Chapter 1537 - Shopkeeper Huang

"Cock-a-doodle-doo..."

At the shrill cry of roosters, Nanbao Town stirred to life. This southernmost Han settlement in Lingao County had flourished on the twin pillars of mining and trade with the Li ethnic region, and now it shook off the stillness of night with practiced ease. Wisps of white smoke curled from chimneys across the township. Shopkeepers removed their doorboards in preparation for the morning market. Up in the watchtowers, bleary-eyed National Army soldiers rubbed the redness from their eyes as their night shifts came to an end.

The duty officer emerged from the guardroom, keys jangling, stifling a yawn as he unlocked the main gate. Nanbao sat at the edge of Han territory—the nearest Li stockade lay less than two kilometers distant. During the Ming dynasty, tensions between the Han and Li peoples had run razor-sharp throughout Hainan Island, with agricultural counties like Lingao serving as perpetual flashpoints for land disputes. Several of the great Li uprisings had erupted in northern Qiongzhou, their flames spreading from precisely such contested ground.

The Li and Miao Affairs Office had adopted a three-pronged infiltration strategy of trade, missionary work, and education combined with healthcare. Their assessment held that local Li uprisings were now unlikely. Nevertheless, prudent precautions remained in force. Control over the Li areas remained tenuous, the situation volatile and uncertain. Nanbao served not merely as a window for Li trade but also as the site of the vital Nanbao Coal Mine. Though the coal itself was of poor quality, the lignite, stone, and clay extracted here fed the voracious appetites of Lingao's agricultural and construction sectors.

Thus, following the conclusion of the public order campaign in northern Qiongzhou, the General Military Department had stationed a full National Army platoon here. Vigilance remained the standing order.

As the town gates swung open, mine workers hurrying to their early shifts and peddlers bound for Li territory began trickling out. The streets gradually filled with the bustle of commerce.

Sima Qiudao, wrapped in a patched and threadbare robe, climbed down from a makeshift bed fashioned from two tables pushed together. Dawn light was already seeping through the windows—he'd overslept. He dressed quickly; if he lingered much longer, the women quartered upstairs wouldn't be able to come down to prepare breakfast.

His lodgings occupied a two-story building fronting the street, one of several "shophouses" the Cooperative had constructed throughout Nanbao. The Cooperative, however, had clearly overestimated the town's developmental potential. When the Nanbao Mining Company first established operations, the area had enjoyed a brief boom. But coal from Hongay and Qiongshan soon began flooding into Lingao via sea transport, and Nanbao's low-calorific coal found itself relegated to fertilizer feedstock. Were it not for the agricultural sector's insatiable demand, the Nanbao mine would scarcely have been worth operating at all.

Fortunately, Lingao's construction industry remained ravenous for materials. The stone and clay from Nanbao Mining Company enjoyed brisk sales. Yet this was enough only to sustain operations at their current scale—Nanbao's coal reserves weren't substantial, and the high transport costs for stone and clay limited their effective sales radius. The Planning Commission had quietly cancelled the projected Phase III and Phase IV expansions.

Without a leading enterprise to anchor its economy, Nanbao's population growth had stagnated. In recent years, small enterprises processing rattan, Chinese herbs, leather, and kapok for the Li trade had sprung up, but their scale remained modest and their capacity to absorb labor limited. The Planning Commission arranged no mass migrations here. Free migrants, given the choice, invariably preferred the booming banks of the Wenlan River. No one wanted to venture out to this "frontier" backwater.

Since Nanbao's development had fallen so far short of expectations, it could hardly support a thriving commercial district. Many of the Cooperative's shophouses had been converted to rental housing. When Sima Qiudao's group arrived in Lingao, their local contact had arranged for them to stay in just such a building.

The house was a two-story structure with a three-bay frontage, supplemented by a small courtyard and several side rooms at the rear. The street out front saw little traffic, but it lay close to the main road, and a quiet alley ran behind the back door—convenient for coming and going without attracting notice. Huang Zhen, responsible for scouting potential lodgings, had taken one look and known this was the place.

Huang Zhen bore the sobriquet "Bronze Pen, Iron Abacus." His prosperous build and mercantile bearing made him look every inch the successful trader. For this operation, he was cast in the role of "Shopkeeper"—a businessman come to Lingao to establish an enterprise.

These days, merchants flocked to Lingao from across the realm, but most clustered in East Gate Market or Bopu. Very few ventured as far as Nanbao. So when Huang Zhen expressed interest in "investing to open a shop" in this remote town, the local Cooperative director had enthusiastically shown him every available property. He had ultimately settled on this one.

Sima Qiudao found the accommodations acceptable—clean, tidy, comfortable enough for their purposes. The only drawback was that it felt cramped, given the number of people their party had brought.

This initial vanguard of the Central Plains martial arts world had numbered seven or eight, led by Huang Zhen and Sima Qiudao. More were still en route.

Asking these proud men and women of prestigious sects to shave their heads, undergo "purification," and accept naturalization as citizens was naturally out of the question. But establishing "independent employment" would attract too much attention anywhere else. Their only option was to conceal themselves within the guise of this "shop."

