."
Cui Buqu rubbed his eyes as if he were trying to wipe away his fatigue.
"When Cheng Cheng mentioned the dry well that day, he looked terrified," Feng Xiao continued in meaningful tones. "But when others talked about it, they seemed more curious than afraid."
"The dry well, Cheng Cheng, Li Fei, the third steward, Duan Qihu," Cui Buqu said. "Could there be some link between all of them?"
"Li Fei and the third steward were Xing Mao's men. They shouldn't have any connection to Duan Qihu."
"But the third steward colluded with Yuxiu to poison Duan Qihu. Xing Mao definitely didn't order him to do so. It's possible the others share some connection we're not aware of."
Cui Buqu wasn't the only one awakened by Feng Xiao's cries. Several more guests stumbled groggily from their beds to complain. Who was shouting crude words outside, disturbing the whole inn? A few brave souls rose and threw on their clothes, thinking to go see what had happened at the well.
Through it all, the instigator sat at the table, sipping cold tea at his leisure. "Look at me. If I went to play a ghost now, would I be more convincing than the one we heard earlier?"
Feng Xiao had removed the disguise Qiao Xian had created for him. His uncombed hair hung loose over his shoulders, and he sat at the table in a single thin robe, not seeming to feel the cold. His handsome face glowed in the candlelight, practically flawless.
Cui Buqu watched him for a moment. "Put on a layer of pearl powder. Then you'll look the part."
"You're right," Feng Xiao said with a smile. "I'll get some from Qiao Xian."
With that, he really did stand and start to walk out. But as he reached the door, he remembered something and turned. "By the way, when I came back this evening, I noticed Yuxiu's room was empty. He's probably gone."
Cui Buqu frowned slightly.
A mysterious man; now even his whereabouts were unknown. If there existed anyone in this world Cui Buqu couldn't figure out, Yuxiu was undoubtedly one such man.
The Jade of Heaven Lake had been recovered and the case closed—Yuxiu had no call to remain in Liugong City. They had expected him to return to the capital and the Prince of Jin's side, but he hadn't done so. Instead, he'd gone west and incited the third steward to poison Duan Qihu.
But Duan Qihu didn't know Yuxiu. What grudge did Yuxiu have against him? What was his goal? Did the haunting of the inn involve him as well? And if not, who was responsible?
The tiny city of Qiemo held an incredible number of secrets. They had fermented in the dark for years, and now they were bubbling over. With Cui Buqu and Feng Xiao joining the fray, the city was sure to get even livelier.
Cui Buqu slowly pushed aside the covers and bent to pull on his boots.
A sudden gust of wind blew the window open with a bang, and the candle guttered and went out. Feeble moonlight fell across a stark-white face outside.
"Qu…qu…"
For a moment Cui Buqu didn't answer. Then he said impassively, "I told you to go scare Gao Yi, not me."
***
Duan Qihu sat before a jug of wine.
He'd once been a highwayman—in plain speech, a thief and a murderer. Those who lived in fertile lands enjoyed a life free of restraint: feasting and drinking, repaying kindness with kindness and grudge with grudge. That was the hallmark of a true man, they'd boast.
Duan Qihu, however, wasn't a drinker. In his view, alcohol corroded the mind and led people unwittingly to their deaths. He'd lost several companions to drink in his youth, and from that point on, he hadn't touched a drop. Yet today he was restless, so much so that he'd turned to a flask of wine to ease his worries.
He had started with nothing to his name and clawed his way to his position today. He'd lost much but also gained greatly, and made just as many friends as enemies. Many wished for his death, but Duan Qihu had never cared. He laughed at them in contempt—they were beneath his notice, not worth mentioning.
But today was different.
When his beloved concubine pushed the door open with a pot of sugar-braised pears, she found Duan Qihu staring solemnly at the table as if something extraordinary sat upon it.
"My lord…" Her syllables were drawn out, with a hint of sweet coquettishness. Normally, upon hearing her voice, Duan Qihu would have already stood with a smile on his face. But tonight he remained motionless.
Now faintly displeased, the concubine stepped forward and set down the pears, ready to drape herself over him. There was a soft thud as ceramic met wood. It wasn't loud, but Duan Qihu flinched as if startled. When he raised his head to see the face of his concubine mere inches away, he jerked back in his seat, his face twisting ferociously.
His concubine had never seen such an expression on him and gaped in shock. In the next moment, a sharp pain tore through her stomach and the scenery blurred as Duan Qihu kicked her toward the door, which slammed open as she crashed heavily to the ground. She spat a mouthful of blood, her face a mask of fear, before promptly fainting from the pain.
The servants guarding the door were stunned. Thinking there was some emergency inside, they rushed in and found Duan Qihu still sitting, face pale and chest heaving.
"My lord?"
"Go! It's nothing." Duan Qihu waved the servants off. "Have someone take her away."
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When his wife heard the news, she hurried over, thinking the concubine had done something to anger him. Duan Qihu particularly favored this concubine, to the extent of ignoring his wife. This had eaten at Lady Duan for a long time; though she looked worried now, she was secretly delighted. But Duan Qihu had no interest in women's squabbles. Lady Duan, too, he dismissed with a few words, nor did he call another concubine to serve him. He rose and went into the garden to relax.
The hour was late, and all was dark and silent, but the lanterns hanging in the garden illuminated the area brightly. This alone was evidence of the wealth and strength of the Duan family.
Duan Qihu walked for some time with his hands behind his back. Slowly he regained his calm, but his mood was terrible. What he hadn't told anyone was that in the moment he glimpsed his concubine, he'd seen another face.
Perhaps he was overtired, or perhaps it was the lingering influence of the incident at the banquet. Duan Qihu's brow furrowed again as he thought of the dead third steward, as well as the man mentioned by the Qiyue Monastery disciple: Yan Xuexing.
"Duan…Qihu…"
A mournful voice wailed beside his ear.
It sounded like a woman, gasping out her last words as someone tightened their hands around her neck—on the brink of death yet forcing her eyes open, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth and staining her teeth as she spat and hissed from the depths of hell.
"Who's there?! Fuck off! Don't skulk around like a ghost!" Duan Qihu roared.
Behind him, the two servants accompanying their master exchanged a glance.
They hadn't heard anything at all.