The Golden Hairpin

Early in the morning, after scouring nearly half the capital, Huang Zixiang and Zhou Ziqin were both starving. The usual meal hours had passed, and today's regular meals were no longer available. Cui Chunzhan had the Dali Temple kitchen hastily prepare some simple food to stave off their hunger.

Leaving the Dali Temple, Huang Zixiang casually inquired with the gatekeeper about the ever-busy Prince Kui. Sure enough, someone said, "Half an hour ago, a carriage from the Censorate came by. The driver mentioned while having tea here that Prince Kui was over there."

Within the imperial city, numerous offices stood, each with signs at their gates indicating where officials of certain ranks must dismount. Zhou Ziqin and Huang Zixiang decided not to ride their horses, tying them up at the Dali Temple before heading to the Censorate on foot.

As they walked, Zhou Ziqin tugged at her sleeve weakly and said, "Chonggu... I truly admire you."

Huang Zixiang shielded her head from the blazing sun with the booklet in her hand and turned to look at him. "What?"

"I mean, I admire your stamina..." Zhou Ziqin gazed at her with admiration. "We've been running around all morning without rest, and I'm exhausted. Don’t you need a break?"

"After a crime occurs, every second counts. There’s no time to delay," Huang Zixiang replied. Suddenly remembering something, she added, "By the way, where is Sun Laizi’s body now? Do you recall the shapes of his two wounds?"

At the mention of the corpse and wounds, Zhou Ziqin immediately perked up, as if invigorated by a block of ice in the sweltering summer heat, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "Yes, no problem! I saw the wounds clearly and remember them well! Ask me anything, and I’ll answer right away!"

Huang Zixiang turned to him and said, "I want to know the exact shapes of the wounds and the direction the weapon was thrust."

"One wound was below the left shoulder blade, and the other was on the right side of the waist near the navel. Both wounds showed a diagonal thrust from the left side of the body toward the right..." Zhou Ziqin paused mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. He glanced around and lowered his voice. "So... is Dicui lying?"

"Yes," Huang Zixiang whispered. "If Sun Laizi was standing opposite her, given how she held the dagger, the thrust would have been from top to bottom. How could the wounds be left to right? Such injuries could only be inflicted if the victim was lying on his side."

Zhou Ziqin gasped, his face a mix of confusion and shock. "But... why would Dicui confess and take the blame for everything? What’s her reason for doing this?"

Huang Zixiang silently watched him for a long moment before shifting her gaze lightly behind him.

They spotted a man crouched under the high wall of the Dali Temple.

Zhang Xingying.

He had been crouching there for who knows how long, staring blankly at the ground, motionless.

Zhou Ziqin stared at him for a while before his widened eyes and gaping mouth slowly returned to normal. Softly, almost unconsciously, he let out an "Ah."

Under their gaze, Zhang Xingying seemed to finally sense their presence. He slowly raised his head and looked in their direction. After a long pause, his unfocused eyes gradually sharpened, as if he had finally recognized them. He stood up and called out, "Brother... Yang..."In the hoarse voice, he had been squatting for too long, his legs numb and unable to support his body. He swayed twice before collapsing onto the ground.

Under the scorching sun, the burning hot earth seemed to have baked him dry, leaving him numb. He only managed to stand up again by leaning against the wall, then walked toward them step by step.

Huang Zixiang watched him with complex emotions.

Zhou Ziqin quickly ran over to support him. Zhang Xingying was exceptionally tall—even Zhou Ziqin, who was already quite tall himself, was two or three inches shorter. When Zhang Xingying leaned on him, even Zhou Ziqin staggered slightly.

"Brother Zhang, what's wrong?" Zhou Ziqin held him up, trying to comfort him. "Don't panic!"

Zhang Xingying leaned against him but kept his gaze fixed on Huang Zixiang. His lips, cracked from the sun, trembled as he spoke in a voice so dry it sounded almost aged: "You must help Dicui... She—she couldn’t have done it. I know she couldn’t have killed anyone..."

