LBLCPCB C4

by berry

Chapter 4

Walking the silent streets, Zhu Song trailed three paces behind Wen Fengxuan.

The Crown Prince moved painfully slow, almost halting after each step, yet still breathing harshly, shoulders bowed as wheezing gasps spread through the night air. Hearing it stirred unbidden pity in Zhu Song’s heart.

Two liⁱ of road should have taken mere minutes—but Wen Fengxuan, forcing himself onward, stretched it into a full shichen². Zhu Song was practically nodding off by the time they finally reached the Eastern Palace gates. He thought the ordeal done—yet unbelievably, Wen Fengxuan could not even open his own doors.

The crisp knocking on the gate mingled with muffled coughs, grating Zhu Song’s nerves. He longed to stride forward and kick the door down, but sanity restrained him.

Inside the Eastern Palace were nothing but insolent servants. Damn them all—come dawn, he would make trouble for them.

At last, slothfully, the gate creaked open. In the moonlight, Zhu Song clearly saw the yawning servant on duty, not bothering to hide his disdain. “Why have you gone out?” he asked, tone curt.

Wen Fengxuan lowered his voice gently: “Something fell beyond the wall.”

“Be more careful next time,” was the clipped reply—then the door slammed shut.

That was all Zhu Song heard. Yet those few words alone had already stoked his fury beyond control. Wen Fengxuan may have been neglected, but he was still the Crown Prince—the heir of the empire. How dare mere servants treat him so!

Near dawn now, Zhu Song did not return home. He turned instead toward the Judicial Court. Passing Changning Street, he suddenly heard a woman’s scream from above. Twisting his head, he found it had come from the Xuan Yin Pavilion.

“There’s a ghost—save me!”

Realizing instantly that the strange being had appeared again, Zhu Song rushed forward and kicked the door open. The household within had been roused; cries of confusion filled the air. “Ghost? Where’s the ghost?”

Lanterns flared. Striding toward the stairs, Zhu Song untied the token at his waist and barked: “Judicial Court investigation! Clear the way!”

The Xuan Yin Pavilion was a place of song and dance, staffed by young courtesans. Already jittery from tales of apparitions, the girls nearly fainted when they heard “Judicial Court.” Now they gathered anxiously to watch young Lord Zhu ascend the stairs, most still only in their thin underclothes from being woken abruptly.

Zhu Song barreled toward the room where the cry had sounded, pushed the door, and lit the lamp. Immediately, a disheveled beauty, blood streaking down her neck, flung herself upon him. “Young master—save me!”

He raised an arm to stop her. “Judicial Court investigation. Remain calm.”

At the words, the girl froze and halted half a meter away. Spotting her bleeding wound, Zhu Song asked: “Is there a physician here?”

A woman who appeared to be the madam stepped forward. “Honorable lord, we have no physician at hand.”

“Send someone to the Capital Prefecture³ and explain the matter. Have them bring a proper doctor,” Zhu Song ordered.

The woman inquired cautiously: “May I have your name, my lord?”

“Zhu Song, Assistant Minister of the Judicial Court.”

She bowed deeply. “So it is Lord Zhu. I shall send word immediately.”

As they waited, Zhu Song learned the injured girl’s name—Lichun.

The Pavilion employed twelve courtesans, twelve dancers—named after the twenty‑four solar terms⁴—renowned across the capital.

Not long after, Qu Zhoubai himself arrived with men in tow. Entering, his eyes at once sought Zhu Song. “Are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” Zhu Song replied. “I only came after hearing the cry.”

Only then did Qu Zhoubai turn toward Lichun. A physician was already examining her, muttering as he worked: “A small, deep wound. The distance between the two marks is one inch. Likely the bite of some fanged animal.”

At those words, Lichun shook her head vehemently, face pale with dread. “Not an animal. I saw clearly—it was a man.”

A chill flashed across Qu Zhoubai’s eyes. Meeting Zhu Song’s gaze, he said sternly, “Tell us in detail.”

Trembling, she began: “The night was hot, my window open. I had fallen asleep, when suddenly: thump! I awoke—and saw a hideous face, fangs and green skin. I screamed. Hearing me, he leaped upon me, arms stretched straight forward, eyes unmoving. He seized my throat, and then he bit down on my neck. It was as though all my blood was being drained. I grew dizzy, just barely recalling him vaulting out the window before I lost strength.”

The physician protested: “Though injured, she lost little blood. The sensation of being drained was likely imagination brought by terror.”

“No!” she objected, still terrified. “He truly sucked my blood. I could feel it!”

Qu Zhoubai pressed on: “Is that all? Nothing more to add?”

Head shaking, she whispered, face white as snow: “My lord, isn’t this the same ghost from days ago? You must catch him quickly!”

Qu Zhoubai gave a terse nod. “We are pursuing him throughout the city.” He turned to his men. “Has anyone else sighted the creature?”

All shook their heads. “No.” “Nothing.”

“Any discovery or clue must be reported to the prefecture immediately,” Qu commanded. Then, to Lichun: “Rest for now. At dawn you’ll come to the magistracy to make a full statement. Think carefully on whether the figure had any distinguishing feature. You were the only one close enough—your account may be crucial.”

Resolutely, she nodded. “I will.”

Qu instructed the officers: “Search the city for the strange man.”

