The Hidden Moon Read online

  As tragic as these deaths were, he hadn’t been summoned for them. They were attendants and servants. Their death was tragic nonetheless, but not his domain.

  A gray-haired official with a long beard stood at the very center of the bloodshed, his spine stiff and straight. His silk robe was deep purple in color, signifying his status as a member of the first rank. His hands were folded behind him as he surveyed the scene impassively. Huang approached to greet him with a low bow.

  “Chief Censor.”

  “Inspector Bai.”

  Zheng was the head of the Censorate, the investigative branch that provided oversight over the workings of the imperial court as well as local officials. Unlike the Six Ministries, which operated parallel to the Emperor, the Censorate reported directly to the Son of Heaven.

  Bai Huang had been granted a position as a censor after passing the imperial exams, but in a different sort of role. Huang suspected he’d been recruited for his connections rather than his academic performance. Publicly, he held a minor position within the imperial records office, but his true jurisdiction was the lower officials who operated in the capital. He was a known playboy within the capital, which allowed him to move through the banquets and pleasure houses where powerful men gathered without raising suspicion.

  Zheng stood over a sixth body. The tips of his boots were planted just beyond the pool of blood soaking into the road. Huang stared down and fought the sickness roiling in his stomach.

  Huang could smell blood. He smelled nothing but blood.

  A dagger protruded from the victim’s chest. The murderer hadn’t even cared to collect his weapon, but more disturbing than that was how the victim was clothed. The man’s state robe matched Zheng’s in color. Also deep purple. Also first ranked.

  “That can’t be--” Huang began in a low voice.

  “Chancellor Yao Yuan,” Zheng confirmed soberly.

  “On my grave.”

  Huang forced himself to look back over the carnage. The senior official had been on his way to see the Emperor when someone had stabbed him and leaving him to bleed out on the dirt road where everyone could see. Huang bowed his head and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. His stomach lurched dangerously.

  Chancellor Yao Yuan was second in power only to the Emperor. And he’d been murdered within view of the Yanxi Gate, a mere stone’s throw away from the imperial palace.

  Chapter 2

  The northern section of the Pingkang ward was one of the crowded corners of Chang’an where the city had started to grow and sprout like weeds. A commotion of shops, boarding rooms and store houses were packed side-by-side and on top of one another until even the walls could not contain the rising tide of the populace.

  Commerce spilled out onto the streets. Vendor stalls cropped up wherever space allowed. Anyone with a commodity to hawk could prop up a basket on a busy corner to do business.

  Gao approached a stall where the weaver and his daughter were setting out baskets. It was far from a proper shop, just a makeshift stand hammered together from planks of wood set in front of an alley.

  The weaver’s shoulders sank when he saw Gao. The daughter looked at Gao with wide, wary eyes.

  “It’s the first of the month,” Gao announced.

  The man launched into a lament; the same one Gao heard last month. Business was slow. Customers were stingy. Oh, the price of rice and salt.

  He begged. His daughter begged. Gao pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and looked down the lane at the other shops he needed to visit. If he could, he’d will himself back to that morning. For a moment, Wei-wei had been there, looking at him with those wide, dark, endlessly inquisitive eyes. and the sun shone a little bit brighter. Then she was gone, and now he was here. The most hated man on street that morning.

  “Headman Hui doesn’t need any more baskets,” Gao asserted when the weaver held up his finest basket in lieu of payment.

  In the end, Gao had to take a strip of red silk as payment. Silk was commonly accepted as currency in the marketplace, but its value shifted frequently. Scraps like the one he was holding were difficult to exchange and practically worthless. Some customer had foisted it on to the weaver, and now he had passed it on to Gao.

  The next shop went quicker. The wine merchant handed him a pouch of coins along with a sour look.

  Protection money, Hui called it, from gangs and thieves. Of course, there were those who said that Hui and his gang were the thieves. It was business as any other. And Gao knew what it was to go hungry. This was better.

