Chapter Fourteen: The Greedy Pastry Shopkeeper Meets His End, and Fortune Smiles Upon the Purchase of a Treasure

Dawn.

East Market, Lanruo Lane.

In front of the incense and candle shop, Song Mo begrudgingly fished out five copper coins and handed them over, arms full of hell banknotes.

At the secluded end of the alley, Song Mo removed two paper horses from his legs and burned them together with the pile of hell banknotes.

In an instant, the paper horses turned to ashes, and the rising blue smoke of the banknotes drifted straight upward, vanishing inexplicably in midair.

It was as if some invisible hand of gods or ghosts was snatching away the offerings.

The first time Song Mo witnessed this uncanny scene, he couldn’t help but feel afraid, but soon grew accustomed to it. After all, having spent so much time in the mortuary, what bizarre things hadn’t he seen? Especially since the ancient text “Divine Paper Horse Technique” made it clear that the power of the paper horses was borrowed from spirits and deities. It was easy to invite them, but hard to send them away, so the hell banknotes naturally became their payment.

Money makes even ghosts work, and Song Mo, having lived two lifetimes, understood that better than anyone.

Having sent off the spirits, his stomach began rumbling.

Feeling the last copper coin in his pocket, Song Mo gritted his teeth and bought a five-spice sesame flatbread.

The vendor was a shrewd one; the flatbread was golden and fragrant on both sides. But when Song Mo took a bite, he discovered that only the outward-facing side had a thin layer of sesame, while the other side was bare.

He glanced at the honest-looking middle-aged vendor and muttered inwardly.

A true swindler.

After finishing the flatbread and filling his belly, Song Mo gradually calmed down and began to ponder the day’s events.

Tang Yi had visited at dawn, likely because something went wrong with Old Wu of Dark Moon City—most probably, the old man had died.

Last night, to prevent Tang Yi from discovering the Soul Guide Record, Song Mo had been forced to mention the Pass Ledger left in Dark Moon City.

If Tang Yi managed to capture Old Wu and retrieve the Ledger, all would be well. But since Old Wu botched things, everything was now hopeless.

Song Mo couldn’t help but regret it; originally, he was just a pawn for the Six Gates Bureau, but now he’d become a crucial clue in the search for the Pass Ledger. It was possible even the Turks were watching him.

This time, he truly felt like Pigsy looking in the mirror—neither human inside nor out.

Song Mo steadied himself, his mind working rapidly. The Turks must have some scheme if they’d traveled so far to Jian’an Capital. With the Lantern Festival approaching, Marshal Ma Sihu was returning to the capital, making the entire city a chaotic stage. Judging from Tang Yi’s expression, the Six Gates Bureau was already losing control.

If the Turks dared to kill and silence witnesses in Jian’an Capital, their ambitions must be significant. The Lantern Festival lasted eight hours; perhaps these prairie hawks were about to cause the greatest turmoil in the city’s history.

After much deliberation, Song Mo realized there was only one path open to him.

Escape.

Flee Jian’an Capital.

Get far away from this place of trouble.

Song Mo calculated in his heart. With his disguise technique, he could change his appearance and evade the Six Gates Bureau’s pursuit. The divine speed technique would allow him to leave Jian’an Capital swiftly. The only problem was the most difficult to solve:

He was short on silver.

As the saying goes, money lets you travel the world; without it, you can’t take a step. If a man doesn’t have a couple of taels of silver at his waist, he’s already looked down upon.

Thus, making money became urgent.

The mortuary was out of the question, and even if he went back, there was no tradition of advance payment there.

Try as he might, Song Mo found no solution. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead and murmured, “How could I forget?”

Ancient Mirror of Yin and Yang, the way of the broker.

He was now at Lanruo Lane in East Market. Northward, past Qingyun Street and through Liuli Lane, lay Chang Le Lane.

Ren’an Pawnshop was there.

...

Mid-morning.

Chang Le Lane, Ren’an Pawnshop.

Manager Liu Jinbiao eyed the two men entering the shop and frowned. Both had a faint dampness about them; one had a strange bird perched on his shoulder, the other wore a straw hat and carried a large box despite the sunny day.

Though they looked like a master and servant out for a stroll, Liu Jinbiao’s sharp eye—honed through years in the underworld—detected something amiss.

To put it bluntly, these two didn’t look like good people.

Mi Zige’s gaze moved from the jars and bottles on the shelves to the calligraphy on the wall. Only then did Liu Jinbiao, with a forced smile, step forward and ask, “Gentlemen, are you here to buy some trinkets?”

Liu Jinbiao was a fat, middle-aged man in a yellow silk robe. His face bunched up with folds when he smiled, making Mi Zige frown in disgust.

“Are you willing to do big business?” Mi Zige asked in a calm, deep voice.

Liu Jinbiao’s smile widened, “Any business is welcome here, large or small.”

Mi Zige glanced around the shop. It was the Lantern Festival, and customers were few—mostly those curious, not true collectors.

Liu Jinbiao was a shrewd operator. Seeing Mi Zige’s behavior, he guessed the man was troubled by the presence of others, and so perhaps was indeed here for a substantial deal.

“A stroke of luck, a pie falling from the sky onto my head,” Liu Jinbiao thought happily.

He turned to the remaining customers and cupped his hands, “Forgive me, the shop is closing for the day. If you see something you like, come back tomorrow for a good deal.”

