Old Zhu? Dead Zhu Ganglie?

Xianjin crossed her arms and hid behind a pillar, peeking out to see a plump woman clutching a handkerchief at the base of the wall. Opposite her stood Sixth Master Chen. The woman’s face was shiny with oil, her figure broad and round—she looked very much like the late Zhu Ganglie’s wife.

By the dim glow of the oil-paper lanterns hanging from the Chen residence, Xianjin saw Sixth Master Chen pull a piece of broken silver from his sleeve and discreetly press it into the woman’s hand. He glanced nervously back at the lively courtyard and said in a threatening tone, “…If you come knocking again, I won’t give you a single coin! I’m only giving you this out of respect for Old Zhu as a former colleague…”

The woman quickly stuffed the silver into her chest. “Yes, yes! Sixth Master is a living Bodhisattva—first helping Old Zhu get rich, now caring for his widow. Old Zhu must be praising you before the King of Hell, calling you a divine savior!”

Desperation breeds nonsense.

More tugging and pleading followed—Sixth Master Chen threatening, the woman begging and whining. Eventually, he cursed and pulled more silver from his mustached servant. Not much—eight or ten taels at most.

Xianjin lowered her head, thinking: this wasn’t some dark secret—just a wolf whose partner died, now being pestered by the widow for living expenses. The wolf feared she’d go public and cause trouble, so he tossed her a few coins to keep her quiet.

The woman took the money and left, sobbing.

Xianjin was about to retreat when she heard another voice—low and sinister. “…She asks for silver, and we just give it? What if…”

She turned and saw the mustached servant make a throat-slitting gesture.

Xianjin narrowed her eyes. Business is business. But once blood is involved, the money’s no longer clean. In her past life, her father worked in renovations. Some of his peers tried to make fast money, veered off course, and got arrested before karma even had a chance to catch up. She held her breath, hiding fully behind the pillar.

“She’s asking for three or five taels—barely anything. That’s what reassures me!” Sixth Master Chen said, picking his teeth with a toothpick and swallowing the debris.

“That pig ran off with everything—jade Buddha, ten gold ingots, twenty solid gold ornaments… even silver notes sewn into his clothes. But he didn’t take that ledger he always talked about.”

“He wouldn’t let me sell his Jing County house—I should’ve known! He wanted to leave a root here, wait out the storm, and come back! That ledger recorded every sale of eight- and six-zhang xuan paper to Anyang Prefecture, and all his dealings with the temple lords at Baochan—his ultimate insurance policy…”

Sixth Master Chen sneered, revealing yellow teeth. “If that pig’s wife knew what was hidden in the house, she wouldn’t be asking for three taels—she’d bleed me dry!”

The servant nodded, panicked. “So what do we do? It’s like a cleaver hanging over our heads—we never know when it’ll drop! Better to get rid of her and be done with it!”

“This is Jing County!” Sixth Master Chen spat on the ground. “Baochan Temple sits at the junction of Anyang, Chuzhou, and Jing County—no one governs it. The lords there do whatever they want. But if you kill someone in Jing County? You’ve got a death wish!”

Snow fell steadily from the east.

Sixth Master Chen brushed snow off his head. “A real man doesn’t rush. Third Brother and that girl won’t stay here long…”

From the courtyard, Second Master Chen’s hearty laughter echoed.

Sixth Master Chen smirked. “Second Brother’s useless. The Eldest Brother is dead. My sister-in-law sent Third Brother to Jing County just to polish him up. He’ll be recalled to Xuancheng soon—mark my words. The better they do here, the sooner they’ll be gone.”

The servant grinned. “Once they leave, we’ll be the local kings again!”

Local kings?

Five or six years ago, when Li Sanshun’s father was alive, he forced that old fool to produce two batches of eight-zhang xuan paper a month. They were sold to Anyang, where they were treated as tribute and sent to the capital. Each batch earned 300 taels—600 taels a month. Who cared about shop profits?

That was the golden age. He was the real king of Jing County.

Then Li Senior had a stroke and passed the secret technique to his second son, Li Ershun. But Li Ershun was stubborn—he refused to make eight-zhang xuan, even if it meant losing a 20-tael monthly bonus. So they sent both father and son to Baochan Temple. Li Senior died protecting his son, and Li Ershun hit his head—now he’s paralyzed and mute. Eight-zhang and six-zhang xuan production ended there.

After that, Old Madam Qu came to investigate. But one was buried, the other couldn’t speak. No one could file a complaint. She chalked it up to fate. Who can fight fate? She accepted it and stopped managing the Jing County workshop, focusing instead on the three shops in Xuancheng. Sixth Master Chen’s profits shrank, but he gained peace—and the money he’d already pocketed would last two lifetimes. He wiped his spit into the snow and turned to leave.

The servant hesitated. “Master, what if that pig was bluffing? What if there’s no ledger?”

Sixth Master Chen shrugged and chuckled. “Who cares? If it exists, it’s hidden in his house. If his wife can’t find it, it’ll never see daylight.”

The two walked off.

Xianjin stayed hidden behind the pillar, not daring to breathe. Only after a long while did she emerge.

The courtyard was lively—men drinking and smashing bowls, women laughing softly. Nanny Zhang had already hung several large red lanterns at the gate.

The red glow against the snowy air looked like an old, slow film reel.

Xianjin’s fingers were numb from clutching her arms. As blood returned to her fingertips, she lowered her arms. She needed to think.

“You want to go?” A soft, clear voice whispered behind her. “Night visit to Zhu’s house—are you going?”