Xu Wuyou leaned back in the armchair, the cool tea sliding down his throat, but it couldn’t quench the fire smoldering in his chest.
Half a month had passed since the strike at South Dock was put down.
During this time, the boats of the Waterway Hall had been running smoothly—too smoothly.
Every morning, the locks at Tongjin Gate swung open, no river bandits blocking the way, no clerks inspecting cargo.
The imperial court was silent.
The Tongji Shipping Guild was equally dead still.
“Old Zhou,” Xu Wuyou called.
Old Zhou poked his head out from the accounting room, a brush still in his hand, ink dripping from the tip.
“Hall Master.” He hurried over, setting the brush on the inkstone.
“Have you dug up the full background on that Lu Wenzhao?” Xu Wuyou picked up two walnuts from the table, rolling them in his palm.
Old Zhou wiped the sweat off his forehead, pulled a neatly folded note from his sleeve, and handed it over.
“I’ve got it. The man never even passed the county exam—he’s a failed scholar. Years back, he set up a stall at Tongjin Gate writing letters for others. Somehow, he got connected to Lei Zhen, the guild master.”
Old Zhou lowered his voice, leaning in.
“Nowadays, the guild master is the blade, but Lu Wenzhao is the bookkeeper.”
Xu Wuyou didn’t take the note, pausing the walnuts in his hand.
“A failed scholar can control that pack of reckless thugs in the shipping guild?”
Old Zhou nodded repeatedly, unfolding the note.
“Hall Master, the man’s ruthless! He came up with a set of rules, turning all the old protection money—once collected by force—into ‘escort fees.’”
“If a boatman didn’t pay, he wouldn’t hit or curse. He’d just block the boat’s schedule or cut off supplies.”
Old Zhou pointed to a line on the note.
“Last month, old man Li from the east side refused to pay the escort fee. Lu Wenzhao didn’t lay a finger on him—just had the Tongji ships occupy Li’s berth for ten straight days.”
“All the fresh fish on Li’s boat rotted. He was ruined.”
Old Zhou swallowed hard.
“When the boatmen couldn’t take it anymore, Lu Wenzhao would step in and offer them loans.”
“Nine coins out, thirteen back in. Compound interest piled on.”
“Old man Li borrowed fifty taels. Three months later, it was two hundred. He ended up losing himself, his boat, and his whole family—they were sold off to the mines.”
Xu Wuyou gave a cold laugh, resuming his walnut-spinning.
“A god of fortune raised on loan sharking and escort fees. Those dockside beggars in the shipping guild are putting him on a pedestal.”
Old Zhou sighed, stuffing the note back into his sleeve.
“Exactly! Even Lei Zhen greets him with a respectful ‘Mr. Lu.’ This half-month of silence in the guild, the rumor is that Lu Wenzhao is the one holding them back.”
Xu Wuyou stared at the water stains on the table.
“A dog that doesn’t bark is the one that bites. Holding back—he’s cooking up something.”
Just then.
Bam.
The courtyard gate flew open from a kick.
Fat Fish burst in, head covered in soot, stumbling across the yard.
His short jacket had burn holes, and a fresh bruise purpled his left cheek—clearly from a recent fight.
“Hall Master! I got them back!”
Fat Fish clutched several ledgers, their edges scorched black, and shouted.
The yard’s enforcers gathered around, clubs in hand.
Fat Fish thumped up to the stone table and slammed the ledgers down.
A puff of black ash flew up, making Old Zhou cough.
“Those bastards at Huitong Bank were burning ledgers in the back! I took a dozen brothers over the wall and brawled with their guards. I kicked over their brazier and pulled these lifebloods from the fire!”
Fat Fish raised his right hand.
His hand was blistered—raw, red wounds curling back.
Xu Wuyou stood, waving contemptuously to clear the ash.
“Go to Old Li in the back and get some burn ointment. All you men, go drink some tea and relax.” Xu Wuyou ordered.
The crowd understood and filed out for tea.
Fat Fish grinned, his white teeth stark against the soot on his face.
“Don’t worry, Hall Master! Look at these books—there’s a big fish in them! When I grabbed them, the Huitong Bank manager hopped around like mad, trying to dive into the fire to get them back!”
Xu Wuyou brushed the ash from the ledger covers.
Half the cover was burned away; the pages were brittle from the heat, crumbling at a touch.
