SU TANG (素醣)

  Day 25, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “Would you like something?”

  Translation: Why do you keep looking at me?

  I wasn’t.

  I mean—I definitely was not.

  Except for the part where I’d memorised the exact curvature of the oak headpiece that crowned his hair like some ancient deity sculpted by hands that appreciated symmetry way too much. It was rare for him to wear his hair down, but today it slipped over his shoulders like black silk ink in water.

  Mesmerising.

  Distracting.

  Unhelpful.

  I yanked my gaze away from the Crown Prince and fixed it on the corpse, because nothing screams 'distraction' like death dressed in ceremonial flowers.

  In the past few days, his disposition had become more enigmatic than usual. Which is saying something, because the man already had the emotional transparency of a stone tablet written in riddles.

  Before, I couldn’t figure him out.

  Now...well, I still couldn’t.

  And it infuriated me. Because I had something called curiosity: and I was, unashamedly, an addict.

  “Why…why…” I muttered to myself. Why did he have to make things so complicated? Or maybe it was just me making things complicated. That’s possible too. Maybe he was really just a kind, misunderstood person with absolutely no ulterior motives and a selfless passion for criminal justice.

  Yeah, and maybe Zhao Lili is actually a good person. There’s no way in the world that he didn’t have another reason.

  Still. He didn’t have to help. He didn’t have to give me permission to erect Xiao Wu’s monument. Or let me touch Chun Li’s hand one last time. Or say nothing whilst I fell apart in quiet corners of his palace.

  If he just wanted to take on Chun Li’s case, why drag me to court with him like some tragic sidekick?

  Why? Why? Why?

  Ughhh…

  Keep your act. Keep it together.

  I sighed. I may not know his true intentions, but he had done me a favour regardless, by letting me sneak into court.

  “I wanted to say express my gratitude. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, so easily.

  Silence, you are my best friend.

  Especially when reality feels like a nail through the ribs.

  I glanced back at Chun Li. Her skin had taken on the sickly grey of snow left too long in shadow. Her lips were purple. Frost clung to her lashes like she’d been weeping ice. The slush that had drowned her still clung to the hem of her sodden robes, staining her funeral whites. Someone had arranged her hair beautifully, like a doll in a noble’s grave. She looked…asleep.

  If sleep was cold. And final.

  But it was the smell. Not rot—just that ash-smoke-mustiness that came with death, the one the coroner’s notes never mention. You just know.

  The Crown Prince lifted Chun Li’s blouse to reveal the wound again. His fingers moved with precision, cool and clean, like he was sorting surgical instruments instead of measuring murder.

  The Imperial Coroner had already filed the findings: death by puncture. Except…there was barely a mark. No gash. No defensive wound. No indication of trauma beyond—

  A single dot.

  That was it.

  One black dot, smaller than the head of a needle, hiding in the bruising patterns that frostbite had painted across her chest. If the murder weapon hadn’t been left at the scene, we might’ve missed it entirely.

  But even that was strange. The wound was too small. Too neat. Not even a hairpin could’ve slid in so cleanly. And the discolouration? Indistinguishable from the mottling of cold death.

  It was surgical.

  Precise.

  And entirely too elegant for something so cruel.

  “Your Highness?” I turned to him. “I think we need to ask Princess Changping some questions.”

  ***

  The princess exuded elegance in the kind that made me immediately self-conscious about my grubbiness. The way she sat, the way she tilted her head just-so, even the way she flicked her wrist to brush a strand of hair from her porcelain face, was all painfully choreographed, like a dance she’d been performing since birth. She didn’t walk; she glided. She didn’t breathe; she sighed like a tragic poem. And yet somehow, she was the prime suspect in Chun Li’s murder.

  Naturally.

  She sat perched on the windowsill like some ivory crane, gazing dreamily into the distance. Or maybe she was just bored. Her expression was unreadable in the way only nobility mastered.

  At last, she noticed us. Or rather, deigned to. She raised her hand, just the tips of her fingers, and a maidservant floated over. Even her gestures were prettier than my entire existence.

  “Would you like some tea to warm yourself?” she asked, her voice fragile and composed.

  The Crown Prince declined with equal poise. He sat on the adjacent sofa, brushing imaginary dust from his robe with the same elegant flourish his sister had just used.

  How adorable. Royal sibling telepathy.

  Then he glanced at me. “Could I trouble you to get some refreshments for my maidservant?”

  Oh.

  I was surprised, but I quickly schooled my face into an approximation of obedience and attempted an awkward half-courtesy-half-squat. I, doing so, I noticed my shoes. Scuffed. Muddy. Crusty with old snow. I looked like a wet street rat they’d pulled out of a gutter and somehow brought into a palace as part of an avant-garde art piece. Why was I always looking like an embarrassment?

