Chapter 317: The Night Market

Lin Ming returned to the shop and asked Shopkeeper Qian for leave, saying he wished to go for a stroll.

As there was no curfew in Lingao, he thought it best to explore by night, to get a feel for the roads and gather what information he could.

“There is no need to ask for leave. After the shop closes, you are free to go as you please. Just remember to be back before the great clock strikes ten, otherwise you will have to trouble the gatekeeper to leave the door open for you,” Shopkeeper Qian instructed. He took a folded paper from his drawer. “You have only just arrived and are unfamiliar with the roads. This is a map of the East Gate Market printed by our firm. It is not overly detailed, but the main routes are all clear. Take it with you.”

“Thank you, shopkeeper.” Lin Ming was overjoyed. He had planned to spend the next few days casing the area himself to learn the layout, but here was a ready-made map. He took it and unfolded it, marveling at its quality. The map was exquisitely drawn, the roads and shops marked with fine, clear characters, easy to read at a glance.

Though the map was funded and printed by the Haixing Firm, its name emblazoned at the top and bottom and its location specially marked with a black circle, the map itself was a public version of the “East Gate Market Traffic and Tourism Map,” produced by the Remote Exploration Office. Being a civilian map, certain important departments, facilities, and roads had been erased.

Even so, the level of detail was a rarity for the times. Lin Ming tucked the map into his robes and left the shop.

Before setting out, he had carefully considered his approach. The usual method of gathering intelligence was to find a lively place—a teahouse or a restaurant where people from all walks of life gathered to gossip—and “listen for leaks.” He might overhear something useful.

He was not confident in this method. It had been nearly two years since Li Yongxun was captured and brought to Lingao; it was no longer fresh news, and it was unlikely anyone would still be talking about it. But he had no other recourse. He had to try.

He had also heard that some “true Australians” frequented the market for entertainment. If he could find a way to get close, perhaps even befriend one, he might glean some information, or even aid in his mission. If rescue proved impossible, kidnapping a “true Australian” to force an exchange was a viable alternative.

He had intended to ask for directions to the liveliest street, the most famous restaurants and teahouses. Now, with the map in hand, a quick glance showed him everything he needed to know, saving him the trouble of asking. He couldn’t help but feel a secret thrill of pleasure.

Lin Ming left the shop and followed the route the Wang siblings had pointed out, eager to see this prosperous night scene for himself. After turning a corner, he saw the lights in the distance grow even brighter. Though he was still several alleys away, the clamor of a crowd reached his ears. He quickened his pace.

The streets here were easy to navigate. The East Gate Market had been built on open ground, not within the maze of an old city. The streets and alleys were laid out on a grid, as straight as a chessboard. A few main thoroughfares had proper names, but the side roads and alleys were numbered with “Jing” and “Wei,” like a coordinate system, clear at a glance. Signposts stood at every intersection, a great convenience.

As he walked, the crowd grew denser: men and women, old and young, some in Australian attire, others in the dress of the Ming. Some hurried along, while others strolled leisurely. Lin Ming noted that while their clothes bespoke varying levels of wealth, there were no ragged beggars, no one in extreme poverty. Their complexions were healthy. The common folk here, it seemed, lived well.

After half a street, he saw a three-bay, four-pillar stone archway rising before him. Lin Ming was taken aback. The East Gate Market had been built after the Australians arrived, on what was once a wasteland by the Wenlan River. Where had this archway come from? It could not be a monument to chastity or official rank. As he drew closer, he saw that it was newly built. Inlaid at the top were three large characters in the Song style: “East Gate Market.”

Past the archway, the number of stalls and vendors lining the street suddenly multiplied. A half-grown boy with a large square box slung around his neck shouted, “Cigarettes, Australian lighters, osmanthus candy!” A few small children held up stacks of paper, crying, “The latest ‘Ship’s Paper’! Guangzhou, Shanghai, Manila, today’s latest arrival prices!” A man stood by a handcart with a square box, hollering, “Australian films! Australian films! Tokyo Hot is all the rage! New episodes you’ve never seen before!” “Freshly baked takoyaki! If you haven’t had it, you haven’t been to Lingao!” “Lingao noodles! Authentic Lingao noodles!” “Big meat buns! Big meat buns! White skin, plenty of meat, one bite and your mouth is full of oil!”

