The baggage was escorted by the Northern Riders, with the bandits tasked to push it back to Cizhou. Shen Zechuan only took a dozen or so Embroidered Guards and some goods, disguised as merchants heading north. Instead of entering Dunzhou directly, they skirted along the official road from Fanzhou, entering through the west gate.
Six-Ears, wearing his edge-drum hat, waddled behind Fei Sheng. Whenever his eyes darted around, the Embroidered Guards would trap him in the middle, leaving him barely able to move. He had once been Lei Jingzhe’s messenger, exceptionally well-informed and intimately familiar with Dunzhou; having him guide the way saved them much trouble. But the old man was cunning—at first, to escape detection, he had blackened his face and blended into the bandit ranks so thoroughly that Fei Sheng almost failed to recognize him.
Shen Zechuan’s medicine hadn’t lapsed, and after five days on the road, his coughing gradually subsided. Only the two fingers of his right hand remained weak; in these days he couldn’t even write letters, so messages to the Northern Riders and Cizhou were penned by Ding Tao on his behalf.
“Once we enter the city, we need to register our goods at a pawnshop first,” Six-Ears tugged at his hat, hiding his face, clasped his hands together, and tilted his head, “Dunzhou is chaotic now. Only merchant caravans with pawnshop registration can lodge in the city. Everyone is cautious; it’s an unspoken rule. Anyone who doesn’t understand the rules is sure to get into trouble.”
Shen Zechuan rested his folded fan on his lap, concealed in the carriage, showing only a vague silhouette. He asked, “Whose pawnshop is this?”
“From the Yan family of Hezhou,” Six-Ears whispered, leaning close to the carriage curtain. “Back when Lei Changming had Yan family backing, this place was a total mess. Officially, it fell under Lei Changming’s control, but he wasn’t a civil commissioner, and we bandits didn’t have so many clerks, so we mostly turned a blind eye to the lower-level details. But with so many merchants coming and going, how could anyone tell who was a spy? Young Master Yan gave Lei Changming the idea to establish a pawnshop here, called ‘Tongming.’ Any brothers doing business with the Luoshan bandits would know how to answer once inside. Later, the Yans and us parted ways, but the pawnshop remained—it was Lei Changming giving face to Young Master Yan.”
Shen Zechuan’s lips twitched. “In that case, the Yan family controls Dunzhou’s information, recording every deal Lei Changming handles. This Young Master Yan likely knows the accounts over the years even better than Lei Changming himself.”
“A prodigy,” Six-Ears smacked his lips. “Nothing he handles ever loses money. He’s young, but he loves wealth—loves it deeply. He dares to do any business.”
Shen Zechuan thought of the matter with the Shao family’s heir and asked casually, “Lei Changming must have owed him some favor, otherwise why the falling out?”
Six-Ears, afraid Shen Zechuan might turn against him later, flattered him as they walked. He summarized the stakes, selling Lei Changming out: “Lei Changming had a habit… it’s gotten worse over the years. People in Dun and Duan states were terrified; they wouldn’t leave their children at home, fearing we’d take them for Lei Changming. Originally he kept it secret from Yan, but later when he requested young girls from the Fanzhou brothels, the madams sent the kids over, recording them as rice and flour at the pawnshop. Yan checked the accounts, caught him, and Young Master Yan flew into a rage. Lei Changming promised to change, but how could he? With Cai Yu stirring trouble on the side, it wasn’t long before they truly fell out. Yan stopped Luoshan’s monthly supplies; the food no longer came our way.”
Six-Ears faced the carriage curtain as he spoke.
“That’s why we starved in Luoshan. Lei Jingzhe had Lei Changming request food from Cizhou, and Zhou Gui, powerless at the time, kept giving it. Then the emperor in Qudu died, the marquis rebelled, and uncle and nephew planned to use Han Jin for a title. Anyway, no one in Zhongbo cared—if it succeeded, we’d transform into a local regular army!”
Shen Zechuan tapped his fingers. “Lei Jingzhe really is a clever child.”
Lei Jingzhe, acting as Lei Changming’s strategist, had let the Cizhou supply situation play out so neatly. Once Yan cut off Lei Changming’s monthly provision, he redirected the main force toward Cizhou. Marching boldly, he used Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye as bait to be eliminated—he truly was a sacrificial pawn.
Lei Jingzhe probably intended to take his place. Seeking the title through Han Cheng, he may have calculated Han could not withstand the high demands; combined with Lei Changming’s greed, negotiation was uncertain. So Lei Jingzhe simply removed his uncle, letting him die amid the conflict—clean and convenient.
This suggested two possibilities: either Han Cheng wasn’t a “Scorpion,” and the Scorpions weren’t as capable as Shen Zechuan feared; or both were merely pieces, needing only to play their roles to achieve the plan.
Shen Zechuan considered both theories, lost in thought, saying nothing further.
