Night fell over Chang’an, and the Jinwu Guard began its usual patrol.
The patrol officer led from the front. As he scanned the street, a cat cried somewhere nearby. Perhaps someone had startled it, or perhaps the creature was simply roaming after dark. Under Tang law, of course, no cat could be arrested for violating curfew.
Still, the officer was alert. He took one guard toward the courtyard from which the animal had leapt. A faint scent of blood reached them.
He knocked. No one answered.
With one kick, he broke open the gate.
The courtyard was pitch-black. Following the smell, he entered an open room while the guard behind him struck a firesteel.
Flame revealed the entire scene.
A man lay on the bed, dead in a brutal fashion. His clothes had been stripped away, and long scratches crossed his back as though left by claws.
On the table rested a plum-blossom pastry.
The officer went pale. “Go! Summon the Court of Judicial Review!”
A crime like this belonged in its hands.
—
Both the Chief Minister and one deputy minister of the Court of Judicial Review were away from the capital. The only senior official still in Chang’an was a newly appointed deputy minister who had not even formally reported for duty.
The Jinwu Guard had no choice but to wake her.
Few people expected much of the new official. Women rarely held office at court, and those who did were seldom entrusted with real authority. This appointment was different.
Murong Qing was the last daughter of the Murong family. Her father had once served as Minister of War, but the household had been massacred when she was very young. Though she had never cared for military texts, she possessed an extraordinary fascination with criminal cases. The Heavenly Empress, moved by her tragedy, had supported her ever since.
This year, Murong Qing became a deputy minister of the Court of Judicial Review.
Chang’an already swarmed with rumors of demons. Whenever the Jinwu Guard caught someone spreading such stories, they threw the offender into the Court’s small prison. The cells had become so crowded that most rumor-mongers were released under secret surveillance.
If this murder was not solved quickly, the public would surely blame another monster.
Murong Qing dressed in her crimson official robes, borrowed a Jinwu Guard horse, and rode to the scene. A coroner from the Court arrived before her.
Several guards waited outside. Their doubtful expressions made it plain: the new deputy minister was not only inexperienced, but a woman.
Murong Qing ignored them. Her first concern was the case—and ensuring that the Court’s reputation did not collapse in her hands.
“Where is the body?”
A guard pointed. She swept over the threshold, lifting the hem of her robe.
Her sharp gaze settled on the bed. “If I am not mistaken, this is Lord Li Ren, the Minister of Rites.”
The elderly coroner looked up and hurried to bow.
“Deputy Minister Murong.”
“You must be Elder Ning, the coroner.” She returned his respect.
He nodded. “My lady, this scene is troublesome. I found something you would never wish to see.”
Something she did not wish to see?
Her expression tightened. She took a pair of gloves from his case, stepped onto the dry straw laid beside the bed, and examined the corpse.
Elder Ning was right.
A plum-blossom sign had also appeared in the massacre of her family.
Murong Qing had refused to believe the storytellers who claimed the marks belonged to a demon that had haunted Chang’an for years. Some said they had seen a beastlike figure crouched on rooftops before curfew, staring with wide human eyes and occasionally leaving peculiar “gifts.”
“Elder Ning, we must not speak carelessly,” she said. “Lord Li’s home is far from this street. If he came here with someone, shouldn’t there be traces of a second person?”
“I thought the same. Strangely, there are none. The Jinwu Guard did not enter or disturb the room before we arrived.”
Murong Qing followed the direction of the blood spray and returned to the wounds. The five marks were equal in length, evenly spaced, and perfectly parallel—nothing like scratches from an ordinary cat.
“Are there other injuries?”
She lit her own firesteel and inspected the rest of the body, then bent toward the head.
Hooves sounded outside.
“Minister Shangguan!” a guard called.
Murong Qing knew the arrival at once.
Shangguan Jin, Minister of Justice and only son of the Shangguan family, had been raised by a mother from a renowned silk-trading house after his father died young. The loss had formed his solitary temperament. Murong Qing knew this from books and capital gossip—and had concluded it was better to keep her distance.
“You are the newly appointed Deputy Minister Murong?” His commanding voice came from the doorway, where he waited with measured courtesy.
Murong Qing rose and turned. He was tall enough that she had to lift her chin. Firelight made his handsome features and cold expression painfully clear.
She bowed without enthusiasm. “Minister Shangguan. It is rather late.”
He raised one brow. “Not particularly. In a few hours the sun will rise.”
The meaning was obvious: the case was already growing old.
Murong Qing cared deeply about her first investigation, especially with a court minister dead. She nodded and moved aside as he approached. Li Ren’s rank was enough to bring the Ministry of Justice itself.
“What condition is the corpse in?” Shangguan Jin pulled on gloves with practiced ease. “Surely the Court has completed its survey.”
Murong Qing reported each observation but withheld the most personal detail.
“A plum blossom?” he murmured.
Light flashed in his eyes. He reached out and took the burning firesteel from her hand.