Chapter Thirteen: The Six Doors Seize the Sheepskin Scroll, Wolves Arrive at Ren'an at the Hour of the Snake

Early in the hour of Si.

Six Gates Bureau.

Zhuge Changqing scrutinized the sheepskin scroll in his hand, his brows furrowed deep like the character for “river.” The scroll was densely covered with countless squares, outlined in red ink and crisscrossed with black lines—a map of the seventy-two wards and markets of Jian’an Capital.

Jian’an sprawled across thirteen north-south streets and seventeen east-west streets, encompassing its seventy-two wards. Hidden doors connected the streets, and a labyrinth of water and land channels, with innumerable dark conduits, intertwined the city. Between the city walls ran secret passageways; beneath the bridges, culverts; in the slopes, hidden pits—all converging into a shadowy network beneath Jian’an’s surface.

Fortunately, the sheepskin scroll in Zhuge Changqing’s hand depicted only sixty percent of the city's wards; the remaining forty percent—mostly in the East Market—were but mere outlines with names marked in haste.

With a sharp slap, Zhuge Changqing flung the scroll onto the table. Below him, Qi Jingmo, Bai Lingquan, and Tang Yi all wore grave expressions.

Thirteen corpses had been left by the Turks at Tian Si Trading House in Pomegranate Lane; not a soul survived, all leads severed, and their motives remained a mystery. Yet, the very existence of the ward map left behind made clear that the Turks’ intentions were anything but trivial.

“What do the Turks truly intend?” murmured Zhuge Changqing, the Divine Marquis.

He knew well that the two who had slipped away from the Six Gates’ encirclement so calmly were anything but ordinary foes. Thankfully, the ward map had been seized; otherwise, with such a guide, one could traverse Jian’an Capital at will.

Poisoning the canals, setting wards ablaze, assassinating the worthy by night, infiltrating the imperial city… The possibilities were endless. Even a mere cough in the bustling Shangyuan Ward, Chunyang City, or the Great Buddha Temple could incite disaster.

Today was the Lantern Festival—the Emperor’s grace shared with the people, stages erected for revelry in every ward. The curfew was lifted; the Five City Garrison patrolled through the night, the Northern Garrison guarded the gates, the Ironclad Cavalry circled the city, and the Six Gates kept a vigilant watch.

Jian’an appeared as impregnable as an iron drum, yet in truth, every string was taut with tension.

Manpower was sorely lacking.

Zhuge Changqing rubbed his temples, his upright figure slowly bending as weariness seeped in.

Qi Jingmo, somewhat abashed, said in a low voice, “I’ve already dispatched men to search along the official canals.”

This pursuit was his operation, with Bai Lingquan as his second; any mishap was his burden to bear.

Zhuge Changqing waved his hand and sighed, “The official canals are unlike ordinary ditches—too many branches, winding streams that circle Jian’an, all interconnected. This approach is futile.”

Bai Lingquan, arms folded over his sword, pondered aloud, “The Lantern Festival is still some hours away. If you order a transfer from Six Gates to the Five City Garrison, gather manpower, and join forces with ward officials and local runners, searching ward by ward, the culprits can surely be found.”

But Zhuge Changqing shook his head again. “Today’s operation in Pomegranate Lane has already thrown the East Market into turmoil. If we launch a sweeping search, we risk displeasing the Emperor.”

There was more he did not say aloud: since the establishment of the Demon Suppression Bureau, the Emperor’s reliance on the Six Gates had waned. Now, they relied on the fading power of former days; the authority to mobilize the Five City Garrison was all but lost.

At last, Zhuge Changqing turned to Tang Yi, who had remained silent. “What is your view?”

Tang Yi pointed to the sheepskin map on the table and replied in a low voice, “The ward map.”

Zhuge Changqing nodded, gratified. “Precisely. Whatever the Turks seek, it cannot be separated from the ward map. Now that it’s been seized, what do you think their next move will be?”

Qi Jingmo thought for a moment. “Possessing a ward map is a grave offense in Great Zhou. There are only two places where such maps would be kept: the Ministry of Revenue’s Archives, and the Inner Offices of the Imperial City.”

Bai Lingquan also nodded. “It is a capital crime to possess a ward map. Only the government keeps them— the Ministry of Revenue for renovations, the Imperial Office for records and reports.”

Tang Yi frowned slightly but said nothing.

Zhuge Changqing’s brow eased a little. “Star-Chaser, go to the Ministry of Revenue and request the detailed ward maps. Blood-Drinker, take men to guard the Imperial Inner Offices.”

Finally, Zhuge Changqing’s tone grew stern. “Remember—let no word leak out. The threat of the Turkic wolves must never reach the Emperor’s ears. The Lantern Festival must proceed without incident.”

Qi Jingmo answered, “Rest assured, sir. Everything is under control.”

Zhuge Changqing’s face darkened as Bai Lingquan dragged Star-Chaser out by the arm.

Only after Qi Jingmo and Bai Lingquan had departed did Zhuge Changqing turn to Tang Yi. “You seemed like you had something to say just now?”

As the seasoned head of the Six Gates, Zhuge Changqing could hardly miss the odd look on Tang Yi’s face.

Tang Yi nodded. “Though keeping a ward map is a serious crime, there is one kind of person who dares to do so.”

Zhuge Changqing’s tone grew grave. “Who?”

“All the bustling of the world is for profit; all the jostling is for gain,” Tang Yi replied calmly.

Zhuge Changqing’s brows drew together. “Merchants?”

...

Mid-morning.

East Market, Chang Le Ward.

Mi Zige had changed into a black jacket embroidered with golden peach blossoms. His white undershirt was slightly damp, a white jade belt at his waist. His hair, unbound and loose rather than pinned with a wooden hairpiece, lent him the air of a dashing young lord. A bird, resembling a white-capped bulbul, perched on his shoulder.

Zhao Nu wore a plain black robe of coarse cloth, a wooden box a foot square strapped across his back, and a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled low to conceal his foreign features. Standing beside Mi Zige, he looked for all the world like an unobtrusive old servant.

“What are we doing here? Didn’t you say the ward maps are in the Ministry of Revenue and the Imperial City?” Zhao Nu eyed Mi Zige warily. After the Six Gates had slaughtered his thirteen companions, he was deeply suspicious of this man from Great Zhou.

Yet Mi Zige showed no displeasure at Zhao Nu’s caution, replying in a low voice, “Our movements have been exposed, and the sheepskin scroll is lost. By now, both the Ministry and the Imperial Offices will be heavily guarded. To force our way in would be suicide.”

Zhao Nu was no fool. A moment’s thought was all it took to see the logic in Mi Zige’s words.

“Then what should we do?” he asked in a deep voice.

Mi Zige had anticipated this question and answered at once: “The wards are filled with brokers—well-connected and resourceful, handling all manner of goods, finding people, arranging lodgings, and more. Among both the ward officials and the merchants, these brokers are indispensable. The ward map is invaluable to their business, so it stands to reason some of them have copies.”

Zhao Nu said nothing. Since the debacle at Tian Si Trading House, he had felt his position with Mi Zige subtly reversed. With each conversation, that sense deepened.

“So if we seek a broker, why come here?” Zhao Nu finally asked.

Mi Zige halted, pointed ahead, and smiled faintly. “Liu Jinbiao, proprietor of Ren’an Pawnshop, is the most influential broker in Jian’an Capital.”

Following Mi Zige’s gesture, Zhao Nu saw before them a three-story wooden building with a black, gold-lettered sign.

On it were three characters: Ren’an Pawnshop.