HomeLiang Jing Shi Wu RiFifteen Days Between Two Capitals - Chapter 11

Fifteen Days Between Two Capitals – Chapter 11

A black-awning boat sped eastward across the great river. Moving with the current, there was no need for sails or oars—just a light touch on the rear rudder allowed the vast waters to carry the small craft forward.

Wu Dingyuan stood alone at the stern, hand on the tiller, staring blankly toward the now-distant Nanjing territory. Behind him, Yu Qian curled up awkwardly at the bow, his brow furrowed even in sleep. From the cabin came Prince Zhu Zhanji’s steady snoring, while Su Jingxi dozed in a sitting position, head propped on her hand as she leaned against the awning.

The gently rocking boat was wrapped in silence as if the river god had cast some mysterious sleeping spell.

Their original vessel had been just a patrol skiff, completely unsuitable for the river’s wind and waves. Fortunately, Red Jade had given Wu Dingyuan a bag of Hepu pearls earlier. Yu Qian borrowed one to trade with a riverside fisherman for this black-awning boat, solving their immediate crisis. After a night of turmoil, these exhausted travelers had fallen asleep almost as soon as they confirmed the boat was safely on the river.

In truth, Wu Dingyuan was also extremely tired, with his head feeling like it held burning coal—no visible flames, but the heat made him restless. No matter how exhausted he was, he couldn’t calm his mind.

The past day and night had been truly unforgettable for him. The upheaval in Nanjing, two groups of immortals fighting, yet he, a mere ant, had been caught in the crossfire. A man who most feared trouble had been swept into the most complex whirlpool—his father killed brutally, his sister kidnapped, his enemy appearing, his familiar world shattered to pieces, with no way to turn back.

Even now, Wu Dingyuan still felt a strong sense of unreality, as if everything was just a nightmare. He habitually reached for his waist, seeking to solve his problems with strong wine, but found nothing. Wu Dingyuan suddenly remembered that yesterday noon, when passing under the massive stones of Zhengyang Gate, he had experienced some kind of premonition. Looking back now, it seemed almost prophetic: both the path ahead and behind were obscured in darkness, while life and death hung by a thread overhead.

Thinking of this, Wu Dingyuan felt a tightness in his chest. He had to gently release the rudder and straighten up. Though blood flow had returned to his ankle where Liang Xingfu had gripped it last night, it still ached—even the slightest movement required gritting his teeth.

Wu Dingyuan managed to stand at the stern, taking a deep breath of river wind, letting the fresh air circulate through his lungs several times until his head cleared slightly. But as his mind cleared, his melancholy only became more concentrated, impossible to escape or dissolve. Wu Dingyuan stood silently at the stern, his tall, thin frame like a reed swaying toward an unknown destination.

The other three slept soundly for over two hours until the scorching sunlight burned their faces awake. Su Jingxi rose first, bending down to splash river water on her face before carefully wiping it with a silk handkerchief. Next was Prince Zhu Zhanji, woken by pain as his arrow wound started acting up again.

Su Jingxi quickly crouched beside the prince, one hand holding the unwrapped bandage, the other gently massaging the wound. Her gaze was focused, her touch gentle and delicate, making Zhu Zhanji grunt occasionally in comfort. Sunlight slanted through gaps in the awning, casting a tender glow on Su Jingxi’s forehead like the halo of Guanyin. Looking at her current demeanor, one could never imagine her frenzied, rakshasa-like appearance at Shence Lock the night before.

Yu Qian was the last to wake. His first action upon rising was to stretch his neck and scan the river view. By now, the small boat had crossed the river’s center and was approaching the north bank. From this distance, the riverbank scenery became visible. Verdant grass slopes rose and fell, while clusters of fine-leaved water celery and club rush covered the waterline’s edge, forming an irregular green line connecting a long string of small, irregular shallows.

Calculating their progress on the water, they should have just passed Yizhen County on the north bank of the Great River.

“Did you know? Here by Yizhen County’s riverbank, there’s an ancient ferry crossing called Yangzi Crossing, and beside it once stood Emperor Yang of Sui’s traveling palace, called Yangzi Palace. This stretch of river from Yizhen to Jingkou was designated by its ford and named after the palace, becoming known as the Yangzi River. Wang Mojie, Liu Mengde, Yang Chengzhai, and Prime Minister Wen all have poems about it…”

Yu Qian chatted enthusiastically, but the other three paid no attention. After speaking for a while without response, he sheepishly pulled out several rice balls stuffed with pickled fish and minced ginger from the boat’s hold, distributing them to his companions. When he reached Wu Dingyuan, he noticed the man’s bloodshot eyes and felt greatly apologetic, quickly offering the rice ball: “Haven’t slept at all?”

“If I’d slept too, this boat would’ve sunk to feed the fish and turtles long ago.”

Yu Qian knew his sharp tongue and took no offense: “Then why don’t you rest now?”

“Headache. Can’t sleep.”

“That’s perfect then, let’s have a meeting.”

Ignoring Wu Dingyuan’s face turning ashen, Yu Qian called the other two over. Once the prince and Su Jingxi had finished their rice balls, Yu Qian gathered them together and tapped the awning: “The Book of Rites says, ‘With preparation comes success, without it comes failure.’ We may have fortunately escaped from Jinling, but getting back to the capital is another headache that requires planning—what does Your Highness think?”