“Yes, sir!”

Orders dispatched, the yamen runners departed. Zhu Song and Qu Zhoubai left the Pavilion together.

“One hour till dawn,” Zhu Song remarked. “I’ll call on the Judicial Court to assist in the search.”

Qu declined. “No need.”

“Hm?” Zhu Song raised a brow. “Didn’t you even seek Gu Huaiyu’s help before?”

Qu hesitated, words half‑swallowed. “This matter…”

“What of it?” Zhu Song pressed.

“Come sit at the Capital Prefecture. I’ll tell you there,” Qu replied, wary of eavesdroppers.

So Zhu Song accompanied him.

“What tea will you have?” Qu asked once they sat.

“None,” Zhu Song said brusquely.

Still, Qu fetched a jar from the shelf and began preparing anyway, hands steady and practiced—though in Zhu Song’s mind, still not on par with Gu Huaiyu. With so much on his mind, Zhu asked: “Well—what’s wrong with the case?”

Qu peeked sideways at him. “After tea.”

Zhu Song was not patient by nature. Especially not when strung along. His heavy fingers tapped the tea table with deliberate rhythm, echoing loudly through the midnight office—pressure in every beat.

Qu knew this tic well—it always meant Zhu Song’s temper was fraying. His expression sank into soft grievance as he raised eyes luminous as water. “For Gu Huaiyu’s tea you can wait. For mine, you can’t?”

With a groan, Zhu Song flung up a hand to shield his face from those aggrieved eyes—too bewitching by half. “I’m wide awake as is, no need for tea to keep me up.”

Blocked of gaze, Qu still moved his lips plaintively: “Yet your dark circles are so heavy. Don’t lie.”

The more forlorn his tone, the quicker Zhu Song yielded. He sighed in surrender. “Fine, fine! I’ll drink! Must you vie with Gu Huaiyu in everything? Really, your temper ought to change someday. He studied under the Sage of Tea⁵, not a soul in the capital can match him. Why torment yourself?”

Qu sniffed. “I won’t care.”

Thwarted, Zhu Song fell silent, waiting.

Steam spiraled. Fragrance of tea filled the room. The handsome prefect bent his brow as he poured, a sight that alone satisfied Zhu Song’s eyes. He murmured wistfully: “If only you or Gu Huaiyu were women.”

Qu didn’t even blink. “Stop. Ten years I’ve heard such babble; my ears are callused.”

Zhu Song chuckled. “Well, men have it better—costs less.”

That flickered Qu’s eye. “What do you mean?”

“Take the Pavilion earlier,” Zhu Song explained. “A single cup of tea poured by a beauty there is worth ten taels of silver.”

Rolling his eyes, Qu handed over the finished brew. Zhu Song took a sip. Not as refined as Gu’s, but drinkable.

The moment he set the cup down, Qu asked expectantly: “And?”

With a faint arch of brow and honest lips, Zhu Song gave his verdict. “Quite good.”

Compared to Gu?” Qu prodded.

“Well…” Zhu Song hesitated, unwilling to lie. Hoping Qu would read his reluctance, he kept silent. But Qu insisted, eyes darker, voice more blunt. “Which one is better?”

That hesitation dimmed Qu’s gaze, edges sharp with disguised hurt. “Hah. I knew it…”

“You, you!” Zhu Song cut him off hurriedly. “Yours is best! No one else. Now tell me about the apparition already.”

At once Qu brightened, warm smile spilling across his face, and finally turned to business. “When it first appeared days ago, we checked all the gates—no suspicious figure had entered or left. For five days we scoured the city, found nothing. Then tonight, it appears again, as if from air.”

Zhu Song’s face grew grave. Yes. With so many in the capital, it was impossible not to leave a trace, unless… unless the man never left, and had help.

If the creature were truly supernatural, it must have a principal master here.

But if not supernatural, then it was a trick, meant to stir unrest for some hidden aim.

Reading the change in his friend’s expression, Qu sighed. “The Crown Prince’s health worsens daily. I fear the capital will not know peace for long.”

Zhu Song understood. Same thought as Gu Huaiyu’s. He asked: “And your plan now?”

Qu shrugged lightly. “Deal with it by the book.”

Zhu Song nodded. “Fine. I’ll return to the Judicial Court. Call me if you learn more.”

“After work, come to my house for tea,” Qu invited.

“Alright,” Zhu Song answered absently, with no intention of going.

A green‑faced fanged man, thirsting for blood… I’ve seen such in texts somewhere. I must dig deeper into the records.

Footnotes

Li (里) — an old Chinese unit of distance; during Ming‑Qing generally ≈ 500 m. So two li = ~1 km.
Shichen (時辰) — a unit of time; one shichen = 2 modern hours. Wen took two hours to walk 1 km, showing frailty.
Capital Prefecture (京兆府) — the main administrative office over the imperial capital, akin to city hall + police authority combined.
Twenty‑Four Solar Terms (二十四節氣) — traditional seasonal markers used in the Chinese lunisolar calendar; the courtesans’ names like “Lichun” (Beginning of Spring) follow this convention.
“Sage of Tea” (茶聖) — usually refers to Lu Yu (733–804), revered as tea’s patron in Chinese culture. Mentioning him elevates Gu Huaiyu’s lineage in artistry.