  The butcher paid his fee in cuts of meat which he delivered wrapped in paper and tied with twine. Gao deposited everything into a sack slung over his shoulder. The next stop should be an easy one. The pawn shop and Hui’s operation fed into each other. Hui’s gambling dens and paper lotteries created traffic for the pawn shop, while Hui’s reputation for controlling the streets kept potential thieves away from the pawn broker’s cash. The only thing Gao had to worry about for this collection was counting the money to ensure the broker wasn’t trying to gouge him.

  “Get out!”

  Some scamp stumbled backwards through the door of the pawn shop, landing on his backside in the dirt. He scrambled to his feet.

  “Swindler!” the boy retorted, brushing off his clothes.

  Gao recognized him. The boy had done a few menial jobs for Hui’s crew here and there. They called him Fu Lin. The squat shape of his head and short nose resembled the small lion dogs that wealthy families kept. His face lit up when he spotted Gao, which was not a good sign.

  “Brother Gao,” he said, beckoning. “I have something for you.”

  Gao stayed where he was.

  Fu looked furtively over his shoulder before shuffling forward. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. “Look, it’s real jade.”

  He held out a carved block of green stone that fit across his palm. A dark vein ran through the stone.

  “This pig of a broker won’t take it. How about I give it to you for ten zhu? You know it’s worth more. You can sell it and make a profit.”

  The youth looked disappointed when Gao didn’t leap at his offer. “Feel it. It’s heavy. Must be worth at a tael, two taels of silver, right?”

  “How did you get that?”

  “I found it.”

  “Found it,” Gao echoed hollowly.

  Fu Lin lifted his chin and attempted to return Gao’s stare, but he wavered. If Gao had to guess, he’d say the fellow had suffered a rough night at the dice tables. Fu Lin had that downtrodden and desperate look about him.

  The jade seal had to belong to some wealthy nobleman or merchant. The man’s cursed name was etched on it, after all.

  “Wherever you found this, it’s worthless,” Gao said through his teeth.

  He prayed Fu hadn’t unknowingly robbed some drunken bureaucrat. Gao understood why the pawn broker had chased the boy out of his shop. If Fu could find some stonecutter willing to grind the insignia off the seal, he might be able to sell the jade. But the truth was, that hunk of stone wasn’t just worthless. It was trouble.

  Fu wasn’t ready to give up. “How about you give me just two or three zhus, Brother Gao? You can find someone to sell it to. You know people.”

  Gao spied a local constable in his midnight blue uniform walking at the end of the lane.

  “Get rid of it. Fast,” he said in a low tone, moving quickly away.

  That last warning was more charitable than Fu Lin deserved. The boy was begging for trouble, and it would find him sooner or later. Gao walked away without looking back. Some of these fellows looked to him like an elder brother for the simple reason that he’d survived out here longer than they had.

  Gao found Hui was sitting at the tea stand, surveying the intersection with greasy speculation like the gutter lord he was. He was a portly man, fatted and self-important. He was staring across the road at the new tea house which was overflowing with customers.

  “That tea house has been run
ning for six months now and we have yet to pay them a visit,” Hui said, running a thoughtful hand over his bearded chin. “They make enough to afford it.”

  “Wu Kaifeng will cut your throat personally,” Gao replied simply.

  “He doesn’t have a reputation for violence. He’s a businessman now.”

  “As constable, he built a reputation that every thief on the street still fears. I suggest you leave him alone.”

  The crime boss looked annoyed. He reached for the sack Gao had laid between them. “I don’t need business advice from you.”

  Gao kept his expression blank. There was value in being regarded as slightly brighter than the rest of Hui’s minions, but not much brighter. To that end, it was useful to challenge a man like Hui occasionally, but not too often.

  “Constables from the magistrate’s office seem to be gathering,” Gao said, turning to face the tea house. “You may want to warn any of your crew out on collections today.”

  Hui scowled, but he gestured to one of his lackeys hovering nearby and relayed instructions to him. The fellow ran off, presumably to carry out Hui’s orders. Apparently, Hui did feel like taking Gao’s advice today.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Hui asked.