The permanent stalls and shopfronts were even more dazzling. The shops were not shuttered for the night; every one was brightly lit, illuminating the street as if it were day. All manner of goods were on display. Some even set up stalls in front of their shops to hawk their wares.

Lin Ming felt his eyes could not take it all in. He had thought Guangzhou was a rare wonder of the world, a gathering place for all things exotic. But compared to this, it was not even a fraction. The foods and snacks sold at the roadside stalls alone—many he had never seen before. The fragrant aromas made him swallow again and again. But he was short on funds and uncertain of what expenses lay ahead, so he dared not spend a single coin.

He saw many young women in Australian-style dress on the street, walking in groups of three or five, holding various snacks, eating and laughing as if no one else was around. He was secretly astounded. It was shocking enough for women to be out at night, but to be unchaperoned by a man—what had become of propriety? What if they were harassed or abducted?

He looked again. There were indeed many women without male companions, some even walking alone. Lin Ming clicked his tongue. The public security here must be excellent, but for women to be so unrestrained—what kind of custom was this? Not even the Song Dynasty had been so lax.

“Truly, they are overseas barbarians,” Lin Ming sighed to himself.

“Excuse me, let me through, let me through!” someone behind him shouted. A short, sturdy man pulling a cart brushed past him, the bell on his cart ringing wildly as he disappeared into the crowd.

There were few horse-drawn or mule-drawn carts on the street. Instead, there were many “Australian carts.” To Lin Ming, it looked like an armchair with wheels, covered in cloth, with two long handles for the driver to pull. A few folded bamboo frames on the back could be propped up to form a canopy. The drivers wore blue cloth jackets with a string of “Arabic numerals” painted on the back. They pulled their carts at high speed through the crowd, their bells ringing incessantly.

There were almost no sedan chairs or litters in the East Gate Market; the streets were full of these “Australian carts”—locally called “rickshaws.” A few were exquisitely decorated, with a large golden five-pointed star on the back of the seat and a lamp on each side, of some unknown kind, that shone with a dazzling brightness.

Among the stream of rickshaws were a few two-wheeled “Dongfeng” horse-drawn carriages, pulled by Mongolian horses that trotted proudly down the street. The driver, wearing a cloak, stood behind the carriage to drive, a sight that made Lin Ming click his tongue in wonder.

He strolled on. The night was already deep, likely past nine o’clock, but the street’s boisterous energy had not diminished. In the Ming Dynasty, he knew, even on the liveliest brothel streets, the number of pedestrians would have dwindled by this hour. The patrons would be either feasting and listening to music in the deep courtyards of the pleasure houses, preparing to stay the night, or already on their way home.

As he was lost in thought, he saw a four-wheeled carriage parked at a crossroads ahead. Two Mongolian horses with blinders stood under a streetlight, eating from their feedbags. The carriage was large and strangely decorated: the ends were painted black, the middle white. Two large black characters in the Song style were painted on the side: “Police.” Two lamps, one red and one blue, were mounted on the front. An Australian “public servant” in a conical hat and a black cloth jacket stood on the footboard, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The upper half of another “Australian officer” was visible from the top of the carriage, holding a telescope that he occasionally raised to look into the distance.

Lin Ming followed the direction of the telescope and saw a tall tower not far away, at least four or five stories high. The street below was brightly lit, but the tower itself was dark and mysterious, without a single light. As he looked closer, he saw lights flashing at the very top, long and short bursts.

He watched for a moment and understood. The flashing lights were signals. There must be an official of the Australian city guard in that tower, commanding his officers, maintaining order, and controlling the streets.

“These bandits really have their methods!” As Lin Ming was looking around, a broken phrase drifted to his ear: “…someone…resisting arrest…reinforcements immediately…”

Lin Ming’s body went rigid. It was a woman’s voice! And that voice was one he had dreamt of for years—the voice of his sister-in-law, Li Yongxun!

He spun around. The carriage had already started to move, a bell clanging urgently. The pedestrians and vehicles on the street parted to let it pass.

Lin Ming took a few quick steps, about to give chase, when he saw seven or eight more “police” in conical hats and black clothes running down the street. Some carried short batons, others muskets, all running in the direction the carriage had gone.

This had to be a major case. Lin Ming immediately changed his mind. At a time like this, there might be a city-wide search. If he rashly followed, he might be detained for questioning. Though he had a full set of documents, it was better to avoid trouble. He could not afford any direct contact with the Australian authorities, lest he reveal some flaw in his cover.