Chapter 373: In the Name of the Tianlaomiao

Chen Guanlou had originally thought that Liu Guanshi's death had nothing to do with him except helping with the funeral arrangements—he could do nothing else.

On the day of the burial, someone from the Hou Fu came to find him, saying the Chief Steward wished to see him.

How unusual!

He was intensely curious—what could the Chief Steward possibly want with him? The Hou Fu was brimming with talent; a single command from the Chief Steward could unleash astonishing power. He saw no reason why the man would care about him.

The Chief Steward's surname was Chen—the Chen of the Chen clan. He hadn't been born a Chen; his father had earned the Hou Fu's favor, and the late Marquis had granted him the surname Chen. He had grown up beside the Elder Master, first as a study companion, then as a personal attendant, then as a steward, and eventually as Chief Steward.

His bond with the Elder Master was unmatched by anyone else—it was a bond forged in childhood, forged in life and death. Anyone might betray the Elder Master, but the Chief Steward never would.

Because of this bond, the Chief Steward held a position above all others in the household—even the Dowager Lady gave him due respect. External affairs: minor matters were handled by the Second Master; major ones were managed entirely by the Chief Steward.

Of course, the Second Master would never see it that way. He held himself in high esteem and always looked down on the Chief Steward. Yet the Chief Steward never overstepped his bounds; his conduct was flawless. Even when threatening someone, he did so with three parts courtesy, polite and composed, leaving others seething with frustration.

Chen Guanlou met the Chief Steward in the Elder Master's official chamber.

The Chief Steward was elderly, his gaze somewhat clouded.

He regarded Chen Guanlou with heavy eyes, no expression beyond it: "Lou ge has come. Sit down, have some tea."

"May I ask why the Chief Steward summoned me?"

"No rush. First, have tea."

Tea and pastries were brought in.

Chen Guanlou adored the Hou Fu's pastries—they couldn't be found outside, no matter how much money you had. He made no pretense, grabbed one and swallowed it, then took a sip of tea. The fragrance filled the air.

His tongue, raised on the Hou Fu's finest tea, knew at once the leaves were exceptional—though he couldn't name the variety. All he knew was that it was something unattainable beyond these walls.

The Hou Fu's wealth was plain to see.

"How have you found your years serving in the Tianlaomiao?"

"Thanks to the Chief Steward's favor, all is well."

"You're capable. Without relying on the Hou Fu, you rose to jailer in just a few years—better than your father."

Chen Guanlou smiled faintly. He'd heard such words many times; everyone said he was better than his dead father. Both served in the Tianlaomiao, but his father sat idle for years, earning only scraps of coin. Chen Guanlou started as a jailer and earned the largest share from the start—everyone called him capable.

Now as jailer, money flowed through his hands like water. The Tianlaomiao's rule: every transaction must be split. So he never lacked for coin.

"You've been in the Tianlaomiao for years—surely you've got a few reliable men under you."

"I do. Is the Chief Steward asking me to lend a hand? I'm a Chen. Whatever you need, just say the word." Chen Guanlou spoke politely.

The Chief Steward still seemed hesitant, still undecided. This meeting felt more like an assessment.

"I do have a task for you—one that may require your involvement. But I wonder: do you have the courage?"

Chen Guanlou didn't overpromise. "May I ask what task? Is some noble to be imprisoned in the Tianlaomiao?"

"Not at all." The Chief Steward tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "I've heard you've been helping with Liu's funeral arrangements. You've worked hard."

"It's nothing. I owe Liu Guanshi my life—he helped me take over my father's post in the Tianlaomiao."

"You're a man who remembers kindness. Good. This task I speak of is connected to the late Liu Guanshi."

Chen Guanlou raised an eyebrow, paused briefly, then said plainly: "The Chief Steward may as well speak plainly. If I can do it, I'll see it done."

The Chief Steward finally made his decision. "I want you to escort a shipment to the capital under the Tianlaomiao's name—and bring one person with you."

Hm?

Chen Guanlou thought: escorting goods was a cover—the real purpose was the person. Could Liu Guanshi's death have been caused by this person?

"Under the Tianlaomiao's name? Is that appropriate? I'm only a jailer—I shouldn't even be eligible for official travel outside the capital. Such escort duties fall to yamen runners."

"No issue. The Tianlaomiao side is arranged—I'll secure you official travel documents. The matter is the goods and the person."

"The Hou Fu has no shortage of talent, and warriors are plentiful. Surely, for any valuable goods or person, sending a large force under the Hou Fu's banner would ensure safe delivery to the capital."

The Chief Steward shook his head repeatedly.

He explained: "The Hou Fu's banner is too conspicuous. Warriors are too conspicuous. They invite thieves and spies. A government escort is more discreet, safer."

Chen Guanlou: …

He grew even more curious—what exactly were these goods, this person, that required such elaborate measures?

"If you fear bandits on the road, you could simply request help from the Liùshànmén, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, or even local garrison commanders—under the Hou Fu's name."

"Impossible. The Embroidered Uniform Guard are the Emperor's hounds—how could the Hou Fu command them? The Liùshànmén are busy with investigations; we cannot disturb them. Local garrison commanders cannot leave their posts. After careful thought, you are the most suitable."

The reasoning sounded solid.

But Chen Guanlou had spent years in the Tianlaomiao—he knew the Chief Steward's words were only meant to fool the uninformed. Powerful families routinely abused state power to command the Embroidered Uniform Guard or local commanders. The Hou Fu was no exception.

More likely, the goods and person the Hou Fu wished to transport contained something forbidden—something that must not be known to the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the Liùshànmén, or local commanders. It could be the goods, the person, or both.

What could it be?

The only thing he could imagine was smuggling salt. But given the Hou Fu's status, smuggling salt required no such secrecy—they could transport it openly, and no one would dare interfere. Even the Salt Inspector would look away, pretending he saw nothing.

How could these capital families enjoy centuries of wealth? Where did their money come from?

Farming? That was fantasy.

Smuggled salt was one of their major income sources.

Almost every capital family was involved in salt smuggling. The salt sold on the market was almost entirely smuggled. The official salt? No one knew where it ended up—it was a tangled mess. Salt merchants, government offices, noble families, imperial clans, dukes and marquises… none of it could withstand scrutiny. At most, investigations reached the government level—and then were buried.

It was even possible the old Emperor himself was involved in salt smuggling—though he didn't know it.