Chapter 1534 - The Brocade Guard's People
"Why not?" the man asked.
"Gou Buli is the Cropped-Hairs' informant," Xin Nachun said. "He's a police 'entrusted contact.' Sisters doing business at the call stations in East Gate Market report anything suspicious to him. Sometimes he even asks us to gather information."
"Does informing pay?" The superior already understood Gou Buli's role.
"Depends on the size of the case and how important the tip is. But as long as it's useful at all, they'll give you a little money. Gou Buli gets nothing out of it and has no enthusiasm."
"Money passes through his hands—how can he get nothing? Every handler skims a bit."
"Money doesn't pass through his hands. He's just a relay station. Apart from the stipend the Cropped-Hairs give him, who'd give him bonuses?" Xin Nachun said carelessly. "Some sisters are willing to let him cop a feel—that's his bonus."
"How's the little eatery's business?"
"Not bad. His cooking's decent, and he doesn't pay rent on the shop. But it's still just a little eatery—how much can he make? He's got a wife and three kids, and the kids are all in school now. He himself likes to visit the girls in Heyuan Street, and cooks love to gamble... Do the math yourself."
The man nodded. "In your opinion, do the Cropped-Hairs still trust him?"
"I think so—if they let him be an entrusted contact, they must trust him. But they won't give him important work—probably know he's not reliable..."
The man fell silent. After a moment he said, "You can get closer to him. Don't be too obvious about it. What's his wife like?"
"What can she be like? Full of complaints. Other men who sided with the Cropped-Hairs have prospered. Gou Buli is still basically a cook—and not even qualified to cook for the Senior Officials."
"Heh heh, well said." The man laughed. "You can also get closer to his wife. Give her little gifts. He's at least an 'entrusted contact' under the police—it makes sense for you to butter them up. They shouldn't get suspicious. For now, we won't show our hand."
"That's easy enough. I know how."
"Tell me in detail about what happened on the embankment."
So Xin Nachun recounted everything that had happened on the embankment that night. When she finished, the man asked a few more questions, then fell into a long silence.
"Do you think he's really a colleague? Or could he be bait for a trap?"
"Bait? If he were bait, there wouldn't have been that scene." Clearly the man wasn't sure himself. "Never mind him for now. I'll figure out what to do."
"Yes."
"Go contact Sima. Tell them to stay calm. The Cropped-Hairs think they've caught everyone and are relaxing the manhunt. Tell them to wait for the right moment!"
"Alright."
"Here's a thousand yuan in circulation vouchers. Deliver this to Sima." The man took out an envelope and gave it to her. "And mail this letter from a secluded mailbox."
"This much for them?" Xin Nachun tucked away the letter, somewhat envious. A thousand yuan in circulation vouchers was a lot of money in Lingao.
"This is for opening a shop. These people are somewhat conspicuous. Scattered around like this, sooner or later someone will report them."
"Conspicuous how? If they want to blend in, just have those 'heroines' get yellow tickets and do what I do—convenient and profitable!" Xin Nachun laughed wantonly. "I think they're quite good-looking. They'd be a hit if they went into business."
The man snorted coldly. "They're disciples from respectable sects. Though they travel the jianghu, can they be like you?"
Xin Nachun wasn't convinced. "If they fell into the Cropped-Hairs' hands, wouldn't they be stripped naked and whipped on the backside just the same?"
"All you think about is what's below the waist!" the man said with disdain. "Go on now."
Xin Nachun rose lazily and smiled coquettishly. "I just love thinking about what's below the waist. It's rare to meet with you, my lord—let your servant attend to you..." She knelt before the man and bent her head down.
Half an hour later, Xin Nachun finally left the teahouse. She strolled lazily along the street. The generous operating funds from the superior had put her in a good mood.
The tasks the superior gave her weren't difficult, but engaging in anti-Yuan Elder Court activities in Lingao—and as a "non-citizen"—meant certain death if caught. Yet Xin Nachun felt no fear. It wasn't so much that she had firm convictions about revenge as that her mental wiring was simple; she had always lived by "drink today, for tomorrow we may die." The steady stream of money the superior provided allowed her to fully enjoy Lingao's rich material life.
First she found a secluded mailbox and posted the letter—she didn't care whom it was addressed to, and besides, she couldn't read. Along the way she stopped at the post office, bought two tax stamps based on her tax amount, and had the post office forward them to the tax bureau. Her tax payment was taken care of. Then she returned to the call station she usually frequented.
