Chapter 682: A Fright in the Night

Just then, the urgent clatter of hoofbeats rang out. Sun Chuanting and the others froze — hadn't they been told that riding horses was forbidden in these streets? Before they could voice the question, they saw the clerks and bookkeepers who had been chatting all tense up. First they scattered, each taking a position that seemed long since assigned. Every man set his wooden box on the ground and, with practiced ease, pulled out brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, preparing everything with swift efficiency.

The hoofbeats halted at a nearby intersection. The rider swung down from the saddle and hurried over on foot, a leather satchel slung across his back. Every eye was fixed on that satchel. A capable-looking steward stood waiting among the blackboards. The rider handed the satchel to the steward, who held a ledger and examined the satchel carefully.

"The wax seal is different every time. If it doesn't match, the satchel stays shut," Qi Wu whispered. A crowd had already gathered around them, many watching the scene with curiosity. Some held paper and brush, staring intently at what was unfolding.

The steward opened the satchel and pulled out several sheets of paper covered in writing. He studied them under the lamplight, then read aloud in a clear voice: "Rice, one dan..."

With each item he called out, a servant boy beneath the blackboard dipped his brush in whitewash and wrote it up. The stewards and bookkeepers below recorded it just as swiftly, and many in the outer circle of onlookers were writing it down as well.

"Every three days, a fast horse comes from Qingjiangpu. The prices for bulk goods there all arrive here, and then this place sets its own prices. Salt prices come through from Yangzhou. With fair prices like these, the merchants from all around come here to buy, and everyone's willing to come here to sell — fair dealing and peace of mind!" Qi Wu explained.

Grain, cloth, all manner of bulk sundries — every price was chalked onto the blackboards. Only the prices for ironware, coal, and timber were passed out from inside. Qi Wu had an explanation for this too: the ironware and coal were businesses belonging to Master Jin's wife's family, while the timber was the trade of Second Master Chen's household. For these two categories of goods, they could supply them in bulk.

Once all the prices had been called out, the stewards and bookkeepers who had been recording packed up with remarkable speed and left at a jog. Outside, others were waiting to take their wooden boxes — since riding was forbidden here, it seemed, they had to move fast on foot.

After watching all this, those who had been recording from the outer circle immediately rushed over to the blackboards, copied down what was written there, and then hurried away as well.

"Don't think there's no difference between those sitting inside and those listening outside. The few houses that get to sit and record, once they have the prices, they still have to discuss among themselves and set the final Xuzhou price. The ones standing outside don't have that right. All of Xuzhou sells according to this price — whether you go higher or lower, you won't get far from it. I haven't seen much of the world myself, but I hear that when Xuzhou sets a price, Henan, Shandong, and even the southern parts of Northern Zhili all have to follow it." As he said this, a look of unmistakable pride appeared on Qi Wu's face.

The He Family Estate at night was not pitch-black. On the contrary, every household had hung lanterns before their doors, keeping every street and lane brightly lit and easy to navigate. But compared to before dusk, the streets now had more sturdy men carrying blades and staves, walking in pairs or trios, watching the passersby with vigilant eyes.

"There's no curfew here at night. Young master, two streets further on is the best place for amusement around here. Food, drink, entertainment — you can find anything. Especially the food: they've got real Tartar roast lamb, seasoned with spices from the Southern Seas. The flavor is superb. You can drink your fill of Hanjing's famous liquor here too, and there are aged wines from Shanxi and Shaoxing. Wealthy folk from Xuzhou, Yangzhou, even Henan and Shandong come to stay here. And if the young master finds the nights lonely, I've got some quiet connections — though it's strictly forbidden here, I can still find you some from Datong and Yangzhou..." Qi Wu murmured with a sly grin, making his pitch.

Ahead, the lights blazed bright, laughter and cheerful voices mingling with the strains of string and bamboo music — they could already hear it. By this point in the journey, everyone had figured Qi Wu out: he seized every chance to play the middleman, hoping to earn a little something for himself. But after watching the blackboard price announcements, Sun Chuanting had no interest in seeing more. He simply said, "Just take us to the Cloud Mountain Inn."

Qi Wu didn't take offense. Grinning, he led the group out of that district. Passing an intersection, they could see an open stretch of ground ahead. Beyond it stood another cluster of tall, imposing buildings that looked like warehouses — dark and shadowy at night, with only a few scattered points of lamplight, giving the place an eerie feel. Qi Wu said that was where the salt market was located. It was under curfew at night, he added, and all flames were strictly forbidden.

The route they took was brightly lit the whole way, and plenty of people were coming and going. After a long day's work, everyone was out to relax and enjoy themselves. Sun Chuanting's household guards gazed around with eager curiosity; even Scholar Tian was full of interest. Only Sun Chuanting himself walked with his head down, paying no attention to Qi Wu, whose mouth, as ever, never stopped its endless chatter.