Zhu Zhanji grunted in agreement. The two capitals were separated by over two thousand li, and how to quickly head north was indeed a complex problem. He said, “Among us, only you have traveled between the two capitals multiple times. Do you have any ideas?”

Instead of answering directly, Yu Qian picked up half an eaten rice ball and began counting grains: “Today is May 19th (Wu-zi), tomorrow is the 20th (Ji-chou)…” Yu Qian plucked one grain of rice from the ball for each day and arranged them on the deck. He finally stopped at the fifteenth grain.

“June 3rd (Xin-chou)—please remember this date. No matter what, the prince must enter the capital by June 3rd—or at least be within Shuntian Prefecture’s borders. We only have fifteen days.”

“Why must it be June 3rd?” Zhu Zhanji asked.

“When I was observing government at the Ministry of Rites, I learned some ceremonial calendrics. June 3rd coincides with the Day of Heavenly Virtue, auspicious for all matters. If those usurpers covet the throne, this is the nearest auspicious date for ascending it.” Hearing these words, Zhu Zhanji’s heart suddenly clenched. Yu Qian speaking this way meant he believed the Hongxi Emperor was dead. He desperately suppressed the emotions churning in his mind and focused on the immediate problem. Seeing the prince realize the gravity of the situation, Yu Qian brushed away the rice grains, “So all our plans must work within these fifteen days. Beyond that timeframe, it becomes meaningless…”

He didn’t continue, but everyone understood what this “meaningless” implied. June 3rd was a decisive turning point—once the usurper ascended the throne and was proclaimed emperor, it would be too late, and the prince’s chances of turning the situation around would become extremely difficult. Even being half a day late could mean the difference between heaven and earth.

Zhu Zhanji silently calculated and his expression changed slightly. The postal route from Nanjing to the capital was 2,235 li. To complete it in half a month meant covering 150 li per day. But then he thought, “Mother’s secret letter left the capital on May 12th and arrived in Nanjing on May 18th, taking only six days. Can’t we travel at that pace?”

“Your Highness may not know, but due to the dynasty’s shortage of horses, document delivery is mostly done on foot. Each express station has young, strong postal soldiers who immediately sprint out upon receiving documents, continuing until they reach the next station. Through such relay transitions, they can cover 300 li in a day and night,” Yu Qian explained.

Zhu Zhanji immediately deflated. While this method was certainly fast, he couldn’t use it. “We’ll have to ride horses then,” he muttered.

Yu Qian shook his head: “Horses won’t work either. Though there are official postal routes between the two capitals, there are countless slopes, ridges, and gullies along the way. Moreover, it’s nearly May—if we encounter rain and mud, our speed will be even more limited.”

“That’s fine, we don’t need to cover 300 li in a day and night, half that speed—150 li—would be enough.”

“Even the finest horse couldn’t endure such a pace.”

“We could switch horses along the way.”

“We can switch horses, but we can’t switch people. Your Highness, don’t forget your arrow wound—it couldn’t withstand such wild galloping and jolting. You’d be worked to death before reaching the capital, so why bother?” Yu Qian rejected the idea outright.

Zhu Zhanji’s eyes dimmed, but suddenly brightened again: “We could go to the Middle Capital Fengyang first.”

Fengyang was the hometown of the Hongwu Emperor, located northwest of Jinling across the river. After the Ming Dynasty’s founding, the Hongwu Emperor had built a great city there rivaling Nanjing’s imperial city, designating it as a secondary capital. It normally housed the Middle Capital Garrison Command’s eight guards and one department, holding an exceptional position. Princes and royal clan members were often dispatched to the station in Fengyang, and Zhu Zhanji had visited several times before, making him quite familiar with the area.

As long as he revealed his identity as crown prince and received the full support of the Middle Capital Garrison Command, these problems would be easily solved. Yu Qian calmly asked, “How would the Middle Capital Garrison Commander be any different from the Imperial Stables Superintendent?”

Zhu Zhanji was immediately stumped.

Speaking of trusted officials, the Imperial Stables Superintendent in the capital was more trusted than the Middle Capital Garrison Commander, yet what happened? Zhu Buhua rebelled as soon as he reached Jinling. In this grand conspiracy spanning both capitals, who knew if the Middle Capital Garrison was involved? If the prince revealed himself in Fengyang, the garrison might raise troops to protect the throne and personally escort him to the capital; or they might simply bind him and send him to the capital to curry favor with the new ruler.

As always, when it came to imperial succession, human hearts were especially unpredictable.

Fearing the prince might still harbor illusions, Yu Qian reminded him firmly: “Before returning to the capital, we cannot alert any official along the way, especially about your identity as crown prince. We can only travel incognito, moving in secrecy.”

Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help complaining: “You want us to both race at top speed and travel in disguise—these two requirements completely contradict each other. So what do you suggest?”

Yu Qian patted the boat’s side and smiled: “Actually, we needn’t be confined to horseback. I have a better suggestion.”

“What?”

“The grain transport route.”

Zhu Zhanji’s eyes immediately widened upon hearing this: “By boat? Wouldn’t that be too slow?”

“Your Highness has lived in the north long and may misunderstand boat travel. For short distances, water can’t match land; for long distances, land can’t match water.”

Zhu Zhanji angrily said: “Don’t talk nonsense! I’ve ridden grain transport boats before—they can barely cover ten-some li in an hour! I know they’re better than land transport for cargo, but how could boats be faster than horses? Yu Qian, don’t make excuses just because you’re not good at riding!”

