Chapter 785: Huaishu Village

Morning mist had not yet dispersed; the Qinhuai River flowed mistily onward.

The Nanjing Commandant’s Office stood in the southeastern Yangyang Gully, bordered to the west by the imperial palace grounds and to the east by the Ministry of Revenue’s Canal Transport Bureau and the Ministry of Works’ Armaments Bureau; it had originally been the garrison of the former dynasty’s “Longxiang Guard.”

In truth, Nanjing differed from other places.

During the Daxing era of the former dynasty, this was the imperial capital, where wonders from across the land converged, and through the Jiangnan waterways, it controlled the regions, standing in northern-southern opposition to the Golden Yurt Wolf State.

When Daxing fell, the imperial clan set fire to the palace; though later the Nanjing Prince’s Mansion was built atop its ruins, how easily could one serve as a prince here?

Due to its unique geography, it was naturally suspected by the capital, so generations of Nanjing Princes lived cautiously, never meddling in local affairs even when reprimanded.

Thus, the status of Nanjing’s gentry and officials was higher.

As Li Yan’s party climbed the slippery stone steps to the Qingstone pavement before the Nanjing Commandant’s Office, they met Zhou Battalion Commander of Yangzhou Commandant’s Office stepping out, sword at his side, his boots and those of his personal guards caked in mud.

His eyes were bloodshot, clearly having spent the night awake.

“Li Shaoxia!”

Seeing Li Yan, his face lit with surprise; he straightened and bowed with forced vigor: “I’ve just submitted the Yangzhou Wo disturbance case files to the Nanjing garrison. What brings you here?”

Because of the Yangzhou affair, he treated Li Yan with great respect.

Li Yan, who had been fretting over lacking a connection, explained his purpose.

“No problem.”

Without hesitation, Zhou Battalion Commander turned and led Li Yan toward the Commandant’s Office; the others waited outside for support.

The Nanjing Commandant’s Office was one of the southern headquarters, vast in scale and grandly constructed; before its gates stood the “Xiezhi Swallowing Evil Stele,” used to ward off demons and dispel malevolence, and all rooftops were tiled with special “black-scale tiles.”

The compound was sizable; after verifying their credentials, Zhou Battalion Commander led Li Yan forward, whispering: “Here in Nanjing, the Commandant’s Office, besides monitoring the Pai Sect and salt smugglers, has one paramount duty: guarding the ‘Yellow Register Repository.’”

“Since the sea trade opened, coastal Wo pirates have run rampant, and many red-haired foreign pirates have come ashore; most elite troops have been dispatched for support, so we were unprepared for this demonic incursion. Fortunately, the Shaoxia slew the bandits—otherwise, we’d all be in deep trouble…”

As he spoke, they arrived at a side chamber in the rear courtyard.

After a brief announcement, a tall, thin Battalion Commander with a pointed face and monkey-like features hurried over.

“Li Shaoxia, this is Battalion Commander Zheng of Nanjing.”

“Battalion Commander Zheng, this is Li Yan, Li Shaoxia.”

“I’ve long heard your name…”

The duty Battalion Commander Zheng was effusive, ordered tea, then smiled and bowed: “Li Shaoxia, your fame resounds north and south; your presence graces this humble place.”

But when Li Yan stated his purpose, he stroked his beard, visibly hesitant: “This matter… I dare not interfere. Brother Zhou is here, well-versed in Jiangnan military affairs—he’ll handle it better. I shall not overstep.”

Saying this, he rose abruptly and took his leave, turning away without another word.

Li Yan frowned, his expression darkening instantly.

Zhou Battalion Commander looked embarrassed, murmuring: “The Nanjing Commandant’s Office has good ties with those two families—they’d rather avoid trouble. But don’t worry, this Zheng isn’t a fool. He dares not offend the capital either.”

Indeed, soon after, a black-clad junior officer slipped over, stealthily handing Zhou Battalion Commander a copied military roster.

Li Yan took it and saw the yellowed pages: at the end of the case file on Tian Battalion Commander’s sudden death, the details matched Lin Fatty’s account, with a final vermilion annotation:

“Personal guard Zhou Dayong (Captain), failed in duty, punished with twenty strokes, demoted to squad leader. Resigned for mourning, returned to his home: Zhoujia Ao, fifty li east of Nanjing.”

“Failed in duty?”

