Chapter 2: The Secret Envoy

The bronze gong sounded three times through the fog, the echo still hanging in the air when two shadows darted out of the alley mouth. They didn't draw their swords; they just stood under the eaves, crouching like waiting night owls. I gripped the half of the Vermilion Seal in my hand. The damp red on my palm had dried, leaving a dark brown smear—that was my father's last warning, and tonight, our biggest liability.

Sōkichi's breathing behind me hitched, faster and raggeder, but he kept his mouth shut. I sidestepped, shoving him into the house and yanking the creaking wooden door shut. Outside the crack, moonlight fell like frost on the wet stone path. I looked at the shadows outside, my voice dropped to a bare whisper. "Sea Transport Guild people. If you're here for that batch of 'ordinary porcelain,' come on in. If it's for something else, state your names first."

The shadow on the left bowed slightly, revealing the eyes behind half a mask. "Chief Escort Leader, sharp eyes. We've been ordered to collect the cargo. Mr. Seijūrō said that no matter who's escorting it, the goods must clear the gate before noon tomorrow. If it's delayed, the Onishi Escort Agency's reputation on this waterway is like the autumn wind—gone with a single gust."

I let out a cold scoff. I didn't open the door, just said, "Reputation? The Onishi house's reputation was never built on price-gouging and swapping out goods. If the porcelain breaks, can you afford the payout? If the ship capsizes, can you shoulder the blame?"

The shadow stayed silent for a beat, then let out a soft sigh, sounding like he was lecturing a stubborn old man. "You're too naive, Chief Escort Leader. The jianghu isn't the court; we don't do 'virtue' here. Mr. Sei is paying triple the fee, plus a crate of fine liquor. If you refuse, Sōkichi drinks it. He's Onishi family, so naturally, he defends the Onishi house's position. But if the position collapses, nobody buys the liquor."

Inside, Sōkichi’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his sword hilt. I could hear him wrestling with himself: Should I save this woman who’s walking into a trap with her eyes open?

I slowly pushed the door open, letting them in. The candlelight in the main hall flickered wildly, blown by the draft from the door, shadows dancing on the walls like churning ocean waves. The two men didn’t touch the candles. They just shoved a wooden crate in front of me. The box was old, the paint peeling, but it wasn’t heavy. Obviously, it wasn’t solid porcelain inside.

"That's it?" I crouched down, running my fingers over the seams at the bottom. The wood grain was weird—new wood mixed with old, looking like it was pieced together.

"Chief Escort Leader, if you want to inspect, go ahead." the shadow on the left said. "Just don't take too long. If you miss the deadline, that's on your head."

I didn’t open the box. Instead, I stood up, walked to the desk, and grabbed a brass lamp. The dim yellow light cast a cold, hard look on my face. I looked at Sōkichi, who was staring at the crate, his suspicion growing. I pointed at it. "Sōkichi, smell it."

Sōkichi leaned in, taking a deep breath, his brow furrowing. "Smell of tung oil, and... lime? If this is porcelain, why is it sealed so tight?"

The shadow on the left laughed. "Porcelain is afraid of moisture. Lime absorbs it. That's the industry standard. You're a pro, Chief Escort Leader—how can you not know that?"

I shook my head, my gaze sweeping over the box. Suddenly, I asked, "Rules are rules, but the lime inside is packed too thick. If it were ordinary porcelain, you'd need a thin layer. This much thickness? It looks like they're afraid of moisture, but also afraid of what's inside... escaping."

The air froze. The man Seijūrō sent flinched, his face changing, but he recovered quickly. "You're overthinking it, Chief Escort Leader. Mr. Sei worried the Onishi house might misjudge the contents, so he specifically ordered us to seal it tight. If you insist on doubting us, how about opening it now? But once it's open, there's no taking it back."

I stood up but didn’t touch the box yet. I walked to the window. The fog outside was so thick it felt solid. The river in the distance was black, like a slab of ink soaked in oil. I turned my back to them, my voice flat. "Open it, fine. But I have a condition. After opening, I’m inspecting the paper."

"Paper?" Sōkichi blinked, then clicked, a glint of light shooting through his eyes.

The shadow on the left let out a mocking snort. "Chief Escort Leader, porcelain is cargo, paper is documents. What's the connection? Mr. Sei only told us to deliver porcelain, not ledgers. You're being difficult."

