At the entrance to the stepmother's bedchamber.
"Insolent! I'd like to see who dares go in!"
Madam Su blocked the doorway with her body, her face twisted in fury.
"This is my private chamber! I am the lawful mistress of the Su family—are you servants trying to rebel?"
The bailiffs hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances.
Iris—now Su Mo—stood at the bottom of the steps. She turned to the white-robed noble behind her.
"Eldest Young Master," she said coolly, "someone is obstructing justice. What do you think?"
The white-robed noble stood beneath the flowering begonia tree, leisurely fanning himself.
"Anyone who interferes with an official investigation," he said indifferently, "will be treated as an accomplice."
He snapped his fan shut.
"Search."
"Yes!"
With a heavy hitter backing them up, the bailiffs didn't hesitate. They shoved the screaming stepmother aside and filed in.
…
The time it took for an incense stick to burn passed.
The once-tidy, luxurious bedroom was turned upside down—antiques from the shelves, brocade silks from the wardrobe, even the hidden compartments beneath the bed.
Nothing.
Not a bloodstained jade ornament. Not even a scrap of bloody cloth.
The head bailiff came out wiping sweat from his brow. He shook his head toward the noble.
"My lord… we found nothing."
The air went still.
Madam Su's tense nerves finally loosened. She smoothed her collar, sat down in the grand rosewood chair, and drew out a string of deep-purple sandalwood prayer beads.
Eyes closed, she rolled them between her fingers—click, click, click—steady and smug.
"Have you searched enough?" she asked.
She opened her eyes, pious arrogance written on her face.
"My heart is devoted to Buddha. I wouldn't even dare trample an ant. Yet you listened to this mad girl's nonsense and slandered me as a murderer?"
Then she turned to the noble.
"Young master, with your noble status… surely you won't join this girl in her madness?"
The noble frowned. His gaze shifted to Iris, turning a shade colder.
This is the certainty you spoke of?
A thin sheen of sweat formed on Iris's forehead.
Something was wrong.
From the shape of the wound, the weapon had to be a hard, rounded object. And the stepmother had killed Cui'er only hours ago—she couldn't have tossed such crucial evidence far away.
So where was it?
Iris scanned the room. Tables. Chairs. Vases.
Her eyes finally landed on the stepmother's hands—the beads sliding smoothly over her fingers.
The beads were glossy. Perfectly normal.
"If you've found nothing, then leave," Madam Su said, lips curling into a victorious sneer.
Iris drew a slow breath.
She couldn't leave. If she did, the stepmother would destroy the evidence—and Iris would truly be dead.
So she gambled.
"Hold on."
Iris spoke, voice steady.
"The reason you can't find it is because you're looking for it the wrong way."
She turned to the bailiffs.
"Go to the kitchen. Bring strong liquor, a bowl of aged vinegar—and a charcoal brazier."
The noble's fan paused.
What was this woman planning?
Moments later, everything was set.
Iris poured the liquor into the vinegar and set the mixture over the brazier. As it heated, a sharp, sour stench crawled through the room.
"Cough—cough!" Madam Su choked, waving a hand. "What trick is this? You're turning my room into a smoke pit!"
Iris ignored her. She strode to the windows and threw them wide open.
A wave of midsummer heat surged in.
"Wine-and-vinegar steam can draw out the scent of blood," Iris said calmly. "People can't smell it. But some things can."
She waited.
The noble waited too, watching her with a deep, unreadable gaze.
Bzzzz—
A buzzing broke the silence.
Several large, green-headed flies swept in through the open windows.
Madam Su flinched in disgust, shooing at them. "Where did these filthy things come from? Get away!"
Iris stared, unblinking.
Where would they land?
The floor? The table corners? The wardrobe seams?
If they settled anywhere, it meant blood residue—somewhere.
But the flies didn't go to the furniture.
They circled once in the air, as if catching the scent of a feast—
and then dove.
Straight toward the stepmother's hands.
More precisely—toward the string of sandalwood prayer beads.
One. Two. Five.
In the blink of an eye, the deep-purple beads were covered in flies. They crowded greedily into the gaps, rubbing their legs, impossible to shake off.
Iris's pupils tightened.
So that was it.
Sandalwood was porous. Blood had seeped in—too faint for the eye, impossible to fool a fly.
"AHHH!"
Madam Su screamed, flinging her hand wildly.
"Get away! Get away from me!"
But the flies clung like a curse.
The room fell dead silent.
The noble took half a step back, shock flashing in his eyes.
Iris stepped forward, picked up the beads—still swarming—and lifted them.
"Found it."
She looked at the stepmother's paper-white face.
"Mother," Iris said softly, "it seems even the flies know. There is no blessing of Buddha on these beads… only Cui'er's grievance."
Madam Su collapsed, utterly breaking.
"No… it wasn't me… She stole my gold hairpin… I only hit her once… just once…"
The truth spilled out.
The bailiffs surged forward to arrest her.
Iris finally exhaled. Her knees went weak, cold sweat soaking her back.
Too close.
She turned—and met the noble's gaze.
The suspicion was gone. In its place: open shock, and sharp curiosity.
"The case is solved," Iris said, forcing a tired smile. "Eldest Young Master, it seems your task as witness is done."
The noble studied her for a long moment, then snapped his fan shut.
"Mnh." His voice was faint. "You have some skill."
Then he pointed at the fly-covered beads—then at her fingers.
His expression returned to familiar disgust.
"But that is truly filthy. Wash your hands."