The old man inclined his head ever so slightly.

  “Since you’ve already entered my Huaisu Hall, there’s no need to hide behind courtesy,” he said, voice even, words measured. “You must be the clerk Gu. I trust you know your limits. If you’re here to examine my daughter’s letters, I won’t stop you. But I ask that you not disturb the peace of my hall.”

  I quickly bowed. “Forgive us, Master Li. We meant no offense. But this case involves a death shrouded in doubt—Miss Liu’s passing was no simple matter. If Huaisu Hall holds the key, then forgive our intrusion.”

  Hallmaster Li brushed a layer of dust from his sleeve, stepping past us toward the table. His gaze landed on the half-opened letter, and his voice turned heavy.

  “Qing was frail since birth. Physicians declared she wouldn’t live past eighteen. She knew her fate well, and forbade anyone to harbor improper affections for her. That third son of the Zhuo family—yes, they were childhood friends, and there was once a marriage contract. But she told me she would dissolve it herself.”

  “Then all those rumors—” I began.

  “People love to weave tales,” he interrupted softly. “Qing never wished to marry. Her only true friend was that young Miss Liu. They met as girls, and were close ever after. If you check the accounts, you’ll find Miss Liu often left home at midnight under the excuse of ‘copying scriptures.’ In truth, she came here—to read with Qing through the night.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “So… were they—?”

  Hallmaster Li’s gaze cut to me like a blade.

  “You’re asking whether their bond was of the forbidden kind?”

  I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  It was Mu who stepped forward, tone calm and respectful.

  “Whatever that bond may have been, sincerity leaves its trace. Since you know the truth, Master Li, tell us this—was the jade clasp truly a gift from the Zhuo family?”

  Hallmaster Li’s expression darkened. After a pause, he shook his head.

  “It belonged to Qing, yes, and it did come from the Zhuos—but not as a token of betrothal. She heard the third son had gone missing in battle. Quietly, she bound the clasp with red thread, wrote him an elegy, and hid it beneath her rouge box. Said she’d entrust it to the one she trusted most.”

  “That person…” I murmured. “Was Miss Liu?”

  He said nothing, only glanced at the letter in our hands, eyes dim as dying coals.

  I swallowed. “Then this letter—was it written to Li Qing?”

  His gaze lifted again, and for a heartbeat, grief flickered there—grief too old to name.

  “That letter is from another time,” he said slowly. “The two girls were close, but I never pried into their matters.”

  He turned, raising the lamp. “It’s late. Huaisu Hall has long been closed to guests. You’ve seen what you came for—now, please go. There are old manuscripts to tend, and this place is not for lingering.”

  “Master Li—” Gu began, but the old man was already moving, pushing open the side door.

  “This hall is humble,” he said. “Forgive me for not offering tea. The wind rises tonight. Best head back.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The meaning was clear: Leave.

  Mu and I exchanged a look. We’d pressed as far as we could. With reluctant bows, we stepped outside.

  The hall’s lights dimmed behind us, swallowed by shadow.

  In the courtyard, old locust trees whispered in the wind, their branches brushing against the eaves. Moonlight dappled the ground like faded ink stains.

  At the far corner, a vine clung to the brick wall—lush, vigorous, too vigorous. The wall beneath it was spotless, not a single fallen leaf in sight.

  And the small door beside it… its bronze ring gleamed like new.

  By the time we left the alley, the chill had crept into my spine.

  “Hey,” I murmured, “did anyone else feel like… that old man was off?”

  “Evasive,” Mu said flatly. “Claims he ‘never pried,’ yet somehow knows the clasp’s origin, the red thread, even the exact way it was tied.”

  Gu didn’t answer, eyes distant in thought.

  My brain, of course, went sprinting straight off the rails. “Wait—what if it’s a classic tragic-romance setup? Li Qing and Miss Liu fall in forbidden love, the Zhuos find out, scandal explodes—family honor, rage, forbidden vows, cue the double death!”

  Mu gave me a look. “You’ve been reading too many cheap paperbacks.”

  “Or—or maybe,” I pressed on, “Hallmaster Li lost his daughter and snapped! He blamed Miss Liu, set up some creepy vengeance plot, spread ghost rumors to cover it up—boom, murder mystery!”

  “Stop.” Mu cut me off with a glare. “First you accuse the Zhuos, then Hallmaster Li. What’s next? Ghost assassins? Evil twins?”

  “I mean…” I shrugged. “You saw those eyes, right? Shady as my mom’s when she caught me stealing cured pork—uh, I mean, definitely suspicious!”

  My system chimed in dryly:

  Your logic is a disgrace to investigation. If Hallmaster Li were the killer, why keep the letters? Why leave the jade clasp at all?

  “Okay, fine!” I muttered. “Then maybe—Miss Liu loved Zhuo instead! Li Qing was obsessed, couldn’t handle rejection, died tragically, and Liu—uh—lost her mind from guilt!”

  Illogical, the system snapped. A ‘guilty lover’ doesn’t guard her friend’s keepsake like a relic.

  “Ugh! Fine! Maybe she loved both!” I threw up my hands. “Triangle of doom, messy emotions, classic setup—”

  Gu finally cut in, tone mild as frost.

  “If you wish to tell stories, next time spare yourself the trouble of breaking into private homes. Write a novel instead.”

  I hunched my shoulders and rubbed the tip of my nose, swallowing my pride—and the urge to argue.

  “I was just… talking nonsense,” I muttered. “But what if Li Qing faked her death to escape a marriage?”

  Gu Zixu frowned. “Escape what marriage?”

  I straightened up, trying to sound serious. “The one with Young Master Zhuo, of course. Sure, everyone says he’s a fine gentleman, but maybe Li Qing didn’t like him. The engagement was arranged, she couldn’t refuse, so she pulled the oldest trick in the book—fake her death! A bottle of potion, a straw mat, a quiet burial in the back courtyard—classic.”

  Mu Cangli gave me a flat look. “Then why did Miss Liu have to die?”

  I paused mid-thought. “…Uh. Because she found out the truth! Tried to help Li Qing run, but the Li family caught wind of it. They killed her to keep her quiet. Tragic, bloody, makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

  Mu didn’t respond immediately. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Still, you accidentally hit one useful point.”

  I perked up. “Which one?”

  “Li Qing’s death—might not be real.”

  That shut me right up.

  Gu nodded slowly. “Hallmaster Li dodged too many questions. And notice—he never allowed an autopsy.”

  “You mean…” I whispered, “she is still alive? She was hidden?”

  “Or sent away,” Mu said. “Only a few would know.”

  Gu’s eyes glinted in the dark. “We need the burial records. The coffin, if it exists. Whether anyone saw her body—or her, alive.”

  I grinned. “So what now?”

  “Back to the Liu estate,” he said. “There’s someone we haven’t questioned. Someone who might know every secret those two ever shared.”

  “Who?”

  “Liu’s maid—Chun-niang. If anyone knows what really happened, it’s her.”

  I cracked my knuckles, excitement bubbling again. “Perfect. Let’s grab her before sunrise!”

  Mu shot me a look. “Don’t say it like we’re staging a robbery.”

  “Hey,” I protested, “it’s called investigation! Life, death, love, lies—we’re chasing ‘em all!”

  He sighed. “And yet somehow, I feel robbed already.”