He opened the first page.
His eyes were instantly pinned by several red ink stamps.
Xu Wuyou’s fingers stopped on one stamp, pressing it firmly.
“Guangyi Trading Company,” he read aloud.
He looked up at Old Zhou.
“Wasn’t Lu Huaide’s Guangyi Trading Company already raided? How is this stamp showing up in a Huitong Bank ledger?”
Old Zhou leaned in, saw the stamp, and gasped, his voice wavering.
“That stamp is real! And this ledger is from this year—the ink’s barely dry!”
“These bastards have no shame! I thought they’d quit after Lu Huaide fell.”
“But they just changed faces.”
Xu Wuyou flipped through quickly.
“Third month of the Yimao year: One hundred twenty ships passed Tongjin Gate, collected three thousand taels in escort fees.”
“Fourth month of the Dingsi year: Five thousand taels loaned at South Dock, gained two thousand taels in interest.”
Pointing at the notes after each entry, Xu Wuyou recited them one by one.
“Every single sum was later transferred to Huitong Bank, but stamped with Guangyi’s seal.”
Xu Wuyou gritted his teeth.
“They laundered all the money through Lu Wenzhao’s hands into legal escort fees! The court seized Guangyi’s visible assets, but the hidden cash all went into Tongji Shipping Guild’s pockets!”
Fat Fish ignored his hand’s pain, crouching at the table, his thick black fingers poking at the pages.
“Hall Master, look here!”
Fat Fish flipped directly to the last page.
That page wasn’t full of dense entries.
In the corner, there were words finer than mosquito legs.
Xu Wuyou bent down to read them.
“Annual Tribute to the Shang Mansion,” Fat Fish spelled out, his voice booming.
The courtyard fell silent instantly—even the rustle of leaves was clear.
Old Zhou drew a sharp breath, his legs weakening, almost stumbling.
“The Shang Mansion… Minister of Revenue, Shang Qitai?”
Xu Wuyou straightened up and snapped the ledger shut.
“Besides him, which Shang mansion in the capital dare swallow so much silver?”
Xu Wuyou paced heavily two steps beside the stone table.
“So that’s how it is.”
He stopped, hands pressing on the ledger.
“Lei Zhen does the fighting—grabbing territory, laying down laws. Lu Wenzhao works the abacus behind the scenes, washing bloodstained black money into clean banknotes.”
Xu Wuyou snorted coldly, grabbing his teacup and dashing the tea—leaves and all—onto the ground.
“Eighty thousand taels of silver every year, flowing steadily into Shang Qitai’s pockets.
“That’s the real talisman for the Tongji Shipping Guild. With the Minister of Revenue backing them in court, who dares touch the guild?”
Fat Fish clenched his fist, knuckles cracking, the heavy flesh on his face trembling.
“Hall Master, let’s take this ledger to the Earl’s mansion! Let His Lordship bang the complaint drum and impeach that old dog Shang Qitai to death!”
Xu Wuyou shook his head, pushing the ledger toward Old Zhou.
“It’s not that simple. Half of the ledger was burned. Though the seal of Guangyi Firm is still on it, there’s no personal signature from Lu Wenzhao.”
“Shang Qitai could easily deny it, claim it was his subordinates acting under his banner to swindle others. Those civil officials at court are masters at passing the buck.”
Xu Wuyou picked up the two walnuts again.
“To nail Shang Qitai, we must first capture Lu Wenzhao.”
Suddenly, shouting erupted from outside the courtyard gate.
“Stay still! Move again and I’ll chop you up!”
“Get in there!”
Several thugs from the Waterway Hall, blades drawn, shoved their way in.
They forced a thin young servant in a blue gown up to the stone steps.
Knives were pressed against his neck, but he didn’t even glance at them.
He straightened up, smoothed the wrinkled hem of his gown.
Fat Fish strode over, grabbed the servant by the collar, and lifted him off the ground.
“What do you think you are, lurking around the Waterway Hall entrance?”
The servant, choked and red-faced, remained utterly calm.
Slowly, he pulled a gilded invitation card from his sleeve.
Holding it with both hands, he raised it above his head.
Ignoring the blades at his throat, he shouted,
“Master Lu invites Hall Master Xu to the Night River Teahouse for a chat.”
The thugs exchanged glances, their grips loosening on their swords.