“I… am not thinking of my interests.” Yu Qian’s eyelid twitched. “Please consider carefully, Your Highness. While fine horses can gallop swiftly, they need rest stops to cool down and feed, and change horseshoes. Heavy rain makes muddy ground difficult to traverse, and in dry areas, they fear rat holes breaking their legs. They must slow down for pits and be led up slopes—extremely troublesome.”

Zhu Zhanji nodded reluctantly. Having accompanied the military, he knew how troublesome cavalry movements could be—one warhorse required at least three support soldiers to attend it, and after running for more than two hours, it had to stop for rest.

“While boats are slower, their advantage is they can keep moving without stopping. Even if they only cover a mere fifteen li per hour, they can travel twelve hours a day and night, making 180 li. Moreover, waterways are stable with few obstacles, so within a hundred li, boats can’t match horses, but beyond a hundred li, horses can’t match boats.”

Yu Qian then added another weight to his argument: “Furthermore, Your Highness can rest your arrow wound steadily on the boat, far better than enduring the hardships of horseback.”

Su Jingxi agreed from the side: “Director Yu speaks truly—purely considering the wound, traveling by boat is far superior to horseback.”

Seeing her support this view, Zhu Zhanji felt somewhat sheepish, but still grumbled unwillingly: “When I took a grain transport boat from the capital to Nanjing, it took nearly a month!”

Yu Qian smiled: “That’s because Your Highness traveled by day and stopped at night, sightseeing along the way, naturally making it slow.” He pointed outside the boat, “On the grain canal there’s a type of fresh goods boat that specially delivers various fresh tributes to the capital, called an upstream boat on the canal—as in ‘The Master stood by the stream and said, “It passes on just like this, not ceasing day or night!”‘ These boats travel day and night without stopping to prevent the tribute goods from spoiling and can bypass queues at locks and dams by showing priority passes. With favorable winds, they can even cover two hundred li in a day and night. The journey between capitals must be completed within fifteen days!”

As a diplomatic courier, it was Yu Qian’s duty to travel to various places delivering imperial edicts, so planning travel times by water and horse was part of his professional knowledge. After his explanation, no one in the boat could argue against it.

“So how do we navigate this grain transport route?” Zhu Zhanji seemed to have given up.

“My suggestion is to first reach Guazhou Ferry in Yangzhou. For northbound grain boats, it’s a crucial hub. We need only spend some silver to board a fresh goods boat and request the commander in charge to take us north. Then at Tianjin, we can switch to horses and gallop straight into the capital—in time to defeat the rebels and inherit the great succession!”

As he spoke the last words, Yu Qian slapped the deck forcefully, getting a palm full of rice grains.

Zhu Zhanji looked around: “Does anyone else have any opinions?” When he asked this, the boat fell silent. All three understood that the prince wasn’t just asking for opinions, but testing their loyalty.

Su Jingxi stepped back and curtsied gracefully: “This humble woman has already avenged herself at the Back Lake, feeling eternal gratitude. Only by serving Your Highness to the capital can I not waste your grace.” She had caused Zhu Buhua’s death with mere words at Shence Lock—Zhu Zhanji had witnessed it himself. Seeing her willing to follow now, he was overjoyed and repeatedly expressed approval.

After her declaration, the six eyes naturally turned to Wu Dingyuan.

Since being swept into this turmoil, he had desperately tried to stay uninvolved, but against his wishes, he’d been drawn in until the very end. Initially, Yu Qian had agreed with him to escort the prince out of Nanjing. Now that the agreement was fulfilled, he had no reason to stay.

During the earlier discussion, Wu Dingyuan hadn’t spoken a word, maintaining his indifference as if it didn’t concern him. Zhu Zhanji’s throat moved unconsciously, realizing he felt somewhat nervous.

“He’s just a lowly constable, useless once we leave Nanjing. Besides, he gets a splitting headache just looking at me—what use is keeping someone like that around?” Zhu Zhanji repeatedly told himself, but his anxiety didn’t subside. Mindful of his status, he was unwilling to speak first. Fortunately, Yu Qian was even more anxious and directly urged: “Wu Dingyuan, the prince still needs protection along the…”

“Little Almond, you must be a reincarnated crow spirit.”

Wu Dingyuan impatiently stretched his arm and stuffed his rice ball into Yu Qian’s mouth. Yu Qian’s eyes widened, unable to speak through his full mouth. Wu Dingyuan glanced briefly at the prince, quickly averting his gaze as if afraid of being stung: “I’ve grown up in Jinling since childhood, never leaving the Southern Metropolitan Region. I’d be useless for the prince’s northern journey. Besides, I need to save my sister… uh, I wish Your Highness smooth sailing.”

He reluctantly added the polite phrase, speaking awkwardly.

A clear sigh of regret slipped from Zhu Zhanji’s lips: “Very well, I won’t go back on my word. Since our agreement is complete, stay or go as you wish, but…” He bent down to pick up the small incense burner, shaking it slightly, “We both swore oaths on this burner. Leave it with me as inspiration for the journey?”

Wu Dingyuan looked at the burner, faintly seeing the blood mark he’d left at Zhengyang Gate. He grimaced: “When we left my house, Little Almond already bought it for one tael of silver. It’s yours now.”

Yu Qian couldn’t believe that even at this moment, this fellow still remembered to settle accounts. He was about to speak after removing the rice ball from his mouth when something else hit his nose—the bag of Hepu pearls.

