Chapter 692: East City Cargo Warehouse

"Brother Li, your great kindness needs no words of thanks—please drain this cup!"

Yan Jiuling tossed back the wine in one gulp, downing several cups until his cheeks flushed crimson.

He reached for the wine jug again, his fingers trembling slightly, spilling a drop of wine.

Li Yan quickly pressed his wrist down, lifted the jug aside, and smiled:

"Brother Yan, between us, no formalities are needed. If you keep drinking like this, you'll pass out right here in the inn."

"It's not formality…"

Yan Jiuling let out a long sigh, his gaze falling on the bodhi tree outside the window, voice low: "Father feared it would disturb my peace, so he hid the family's crisis from me. How foolish—I noticed nothing, still wandering mountains and rivers. Had it not been for Brother Li's intervention, I fear…"

He abruptly shut his eyes, knuckles whitening with clenched fists.

Li Yan patted his shoulder. "Let the past rest. The southwest is secured, and the Lei family holds the line—Yan Family can rest easy now."

Seeing Yan Jiuling's expression ease slightly, Li Yan shifted the topic: "But this 'Qiankun Academy'—they never explained it clearly. You went to great lengths to secure your post there; surely you know its true nature?"

At this, Yan Jiuling's drunkenness faded slightly, his eyes darkening as he lowered his voice:

"Since you ask, I'll speak plainly—this academy's future will determine the rise or fall of Great Xuan's destiny!"

"Have you heard rumors about the imperial fleet?"

"Only vaguely."

Li Yan nodded slightly: "I heard the Inner Court secretly assembled a fleet, disguising it as a merchant convoy to avoid accusations of competing with the people. But they were ambushed—three treasure ships lost… The enemy used what seemed to be a new, waterproof explosive?"

"It's more than just gunpowder!"

Yan Jiuling said grimly: "The investigation is complete—it was the Franks."

"They disguised themselves as pirates, plundering everywhere, trying to control the sea lanes. Not only did they use this new waterproof gunpowder, but their cannons were exquisitely crafted—the barrels were bored with secret techniques, giving them thirty percent greater range than the Ministry of Works' 'Divine Might Great General Cannons'!"

His voice grew heavier: "The Emperor sent secret agents to investigate, and only then did he realize the world has already changed drastically."

"The Franks are the strongest, their presence spread across every sea. But the Red-Haired Barbarians are even more ruthless, rising swiftly—they've secretly controlled the Southern Seas, infiltrated Shenzhou posing as vassal states, and allied with Japanese pirates to sabotage sea routes. Previously, we were too occupied with the southwest war to act, so we pretended ignorance. But after the bombardment of Jinmen, His Majesty seized the chance to purge them…"

"On another continent, England and France are fighting, having invaded Sind and threatening Shenzhou's northwest…"

"And the Rus, harboring remnants of the Golden Horde, have built cities and stationed troops in the northern deserts…"

He sighed: "Shenzhou's borders seem calm, but danger lurks everywhere."

Li Yan's pupils contracted sharply.

Since the Southern Song fell to the "Great Song Ghost Sect," this world's history has diverged entirely from his past.

Fortunately, Great Xuan's current strength rivals that of the Ming in his former world.

But according to Yan Jiuling, the overseas nations' transformations have outpaced Shenzhou's?

Could something have changed here as well…

"His Majesty discovered that these barbarians' strength stems from the 'academies' that arose a hundred years ago."

Yan Jiuling continued: "They gather texts from every land, even journeying to ancient mystical realms to recover lost legacies. The Franks' academies use celestial divination to predict storms and avoid them. England's 'Royal Society' recently came to the capital, paying exorbitant prices for ancient texts."

"That's why the Qiankun Academy was founded—to embrace all schools and revive Shenzhou's destiny!"

Yan Jiuling slammed his fist on the table. "But the corrupt Confucians in court still regard technical arts as frivolous tricks. Had the southwest war not shown His Majesty the power of firearms, this academy might not even have laid its foundation!"

"So that's it…"

Li Yan now understood fully. He turned to Zhao Lüzi: "Brother Yan, let me introduce you to someone—this is Zhao Lüzi, my closest friend. He belongs to the Bao Bao and Gai Shan lineage. The academy is seeking masters like him—could he teach here?"

"Of course!"

