Many of the women from the group came and stood with Feiru, showing that they agreed with what the seamstress had said.
"Sluts and harlots," said a voice.
The heads of the crowd turned as one.
Monk Zen looked as if he'd been through hell. His face was streaked with old, dried blood. His robe was flayed and fell around his waist, showing his ascetic body, lacerated with further cuts.
The people parted for him. He walked between them like a king.
"Sluts and harlots. Are these your allies, demon?" He stopped at the edge of the crowd.
"Not all of us are sluts, Monk," said Master Zhenying as he burrowed into the crowd. "Dujuan! Wenxu! What are you doing with this man? Fomenting mischief?" Master Zhenying walked into the crowd, looking for other merchant apprentices he knew.
"You killed the Pavilion Mistress," Wuyi said.
Monk Zen drew himself up. Wuyi knew he was too proud to deny the crime. Fool.