  “To what do I owe your pleasure?” the princess asked. Her voice wobbled slightly. Just like it had the first time I met her.

  “This is Su Tang. I believe you’ve been acquainted?”

  I looked up. Briefly. Just enough to make eye contact and offer the subtlest of bows. Just keep quiet. Just keep quiet.

  “Yes. We have,” she replied, eyes narrowing in appraisal. Unlike her brother, was less discrete with her emotions. That was comforting, at least. I can alter my responses based on her reactions, unlike with a certain enigma: the Crown Prince.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Su Tang has been assigned by the Emperor to investigate Chun Li’s death,” the Crown Prince said, still calm. “She wanted to ask you some questions, sister.”

  “Of course. Anything to assist.” Her smile was sweet. Too sweet. The kind that made your stomach twist. Her hands were folded primly in her lap, but the whites of her knuckles peeked through. The tension in her throat didn’t go unnoticed either.

  I stepped forward. The show begins.

  “Your Highness, first I want to say thank you,” I said. “Thank you for helping me…when I was ill.”

  Her smile didn’t change. Of course it didn’t.

  “I do not wish to make Your Highness feel uncomfortable. Everything I say now shall be under my role as lead investigator of Chun Li’s death.”

  She inclined her head in submissive coldness.

  Whatever that meant.

  I sighed internally. Speaking with royalty always made me feel like I was choking on silk. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t be human. I could only be diplomatic and deferential. I was not built for eternal emotional constipation.

  “Would Your Highness do me the honour of recounting what happened that day?”

  “Of course,” she said again, her tone a gentle lilt. She told us what was already written in the reports: she was walking by the lake, saw something strange—thought it might be a deer—went to investigate, found a body, then got arrested.

  Nothing out of ordinary. Nothing new.

  But then she described the lake. That it was usually frozen this time of year, but the water was clear. Crystal-clear. And how strange it was to see something dark disrupting that mirror-like surface.

  And suddenly, I was falling into my own thoughts.

  The water was clear.

  明鏡.

  míngjìng.

  That day when I first noticed Chun Li was missing, I found a note written in Chun Li’s hand.

  Could it be that Chun Li was describing that lake?

  Was that what she meant?

  But how would Chun Li have known she would die in the lake? Coincidences exist. Sure. I’d read enough to know the universe liked irony. But a coincidence that specific?

  Or did she know? Did she know?

  I blinked. Someone was calling my name.

  “Su Tang?”

  I snapped back. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive my distractedness.”

  She smiled kindly. Almost…warmly. Her eyes glittered; not coldly, but like spring sunlight. “You must be tired. Would you like to sit?”

  I would.

  But I had enough sense to remember that the Crown Prince was still here and that I was no more than a maidservant. How dare I sit in their presence?

  “Thank you for your generosity. But I dare not, Your Highness.”

  Translation: I would rather pass out standing than break protocol and get executed for rudeness.

  As if summoned by Fate, the tea and refreshments arrived. Lovely. Nothing like a tray of delicacies to really twist the dagger of class divide. He said they were for me. But there was no way I was going to eat them. Not in front of both of them.

  I clenched my hand behind my back. My nails dug into my palm. The pain was grounding.

  They were being kind to me. I should be grateful. But kindness from people like them came with an expiration date. One misstep, and the smiles would vanish. The silk would turn to rope.

  No matter how angelic the princess looked.

  No matter how the Crown Prince seemed to lower his guard.

  I was still just a pawn.

  Don’t forget that, Su Tang. Don’t you dare forget. Or it won’t just be Xiao Wu who pays the price.

  We could not be friends.

  Not in this life.

  Not ever.

  ***

  Never had mooncake tasted so delicious.

  Perhaps it was because I spent the morning faced with a degustation of Taishan delicacies that I had to resist eating—out of etiquette and all that—that my cravings had reached a new climax. Or maybe it was because my stomach had turned into a black hole of grief. Either way, that mooncake disappeared with alarming speed.

  I bit into the golden crust. Warm, soft, lightly crisp on the edges, like biting into sunlight that had been tempered by sorrow. The buttery skin dissolved on my tongue, giving way to a rich red bean paste that was not too sweet, not too dense. A sliver of salted egg yolk gleamed at the centre, hidden like a relic in an ancient tomb.

  Xiao Wu would approve. He'd probably make me split it with him, then stolen the yolk when I wasn’t looking.

  The embossed butterflies and chrysanthemums on its surface cracked with each bite.

  Just like us.

  It wasn’t Mid-Autumn Festival. Nor was it the Lantern Festival. It was just…today. An unmarked day. An ordinary stretch of time made sacred only because we decided to remember.

