Ding Tao was terrified. In that instant of eye contact, he felt certain he would die just like Jida had. He still remembered the look in Shen Zechuan’s eyes when he killed Jida—and just now, that same gaze was fixed on him. He tried to run, but the moment Shen Zechuan offered him the candy, he lost the courage to raise his hand.
The eaves were silent; Shen Zechuan had already retreated inside the building. The sunlight beat down on Ding Tao, and he still hadn’t fully recovered. The sensation was indescribable, but one thing was clear—this was not the familiar young master he knew.
Ding Tao raised his arms and rubbed his eyes in confusion. He wanted to pick up the candy, but it had already melted under the sun. The sweet scent of osmanthus had drawn a swarm of ants. Ding Tao knelt in place, unsure what to do, and tears began to fall.
Shen Zechuan’s interrupted recollections could no longer be pieced together; the dream was too dark, and he couldn’t remember more details. He stood behind the bamboo blinds, listening to Ding Tao’s quiet sobs below the eaves.
He thought to himself:
He could not allow himself to sink too deeply into this dream.
He had to quickly discern truth from illusion, to determine whether everything in this dream had truly been seen or if it was a fabrication of his own mind. After six years of torment from nightmares, he knew better than anyone that dreams could be a mixture of fact and fiction. For example, he had often dreamed of the Chashi Pit, but the scenes inside it shifted with his mood.
During the Chazhou journey, after Shen Zechuan was injured, he dreamt of lying in the pit—this marked the start of his distrust in his own body and made him acutely aware of his fear of death. Frequent nightmares disrupted memory; in fact, he could no longer be certain which words Ji Mu had spoken to him before dying.
Dangerous.
Shen Zechuan thought to himself with a bitter irony.
It was only a Shen Wei, after all.
The Six-Ears network was very effective; they hid in every street and alley, and with sufficient payment, they could transform into countless eyes. Fei Sheng, using these eyes, could observe every corner of Dunzhou without stepping outside, yet Lei Jingzhe’s movements remained enigmatic.
“Lei Jingzhe has spent three consecutive days conducting massive inspections, checking all incoming and outgoing goods,” Fei Sheng whispered behind Shen Zechuan. “Master, could it be that he already knows we’re in the city?”
Shen Zechuan, wearing the common sunshade hat of Qudu, said, “Then he should be inspecting merchants’ carriages, not the goods themselves.”
This batch of supplies was too important for Lei Jingzhe to ignore; otherwise, he would not have rushed to Dunzhou personally. Shen Zechuan surmised that Lei Jingzhe intended to use these supplies to trade with the Twelve Border Divisions. Yet, upon arriving in Dunzhou, he did not search westward immediately but lingered in the city instead.
Shen Zechuan rested his arms on the railing, scanning the tea house below through the gauze, slowly organizing his thoughts. “Inspecting the goods indicates that Lei Jingzhe believes the supplies will return to Dunzhou.”
Curious indeed.
He tapped his fingers on the railing.
Why was Lei Jingzhe so certain the supplies would return to Dunzhou? Few forces in Zhongbo could handle such a batch, and Cizhou was the primary suspect. Shen Zechuan had even prepared to openly challenge Lei Jingzhe, yet the latter didn’t suspect him at all.
“Master, even if Lei Jingzhe thinks someone else took the supplies, who would return them?” Fei Sheng muttered, baffled. “With the Scorpions guarding the city, returning the goods is walking into a trap.”
“You are correct,” Shen Zechuan said, rubbing his tired eyes. “Who would take the supplies and then bring them back?”
It made no sense.
“The spies we placed in Dunzhou are now useless because the city is too chaotic,” Fei Sheng said cautiously. “Could it be that bandits refusing to submit to the Biansha forces are playing a game of cat-and-mouse with Lei Jingzhe?”
Shen Zechuan considered this but shook his head. “After the Luoshan bandits split, there was no leader capable of commanding loyalty. Ding Niu and the Six-Ears were captured because they never thought to unite against Lei Jingzhe. With their current scale, minor skirmishes are possible, but they would never dare touch such a large shipment.”
