Chapter 3: True Scripture or Clever Forgery?

The rain finally stopped.

Chu Hanyi slid open the lattice window on the top floor of the attic, letting in the smell of wet earth mixed with fresh blood. Song Huaijin sat at the worn, mottled desk, holding a fragile scrap of oiled paper he had just extracted from the hidden layer inside a jade pendant. The paper was yellowed, its edges scorched black, and covered in dense, tiny script written in cinnabar ink. To an untrained eye, it looked like a tangled mess of gibberish, but Song Huaijin saw the underlying logic of ancient architectural joinery hidden in the start, bridge, turn, and finish of each stroke—structures that only someone who understood how to "disassemble" could read.

"Yan Guihong can hold them off for at most thirty more minutes." Chu Hanyi's voice was soft. She was wiping the blood off a silver needle with a clean white cloth, her movements cold and precise. "Nie Yunzhou's men have blocked three entire rows of barges on the canal and are still combing every boat that passes through. If you leave now, you'll walk straight into a trap."

Song Huaijin didn't answer immediately. He kept his gaze on the fragment in his hand. This was an index page for the "False Scriptures," detailing clues about the hiding place of the "Fire Source" in Shaolin secret code, but the crucial second page was missing. With just this one page, he only knew the clue lay "where land meets water," but he couldn't pinpoint the exact coordinates. Forcing a breakout now would not only waste his life; it would also spook the snake, alerting Nie Yunzhou that he had the core secret and accelerating his plan to purge the sect.

"Stay hidden, or strike?" The question weighed on his chest like a boulder.

Continuing to hide meant surrendering the initiative and waiting for the enemy to make a mistake. Striking first was a gamble with his life on the line. Song Huaijin thought of Lu Zhibai, that refined scholar who was always frowning, and the unspoken connection they had when they were younger, studying the *Kaogongji* (Record of Crafts) together at the academy. Only Lu Zhibai had both the channels within the government office and the vigilance of a man from the jianghu. He was the only one who could cut through this knot of information dead-end.

"Yan brother's blockade won't last long." Song Huaijin spoke up suddenly, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the tea today. "Even if we wait for Brother Yan to draw away the main force, I still can't escape. Unless someone shifts Nie Yunzhou's attention from 'people' to 'objects' through the 'documents' line."

Chu Hanyi stopped what she was doing and looked up. "You want to contact Lu Zhibai? He’s walking on thin ice at the government office right now. People from Jiushui Tower are watching him. Reaching out to him at this moment is no different from pushing him into a fire pit."

"No, it’s saving him." A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Song Huaijin’s lips—the kind of composure only a restorer of damaged items would have. "Jiushui Tower is offering a bounty for the 'Fire Source,' but their real goal is to purge all those who know before the peak of the grain transport season. Nie Yunzhou is greedy; he doesn’t just want the scrolls themselves; he wants the monopoly on interpreting them. If I give him a 'Counterfeit Index,' he’ll spend his men chasing fake clues to determine which is real and which is fake, ignoring the true 'real' lead. If Lu Zhibai is in on it, he can use the opportunity to infiltrate the canal docks, or even... use the authority of the official patrols to open a door for me."

Chu Hanyi stayed silent for a moment, then took out a short flute from her sleeve and played a series of urgent, subtle notes. It was the signal used by Sword Forging Mountain Villa to contact the outside world. Half a cup of tea later, the sound of fluttering robes came from downstairs. Yan Guihong strode up to the attic, his white clothes dusty, blood dripping from the tip of his sword.

"Rest easy, Sister Chu. I’ve shattered two watchtowers. The upstream path on the canal is clear for now." Yan Guihong’s breathing was slightly ragged, but his eyes were as clear as a blade. "But if you’re planning to take the water route, Nie Yunzhou’s 'Black Shark Fleet' has just changed shifts. Those sailors have ears sharper than dogs. Unless you have a carriage on land, or... you make them think you’re in the sky."

Song Huaijin stood up and walked to the window. The morning mist was lifting, revealing the blue-gray silhouette of Hangzhou city. In the distance, the Baoting Tower stood tall, as if looking down on this complex game of chess.

"I’m not taking the water, and I’m not taking the land." With his back to the two of them, his voice rang out clearly in the cool air. "I’m taking the 'heart path.' Brother Yan, you draw away the pursuers on the canal; hold them for thirty minutes. Miss Hanyi, you handle cleaning up the scene, especially the blood and paper scraps on this attic floor. I want this place to look empty, with only the windows blown open by the wind. As for me..."