Fat Fish let go, snatched the card, and handed it to Xu Wuyou.
“Hall Master, it’s from Lu Wenzhao’s man.”
Xu Wuyou stepped down from the stairs and took the card.
The cover was made of fine, gold-flecked red paper, heavy in hand, its edges carrying a faint scent of sandalwood.
He didn’t open it right away.
He stared at the servant.
“Lu Wenzhao sent you?”
The servant rubbed his neck, bowed with proper courtesy.
“To answer Hall Master Xu, Master Lu said the south dock is windy, and the Waterway Hall’s boats are sailing too fast—they might capsize.”
“He’s prepared some top-grade Junshan Silver Needle tea and invites Hall Master Xu to the Night River Teahouse for a calming cup.”
Xu Wuyou sneered.
“He’s got quite the refined taste! The brazier at Exchange Silver House was just kicked over, and now he wants to invite me for tea.”
The servant met his gaze without flinching.
“Master Lu also said those old ledgers are nothing—burned is burned. If Hall Master Xu likes them, he still has a dozen chests to spare and would gladly send them for your review.”
Enraged, Fat Fish kicked the servant in the leg.
“Bullshit! You think the Waterway Hall is a charity case?”
The servant dropped to one knee from the blow, gritting his teeth to stifle a cry.
He stood, brushed the dust off his knee.
“The message is delivered. Whether to come or not is Hall Master Xu’s decision. This one takes his leave.”
Turning, he strode out the courtyard gate and was gone.
The thugs raised their swords to chase him.
“Stop.” Xu Wuyou ordered.
Fat Fish stomped in frustration, pointing at the gate.
“Hall Master! You’re letting him go? This is clearly a trap! The Night River Teahouse is under Tongji Canal Guild’s control—there are sure to be assassins lying in wait!”
Ignoring his outburst, Xu Wuyou flipped over the gilded card.
On the back, two lines of dark ink read under his breath:
“The Waterway Hall only sets the sailing dates; the Guild decides the ship’s fate.”
…
It had been a long time since Xu Zijin, the original male lead, last appeared. He was biting his brush handle, frozen at his desk.
The brush tip hovered over the rice paper, and a large ink drop splattered, ruining the half-written line.
On the paper was scrawled a plain saying: “Water flows downhill because it’s reasonable.”
Xu Zijin read it aloud, then tugged at his hair in frustration.
What kind of essay was this? It sounded like an old village head gossiping.
The manuscripts Xu Qinghuan left behind were profound in their logic.
He’d tried to translate those ideas into examination-standard policy essays, forcing physical laws into the classical sentence structures of the Book of Rites—but the result was a mess.
Crumpling sheet after sheet, over a dozen now littered the floor at his feet.
The weather was muggy, and cicadas droned outside the window, grating on his nerves.
His servant, Ah Fu, came in with a bowl of mung bean soup and swept the crumpled paper into a dustpan.
“Master, have some soup to cool down. I’ll dispose of these papers.”
Xu Zijin waved a hand without looking up, still wrestling with the ink on another sheet.
Ah Fu carried the sack of scrap paper out the back gate and sold it to Old Wang the junkman at the corner, earning two coins to buy a candied hawthorn stick.
Old Wang pushed his cart to the East Market and resold the scraps to Widow Zhang at her fried goods stall.
With nimble hands, Widow Zhang tore a sheet, rolled it into a cone, and filled it with five-spice melon seeds for Zhao Xuan, a student of the Imperial Academy.
Zhao Xuan cracked the seeds, and his gaze happened to fall on the ink marks inside the cone.
He flattened the paper.
“Huh! ‘Water flows downhill because it’s reasonable’?”
He read it out loud, and his classmates crowded around.
“What kind of nonsense is this?”
“Hey! Look at the signature—Xu Zijin! That retainer at the Xu Mansion who boasts he’ll pass the provincial exam as top scholar!”
The tea stall erupted in laughter.
Within half an hour, that scrap of paper had spread all over the Imperial Academy.
At the Spring Breeze Pavilion, Lu Huaijin swirled his wine cup, listening to his classmates’ vivid retelling.
“Vulgar! A disgrace to refinement!”
He ordered paper to be spread and ink ground.
Picking up his brush, he dipped and flicked his wrist, composing a Rhapsody on Mocking Water in one smooth flow.