  Since Xiao Wu...well, none of us had gathered like this. Maybe it was easier to pretend we were busy. Maybe it hurt too much to breathe the same air without him. But we would’ve to go on living. We weren’t important enough to pause the world.

  An Lingqi, of all people, had arranged it. A small tribute, nothing too formal. Just tea. A few dishes. Mooncakes.

  And us. The remnants.

  Her residence was quiet. A one-storey manor built in Yǒnghéng Táomù, the place where peach blossoms never died. I had spent most of my youth racing across the back meadows, climbing trees, falling out of trees, and being patched up by An Lingqi. To outsiders, her residence gave the impression of coldness. But to us, it was home.

  I passed through the back courtyard and stepped into the dining room where the tribute was set. Gan Yuanxiao was already there, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. Ying Yue and Xue Wan’er had snuck out from their posts. Lao Zhe and Ju Ying, of course, were here too. We all wore our grief, heavy and silent, studded with guilt and unanswered questions.

  Gan Yuanxiao turned as I entered, offering me a smile that could rival a paintings. One of those carefully engineered expressions meant to disarm. I bit back my sigh and reached for another mooncake. I wasn’t in the mood to play diplomat.

  “Long time no see,” he said, flashing that infamous nymph-like grin.

  My appetite vanished. He wants some information doesn’t he? Still, I picked up another mooncake and clasped as a comforter.

  “I’ve been well,” I replied, flatly.

  He tilted his head, eyes scanning my expression. “It’s been busy for you, hasn’t it? With the investigation on Chun—”

  “Please don’t.” My voice lowered. “Not here.”

  I flicked my gaze toward Lao Zhe. He was engaged in hollow conversation, his eyes distant. Chun Li and Xiao Wu’s deaths had taken a toll on all of us. But perhaps, more for some.

  In these past days, I had never seen my cheery grandfather shed so many tears. For me, Chun Li had been a kind friend in an otherwise toxic workplace; and Xiao Wu had been my best friend. But for Lao Zhe…he had lost his first disciple and adopted grandson.

  Gan Yuanxiao dipped his head. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” I murmured, breaking the mooncake in half, “It’s just…unfortunate.”

  He toyed with his own mooncake, eating it in tiny bites. I could feel him holding something back. Questions maybe. Doubts. Or secrets.

  “I heard you spoke to Princess Changping today,” he said finally.

  The mooncake in my hand began to crumble. Red bean paste clung to my fingertips like dried blood. “Yuanxiao,” I said, voice even, “if you want to know what happened to your beloved, you can just ask.”

  I took another bite. The sweetness had turned sour. Like regret.

  His hand twitched. He looked away. Bit into his own mooncake, too hard this time, teeth marks visible. Gan Yuanxiao was older than me, supposedly wiser. But his affair with the princess had left him utterly, irreversibly stupid.

  I moved to leave.

  “How is she?” he asked suddenly.

  I paused mid-step. I didn’t turn around, but I felt the muscles in my shoulders coil, like strings about to snap.

  How was she?

  I didn’t know. Or maybe I did and didn’t want to admit it. Was she drowning in guilt? Or laughing in some dark corner of the palace, sipping tea brewed with our tears?

  I looked over my shoulder. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  Half-joking. Fully serious.

  Gan Yuanxiao didn’t answer. He just stared down at the remains of his dessert. He exhaled. “I can’t. I made a mistake. I left her alone that day.”

  That day?

  I turned to face him.

  “What do you mean?”

  He swallowed. The mooncake in my hands had gone cold, its oily skin sticking to my palms.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Don’t make me find out from someone else. Don’t do this to me.

  He brushed his hands against his robes. “Do you really want to know?” he asked with an airy voice.

  He gave me a smile. A hauntingly pretty one. Eyes wide, lashes lowered. The kind of face that artists loved to paint but I found difficult to trust. His heavenly beauty might’ve worked on others, but to me who had spent my childhood around the celestial goddess, An Lingqi, he was nothing more than another face.

  He waited for me to answer. I didn’t. I only stared.

  “I was with her before she was arrested,” he said, then raised his hands up as I shifted closer. “I didn’t do it. I swear to Heaven. I wouldn’t harm Chun Li. She was your friend…she was my shījiě.”

  I know you wouldn’t do it—were the words that I would’ve wanted to say. And I wanted to believe him.

  I wanted to believe everyone.

  I wanted to live in a world where murder was a myth and betrayal only existed in plays.

  But I had met Zhao Lili. I had seen what charm and privilege could conceal. The court worshipped her. Loved her. But she was a monster dressed in silk.

  And Gan Yuanxiao?

  Could I believe you?

  You, with your beautiful face and alluring charm?