[He just couldn’t send away the one he loved]

“A coffin?” Huo Zhenye made a mental note of it and planned to tell Bai Zhun later.

Da Tou added, “Young Master Huo, could you come to the constable’s office? There’s a case we’d like you to take a look at.”

“What case?” Huo Zhenye asked, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear while paying the owner of the tobacco and wine shop. He said in a low voice, “Please get me some more candy and chocolate.”

Bai Zhun went through those especially fast.

The shop owner took the money and smiled warmly. “The Sullivan Candy Company again, right?” Only Mr. Huo bought these every day. If not for you, the shop wouldn’t even stock them.

Huo Zhenye nodded, listening as Da Tou described the case.

“Two tailors are dead.”

“How far apart were the murders?”

“One day.” After the last missing child case, Da Tou remembered clearly how Huo Zhenye had found the clues. If a case had any resemblance, there had to be some connection.

“And how did they die?” Huo Zhenye glanced sideways and noticed the shop owner’s son ducking behind the counter.

He smiled faintly, turned around, leaned against the counter, and flicked a cigarette from his silver case. Taking advantage of being outside, he lit up and took a couple of drags. “Go on.”

“Strangled.”

Huo Zhenye took another drag, then stubbed the cigarette out with his fingers. “I’m busy in the evenings these days. I’ll stop by the constable’s office this afternoon.” He had to help Bai Zhun craft ceremonial paper robes at night.

“Got it.”

After hanging up, Huo Zhenye walked through the long alleyway, returning to the Bai family’s small house.

The kids playing in the alley saw him carrying a clay pot and a paper bag, and they all gathered around. Huo Zhenye smiled, bent down, and let each of them grab a handful of candy from the paper bag.

“Don’t take too many of these.” He pointed at the candies wrapped in colorful cellophane—Bai Zhun’s favorite.

The children looked at each other, grinning, and tossed some of the clear fruit candies back into the bag.

Bai Zhun was asleep in bed, still half-dreaming. Outside, he could hear the glass wind chimes Ah Xiu had strung up ringing gently—ding-dong, a crisp chime, followed by another as it turned in the breeze.

Along the foot of the courtyard wall was a row of flowerpots in red, yellow, white, and green. Some were blooming; some hadn’t yet budded. Huo Zhenye had brought them all back. One of the pots held an epiphyllum cactus, with five or six buds—almost ready to bloom.

A wire cage hung by the wall, housing a red-crowned white-rumped canary. It was about the size of a paper finch, with a red patch on its forehead, a soft rose hue on its chest, and a ring of fluffy white down around its waist. It chirped constantly from within the cage.

Ever since it arrived at the Bai household, the little yellow finch had been circling the cage, perching on top, sometimes even carrying flower petals and leaves from the courtyard to drop inside—trying to court the bird.

But the canary paid the finch no mind. At first, it had shown interest in the golden-winged bird, but no matter how it sang, the finch never replied.

It was a mute bird. The canary eventually turned its head away and gave up.

Bai Zhun almost laughed in his sleep. The smile broke across his face—and woke him up.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. His bamboo wheelchair rolled into the hall with a clatter. On the table, the clay pot had already been set out. Huo Zhenye had his sleeves rolled up, setting out chopsticks.

“You’re up? Go wash up—the tofu won’t be any good once it gets cold.”

The tofu had soaked up all the savory broth; a light touch of the chopsticks split it in two. He scooped up a piece and paired it with freshly steamed rice. The soup soaked through the rice. Bai Zhun dipped a spoonful in the broth and took a bite—without realizing it, he’d already eaten half a bowl.

Huo Zhenye put the lid back on the pot, stern as ever: “No more for you.”

After living with Bai Zhun for a few days, he had come to understand just how delicate Seventh Master Bai was. One bite too many and he’d feel bloated; one bite too few and his stomach would ache. He could drink at most one bottle of iced soda a day—any more and it would upset his stomach.

Bai Zhun slowly put down his spoon. Full and satisfied, he went out to the courtyard to water the flowers and aid digestion.

“Your senior brother left the city with the coffin.”

“I know.” Bai Zhun lowered his gaze. His senior made paper offerings for countless wandering souls, yet could not send off the one he loved.