I turned around, my eyes like knives. "Since the cargo's origin is shady, I’m tracing its roots. Porcelain is just the carrier. If something’s hidden inside the carrier, it’s evidence. Evidence leaves traces. Traces are in the paper, and in the wood. I don’t believe Seijūrō is sending a batch of meaningless porcelain at this critical moment. He’s either lying to me or lying to you. If you think he’s lying to you, then open it and see what’s really in there."

The shadows exchanged a glance. The one on the left sighed and reached for the lid. I pressed my hand on his. "Not yet. Smell first. If there’s a weird odor inside, it’s fake."

He hesitated, then actually leaned down to sniff. A moment later, he straightened up, his face pale as iron. "Mildew. And... rust."

"Rust?" Sōkichi interjected. "Where does porcelain get a rust smell? Unless there’s an iron plate at the bottom, or... what’s inside isn’t porcelain at all."

I nodded, looking at the box. "Sōkichi’s right. Porcelain is fragile. You cushion it with cotton or straw for transport, never iron plates. Iron plates are for weighing down heavy objects, or... hiding iron goods. What iron goods is Seijūrō trying to send, disguised as porcelain, that the Onishi house has to escort?"

The shadow on the left finally snapped. He whipped out a short knife and jammed it against my throat. "Chief Escort Leader, enough jokes. Mr. Sei wants the cargo safe, not your silver tongue. If you keep nagging, I can’t guarantee this throat stays intact."

I didn’t back down. I just looked up at him, the corner of my mouth curling into a cold smile. "Knife to the neck: is that a threat or a plea? If it’s a threat, go ahead and stab. If it’s a plea, drop the knife and listen to me out. Otherwise, when we meet at the gate tomorrow, you’ll find that not a single fly will get past with that 'porcelain.'"

The shadow froze, the blade tip trembling. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. The Onishi Escort Agency’s reputation was local, but it tied into the entire canal transport line. If the cargo blew up here, the fallout would crush him.

He slowly sheathed the knife, bowing his head. "You’re formidable, Chief Escort Leader. But Mr. Sei’s side..."

"Mr. Sei’s side is my problem to handle," I cut him off. "As for the box, I’m inspecting the paper. If the paper is clean, I escort it. If it’s not, I keep the box. You go back and report. Tell him, Koyuki Onishi doesn’t escort false evidence."

The shadow ground his teeth, wanting to say more but daring not to push. He turned to leave.

I didn’t stop him, just turned to Sōkichi. "Sōkichi, remember this. Remember the rust, the mildew, the panic in their eyes."

Sōkichi nodded hard, his eyes full of a mix of admiration and worry. He asked in a low voice, "Koyuki, are you really refusing? Seijūrō’s power is huge. If you turn him down, our escort agency..."

I walked to the desk, picked up the half of the Vermilion Seal, and held it under the lamp. The cinnabar on the face was mottled, the broken edge showing pale wood. "Huge power? If he really had that much, he wouldn’t need false evidence. False evidence means he’s guilty. He’s not afraid I’ll refuse; he’s afraid I’ll actually investigate."

Sōkichi stayed silent, his finger tracing the sword hilt, as if trying to memorize the feel of it.

The shadow had reached the door when he stopped, turning back to whisper. "One last reminder, Chief Escort Leader. Mr. Sei said if you refuse, you’re not needed anymore. But he also said if you investigate, you’ll die. In this world, dying is easier than living. Think hard: are you trading your life for the truth, or for a warm belly?"

With that, the two vanished into the fog, leaving behind a faint scent of blood and the unresolved smell of mildew from the box.

Sōkichi took a deep breath, turned, and grabbed a fire striker. He lit the candle and moved the box to the center of the table. His hands trembled as he pried open the lid.

It wasn’t porcelain inside.

Layer upon layer of white paper scrolls, pressed down by a blue stone. Under the stone, several rust-covered iron nails.

I leaned in, pulling out the first scroll. The paper was coarse; the fiber breaks were jagged and irregular. I squinted, tracing the characters in the candlelight. They were tiny, neat script, recording ledgers between trading firms.

"This paper..." Sōkichi leaned in, his face grim. "It doesn't look like new paper."

I nodded, rubbing the surface. "No. This paper is too 'old'."