By the time the carriage entered the city, it was already the hour of the Pig. Tongming Pawnshop was indeed brightly lit. Fei Sheng carried Six-Ears to register; outside, all manner of carriages were present—merchants from Longyou bypassing the west, agents from Fanzhou. Abacus beads clacked amid calls, selling everything imaginable, bustling despite the late hour.
Centered on Tongming Pawnshop, large lanterns hung on either side; inns and shops stayed open through the night, the street noisy until dawn. Beggars were plentiful but kept in order. Prostitutes of all ages leaned on passing patrons, luring them into inns for a free night; this earned them a little food. Amid the crowd, Fei Sheng noticed several faces from Biansha.
It was far from a defeated city; the air carried a sour stench of alcohol and meat, clashing with spices from Juesi and Chashi Rivers, creating a nauseating mix. The street resembled a galaxy reflected on the sky, gathering the last bright lights of Zhongbo against the surrounding darkness.
With the crowd pressing, Fei Sheng followed Six-Ears’ lead to enter the pawnshop and register. The goods were miscellaneous grains from Huaizhou; the inspecting clerks worked efficiently, checking each item in turn, while junior clerks kept faster notes.
The clerk approached the carriage properly, bowing. “Gentlemen from the west, masters of the trade, arriving in Dunzhou, we dare not treat you lightly. Leave your words here for now, consider it entertainment after a long journey.”
Shen Zechuan gave no reply.
Accustomed to all manner of merchants, both wealthy and bandit, the clerk recognized that some masters had a bad temper. He remained composed, standing firm: “Once inside the city, you deal as you see fit; no one can interfere. All comings and goings are guests and friends. Dunzhou is remote; we watch out for each other. If mediation is needed, call us at the shop; no matter who it is, the clerks will obey instantly, no delay. But one rule: all trades must be registered in the shop, and all registered goods must be genuine. Once listed, with Yan family’s approval, our commercial reputation is shared in Dunzhou, wealth and joy alike.”
The clerk finished, bowed again, and led them inside: “A courtyard has been prepared just for you. Choose any attendant; seasonal fruits and fresh produce are available. As long as you reside in Dunzhou, anything you wish to eat or play with is on us—the Yan family provides fully!”
Fei Sheng was secretly astonished; even the Xi family, wealthy as they were, couldn’t match such generosity. Yan Heru truly lived up to his reputation, both miserly and lavish, throwing vast sums to capture the hearts of passing merchants—no wonder the Xi family’s shops couldn’t break into the east market!
Without further words, the clerk called out: “Tianji Sixteenth Courtyard, welcome esteemed guests!”
The carriage rumbled forward, guided by attendants, into the courtyard.
Shen Zechuan faced the window, glimpsing music from the tavern upstairs. Lanterns of every hue dazzled through the curtains, scattering light like a kaleidoscope.
Six-Ears marveled in the courtyard. He removed his shoes before entering the corridor, hugged them to his chest, and waddled behind Fei Sheng, glancing around, muttering, “Damn… how much silver must have been spent…”
Fei Sheng glanced at the corridor. “No less than a million, at least.”
Six-Ears had never seen so much money, nor had Fei Sheng. To put it in perspective, in Qudu during the Xiande years, the total military expenditure for the Northern Riders and Eastern Garrison was capped at two million; ministers tightened salaries and rationed funds to support them, and the court was nearly bankrupt. Yet here, Yan Heru casually spent tens of thousands of taels simply to entertain guests.
The journey had been exhausting; Fei Sheng didn’t dare let Shen Zechuan overexert himself. He waited until the medicine was taken, then had his men fetch water and prepare the bedding. He didn’t urge Shen Zechuan to rest, quietly instructing Ding Tao to attend him.
Fei Sheng didn’t allow Yan family attendants into the courtyard; the Embroidered Guards layered security around it, Fei Sheng remaining at the outermost layer, keeping watch under Shen Zechuan’s eaves at night. Not just the ground—rooftops and ridges were guarded as well. Ding Tao, having rested in the carriage all day, now sat above, sketching and writing with Lì Xiong. Before leaving, Xiao Chiye’s words constantly echoed in Fei Sheng’s mind; even a single cough from Shen Zechuan at night sent his heart racing to his throat.
Shen Zechuan was unfamiliar with Dunzhou, but tonight, for unknown reasons, nightmares struck fiercely. The Chashi sinkhole had vanished, replaced by Jianxing Prince’s mansion.
Under the dim eaves sat a deaf and mute nanny. Shen Zechuan stood inside the dark room, parched. The table was high; when he tiptoed to reach a teacup, he knocked it to the floor. The porcelain shattered at his feet, scraping his fingers.
Shen Zechuan sobbed.
He felt an inexplicable sadness, as though a treasure had been broken.
Yet no matter how he sobbed, the nanny continued her embroidery, arms extended, shadow stretching to his feet, forming a grotesque elongated figure. She repeated the same motions in the surrounding silence.
Shen Zechuan’s fingers throbbed with tearing pain. He clenched his small robe around them, wrapping the cut fingers. Soon, the fabric was soaked in blood, resembling camellia petals fallen in snow—shattered, bright red, and vivid.