“Market talk dares to claim it’s great doctrine. A commoner’s pen aspires to reason. The Xu household’s standards are plain for all to see.”
The rhapsody was florid in diction, perfectly balanced in structure, mercilessly tearing apart Xu Zijin’s folk saying.
The gathered scholars cheered, some even suggesting the piece be carved onto wooden blocks and printed citywide.
By noon, over a hundred copies of the Rhapsody had been transcribed and plastered on notice boards at every major academy in the capital.
…
At the alley behind the Xu Mansion.
An unremarkable green-canopied carriage sat in the shade beside the wall.
Xie Yunwan glanced around, hurried to the back door, and knocked three times.
The doorman cracked it open, recognized her, and quickly let her in.
She crossed the winding corridor, heading straight for Xu Zijin’s study.
Bang!
The study door burst open.
Xu Zijin, buried in his work, startled and dropped his brush—ruining another sheet.
Xie Yunwan strode to the desk and slapped a paper in front of him.
“Young Master Xu, your common-language literature has provided quite a spectacle for the entire capital.”
Xu Zijin looked closely. The Rhapsody on Mocking Water?
“This… this is my discarded draft! How did it get outside!”
Xie Yunwan pulled out a chair, sat, and removed her veiled hat, setting it aside.
“Draft or final draft, it doesn’t matter. Right now, every scholar in the capital is laughing at the Xu household.”
“Lu Huaijin’s rhapsody aims to brand you as coarse and unlettered.”
Xu Zijin said, a bit at a loss, “The words may be rough, but the meaning is sound! Martial Princess Xu’s scholarship values empirical proof—not those flowery, hollow phrases!”
Xie Yunwan snorted coldly, tapping her fingers on the Rhapsody.
“The great simplicity of the Way doesn’t mean you write in plain, vernacular language! On the examination grounds, the examiners only recognize tonal patterns and metrical rules, and they only value citations from classical texts. If you can’t even cross this threshold, who will have the patience to read your ‘Way’?”
Xu Zijin was left speechless.
He could, in fact, pen those ornate, flowery essays.
But now his mind was filled with Xu Qinghuan’s teachings on physics, mathematics, and agricultural governance. Every time he picked up his brush, what came out were nothing but direct, declarative sentences.
Xie Yunwan picked up a purple-tipped brush from beside the brush washer and dipped it into the ink.
“That line of yours—‘Water flows downward because it has principle’—if you were to rephrase it...”
She quickly wrote two lines on the rice paper.
“Water follows its nature to seek the low, moving in accordance with principle. All things return to their source, each governed by its fixed determinacy.”
Xie Yunwan pushed the paper in front of Xu Zijin and tapped her knuckles twice on the desk.
“The meaning hasn’t changed, but once you put this skin on it, those old pedants in the Imperial Academy will treat it as a golden rule.”
Xu Zijin stared at the characters on the paper, his brow deeply furrowed.
“I am naturally capable of writing such rhetoric. But forcing this kind of far-fetched analogy, stuffing the science of empirical evidence into empty, ethereal fate—is that really right?”
Xie Yunwan leaned forward, her gaze sharp.
“Master Xu, it isn’t that you can’t write ornate prose. You’ve simply been blinded by the directness of this new learning, and you’ve fallen into the stubborn pedantry of a scholar.”
She stood up and pointed in the direction outside the window. “But on the examination field, the examiners don’t look at your evidence. They only look at whether your essay conforms to the subtle and profound meanings of the sages.”
“If you take your plain vernacular to the exam, you won’t even make it out of the examination cell’s gate. When Lu Huaijin wrote that satirical rhapsody, he wasn’t mocking your clumsy style—he was striking at your jugular: ‘heresy and deviation from the orthodox Way’!”
“You have the bones of the new learning, but you cannot find the skin of the old learning.” Xie Yunwan folded her hands, her tone confident. “I have come today not to teach you how to write essays, but to discuss how to use the outer shell of the Book of Changes and the Book of Rites to hide the blade of this new learning.”
“If Lu Huaijin attacks you with parallel prose, then you will use the most orthodox official learning to write your new learning, and smash his signboard fair and square.”
Xu Zijin grew wary. The Xie family and the Xu family were sworn rivals in the court.
For this talented young lady of the Xie family to sneak in through the back door could not simply be out of the kindness of her heart.
“What does Miss Xie want?”
