It didn't take Hong long to confirm that no remuneration had been paid by the city. This was hardly surprising. If the magistrate had been covering the costs of the lost cattle he would surely have mentioned it to Hong; but Hong had doubted such a small city would ever have had such a policy in the first place.

He was equally unsurprised when other victims of the cattle muncher also informed him they'd received paid remuneration, sometimes before they'd even informed the city of the crime. It seemed that somehow, someway, somebody had taken it upon themselves to ensure that however badly the cattle muncher might be affecting the city as a whole, it was having no impact on the farmers themselves.

Hong even confirmed that it had avoided a farmer’s favourite cow on at least one occasion. What a remarkably considerate beast.

His investigation complete, Hong returned to Xufu O’Paddyhaddy’s. It was a waste of what meagre cash he'd made, but for all his love of noodles Hong couldn't cook - a fate tragically shared by his fellow brothers and sisters in the Noodle Shop Repair Sect. Alas, such expenses were inevitable if he wanted to experience the warmth of the humble noodle, the greatest of Heaven’s gifts to man.

Wang brought Hong his noodles with veggie broth (though he championed beef with noodles for others, the repairman was himself a vegetarian), and the labouring cultivator examined his notes as he blissfully enjoyed the delicious dish.

The magistrate joined him after a while, ordering the bucatini, and a second set of notes joined those of Hong’s. At last, Hong had the data on the Heavens that he had been looking for; now, he could learn where the stars were at the time of the attacks.

They painted a fascinating picture, but one Hong was unwilling to discuss until after he'd finished his meal. To eat without appreciation was disrespectful, so far as he was concerned.

He took his last sip of soup, eyes closed in blissful rapture, and pushed the bowl away. Facing the magistrate, he began to discuss what he'd discovered.

“There are three consistent sets of facts in this case: the manner of the cattle’s death, the mystery of the excessive remuneration, and the astrological patterns at the time of the killings.”

Hong arranged some sheets of paper, and started scritching out what he was saying on one of them, his pencil pausing every now and then to make a gesture at the contents of the page.

“All of the cattle were killed in a single blow, prior to being devoured. This implies a degree of intentionality and even benevolence, and indicates we're not dealing with a mere monster. Whatever it is, it both knows how to slaughter an animal, and has the forethought to do so rather than eat them alive. This information is useful for purposes of creature identification, but also means we can waive some concerns about it deciding to attack humans.”

The magistrate nodded, motioning for the new serving woman to bring them tea as he listened. (The last one had thrown in the proverbial towel after the restaurant was destroyed again, and had taken up work in a less cultivator-prone field as an actuary.)

“Then there's the matter of the payments. It's just too weird, and the timing makes no sense. If it’s not the city repaying them for the loss of the cattle, who can it be?”

There was a cough, then, not from the magistrate but from a girl. She had walked over to their table and bowed low, the tips of the veil on her weimao brushing the tabletop.

“How may we help you?” Hong asked politely.

The girl reached into her robes, removing a pen, and presented it to Hong.

“Thank you greatly for lending me this pen. Your gift has assisted immeasurably in the composition of my novel.”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Oh yes, the lady Yue. The one who is writing a xianxia novel, correct?” Hong replied, as he took the pen. He’d been impressed with the woman’s dedication, continuing to write as a bunch of oafs disturbed her peace and her dinner.

“Indeed. It is hard to write xianxia - one needs a meticulous attention to detail, firm precision, and an unbending commitment to realism - and if one loses the lines as one has them in mind, one may never find them again. Your timely gift of a pen did more than you know. But I will leave showing my gratitude for another time, and will now let you finish your dinner.”

And she bowed to him again, before slowly backing away.

Hong wished her a good day as she departed, and returned to his conversation with the magistrate, the latter of whom had braved the interruption patiently and with good humour.

“Is it some well-meaning individual, who’s aware of the killings and is trying to mitigate the impact they have on the community, or is it the monster itself? Or some other, completely unnoticed, third party? Say, a group of individuals who are killing the cattle for a reason known only to themselves, and offering payment?”

The magistrate stroked his chin. “Hopefully not the last one - that would be perhaps a twitch too insidious for my tastes, to know that there’s a whole group somehow benefiting from cattle killings in my region. That would increase my concerns over people eventually being attacked, if only because we don’t know the reason.”

Hong nodded, noting the magistrate’s concerns down.

“Perhaps the strangest part of the whole affair is the patterns of the Heavens, however. There is no relationship between the weather and the attacks, nor with the feng shui of the locations - indeed, other than the fact that the victims are all wealthy enough to lose a cow and not risk starvation, there’s no physical feature or quality connecting them.”

Hong paused in his speech to politely accept a cup of tea from the new serving woman, and continued.

“No physical feature - save the positioning of the moon. The cattle muncher only ever strikes with the rising or setting crescent; of the full and new moon, he, she, they, or it knows nothing. The timing here is careful and consistent, in precisely the middle halves of each lunar cycle, to such a degree it can’t possibly be coincidence.”

“Could it be instinct?” The magistrate asked, providing his first significant interjection in the conversation.

“Many animals time their activities with the position of the moon, or the sun, or the points of the compass, and others to shifts in the weather. Possibly this monster is simply one of those whose nocturnal activities are sublunary in more ways than one.”

The magistrate paused, waiting to see if Hong had anything to say in defence of his theory, but though the latter looked unconvinced he gestured for the magistrate to continue. It was good practice, when disputing the Way, to listen to what the Other had to say.

The magistrate phrased his next words carefully.

“If this is so, it is possible that the hunting habits are due not so much to a conscious deliberation, but to an instinctual annihilation: to kill, then to eat. The weasel, for instance, bites its target at the base of its neck - severing its head from its spine - before it devours its prey. I pick the weasel as an example here because though it will often kill what it does not eat, its strikes nonetheless have the appearance of mercy - much the same as the monster’s.”

Hong clicked his tongue. “Fair enough. I confess a mistrust of the theory of ‘instinct’ altogether - that behaviour is non-rational need not imply it's unintentional - but laying that aside, how do you propose to explain the payments?”

The magistrate considered this, sipping his tea. At length he spoke.

“I admit I have no explanation which fits with the facts of the case as presented elsewhere, but is there a need for such consistency? It is a strange world out there, and many are the men, spirits, or even animals which might for one reason or another be providing the money.”

“While leaving the source of the problem undealt with?”

“Perhaps they don’t consider the monster a threat.”

“A convenient theory, and I concede it answers all the questions; and yet I can’t help but think that the facts of the case are all connected, and derived one from the other. The timing, the matters of stimulus and response… I’m no alchemist, but the process has all the hallmarks of a recipe.”

The magistrate shrugged. He only cultivated on the side - and that, mainly as a hobby - and knew little about what Hong was saying.

At any rate, so long as Hong did more than talk and actually solved the problem, he saw no reason to complain about any conclusions he made - faulty or not - and said as such:

“Well, if it isn’t a recipe, then the materials are unneeded all on their own; if it is a recipe, then it should be stopped before it’s cooked.”

Hong chuckled mirthlessly, dropping a few persnickels on the table as he got up to leave.

“Naturally - it’s not a noodle recipe, after all.”