Chapter 36: An Encounter with Evil Spirits

The two’s call-and-response was far more seamless than Jiang Man had imagined.

She’d never imagined she had the talent to make pretense real—or perhaps Huailou simply conducted it so well, nourishing things silently, that even Jiang Man’s clumsy performance was invisibly embellished.

Huailou said only that the Female Scribe found it improper and wished to engage a Coroner to examine—saying not a word on why it was improper or where. Jiang Man played one with opinions yet unable to decide, lingering behind Huailou, brows faintly knit, saying nothing.

Several lanterns shifted the light and shadow on the corridor crowd’s faces; amid it, Jiang Man delivered her line of preserving the greater good and letting matters rest.

Whereupon someone promptly rose “duty-bound.”

After much back-and-forth, Huailou played the embarrassed party. Thorough as she was—a member of the garden’s staff, attending at Shen Wen’s side—many deferred to her, and she in turn owed many a face. In the end Huailou left a crack in the wall: tomorrow they would merely go and invite; if any among the Coroners were willing to work things slightly, take leave and make the trip, it needn’t truly come to reporting to the authorities.

Night was deep now; even if a scheming heart had stirred, the guilty would toss and turn in dread until the small hours before slipping out at first light to run their errands. Jiang Man bade Huailou good night; only when the crowd dispersed and Shen Wen had returned to the Main Residence to rest did the moment of sound sleep finally arrive.

Early the next day, Jiang Man went out with Huailou.

Though the Metropolitan Examination had fully ended, outside the Examination Hall it was still bustling. Past Yanqiao Bridge, they walked the great thoroughfare. Lin’an’s bridges were legion; each one crossed, the surroundings grew livelier by another degree. Jiang Man could hardly take it all in—this was, after all, the Ministry of Rites Examination Hall, where the realm’s scholars converged. Guesthouses, bookshops, stationers’ shops stood row upon row, dazzling the eye, drawing from her involuntary wonder at the Provisional Imperial Capital’s splendor.

The Shen Family wasn’t the only one holding flowing banquets here. Some households of lesser wealth yet hospitable heart had servants dragging handcarts, led by one foreman, gifting passing candidates fresh vegetables and fragrant fruits. Near North Bridge, Jiang Man even saw a family giving out candles—one pressed into the hand of every passerby, a bow, then on to the next. Truly open-handed.

Here and there, crowds thronged. Viewing from a bridge’s height, Jiang Man noticed that at their center was usually a writing desk, many young men in scholar’s dress clustered around, having the one at the desk write something. She took them for fortune-tellers—but after watching a while, she heard Huailou laugh.

She turned; Huailou said, “Outside the Examination Hall, every manner of schemer gathers—those wagering on careers, swindlers, son-in-law snare-setters, heart-winners. Which kind has Miss Xiaojiu taken a fancy to?”

Jiang Man said softly, “This servant would naturally fancy only what the Female Scribe needs.”

Huailou looked at her and said no more. “We’re nearly at the gate.”

“Yes.” Jiang Man nodded and looked no more.

She had thought too simply before. Of Jiang Ling’s close friends, some she knew only by courtesy name, some only by surname, never having met a single face. The scholars outside the Ministry of Rites Examination Hall could be counted by the ten thousand—to find any one of them was like fishing a needle from the sea.

If she could truly apply herself here, staying days, asking everyone she met, there’d doubtless be results. But then the commotion would be too great—and if the owner of that Clear Heart Hall Paper harbored ill intent and found Jiang Man first, what then?

On the other hand, somehow—no reason, no evidence—Jiang Man simply felt that for Shen Wen’s sake, she should keep a low profile.

Others spending money and effort, granting extra grace—surely not so Jiang Man could come and go amid this throng of unrelated men.

Shen Wen’s flowing banquet stretched half a li, in the lane opposite the Examination Hall—the densest press of people.

The moment they arrived, Jiang Man felt countless gazes turn toward them.

Young women were scarcer in this quarter. Though both wore veiled hats, the gauze curtains were after all thin of weave, unable to fully conceal their faces—and had they blocked everything, the two couldn’t have walked freely. Such things guard against gentlemen, not scoundrels; yet this area gathered none but readers of the sages’ books—even with truly improper intent, under all these eyes, who would dare peer so brazenly?

She realized it in a single instant.

Just as Shen Wen had said in Jiankang—even common cloth on a servant’s back seemed to offend her eye. Perhaps for that reason, everyone serving in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden, high and low, wore fine clothing; and those with personal duties, such as her and Huailou, were dressed in what could only be called sumptuous.

Likely these scholars weren’t looking at them, but at Shen Wen.

Dense as the crowd was, it nonetheless yielded an invisible narrow lane barely wide enough for two. The pair edged slowly through; along the way there was no avoiding the odd Lecher murmuring to his neighbor, passing remark on Jiang Man’s and Huailou’s looks.

Her face gradually burned, and an unnameable sorrow gathered in her heart.

The fear of being perpetually watched stripped away the illusion Jiang Man had barely sustained, making her realize she had always stood in unsafe ground.

After her mother’s passing, it wasn’t that she had no chances to go out. But such scenes were simply too many—as if the moment she crossed that threshold, the moment she showed her face with others at hand, she inevitably became a topic, a piece of gossip.

In those days, father or brother usually accompanied her; uncomfortable as she felt, she had something to lean on. When some reckless fellow approached, the servants had already stepped in and dispatched him—so she saw the swords and felt only the cold gleam of chill iron.

The day of Jiang Rao’s funeral procession was the first day Jiang Man perceived this truth.

“Beauty invites lewdness.”