As they walked, a rhythmic sound suddenly arose — a muffled, heavy sound, yet perfectly uniform, as if it were pounding against the heart. Sun Chuanting felt an inexplicable tension. He jerked his head up and saw that several of his most seasoned guards had the same reaction, their faces turning grim. Yet when he looked at Qi Wu leading the way, and then at the passersby chatting and laughing without a care, Sun Chuanting found it strange. He asked in a low voice, "What is that noise?"

"What noise?" Qi Wu asked reflexively. The sound continued its rhythmic beat, even growing a little louder. "That!" Sun Chuanting said, his voice taut.

As he spoke, the guards spread out slightly, each positioning himself to shield Sun Chuanting and Scholar Tian. Some had already moved their hands to their sword hilts, ready to mount and fight. Qi Wu, usually so quick-witted, now looked somewhat dazed. He blinked, baffled. The people around them still went their own ways, laughing and talking. Sun Chuanting, growing agitated, was about to speak again when Qi Wu clapped his hands together and burst out laughing with sudden understanding. Shaking his head and chuckling, he said, "I know what it is now. If the young master wants to see, follow me — just a quick walk and we'll be there."

Seeing Qi Wu's reaction, Sun Chuanting realized he had likely been mistaken — what had startled him was probably something Qi Wu found utterly commonplace. But curiosity got the better of him, and leading his horse, he followed out of the street.

They had now left the inner circle of the He Family Estate. Though there were still lamps outside, they could now see open ground where carts and horses were parked, and goods yards piled with heavy, bulky cargo. The road here on the outer perimeter was exceptionally broad and smooth, wide enough for three carts to travel abreast. The rhythmic, muffled sound was drawing nearer.

Qi Wu didn't need to point it out — Sun Chuanting and his party had already spotted the source of the noise. It was footsteps. The sound of a column of men marching in step. So perfectly synchronized was their tread that it merged into a single, repeated, muffled boom. A formation of one hundred men — five across, twenty deep. The column was made up of young men, all dressed in identical coarse cloth uniforms and thick-soled cloth shoes. Every one of them wore puttees, carried a long spear on his shoulder, and had a short sword at his waist. They marched forward just like that. The man at their head carried a weapon slightly shorter than a long spear, resembling a poleaxe with a flared blade. He wore a helmet, and his armor — unlike chainmail, leather, or padded cotton — looked more like an iron barrel buckled around his torso. Perhaps ten others in the column also wore armor, all of the same design, though those men carried long spears.

The column marched past, and they could hear the man at the front chanting, "... one-two-one... one-two-one..."

Unlike the Xuzhou militia they had seen the day before, this column, though the men were of similar age or even slightly younger, did not have those rigid, tight-lipped expressions. Under the lamplight, every face showed weariness, and perhaps a touch of irritation. They simply marched past. They did not make a deliberate effort to walk in perfect unison, but long training and harsh discipline made it come naturally. Day after day, it was the same — it had long since become habit.

The chatter and laughter of the passersby nearby instinctively dropped in volume. Many who were not from the area, or who had only just arrived, watched with fresh curiosity. But every man in the column stared straight ahead, utterly indifferent to anything outside their ranks. Such a bearing should not have belonged to men so young.

The moment he saw the column, Sun Chuanting held his breath and stood frozen in place. The household guards around him fell silent as well; only one couldn't suppress a low gasp. As the column advanced, Sun Chuanting felt as if a mountain was bearing down upon him. His legs went weak by instinct, and he instinctively wanted to retreat. He stumbled a step, then fell backward into a sitting position — but the guards behind him were quick to react and caught him, supporting him before he hit the ground.

Only after the hundred-odd men had passed did the bustle around them resume, everyone returning to normal. Qi Wu turned back with a grin, but when he saw Sun Chuanting nearly collapsed on the ground, he froze. Scholar Tian, standing beside them, still had a normal expression on his face. He simply waved a hand and explained, "Our young master tripped accidentally. It's nothing."

Sun Chuanting took a deep breath, stood up, and steadied himself. He wiped his forehead with his hand — in that brief moment, his brow had become covered in cold sweat, and his back was soaked through as well.

"Could those be Zhao Jin's household troops?" Sun Chuanting asked. His voice sounded steady, but anyone who knew him well could detect a trace of alarm.

Qi Wu studied Sun Chuanting for a moment, then nodded with a grin. "That's right, those are Master Jin's household troops. Every day, several companies patrol and stand guard in different areas. After dark, they return to camp."

Sun Chuanting gazed at the column's retreating figures. He was silent for a moment, then forced a laugh and said, "This Zhao Jin is an interesting one — parading his most valuable assets out every day, like airing out the furs from the bottom of the chest when the sun is good, just to let everyone know how rich he is."

In fine weather, wealthy northern households would bring out their valuable furs and pelts to air them — sometimes to prevent pests and mildew, but sometimes to flaunt their wealth. Contemporary writings were full of satirical remarks on the practice, noting how on sunny days, the gates of the rich would be draped in a riot of color, with costly furs and brocades dazzling the eye — not for airing, but purely to show off the family fortune.

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