When the yamen runner reported back, Shi Simian was sitting in the second hall reviewing last month’s commercial tax ledgers.
“Moving out of the medical clinic? I thought it wasn’t supposed to be touched?”
Why the rush?
The runner said, “They carried him on a stretcher. That wandering cavalry officer named Zeng Boyan refused our protection, saying they had enough men.”
Shi Simian tossed the ledger onto the table and scratched his head in frustration.
“If they had enough men, they wouldn’t have lost dozens. All trouble, and they couldn’t leave sooner.”
Seeing their superior’s anger, no one in the room dared to speak; they all kept their heads down, avoiding his gaze.
“Since they’re in the city, we have to keep an eye on them. Send two runners disguised as civilians to watch nearby—make sure they’re sharp and don’t get caught.”
Watching the man’s hurried departure, Shi Simian lost all interest in the accounts.
He stepped outside and looked up at the sky. “The prefect should be back by now.”
An hour later, Song Qiming walked in wearing a straw hat.
“Pull back the runners from the inn entrance. Have the patrol keep an eye out, but no need for dedicated surveillance.”
On his way back, he had stopped by the medical clinic and already knew that Yang Cena had moved into the inn and declined the protection of the yamen.
Hearing this, Shi Simian looked up in surprise. “You figured it out, sir?”
Song Qiming pressed his lips in speechless annoyance.
“Four pairs of eyes glued to the inn entrance—if I paid even slight attention, I’d notice.”
Compared to the bodyguards his elder sister had trained, these men were leagues behind.
Shi Simian still wasn’t convinced.
“Can just having the patrol watch really work? What if an assassin sneaks in?”
Song Qiming replied, “The cavalry Zeng Boyan brought are all elites. It’ll be hard for assassins to get close.”
“Since they think our runners are unnecessary, we’ll let it be. No point making them unhappy.”
His sister’s people were already in place, so having the runners there or not wouldn’t matter much.
By sunset, the runners at both the inn and the medical clinic had all been withdrawn.
Zeng Boyan stood on the second-floor balcony, watching. His gaze narrowed as it settled on something in the mouth of an alley.
In a private room of a restaurant a hundred meters away, the bodyguards sent by Song Jinzhao were peeking through gauze curtains with a telescope, spying secretly.
Following Zeng Boyan’s line of sight downward, half a face revealed beneath a bamboo hat was unmistakably Huo Chong’s.
…
Song Anhao burst into the room excitedly, clutching two freshly stamped official deeds.
He couldn’t wait until the next day. After getting the silver notes that afternoon, he had gone straight to Gu Baozhu.
“Sister, I’ve already completed the property transfer with Zhuzhu.”
With connections in the yamen, the paperwork was done in the blink of an eye.
Song Jinzhao took the deeds, examined them carefully, and once satisfied, had him put them away.
“This is the first business you’ve chosen on your own. Do it well. I’ll be waiting for you to make big money.”
The shops she had previously let him practice with were all fully stocked and ready—he only had to glance at the accounts now and then, so losing money was nearly impossible.
Now, running a bookstore and printing house would require learning and stumbling along the way. Song Jinzhao intended to let Song Anhao experience it firsthand—growth comes fastest through real practice.
Song Qiming went into politics, Song Shixue into medicine, and Song Anhao favored commerce. These three paths would each benefit them in the long run.
In the dead of night, the streets were utterly empty.
Under a bright moon, Huo Chong, clad in gray, arrived at the inn’s entrance.
A knock echoed, and the night guard soldier sprang up from the floor as if resurrected from the dead, clutching his sword as if his life depended on it.
“Who goes there?”
Huo Chong glanced back behind him. The empty street confirmed no one was watching.
“I’m looking for Yang Zhong. We arranged this.”
After a moment, the door cracked open from inside. The soldier gave him a thorough once-over, the sword’s tip glinting silver and ready at a moment’s notice to take Huo Chong’s life.
“What’s your name?”
“My surname is Huo. Yang Zhong will know when he hears it.”