“There are twenty-three Hepu pearls here, plus the one used to buy the boat makes twenty-four. Consider it a loan for your travel expenses, to be repaid along with those five hundred and one taels of silver. If there’s no one left to repay it…” He paused, “Then please have the prince issue an edict using this money to free Red Aunt from the courtesan registry.”

Yu Qian made a sound, his nose inexplicably stinging. Whether from being hit by the pearl bag or sensing a hint of entrusting care of others, he wasn’t sure. Though Zhu Buhua was dead in Jinling, the White Lotus Sect remained. Returning alone to save his sister was practically suicide.

Zhu Zhanji also sensed something wrong, but having given his word, it would be inappropriate to retract and ask him to stay. Just then, Su Jingxi suddenly spoke: “The White Lotus Sect kidnapped your sister Wu Yulu to force your father to work for them, right?”

“Mm.” Wu Dingyuan grunted in response.

“Why bring this up now?” Yu Qian said somewhat displeased. Zhu Zhanji quietly kicked him, signaling him to be quiet.

Su Jingxi’s eyes fixed on Wu Dingyuan as she spoke gently: “Last night on the city wall, since Liang Xingfu followed Red Jade’s trail, it means the White Lotus Sect also knows you were helping the prince, right?” Wu Dingyuan didn’t understand her intention but nodded.

Su Jingxi turned to Yu Qian: “If you were the White Lotus Sect and discovered Wu Dingyuan had separated from the prince and returned to Jinling alone, what would you do?”

Yu Qian hesitated, wracking his brains: “Uh, Wu Yulu would be useless, so release her?”

Zhu Zhanji rolled his eyes—this official was good in every way except for occasionally being as naive as a child. Su Jingxi said: “Director Yu is too benevolent to fathom such people’s thoughts. Wu Yulu is involved in such a major conspiracy—if she’s no longer useful, they’d naturally kill her to eliminate loose ends. Wasn’t that how my fiancé Guo Zhimin died?”

Wu Dingyuan’s mouth twitched violently, clearly struck a nerve. With his intelligence, he’d foreseen this outcome. His return to Jinling was with the intention of first collecting his sister’s body, then perishing together with the White Lotus Sect.

“Think about it—if you don’t return to Jinling, what would the White Lotus Sect think? Wu Dingyuan must be protecting the prince heading north. In that case, Wu Yulu might still be useful as leverage, so they wouldn’t easily dispose of her.”

“That’s right!”

Zhu Zhanji and Yu Qian’s eyes lit up simultaneously. This girl was truly clever as ice and bright as snow—her seemingly casual words had unknowingly found a way out of their predicament. According to her logic, only by following the prince north could Wu Dingyuan ensure his sister’s survival, neither breaking his oath nor disappointing the prince—how thoughtfully considerate! They both turned expectantly toward Wu Dingyuan, but he remained silent.

“Moreover, the White Lotus Sect will surely pursue relentlessly on the way to the capital. Only by following the prince can you avenge your father,” Su Jingxi said. “Don’t you want to avenge Iron Lion?”

Wu Dingyuan coldly replied: “Persuading me to stay by the prince’s side—aren’t you worried it might be inconvenient for you?”

Su Jingxi seemed not to understand, her eyes widening slightly: “I tend to care, you provide protection—each performing our duties, how would that be inconvenient?”

Wu Dingyuan gave her a meaningful look. Others might not understand, but he had seen through it early. He had heard that conversation at Shence Lock last night while lying on the boat’s bow. This woman’s insistence on staying by the prince’s side surely had ulterior motives. Moreover, Wu Dingyuan believed Su Jingxi knew he was suspicious. Yet not only did she not let Wu Dingyuan return to Nanjing, but she spoke to keep him, placing a threat at her side. Her true intentions were truly difficult to fathom.

Zhu Zhanji knew nothing of these implicit exchanges and couldn’t help asking, raising his eyebrows: “Will you stay or go back?”

Wu Dingyuan silently snatched back the bag of pearls from Yu Qian, tucked it into his robes, and then walked toward the stern rudder.

“Let’s be clear—wherever you go, once I’ve had my revenge and saved her, I’m leaving.”

Yu Qian exchanged a helpless glance with the prince, though their helplessness was mixed with relief.

During their conversation, the small boat had traveled twenty or thirty li downstream with the rolling waves. Yu Qian looked up to see a wide, trumpet-shaped river mouth in the distance, intersecting perpendicularly with the Yangtze. Like a famous calligrapher drawing a bold horizontal stroke and adding a vertical one in the middle.

This was Hanjiang Mouth, where the northern grain canal met the Yangtze. On the converging waters, dozens of ships large and small stood with their masts like a forest, moving about like ants and bees. There were white grain boats from Suzhou and Songjiang, mineral cargo ships from Huguang, timber from Yunnan and Guizhou, spices from the South Sea… Though seemingly chaotic, there was an underlying order. Once their small boat joined the procession and turned left into the Hanjiang, they would see Guazhou after just over ten li.

Zhu Zhanji stood at the bow looking into the distance, suddenly remembering—he knew this place. Around this same time yesterday, that treasure ship had proudly entered the Yangtze here. Sai Zilong had first disappeared around here, and the prince even remembered those three abrupt fireworks.

One day’s turn, things changed beyond recognition. Now revisiting this place, everything was utterly different. Zhu Zhanji unconsciously tilted his head back slightly—only that dome of the sky remained pristine blue, unmoved by mortal fortune and misfortune. A deep sigh slipped from his lips.

