The Golden Hairpin

Wen Yang's home was located in West Pomegranate Lane in Chengdu Prefecture, where pomegranate trees were abundant. It was late summer, and the pomegranate flowers had mostly withered, leaving fist-sized fruits hanging heavily from the branches, a delightful sight.

The Wen family was considered respectable, with a three-courtyard compound. The main hall displayed a painting titled "Listening to the Zither Amidst Forest and Springs," flanked by a couplet that read: "Bamboo rain and pine wind accompany the zither's melody; tea mist and wutong moonlight harmonize with the sound of reading."

An elderly steward with graying hair and a worried expression greeted them, bowing respectfully. "Greetings, Constable Zhou."

Zhou Ziqin quickly helped him up. "No need for such formalities, elder."

The steward seated them in the hall, instructing a young servant boy to prepare tea while summoning the family cook and handyman to meet them.

"Our master's ancestors once served as the governor of Bingzhou before retiring to their hometown. Master is now thirty-seven. Over a decade ago, he was passionate about pursuing an official career but failed repeatedly in the imperial examinations, eventually losing interest. After his parents and wife passed away, he became even more reclusive, immersing himself in the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi, tending to flowers and plants in the courtyard, and rarely interacting with others."

Zhou Ziqin nodded and asked, "Then how did he come to know Fu Xinruan—the woman who died for love?"

"The master inherited some mountain and forest properties from his ancestors, which provided a decent annual income. After his wife's death, he neither remarried nor took a concubine. He always admired the poetry of Wang Youcheng, saying that Wang also never remarried after losing his wife and planned to adopt a bright child from relatives in the future." The steward looked puzzled and asked, "Excuse me, Constable, who is this Wang Youcheng?"

"That would be Wang Wei, also known as Wang Mojie," Zhou Ziqin replied.

"Oh, I see," the steward responded, though it was clear he still didn't know who Wang Wei was. He continued, "With no wife at home, the master occasionally visited the pleasure quarters to seek companionship. However, he never brought those women back, so I have no idea who they might have been."

Zhou Ziqin whispered under his breath, "Why didn't he follow Wang Wei's example and live in seclusion instead of visiting brothels?"

Huang Zixiang ignored him and asked the steward, "Elder, did your master say anything when he left that day?"

"That day... he seemed to have been invited by a friend, saying he was going to Songhuali. I can't quite remember... Ah, though the master had some assets, the mountain and forest yields have been poor these past two years. He used to have a personal attendant, but he let him go a few years back. Now, the household only consists of me, a cook, a handyman, and my grandson, who occasionally runs errands for him." He pointed at the young servant boy brewing tea and sighed. "How can a household thrive without a woman to manage it? Just the other day, some members of the master's poetry club came to pay their respects. A high-ranking official—I think his surname was Qi—lingered in the master's study for a long time and lamented that our master should have found a woman to take care of things long ago."

"So, you know nothing about your master's activities outside the home?"

"The master never mentioned anything, nor did he take us along... We truly know nothing."

Seeing that the steward was clueless and the cook, handyman, and young servant all shook their heads in ignorance, Zhou Ziqin had no choice but to lead Li Shubai and Huang Zixiang to inspect the backyard.The backyard housed a study, where the surroundings were adorned with rustling green bamboo, verdant wutong trees, lush pines and cypresses, and rugged mountain rocks, exuding an air of solitary elegance and lofty pride.

Zhou Ziqin remarked, "This place reminds me of somewhere... where was it again..."

As he scratched his head in thought, Li Shubai beside him said, "Prince E's residence."

"Ah, right! That courtyard Prince E specifically used for tea gatherings! This kind of deliberately constructed poetic atmosphere is really unbearable." Zhou Ziqin rubbed the goosebumps on his arms as he walked into the study to examine its contents.

Inside, the study faced a row of antique display shelves. Behind them stood two bookcases and a writing desk. Behind the desk was a folding screen splashed with bold, flowing calligraphy—a work by Wang Wei, signed by the recluse Bingji.

On the wall to the right of the screen hung an aged-looking painting of a butterfly alighting on a pink hydrangea. The colors had slightly faded, clearly an old piece. Amidst the solemnity of the room, only this delicate flower and butterfly captured Huang Zixia's gaze for a moment.