The call station was really just a canopy shelter, though already better than the old days of just a pole and a sign. Under the canopy were tables and a few benches, with teapots and cups where yellow tickets rested and waited for customers. Today was a rest day—the yellow tickets' busiest time—so only two or three prostitutes sat idly waiting for business. Drowsy in the afternoon heat, some had simply slumped on the tables napping.
Xin Nachun glanced at the notice board hanging in the shelter. It displayed announcements from the Civil Affairs People's Committee's Custom-Trade Management Office. Today's notice was recruiting yellow tickets to go to Changjiang County for "comfort work."
Such comfort work was usually voluntary. Once there, free room and board was arranged by the local County Office, and all earnings went to the yellow tickets themselves. Places they were sent to were either construction crews or military units—places that went years without seeing women. There was never a question of whether there was business, only whether you wanted it. Xin Nachun had gone before; though she made good money, she had needed several days' rest upon returning.
Now flush with cash, Xin Nachun wasn't interested in such grueling work. She poured herself a bowl of tea, sat in a corner, and thought about how to meet Sima and Gou Buli.
Meeting Gou Buli was easy. He ran an eatery and was always at the shop. He was an acquaintance too; sometimes when clients wanted to exchange gold or silver privately, she had brokered deals.
But Sima and the others were harder to find. This group of jianghu travelers, after infiltrating Lingao, had dispersed and gone underground, their movements highly secretive. Though Xin Nachun served as a liaison, she didn't know their whereabouts; they met weekly at a few designated spots.
She still hadn't figured out who exactly the "jianghu travelers" the Cropped-Hairs had swept up so dramatically actually were. Obviously, they weren't Sima's group—otherwise she would have been arrested and tortured long ago. But the superior clearly knew their identities.
Could they also be Brocade Guard? Xin Nachun wondered. But from the superior's attitude, he didn't seem to care whether these people lived or died.
Xin Nachun puzzled over this silently. Then she noticed the alert marker on the board had changed to green—not the orange of the most tense period, nor the yellow of recent days. This meant the Cropped-Hairs' manhunt had ended. No police would come asking them for daily reports on social dynamics anymore.
So Sima's group had successfully stayed hidden. Not easy. Xin Nachun felt a touch of admiration. As a yellow-ticket prostitute with broad social exposure, the National Police had always used them as eyes and ears on the lower strata. Through long association, Xin Nachun understood the Cropped-Hair police's capabilities very well.
Where exactly was that bookish-looking Sima hiding, and what identity was he using to conceal himself? Xin Nachun couldn't help her curiosity.
Zhao Manxiong closed the file folder and lit a cigar.
"So these people are all from the Southern Infinite Sect."
"Yes. Some aren't, but they're similar to Min Zhanlian and Zhou Ruoyun from before—martial arts figures hired by the Southern Infinite Sect at great expense," said Wu Mu, who had come to report on the Umbrella Case.
"I recall Zhang Yingchen saying: the Southern Infinite Sect isn't a major religious power. Its territory is just a few prefectures in northern Jiangsu and southern Shandong—nothing like major sects such as the White Lotus or the Incense Sect. A typical small-to-medium sect. They can't even stand up to Daoist Fu in Shandong right now, and they've come all the way to Lingao? Besides, what evidence links Daoist Fu to Lingao?"
"Though Zhang Yingchen's relationship with Lingao isn't explicit, it's no secret. First, he's always claimed to be from Qiongzhou Prefecture when traveling—hinting, intentionally or not, at a connection to the Bai Yuchan lineage. Second, his Daoist temple is in Lingao. This isn't a secret among the New Daoism followers in Shandong. Anyone paying attention could easily discover the connection."
"So the Southern Infinite Sect spared no expense to send all these people to Lingao just for revenge? The motive doesn't quite hold up. With this much investment, wouldn't it be better to strike Daoist Fu down in Shandong? At least cause him trouble. Why go to such lengths, traveling a thousand miles to Lingao?"
Wu Mu said, "The ringleaders confessed: this trip to Lingao was to burn down the Yunji Temple. According to their 'Dharma Protector,' the Yunji Temple holds Daoist Zhang's 'Life-Bound Divine Artifact.' Destroying the 'Life-Bound Divine Artifact' would strip Daoist Zhang of his various magical powers, and eventually his soul would scatter..."
"I see..." Zhao Manxiong nodded thoughtfully.
"You could say this is a strategy of pulling the rug from under him." Wu Mu explained. "In Shandong, Zhang Yingchen has grown very strong now. And since he defeated the refugees, his 'magical power' has been praised to the heavens—some say he's already survived tribulation to become a 'True Man.' The Southern Infinite Sect probably doesn't dare confront him head-on. However ridiculous the reasoning, it's at least logically consistent."