Chapter 1506 - Night Market

Lin Ming returned to the shop, found Manager Qian, and asked permission to go out for a stroll.

Since Lingao had no curfew, he might as well venture out at night to scout the roads and gather intelligence.

"You don't need to ask permission to go out. Once the shop closes, you may come and go as you please—just be back before the great bell strikes ten, or you'll make the doorman wait up for you..." Manager Qian reached into a drawer and produced a folded paper. "You've just arrived and don't know the roads. Here's a map of East Gate Market that our shop printed. It's not highly detailed, but the main routes are clear. Take it along."

"Thank you, Manager." Lin Ming was delighted. He had intended to "case the ground" himself over the next few days; he never expected a ready-made map. Unfolding it, he was secretly pleased. The map was finely printed, roads and shops clearly labeled in minute characters, easy to read at a glance.

Though the folding map had been printed under Haixing Store's sponsorship—its name and location conspicuously circled—the actual cartography was a public edition of the East Gate Market Traffic and Tourist Map, produced by the Long-Range Survey Office. Being a civilian map, certain important facilities, installations, and roads had been expunged.

Even so, its detail was unmatched for the era. Lin Ming tucked the map into his robe and set out.

Before leaving, he had considered carefully. The usual method for gathering intelligence was to go somewhere lively and "listen for slips"—teahouses and wine-houses were places where all manner of folk gathered to gossip and brag, and useful tidbits might slip out. But he was not entirely confident in this approach. Li Yongxun had been taken to Lingao over two years ago; by now, the locals had long lost any sense of novelty about her. Nobody was likely to mention the matter. Still, he had no other recourse and could only try his luck.

Moreover, he had heard that some "true Cropped-Hairs" liked to frequent market haunts. If he could approach one, perhaps befriend him, he might glean useful information or even secure assistance. If rescue proved impossible, perhaps he could abduct a true Cropped-Hair and force an exchange.

He had planned to ask around about which streets were liveliest and which teahouses or wine-houses were famous. Now, with a map in hand—he glanced at it and saw that various establishments were labeled in detail—even that inquiry could be spared.

Lin Ming followed the direction the Wang siblings had indicated. He wanted to see for himself what this "night prosperity" truly looked like. After one turn, he saw the distant lights blazing brighter still. Though several alleys lay between, waves of clamor reached his ears, and he quickened his pace.

The streets were well marked—East Gate Market's roads and buildings had all been laid out on virgin ground, without a labyrinthine old quarter. Main avenues and minor lanes ran in a grid, neat and square. Apart from a few named arterial roads, the side streets bore numbered designations like "Longitude 3, Latitude 7," making them instantly identifiable. At each corner and alley's end stood signposts, making navigation effortless.

As he walked, the crowds thickened: men and women, old and young; some in Cropped-Hair attire, others in Ming dress. Some hurried; others strolled idly. Lin Ming could discern that though their clothing showed differences of rank, none were in tattered rags or abject want. Their faces and complexions appeared healthy. Clearly, ordinary folk here lived well.

Halfway down the street stood a three-bay, four-pillar stone memorial arch. Lin Ming found this puzzling: East Gate Market had only sprung into existence since the Cropped-Hairs arrived—originally just wasteland along the Wenlan River, with no villages or towns. Whence this arch? There would certainly be no chastity memorials or degree honorifics here. Drawing nearer, he realized it was newly constructed. Atop the lintel, three large characters in Song-style script proclaimed: "East Gate Market."

Past the arch, stalls and peddlers suddenly multiplied. A half-grown lad with a large tray slung from his neck by a cloth strap called out, "Cigarettes! Australian matches! Osmanthus candy!" Then several children clutching sheaves of paper shouted, "Latest Ship-Head Paper! Guangzhou, Shanghai, Manila—today's freshest quotes!" Soon a man beside a handcart fitted with a boxy contraption cried, "Picture shows! Picture shows! Latest from Tokyo—all new titles you haven't seen!" Then: "Takoyaki! Takoyaki fresh off the grill! If you don't try it, you haven't been to Lingao!" "Lingao rice noodles! Authentic Lingao noodles!" "Big meat buns! Big meat buns—white skin, plenty of meat, one bite and the juice runs down!"

As for the fixed stalls and storefronts lining the street, they were beyond counting. The shops here did not close for the night; each blazed with light, illuminating the street like day. Goods and wares were displayed in dazzling array; some merchants even set up stalls before their doors to hawk their wares.