The challenge wasn't merely their numbers—several skilled heroines had accompanied them as well. Though all were children of the jianghu, propriety demanded that men and women be housed separately. Their masters were respectable elders in the martial arts world; they could hardly all sleep in communal bunks. Thus, two of the three upstairs rooms had been allocated to the women, and one was reserved for the key figure of the entire operation, who had yet to arrive: Zhuo Yifan, head disciple of the Wudang Sect. The rest had to squeeze into the rear side rooms; even Huang Zhen himself could only make do with the accountant's nook on the ground floor.

Sima Qiudao found such close quarters stifling. He had simply commandeered the main hall, pushing two Eight Immortals tables together for a bed. It suited him well enough—solitude amid the chaos.

He made his way to the well in the backyard to wash and found Huang Zhen already there, rinsing his mouth. Huang Zhen was past fifty, his portly build and careful dress giving him the appearance of a prosperous merchant. An abacus hung beneath one arm; a writing brush was tucked into his sash. The ensemble struck an oddly convincing note. Watching his measured, unhurried movements, one would never suspect the depths of his martial prowess.

But Sima Qiudao knew better. Huang Zhen was head disciple to the Mount Hua Sect leader himself. In terms of martial arts, perhaps only Zhuo Yifan among their company surpassed him.

"Shopkeeper Huang." For the sake of secrecy, they had adopted new modes of address. "You're up early."

"Ah, Sima," Huang Zhen replied, spitting out his rinse water. "Not so early, really. A businessman can never afford to sleep in. As the saying goes: rise with the dawn, sweep the courtyard clean. When the shop and its keeper are both presentable, customers feel welcome and business prospers."

Stop playing the role, Sima Qiudao thought. Huang Zhen had always enjoyed projecting the image of a merchant. For this infiltration into Lingao, he had thrown himself into the shopkeeper persona with gusto.

Nevertheless, in a martial arts world that placed such weight on lineage and seniority, Huang Zhen's status far exceeded that of a junior from the Qingcheng Sect. Sima Qiudao maintained his outward deference. "Sage advice, Shopkeeper."

As they spoke, a woman emerged from the house, still drowsy, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Seeing the two men in the yard, she hastily curtsied.

"Miss Nan, you're up early as well," Huang Zhen greeted her with a genial, squinting smile.

The woman called Miss Nan was no longer young by the standards of the age—perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six. She wore a pale green skirt beneath a pale red vest, her waist slender, her figure graceful. Her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, expressive enough to seem capable of speech. Her features were lovely, with a hint of a smile perpetually playing at the corners of her mouth that instantly put one at ease.

Women didn't wash at the well platform—even a daughter of the jianghu had to maintain the dignity befitting a respectable sect. She couldn't be too familiar outside the walls.

"Not early at all—it'll be broad daylight soon. If I don't start cooking, everyone will wake to empty stomachs." Miss Nan pursed her lips in a small smile and made her way toward the kitchen to measure out the rice.

Watching her disappear inside, Sima Qiudao lowered his voice. "Shopkeeper Huang, are we really just going to hole up here for the next few days?"

The geniality vanished from Huang Zhen's face. "Didn't Seventh Master make it clear? We follow his instructions in all things. This isn't the Ming—it's extremely dangerous here."

"Seventh Master" was their local contact. They knew precious little about him beyond his affiliation with the Brocade Guard and the fact that he had been operating undercover in Lingao for years.

"Old Shi called this place a dragon's pool and tiger's den," Sima Qiudao said. "But I scouted their lair yesterday—East Gate Market. Honestly, it didn't seem like much."

"Zixiao, don't underestimate the Cropped-Hairs," Huang Zhen cautioned, his years lending weight to his wariness. "Over the past few years, countless figures from the Green Forest have descended on this prosperous place, hoping to make their fortunes. Every last one of them has vanished without a trace, like stones dropped into the sea. Several were notorious bandits who once terrorized the two capitals and various provinces—yet rumor holds that they, too, met their ends here in Lingao." He shook his head gravely. "Seventh Master says the Interview Bureau has agents everywhere, and they don't observe jianghu conventions. Our usual methods won't work here. We must exercise extreme caution in everything and absolutely refrain from rash action."

"I understand." Sima Qiudao said the words, though he remained unconvinced. He had visited East Gate Market just days ago for a meeting with Xin Nachun. Its prosperity had genuinely taken him aback, and he'd been impressed by the orderly streets. But he hadn't encountered the "sentries every three steps, guards every five," the forest of blades and impenetrable security he had imagined.

When he had wandered through East Gate Market, he hadn't sensed even a whisper of danger. The Cropped-Hairs and their strange attire were everywhere. The regime had clearly mastered the art of winning hearts and minds—small wonder the imperial court had proven so helpless against their years-long occupation of Lingao.

"Zixiao," Huang Zhen pressed, sensing the younger man's recklessness, "Old Shi exhausted himself getting us here. He even exposed someone like Seventh Master from his network of assets. We cannot fail his trust. We must get to the bottom of this matter. For the court above, for the myriad common folk below."

Sima Qiudao nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle more firmly upon his shoulders. They had been in Lingao for over a month now, holed up with nothing to show for it. At times he wondered what purpose he truly served here.

But the true objective of this mission remained known only to Zhuo Yifan, head disciple of the Wudang Sect—and he had not yet arrived.

Even a figure of Huang Zhen's stature was merely part of the advance party.