At this moment, the prince wasn’t the only one gazing at the azure sky.

A hundred li away on Liang Island in the Back Lake, over a dozen confused gazes were also scanning the sky. Countless bits of paper ash floated back and forth like willow catkins as if burning hundreds of small holes in the azure-dyed cloth of the sky. Following several slender pale smoke columns down, one would find they came from a charred ruin.

This had once been Registry Archive No. 3, its fate completely changed by last night’s great fire. Fortunately amid the misfortune, the fire hadn’t spread, and the surrounding archives remained safe.

Under the supervisor’s scolding, the dozen or so archive workers bewilderedly lowered their heads again, continuing to rake through the ruins with long wooden poles. They couldn’t understand what had happened last night, much less why various military forces had gathered on the outer shore of Back Lake early this morning. Of course, the troubles outside were for their superiors to worry about. Their job was to quickly clear the ruins to prevent any remaining embers from affecting the neighboring buildings.

An old archive worker holding a wooden pole pushed aside several overlapping charred beams, inadvertently stirring up a large cloud of paper ash below, immediately setting fragments dancing in the air. As he coughed and waved his hand, about to continue raking, he noticed something seeming to writhe beneath the ash.

The old worker froze, and just as he was about to bend down for a closer look, there was suddenly a “boom” from under the ruins as several broken boards were forcefully pushed aside and a huge fist rose high from underground. He cried out “Mother!” and collapsed sitting on the ruins, watching helplessly as more debris and sand slid aside and a pitch-black figure crawled up.

This was a giant of a man completely covered in gray mud, hairless and beardless. Through the tears in his scorched clothing, one could see horrifying black-red burns across his back and arms, like a demon crawling up from a fiery hell. The giant completely ignored the terrified workers, shook off the sand and ash from his body, looked around briefly, then strode down from the ruins and jumped straight into Back Lake, letting the cool water reach his neck.

It turned out that after Liang Xingfu was trapped under the bookshelf, finding himself unable to break free, he immediately began digging downward with his hands and feet. To prevent fires, the registry archive had a thick layer of fine sand under the bookshelves, with floorboards below that. Liang Xingfu’s hands were like iron hammers, breaking through the wooden boards in several strikes, reaching the damp soil layer saturated with moisture below. He dug out as much wet soil as possible and smeared it on himself. While this couldn’t free him, it provided some protection from the fire.

With this method and incredible endurance, Liang Xingfu survived the raging fire above. Standing in the clear lake water, he pressed his palms together and closed his eyes, reciting some scripture. From his expression, the unbearable pain of these burns seemed almost sweet to Liang Xingfu.

Halfway through his recitation, a voice suddenly came from the shore: “My, my, who would have thought even the Buddha’s Enemy could fail.” Liang Xingfu maintained his position without moving. Without opening his eyes, he could tell it was Zuo Yehe.

“What’s the situation outside?” he asked.

“You won’t believe it—Zhu Buhua drowned at Shence Lock, and the prince has left Jinling, already crossing the river northward.” Zuo Yehe concisely described the situation, then popped a nest-thread candied melon into her mouth, slowly chewing.

From her chewing sounds, one could hear a trace of urgency… and confusion.

The meticulously planned treasure ship explosion—by all rights, the prince should have had no chance of survival, yet he lived because of a cricket; within the heavily guarded palace, the prince should have had no means of escape, yet he got away because of a secret letter; faced with the dual pursuit of the Warrior Camp and White Lotus Sect, the isolated and helpless prince should have had no chance of resistance, yet Zhu Buhua mysteriously drowned and the mighty Liang Xingfu was half burned to death—could Zhu Zhanji truly be protected by great fortune?

This thought briefly confused Zuo Yehe. However, she quickly suppressed her emotions, as this was not the time for such reflections.

“Our new task is to intercept the prince before he reaches the capital—we cannot let him interfere with the Buddha Mother’s plans,” Zuo Yehe said. Seeing Liang Xingfu unmoved, she added: “According to the Warrior Camp soldiers, the prince left with three people. One is confirmed to be Yu Qian, another is the female physician who treated Zhu Buhua, called Su Jingxi, and the third is named Wu Dingyuan.”

The last name seemed to have a remarkable effect.

With splashing sounds, Liang Xingfu walked step by step from the lake back to shore. His naked body gradually rose from the water’s surface, the burned areas becoming clearer after the lake water’s washing—the back of both legs, most of his back, his entire right arm, left shoulder, and half his scalp—like a black-red python coiling from ankle to crown. When he moved, this python seemed to come alive, twisting its body as if to swallow him whole from head to toe.

Reaching the shore, Liang Xingfu asked flatly: “Which route did they take?”

Zuo Yehe said: “I’ve calculated their pace. If they want to reach the capital as quickly as possible, they have only one choice—the grain transport route through Yangzhou Prefecture. I’ve already sent carrier pigeons to have our eyes watch carefully at Guazhou.”

Liang Xingfu nodded and raised his arm to wipe the water droplets from his face, preparing to leave.

“Wait,” Zuo Yehe stopped him. “By the time you reach Guazhou, they’ll likely have already headed north. Rather than following behind, better to cut ahead—you should go directly to Huai’an to intercept them.”

“What about you?”

“I still have matters to handle in Nanjing, I’ll catch up and meet you later.”

Liang Xingfu glanced at her questioningly, seemingly not understanding what purpose she could have for staying in Nanjing at this point.