On the desk were several sheets of paper, neatly arranged at the corner.

Zhou Ziqin picked them up and read the first line: "Ti yu yi yun he Xu Tuo Huan neng zuo shi..." Puzzled, he looked at Li Shubai and Huang Zixia. Huang Zixia frowned slightly, while Li Shubai continued reciting, "'Subhuti, what do you think? Can one who has attained the stream-entry (srotapanna) stage have the thought, "I have attained the stream-entry fruit"?'"

Huang Zixia suddenly understood and continued, "Subhuti said, 'No, World-Honored One. Why? Because "stream-enterer" means entering the stream, yet without truly entering—not entering forms, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, or dharmas. This is called stream-entry.'"

Zhou Ziqin checked the text on the paper—it matched their recitation—but he was still baffled. "What is this?"

Huang Zixia explained, "It's a passage from the Diamond Sutra. It seems he once copied this scripture, but the pages are out of order, so you couldn't understand it at first."

Zhou Ziqin let out an "Oh" and set the scripture aside.

After a moment's thought, Huang Zixia walked over, flipped through the pages, and rearranged them. She looked surprised. "The preceding sections are missing."

"Eh?" Zhou Ziqin, who had been examining the books, turned to her. "Who would take something like this? His handwriting isn't even that good."

"Yes, the line you just read is the very first one among all these scripture pages." She straightened the remaining sheets, placed them on the desk, and secured them with an agate paperweight shaped like a lion. She then searched the shelves and drawers but couldn't find the missing sections.

"The rest are these letters." They found several letters inside an embroidered box. Upon opening one, Zhou Ziqin immediately grew excited. "These are from Fu Xinruan to Wen Yang!"

Dear Wen Lang, as if seeing you through these words,

The endless rain these days has flooded the streets, making travel impossible. I think of the osmanthus in your courtyard—only two or three blossoms must remain. I shall gather them carefully to make osmanthus honey candy for you once more.

Here in Shu, sunlight is scarce, and my complexion grows paler by the day. Today, I opened the rouge you gifted me earlier—its fragrance lingers, its pink hue as delicate as the hydrangea and butterfly painting by your desk. Come see it soon, lest its beauty go unappreciated. I will tidy up and await your arrival.

Written by Xinruan.

Zhou Ziqin couldn't help but sigh. "Their daily life seemed so harmonious—what a tender and affectionate relationship."Looking through the rest, aside from a few letters from Fu Xinruan, most were correspondences from poetry societies—nothing out of the ordinary.

Zhou Ziqin remarked, "It seems the first half is missing. Maybe the stewards swept it out as scrap paper. Looking at this household—the old, the young, the cooks and servants—none of them seem literate. How would they know what's useful and what's not?"

Huang Zixiao shook her head. "Precisely because they're illiterate, they would treat written paper with reverence, afraid of discarding something important and earning their master's reprimand. Especially since this master seems quite proud of his calligraphy."

"How can you tell?" Zhou Ziqin asked, slightly indignant that she had noticed something he hadn't.

"The handwriting on these papers matches that on the folding screen, doesn't it? Someone who commissions a floor screen to display his own calligraphy must surely take pride in it."

"But the signature on the screen reads 'Bingji Jushi'?"

"'Wen' signifies gentleness, while 'Yang' represents strength. Wen Yang likely chose this pseudonym because he felt his name embodied the harmony of both softness and firmness."

"Really?" Zhou Ziqin was half-convinced. He stepped into the courtyard and beckoned to a servant tidying up outside. "Hey, you! Come here!"

The servant hurried over. "What can I do for you, Constable?"

"Where did this folding screen in the study come from?"

"It was written by the master himself. He ruined over twenty bolts of silk before he was satisfied. He seemed particularly fond of this piece, so he had it specially made into this screen."

Huang Zixiao, standing behind Zhou Ziqin, asked the servant, "Do you usually discard wastepaper?"

"Yes, but only with the master's permission! Ever since I accidentally threw away one of his poems years ago, we always wait for him to be present when cleaning the study. We ask him about each piece before daring to discard anything."