Before Yan Jiuling could answer, Lin Fat, beside him, exclaimed in delight: "One of the academy's tasks is to remeasure Shenzhou's fengshui. The Bao Bao line knows every mountain and river. But each sect hoards its secrets. If we could unite them, we could accomplish something great!"

"Brother, would you be willing to teach your sect's secret methods?"

Zhao Lüzi fell silent for a moment, then muttered: "I've already broken my oath and left Guanzhong. These ancestral secrets must be passed on. If they truly benefit Shenzhou's destiny, I'll face my ancestors with honor after death."

"This is excellent!"

Yan Jiuling was delighted. "In a few days, I'll take you to meet the Supervisor."

Li Yan asked: "The academy's opening is imminent—won't Master Yuan be very busy?"

He meant Yuan Feng, who outwardly held the post of Director of the Ministry of Works' Bureau of Weights and Measures, but was in truth a senior elder of the Mo Men.

At Liangzi Lake, Li Yan had found the Lu Ban wooden magpie and met this old man.

It was from him that Li Yan first learned of the Qiankun Academy and was invited to join.

When the academy was established, this old man was appointed Supervisor.

"Not at all."

Yan Jiuling shook his head. "Master Tian and his disciples have been acting strangely lately, constantly entering and leaving the palace—no one knows what they're doing. The academy's affairs have been handled by me and other officials."

He spoke without thought; Li Yan listened with sudden clarity.

A flash of insight struck Li Yan's mind.

He remembered the steam engine prototype he'd found at Liangzi Lake.

Perhaps that's why Yuan Feng became Supervisor of the Qiankun Academy.

Could they have already replicated it…

…………

While they spoke, the Yin-Yang Master had arrived in the East City.

The capital, beyond its Imperial, Inner, and Outer Cities, was divided into five sectors: Central, East, South, West, and North.

The East City's terrain was flat, stretching from Chongwen Gate eastward to Yonghe Palace, bounded by the Inner City wall to the north and the line connecting Chongwen Gate and Dongbian Gate to the south—the vital artery of the canal transport system.

On the Tonghui River, grain barges shuttled like shuttles; along Daitong Bridge, warehouses lined the shore—truly a scene of "a thousand sails passing north of the customs house, ten thousand dan of grain entering the granaries."

Five wards—Mingshi, Huanghua, Sicheng, Nan Juxian, Bei Juxian—were here. Within their walls, banks and money houses stood shoulder to shoulder; the Night Market at Dengshi Kou burned through the night. The clear chanting of students from the Imperial Academy rose alongside the laborers' chants. On the stone tortoise-backed stele at the Confucian Temple, the inscription "Built by Imperial Edict of Hongjing Fifteenth Year of Great Xuan" remained sharp and clear.

The Yin-Yang Master walked down the street, holding a long banner.

A few porters squatting under warehouse eaves, eating steamed buns, glimpsed the banner and spat three times onto the ground.

In this district, anyone playing with mysticism was either a true immortal or a dead man walking.

The Yin-Yang Master stepped on the blue stone pavement and arrived before a brick warehouse.

Outside, a dozen sturdy men stood or squatted, telling lewd jokes.

One with a gold tooth was imitating a courtesan from the Eight Great Brothels, flicking a silk handkerchief, making the others roar with laughter.

Their short black robes had sleeves rolled up, revealing "Iron Anchor" tattoos on their left arms.

The tattoos were bluish-purple, inked with aged pigeon blood mixed with cinnabar—a mark only old gangs used; nearby civilians dared not approach.

The capital had three major gangs: "Iron Anchor Society," "Tiger Might Hall," and "Bronze Camel Alliance."

This was one of the Iron Anchor Society's halls.

They were tied to the Canal Guild and controlled the East City's "Five Elements"—their power was substantial.

Seeing the Yin-Yang Master approach, several men immediately surrounded him with hostile expressions.

The gold-toothed man glared: "Hey! Where'd this old bastard crawl out of? What're you snooping for?"

The Yin-Yang Master bowed slightly. "Forgive me, gentlemen. Master Wang has asked me to arrange fengshui for his home—I've come to meet him."

"Oh?"

The gold-toothed man's expression shifted; he sized up the old man. "Wait."

He turned and went inside to report.