Zuo Yehe’s eyes flashed with curiosity as she giggled: “I’ve been asking about Iron Lion’s son. This man has a notorious reputation in Yingtian Prefecture, as a useless wastrel, yet the prince’s escape from East Water Gate Dock to Back Lake shows his handiwork everywhere. I have a feeling that to successfully capture the prince, we need to understand this fellow’s true capabilities.”

“Oh.”

“I plan to have a good talk with that qin courtesan called Red Jade. I hear the pastries at Fule House are quite excellent, worth trying.”

“Just leave the Wu siblings to me—to enter the world of ultimate bliss, a family should be complete and unburdened.” After saying this, Liang Xingfu turned and left.

“Between Jingkou and Guazhou lies but one stream, with Bell Mountain separated by just several peaks. Spring winds green the southern shore again, when will the bright moonlight my journey home?”

Yu Qian strolled along Guazhou’s dock road, softly reciting Wang Jingong’s famous lines, his heart full of emotion. This poem was written in the first year of Xining during the Northern Song, when Wang Anshi traveled from Jiangning Prefecture to Bianliang to take office as a Hanlin Academic, composed while passing through Guazhou. Previously when reciting this poem, Yu Qian had often marveled at the refined crafting of “green the southern shore again,” but now he particularly resonated with the final line.

As a mere diplomatic courier entering the Eastern Palace, similarly heading north from Jinling to the capital, his circumstances were far more perilous than Wang Anshi’s. Whether he would see moonlight illuminate his return to Jinling, he had no certainty at all. Yu Qian considered himself lacking Wang Jingong’s level of attainment, but for the sake of the common people and the state, he had early prepared himself to be ground to dust, just like… just like…

Yu Qian’s gaze stopped at a riverside warehouse ahead. Several porters were stirring pungent grayish-white lime powder in a large wooden barrel, pouring in tung oil ladle by ladle. They were mixing caulking material to seal boat bottoms against leaks.

“That’s it, just like lime!” Yu Qian clapped his hands, feeling this metaphor was perfect. Even if ground to powder, one must remain pure white. Having solved his literary problem, he turned his attention to the mission at hand.

Their small boat had entered Hanjiang at dusk but hadn’t headed straight for Guazhou. Guazhou was the southern starting point of the northern grain transport route, where only grain boats were allowed to transfer cargo—all other miscellaneous vessels were prohibited from mooring at the island. Thus, these fugitives stopped at Sili Post on Hanjiang’s west bank, finding an inn to rest. Yu Qian volunteered to go to Guazhou to find a boat.

The grain transport system had its complete structure—boats had the Grain Transport General, waterways had the River Affairs Yamen, cargo had the porter gangs, locks had local enforcers, and behind the scenes were salt merchants, grain dealers, pawnshops, and money houses, their influences intricately intertwined. Needless to say, the prince and Su Jingxi, even Wu Dingyuan were only familiar with Yingtian Prefecture—only Yu Qian had any real experience with grain transport.

Yu Qian bought a set of fine hemp Daoist robes and a cloth cap from a ready-made clothing shop, disguising himself as a scholar, and eagerly headed straight for Guazhou.

Guazhou was a melon-shaped sandbar stretching across the middle of Hanjiang, surrounded by water on all sides, naturally forming a gateway. At its center were the Grain Transport Yamen and Guazhou Thousand Households Guard garrison, while the outer ring consisted of countless riverside warehouses, docks, and workshops, serving boats from various regions—extremely busy.

Finding a fresh goods boat in Guazhou willing to carry four passengers was neither particularly difficult nor easy. If you didn’t know the proper channels and asked directly, every boat official would be strictly law-abiding, refusing to make any accommodation; if you knew the channels, you would engage a well-connected broker to privately arrange matters between both parties. Such brokers generally came from the Porter gangs. With their daily cargo handling at Guazhou, they had natural advantages in such dealings.

As a diplomatic courier, Yu Qian understood these intricacies well. He deliberately avoided several brokerages near the government offices, making his way to this remote riverside warehouse. The dark-skinned porters had just finished mixing the lime caulking material and were about to load the barrel when they saw a scholar approach, clasping his hands in greeting: “Pardon me, is your gang leader present?”

The porters called into the warehouse, and soon a fat idler emerged yawning, wearing a greasy coarse jacket draped across his shoulders, his pale flesh quivering with each step. He looked askance at Yu Qian without speaking. Yu Qian coughed: “May I ask, brother, are there any needle routes crossing the water to the east bank?”

In Porter gang water-speak, “east” meant north, “west” meant south, “bank” meant destination, and needle routes meant boat routes. This question asked if any grain boats could smuggle them to the capital. Yu Qian had learned some of these customs during his diplomatic mission to Huguang.

Hearing him use water-speak, the fat man’s attitude became somewhat politer: “Of course there are, but it depends on how the gentleman wishes to cross.”

Yu Qian hurriedly said: “Four partridges, all with tied necks.” Partridges having two legs meant people, tied necks unable to eat fish meant this trip was for passengers, not cargo. The fat man grimaced, waving five fingers twice.

These ten taels were the broker’s fee—since this trip carried no cargo, the Porter gang couldn’t profit from handling goods, so they raised the introduction fee. The payment to the boat owner would be negotiated separately.

Yu Qian had no interest in haggling. He immediately took out the bag of Hepu pearls from his waist, opened it, and handed one pearl to the fat man: “No need for change from the loose ends, just need it quick—best if we can leave tonight.”