Zhou Ziqin gazed at Huang Zixiao with admiration, his expression practically spelling out, "Let's team up to outshine Huang Zixiao!"

Li Shubai surveyed the study once more before asking the constable, "When was that embroidery of butterflies and a ball hung up?"

"That's hard to say... The master has several treasured paintings—some of mountains, some of rivers. He changes them himself when he's in the mood. We servants wouldn't know exactly when."

"What's your best guess for when this one appeared?"

"Uh... probably within the last few days. It definitely wasn't there long—I hadn't seen it before."

After the constable left, Zhou Ziqin glanced around. "Seems there's nothing else unusual here. Should we stay any longer?"

Huang Zixiao pointed toward Songhuali. "Let's go. Time to visit the crime scene."

As soon as they stepped out of Wen Yang's house, Huang Zixiao spotted the figure at the street corner and froze.

At the other end of the alley, a tall, slender figure stood beneath the green bamboo by the river.

The bamboo rustled softly, its elegance complementing his graceful silhouette.

Huang Zixiao stared motionlessly at him, while Zhou Ziqin enthusiastically waved and called out, "Hey! Isn't that Xu Xuan, the Academic Inspector? Remember me? We met in the capital!"Yu Xuan nodded to him, his gaze lingering briefly on Huang Zixiang before he first bowed to Li Shubai and then addressed Zhou Ziqin, saying, "I actually have something important to discuss with you, Deputy Chief Constable."

"Go ahead, go ahead!" Zhou Ziqin eagerly bounded over.

Pointing to an empty jug and a bamboo basket beside him, Yu Xuan said, "This morning, I went to Guangdu Temple to fetch some purified water to pay respects to Governor Huang."

Huang Zixiang's body stiffened abruptly, her hands unconsciously tightening. The reins dug into her palms, turning them purple from the pressure, yet she remained oblivious.

Li Shubai noticed but said nothing, merely reaching out to lightly pat her shoulder. Startled, she slowly loosened her grip on the reins, though her body remained rigid.

Zhou Ziqin, completely unaware of their silent exchange, blinked in surprise and asked, "Is today some special occasion?"

Yu Xuan shook his head. "No."

"Then..." Zhou Ziqin looked at him, puzzled.

"As long as I'm in Chengdu, I visit the grave daily to clean and pay respects," he replied, his gaze shifting from Zhou Ziqin to Huang Zixiang. His eyes were as clear and bright as the flowing water beside them, his voice softer than the breeze rustling through the bamboo grove. "Last night, I dreamt of the past again, which moved me to seek purified water from Master Mushan and bring some offerings."

Zhou Ziqin, ever curious about trivial matters, immediately pressed, "Is Master Mushan's purified water famous? It seems many people seek it out."

Yu Xuan nodded. "Master Mushan is a highly revered monk, the most eminent in Shu Commandery. Recently, rumors in Chengdu claim that a spring behind his meditation chamber, influenced by years of his chanting, suddenly surged overnight, transforming from a tiny trickle into a steady stream. Many consider it a miracle. People flock to fetch the water, believing that if Master Mushan chants over it, it becomes purified—capable of cleansing the living and guiding departed souls to rebirth."

Huang Zixiang stood among the bamboo, holding the reins, lost in his words. Memories surfaced of their days wandering Chengdu's streets together, when every plant and tree he mentioned seemed to carry a story, captivating her.

Zhou Ziqin nodded. "I'll go fetch some water to drink someday."

Yu Xuan bowed slightly to him and said, "Deputy Chief Constable Zhou, today after returning from my adoptive father's grave, I went to the yamen looking for you and followed you here because there's an urgent matter I must report."

Zhou Ziqin quickly asked, "What is it?"

"A few days ago, while cleaning the graves, I noticed signs of disturbance at my uncle and adoptive brother's tombs. Though the brickwork and seals remained intact, the outer layers of earth had been disturbed. I wondered if someone had attempted to dig them up."

Zhou Ziqin's smile froze. He couldn't help glancing back at Huang Zixiang, offering her an awkward half-smile.

He had boasted about his grave-digging skills, yet Yu Xuan had noticed immediately—though he surely couldn't have guessed that the culprits now stood right before him: one, the Prince of Kui, and the other, the very constable he had come to for help.