The candlelight in the Xuan'an Bureau duty room flickered in the night wind. Pi Yanlin had just tucked the Xuan Pattern Chip into a sandalwood box when he heard a frantic knocking at the door.
He paused; the rapping was three parts heavier than the usual night watchman’s knock, and the final beat carried a trembling, breathy quality, as if the person were being chased by something unclean.
Gu Qinghuan’s hand, currently wiping down her blade, froze in mid-air. The bloodstains on the Xiuchun Saber’s scabbard glinted dark red in the moonlight, resembling a wilted Red Phoenix flower. As she looked up, she caught sight of Pi Yanlin nonchalantly swirling his teacup, the ripples in the liquid dizzying to behold.
"Granny Sun from the south of the city is dead," the night watchman said, pushing the door open. A gust of cold wind carried a damp, musty stench into the room. The beads of sweat on his forehead shone glaringly under the lantern. "She died in her own house. Her lips are blue, and her eyes are bulging in a way that would terrify a child. The coroner said... it looks like she was possessed."
Pi Yanlin’s teacup clicked sharply against the edge of the table. He lowered his eyes to the System interface hidden in his sleeve—he hadn't checked in for the day yet. He had been to the Xuan'an Bureau morgue twice before; there was a bluestone slab in the innermost corner that was warm in winter and cool in summer—a perfect place to lie flat.
"Service boy Pi?" Gu Qinghuan had already snatched up the token from the desk, the copper bell on her sword tassel jingling. "What are you daydreaming about?"
"Leaving now," Pi Yanlin replied, rising languidly and sliding the sandalwood box into the deepest corner of the desk.
He caught a glimpse of the bloodstains on Gu Qinghuan’s scabbard and suddenly recalled Wang Tiezui, who had clutched his hand yesterday before his final breath, his throat rattling with the words, "Red Phoenix... Red Phoenix." The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end.
The door hinges of the south city morgue creaked as they opened, and the smell of mold mingled with a heavy scent of mugwort washed over them. Old Chen, the coroner, lifted a straw mat to reveal the corpse covered by a white sheet. Granny Sun’s white hair poked out from the corner of the cloth, looking like a wad of trampled cotton.
"Little Pi, come give me a hand." Old Chen rubbed his palms together, his copper ruler glinting coldly in the moonlight. "I don’t like the look of this. I’m afraid we’ll have to open the coffin to examine—"
"Uncle Chen, I spent the whole night transcribing case files," Pi Yanlin interrupted with a yawn. He bent down, pulled a straw mat from the corner, and laid it out on the bluestone slab three paces away from the body. "Let me nap for half an hour, then you can examine her?"
Old Chen’s eyes went wide. "You’re a service boy, what are you examining? This needs to be reported to the superiors..."
"Sister Qinghuan," Pi Yanlin said, suddenly looking up and winking at her. "I’ve been feeling sluggish these past two days; maybe if I lie down for a while, my head will clear up."
Gu Qinghuan leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded over her blade, the moonlight stretching her shadow long. She stared at the mat Pi Yanlin had laid out—this lazybones could even find a prime spot for Feng Shui in a morgue. "Let him be," she said flatly, her gaze sweeping over Granny Sun’s protruding Adam's apple. "Old Chen, check the throat first."
Pi Yanlin closed his eyes as soon as he lay down. When the System notification exploded in his mind, he nearly laughed out loud: [Daily check-in successful. Obtained skill: Spirit-Scenting Nose (Can distinguish a thousand scents; effective within a three-zhang radius).]
He rolled over, pretending to adjust the mat, but was actually sweeping the entire morgue with his newfound sense of smell: the bitterness of the mugwort, the oily smoke on Old Chen, the metallic tang of rust on Gu Qinghuan’s scabbard... and finally, he stopped at the body.
"Wait." He suddenly sat up, the straw mat rasping against the bluestone.
Old Chen’s copper ruler, which had been hovering over Granny Sun’s lips, startled him. "What is it now?"
Pi Yanlin leaned in close to the corpse, his nose nearly touching her blue-tinged lips. Gu Qinghuan’s sword tassel suddenly swept across the back of his neck, a chill crawling up his spine. "What are you playing at?"
"Sandalwood incense," he said, sniffing. "And bitter almonds." He gently pried open Granny Sun’s mouth, revealing dark brown residue stuck to her molars. "Netherworld Guide."
Gu Qinghuan’s pupils constricted. She knew "Netherworld Guide" well—it was the most popular poison in the imperial harem twenty years ago. When mixed into incense ash and burned, the victim would pass away without a sound, their death looking as if they had been strangled by a ghost.