Huang Zixiang lowered her eyes and nodded silently.

Seeing her calm reaction, Zhang Xingying grew desperate. He lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders with almost uncontrollable force: "She’s such a gentle woman—how could she kill anyone? I... I don’t know why she turned herself in, but I... I beg you to save her, save her!"

His voice was hoarse, the broken plea forced out from his throat with difficulty, barely forming coherent words.

Huang Zixiang let out a long sigh and patted his arm. "Don’t worry, Brother Zhang. I will uncover the truth. When the time comes, the real culprit will be exposed to the world, with nowhere to hide."

Zhang Xingying stared at her, wide-eyed, as if it took him a long moment to process her words. Finally, he released his grip—which had nearly crushed her shoulders—and let his hands drop limply. Staggering back two steps, he murmured, "Yes... I believe you... can clear A-Di’s name."

"Brother Zhang, you can return to the Capital Defense Bureau now. You can report for duty tomorrow," Huang Zixiang said softly, looking up at him. "Don’t let Dicui’s hopes for you be in vain."

The Censorate had always been the most solemn and stern institution of the dynasty. Yet, upon entering, Huang Zixiang saw the Censor-in-Chief, the Attending Censor, and the Investigating Censors—all elderly scholars—sitting beside Prince Kui with joyful expressions, chatting idly with Li Shubai as if they hadn’t noticed the workday had long ended.

As soon as Huang Zixiang and Zhou Ziqin entered, Li Shubai signaled for her to wait. He then stood and addressed the group: "This is Yang Chonggu, who serves by my side and is skilled in solving cases. She is also one of the personnel assigned by His Majesty to collaborate with the Dali Temple on this investigation. Her arrival must be to report on the progress of the case, so I shall take my leave now."

"Farewell, Prince Kui," the men replied, still beaming as they stood to see him off at the door.

Once they had left the Censorate, Zhou Ziqin couldn’t help but remark, "The Censorate’s treatment of people varies so much! When I went there, those old men all looked down their noses at me as if I were the disgrace of the dynasty—they wouldn’t even spare me an extra pair of chopsticks. But when Prince Kui arrives, look at them! Their wrinkled faces bloom like chrysanthemums, every crease smoothed out in delight!"

Li Shubai’s lips twitched slightly. "They were simply in a good mood today."

"Oh? The Censorate officials can be in a good mood? Don’t they just spend every day scowling and reprimanding people?"Li Shubai turned to glance at Huang Ziyao and said, "The Emperor has summoned several high-ranking ministers due to the theft of the Nine Phoenix Hairpin, proposing a joint investigation by the three judicial authorities—the Ministry of Justice, the Dali Temple, and the Censorate. While the other two departments were amenable, the elderly officials of the Censorate immediately opposed, arguing that a joint investigation by the three judicial bodies should be reserved for major cases concerning the nation's welfare. How could they mobilize such resources for the mere theft of a princess's hairpin? The Emperor countered that the case had already resulted in two deaths and one injury, and with the princess potentially in danger, a thorough investigation was imperative. As the debate reached a stalemate, news arrived from the Dali Temple—the suspect in the case had surrendered and confessed! The Censorate, relieved that an imperial family matter wouldn’t escalate into a state affair, was naturally overjoyed."

Zhou Ziqin frowned. "But... Dici isn’t the culprit..."

"Whether she is or not, her coming forward to take the blame is a timely opportunity, isn’t it?" Li Shubai remarked coolly, casting a sidelong glance at Huang Ziyao. "The Emperor’s task—do you intend to continue investigating or let it rest here?"

"Dici and I have some acquaintance. Given her tragic circumstances, I can’t let her perish like this," Huang Ziyao said with a frown. "Moreover, even if she has confessed, I suspect this case is far from over."

Li Shubai raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting the real culprit might not stop?"