Weapons were not like grain; they could not simply be broken down and hidden. Moving this shipment had required hundreds of bandits pushing carts—a weight impossible for small-time bandits to handle alone. Shen Zechuan’s key to shifting them lay in not killing the bandits, and in having Li Bei’s cavalry present to suppress them. Otherwise, he could not have moved the supplies so easily.
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh.
Fei Sheng dared not smile. He thought for a moment, wishing Mr. Chengfeng or Yuan Zuo were here so he wouldn’t have to speak. Shen Zechuan’s presence left him rooted, like a fool. After some hesitation, he said, “Could it be—”
The commotion downstairs abruptly interrupted him. Shen Zechuan tilted the brim of his sun hat and squinted at the main hall below.
They were on the fifth floor, able to see the entire hall.
This tea house belonged to the Yan family. Shen Zechuan had chosen it because Lei Jingzhe would host a banquet here tonight for someone. The identity of that person was unknown; their eyes weren’t sharp enough to see that high, but Shen Zechuan could guess with near certainty.
“Scorpions,” Fei Sheng whispered. “Lei Jingzhe brought the Scorpions.”
Shen Zechuan looked down at Lei Jingzhe. His injuries had just healed; his hair was shaved short, and he was flanked by the Biansha Scorpions, making him almost indistinguishable. From the distance, Shen Zechuan could not see the tattoo on the back of his neck.
Lei Jingzhe seemed to be in a hurry; he passed through the hall and rushed upstairs.
“If it’s just for the banquet,” Fei Sheng frowned, “he brought far too many people.”
Many merchants were in the building, but no one dared block Lei Jingzhe’s path. He had indeed brought at least thirty men. Some followed him upstairs; the rest remained seated in the hall. The Jinyiwei, disguised in various ways, observed quietly, even brushing past him without drawing attention.
Shen Zechuan lifted his tea cup and saw Lei Jingzhe ascend to the fifth floor, directly opposite him. He sipped the tea and said, “Send a reward to the Six-Ears; their timing was impeccable.”
Fei Sheng acknowledged.
A bamboo blind was lowered opposite, blocking the view. The men Lei Jingzhe brought stayed outside. Fei Sheng’s keen eyesight caught the lantern light, allowing him to scrutinize them for the Scorpion tattoos.
After about half an hour, all the lanterns were lit upstairs. The opposite side called for dishes, and attendants came in and out. Fei Sheng tried to shift his position, but the screens were set too cleverly, leaving no chance to peek.
The banquet dragged on from You to Hai hours. Shen Zechuan finished a pot of tea, leaning in his chair, drowsy. Another hour passed, yet the atmosphere remained lively.
“The Yan family earns from mediating trade, taking ‘face money,’” Fei Sheng whispered. “Master, they’re letting the merchants enjoy themselves.”
Shen Zechuan hummed softly, opening his eyes slightly. “Free trade. Let’s sell the grains we brought as well.”
“Madam Yan,” Fei Sheng pointed out someone below, “that’s an old madam from Fanzhou.”
The madam was plump, flashy in attire, and meticulously made up. She had previously refused to trade with merchants here, only delivering children for Lei Changming. After a falling out with the Yan family, her business in Dunzhou had suffered, so she reluctantly turned to selling women. People had been moved from various Zhongbo states, during the harshest famine when even a peck of rice could support a whole family.
“Master,” Fei Sheng leaned in to explain, “this madam is Cuiqing. When we were checking prices in Fanzhou, we also investigated her background. She was old friends with Lei Changming, originally from Duanzhou, and had previously worked as a madam. Lei Changming provided the funds, so she risked delivering children for him.”
Cuiqing held her handkerchief, squeezed into the crowd of merchants. No one dared harass her; occasionally she would eye someone, finding ways to get them. She had long experience in Dunzhou, Duanzhou, and Fanzhou, entangled with Lei Changming and Cai Yu to some extent, though not yet with the Yan family.
Her bulky frame displaced several men when she sat. She crossed her legs, leaned to the side, with a white-clad man kneeling behind her holding a pipe. She tilted her head, inhaling and exhaling smoke.
