Chapter Four: The Cause of the Fire

The next day, Shen Qianmo brought Lvzhu and Madam Xu to the small courtyard that had caught fire. Shen Qianmo had lived in this courtyard for over ten years. When she was three years old, her mother Xie passed away, and she was handed over to Madame Cui to be raised. Madame Cui already harbored resentment toward Xie, so it was impossible for her to care for the daughter left behind. While the old Madam Shen was still present, Cui kept up appearances and restrained herself somewhat. But after the old madam, disheartened and weary, retired to the Buddhist hall and Madame Cui became the mistress of the household, she simply cast Shen Qianmo into the most remote and desolate courtyard of the family estate, leaving her to fend for herself.

After the fire, the small courtyard was even more dilapidated, scorched marks visible everywhere. Since it had always been a neglected place, and Madam Xu had instructed that no one was to enter without Shen Qianmo’s permission, the scene had remained largely undisturbed.

Before entering the room where the fire had started, Shen Qianmo signaled to Lvzhu and Madam Xu to put on their veils. Though several days had passed, there were still harmful gases and charcoal dust lingering in the air. Without a veil, one’s nose and mouth would soon be filled with black soot, and lingering too long would be detrimental to health.

Once the three were ready, they entered the room. Shen Qianmo quietly observed the surroundings. To uncover the cause of the fire, she first needed to determine where it had started—in other words, to locate the source of the blaze. She began her investigation from the outer room, where the damage was less severe, inspecting every corner meticulously. There were no technical tools here; she could only rely on her own eyes.

Lvzhu and Madam Xu watched in silence. Suddenly, they realized that they had never seen their young mistress in this light before. The calm, intelligent gleam in her eyes rendered her almost unrecognizable, as though she were transformed.

“Lvzhu, you said you slept here that night, didn’t you?” Shen Qianmo asked as she examined the small bed in the outer room.

“Yes, miss,” Lvzhu replied. “That night, after serving you to bed, I slept here. For some reason, I fell asleep as soon as I lay down. When I woke up, I was already outside, and the room was ablaze. I searched everywhere for you but couldn’t find you. Just as I was about to rush inside, I saw you emerge from the room and collapse in the doorway.”

Clearly, someone had tampered with things—otherwise, there was no reason for Lvzhu to have slept so deeply. Shen Qianmo examined the windowsill closely and suddenly discovered some white powder. It wasn’t obvious, mingled as it was with the black soot. She had Lvzhu collect the mixed white and black powder with a handkerchief, then moved into the inner room.

The inner chamber, where Shen Qianmo slept, was small, sparsely furnished, and could only be described as “crude”—a testament to the bleakness of her life within the estate.

The original owner of this body had lived here unloved by either parent for over a decade, yet had managed to grow up. Madam Xu and Lvzhu deserved much credit for this. Without their tireless care and protection, her survival would have been impossible. Yet, despite all precautions, calamity had still befallen her. At eighteen, she should have married into the Prince of Rong’s household as the heir’s wife. Even if she wasn’t loved, she would at least have gained status and dignity. To die so senselessly was truly tragic.

Shen Qianmo felt a pang for the original owner’s suffering, which only strengthened her resolve to live well in her stead and never again be bullied.

She examined the walls carefully. The household had already ruled the fire an accident. In ancient times, wooden structures and the frequent use of candles and oil lamps made such fires common. But Shen Qianmo did not believe this was a mere accident. If the fire had started from a candle, it would have smoldered before bursting into flames, but the degree of burning here did not match such a scenario.

She noticed a scroll of ink painting had fallen into the gap behind the dressing cabinet. This painting, by Xie herself, had been Shen Qianmo’s favorite and had always hung on the wall. Shen Qianmo picked it up. Only one corner was scorched; most of the painting had not burned or been blackened by smoke. The wooden frame was badly charred, with a sharp, clear boundary between the burnt and unburnt areas—evidence that the painting had caught direct flame. Most likely, open fire had set the painting alight, causing it to fall into the gap between the wall and the cabinet, where it extinguished before burning completely.

But where had that open flame come from? The dressing table was near the window. Examining it, she found clear signs of tampering. Someone had pried open the window that night and tossed in a burning object, which ignited the hanging painting. As it burned, the painting fell into the crevice, which prevented it from being completely consumed.

Who would have thought that the painting left behind by her mother would become the key to uncovering the truth of the fire? Shen Qianmo could only take it as a sign that her mother’s spirit lingered. Yet while she understood the clues, the rest of the household did not. How could she expose the arsonist?

Her brows knitted in thought. Anyone able to commit arson so deep within the estate at night had to be someone from within. She stepped outside to the area beneath the window. The ground was muddy, and the original owner had planted some flowers there for amusement. Sure enough, Shen Qianmo found a pair of footprints, half-hidden by a few crabapple trees and not easily noticed.

Shen Qianmo, with years of forensic experience, saw at a glance that one print was deeper than the other—the culprit was clearly lame. She asked Lvzhu and Madam Xu, “Are there any servants or pages in the household who have a limp?”

The two women exchanged glances, both thinking of the same person: Zhao Sanhuai.

Zhao Sanhuai was a kitchen helper who had only joined the household a few months ago. He had always treated Lvzhu and Madam Xu politely, unlike other servants who looked down on them because of Shen Qianmo’s low standing. Thus, the two had held a favorable impression of him. They had never imagined Zhao Sanhuai could be the arsonist.

“You never truly know a person,” Madam Xu sighed. Lvzhu was even more furious, recalling how she had always called him “Brother Zhao” with such familiarity, only to be so deceived.

But Zhao Sanhuai had no grudge against their mistress—why would he commit arson? Lvzhu wondered.

Shen Qianmo and Madam Xu exchanged a glance: Lvzhu was still too naive. If not for someone behind the scenes, why would Zhao Sanhuai, a new servant with no personal grudge, set fire to Shen Qianmo’s quarters? What benefit could there have been?

But who was the instigator—Madame Cui, Shen Qianxue, or were they working together? Or was it someone else entirely? For now, Shen Qianmo could not verify. Her only option was to start with Zhao Sanhuai.

Though Zhao Sanhuai was just a servant, he wasn’t under her direct authority, and given Shen Qianmo’s weak position in the household, she couldn’t confront him directly. She would need someone’s support. At this thought, she remembered the old Madam Shen.