He pulled a neatly folded sheet of Xuan paper from his robe. It was part of the "Counterfeit Index" he had deduced last night based on the fragments. On it, he had scrawled a few contradictory place names in charcoal: "Outside Qiantang Gate, At the foot of Wu Mountain, End of Beishan Street."

"I need to see Lu Zhibai." Song Huaijin said. "Within the next thirty minutes."

Yan Guihong frowned slightly. "Lu Zhibai lives in an academy by Gongchen Bridge, ten miles from here. It’s the area with the densest network of Jiushui Tower spies. Going there is walking into a net."

"Because it’s a net, it’s the safest place." Song Huaijin turned around, his gaze sharp. "Right now, all of Nie Yunzhou’s intelligence is focused on the canal. He thinks I’ll flee by water because that’s where the scrolls originated. He would never expect me to go against the current, return to the city, and find an unarmed teaching assistant who only knows how to write. For him, the sudden appearance of a weak scholar means a leak in the information. For Lu Zhibai, it means an opportunity. I need Lu Zhibai to get this Counterfeit Index. He can use the official secret channels to deliver these fake clues right under Nie Yunzhou’s nose. Once Nie Yunzhou buys the hook, he’ll dispatch all his inspection forces to search these fake locations. Meanwhile, I’ll track down the real location of the scrolls amidst the chaos."

This was a dangerous gambit, but it was exactly Song Huaijin’s specialty: using the time lag in information and cognitive bias to create a hole in his opponent’s logical closed loop.

"What if Lu Zhibai doesn’t take it?" Chu Hanyi asked.

"He will." Song Huaijin’s tone was firm. "Because I told him that Jiushui Tower’s order to purge has already reached the government office. If Lu Zhibai wants to keep his position, or save that batch of rare ancient texts from being burned, he has to work with me. Our relationship is no longer just friendship; we are now partners in survival."

Yan Guihong stared at Song Huaijin for a long moment, then sheathed his long sword with a crisp metallic clang. "Thirty minutes. I’ll make sure things get messy in the direction of the canal. You’d better not disappoint me, Huaijin. Every move you make feels like dancing on the edge of a knife."

Song Huaijin adjusted his sleeves and pressed the sheet of Xuan paper tightly against his chest. He knew that the next fifteen minutes would decide his life, and the future of the entire jianghu in Jiangnan. He pushed open the side door of the attic, and the morning wind hit him, carrying the scent of wet grass and wood.

"Brother Yan, Miss Hanyi. Until we meet again."

He disappeared into the morning mist without looking back, his figure quickly merging into the labyrinthine alleys of Hangzhou.

...

Lu Zhibai was in the side room of the academy, grading students’ homework. The red brush he held hung in mid-air, and a drop of ink fell onto the Xuan paper, spreading into a black stain. Outside the window came the sound of hurried footsteps. Then, a paper crane slipped silently through the window lattice and landed on his desk.

It was Huaijin’s code.

Lu Zhibai’s face changed instantly. He quickly put away the red brush and blew out the oil lamp on the table, plunging the room into darkness. He grabbed the paper crane and unfolded it. As his fingertips touched the cool paper, his heart clenched.

There was only one line of small text on it, the handwriting neat but urgent: "Counterfeit Index is ready, come quickly. The Jiushui Tower purge order is down. Life or death hangs on this one move. —Huaijin."

Lu Zhibai took a deep breath, held the paper crane near the candle flame, and watched it curl, blacken, and turn to ash. A bitter smile tugged at his mouth, but his eyes flashed with resolve.

"Here it comes," he murmured.

He pushed open the window, and the night wind rushed in, making his robes snap loudly. In the distance, toward the canal, a long whistle could be heard faintly. It was Yan Guihong’s sword sound, startling the roosting crows.

Lu Zhibai pulled an old wooden box from under the bed and took out his official robes and a secret message tube. He knew that from this moment on, he was no longer just a teaching assistant at an academy; he was a pawn in this vortex. He had to move fast, faster, and deliver this Counterfeit Index to the right place before Nie Yunzhou’s killing intent fell.

He stepped out the window, his figure light as a swallow, disappearing into the moonlit tree shadows.

