Chapter 353: The Hustle

“I was out for a stroll,” Zhou Zhongjun announced, her tone casual, “and as I passed the Nanbao Bookstore, I noticed a few men acting furtively at the counter. The moment they saw me, they shoved a book under a pile. I knew they were up to no good—we have a duty, after all, to uphold justice. I couldn’t simply walk away. So, I followed them. And what do you think I found?”

Huang Zhen groaned inwardly. My lady, this is a mission of life and death, not an opportunity to burnish your reputation as a wandering hero. If you had bellowed, “Zhou Zhongjun of the Hengshan Sect is here,” we’d all be rotting in a short-hair jail by now.

He knew her insatiable curiosity had likely taken the reins again. He had no choice but to play along. “What happened?”

“They were selling exam questions,” she declared, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “The short-hairs demand a license for everything. But the questions have already been leaked and are being sold under the table. You can buy whatever you need…”

“And you bought this?”

“They denied it at first. But I put a scare into them, told them they looked shifty and that I was going to the police. They caved instantly and sold it to me. A mere twenty circulation coupons!” She seemed immensely proud of her haggling.

Huang Zhen, a man seasoned by the world’s deceptions, felt a knot of unease tighten in his gut. While cheating on the imperial examinations was rampant in the Great Ming, it was a clandestine affair, conducted through shadowy intermediaries. Lives and fortunes hung in the balance.

Here in Lingao, this license exam might not be the imperial civil service, but many livelihoods depended on it. The short-hairs, he reasoned, would punish cheating with an iron fist. They would not be so careless as to allow exam questions to be hawked openly on the street.

His suspicion deepened. A scam? Her account had all the hallmarks of a classic con.

He quickly leafed through the thin, cotton-paper booklet. The questions and answers seemed plausible enough, but as he reached the final page, a minuscule line of text in the footer caught his eye: “Copied from the 1633 edition of ‘Traditional Chinese Medicine Practitioner Qualification Exam Mock Questions,’ published by the Ministry of Health Press. Copyright of the original author.” Below it, a stamp: “Manual Copying Permit No. 66,” and finally, the price: 20 circulation coupons.

Huang Zhen nearly collapsed. It was an utter sham.

No wonder some of the phrases had seemed familiar. He rummaged through the pile of reference books on the table and pulled one out: the “Traditional Chinese Medicine Practitioner Qualification Exam Mock Questions,” published by the Ministry of Health Press. His version was from 1634, the content slightly different, and it had cost him a paltry three circulation coupons.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The young lady had fallen for a common street hustle.

Seeing the storm on his face, Zhou Zhongjun knew something was amiss. She snatched the book from his hands. A single glance was all it took. Her face flushed a deep crimson, her eyebrows shot up, and she ground her pearly teeth with an audible crack. “How dare they! They will rue the day they crossed me.” She spun on her heel, ready to storm out.

Huang Zhen lunged, blocking her path. “No! We are in a precarious position. We cannot afford a conflict…”

“Are you suggesting we fear a few petty short-hair lackeys?”

“We do not fear them, but our mission will be compromised!” Huang Zhen added, hoping to lend weight to his words, “Think of how we will face our superiors upon our return!”

This struck home. She knew her sect had staked a great deal on this operation. If she jeopardized it, she would be expelled, at the very least.

Life in the Hengshan Sect was no paradise, but it was a life of freedom. Her master rarely disciplined her. Aside from the prohibition against leaving the mountain without permission and her daily training, she was her own master. Her wealthy family kept her supplied with money and goods, and had even bought her a personal maid. Her lifestyle was no different from her life at home. If she were sent back, she would have to endure her parents’ endless nagging about marriage—not to mention her unbound feet. To marry well, she would have to bind them, if only for appearances. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

But she could not swallow her pride. Her eyes reddened, tears welling. Twenty circulation coupons was a trivial sum, but she had never been so thoroughly humiliated. Here, in Lingao, duped by a few low-life grifters.

She gritted her teeth. “Brother Huang, I understand what is at stake! Tonight, we will go together, kill those bastards, and burn that bookstore to the ground!”

He knew she would not let it go. “Absolutely not!” he said, his voice low and urgent. “This is not Ming territory. If you start a fire, the short-hairs’ agents will lock down the city. We would have nowhere to hide.”