The fat man held the pearl up to the sunlight for a look, his expression turning fawning: “Guaranteed, guaranteed. Would the master like to see some boats?”

Yu Qian said: “Naturally a fresh goods boat—the faster the better.”

The fat man was very attentive: “There’s one ready right at this dock—would you like me to send someone to notify your three companions?”

Yu Qian didn’t want the prince to show his face and said: “No need, just take me to see it first.”

The fat man led Yu Qian away from the warehouse, fawning and showing the way. They followed a small path full of shrubs for quite a while before Yu Qian suddenly felt something was wrong. They were getting further from the riverside—what fresh goods boat would dock here? After walking further, he smelled a foul odor and saw a circle of densely packed willows ahead. Several deep ditches had been dug in the middle of the grove, filled with yellow-white filth at the bottom, with piles of white crystals floating at the edges.

This was Guazhou’s sewage dumping ground, ditched for collecting nitrate soil—normally no one came near. Seeing this, Yu Qian realized he had been tricked and turned to leave. The porters from earlier had already jumped out, each holding a long thick carrying pole, surrounding him in a semicircle with twisted grins. The fat man wiped the sweat from his brow, smiling: “After making me walk so far with you, some tea money would be appropriate.”

Yu Qian shouted angrily: “The Thousand Households garrison isn’t far from here—have you eaten leopard’s gall to dare rob people here?”

The fat man said: “Hanjiang’s waters are treacherous—every year countless ghosts drown in the river, and even the Dragon King can’t keep track.” He licked his lips, clearly well-practiced in this business.

Yu Qian was secretly anxious—his loss didn’t matter, but delaying the prince was fatal. He shifted his feet slightly, thinking how to escape, when the fat man saw this scholar still wouldn’t give up, snorted, and pressed his fat palm downward.

A porter swung his pole, aiming straight for Yu Qian’s crown. Yu Qian’s whole body suddenly tensed—he could only close his eyes and brace for impact. But after waiting a while, the pole didn’t fall. He opened his eyes to find a large hand gripping the pole, locked in a standoff with the porter.

“Wu Dingyuan?” Yu Qian sighed in relief.

Wu Dingyuan said coldly: “If you’re not a pigeon, don’t flutter your wings—learning a few water-speak phrases doesn’t make you ready for the jianghu.”

The fat man saw someone suddenly intervene and hesitated briefly before hurriedly ordering the porters to attack. Killing one or two made little difference. However, when Wu Dingyuan gripped his newly acquired iron ruler and swept a cold gaze their way, the three porters instantly froze in place.

In this world, everything has its natural superior—the porters sold their labor at the docks and didn’t much regard scholars like Yu Qian, but they had an innate fear of constables.

Wu Dingyuan always preferred quick resolution. Seeing them intimidated, he struck without hesitation. The fat man only saw a blur of movement before three simultaneous cries of pain rang out as the porters clutched their wrists and doubled over, their wooden poles clattering to the ground. He instinctively turned to flee, but the shadow had already reached him, delivering a fierce kick to his belly.

The fat man’s soft stomach absorbed Wu Dingyuan’s foot slightly. Wu Dingyuan kicked harder, drawing a pig-like squeal from the fat man’s throat as he crashed to the ground, his head banging against the edge of the nitrate ditch. As the fat man struggled to rise, Wu Dingyuan planted his foot on his head, grinding it down several times.

The area was perpetually soaked in filth, with a thick layer of white nitrate soil at the ditch’s edge. The fat man’s roll left his nose and mouth filled with nitrate soil, making him weep and snivel from the burn.

“Mercy… mercy…” the fat man mumbled unclearly. But Wu Dingyuan wouldn’t relent, pressing down repeatedly until the three porters came to their senses and knelt to beg for their leader’s life. Only then did he ease up slightly, allowing the fat man to raise his head.

“This lowly one’s eyes were filthy, heart rotten—must have been a whore for nine lives to dare scheme against you.” The fat man didn’t hesitate, first throwing a string of vulgar self-deprecation. His experience showed—he knew self-abasement best dispelled murderous intent.

Indeed, Wu Dingyuan stopped using force, instead asking sternly: “How dare you target him?”

The fat man hastily replied: “I saw this lord’s hands were smooth and neck fair—though dressed, he avoided mud and filth while walking, surely a young master from a wealthy family in disguise. When I asked if he needed someone to deliver messages and learned he had no companions, then saw him take out a bag of Hepu pearls, that’s when I…”

Yu Qian’s face alternated between green and white, realizing his every move had betrayed him from the start. Wu Dingyuan looked at Yu Qian: “Did he take the pearls?”

Yu Qian pulled out the pearl bag and shook it: “Didn’t get the chance.”

Wu Dingyuan glared at him: “Don’t flash your wealth—next time show off your brains instead, since you’re not using them anyway.”

Yu Qian blushed and quickly tucked the bag away.

Wu Dingyuan sighed—he didn’t fear those inexperienced in the jianghu, but rather those who thought they had experience. This Little Almond was originally an official who traveled official postal routes, naturally smoothly. Now fleeing on the road, he still used official methods—truly underestimating the challenges of long journeys. It was precisely because Wu Dingyuan didn’t trust Yu Qian’s handling of matters that he had secretly followed, thus averting disaster.

Wu Dingyuan crouched down, patting the fat man’s fleshy ears with a cold smile: “As the saying goes, carters, boatmen, innkeepers, brokers, and porters deserve death even when innocent. You alone occupy both porter and broker roles—dying wouldn’t be unfair.”