Soon, the man ran out, his demeanor noticeably softer: "Master Wang requests your presence."

The two entered the warehouse—and found it a world within a world.

Piles of cargo crates, stacked like walls, divided the warehouse into separate zones.

The front area, used for cargo pickup, was stacked with sacks sealed with "Su-Song Grain Route" tags—inside, all were smuggled salt.

An old man hunched over a counter, his abacus clicking faster than raindrops.

Men from the carriage and cart guild came to collect bamboo tally sticks, faces beaming with flattery.

Several shirtless giants wrestled in the open space, drawing howls from the crowd.

A thin man squatted on a bench, taking bets: "Bets closed! If Black Bear can withstand Old Liu, I'll pay you two taels!"

Beyond the front hall, it grew even more complex.

Several passageways branched off, some narrow enough only to squeeze through, plastered with mud for fireproofing.

Faintly visible were flickering flames, the crack of whips, and muffled screams.

Unlike the Canal Guild, the Iron Anchor Society's business was not merely transport.

The East City's commerce flourished; banks and money houses were numerous, and secret lenders abounded.

The Iron Anchor Society lent money at exorbitant rates—and collected debts by killing.

On the surface, they owned "Shunfeng Shipping" and "Tonghe Warehouses."

Secretly, they ran the "Water Ghost Hall," dealing in money and murder.

In short, their operations were complex, and their behind-the-scenes connections even more so—otherwise, they'd have been swallowed by the Canal Guild long ago.

The Yin-Yang Master ignored it all, following the man through three iron-clad secret doors to the warehouse's rear.

Here, too, crates divided the space—but arranged to resemble a mansion. Blue bricks paved the ground; potted plants and fish tanks stood about; even a small courtyard had been built, lit entirely by torches, as if night had fallen.

"Go in. Master Wang is inside."

The guide stopped before approaching.

The Yin-Yang Master nodded slightly and entered the courtyard.

Inside, two men sat drinking tea.

One was bald with a white beard, a copper ring dangling from his left ear, dressed in brocade robes. His arms bore the Iron Anchor tattoo—and so did his scalp, where a massive, fearsome serpent was inked. Though aged, his presence remained fierce and commanding.

This man was Wang She, the Master of the Iron Anchor Society.

Another man was even taller—Zhang Tiankui, the Second Chief of the Jinghai Gang, known as the "Iron-Armed Dragon King."

Now, he had long lost his former arrogance, holding his wine cup with a face full of gloom.

Seeing the Yin-Yang Master arrive, he merely glanced briefly and ignored him.

Wang She also kept a calm expression, drained his cup, and said, "Brother Tiankui, given our relationship, of course I'll help if I can—but you know, the capital isn't like other places; when court struggles are involved, even our Iron Anchor Society doesn't have arms thick enough."

"But don't worry—this place is perfectly safe. Stay here. The court's hounds can't smell a thing."

"Hmm, since Big Brother has business, I'll take my leave."

Zhang Tiankui also drained his cup and turned to leave.

Only after he was far away did Wang She's expression change—he suddenly fell to his knees and banged his head on the ground:

"Your servant bows before Master Kong!"

The Yin-Yang Master smiled, his facial features twisting grotesquely, his skin melting like wax to reveal a lean, pale face.

Ordinary in appearance, his gaze was distant and refined, radiating scholarly grace.

It was Kong Hui, the "Rotten Scroll Master," master of Yu Wenhai!

Seeing this, Wang She quickly rose, pulled a talisman from his sleeve to block detection, and carefully hung it by the door.

Only after doing so did he kneel again, stealing glances at Kong Hui seated on the high-backed chair.

In the candlelight, this "Rotten Scroll Master" wore a simple blue robe, his fingers—long and jade-like—cradling a teacup, resembling a Hanlin scholar lecturing in the Imperial Academy. Yet Wang She's neck hairs stood rigid, as if a venomous snake had fixed its gaze upon a field mouse.

Nervous, he forced a smile: "Master, I heard Brother Yu was captured by the Commandant's Office? I wonder…"

"He can't speak."

Kong Hui poured himself another cup of tea. "What was that Zhang Tiankui about?"

Wang She sneered: "That brat betrayed Lu Jinghai, thinking he could become boss—but he doesn't realize the court would never let them live. His men were all arrested, he's branded a traitor, and the Ying Prince's men are hunting him. He came here begging me for help."