“So we are to simply swallow this insult?!” Her teeth were grinding again.

“Patience! When the time comes for our move, it will not be just this little bookstore. We will set all of Nanbao ablaze!”

His words seemed to placate her, but she remained sullen. On her way upstairs, she saw Nan Wan’er sweeping the floor and snapped, “You slut! What are you sweeping for? Just for show!”

Huang Zhen witnessed it all. He felt a pang of pity for Nan Wan’er, but his mind was consumed with the exams and the shop. He had no energy to spare for the girl’s bruised feelings.

The certification business looked bleak. Jiao and Song had already given up. The Meng brothers’ chances were slim. He had made inquiries; the certificate was no easy prize. Even “naturalized citizens” who had been in Lingao for a year or two had to enroll in a “training course.” Passing by self-study was a rarity.

This “training course,” he had learned, was run out of the East Gate Market by an entity called “New Lingao,” a joint venture between Lingao’s largest pharmacy, Runshitang, and the Ministry of Health. Rumor had it that the Ministry’s two leaders, Liu and Deng, even held private shares. In any case, enrollment in the course virtually guaranteed a passing grade.

He had initially thought it was a back-channel for cheating, like the stationery shops in the capital that facilitated imperial exam fraud. He had figured he could simply pay his way in. But to his astonishment, enrolling required passing an entrance exam: a B-level literacy certificate was the minimum requirement for both naturalized citizens and locals.

This drove him to despair. What kind of place was this? A labyrinth of certificates! Even the founding emperor of their dynasty, with his draconian ‘Yellow Book’ household registration and travel pass system, had not cast such a tight net. Every move was a struggle.

And on top of it all, he was saddled with the trouble-magnet Zhou Zhongjun. His masters had reasoned that since women worked openly in short-hair territory, a few female disciples would provide excellent cover.

But since their arrival, Zhou Zhongjun had refused to lift a finger, doing nothing but wander and shop. Far from being a cover, she was a beacon of unwanted attention.

If he didn’t open the shop soon, and establish a proper identity for her, she was bound to cause a catastrophe.

After much deliberation, Huang Zhen, feeling utterly helpless, decided he had no choice but to consult the “female director.” Perhaps she could pull some strings.

Knowing she would not accept gifts, he went empty-handed. He arrived at the branch office, where no announcement was necessary. He learned from the doorman that the director was in her office and went straight in.

She was delighted to see him. She gestured for him to sit, served him tea with her own hands, and inquired about his health, the progress of his shop, and if there was anything she could do to help.

Huang Zhen poured out his troubles. “…We are all from the Great Ming. We know nothing of these certifications and Australian rules. We wish to take the exam, but it feels impossible. The men I have hired have been practicing medicine and selling remedies their entire lives. They are skilled, but they are old. To ask them to memorize these books now is simply too much…”

The female director listened with a sympathetic expression. When he finished, she smiled. “Do not worry. The Senate has always encouraged commerce. However, medicine is a matter of public safety. To allow just anyone to practice, as in the Great Ming, is to disregard the health of the people. That is why the Senate has these rules.”

“Yes, yes, the Senate’s benevolence is universal. Its spirit of serving the people is something I deeply admire,” he replied respectfully, parroting a slogan he had seen on a street banner.

He then recounted Zhou Zhongjun’s misadventure with the scammers, not to “seek justice,” but because he figured that once the culprits were caught, the matter would come to the attention of the authorities.

It was better to be upfront than to be questioned later—he had no confidence in Zhou Zhongjun’s ability to withstand an interrogation. The sum was small, so it was unlikely to attract much attention. Fortunately, the short-hairs did not engage in the Ming practice of “letting the crime blossom,” using one case as a pretext for further extortion.

As he expected, the story did not seem to interest her much. She simply nodded.

“Your situation is not uncommon. People who have spent their lives in the old society of the Great Ming find it hard to adapt to our new system. It is also harder for older people to learn new things. It is understandable that they feel daunted and seek shortcuts. I understand all of this,” she said, placing a hand on her chest, her eyes warm with a smile.

“Yes, yes.”

“This is not the first time this has happened. And you are not the only ones who have been fooled. But for now, we have not found a good solution. These bookstore clerks are exploiting a legal loophole,” she explained. “They are preying on the desperation of people like you.”