  Gao shook his head. He wasn’t under any obligation to report on Fu Lin or anything else. He was thinking even the simple collection job Hui had asked him to take on for “easy money” was not the beneficial arrangement he had hoped. The crime lord still held power over these alleyways. Gao had thought to get on Hui’s good side after their last encounter hadn’t ended the way Hui had planned.

  Wei-wei and her brother, Huang had become entangled in a scandal involving a disgraced bureaucrat who was selling answers to the imperial exam. The bureaucrat had abducted Wei-wei to hand her over to Hui in a desperate attempt to pay off his debts, which had then dragged her brother into an ill-conceived rescue attempt. Gao had stepped in to untangle the whole lot of them from one another. He’d then convinced Hui that the high-born siblings weren’t worth drawing the attention of imperial authorities. After all that, Gao had, of course, owed Hui a favor.

  Apparently, Bai Huang hadn’t learned enough from being in danger merely a week ago. The young nobleman was back now, talking to Wu Kaifeng just outside the door of his tea house.

  The young Lord Bai seemed to make a point of looking out of place whenever he came around. Usually it was with a garish choice of clothing, though no one ever ridiculed him about his manner of dress. Lord Bai was known for being a friendly fool who was free with this coin, and, thus, was well-liked in these parts.

  Today his clothing set him apart for another reason. Bai was dressed in a blue-gray official court robe.

  “What is this?” Hui interrupted, rummaging through the contents of the sack. He pulled out the strip of red silk and dangled it between his pudgy fingers.

  “Weaver had a slow month,” Gao remarked absently, continuing to study the exchange on the other side of the road. “The price of this and that went up.”

  Wu Kaifeng had his arms folded over his chest while Bai Huang looked to be explaining something in great detail. Occasionally Wu would give a slow, single nod.

  Hui snorted. “Well, I should find out why the magistrate is sending men around.”

  Gao took that to be the end of their meeting. As he stood to go, Hui stopped him. “You’re smarter than these other fools.”

  He regarded Hui with surprise, not certain what to make of the observation.

  “Keep your eyes open for me, hmm?” As a parting gift, he held out the long scrap of silk. It fluttered like a kite’s tail in the breeze. “Payment for your services today,” he said with a smirk.

  Gao reached out to take the silk without comment. Hui was an easy man to underestimate. He could be crass, greedy, and vindictive, but he was also cunning. One didn’t rise in these streets without some measure of intelligence.

  Across the road, the conversation between Wu and Bai had concluded. Wu Kaifeng had returned to his tea house while the nobleman was headed down the steps into the streets. Huang spotted Gao’s approach. They angled their paths to cross.

  “I hear you should be congratulated on happy news,” Gao ventured.

  Huang’s look was both surprise and confusion.

  “On the start of your family. Your sister mentioned it.”

  Huang’s expression was far from happy. His jaw locked and his spine grew rigid with tension. Quite far from the foolhardy, rich playboy persona he typically projected.

  “Something happened this morning,” the aristocrat said darkly. “Something that could mean disaster.”

  “No news of any sort here.”

  “The imperial court is keeping everything quiet, but it won’t remain secret for long. If you hear of anything—” He paused, taking a breath that had the weight of mountains in it.

  From what Gao knew, the aristocrat had finally passed the imperial exams and had been appointed to some minor bureaucratic position. Admittedly, Gao had become more curious since meeting the young Lord Bai’s sister. Between the two, Wei-wei was much more interesting.

  “What is it you’re looking for?” Gao probed.

  It wasn’t uncommon for Bai Huang to come to him for information. Pingkang li was where the powerful mingled with the baser elements of society. There was also a drinking house on every corner. It was destined as a place where things were overheard.

  “I’m looking for recent newcomers to Chang’an. A group of people who don’t appear to belong—who are where they shouldn’t be.”

