Chapter 4: Murder, Manipulation & A Dancer's Price

 

Ji Bozai sneezed without warning.

Across from him, Yan Xiao waved his fan with theatrical flourish and quipped, "Has your romantic escapade already manifested as a cold? That must be a new record even for you."

"Bite your tongue," Ji Bozai retorted with irritation sharpening his words. "If I were in your position, I'd be praying fervently that nothing happens to me—because this entire mess will land squarely on your shoulders. Let's see how you'd manage it then."

The reminder drained all amusement from Yan Xiao's expression. He released a helpless sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "What extraordinary luck I possess. Just as I'd arranged three blissful days of leisure, two of the three physicians at Baicao Hall turn up dead."

"Isn't that perfect for you?" Ji Bozai's tone dripped with sardonic humor. "With two senior doctors conveniently deceased, you can immediately assume their positions. Your motive for murder is arguably stronger than any of those dancing girls."

Yan Xiao's fanning motion froze mid-arc. He leaped forward to clamp his hand over Ji Bozai's mouth, expression caught between anger and reluctant amusement. "Just because that little beauty showed me the slightest favoritism yesterday, you'd baselessly accuse me of murder like this!"

Ji Bozai brushed away the offending hand, fixing him with a glacial stare. "Who said she favored you? She's residing in my courtyard now."

"You may possess the person, but you'll never capture the heart," Yan Xiao lamented with exaggerated melancholy. "I can already envision how that poor beauty must be weeping in your courtyard, mourning her lost opportunity with a truly sensitive man."

Ji Bozai rose to leave.

"Hey, hey, good brother, let's abandon that topic entirely," Yan Xiao hastily pressed him back down, abandoning his theatrical posturing. "I'm skilled in medicine, certainly, but my knowledge of poisons pales compared to your expertise. The judicial officer isn't requesting poison identification from me—that's your domain. Please, assist me in this matter."

The situation was grim. The chopsticks of those who'd perished at last night's banquet had all been coated with poison. The substance didn't dissolve in water, possessed a light purple hue, and carried no detectable odor. He'd spent hours searching through medical texts but found no relevant records.

Ji Bozai accepted the silver tray with languid grace, barely glancing at the purple powder. "This is merely Wuyou grass."

Yan Xiao's jaw slackened. "You identified it at a single glance?"

"That's precisely why I call you a quack," he sneered with casual cruelty. "I was identifying poisons while you were still wandering provincial towns swindling desperate peasants."

With the mystery solved, Yan Xiao didn't bother defending his wounded pride over such a minor victory. He immediately dispatched a servant to inform the judicial officer.

"Wuyou grass grows exclusively within palace grounds," Yan Xiao mused, his physician's mind already constructing theories. "The culprit must be among the dancers who attended the banquet. Only they could move freely among guests without arousing suspicion or question." He paused, brow furrowing. "But most dancers are raised and controlled by the Grand Secretariat. Why would they employ such an elaborate method to eliminate a few powerless old ministers when they could simply order their execution directly?"

"You're a physician, not a judicial investigator," Ji Bozai observed while standing. "Why burden yourself with such exhausting speculation? If there's nothing else requiring my attention, I'll be returning home."

Still lost in contemplation, Yan Xiao merely waved dismissively.

Cursing his friend's distracted rudeness under his breath, Ji Bozai departed the inner court alone.

The murder investigation had thrown both the palace grounds and city streets into lockdown. Everyone faced interrogation, guards questioned movement at every checkpoint—the oppressive atmosphere grated on Ji Bozai's nerves, motivating his early return to his private residence.

As he crossed the threshold, Ji Bozai's eyebrow lifted with involuntary appreciation.

Ming Yi wore a jade-colored gauze skirt, its silken hem spread across the couch with studied artistry, resembling a flower in full bloom. The waistline cinched dramatically, accented by a lotus-pink silk ribbon that emphasized her impossibly slender waist. Her upper body was wrapped in a perfectly fitted gauze top—not a fraction too revealing, not a whisper too modest.

She appeared engrossed in reading. Even this late in the day, her eyebrows and lips remained impeccably groomed. Her eyes sparkled with animated intelligence, her cheeks carried just the right dusting of powder, and the candlelight fell at precisely the angle to add an ethereal touch of gentleness to her carefully arranged features.

Hearing movement at the entrance, she glanced up. Her expression displayed exactly the perfect blend of pleasant surprise and maidenly shyness. "My lord, you've returned?"

Having navigated countless romantic entanglements, Ji Bozai found it trivially easy to see through her transparent manipulations. Her makeup had obviously been refreshed mere moments before his arrival, and the artful curve of her skirt had been meticulously arranged.

Yet he still found the performance pleasing. What man truly dislikes watching a beautiful woman expend tremendous effort to capture his attention?

So he casually pulled her into his arms with practiced ease. "Did you miss me?"

