The rain over the Tongzhou River finally stopped.
Clouds hung low, pressing heavily against the water’s surface, letting no hint of daylight through.
A foul wind swept across the wharf, carrying gusts of moisture.
Riders from the Imperial Embroidered Uniform Guard stepped forward, dragging Lu Wenzhao from the mud.
This once shrewd accountant could now manage nothing more than a state of utter collapse, without even a plea for mercy.
Xu Wuyou stood upon the stone steps, his gaze crossing the river to rest on the anchored ship, “Zhenhai.”
Without asking a single question about which hellish dungeon the Imperial Guard would deliver the living captive to, he simply turned his head and ordered Lao Zhou, “Go to the Zhenhai and sort through every last scrap of rotten accounts in the hold.”
Shen Lian, who was about to board the ship, stopped in his tracks.
By the conventions of the Great Qian court, after such an elaborate deadfall had been laid, now was the time for dividing the spoils. One ought to probe casually about the captive’s destination, angling for a prime share of credit in the subsequent memorials.
But this Eldest Young Master Xu showed not the slightest interest in asking.
Shen Lian’s face, habitually expressionless, betrayed nothing, but inside he turned this one simple statement over and over in his mind.
This man had drawn the line between Waterway Hall and the Imperial Guard more sharply than the blade of a beheading saber.
What was his duty, he pursued with relentless speed; what was not, he wouldn’t even glance at.
Shen Lian silently marked this demeanor with a significant note.
Lao Zhou led seven or eight trusted workers, carrying windproof lanterns, down the slippery wooden ladder into the Zhenhai’s hold.
Dozens of camphorwood chests, bound with coarse hemp ropes, were stacked into a solid wall.
Iron crowbars wedged into brass locks, snapping them with a harsh crack.
When the lids were thrown open, soaked cloth sacks were revealed inside.
The mouths of the sacks gaped, spilling out silver ingots that glowed with a pale blue light in the dim lantern glow.
Lao Zhou swallowed hard. Even a rough tally was staggering.
All told, the hold contained over one hundred and forty thousand taels of ready silver!
The workers’ hands and feet went weak; none dared to cast a second glance at that heap of silver.
One hundred and forty thousand taels of silver stacked together became an iron grave that could crush a living man into a pulp.
“Hall Master, we found something in a concealed cavity in the cabin wall.”
Lao Zhou, stooping, retrieved an iron casket wrapped in oiled cloth from a hidden compartment. He quickly returned to the deck and handed it to Xu Wuyou.
Xu Wuyou took the casket, casually tearing off the oilcloth.
Inside lay nothing rare—only a single thin ledger.
He opened it by the pale light reflected off the river. The paper was coarse, the ink marks blotchy.
The earlier entries recorded inflows and outflows of funds, records of human interactions at various ports along the river—mere routine. He skimmed them without interest.
Until he reached the last page.
His fingertip stopped.
The characters “Annual Tribute — Shang Residence” were written with great subtlety yet clearly legible.
Below them lay a dense splotch of ink, covering an entire list of names so thoroughly that nothing could be read.
But the person who had struck through it, perhaps with a trembling hand, had left the edge of a half-destroyed character visible.
Xu Wuyou narrowed his eyes, staring at that fragment for a long time.
It was definitely not Shang Qitai’s personal name. This so-called “Southern Transport & Ship Repair Silver” had never circulated within the capital region. Instead, it had flowed along the canal network, heading deep into the murky waters of Jiangnan.
Jiangnan’s waters concealed dragons and crouching tigers—a tangle of great families with roots deep and twisted.
The half-character behind those lists involved far more than the internal power struggles of the Tongji Shipping Association. It was a vast net capable of snaring half the court officials of Great Qian.
Xu Wuyou did not hesitate. He closed the iron casket and let out a long breath.
This object in his hands was no protective talisman—it was a death warrant in the truest sense.
He only wanted to clear the obstacles from his father’s path in the Ministry of Revenue. He had no intention of throwing his own life into Jiangnan’s muddy waters.
“Lao Zhou, bring fire lacquer and sealing strips.”
Xu Wuyou’s voice was crisp, cutting through the river wind.
The fire lacquer melted, dripping onto the casket’s opening.
Xu Wuyou took Waterway Hall’s vermillion official seal, pressed it down without the slightest hesitation, and with a resounding thud, the great seal stamped firmly over the cross-point of the sealing strips.
He turned, holding the casket aloft with both hands, and directly offered it to Shen Lian, who was about to board the ship.
“Lord Shen, this was found in Lu Wenzhao’s hidden compartment. Since it concerns the corruption case of the Minister’s office, it should properly be reviewed by the Imperial Guard.”
Xu Wuyou patted the residual lacquer from his hands, his tone guileless.
“Waterway Hall only handles river navigation. As for matters of the court, I, Xu Wuyou, had best avoid any appearance of involvement for my father’s sake.”
Shen Lian reached out his right hand, clad in a leather bracer, to take the casket. For a remarkably rare moment, his gesture hesitated by half a finger’s breadth.
In all his years at the Imperial Guard, he had overseen countless house arrests and executions. He had seen too many dignitaries at court gamble their heads away for half a ledger that could blackmail a political enemy.
But this man before him had thrown away a tool capable of stirring the heavens, as if it were a rag.
Not greedy for power. Not covetous of wealth. Not eager to claim credit.
