Warning: This chapter contains scenes of violence that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

[“I’m inviting you to take a stroll through the Changsan Hall.”]

As soon as Huo Zhenye crouched down, he saw a deep red liquid seeping out from under the door, like a leak of water.

He immediately stepped back. “Da Tou, break the door!”

This type of wooden door was built to be sturdy—long planks interlocked tightly, impossible to break through. In the end, it took help from the neighbors to dismantle the wooden panels and open it up.

Inside the shop, the floor was drenched in blood. Two people lay collapsed—one in front of the door, the other by the counter.

Da Tou rushed in to check. With that much blood loss, chances of survival were slim.

Sure enough, the one near the door was already dead. He then moved toward the counter and squatted down, reaching out to check the other person’s pulse—only for his eyes to sweep behind the counter. He let out a startled yelp and toppled backward, landing on the floor.

Huo Zhenye instantly pulled out his gun and rushed in, aiming it at the counter.

Behind it, a man in a long robe sat crouched, a measuring tape looped around his neck and a large pair of tailor’s scissors in his hand.

The onlookers who had gathered at the door fled in a panic the moment they saw Huo Zhenye draw his gun.

The man under the counter was slowly and deliberately slicing at his own flesh, one snip at a time.

His eyes were fixed unblinking on Huo Zhenye and Da Tou, lips murmuring over and over: “Can’t send them off… can’t send them off…”

Da Tou had been completely thrown by the scene. He scrambled to his feet and swung his police baton at the man, who didn’t dodge at all—almost as if he didn’t even see them. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed instantly.

The constables soon arrived and took the man into custody, along with carrying out the two corpses.

After escorting them into the car, Da Tou returned and reported to Huo Zhenye: “That was Tailor Yan. Those two apprentices were likely killed by him. The wounds on their necks match his scissors exactly.”

“You can tell that?” Huo Zhenye looked a little surprised.

Da Tou scratched his head. “My grandpa used to be a coroner back in the Qing dynasty.”

That explained why he could read, and why he wasn’t fazed or disgusted by dead bodies—even ones like this, with Tailor Yan having hacked up so much flesh. It was Da Tou who cleaned it all up.

Da Tou then asked, “Could Tailor Yan have killed Tailor Zhou too? Out of jealousy for his business?”

Huo Zhenye looked down at his bloodstained leather shoes, hands in his pockets. He lifted one foot to check how bad the stain was, wondering if he’d need to change shoes when he got back.

At Da Tou’s question, he looked up and glanced at the garments hanging on the wall. “No. His business was better than Zhou’s.”

“How can you tell?”

“Zhou’s clothes were wide-cut and plain. Yan’s qipaos were slim-fitting and trendy.” These sleek, close-fitting qipaos were the type worn by dancing girls and courtesans—respectable young women wouldn’t be seen in them.

Tailor Yan’s shop was nearly covered in them. His main customers were those women—flush with cash and always chasing fashion. They needed new styles constantly, which meant more money.

“Then that means the first and this third case could be connected,” Da Tou concluded. “Tailor Wang’s case was the apprentice.”

“Someone’s dead again. I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. Maybe tonight we’ll catch that apprentice, and we’ll know if he’s the one.”

Dusk was fast approaching. Huo Zhenye was eager to get back—he didn’t want Bai Zhun entering the temple alone.

Da Tou nodded. “Alright, once Tailor Yan wakes up, I’ll call you.”

As Huo Zhenye took one last glance inside the shop, the silks and satins embroidered in gold and silver shimmered under the glow of the setting sun.

—-

Meanwhile, Bai Zhun was dawdling. The sun was about to set, and that man named Huo still hadn’t come back.

Just as Seventh Master was about to run out of patience and open the door to leave, he saw that “man named Huo” running in from the alley. Huo Zhenye was carrying a large sack of items, and when he saw Bai Zhun, he smiled. “Good thing I made it in time.”

Bai Zhun turned his face away, still wearing that look of impatience. “Hurry up. Don’t miss the auspicious time.”

Huo Zhenye, always good-natured, gently pushed him along toward the Chenghuang Temple. The closer they got to the Twin Pagodas, the darker the sky became. At the temple gates, Bai Zhun spotted a vendor selling steaming hot sweet rice wine soup.

Huo Zhenye bent down. “I figured you hadn’t eaten. Want a bowl first?”

