Chapter 3: Two Water Routes

The night was thick as ink, swallowing every last outline in the world until nothing remained. The crumbling wall behind the desolate temple was a patchwork of decay. Shen Yanjiang held Chu Hanyi’s wrist, his fingers locking tightly around her slender bones, and they slithered along the base of the wall, scaling it out into the darkness with barely a whisper. When they dropped, their toes kissed the tips of the grass, light as a startle-swallow’s wing, breaking the deathly stillness for a single, sharp instant.

In the distance, firelight flickered in the wind, staining the dim riverbank a ghastly, bleeding red. Pei Zhaoye’s men were combing the shore, their footsteps a chaotic, heavy thud against the mud. Blades glinted in the faint light, cold as a venomous snake flicking its tongue, poised to strike at a throat at any moment.

Shen Yanjiang held his breath, straining his ears against the mix of wind, rushing water, and the rasping sound of whetstones. He realized the path ahead was sealed. The world around them was pitch black, save for a dry well at their feet and the rotten, faintly ajar door of an old merchant ship’s cabin, sitting abandoned for years, exuding a stench of decay.

"Get inside." Chu Hanyi’s voice was a whisper, pressed so low she seemed afraid of waking the ghosts lurking in the shadows. She twisted her wrist, using the momentum to shove Shen Yanjiang toward the dilapidated vessel. They dove into the silt-choked cabin, the door clicking shut behind them with a dull thud, sealing out the noise and the encroaching blade-heat.

The cabin was dark and damp, the air thick with the smell of old mildew and a faint, nauseating trace of dried blood. Shen Yanjiang pulled the half-slab of black iron from his chest. Moonlight slanted through the broken window lattice, casting mottled shadows across the metal. It gleamed with a cold, eerie light, like the eye of some ancient curse.

"What you're holding is a fake." Chu Hanyi’s finger tapped the edge of the iron shard, the motion gentle but laced with an undeniable chill. Her gaze was sharp as a blade. "The real evidence that destroyed a family isn't found in dead objects. It’s in the living blood-pact. If you think a piece of iron can overturn the case, you don't even have the qualifications to step into this trap."

Her words stabbed into his ears like a needle, yet they were like a bucket of ice water thrown over him, forcing his pounding heart to slam down into submission.

Shen Yanjiang frowned, his thumb rubbing the cold, rough texture of the iron grain, doubt sprouting in his chest like weeds. He remembered the horror of that night. He remembered Chu Hanyi wasn't there. Why was she so certain about this?

A violent bang shook the door. Wood splinters flew as the board gave way under the weight of the pursuers breaking in. Shen Yanjiang yanked a crumpled piece of paper from his sleeve. It was a forged search warrant, prepared in advance, bearing the crimson seal of the local yamen office. It was smudged, but under the dim light, it looked authentic enough to fool anyone.

He shot to his feet, holding the warrant high. "Lord Pei has already signed a formal search warrant!" he barked, his voice echoing off the rotting wood. "If you common thugs dare break into a private vessel, that’s resisting lawful authority! I’ll call the authorities and pin treason on every one of you!"

The pursuers froze. The lead thug’s hand, gripping his saber, trembled slightly. He recognized the outline of the seal. Even if he knew it might be fake, he didn’t dare disobey the "procedural justice" Pei Zhaoye had imposed. After all, Pei Zhaoye’s biggest pet peeve was losing the big picture over petty rule-breaking.

Seizing the opening, Shen Yanjiang backed into the corner of the cabin. In his peripheral vision, he saw Chu Hanyi had already vanished in the chaos, leaving behind only a neatly folded ship ticket wedged in the gap of the iron shard. Shen Yanjiang picked up the ticket, his fingertips cool. He knew it now. His path and Chu Hanyi’s had diverged completely. There would be no more shared road.

Shen Yanjiang did not go after his original plan to contact Nie Yunzhou. The old medical examiner was honest, but within Pei Zhaoye’s territory, reaching out to him was like throwing yourself into a net, a moth flying into the flame. He had to move alone, even if the path ahead led to an abyss.