He possessed all three.
Hmph.
Shen Lian couldn’t help but click his tongue inwardly.
He lifted his chiseled jaw, turning his gaze through the veil of rain to reexamine Xu Wuyou.
He took the casket, his face still as stone, but inside he had already made a judgment: This Eldest Young Master Xu was a good plank that could stand firm even on a fierce wind and high waves.
Lao Zhou, holding the freshly copied inventory list, approached Xu Wuyou.
He glanced at Shen Lian’s retreating figure and ventured cautiously, “Hall Master, this one hundred and forty thousand taels is ownerless black silver. The river winds are rough, and our workers have suffered greatly. Perhaps we could take a small fraction of it—just a rounding-off—as repairs for the shelter this trip. It would be a legitimate reason.”
Xu Wuyou didn’t even turn his head, cutting off his hope outright.
“The water that passes through the gate—the gatekeeper does not drink a single ladle for himself.”
He pointed at the large ship in mid-river. “The silver on that ship is the lifeblood for over a hundred thousand northern soldiers. It’s what fills their bellies and buys their lives. If you take so much as a single coin, your head will be hanging on the Meridian Gate gallows, waiting for the wind.”
“Give the inventory list to Lord Shen as well. Not a cent, not a grain, may be off.”
Lao Zhou broke out in a cold sweat all over, his legs cramping as if twisted.
That fleeting greed had been doused into ashes by this speech.
He stepped back two paces, his mind buzzing.
Not only had the Hall Master blocked every possible exit, including the excuse of using workers as a pretext, but he had also anticipated that the imperial court would send someone with a grain scale to weigh every last cent!
Lao Zhou drew in a sharp breath of cold air, his respect for Xu Wuyou shot up several notches.
The Hall Master had already heard the abacus clicks of the court and had gone beyond every fatal line.
By the stone pillar in the corner of the wharf, Lei Zhen, once so domineering, now crouched like a bedraggled old quail soaked in a storm, trembling.
He had witnessed everything.
In the face of a mountain of one hundred and forty thousand taels of silver, this Hall Master Xu couldn’t be bothered to even glance at it. In the face of a ledger that could command armies and seize the upper hand in state affairs, he had sealed it and handed it over without a thought.
Lei Zhen’s old, clouded eyes were filled with pure terror.
He had battled on these river waters for thirty years, scrambling and fighting until his head was nearly broken, all for a few hundred taels of boat fare and the hegemony over a few docks.
But this member of the Xu family? Gold and silver never caught his eye, and power never touched his hands.
What that man sought was so vast that even covering the sky with it would leave gaps for the wind to whistle through!
For the first time, this old river rogue felt that his half lifetime of scheming was nothing more than a dirty monkey scrabbling for rotten fruit in a mud pit.
He had never truly understood how the word "game" was written.
The more he thought, the colder he grew. Lei Zhen’s legs went weak, and he collapsed entirely into a puddle.
Shen Lian tucked the iron casket securely into his robe and turned to step onto the plank of the centipede boat.
Just as the boatman was about to cast off the mooring lines, he paused.
He tilted his head slightly, looking back across the churning river, and tossed out in a voice devoid of warmth—words that would carry endless weight for those who pondered them:
“Hall Master Xu, someone at court has already spoken for you. When His Majesty asked about the Waterway Hall’s background the day before last, he only uttered three words.”
“Let him act.”
“Young Master Xu, take care of yourself.”
Xu Wuyou stood where he was, his eyelids twitching sharply twice.
All this time, stirring up chaos on the Tongzhou riverfront, he had thought he was merely pulling out a few hidden thorns for his father and clearing the water routes on the side.
He had never imagined that a thousand li away, on that dragon throne, a pair of eyes had long been fixed on this stretch of water.
He had no idea that today’s actions—sealing a ledger and refusing a boatload of silver—were treading perfectly along the invisible test set by the throne.
The centipede boat cut through the river fog, accompanied by the rhythmic splash of oars, and vanished into the boundless grey water.
Xu Wuyou stood alone on the empty pier.
He ignored the chaos and blood around him, lowering his head and spreading open his palm.
His fingers traced the air unconsciously, sketching the name half-hidden by ink blots.
He drew and erased, erased and drew.
After a long while, he tucked his hand back into his sleeve and let out a sigh, his voice scattering in the cold wind: “This water, heading south, runs deep indeed.”
…
The capital, Imperial Study.
A copper crane incense burner exhaled curling tendrils of dragon’s breath incense, driving away the faint chill of late autumn in the Great Qian Dynasty.
The old emperor, draped in a plain yellow robe, bore no majesty of a Son of Heaven as he reclined lazily against a yellow brocade bolster.
In his hand he held a secret memorial just delivered by the Imperial City Bureau by eight-hundred-li express relay; the ink on the paper carried a murderous intent.
On the page, eight characters in fine small script had been pressed through the paper: “Sealed account, self-surrendered, not a single silver taken.”
The old emperor stared at the eight characters for a long time, then sighed faintly and set the imperial vermilion brush back onto the jade brush rest.
No need to write a reply…
“This blade,” the old emperor said, casting his gaze toward the supervising eunuch standing at attention beside him—the unique pressure and depth of an emperor bearing down on the man—“Xu Youde has polished it sharply enough. But I wonder, after it has cut down others, will it slash at its own hand?”