“Has my nephew come down yet?” Cuiqing glanced upward. “It’s been so long; even getting into bed should have ended by now.”
A merchant sitting beside her asked, “Madam, what fine goods have you brought? Let us have a look; if suitable, we want them too!”
“Bah,” Cuiqing scrutinized the jade and gold bracelet on her right hand. “What goods are you fit for? The ones we brought aren’t cheap; only the finest young women, hundreds of taels required to take them to Qudu.”
“Are the girls worth that? Prostitutes are all about charm, the more experienced the higher the price!”
“You’re fit only to toy with the cheap ones,” Cuiqing said, touching the white-clad man’s cheek, chuckling. “Back when Duanzhou was the capital of golden luxury, all my girls were beauties. No other madam’s girls could compete.”
Defeated during the war, Cuiqing rarely spoke of the past. But tonight, surrounded by flattering company, she proudly puffed out her chest, smoking and basking in admiration.
“Don’t say I have high standards; the ones I brought today would have been only serving tea in my house before,” Cuiqing said, lips painted bright red, concealing many wrinkles, hinting that decades ago, she had been a great beauty.
“Name them!”
Cuiqing sneered, “The top three on the roster were all my girls, married well. Today’s girls blur the line between courtesan and entertainer, but back then, it was clear. Buyers paid gold, and seeing them without a tag meant nothing—they were treasured even more than daughters of wealthy families. My nephew’s mother was also my girl, the famed Xiaoyinlei by the Chashi River, married into the Zhu family of Duanzhou.”
She twisted a man’s face, blowing smoke into it.
“These were minor players. My favorite was the first girl in the house. ‘Pure as jade, delicate as porcelain,’ heard of her? When her sign was up, Duanzhou emptied; even the emperor in Qudu wanted to see her.”
The merchants clapped in delight.
Cuiqing, lost in the smoke, hummed: “Pure as jade… do you think it’s false? She truly was as delicate as porcelain. If you saw her frown, everyone would kneel and serve her, none would let her touch the dusty floor…”
The hall reeked of smoke, causing some girls to cough. They could not cover their mouths for fear of appearing disdainful, their flushed faces glistening with sweat. Cuiqing arranged the girls, letting them handle popular toys of Qudu; the men she brought knelt, massaging her legs.
Before long, one girl could not sit still, furrowing her brow and covering her cough with a handkerchief. Sniffing the smoke, she realized something was wrong. “Ah! Fire!”
Merchants and girls panicked; smoke filled the room. The attendants were gone. Everyone scrambled to gather silver, unsure if it belonged to them. The tags fell to the floor; Cuiqing, being too fat, wobbled as she was jostled, losing a hairpin.
“Open the door!” someone rushed to the door, banging. “Why is it still locked?!”
Tables and chairs toppled; some tried to escape through windows, but they were sealed.
Lei Jingzhe suddenly appeared at the window, glancing below.
Cuiqing waved her handkerchief frantically. “Nephew! Open the door, it’s burning!”
Fei Sheng had already located his sword, waiting for Shen Zechuan’s order to strike, but Shen Zechuan sipped his tea silently.
Fei Sheng could not help speaking. “Master—”
At that moment, a hand clambered onto the railing near Lei Jingzhe, followed by a man scaling up. Lei Jingzhe’s face changed; he dodged the curved blade. The screen toppled, revealing tables and chairs—but only Lei Jingzhe was there!
Fei Sheng exclaimed, “He didn’t bring anyone! This is a lure!”
Shen Zechuan reached for his folded fan, remembering it was broken. He finished his tea and watched the men left below by Lei Jingzhe rush upstairs. Strangely, apart from Lei Jingzhe’s section, the fifth floor remained quiet.
Fei Sheng, eyes sharp, craned his head, observing the fight meticulously. “Master, that’s also a ‘Scorpion’!”
The man attempting to assassinate Lei Jingzhe revealed the side of his neck during his movements—tatooed with a Scorpion, identical to Jida’s.