Lin Ming felt his eyes were insufficient to take it all in. He had thought Guangzhou unsurpassed as a marketplace of the world's wonders, yet compared with this place, it was not even a fraction as impressive. The street-side snacks and tidbits alone included many he had never seen; the aromas set his mouth watering. Yet because his purse was thin and he did not know what expenses lay ahead, he dared not spend a single fen.

He noticed many young women in Cropped-Hair-style dress, in groups of three or five, eating snacks and laughing boisterously, utterly unselfconscious. He marveled: women out strolling at night was already outrageous—and without a single man to accompany them! What if they were accosted or swindled?

Looking again, unaccompanied women were actually quite numerous; some even walked alone. Lin Ming clicked his tongue: public order here must be excellent indeed, but what manner of customs allowed women to be so bold? Even the Song could not have been like this.

Truly overseas barbarians, Lin Ming silently lamented.

"Make way, excuse me, excuse me!" From behind, a call came rapid-fire. A wiry, stocky fellow, pulling a jingling vehicle, brushed past him and sped away, already ten zhang ahead.

By this hour, cargo-laden horse and mule carts had grown scarce. In their place were numerous "Australian carts"—a curved chair fitted with a cloth seat between two wheels, with long shafts in front for the puller. A stackable bamboo-framed canopy was folded against the backrest. The pullers wore blue short jackets with strings of "Saracen numbers" painted on their backs, weaving through the crowd at a run, their bells jingling incessantly.

East Gate Market had virtually no sedan chairs or bamboo-pole litters. The streets were filled instead with these "Australian carts"—here called "rickshaws." Among them, a few were elaborately adorned, with a great gold five-pointed star on the seat-back and unfamiliar but brilliantly shining lamps on either side.

Amid the rickshaw traffic, a handful of two-wheeled Dongfeng carriages, drawn by Mongolian ponies, trotted proudly down the street, their cloaked drivers standing at the rear to handle the reins—a sight that amazed Lin Ming.

As he wandered the streets, night deepened. He estimated the hour past xu (around 8 p.m.), yet the bustle showed no sign of slackening. In the Ming, even the liveliest pleasure quarters would have few pedestrians by now: patrons seeking entertainment had either retired into the inner chambers of courtesan houses for feasting and music, planning to stay the night, or had already headed home.

Lost in these reflections, he suddenly noticed a four-wheeled carriage halted at an open space by a crossroad. Two blindered Mongolian horses stood beneath the street lamp, munching fodder from nose-bags. The carriage was large and oddly decorated—painted black at both ends, white in the middle—with two large Song-style characters on its body: "Police." At the front were two lamps, one red, one blue. A Cropped-Hair "constable" in a conical hat and black jacket belted at the waist stood on the running board, scanning in all directions. From the carriage roof emerged the upper body of another, telescope in hand, periodically peering into the distance.

Lin Ming followed the direction of the rooftop observer's telescope and saw, not far off, a tall tower—four or five stories high. The street below blazed with light, but the tower itself was dark and mysterious, without even a glimmer. Yet squinting, Lin Ming discerned lights blinking at its summit—long, short, long, short.

He watched for a while and largely understood: the varying blinks were signals. Atop that tower, there were surely officers of something like the Australians' City Patrol Commanderies, directing constables to maintain order and control the streets.

The Cropped-Hairs truly are resourceful! As Lin Ming gazed upward, a fragment of words drifted to his ears: "...someone... resisting arrest... send backup immediately..."

Lin Ming's body shuddered. It was a woman's voice! And it was unmistakably that of his sister-in-law, Li Yongxun—the voice that had haunted his dreams for years!

He spun around to look. The carriage had already set off; someone aboard was ringing a bell furiously, and amid the urgent clanging, pedestrians and vehicles parted to make way.

Lin Ming took a few quick steps, about to follow and investigate, when seven or eight black-clad, conical-hatted "police" came running down the street, some wielding short truncheons, some carrying muskets, all heading in the direction the carriage had gone.

From the look of things, a major case had broken out. Lin Ming immediately changed his mind. At such a moment, there would likely be a citywide sweep. If he rashly followed, he might be detained for questioning. His papers were all in order, but still, the less contact with the Cropped-Hairs' authorities, the better—no sense revealing any slip.