Huo Zhenye respectfully asked for leave, as always: “I’m going to the constable’s office this afternoon, but I’ll definitely be back tonight to go to the temple with you.”

“You think I need your company?”

“Of course you don’t. But didn’t we say we’d have sweet rice wine together afterward?”

Bai Zhun lifted the flower kettle and turned away to water the plants. Huo Zhenye checked the time—it was about right—so he prepared to head out. He patted his shoulder and called, “Ah Jiu, come here.”

Ah Jiu couldn’t hear. Ah Jiu was still circling the cage, offering rose petals to the red-crowned canary.

So Huo Zhenye had to walk over and scoop the little finch into his hand. “Let’s go.”

Driving with one hand, he spoke to the sulking little bird perched on the dashboard. “How about I get you a new dark-green white-eye?”

The little yellow finch pecked the back of his hand with its beak. Huo Zhenye chuckled and rubbed its head. “No dark-green white-eye? How about a lovebird? Red beak, green feathers, and a splash of red on its chest.”

The finch turned its backside to him, ignoring him completely.

Da Tou was already waiting outside the constable’s office. As soon as Huo Zhenye parked, he ran up and got into the car. They drove straight to the scene.

Others investigated cases by interrogating suspects first, but not Young Master Huo. He always looked at the scene before anything else.

“That street is almost all fabric sellers and tailors. The two shops are barely ten meters apart.” Two tailors dead in three days—now none of the shops dared open.

“Any suspects?”

“The first case had a suspect—a young apprentice. We’ve already brought him in. But the second murder happened after that.” It reminded Da Tou of the Courtesan Queen case.

“In both cases, the doors were shut. They died inside their shops. No outsiders came in.” The shops were sealed with wooden planks. If someone had messed with them at night, the neighbors would’ve heard.

Huo Zhenye parked by the side of the road and looked at the distance between the two shops. They really were close—just a few steps apart. He also checked all the alleyways behind the stores. “Which one was first?”

“This one.”

Da Tou pointed. Huo Zhenye walked into the shop in a few strides, and as soon as he entered, he frowned. There was a faint, nearly imperceptible smell of blood—only noticeable if you really focused.

He asked Da Tou, “Do you smell anything?”

Da Tou flared his nostrils and sniffed a few times. “No. Maybe it’s just mothballs?”

There were lots of finished garments in the shop, along with fabric brought by customers for tailoring. Every tailor’s shop stored mothballs and camphor to prevent mold.

“It’s not that.” Huo Zhenye walked deeper inside. Tailor Zhou had two apprentices—one about seventeen or eighteen, the other just a little over ten. The older one had been taken in as a suspect and was still being held at the constable’s office.

The younger one stayed behind to watch the shop. With the owner dead, he had nowhere else to go. He sat in the store with a gloomy face.

Tailoring shops often had complicated relationships, but Tailor Zhou never owed rent, never quarreled with anyone, and was known to be honest. He’d never been caught skimming materials, and his cheongsams had a good reputation on that street.

Huo Zhenye looked at the young apprentice. He was about the same age as the kids in Yuqing Alley, yet already earning a living.

“Did your master act strange in the days before his death?”

The scent of blood inside was simply too strong.

The boy spoke with a bit of an accent. He thought for a while before answering: “Master was making a cheongsam these past few days. He never left the shop.”

He led them to the tailor’s private workspace. Chalk, scissors, and thread littered the table; finished garments hung on the walls. This was where the body had been found.

“He worked alone? Didn’t ask you to help?”

“He said he wanted to do it all himself.”

Huo Zhenye walked around the room and even checked the fabric storage room. Besides the smell of blood, there was nothing unusual. “Let’s go to the second shop.”

Tailor Wang, the second victim, not only made clothes but also sold fabric. He had a young apprentice too, and a wife.

As soon as she saw Huo Zhenye, her eyes lit up. She scanned him from head to toe, a smile flickering at the corners of her eyes—then her expression dropped.

“Sir.”

“What are you doing here?” Huo Zhenye asked.