"Old?" Sōkichi was confused.

I unfolded the paper, pressing my thumb on a crease. "Look at the fibers. Real old paper, soaked in age, gets tight, even slightly stiff. This paper? Loose fibers, even a whiff of new ink. It’s old paper cut anew, or... forged old paper."

Sōkichi’s eyes went wide. "Forged? Why forge old paper?"

"Because Seijūrō needs an old ledger," I looked up, my gaze sharp. "Those nit-picking academics like Masumi Ono eat this up. If we have a ledger from years ago, it proves that ship wasn’t raided by pirates, but swallowed by the officials. That way, his 'return of cultural relics' claim sits on moral high ground."

Sōkichi stared at the window, the fog thickening. "You want to tell Masumi?"

"No. I want to tell Sōjūrō." I said firmly. "Masumi is a scholar. Scholars value logic, not evidence chains. Sōjūrō is a coroner. Coroners value hard evidence. The fibers in this paper, the rust on these nails, the lime at the bottom of the box—that’s hard evidence. I need Sōjūrō to verify it."

Sōkichi hesitated, then gritted his teeth. "But Sōjūrō is with the Machi-bugyōsho. If Seijūrō moves..."

"They won’t move. Seijūrō wants to destroy the ruins legally, not burn himself down with a murder case. Right now, they need 'compliant' destruction, not bloody cover-ups." I said with certainty. "As long as I’m alive, they won’t touch me. And I’m not dying. I’ll turn this false ledger into my shield."

Sōkichi looked at me, his eyes unreadable. He seemed to want to say something, but finally just lowered his head, pulling a small notebook from his robe and scribbling a few lines.

"Koyuki, you’ve changed," he said quietly.

"I haven't." I stared at the pile of fake paper. "I just see clearly now. How deep and how dirty the jianghu water really is."

I picked up a sheet, bringing it to my nose. Under the mildew, there was a faint, sharp smell of sulfur.

Sōkichi jerked back. "Sulfur? That’s..."

"In the early days of gunpowder, sulfur was valuable. Seijūrō mixes it into the ledger. To cover what? Or is this ledger itself a fuse for gunpowder?"

I looked at Sōkichi. The shock in his eyes had turned to fear.

"Sōkichi, how’s your recording going?" I asked.

"Done." He closed the notebook, his fingers shaking. "What’s your next move? Escort it tomorrow, or not?"

"Escort it," I said calmly. "Since he sent it, I’m taking it. But I’ll open the box before the gate. In front of everyone, I’ll burn this false ledger."

Sōkichi gasped. "Burn it? That’s evidence! If Masumi gets it, Seijūrō’s whole clan gets wiped out!"

"If Masumi gets it, Seijūrō strikes. If Sōjūrō gets it, Seijūrō can’t prove his innocence. So, burn it. Burn the false evidence, leave the real doubt. Let Seijūrō guess if I really saw through it. Let him guess if I’m going to save the ruins or defend the escort agency."

I stood up and slowly fed the sulfur-scented paper into the candle flame. The paper curled, black smoke rising. The sulfur smell stung my eyes, making me tear up.

"Koyuki..." Sōkichi’s voice shook. "You’re walking a tightrope. If Seijūrō senses you’ve figured it out, he’ll send killers tonight. You’re not scared?"

Was I?

I looked out the window. The fog was deep and dark. The gong sound was long gone. The alley mouth was empty, just the cold, hard moonlight hitting the stone steps.

"Scared," I said softly. "That’s why I have to make this move. If I’m not scared, I’m invincible, and nobody survives."

Sōkichi was silent for a long time. Then he unhooked a Copper Coin from his belt and placed it on the table. The Onishi family escort mark was stamped on it, the edges worn smooth, the patina warm.

"That’s..."

"Father left it for me." Sōkichi’s voice was low. "He said if one day you hit a dead end, take this coin to the 'Ghost Market' at the town entrance. There are people there who take in Onishi family members. Even if you’re a ghost."

I picked up the Copper Coin, my palm warming. It felt like it still held the warmth of my father’s last night.

"Okay." I gripped the coin, my knuckles white. "Ghost Market. I’ll remember."

Sōkichi turned and walked toward the door. His back was stretched long in the candlelight, like a rope about to snap.

Like someone rushing a life to the end.