Deep in the ruins, he found a hidden nook. He sparked a fire stick and tossed every old identity document, his press card, and that medal symbolizing his past glory into the flames. The crackle of burning paper was pleasing to the ear; it was the sound of his old self dying. The ashes scattered in the wind, carrying a sense of decisive relief.

He changed into a rough-cloth robe, stashed the ticket against his skin, and adjusted his collar. As he did, his eyes turned cold and hard as iron, shedding the last traces of a gentle journalist.

The ticket’s destination was Suzhou. Shen Yanjiang slipped into the crowd and boarded a cargo ship that was unloading goods. A sailor blocked his path, eyes narrowing, sizing up the cheap fabric of Shen Yanjiang’s clothes. Shen Yanjiang didn’t flinch. He produced a copper engraved plaque from his chest. It bore the special transit runes of the Customs Office.

The sailor’s attitude shifted instantly to deference. He stepped aside, clearing the path. "Young Master, this way. This is a route specially approved by Lord Pei. No outsiders allowed."

Shen Yanjiang stepped into the cabin. The floorboards creaked under his feet, each step heavy and irreversible, like a sigh of fate.

As the ship moved into the center of the river, wind and waves battered the hull, churning white foam. Leaning on the railing, Shen Yanjiang ran through the situation in his head at full speed. Chu Hanyi’s words were a thorn in his heart, painful and itchy. She had guided him to chase the iron evidence but left clues deliberately vague. Was that a reminder of their past affection, or the setup for a deeper trap?

She was neither wholly good nor evil, operating on the edge of profit. If she already knew Pei Zhaoye’s plan, then the endpoint of that ticket might just be the center of the trap.

On the other end of the deck, a young scholar was pacing anxiously, stomping his feet. It was Jiang Wanzhou, who had stumbled onto this ship while searching for his missing master. Jiang Wanzhou had a sharp nose; he caught the scent of blood on Shen Yanjiang and his pupils shrank. "You’re Shen Yanjiang? The journalist famous for exposing scandals?"

Jiang Wanzhou’s voice trembled, thick with suppressed excitement and fear. "My master said before he disappeared that if we found the truth about the mass murder case, we could save his family. Can you tell me—did Pei Zhaoye and his men fabricate the evidence?"

Shen Yanjiang glanced at him with cold, indifferent eyes, his tone lacking any warmth, like ice water poured over a head. "You haven’t even drunk your water properly, yet you dare scream injustice at the door of a thieves’ den? Be careful you don’t get swept up in their conspiracy. Your life is worth more than your mouth."

Jiang Wanzhou’s eyes went wide, his face flushing red. He shouted back, "Justice knows no rank! The truth has its own judgment! Why must the blood of the innocent be spilled to fill the gaps in the power struggles of your big shots?"

The argument was still unresolved when the ship reached the dock. Several men in black had been waiting for a long time. Their knife tips pointed directly at Shen Yanjiang. Pei Zhaoye’s men intended to silence him here and now, cutting down the grass and roots.

Shen Yanjiang didn’t panic. Calmly, he pulled a crystal tube from his chest. Inside was not poison, but a recording and a handwritten copy of testimony. It was the complete chain of evidence he had documented over years, heavy, weighing on his chest.

"Before you strike, look at this." Shen Yanjiang held up the crystal tube, his voice cutting through the night wind, clear and resolute. "The ledgers of Pei Zhaoye’s money laundering—including every one of your names—are in there. If I die, the tube self-destructs, and the evidence is simultaneously sent via carrier pigeon to the Capital Censorate."

"Lord Pei cares most about 'legal procedure.' The moment this evidence leaks, the clean image he worked so hard to build collapses instantly."