Li Yan sneered: “Shifting blame is swift.”

“Where is Huai Shu Village?”

“Not far—just beyond the hills outside Nanjing…”

…………

Sssshhh~

Before noon, the gloomy sky began drizzling again.

Two black-canopied boats glided through mist and rain; on both banks, dense vegetation, half the leaves yellowed, rose in layered peaks—all a sight to behold.

“What a place…”

Sha Lifei couldn’t help sighing: “This is perfect for seclusion.”

Wang Daoxuan nodded, stroking his beard: “Naturally. This is Zhongshan, near Xuanwu Lake—one of Jiangnan’s three famed lakes. Since ancient times, it’s been a place of superior fengshui; during the Six Dynasties, it was even an imperial garden lake…”

“Your Excellencies jest.”

Before he finished, the boatman, clad in straw rain cape and hat, turned: “No matter how beautiful the scenery, only the nobles enjoy it. The common folk don’t find it comfortable.”

“Oh?”

Wang Daoxuan grew curious: “I’ve heard this region is among the wealthiest in Jiangnan—rice and mulberry cultivation, the people well-fed and clothed.”

The old man sighed: “That was in the past.”

“Since the court opened the seas, silk has been in high demand; the Weaving and Dyeing Bureau issued edicts: three silver cash per loom, five fen per bolt of silk. What was already a meager livelihood became a death sentence.”

“Countless commoners toil day and night, neglecting their fields, barely enough to pay taxes; many are driven to ruin, homeless and destitute…”

“And that’s just the ordinary weavers. The artisan households fare worse—they inherit their status generation after generation, forbidden to leave their workshops, working from dawn to deep night, each receiving only three dou of rice per month. Many have died from exhaustion.”

“This…”

All present were taken aback.

They had assumed sea trade brought national prosperity, yet the people suffered more.

“A pack of parasites!”

Sha Lifei muttered: “Those who pushed for sea trade never spoke like this in the capital—cowards, all of them, bloated with wealth, yet still squeezing the people, insatiable!”

He turned to Lin Yu: “Fatty, is your family like this too?”

Lin Fatty fell silent, then smiled bitterly: “I don’t involve myself in family affairs.”

He spoke truthfully, yet some things were obvious.

If Lin’s family had clean hands, how could they hold the title of Jiang-Zhe’s wealthiest? Their methods were likely even harsher.

Thinking this, Lin Fatty grew even quieter.

Seeing this, the others dropped the subject.

“Ladies and gentlemen, just ahead!”

Soon, the old boatman pointed forward.

All looked up: near the riverbank lay a hollow, where a stone pier of Qingstone steps descended into the water, weathered by time.

Most striking was the massive locust tree crouching on the slope, gnarled branches like twisted demon claws, lush foliage two stories high; within its hollow trunk stood a brick-and-stone shrine to the Earth God, blackened by incense smoke, its bark bound with countless red prayer ribbons.

“Damn, a locust tree?” Sha Lifei was startled.

“Not surprising.”

Wang Daoxuan stroked his beard: “Locust is yin wood, yet all things have exceptions. Likely, it’s been venerated since ancient times, protecting this land.”

“The Dao Master is right.”

The old boatman nodded: “The Locust Elder of Huai Shu Village is highly efficacious. In past years, the village held temple fairs every ten days, even hiring opera troupes—very lively. But lately, it’s stopped.”

“Why?”

“They say the village doesn’t welcome outsiders…”

At this, all exchanged glances.

After the boat docked, they climbed the stone steps up the slope and saw seven or eight villagers huddled beneath the great locust tree, clutching sickles, bamboo rakes, and other tools; upon seeing them, they rose instantly, faces hostile: “Who are you? This village doesn’t receive strangers!”

Li Yan and his party had traveled far and wide; such encounters were not rare.

Not every village was hospitable; many itinerant peddlers, monks, and Daoists were frauds, so locals were wary.

But these villagers were different.

Their faces were blank, knuckles pale and stiff like frozen corpses; their eyes seemed coated with an unremovable layer of gray haze.

The group exchanged glances; Sha Lifei immediately smiled and stepped forward: “Is Battalion Commander Zhou Dayong here? We’ve come from Nanjing, seeking his aid.”

“Wait.”

One villager replied coldly, then turned and walked into the village.

Click-clack!

A sound suddenly came from Long Yan’s sleeve.