Zhou Xiaocheng didn’t overthink it. Girls’ moods could change in a flash—take Zhou Xiaoling, for instance, who could go from cheerful to furious in seconds.

“Zhang Wanqing,” he said, “there’s something I’d like to discuss. Since it’s lunchtime, let’s talk over a meal.”

Lin Xiaoxiao held up her lunchbox. “I brought my own. You two go ahead.”

Zhou Xiaocheng nodded. “Alright. Zhang Wanqing, let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Zhang Wanqing followed. Every time she looked at him, the dream came rushing back, and her face flushed. But she knew he must have a good reason for seeking her out, so she trailed behind him, cheeks burning.

He noticed the usually bold girl seemed unusually shy today. Glancing over, he saw her reddened face. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She shook her head quickly, pretending to look around casually. “No, I’m just… warm.”

He was puzzled. It was late October, and the air was cool. She was only wearing a red tracksuit—nothing heavy. Why was she so flushed?

Thinking she might not have anyone to look out for her, he said gently, “Mornings and evenings are getting colder. Make sure to dress warmly so you don’t catch a cold.”

Zhang Wanqing pursed her lips. Why did he sound like her father?

He took her to the campus’s smaller dining hall—a place that served à la carte dishes. It was a bit pricier and meant for special occasions, so most students didn’t eat there.

“How do you know about this place?” she asked, surprised. He seemed more familiar with the campus than she was, and she’d only heard of this dining hall but never been.

“I studied here,” he said with a slight smile.

“You graduated from Beijing University? Then why did you join the military?”

“I enlisted after graduation. I started university early—I was only sixteen when I was admitted.”

Her eyes widened. “You must have been really smart.”

He chuckled. “You’re plenty smart yourself. I was recommended back then. You got in on your own merit. That’s even more impressive.”

Pleased by the compliment, her expression brightened, and she smiled—a sight that suited her far better than the shy, uneasy version from earlier.

He asked her to find a seat while he went to order: two dishes, half a pound of rice, and, after a moment’s thought, three steamed buns in case it wasn’t enough.

She waited until he brought the food over and sat down before asking, “What did you want to ask me? Not that I’ll know much.”

He pushed the larger portion of rice toward her. “Eat first. We’ll talk after.”

She didn’t hold back. She’d always had a healthy appetite—a habit from childhood when she never knew where her next meal would come from. She ate until she was full, finding comfort in the feeling.

Zhou Xiaocheng finished one small bowl of rice and watched in mild amazement as she finished everything else. He made a mental note to order more next time. No wonder she’d still been hungry after that basket of soup dumplings yesterday.

Finally full, she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. “Alright, ask away.”

He set down his chopsticks. “Did you know Ma San?”

She nodded. “Everyone knew him. He made a lot of money in the night market. Always bragged that his great-grandfather worked in the palace—guarded the Dowager Empress’s door, or something. Isn’t that weird? Weren’t palace workers usually eunuchs? How would his great-grandfather have descendants?”

Zhou Xiaocheng almost laughed. “Besides scamming people, how else did Ma San make money?”

She thought for a moment. “He gambled. And he made fakes—really good ones. They looked just like the real thing. Why? Was he killed over money?”

“It’s not that simple. If it were just a robbery, why go as far as gutting him? This feels personal—like a grudge.”

In their investigation, they’d found that people in the market spoke vaguely about Ma San. They called him ruthless and dishonest, but no one had mentioned his talent for forgery.

Zhang Wanqing wasn’t surprised. “’Course no one said anything. Most people there are selling fakes themselves. If they told you, you’d shut the whole place down.”

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “That’s why the night market operates in the dark—so people can’t tell what’s real. Once you buy something and leave the stall, that’s it. No returns. That’s the rule.”

“But Ma San was worse. He’d leave broken pottery near his stall, and if someone accidentally knocked it over, he’d claim it was a Qing dynasty treasure and demand compensation.”

“He also had a mistress who lived near Liuli River. You know what’s over there? Glazed tiles and pottery. He’d take cheap junk and turn it into something ‘valuable.’"

Zhou Xiaocheng watched her speak with lively expressions. She clearly knew things he hadn’t uncovered.

He wondered how she’d picked up all this information hanging around the night market, but she didn’t seem bothered by the unsavory details.

After sharing everything she knew, Zhang Wanqing suddenly had a new idea. “What if it wasn’t about money or revenge? What if it was a crime of passion? I heard his mistress was really beautiful.”

Zhou Xiaocheng looked at her with interest. Their investigation hadn’t turned up any mention of a mistress. Yet Zhang Wanqing seemed to know everything.

“No one we spoke to mentioned he had a mistress.”

She shrugged. “Not surprising. I only found out by accident. She’s very pretty, lives on Liulichang Street. She has a mole between her eyebrows.”

A smile touched his lips. “It seems coming to you was the right move.”