The vendor had been waiting for a while. This young master had bought out his entire cart in one go—ordered both eggs and glutinous rice balls, had all the ingredients prepped, and asked him to set up shop right outside the Chenghuang Temple.

“I tasted it—it’s not bad. Want me to add two eggs?”

“You think I’m in postpartum confinement?” Bai Zhun rolled his eyes. “One egg.”

The egg was added fresh. When the yolk was pierced, it oozed out molten and rich. A bite and it slid smoothly into the mouth. The rice wine was sweet, the glutinous balls soft and chewy. Bai Zhun finished an entire bowl, even drinking up the sweet soup.

Huo Zhenye told the vendor to stay nearby and prepare another bowl at dawn.

“Of course, sir! Just call for me through the door whenever you’re ready to eat.”

Bai Zhun sat in a rocking chair. Huo Zhenye took off his suit jacket, hung it to the side, and rolled up his sleeves to continue painting the ceremonial robes. The deity statue had taken shape—it already looked magnificent under evening light with its robe and sash. Who knew how impressive it would be when it was officially carried through the streets.

Bai Zhun felt warm all over, his lips relaxed into a slight smile, and he drifted off to sleep. In his dream, the surroundings remained unchanged—he was still in the Chenghuang Temple. But Huo Zhenye was nowhere to be seen.

He immediately stood up and walked over to the altar in a few quick steps, lighting incense to pay respects to the gods.

Once the incense burned down, a suspended needle appeared above the altar. Before Bai Zhun could get a clear look, it vanished, and he woke up.

Huo Zhenye was chewing on a brush, standing atop a tall bamboo scaffold, looking at him with a smile. “Sleep a bit more.”

Bai Zhun frowned slightly. This was the first time he hadn’t received a clear instruction in a dream. After thinking for a moment, he sat up and asked, “What case did you run into today?”

People died—surely the constables would know.

Huo Zhenye still had the brush between his lips, his hands moving steadily as he painted the silk robe. “Two tailors are dead. I have to go to the station tomorrow to question someone.”

“If you learn anything, let me know.”

Huo Zhenye let out a laugh and dropped the brush onto the garment, smearing a streak of paint on his silver-gray waistcoat. “Worried about me?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll take it as you are.” Huo Zhenye continued painting with a bright smile. His hands were skillful, so it didn’t feel difficult—but keeping his arm raised for long periods was exhausting, even for him.

No wonder Bai Zhun always looked like a lazy cat curled by the stove during the day.

“Why the sudden interest in the case?” he asked.

“On the sixth day of the sixth lunar month, the Double Sixth Festival ^[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double_Sixth_Festival , all the city’s tailors gather at the Chenghuang Temple to display their robes and offer needles,” 

Bai Zhun replied—not quite lying. “If tailors are dying, of course I have to get involved.”

“All right, I’ll dig into the case properly tomorrow.”

Early the next morning, Huo Zhenye headed out. Bai Zhun was still asleep in bed. Seeing he hadn’t woken up, Huo Zhenye grabbed the little yellow finch.

The finch opened its beak, unable to make a sound, struggling to escape Huo Zhenye’s hand so it could fly over to red-crowned canary.

Huo Zhenye tapped its fluffy little head. “This won’t do. You brought him roses—what’s the point of that? You should’ve brought egg yolk mixed with millet.”

Ah Jiu had a sudden realization. It affectionately pecked at Huo Zhenye’s finger with its beak.

“Heh, you little opportunist. All right, I’ll prepare some for you when we head back tonight.”

The finch hopped right onto Huo Zhenye’s shoulder.

Tailor Yan had already regained consciousness, but though he was awake, he had gone mad.

“Young Master Huo, I’ll take you to see him,” said Da Tou, clearly at a loss for how to explain the situation.

Tailor Yan had his back to the iron bars, crouched in his cell, smearing something on the walls layer by layer. In the dim prison light, it was hard to tell whether he was writing or drawing.

“Mr. Yan?” Huo Zhenye spoke to him through the cell door.

There was no response. Yan continued moving his fingers on the wall in endless strokes, muttering under his breath, “Mr. Qin wants a pipa collar… the pipa collar accentuates the waist… Miss Su wants a double front with ruyi trim…”

Huo Zhenye frowned and stepped closer. That’s when he realized Tailor Yan wasn’t drawing with a brush—he was using his fingers to sketch the patterns of cheongsam fastenings on all three walls of the cell. His skin had been torn open; blood was dripping down.