Color flooded Ming Yi's face—whether genuine or performed, he couldn't quite tell. She nestled against him with feigned obedience. "My lord remains occupied with weighty affairs of state. How could I selfishly presume to disturb your important work?"

The words were appropriately considerate, but something felt lacking. A performance hitting all the correct notes while missing the underlying melody.

Ji Bozai settled into his seat, gently lifting her chin to examine her expression more closely. "Still harboring thoughts about that third-rank official?"

Internal panic seized her, though only a flicker crossed her features. She hurriedly shook her head with convincing vehemence. "How could that possibly be? Now that I've accompanied you, my lord, you occupy my heart entirely."

"You're lying," he murmured, eyes narrowing with predatory focus.

She scratched awkwardly at her brow, mumbling with guilty transparency, "You should at least grant me some time to adjust emotionally..."

"Perfect timing, then," he said with dangerous mildness. "There's been a murder within the inner court. The authorities wish to interrogate all dancers who attended yesterday's banquet. Why don't I send you back? You can assist with their investigation while simultaneously... adjusting."

"A murder?" Genuine shock blanched her carefully rouged face. "Who died?"

"The physicians from Baicao Hall," he observed her reaction with clinical interest. "Do you know them?"

Ming Yi shook her head with emphatic repetition. "No, absolutely not."

She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her features. "Why would they suspect the dancers specifically?"

"Those two men died directly beneath the Grand Secretariat's watchful gaze without raising a single alarm," he explained while idly playing with her waistband. "Who else but the dancers could have administered poison so seamlessly? You attended yesterday's festivities. They'll likely summon you for questioning shortly."

"Please, no," her face crumpled with desperate appeal. "Anyone with eyes can see I lack the constitution for murder. Please, my lord, exercise reason."

When anxiety seized her, the tip of her nose flushed pink and her eyes grew luminous with unshed tears—vulnerability that made her appear heartbreakingly easy to victimize.

Ji Bozai regarded her with a hint of cruel amusement dancing in his expression. "If you didn't kill anyone, what do you have to fear?"

Ming Yi teetered on the edge of actual tears. Her delicate fingers clutched desperately at his robes as she shook her head with increasing franticness. "I'm terrified of the prison cells. They're filthy and pitch black, crawling with insects and rats the size of cats. Even a brief confinement would destroy me. Please, my lord, show mercy."

Ji Bozai watched her mounting distress with leisure, waiting until genuine tears threatened to spill before pulling her onto his lap in a single fluid motion. He stroked her chin with teasing gentleness. "With my protection, what is there to fear?"

Relief washed visibly across her features. Ming Yi finally relaxed, melting against him with soft acquiescence, nuzzling his neck with calculated coquettishness. "You frightened me terribly..."

This was precisely the response he'd orchestrated—deliberate intimidation followed by strategic reassurance.

Ji Bozai, having navigated romantic battlefields for years, understood human psychology with surgical precision. This girl had arrived uncertain, lacking clear allegiances or understanding of power dynamics. She required calculated fear to establish proper dependence.

Now she nestled obediently against him, offering neither resistance nor evasion. Her slender arms wound around his neck as if terrified he might abandon her.

A textbook demonstration of successful manipulation.

However, despite the intimate atmosphere, he later summoned Xun Mama privately for her assessment.

Xun Mama delivered her report with characteristic efficiency: "This girl hasn't contacted anyone outside the residence, nor has she engaged in any suspicious activities. Her background checks as clean, origins fully verifiable. She simply talks incessantly."

Ji Bozai cared only about the security implications. As for her excessive talkativeness—that would only matter for a few days. Once his interest inevitably waned, she could chatter endlessly; he wouldn't be present to hear it regardless.

So he asked only, "What are her preferences?"

Xun Mama pursed her lips with barely concealed judgment. "Gold, silver, jade, precious gemstones—she covets them all without discrimination."

Women displaying greed for wealth wasn't unusual, but encountering someone so brazenly transparent about it represented a first even for Ji Bozai's extensive experience. Others understood that monetary obsession appeared vulgar and would at least perform some pretense of disinterest. This girl, however, advertised her mercenary nature openly, as if concerned others might somehow miss noticing.

That actually worked in his favor. A straightforward transaction—he could certainly afford whatever price she set. As long as she didn't develop inconvenient emotional attachments afterward, everything remained negotiable.

Which raised an interesting question: How much did this calculating little dancer believe a night of pleasure was worth?

He found himself genuinely curious about her assessment of her own value.

Side Note:

Wuyou Grass

In Chinese literary tradition, Wuyou (忘忧) literally means "forget worry"—a darkly ironic name for a lethal poison. That such a substance grows exclusively in palace gardens suggests either imperial cultivation for political purposes, or perhaps something more sinister. The fact that Ji Bozai recognizes it instantly while the court physician doesn't reveals interesting hierarchies of forbidden knowledge.

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