InspectorT.

Zhou Zishu knew deep down that he was right, but he still glanced at Wen Kexing’s handkerchief with disdain. It emanated some delicate fragrance, like cosmetics, with a cluster of orchids embroidered in the corner; small, yet exceedingly refined. Too large to belong to a young woman, and the design was too plain by far, yet if it belonged to a man… what kind of grown man would carry around something like this? He couldn’t resist shooting Wen Kexing a strange look. There was nobody else present, so Zhou Zishu teased him back directly: “I say, why do you have a young lady’s token? Could it be that you’ve got an embarrassing secret?” Wen Kexing had been carefully wiping away the coagulated blood and ragged clothing threads, but when he heard these words, he pressed harder and—expressionlessly—tore off the sleeve piece that had been stuck to Zhou Zishu’s wound.  Zhou Zishu hissed; his features contorted. Calm, as though nothing had happened, Wen Kexing replied: “This was a personal gift from Su Yue-gongzi, the reigning blossom of Yangzhou. You’d look less ignorant if you said a little less.” He straightaway ripped Su Yue-gongzi’s personal gift into strips and used them to bind Zhou Zishu’s wound.  Zhou Zishu didn’t know that Jiangnan had such liberal ways. Even in the capital of yore, thirty miles from the Full Moon River and ruled by the old libertine emperor at the height of his extravagance, nobody ever heard of a man being celebrated as a famous courtesan. Thus Zhou Zishu had spoken without thinking.