  Gao frowned. The imperial capital was home to over a million citizens and was inhabited by traders and merchants from lands far and wide. “No one belongs in Chang’an.”

  He wasn’t trying to be difficult. Huang seemed unfocused.

  “These men would be armed. They would be trained in weapons use, even archery. They’re likely men-for-hire,” Huang went on.

  “Mercenaries?”

  Huang met his gaze squarely. “Assassins,” he corrected.

  Gao glanced at the guards who trailed them at a distance. Typically, Huang walked these streets unprotected. This was even after he’d suffered a serious attack in the past, but today was different.

  “Are these ‘men-for-hire’ why the magistrate has his constables about?” Gao asked.

  “Even the magistrate’s office hasn’t been informed yet.”

  Which would explain why Huang would go to former constable Wu Kaifeng instead.

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Gao offered.

  He was certain Hui or his spies had watched the entire exchange. Gao started to go when Huang stopped him.

  “For your trouble.” Huang pressed a string of coins into his palm.

  Gao stared at the money, feeling the metal burn against his skin. Huang wasn’t out of line. This was the nature of their association. Gao was a low-life street informer, and Lord Bai was rich enough to buy whoever he needed.

  “Some would consider me a man-for-hire.” Gao said, his voice tight.

  Lately it seemed everyone he knew was trying to pay him off in one way or another. He couldn’t fault them when that was who he was. One needed to eat.

  He suddenly saw Wei-wei before him, a ray of light and warmth in the gray of the morning. One needed other things too.

  “The men I’m looking for are a different sort. What they did, what they’re capable of doing—” Huang expression darkened. “I’d wager this goes far beyond where you’re willing to go.”

  Chapter 3

  Wei-wei held the warm bundle in both hands, a sleeping swaddle of baby wrapped in linen, and prayed she didn’t accidentally drop the little creature. Her sister-in-law, Yue-ying, was sleeping in the bed beside her. Over the last day, Wei-wei had learned that babies could act like they were ready to come out in the morning, but then hold back stubbornly until half way through the night before being born.

  The midwife had directed their maidservants to bathe the baby girl
and brew medicinal teas for the new mother. Yue-ying had fallen asleep in exhaustion while the women of the household were busy feeding and fussing and passing the baby around. When morning came, the midwife was dismissed and it was everyone else’s turn to rest. Wei-wei was left to attend to her new niece while her sister-in-law slept peacefully.

  She had never held a baby before. Or even really seen one this close.

  “Little one,” Wei-wei whispered to her.

  The baby didn’t have a name yet. Yue-ying insisted that they wait for Huang to return before choosing one.

  The little girl’s eyes were closed tight, the lashes long against her tiny face. She was the size of a kitten and pink-skinned. Apparently, she was exhausted too.

  Eventually Yue-ying stirred beneath her covers, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through the window.

  “Oh, is it too bright? I can close the shutters.”

  Wei-wei stood before remembering her hands were full. She wasn’t even sure how to safely set the baby down. Mingyu had planted the bundle into her arms with instructions to call her if Yue-ying wanted her. Then she’d left.

  Yue-ying sat up groggily. She had the same porcelain skin and fine bone structure that Mingyu was known for, but in Yue-ying the features were softer and less distinctive. What did distinguish her was a red birthmark that curved along the left side of her face from cheek to jaw.

  Wei-wei had heard some ladies calling it a beauty mark, the way it framed her face and drew attention to her and mouth. Of course, that was easy to say after Yue-ying had managed to marry one of the most sought-after young men in the city. Before joining their family, Yue-ying had been a servant in the pleasure quarter, far beneath their family in class and status. What she lacked in formal education, Yue-ying made up in practical knowledge and experience. It gave her a level-headed perspective that Wei-wei and Huang often lacked.

  Yue-ying searched until she found her daughter in Wei-wei’s hands. “Why are you holding her like that?”

  Wei-wei looked down. Her arms were stiff from being stretched out in front of her. All of her concentration was directed to keeping the baby still. For such a small thing, she was getting kind of heavy.