The morning light came thin and pale over Qingjingzhai. Cai Zhao wrote without stopping, her brushstrokes small as insect tracks, filling strip after strip of paper. Beside her, Chang Ning ground the ink in slow circles, watching her work. "Writing to three people at once," he said finally, "looks a lot like panicking." "I'm not panicking." She didn't lift her head. "I wrote to Uncle Zhou, Master Fakong, and Master Jingyuan. Three, not all directions. And I'm not sitting here waiting. I'm making sure the right people understand my position. My father is missing. My mother is too far away to help. I'm a girl alone, and every illness I have falls on my own shoulders." She paused to shake feeling back into her fingers. "Let them know that." Chang Ning added water to the dry inkstone with a gilded spoon. "You think they'll come?" "Eventually. Not fast." She set down her brush. "Master has his...
Only two pieces of charcoal remained in the basket beside the brazier, huddled against each other like the last survivors of something. Cai Zhao dragged a stool over and sat in front of the dying heat. She fed it bamboo tiles from the floor one by one, coaxing the weak flames into something stronger. Qi Yunke had the room checked a second time. Despite being deliberately cleaned, every surface told the same story: no signs of a struggle, nothing moved or replaced. No mark on the floor, the walls, the bed frame, the chairs. Nothing. Zeng Dalou had his disciples tear through every corner of Yuelai Inn. They came back with the same blank hands. With no evidence, people began to wonder aloud if Cai Pingchun had simply walked out on his own. Qi Yunke coughed softly, brow furrowed. "Is it possible Pingchun encountered something urgent and had no choice? Because with his skill, no one could have overpowered him." Cai Zhao sat with her fingers spread toward the heat, head down...