Chapter 206: Killing the King (III)

If not for the pleasure-seeking patrons all uniformly dressed in period costumes, one might easily mistake this for a 21st-century hall or club.

It was now the first quarter of the midnight hour; in one more hour it would be the small hours of the morning — the long day was about to pass, and a new day would silently arrive in the darkness.

Yet Sanfu Pavilion was right at its peak business hours.

Among the carved balustrades and painted railings, bright gauze palace lanterns were everywhere; from time to time, honored patrons draped in gold and jade would sway past, laughing and flirting with the courtesans. In rows of private rooms, the voices of performers rose and fell in succession, a constant stream of warbling chatter and swallow-soft speech, the faint clink of toasts and cups faintly audible — a place of earthly splendor, a site of opulent magnificence.

Shui Xiuer, the reigning star courtesan of Sanfu Pavilion, was at this moment hurrying along the complex and winding corridors.

In establishments like pleasure houses and singing halls, all manner of unsavory dealings inevitably occur — some are internal matters, some are privacy and secret-talk services provided for guests — so there are bound to be all sorts of hidden passages, secret chambers, and secluded private courtyards.

Draped in a red gauze wrap, Shui Xiuer twisted and turned her way through the building before pushing open a door and entering an inconspicuous private room.

This private room was in a remote location, far from the bustling area — precisely a place suited for quiet conversation.

Inside the room, a man of about forty, dressed in a silver-ingot satin brocade robe, short, plump, and round as a meatball, was cracking melon seeds. This man was called Zheng Huairen, a native of Fuzhou.

... Throughout the Ming Dynasty, because Fujian produced high-quality raw materials, scholarly stationery was always a strong export; the Zheng family's main business was the wholesale of various types of Xuan paper and bamboo paper.

Seeing Shui Xiuer enter, Zheng Laoye's plump face instantly creased into a smile: "You've worked hard, miss. Did that country bumpkin let anything slip?"

"Don't mention that boor again." Shui Xiuer sat down, her face full of disgust: "A fine body like mine, wasted on a vulgar lout."

Hearing this, Zheng Laoye, though inwardly full of contempt, let not a trace of it show on his beaming round face: "I've wronged you, Miss Shui. Once this matter is settled, I must properly invite some friends to support you."

"Master Zheng, it's not that simple, is it?" Shui Xiuer's almond eyes widened slightly as she looked at Zheng Huairen with a faint, ambiguous smile: "Don't take me for a fool. The news that Zheng Zhilong seeks amnesty has long since spread throughout Fuzhou City."

"Heh heh, that matter was settled long ago. That Zheng fellow returns to Zhangzhou tomorrow morning; the next time he comes, he'll be a court-appointed official." At this, Zheng Laoye raised his tea bowl and took a seemingly indifferent sip: "Asking you to act today was merely a businessman seeking thoroughness — no great matter. Don't go waving a chicken feather as a command flag."

At these words, Shui Xiuer's eyes rippled; she covered her mouth and giggled. While laughing, she extended a slender, scallion-white finger and pointed at her own nose: "Yet this woman here feels that whether Zheng Zhilong gets his amnesty or not — tonight, it all hinges on this very place."

After meeting Shui Xiuer's gaze for a moment and confirming her eyes were brimming with utter confidence, Zheng Laoye's amiable face instantly vanished, replaced by the manner of a Edo boss dividing spoils: "Speak. What do you want?"

Shui Xiuer likewise shed her courtesan's manner; her pretty face hardened, and her mouth opened: "I want to buy my freedom!"

Hearing such an exorbitant demand, Zheng Laoye not only did not get angry, but a shrewd glint flashed in his eyes. The next moment, he pulled a promissory note from his sleeve and slowly pushed it across the table: "This is the Baofeng Pawnshop ticket we agreed on earlier — 500 taels of silver, payable upon presentation."

As Shui Xiuer carefully examined the cipher mark on the pawn ticket, Zheng Laoye bent down and pulled an embroidered gold pouch from beneath his seat, noisily pouring out the gold bars inside: "100 taels of gold. This is all I brought today."

At this, Zheng Laoye pulled over the brush and ink on the table and swiftly wrote out an IOU: "An IOU for 2,000 taels. At first light, you can send someone to my counter to collect the silver."

Having finished, Zheng Laoye slowly pushed the IOU toward Shui Xiuer: "Altogether more than 3,000 taels of silver — enough to buy the freedom of two of you. Now speak: what exactly did Xiong Qi let slip?"

Gazing at these items on the table — all called "freedom" — Shui Xiuer could not resist reaching out to take them, but the next moment, she was frozen stiff by the look in Zheng Laoye's eyes, like those of a dead fish.

After a silent, awkward laugh, the beauty forced herself to calm down. She reached up to smooth her temple hair, organized her words, and slowly began to reveal the truth: "Just now I heard that Xiong Qi say there is a band of sea bandits who have already deployed their forces across the ocean, just waiting for Zheng Zhilong to return so they can strike and kill this man."

"Utter nonsense!" Zheng Laoye suddenly relaxed considerably. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and sneered: "Nowadays, any boss with a handful of men is gathered at Zhongzuosuo waiting for news. Where does this 'deployed forces' talk come from? How many troops would it take to devour five ships of elite soldiers? Absurd!"

At this, Zheng Laoye muttered to himself: "Could it be the Official Army?"

"No, no. If the authorities wanted to act, they would have done it in the city. Besides, with the Water Army's paltry men and ships... tsk tsk tsk, I don't think much of them."

Having analyzed the matter step by step, Zheng Laoye increasingly felt that Shui Xiuer's words were not entirely truthful. The next moment, he leaned forward fiercely: "You wouldn't be spinning a lie to deceive your Master Zheng, would you?"