The men in black looked at each other, their hands gripping their knives turning rigid. They were just muscle, but they had all experienced Pei Zhaoye’s obsessive need for reputation control; it was a near-pathological desire for dominance. The risk far outweighed the gain. After a silent moment, the leader sighed, sheathing his blade with a wave of his hand. A flicker of wariness crossed his eyes. "Let's go. Retreat and report to the master."

They withdrew, leaving Shen Yanjiang standing alone in the dock’s mist, having forcibly torn open a path to survival with the power of evidence.

Shen Yanjiang looked down at the ticket in his hand, his pupils contracting. The original destination marked "Villa" had been scrubbed away with ink. In its place were four bright red characters: Suzhou Customs Office. Chu Hanyi hadn’t lied to him, but she hadn’t saved him either. This ticket wasn’t the key to the truth; it was an invitation sending him, along with all his secrets, directly into the heart of Pei Zhaoye’s strongest fortress.

Shen Yanjiang’s fingertips trembled. The brittle ticket flapped in the night wind, sounding like the wings of a dying butterfly. He quickly scanned his surroundings, confirming the men in black had completely disappeared down the alley, before forcing down the tsunami in his heart. Suzhou Customs Office. That was the deepest no-go zone of Pei Zhaoye’s power, and the deadly trap Chu Hanyi had set.

If he boarded the ship as the ticket dictated, it was throwing himself into the net. If he abandoned the ship and went underground, he would lose all leads to track Chu Hanyi, and the truth behind that engraved plaque would sink into the sea forever.

The wind tightened, carrying the brine-salt tang of the river. Shen Yanjiang looked at the merchant ship about to cast off its moorings. The hull was black, hidden in the thick fog, like a dormant beast.

The cold, stern face of Nie Yunzhou flashed through his mind. If he told the new Tiqi Commander, perhaps the commander could gather troops for a strong attack. But that would trigger an even crazier purge by Pei Zhaoye. Those innocent medical examiners and witnesses caught in the crossfire might not even get a chance to flee.

Going it alone meant dancing on the edge of a blade; one slip and he’d be pulverized.

"Let's bet on it," he muttered to himself. Then he pulled out the charred remnant of his old identity document. The fire was out, but the residual heat remained—the ash of his past thirteen years. He casually tossed the fragment into the fire basin at his feet, watching it disappear into nothing.

At the same time, he took out the cold iron engraved plaque. It was the only token Chu Hanyi had left behind, and his only talisman at this moment.

Shen Yanjiang took a deep breath and strode toward the deep end of the dock. He was no longer a down-and-out scholar hiding his identity; he was about to step into the eye of the storm, a man wielding a blade. As he boarded the ship, the floorboard creaked lightly, the hull shuddered violently, as if in contempt of this uninvited guest.

He quickly scanned the sparse lights on the deck and noticed a thick rope tied to the bow, slowly tightening with the current.

At the instant the ship moved off the shore, a streak of cold light shot out from beneath the water surface, driving precisely into the ship’s hull and catching the corner of his robe. Shen Yanjiang’s pupils shrank. He whipped out the short knife from his back without hesitation, slicing the rope while using the momentum to lunge forward, rolling into the dim cargo hold.

The hold was thick with damp mildew. He groped his way behind a pile of hemp sacks, holding his breath. Moments later, two black shadows leaped from the water onto the empty deck. One of them drew a sword, pointing it toward the stern, and growled, "He can’t escape. Search!"

Shen Yanjiang heard the footsteps above his head, his heart hammering, but he didn’t dare let his guard down. He gripped the engraved plaque tightly, his knuckles white. The ship was off the shore; there was no way out. He slowly raised his head, peering through a gap in the hemp sacks. He saw the man on the deck holding a lantern. The light swept over his hiding spot, paused for a second, and then moved away.

The man seemed to have found something. A twisted, eerie grin curled his lips. He blew a sharp, mocking whistle into the darkness.

Just then, a dull rumble came from beneath the ship, as if some huge secret hidden under the hull was waking up. Shen Yanjiang knew it now. There was no turning back.