"Exactly. It’s highly possible. Because the third victim depicted in the painting hasn’t appeared yet." Huang Ziyao handed him the scroll.

As they walked, Li Shubai unrolled the scroll and glanced at it.

Just one glance, and his steps halted.

This ever-composed Prince Kui stood motionless under the vast sky, amidst the towering shadows of the imperial offices, staring at the seemingly haphazard scribbles on the scroll in his hands, momentarily stunned.

The sky was a clear blue, the sunlight blazing, and the sweeping wind billowed through their wide sleeves, rustling loudly.

Finally, Li Shubai slowly lifted his lowered lashes. He carefully rolled up the painting and returned it to Huang Ziyao. "Keep it safe."

Zhou Ziqin eagerly asked, "Your Highness, did you see the depiction of three tragic deaths?"

Li Shubai gave a slight nod. "A stretch, at best. There’s a vague resemblance. How could such absurdity be linked to the late Emperor’s handwriting?"

Zhou Ziqin’s enthusiasm waned. "I see."

Stealing a glance at Huang Ziyao, he noticed her expression had grown as inscrutable as Li Shubai’s. Sighing inwardly, he said, "Your Highness, I still have doubts about Dici’s alleged murder of Sun Laizi. I’ll head to the mortuary first. Farewell."

As Zhou Ziqin departed, Li Shubai gestured for Huang Ziyao to board the carriage.

Passing by the Dali Temple gates, the guards untied Nafusha’s reins, and the horse obediently followed, its docility almost remarkable.

Huang Ziyao settled onto her usual seat—the small footstool.

Li Shubai extended his hand toward her, and she immediately understood, retrieving the scroll from her bosom and presenting it to him.Li Shubai unfolded it and spread it out on the small table. The table was rather short, causing part of the mounting to drape over his knees. He placed his hand on the scroll, his fingertips slowly tracing down the first image—a depiction of what seemed to be a person burning to death. "Last time, you mentioned that you thought this was someone being burned alive?"

"Yes... And this thin, narrow vertical line above, we believe it resembles a bolt of lightning descending from the sky. So this image appears to show a person struck by lightning, engulfed in flames, struggling to their death."

"The Zhang family claims this painting was done by the late emperor's own hand. Do you believe that?" He slightly raised his eyes to look at her.

Huang Zixiao pondered for a moment before replying slowly, "I have never seen the late emperor's calligraphy or paintings, so I cannot say for certain."

"I can confirm it."

Li Shubai silently pressed his hand lightly against the painting and said, "This ink was specially made for imperial use by Zu Min. In his later years, the late emperor disliked the smell of ink due to his poor health, so the Zu family altered the formula. In addition to pearl and jade powder, they added a newly introduced foreign fragrance to the ink sticks. Only ten sticks were made—seven were used, and the remaining three were buried with him. It has been ten years now, yet the scent remains."

Huang Zixiao leaned down to take a sniff. There was only the faintest trace of the aroma, but it was indeed a unique fragrance unlike any other.

She looked up at Li Shubai again, who continued, "When the late emperor wrote or painted, he often made a preliminary stroke in the air beside the paper—a habit he had for many years. Unless one was frequently by his side, they wouldn’t know this. And look here—"

Beside the vertical line they had interpreted as lightning, there was another line as fine as a strand of hair, almost invisible.

"This line isn’t parallel to the one beside it, clearly not a stray bristle from the brush but rather an accidental mark left when he made that initial stroke."

Huang Zixiao said, "I will visit the Zhang family and ask Zhang’s father in detail about the origins of this painting."

"It is worth asking—why would my father paint such an image, and why would he gift it to a common physician?" Li Shubai murmured slowly.

Huang Zixiao gazed at the painting, recalling Prince E Li Run’s unusual reaction. Sure enough, Li Shubai added, "And now, we should pay a visit to Prince E’s residence—since you mentioned he reacted strangely upon seeing this painting."