“He bit them himself,” said Da Tou, stepping back half a pace. “Once the blood clots, he bites them open again.”

Only then did Huo Zhenye fully understand what it meant for someone to have lost their mind.

Nothing useful could be coaxed from him. The two apprentices had died under his scissors. Huo Zhenye’s brow furrowed. “Da Tou, keep a close eye on him. Note anything he says.”

“Got it, Young Master Huo.” Da Tou grinned. “I caught someone last night.”

It was the apprentice working under Shopkeeper Wang. When word got out that there had been two more murders on Jinxiu Street, he’d snuck out in the night to climb in through the lady boss’s window—and they caught him on the spot.

They hadn’t even started beating him before he confessed everything. He’d never left Shanghai. The lady boss met with him in secret often. They had planned it together—getting rid of Shopkeeper Wang.

When they heard Tailor Zhou was dead, they seized the opportunity. Just like the Courtesan Queen case—serial killings to muddy the waters, so no one would trace it back to them. They’d wait another month, sell off everything, and run away together.

What they didn’t expect was for Huo Zhenye to see right through them immediately.

Huo Zhenye looked into the cell again. “Give him paper and ink to draw with.” Tailor Yan’s fingers were ruined. Even if his madness could be cured, he’d never make another cheongsam.

The Wang case was solved, but whether the Zhou and Yan cases were connected remained unknown.

“Didn’t we catch Zhou’s senior apprentice? Bring him in for questioning.”

Zhou’s senior apprentice had taken a beating, his face swollen and bruised. Shaking, he said, “I really told you everything. Master was working on a cheongsam nonstop those few days! He even had meals brought to his door!”

“What was Tailor Yan’s relationship with your master usually like?”

“They never really got along… but a few days ago, Master Yan suddenly gave my master a bolt of fabric. My master was over the moon.”

Tailor Yan was a master at crafting cheongsams. No matter the material, he could turn it into the most flattering dress for its wearer.

A courtesan from Changsan Hall had once brought him a piece of French lace. Lace was typically used for Western-style dresses, but Tailor Yan had lined it with the thinnest silk and made her a lace cheongsam.

That was when his name really took off. The girls of Changsan Hall began vying to have him make their new outfits.

Zhou had always tried to outdo Yan, though Yan had always laughed behind his back, calling him delusional. Why, then, would he suddenly give him fabric?

“What kind of fabric?”

“A really beautiful one,” the apprentice said, his face turning dreamy at the memory. “One side white, the other red… light and thin, like electric silk.”

Tailor Zhou had caught the apprentice sneaking a look at the fabric and flew into a rage.

“He said the fabric was so precious he had to make the clothes himself. We weren’t even allowed to look at it,” the apprentice said, then burst into tears again. “I really didn’t kill anyone.”

Huo Zhenye tapped the confession book with his pen and asked Da Tou, “Is that fabric still around?”

Da Tou shook his head. “No, the table at the scene was empty.”

“Did Tailor Yan ever mention where he got the fabric?”

The apprentice thought for a long time. That day, Tailor Yan had seemed downcast when he brought the fabric over to Tailor Zhou. Zhou had prepared wine and food, but Yan left in a hurry.

After that, Yan didn’t open his door for days, saying he was ill.

“He said… he said it was a girl from Changsan Hall who gave it to him.”

As soon as Huo Zhenye left the interrogation room, he asked Da Tou, “Anything happen recently over at Changsan Hall?”

Da Tou chuckled. “Young Master Huo, even if a girl dies in a place like that, no one reports it.” If one died, then she died. They’d just drag the body out and bury it. Who’d file a report over a courtesan? The place still had business to run.

Looked like he’d have to pay a visit after all. The thought of going to Changsan Hall made Huo Zhenye’s scalp prickle. He bought a box of pastries on his way home.

Bai Zhun was watering flowers in the courtyard. Even that, he did like playing a game—watering more when in a good mood, and just a few drops when not.

Huo Zhenye was a little nervous. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“For what?”

“I’d like to take you on a trip to Changsan Hall.”

Bai Zhun lifted the watering can and squinted at him.