Several old women hurried back. The highest point in the garden was a man-made hill with a few small buildings where Wang Yun, the favorite concubine of the former master, lived. The scream came from there.
The old women’s steps were not swift; by the time they reached the small building, breathless, the mansion’s steward, Cang Qianlang, had already entered. His gaze was sharp, staring directly into the inner room. Behind him, the old women saw a chilling scene, and their lanterns fell to the ground with a clatter.
Wang Yun, the concubine of the old master, had her hair completely shaved off, her body laid bare on the bed, a rope around her neck, blood splattered all over the headboard. Beside the corpse, Wang Yun’s maid, Chu Xia, stood dumbfounded, one hand clutching a strand of long hair, the other holding a dagger as thin as a cicada’s wing. Her shoulder was draped in a somewhat worn green jacket, now stained with blood, making for a shocking sight.
Cang Qianlang’s face was icy, his hands clasped in front of his chest, taking a defensive stance. He slowly said, “Put down your weapon.”
With a clatter, Chu Xia dropped the dagger, and the strand of hair fell from her hand, scattering on the floor. Only then did she come to her senses, screaming, “It wasn’t… it wasn’t me…”
Taking advantage of her confusion, Cang Qianlang stepped forward, twisting her arms behind her back, the joints making a snapping sound as they dislocated. Chu Xia, just a girl of sixteen or seventeen, grimaced in pain and screamed. Cang Qianlang remained unmoved, throwing her to the servants behind him, coldly saying, “Lock her up. Have someone guard here; no one is allowed in or out.”
Someone immediately dragged the collapsed girl away. Cang Qianlang then bent down to examine Wang Yun’s body. Her eyes were wide open in terror. The wound at her neck was still bleeding, not a clean cut but as if the killer had struggled, slashing several times before finally cutting her throat. The most bizarre part was her head, completely shaved, not a single hair left.
Cang Qianlang squinted, pondering for a moment, then turned to ask the patrolling old women, “When did you reach here? And when did you leave? Did you notice anything unusual?”