"I've temporarily stabilized him, hoping the Master might find him useful."

Kong Hui gave no reply. "Where is Zhao Qingxu?"

Though his tone was calm, Wang She broke into sweat. "I… I don't know. After he ordered me to dispose of those boys and girls, Zhao Immortal vanished entirely, only instructing me to gather intelligence and avoid trouble."

"Oh?"

Kong Hui lifted his teacup. "Is this Ru ware?"

At this, Wang She's gaze involuntarily shifted to the cup.

He saw Kong Hui gently blow across the tea, white mist drifting past his indifferent brows and eyes.

Beneath the cup, the faint mark "Yuan De Year, Made" glimmered in the candlelight—clearly a former dynasty imperial kiln's "Ji Qing glaze."

Suddenly, Wang She felt the teacup expanding in his vision, the ice-crack glaze transforming into countless spiderwebs, winding layer upon layer around his mind…

Soon, his eyes grew vacant.

"Where is Zhao Qingxu?"

The calm question seemed to drift from far away.

Wang She's eyes stared blankly, his lips moving mechanically: "He ordered me to dispose of thirty-six pairs of boys and girls… then never showed his face again."

After repeating the question several times and confirming the man wasn't lying, Kong Hui flicked his finger lightly.

Ding!

The teacup chimed clearly; Wang She jolted awake, his inner shirt soaked with sweat.

He felt nothing amiss, assuming he'd merely spaced out, rubbing his hands with a nervous laugh: "Master, your eye is sharp! This was stolen by a Ministry of Works clerk to pay a debt—a tribute item. I was planning to use it to set up a scheme and plant a spy in the Armory Bureau. If the Master likes it, I'll get you a better one…"

"No need."

Kong Hui cut him off: "Tell Zhao Qingxu I want to see him. If he keeps hiding, he can forget about this mess in the capital!"

"Yes, Master."

Behind him, Wang She's heart chilled, a cold dread rising from his back.

Though he was feared across the capital's underworld, it was Jianmu's covert backing that made him so.

Only he knew how terrifying these people truly were!

Wang She dared not delay—he immediately summoned his men and whispered orders:

Quickly prepare a top-tier banquet: eight-precious wine from Zui Xian Pavilion, roasted venison from Jü De Workshop, and four seasonal fresh fruits.

After his men departed, he straightened his robes and hurriedly exited the cargo hold.

Inside a hidden compartment of the cargo hold, Zhang Tiankui peered through a ventilation hole, watching his shadow.

Holding his breath, he even suppressed the rustle of his robe against the brick wall.

Born with an unusual physique, his spine like a dragon's, his wrestling skills astonishing—he earned the nickname "Iron-Armed Dragon King" in the Jianghu.

But what was truly rare was his awakening of the Yi Divine Power, learning the Art of Invoking Spirits.

The Yi Divine Power, among the Six Yang Divine Powers, was the most mysterious—some could commune with spirits, others perceive events a thousand li away.

Zhang Tiankui, however, was exceptionally sensitive to Qi.

Even with secret methods to block it, he could still sense it.

The Qi emanating from deep within the cargo hold made his dragon-spine burn.

He and Yu Wenhai were mortal enemies; he had even crossed paths with his master.

Zhang Tiankui clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles taut with sharp angles.

He never expected that, in desperation, seeking aid, he'd stumble upon the true mastermind behind the Jinmen incident.

If he sold this information to the Commandant's Office, his brothers' lives might be spared.

The thought had barely formed when he spun around, ready to flee.

"Where are you going, Master Zhang?"

As he opened the door, three burly men blocked his path in a triangular formation.

The lead man, with gold teeth, smiled obsequiously—his water-splitting dagger subtly revealing three inches of cold steel.

"Just need to stretch my lungs."

Zhang Tiankui feigned casualness.

"Impossible!"

The gold-toothed man bowed low, his sleeve revealing half a black matchcord. "You've been seen—the Embroidered Uniform Guard's hounds are sniffing around. We can't afford trouble. The Guild Master said: whatever you want to eat or drink, we'll get it for you."

His words were polite—but between the gaps of stacked cargo above, three arquebuses had already appeared, aimed squarely at Zhang Tiankui…

(End of Chapter)