Chapter 1538 - Opening a Shop
Sima Qiudao knew little of the mission's true purpose—he had come purely on his master's orders. Though his master had been vague, even evasive, the Cropped-Hairs of Lingao had acquired a certain notoriety in the jianghu over recent years.
The various Central Plains sects had never had direct dealings with the Cropped-Hairs, but lately all had heard tales of their exploits and encountered Australian goods. Take his own Qingcheng Sect: every year, when disciples from various branch temples offered birthday gifts to the masters and senior uncles, Australian products appeared among the tributes. Sima Qiudao had glimpsed kerosene lamps in his master's quarters and once spotted a powder compact with a tiny mirror hidden in a junior sister's room—a lover's gift, no doubt. As for matches, though exorbitant in distant Sichuan, they proved invaluable for jianghu travelers who lived perpetually on the move and slept rough beneath the stars. Nearly everyone now carried a box.
Yet these were secondhand impressions. For martial artists, the most visceral demonstration of Cropped-Hair power came from the Qiwei Escort Bureau, which had swelled to astonishing size across Liangguang and Jiangnan over the past five years.
Once, the Qiwei Escort Bureau had been obscure—its martial lineage undistinguished, its scale modest, its routes confined to local territories. Now it dominated Liangguang like a colossus, and its relationship with the Cropped-Hairs was common knowledge throughout the region.
Branches of various Qiwei enterprises had even begun appearing in the Northern and Southern Capitals, throughout Jiangnan, and in major towns along the Grand Canal. Sima Qiudao's group had availed themselves of Qiwei services extensively during their journey—particularly the long-distance through-travel package. Upon purchasing a through-ticket, all transportation, meals, lodging, luggage handling, and checkpoint clearances fell under Qiwei's purview. The traveler need not worry about a single detail. Requests for female or male companionship to ease the loneliness of the road would be fulfilled without question. As for protection en route, that had always been an escort bureau's core competency.
This service system had won the hearts of officials and nobles alike. Previously, to mitigate the rigors of travel, they'd had to bring entire retinues of servants—a considerable expense that didn't guarantee smooth passage. Qiwei offered comparable services at lower cost, naturally capturing the market with speed. This advantage had only grown after the court's cuts to the postal relay system several years prior, which had expanded their potential clientele further still.
From the moment Sima Qiudao had left Sichuan by river to Hankou, Qiwei had provided seamless service all the way south to Guangzhou. Had "Seventh Master's" Summary of Pacifying the Cropped-Hairs not explicitly warned against any contact with Qiwei enterprises after reaching Guangzhou, he would gladly have let them arrange passage to Lingao as well.
Sima Qiudao understood that this expedition likely came at the court's behest—how else could these major sects, harmonious in public while riddled with rivalry beneath the surface, have joined forces to dispatch their most valuable members into such danger? Even the Mount Hua Sect, with its murky historical ties to certain bandit lords, had unhesitatingly sent Huang Zhen. The Cropped-Hairs commanded significant "face" indeed.
Daylight had fully broken. The two Eight Immortals tables that had served as Sima Qiudao's bed now functioned as dining tables. Nan Wan'er, tasked with cooking, carried out the morning fare dish by dish: a pot of thick brown rice porridge, a pot of Lingao rice noodles dressed with dried shrimp, and several salted eggs sliced into wedges.
By the standards of the age, this was a substantial breakfast. Martial artists had considerable caloric needs; they required not merely satiation but significant protein—hence the old saying, "poor scholars, rich martial artists."
"Porridge, rice noodles, salted eggs—every single day. Can't you vary it at all? You've been cooking for over a decade. Haven't you improved even a little?"
The speaker was a girl in a peach-red skirt, her bright eyes and white teeth framed by features of striking beauty. She was perhaps twenty, her figure well-proportioned—full through the chest, narrow at the waist—with curves that drew the eye and a presence that commanded attention. She stood with hands planted on her hips in a manner more pugnacious than ladylike, yet her dazzling beauty and the heroic air she projected intimidated more than invited. This was evident from the way she occupied one end of the table alone; no one had been willing to sit beside her.
She was berating Nan Wan'er as though addressing a servant girl. Though Nan Wan'er was considerably older, she could only stand with hands clasped before her and listen in silence—she dared not talk back. She and this Zhou Zhongjun were disciples of the same generation within the Hengshan Sect, but their statuses could not have been more different. Zhou Zhongjun hailed from a wealthy local family with money and influence. Nan Wan'er had been an abandoned infant, collected by her master from the foot of the mountain.
Even their masters occupied vastly different positions within the sect's hierarchy. Nan Wan'er's master was hardly a key figure—her martial arts were average, and she rarely descended the mountain, instead managing miscellaneous administrative affairs. While Zhou Zhongjun had trained in martial arts under her master's tutelage, Nan Wan'er had been assigned to help in the kitchens. Her culinary skills, understandably, had developed far more than her fighting techniques.
When her junior sister finally finished venting, Nan Wan'er spoke carefully. "There's nothing good to buy here. It's either brown rice or rice noodles. Getting meat isn't easy—the market is full of dried fish and shrimp, but I was worried people wouldn't take to it, so I didn't buy much."
