Mu finally stopped glaring at me once I shut up. His shoulders eased; the tension drained from his eyes. Then he patted my shoulder.

  “Come on. Even if this is just the outer courtyard, hanging around too long’s a bad idea.”

  I grinned. “Bad idea, sure. But tell me this isn’t an actual discovery.”

  He shot me a side-eye, unimpressed. “What are you plotting now?”

  “What could I possibly plot? It’s a clue! Think about it—Miss Liu screamed about ghosts for nights on end, claiming some armored general haunted her room. And what do we find? A jade token, carved with the word Zhuo, hidden in her makeup box. Tell me that doesn’t scream mysterious lover.”

  I was practically glowing, like I’d just cracked a royal murder case.

  Mu clicked his tongue, calm as a monk. “You make it sound neat. When’s anything ever that convenient?”

  “Why not?” I held the jade up. “Look at this thing—fine work, expensive. Probably some noble’s token that, uh, slipped into her powder box.”

  He gave me a look halfway between a sigh and a smirk. “You ever see lovers hide keepsakes in rouge boxes? One careless maid and the secret’s out. No one that desperate hides romance where the help can find it.”

  I frowned, a little wounded—then he froze.

  “Wait.”

  I looked up.

  He studied the jade, voice lowering. “Don’t you think the thread’s… strange?”

  I blinked. “Strange how? Just wrapped a few times and tucked in, right?”

  “Not normal wrapping.” He pointed. “That knot’s a Northern Gate Soul Bind. Used in burial clothes—to tie relics to the dead. Tell me, what girl wraps a lover’s trinket like a funeral charm?”

  I froze. “…So you’re saying this isn’t from a lover?”

  “More likely she was mourning someone. Or someone gave it to her, but not for love.”

  I rubbed my nose, embarrassed. Figures. My imagination could power ten bad novels.

  Mu didn’t tease me. He just murmured, “Still, you reminded me. Zhuo’s not a common surname. Worth checking.”

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  I nodded. “We’ll need someone who knows the local families.”

  “Brother Gu might.”

  We retraced our steps. Gu waited under the eaves, holding a scroll like he’d been expecting trouble. His expression said it all: You two did something again, didn’t you?

  Feeling guilty, I spoke first. “Brother Gu, we found something… suspicious. Mind taking a look?”

  “Suspicious?” One brow arched. “Show me.”

  I handed him the jade. “Name’s Zhuo. Any families like that around here?”

  He turned it in his fingers, eyes narrowing. “This carving… looks familiar.”

  I perked up.

  “Top-grade Yunnan jade,” he said slowly, “carved in the Snow Crane over the Peaks style. That’s the Zhuo family’s mark—official household of the Secretary-General.”

  My heart skipped. “You mean Minister Zhuo? From court?”

  Gu nodded. “Family of scholars, very proper. Everything they make’s exquisite. But…” He paused. “They moved back to the capital three years ago. Haven’t been near Chongping since. So how did this show up in Miss Liu’s box?”

  “Maybe an old keepsake,” I offered. “Someone from the Zhuos stayed here, or brought it for her…”

  Mu raised a brow but said nothing.

  Gu shook his head. “The Zhuos forbid gifting tokens to women outside the clan. And this is an official ornament. Not a lover’s trinket.”

  I gulped. There went my dramatic secret-affair-turned-murder theory. “Then maybe someone pretended it was theirs?”

  “Not necessarily.” Gu tapped the jade. “The late Mrs. Liu was from a noble capital family. She once attended poetry salons with the Zhuo family’s third daughter. The households knew each other.”

  My pulse jumped. “So this could’ve been hers—a keepsake, not Miss Liu’s?”

  Mu nodded. “Or a mourning relic. The thread seals the spirit. Down south they say: ‘Clothes return to the soul, objects carry the name of the dead.’”

  Gu agreed.

  I deflated. My grand romance theory had turned into funeral paraphernalia.

  “…So she wasn’t in love,” I muttered, “she was grieving.”

  Gu handed the jade back. “Whether it ties to the murder, we don’t know. But the meaning is sorrow, not affection.”

  I shoved it into my sleeve, palms sweaty. All that build-up for heartbreak and ghosts. Figures.

  Mu watched me stew, then said quietly, “Maybe she wasn’t haunted at all. Maybe she was protecting herself.”

  I looked up. “Protecting?”

  “She knew something. Or someone. Maybe she feared it. Played the ghost to scare her parents, to stall the marriage… or to warn them.”

  A chill crawled up my spine. “You think she knew someone was coming for her?”

  He nodded. “And she knew who.”

  “Your imagination’s darker than mine,” I said.

  “I’m not imagining,” he replied. “Just guessing.”

  Gu finally spoke. “If you want to test that guess, go tonight to Tongming Lane. Old book pavilion. Miss Liu used to visit it—said she copied poetry, but really she exchanged letters. Her maid Chun-niang fetched them every other day. She was supposed to go last night—but never did.”

  My eyes lit up. “A secret letter drop? Classic setup!”

  Mu groaned. “Don’t start.”

  “Come on! We stake out the pavilion tonight. Maybe this jade’s just the echo of a dead man’s letter!”

  Gu cleared his throat. “Tongming Lane’s under patrol. Getting in won’t be easy.”

  I grinned. “Easy’s overrated. I’ve got persistence.”

  Mu muttered, “With that face? Without luck or patrons you’d have been executed twice already.”

  “Can you not jinx me for once?”

  Gu hid a smile. “Meet me at the south corner of Tongming Lane, before midnight.”