A Republican-Era Hangzhou Mystery in the Fog

In the summer of 1934, the sky over Hangzhou was still shrouded in a thick haze, as though the city were forever veiled in mystery. The waters of West Lake were like a bottomless mirror, reflecting emerald-green hills and distant, faintly visible snow. Hangzhou was a prosperous city in Jiangnan, yet on this fog-bound land, secrets unknown to the world quietly lurked in its street corners, alleyways, and between its pavilions. Hu Renhu, one of Hangzhou's most famous private detectives, was in a mood that did not match the ancient city that day. On a drizzly afternoon, he sat in a small teahouse, holding a cup of Longjing tea that had gone completely cold. His gaze shifted between the tangled willows outside the window and the old book lying quietly on the table. As always, he wore a black robe. His brow carried a hint of deep, stern composure. He was not handsome, but there was something about him that no one could ignore. Business at the teahouse was slow that day, and the proprietress seemed distracted. She paced back and forth, occasionally casting a glance or two in Hu Renhu's direction, as if she had something to say but couldn't bring herself to speak. Hu Renhu had noticed long ago, but he didn't approach her directly. He had never been one to draw attention to himself. He knew that an atmosphere like this usually meant something out of the ordinary was about to happen. Sure enough, before long, hurried footsteps sounded at the teahouse entrance.