"I've heard all about how Lingao has every delicacy imaginable—all sorts of Australian snacks no one's ever encountered before. So why have we been eating these rice noodles with that stinking fish sauce for days on end? It's not as though we're spending your pauper's money—why the stinginess? Unless the cook is skimming from the grain fund?"
Zhou Zhongjun was relentless. Nan Wan'er swallowed her pride and whispered in her own defense: "Seven or eight of us living here together—daily expenses aren't negligible..."
Her role on this mission owed nothing to martial prowess. She had been brought along simply as someone to clean, cook, and manage the household accounts. In blunt terms, she was the team's housekeeper.
Since arriving in Nanbao, purchasing provisions, cooking meals, and tracking expenditures had all fallen to Nan Wan'er. Keeping seven or eight people fed and comfortable was no small task.
They didn't lack funds—team leader Huang Zhen had brought ample gold and silver. But precious metals didn't circulate locally. Until Seventh Master could exchange their bullion, they had to subsist on the limited circulation vouchers Huang Zhen had obtained in Guangzhou. Frugality was necessity, not choice.
Managing the daily needs of so many proved a thankless task. Being whispered about behind her back was nothing new. Zhou Zhongjun's public attack seemed capricious and bratty, but in truth, more than a few present were nodding in silent agreement.
Sensing the sour turn in the room's atmosphere, Nan Wan'er blinked twice. Mist gathered in her eyes, and moments later tears were beginning to pool.
She was naturally charming. Adopting this submissive, wounded, pitiable posture, she stirred protective instincts among the men present without even trying.
Weighing the situation, Huang Zhen stepped in to smooth things over. "Earlier, our operating funds were running low, so we had to economize. Now the first batch of money has arrived. Everyone has worked hard these past days. Let's make do with breakfast, and tonight Miss Nan can prepare a proper feast—a sacrifice to our five viscera temples!" He called to Nan Wan'er: "I have money here. Take it later and buy some meat in the market."
The tension in the room dissolved at once. Frankly, everyone had grown weary of brown rice, dried roasted fish, and shrimp-paste stir-fried water spinach. Hearing about a feast, smiles appeared on previously sullen faces.
Sima Qiudao ate his rice noodles in silence, though inwardly he disapproved. We're in the field on a crucial mission—nothing accomplished yet, and already squabbling over a meal. Zhou Zhongjun truly lacks any sense of the larger picture. Why did they even bring her?
In his view, both Zhou Zhongjun and Nan Wan'er were liabilities. Not merely because of their striking beauty, but because their mannerisms and deportment screamed jianghu. The Cropped-Hairs had subdued the Qiwei Escort Bureau; they surely had all manner of martial arts sellouts in their employ. If noticed, the Cropped-Hairs would be immediately on guard.
After breakfast, as everyone began to rise, Huang Zhen spoke. "Everyone, please remain a moment. There is something I must discuss."
Nan Wan'er continued clearing the dishes, clearly assuming Huang Zhen's words didn't concern her.
"Miss Nan, if you would please sit down. The dishes can wait," Huang Zhen said gravely.
"We are all colleagues of the martial world, so I'll speak frankly and dispense with pleasantries. We have infiltrated Lingao under orders. Though we don't yet know the precise nature of our mission, this place is nothing like the Ming. We have no reliable local contacts, and the Ming court has no jurisdiction here. Everything we do must be approached with extreme caution—not a single slip can be afforded." He swept his gaze across everyone present. "You know in your hearts that most of us bear the marks of our trade. Standing in a crowd, open your mouths, and people will know what you are. The Cropped-Hairs patrol these streets rigorously. Do not go out without good reason—and if you must, notify either Sima or myself beforehand."
Most present were seasoned veterans of the jianghu. They recognized Huang Zhen wasn't exaggerating. They listened with bated breath.
"A group of unrelated people living together like this attracts attention. Therefore, our next step will be to open a shop..."
"Open a shop?" Zhou Zhongjun asked, curiosity piqued.
"Yes. Open a shop." Huang Zhen nodded. "Using the shop as cover gives everyone a legitimate identity. Moving around Lingao will become much simpler. Furthermore..."
Furthermore, there was the matter of the gold and silver he carried as operating funds. Though precious metals could be openly exchanged for circulation vouchers at the Delong Nanbao Branch, any substantial sum without a declared legitimate purpose would immediately draw scrutiny. The Summary of Pacifying the Cropped-Hairs had made clear that Lingao's shops and banks were obligated to report suspicious monetary transactions.
"What sort of shop?" a middle-aged man asked. "Speaking of commerce, every sect nominally owns businesses, but those are managed by shopkeepers and clerks. None of us have any experience actually running one."
"A medicine shop."
"A medicine shop?" The middle-aged man paused, then slapped his thigh. "Shopkeeper Huang, you've really thought this through! A medicine shop is perfect."
A "medicine shop" was similar to a private clinic. Those who opened such establishments weren't renowned physicians but rather people with specialized skills: massage, acupuncture, bone-setting, and the like. One hung out a shingle, waited for customers, and peddled homemade remedies of varying efficacy and mystical pretension.