The shopkeeper’s wife covered her mouth with a handkerchief and faked a few sobs. “Waiting for customers to come collect their clothes and fabric. My husband’s dead. There’s no future left for us in Shanghai. I’ll have to go back to the countryside.”

As she spoke, she kept sneaking glances at Huo Zhenye. Her arched eyebrows trembled—just on the verge of tears.

Huo Zhenye’s expression didn’t change. “Only three people worked in the shop?”

The shopkeeper’s wife sat up straighter and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “There used to be an apprentice, but he was slow and useless—no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get it. So we sent him back to the countryside.”

“How long ago?”

“A month? I don’t really remember.” Just then, someone came to pick up some fabric. Even they didn’t dare step inside the tailor shop. The shopkeeper’s wife quickly got up to tend to them.

Huo Zhenye stepped further into the shop. There was no smell of blood here. In fact, there was a scent that shouldn’t have been present at all.

“Young Master Huo, I smell it!” Da Tou took a few deep sniffs. “There’s a perfume smell!”

Huo Zhenye raised his brows slightly. “Yes, perfume. And not the cheap kind—only French perfumes have this kind of lasting fragrance.” Master Wang had just died the night before last, and the shopkeeper’s wife was already happily spritzing perfume the very next day.

“Go ask around when that apprentice actually left Shanghai—and what his relationship with the boss lady really was.”

Da Tou chuckled. “We already did. The neighbors all say the shopkeeper’s wife had a shady relationship with the apprentice.”

It was actually the younger apprentice who spilled the beans. He’d once said that whenever the master wouldn’t wash the mistress’s feet, it was the apprentice who did it. And then asked, “When I grow up, will I have to wash her feet too?”

That made Master Wang so furious he beat the boy with a rattan stick and threw him out. His belongings were scattered all over the street. The shopkeeper’s wife had stood at the open window yelling: “So it’s fine for you to sneak off to your stinkin’ brothel, but I can’t even get my feet washed?!”

But the apprentice really had been gone for a month. Everyone on the street saw him leave with his things. And the shopkeeper’s wife? She didn’t look like she had the strength to strangle a grown man to death.

Even so, she had actually settled down after that—became tender and attentive to her husband. Everyone said the tigress had turned into a house cat.

“If the apprentice has really gone, why’s she still wearing perfume?” Huo Zhenye went upstairs in a few steps and pushed open the bedroom door. Standing at the threshold, he scanned the room and pointed to the foot of the bed. “If he really left, what’s this rope tied to the bedpost for?”

The rope was near the window, and that window didn’t face the street—it faced the alley. Someone could’ve climbed up from there.

Huo Zhenye didn’t want to go into a woman’s room. He was afraid of picking up the perfume scent—Bai Zhun’s nose was sharper than a dog’s. If he caught a whiff, there’d be hell to pay.

Da Tou stepped in and opened the window. Sure enough, there were frayed marks in the middle of the rope. The building was short—just a few hops and someone could scale the wall and climb in through the window.

That man had never left Shanghai. He’d waited for Tailor Wang to sneak off to the brothel, then climbed in to sleep with his wife.

“Don’t tip them off. Stay here a few nights and stake it out. You’ll catch him eventually. Once you bring them in, it’ll be easy to find out whether they conspired to kill him or not.” The shop was already being sold off, the fabric liquidated. To the shopkeeper’s wife and the apprentice, each other was a fat prize. They were bound to run off together.

“Then the two cases aren’t connected?” Da Tou looked troubled.

“Keep looking around—see if you can find another lead.” Huo Zhenye walked to the edge of the street. The little yellow finch had been perched on his shoulder this whole time, but unlike its usual lively self, it sat there with its head drooped, not moving.

As Huo Zhenye strolled along the street, the bird suddenly lifted its head, flew to a closed shop, and tapped its beak against the wooden door.

Huo Zhenye followed. “You think there’s something wrong here?”

The little yellow bird nodded.

Huo Zhenye knocked on the door. No one responded.

The fabric seller next door heard the sound and stepped out. “Old Yan hasn’t opened his shop in days.”

Through the crack in the door, Huo Zhenye caught a strong, overwhelming scent of blood.

Author’s Note:
Ah Jiu: Even heartbroken, I’m still a competent little bird!