Those swords a zhang away were no ornament—one misstep from her, and calamity would likely strike.

Coming to such a shoulder-to-shoulder place, would Shen Wen wear a veiled hat?

Would she again travel light as to the Supreme Clarity Palace, without even a single house guard at her side?

Jiang Man stole a glance at Huailou. Huailou’s face was dignified, her looks uncommon; beside Sijiu she lacked a measure of charm, yet made Jiang Man think involuntarily of those young Mistresses of the House from great clans and scholarly families.

Surrounded by such gazes—intent unreadable, avoidable only by utmost effort—did she ever feel afraid?

Huailou’s face was as ever.

Jiang Man steadied herself and forced on a matching composure.

Wu You was hosting deep within; he seemed to have spotted them long before, for as they drew near he ceased his bustle and stood waiting respectfully, hands lowered.

With so many able-bodied men about today, Jiang Man at last noticed how remarkably tall and straight Wu You stood. His face was refined; without comparison, one would truly take him for a frail scholar.

Strange to say: if gazes were truly swords, wouldn’t a robust man like Wu You seem the more dangerous? Yet since they’d met, he had never given Jiang Man the slightest sense of threat—

Perhaps because they were both personal attendants?

Jiang Man herself didn’t know whence arose the vague, tender image surfacing in her mind; she only flushed on her own.

The two came up and bowed to Wu You in turn without speaking. Huailou was first to unfasten her veiled hat, smoothing her hair; Jiang Man, still striving to drive off her improper fancies, followed suit and removed hers.

Outside the Examination Hall, in that very instant, the clamor suddenly vanished.

Uncountable the men and women here, yet the utter silence was beyond doubt—as if all living beings had, this moment, been stripped of sound by some god.

Huailou said, “Young Master Wu.”

Jiang Man woke as from a dream; blushing, she curtsied again, swallowing the “Brother Wu” that had nearly escaped, and followed: “Young Master Wu.”

“Miss Huailou.” Wu You smiled, nodding slightly to Huailou, then turned his gaze to Jiang Man and adjusted his address too. “Lady Jiang.”

The surrounding splendor gradually resumed, yet around the three there was a rare pocket of quiet.

The pleasantries were fewer than Jiang Man expected—perhaps today’s business was tangled and urgent, perhaps the two simply knew each other well. Huailou related in detail what Shen Wen had instructed the night before, never once avoiding Wu You’s eyes as she spoke; so open was her manner that Jiang Man had the odd illusion it was Huailou delivering a lecture, not relaying Shen Wen’s words.

If Huailou treated even Jiang Man thus, then Wu You—with affairs of his own outside, and a Military Graduate at that—should rank higher still than Jiang Man.

Was she being discourteous to Huailou?

But Huailou perhaps had her reasons. Though Wu You listened smiling, even Jiang Man could tell much of it never reached his brain—entering one ear and leaving the other. No wonder Huailou spoke so minutely, confirming again and again.

At last her boundless patience ran out. Huailou sighed heavily. “Young Master Wu—if these examination scholars are short of funds, what will you do?”

“Give them ten strings.”

Huailou paused, expression unchanged—what passed within, hard to say. She only repeated, as ever, “Young Master Wu, the Female Scribe’s money isn’t spent that way. At the banquet, watch for those who are ill at ease, glancing about, or burying their heads in eating. Once they’ve finished, quietly draw them aside and ask in detail. If something is lacking, hear the reason out; judge it reasonably legitimate—only then may the money be disbursed, and their name and native place recorded. Those in genuine hardship may be lent to, at one part interest in ten, repayment agreed within two years.”

Wu You nodded.

Huailou’s smile narrowed a degree, a blade hidden in her eyes. “Have you noted it down?”

Wu You said, “This humble student has noted it. Go with an easy mind, Miss Huailou.”

Huailou restrained herself, barely perceptibly, and asked, “May I ask, Young Master—for what purpose does the Female Scribe do this?”

“Presumably she pities those temporarily down on their luck and wishes to help a little.” Wu You thought, gazing at the sky uncertainly. “Or perhaps to buy hearts. The Female Scribe’s mind is truly hard to fathom.”

Huailou drew a sharp breath.

Jiang Man felt that had the person opposite been Sijiu, the slap would already have landed.

She mastered herself in the end, saying only, “Very well. Since you understand the crux, many things cannot be done by rote. Help whom you can where hardship exists—only don’t overdo it.”

“This humble student understands.” Wu You, all smiles.

Huailou exchanged a few more words with him, gave instructions elsewhere, and with their business done, the two prepared to hurry to the Coroners Guild. Before donning her veiled hat, Huailou studied Jiang Man a moment—speechless, the two just looking at each other—a trace of a wry smile slowly surfacing on her face as, gently shaking her head, she put the hat on.

Jiang Man could guess a fair portion of Huailou’s thoughts. Traveling from Jiankang to Lin’an with Wu You, she had found him warm; now that matters had tangled, that warmth felt less than solid—and she sympathized with Huailou a little.

She said little, only keeping at Huailou’s side.

Jiang Man was, after all, somewhat guilt-ridden.

Earlier, while Huailou was off arranging things elsewhere, she had quietly asked Wu You for help—watching among the examination scholars for any acquaintance of Jiang Ling’s: first, the Yu Brothers of Jizhou; second, Ge Yuquan, Imperial Academy Student. Wu You had naturally agreed—but with his temperament, and this business swallowing him whole, Jiang Man held out little hope.

Such a rough-and-ready man, shuttling between Lin’an and Jiankang—how could he manage every fine detail so meticulously?

If Huailou had instructed him in detail, confirming again and again…

Who had coached Huailou?