The customers, merely passing the time, left without protest.

Mi Zige couldn’t help but look upon Liu Jinbiao with newfound respect; no wonder he was the most successful broker in Jian’an Capital.

His ability to read people surpassed ordinary men.

Liu Jinbiao closed the shop and brewed a pot of fine tea in the back room.

Only two cups were placed on the table, none for Zhao Nu.

Clearly, Liu Jinbiao considered him nothing but an old servant.

Mi Zige sipped his tea, and Liu Jinbiao eagerly asked, “What business brings you here?”

Mi Zige set down his cup and replied unhurriedly, “We’re here to buy something.”

Liu Jinbiao smiled, “Ren’an Pawnshop has its share of treasures. What are you looking for, sir?”

Mi Zige said nothing, but dipped his finger in tea and wrote three characters on the table.

Liu Jinbiao’s face changed instantly after a glance.

The characters were clear: Map of the Markets.

“You won’t find what you seek here. I suggest you look elsewhere,” Liu Jinbiao waved his hands, already hinting at dismissal.

Privately holding a Map of the Markets was a serious crime in the Great Zhou. Looking at these two unexpected visitors, Liu Jinbiao was uneasy.

Were they from the capital’s magistrate, sent to entrap him?

But Mi Zige only smiled and took out an item, placing it on the table and wiping away the tea with his sleeve.

Liu Jinbiao stared, stunned. The item was a gold ingot, shining bright.

Beautiful indeed.

“Do you have it now?” Mi Zige asked, placing another gold ingot on the table.

Liu Jinbiao swallowed, his eyes locked greedily on the gold. After a long moment, he asked, “Five pieces?”

“Deal,” Mi Zige replied, the hint of disdain in his eyes well concealed.

Soon, Liu Jinbiao produced a square map from a wooden box.

Mi Zige glanced at it and nodded. The map was clear, outlining the markets by name and shape, marking hidden walls, secret channels, and concealed doors.

A fine item indeed.

Liu Jinbiao bit into the gold ingot, leaving a clear mark, and beamed with delight.

“And the rest, sir?” he asked obsequiously.

Then, Zhao Nu, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, “Are there no assistants in this shop?”

Zhao Nu’s Great Zhou dialect was rough, but Liu Jinbiao answered without suspicion, “Just me, the manager.”

Zhao Nu sneered, “That’s a pity.”

Liu Jinbiao asked, puzzled, “What’s a pity?”

Zhao Nu slowly removed his straw hat, grinning viciously, “A pity that only you’ll be making the journey.”

“Turkic—” Liu Jinbiao didn’t finish. A small, pitch-black snake wriggled out from his eye.

...

Mid-morning.

Chang Le Lane.

Song Mo looked at the firmly closed doors of Ren’an Pawnshop and grew gloomy. He’d come hoping for luck, only to be met with a locked door.

As he hesitated, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

“You’re really hard to find,” came the voice—Song Mo didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Dressed in black, with a cold, handsome face—it was Tang Yi.

Tang Yi had left Six Gates and come straight to West Market, gathering information. In Jian’an Capital, only two people dared to privately hold a Map of the Markets.

One was Yu Mofan, leader of the Canal Guild in Dark Moon City. Canal operations depended on waterways, and the Guild thrived by knowing every secret channel, evading the Market Bureau’s searches.

The other was the greatest broker in Jian’an Capital, Liu Jinbiao, manager of Ren’an Pawnshop. Finding people, moving goods, entering warehouses—all required knowledge of hidden doors and walls, reaching places others couldn’t.

Dark Moon City was too complex for just two men to handle alone, so only Liu Jinbiao remained as a lead.

Tang Yi arrived at Ren’an Pawnshop and happened upon Song Mo at the door—a stroke of luck.

“A misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding. Would you believe I’m just out for a stroll?” Song Mo said with a bitter smile.

Tang Yi glared coldly at him, “We’ll discuss your matters later.”

With that, Tang Yi dragged Song Mo inside.

Inside, a man in black stood behind the counter, a bird like a white-headed bulbul perched on his shoulder.

Song Mo paused, touching his nose, lost in thought.

“Are you Liu Jinbiao?” Tang Yi asked, frowning.

“Genuine article,” Mi Zige replied softly, raising an eyebrow.

“Any foreigners visit today?” Tang Yi continued.

Mi Zige smiled, “Lantern Festival—no guests.”

Tang Yi relaxed a little and prepared to leave.

Song Mo suddenly pointed at a dusty, black iron cat in the corner of the shelf, “Manager, could you let me have this broken thing for two coppers?”

Mi Zige glanced at the dusty iron cat, thought for a moment, then said, “One tael of silver.”

“Deal.” Song Mo took it without complaint, hugging the iron cat to his chest.

“Um, could you lend me some money?” Song Mo asked Tang Yi, embarrassed.

Tang Yi shot him a fierce look but still handed over a tael of silver.

Outside Ren’an Pawnshop, Song Mo’s face immediately darkened.

After a moment’s hesitation, Song Mo spoke, “That man is not Liu Jinbiao.”

“Hm?” Tang Yi didn’t catch on.

“This black cat should be Ren’an Pawnshop’s counter guardian,” Song Mo said, picking up a pebble and gently scraping the rust off the iron cat.

Beneath the scraped rust, flecks of gold appeared.