The fat man’s lips quivered with foul soil as he repeatedly begged for mercy. Wu Dingyuan pointed at Yu Qian: “Don’t underestimate him—he’s an imperial official. Take you to the Thousand Households garrison now, easily earn a death sentence awaiting autumn execution.” The fat man’s face turned ashen as he kept kowtowing.

Seeing the moment was right, Wu Dingyuan lifted his foot: “If you don’t want to die, it’s simple—honestly find us an upstream boat, and we’ll settle this account, with your introduction fee intact.”

The fat man said tearfully: “My lords, I just wanted to scare some money out of him—I actually can’t arrange it.”

“You’re a porter gang leader who can’t even recommend a boat for smuggling—who are you trying to fool?” Wu Dingyuan’s expression darkened.

“It’s true, truly!” The fat man was so anxious he wanted to swear to heaven. “My lords, you don’t know. Smuggling people used to be easy, but General Chen of the Transport Bureau just changed the rules, making it much harder.”

Yu Qian was shocked: “What rules?”

“General Chen’s new rule is called the Exchange Transport Method, implemented barely half a month ago. Now civilian boats from Jiangnan, Huguang, and Jiangxi don’t need to make the full journey—they only need to reach Guazhou and Huai’an warehouses, transferring cargo to the northern Twenty-four Guards’ official vessels for direct transport to the capital. The Transport Bureau calls it something like ‘considerate to civilian strength’…”

“Considerate of civilian strength,” Yu Qian corrected irritably, looking helplessly at Wu Dingyuan before explaining further.

The canal originally used the Transfer Transport Method, drafting civilian boat owners and farmers along the route for corvée labor, having them transport grain from various regions to Dezhou before transferring to the Guards. Being corvée labor, officials didn’t pay but tacitly allowed sailors to carry some local goods and private passengers as compensation.

However, the distance from Jiangnan to Dezhou was too far, causing great hardship for the people. Thus the Hongxi Emperor had promoted changing from the “Transfer Method” to the “Exchange Method.” Henceforth, civilian canal duty only required transport from Jiangnan to Guazhou, paying silver notes to transfer cargo to the Guards, who would then use official vessels to transport it to the capital.

Unexpectedly, this new transport method had been implemented at this crucial moment. While it was indeed good governance, for these fugitives, the timing couldn’t be worse. With the rule change, north of Guazhou were all Guard official vessels, and the Guards had always been a closed system, impenetrable to outsiders.

“Don’t the Guard’s official vessels do any smuggling?” Yu Qian asked reluctantly.

The fat man glanced at Wu Dingyuan’s cold face, hemming and hawing before saying: “Official vessels naturally smuggle, but if you’re not on the canal, you might not know. It’s mid-May now, the canal only has six parts water depth, and very few grain boats are dispatched. Have to wait until after June, when farmlands along the route finish harvesting summer wheat, and then various regions will release water into the canal. Only when water exceeds nine parts do grain boats dispatch in large numbers.”

Wu Dingyuan and Yu Qian looked at each other speechlessly—truly when it rains, it pours, hitting such an awkward period. Fewer grain boats meant fewer smuggling spots, perhaps not enough even for the Guards’ use, let alone outsiders.

“However…”

“However what? Speak quickly!” Wu Dingyuan barked.

The fat man hurriedly said: “Currently, grain boats from Guazhou north to Huai’an are all under Yangzhou Guard’s control. They usually set aside some recommendation letters for powerful local families.”

Hearing this, both men suddenly saw light through the darkness. However aloof the Guards might be, they still relied on cooperation from local powers along the route, naturally having to share some benefits. In normal times, Yu Qian would have denounced such privatization of public resources. But current circumstances forced him to suppress his irritation: “Then to board a fresh goods boat, which families should we approach?”

“Fresh goods boats transport imperial tribute items—ordinary families can’t arrange passage. Those who can issue recommendation letters are only the Xu family of Songjiang, He family of Huzhou, Qian family of Haiyan, Yu family of Kuaiji…” The fat man listed four families in one breath, then suddenly stopped, seeming to remember something.

Wu Dingyuan unkindly kicked his head: “Keep talking! Don’t play coy.”

The fat man fawningly asked him to remove his foot first, then stretched his neck like a turtle, lying on the ground to shout at the three porters: “Old Third! That gambling den you frequent, isn’t today cricket fighting? Has the notice been posted?”

The one called Old Third’s face immediately lit up at the mention of gambling: “Posted early morning, there’s a match tonight—I was thinking of going for some fun.”

The fat man spat and cursed: “You turtle will gamble away even your wife someday!” Then he turned back, repeatedly bowing with clasped hands, “My lords must never take life, truly this is… uh, truly this is the karmic reward.”

“What do you mean?” Wu Dingyuan maintained a neutral expression.

“There’s a gambling den here, this season is for fighting crickets. Since they’ve posted the notice today, cricket fighters from near and far will come. Yangzhou has a powerful family steward who’s obsessed with this—he comes whenever there’s a match, betting tens or hundreds of strings of cash at a time. His backing family has considerable influence—if my lords have enough weight, you might be able to get four fresh goods boat recommendation letters from him.”

Yu Qian was delighted: “Which family’s steward is this?”

The fat man chuckled, his tone gaining some reverence: “Naturally the local Dragon King of Yangzhou, the salt merchant Wang family from Huizhou—the master is called Wang Ji.”

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