By now, Shui Xiuer was utterly panicked. Stammering, she said: "That Xiong Qi truly said exactly that. How would this slave dare deceive you, Laoye... it was a band of sea bandits, vicious men from Dayuan... repeating crossbows and cannons, and such."

Just as Shui Xiuer tilted her head back, desperately trying to recall the drunkard's fragmented words, a series of loud "Boom—" sounds rang out, and Zheng Laoye vanished into thin air.

Knocking over his chair, toppling the candlestick, bursting through the door, Zheng Laoye's fat, round body went stumbling and tumbling down the stairs. He sprinted all the way to the sedan chair hall at the entrance of Sanfu Pavilion, tossed a lump of broken silver to each of the two night-shift sedan drivers that brothels kept on standard duty, then dove headfirst into the sedan chair, panting as he shouted: "Go, go quickly! A reward for arriving early, a reward for arriving early..."

Half an hour later, the two sedan bearers, who had been running madly, collapsed from exhaustion in front of the Hengguangkang Silk Shop. The shopkeeper Zheng himself had long since dashed to the door and was desperately pounding on it.

Zheng Sancai, the manager of Hengguangkang, who was drinking celebratory wine in the courtyard with his subordinates, hurriedly opened the side door at the sound — and then saw a meatball roll in.

After the crowd grabbed hold of the meatball with a flurry of hands, Zheng Sancai raised his lantern over the visitor's head, then exclaimed in shock: "Why is it you?!"

The short, plump Zheng Huairen was now drenched in sweat, his legs weak: "Disaster, disaster! Quickly, help me inside."

A moment later, in the large study of the Hengguangkang central courtyard, Zheng Huairen collapsed into a chair. He first gulped down a bowl of cold tea, then opened his mouth and recounted the night's story.

After hearing it, Zheng Sancai could not help but turn pale with shock: "That courtesan could never have known about the Dayuan men and the repeating cannons — it must have come from Xiong Qi's mouth. This is bad! The authorities must be in league with that group on Dayuan Island. The Great Boss has fallen into a trap!"

At this moment, Zheng Sancai suddenly saw the light.

And the plump Zheng Huairen had already figured this out on the way over. Now seeing that Zheng Sancai understood, he opened his mouth and asked: "What strategy shall we use?"

At the same time, in a residential courtyard not far from the Silk Village, a young man dressed in a coarse cloth short robe, looking like a shop assistant, was reclining sideways in a chair, his legs propped up on the table, eyes half-closed, lazily listening to earphones.

Yes, earphones.

A compact digital surveillance receiver on the table was clearly playing the conversation taking place less than 200 meters away in a straight line.

The originally indolent young man, upon gradually hearing the content of the secret talk between the two Zhengs in the study, suddenly widened his eyes. The next moment, he swiftly pulled his feet down, turned around to switch on the vehicle radio set on the table, picked up the hand mic, and began calling the main station.

The radio waves traveled directly to a general store near Yamen Bridge by the banks of the An Tai He, not far from the Xi Horse and Mule Market.

This general store was a typical Ming Dynasty front-shop-back-workshop structure. The signboard above the door read "Jia Le Fu," and it mainly dealt in the wholesale of various groceries and local products from the Suzhou-Hangzhou region. The store was located right at the entrance of An Tai Jie, with a river dock in front, and a short street behind leading to the Xi Horse and Mule Market — convenient transportation, easy access.

Song Jia, the station chief of the intelligence station the Crossing Faction had stationed in Fuzhou City, had originally been writing letters in his study. When the duty officer ran in with an urgent report, Song Jia turned pale with shock and hurried to the intelligence room. He picked up the hand mic and said in a deep voice: "Black Cat, this is Black Tiger. Replay the recording for me now."

But the recording Song Jia heard at this point was already the recording after the two Zhengs had finished discussing their response plan... When the hand mic transmitted the sound of Zheng Sancai dispatching his men, ordering them to leave the city overnight to deliver the message, cold sweat broke out on Song Jia's forehead.

"Call the Trade Post and the Governor's Office, report the situation. Everyone change into night gear, assemble in the front courtyard!"

After issuing the brief command, Song Jia strode quickly toward his bedroom. By the time the dozen or so intelligence agents from Fuzhou Station were changing clothes, Song Jia had already returned to the intelligence room carrying an aluminum alloy case, and was changing his own gear while speaking with Xue Haiyuan over the hand mic.

As the semi-public head of the Dayuan Trade Post in Fuzhou, Xue Haiyuan normally did not participate in this kind of work — the Trade Post was watched too closely by various factions; even buying a single boatload of goods would attract a dozen spies to inquire about the contents, so it was unsuitable for involvement in other covert operations.

But not tonight. Tonight was an emergency; under these circumstances, Song Jia had the authority to mobilize all resources, including Xue Haiyuan and Huang Juren.

After listening to Song Jia's account, Xue Haiyuan was also extremely puzzled and asked through the radio: "Which crack did this Zheng Huairen crawl out of?"

"If we're allowed to have informant lines that never show their faces, are others not allowed to have them?" Song Jia replied irritably, while pulling on a stab-proof vest over his upper body.

"Son of a bitch, this venomous snake is sly enough! Alright, what do we do?" Xue Haiyuan was speechless now too.

"What else can we do? You go to Jinglou Gate, I'll go to Nan Men."

"What about Master Huang's side?"

"No response to the call. They don't have a telegraph room over there; he's probably already hugging his Bible and resting in peace by now."

"That won't do. He must make arrangements early, or things will go wrong tomorrow morning!"

"I know, you don't need to tell me. I'll send someone to wake him right now."

"Right, then I'll go prepare. Remember to take the walkie-talkie when you head out."

"Knowledge."