At the same time, in a dark alley in another part of the city, Song Huaijin was leaning against a cold, wet wall. His breathing was somewhat quick, and beads of sweat trickled down the corners of his eyes. Half an hour ago, he had left the attic, detouring through three streets and successfully avoiding two patrol checkpoints. But when he got close to Gongchen Bridge, he sensed a familiar presence.

It was the scent of Nie Yunzhou’s personal guard, "Ghost Hand." It carried a faint smell of rust and poison powder.

Ghost Hand didn’t attack him directly. Instead, he stood in the shadow of the bridge pier, playing with a copper coin in his hand. The coin spun, emitting a faint hum.

"Mr. Song." Ghost Hand’s voice was raspy, like a fingernail scraping a chalkboard. "Lu Zhibai hasn't left yet, has he? If you arrive first, he’ll never be coming back."

Song Huaijin’s heart skipped a beat. He was being watched? No, not watched. He was being intercepted. How could Nie Yunzhou possibly know he was coming to contact Lu Zhibai?

"Lord Nie’s abacus is sure making a lot of noise." Song Huaijin slowly stepped out of the shadows, wearing a smile that suggested he didn’t care about anything. "You even calculated my escape routes?"

Ghost Hand sneered coldly. "You don’t calculate escape routes; you calculate 'variables.' That fragment you have is missing a corner. That corner is in my hand."

Song Huaijin’s pupils contracted slightly.

"You think the thing inside the jade pendant is all you have?" Ghost Hand tossed the coin up and caught it steadily. "Lord Nie knew you had hiding spots long ago. He deliberately left a flaw, making you think you found the truth. In reality, the real second page was taken out of Hangzhou by Jiushui Tower people three days ago and sent to Nanjing."

Song Huaijin’s smile froze on his face.

"So, going to see Lu Zhibai is useless." Ghost Hand stepped closer, his blade sliding out of its sheath, the cold light reflecting off Song Huaijin’s stoic face. "Lu Zhibai will die, your counterfeit will become waste paper. And you will become Lord Nie’s new 'collection item'."

"No, it won’t happen." Song Huaijin suddenly laughed. There was no fear in that smile, only a near-mad calm. "If you have the second page, why are you only telling me now? Why not just kill me and take the jade pendant directly?"

Ghost Hand paused, the blade stopping three inches from Song Huaijin’s throat.

"Because the fragment in your hand is fake." Song Huaijin said quietly, his voice clear in the night wind. "I tested it last night in the attic. The fiber structure of that oiled paper is wrong; it’s a later imitation. What Nie Yunzhou showed Ghost Hand was also a rubbing of that fake fragment. He’s using you to test my reaction, and to test Lu Zhibai’s loyalty. He wants to know if Lu Zhibai is also on Jiushui Tower’s secret list."

Ghost Hand’s face turned dark instantly.

"And I’m betting that you don’t dare hurt Lu Zhibai." Song Huaijin took a step back, and in his hand, a black stone appeared out of nowhere—it was a water-polished stone he had been collecting along the way. "Because if I die, Lu Zhibai will hand the real Counterfeit Index to the government捕fast (constable). Nie Yunzhou may be powerful, but he fears the government. Even just a wanted poster from a half-baked constable would stop his grain transport business for three days."

Ghost Hand’s gaze shifted between Song Huaijin and the distant light of a lantern that was faintly appearing.

"You’re lying," Ghost Hand said.

"Believe it or not." Song Huaijin turned around, his toe tapping the ground, and his body drifted toward the alley exit like a falling leaf. "But I suggest you retreat now. Because Yan Guihong’s sword is already three feet behind you."

Before the words finished leaving his mouth, a silver-white lightning bolt tore through the darkness.

"Chuan!" Yan Guihong’s voice was cold as ice. His long sword pointed at Ghost Hand, and with his other hand, he grabbed Ghost Hand by the collar and threw him hard toward the canal below the bridge.

*Boom!*

Splashes of water scattered as Ghost Hand fell into the river, instantly swallowed by the murky current.

Song Huaijin stood on the bank, watching the water calm down. The faint smile on his corner of the mouth finally faded. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and looked toward Gongchen Bridge. Lu Zhibai’s figure had already disappeared, but he knew this was only the beginning.

Nie Yunzhou’s hands had already reached for deeper secrets.

And the time left for him was running out.