"How do you know that?" She grabbed Pi Yanlin’s wrist, her grip firm enough to crush bone.
Pi Yanlin pulled his hand back and languidly brushed off his trousers. "I helped Matchmaker Liu write a petition last month, and she mentioned stories told by old palace nannies." He glanced at Gu Qinghuan’s white-knuckled grip and added, "Besides, this poison smells sweet and fishy when burned; it doesn't match the smell of the mugwort Uncle Chen is burning. Didn't you smell it?"
Old Chen recoiled half a step, his copper ruler clattering to the floor. "I—I told you the smell was off! The butcher Wang’s dog died outside Granny Sun’s courtyard the day before yesterday, and it had blue lips, too..."
"Go to Jishi Hall in the east of the city tomorrow." Pi Yanlin bent down to pick up the copper ruler, twirling it on his fingertip. "Manager Zhang, who sells incense and candles, just received a batch of Submerged Aloeswood from the south last month."
Gu Qinghuan watched him twirl the ruler—it was exactly how he had handled the dice cup at the gambling den yesterday, a lazy, uncanny nimbleness hidden beneath the surface. She took out her token, the Xuan Pattern seal glinting in the moonlight. "Old Chen, seal the body. Report it to Magistrate Song tomorrow morning."
Late that night, Pi Yanlin crouched on the roof tiles behind Jishi Hall. Tucked in his tunic was a cloth bundle containing a scrap of Granny Sun’s clothing he had swiped from the morgue—it was stained with a bit of incense ash.
His newly acquired Spirit-Scenting Nose was currently buzzing. He had followed the faint, sweet-fishy trail all the way here. Dim, yellow light shone through the courtyard window, and shadows danced on the paper like a gathering of ghosts. He heard the crisp clinking of porcelain bottles and a muffled male voice: "Add another half-qian of datura. We have to get the shipment in by tomorrow..."
"Bang!"
A bamboo basket in the corner of the yard toppled over.
Pi Yanlin ducked his head—it was just a stray cat hunting for scraps. Just as he was about to move, the light inside the room went out with a snap. In the moonlight, he saw a shadow projected onto the window paper: the man was holding a short blade, its tip pointed directly at his hiding spot.
Pi Yanlin held his breath. The System interface flickered in his mind: [Danger Alert: Hostile target within two zhang.]
He touched the Xuan Pattern Chip in his sleeve—the two characters for "Quick Retreat" on the back felt searingly hot.
"Meow—"
The cat called out again.
Inside the room, he heard the sound of curtains being shoved aside and angry cursing. Pi Yanlin caught a clear look at the man’s face in the moonlight: a square jaw with a scar on the left brow ridge—it was Manager Zhang from Jishi Hall. The short blade in his hand shimmered, a single drop of undried brown liquid clinging to the tip.
Pi Yanlin shifted back half a step, the blue tiles beneath his feet emitting a faint crack.
Manager Zhang’s ears suddenly pricked up, and he turned to bolt toward the eaves. Pi Yanlin steeled himself, grabbed a rafter, and vaulted onto the neighboring grain-drying terrace. As he looked back, he saw Manager Zhang standing in the moonlight, holding his knife, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "A little thief? Tomorrow... you’ll have a hard time."
The midnight wind carried the scent of locust blossoms into his collar. Pi Yanlin crouched in a pile of straw on the terrace, rubbing the back of his neck where he had scraped his skin while vaulting the beam. He pulled out the cloth bundle; the incense ash glowed a ghostly blue in the moonlight, like a handful of crushed stars.
"Tomorrow... I’ll have to pretend I have a headache," he muttered to the moon, tucking the bundle deep into the straw.
In the distance, the watchman’s clapper sounded—"Dong!"—startling a crow from the eaves.
As soon as the eastern sky turned the color of a fish’s belly, Pi Yanlin rushed into Jishi Hall, clutching his head. A wet cloth was pressed to his forehead, and he groaned, "Manager Zhang, your headache powder is the most effective. Give me two packets..."
Manager Zhang was wiping the counter. As he looked up, a smile bloomed on his face. "Service boy Pi? Another all-nighter?" His eyes swept over the wet cloth on Pi Yanlin’s head, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the counter—that shadow from last night looked exactly like this lazybones.
Pi Yanlin narrowed his eyes, watching the man’s fingers.
The System interface flashed: [Target Manager Zhang’s heart rate is abnormal; adrenaline levels rising.]
Pi Yanlin loosened his grip on his head, the cloth sliding down his nose to reveal a pair of bright, clear eyes. "Manager Zhang, this Submerged Aloeswood on your counter—it smells sweeter than usual..."