Back Well Alley already had a well worker on hand, and grappling hooks laid out. The enemy's next step would be to go down the shaft.
Xu Jinghong didn't wait for that step to happen.
She knew two things:
Before they descended, they would seal the alley airtight. If this dragged on, no one would get out.
Three simultaneous raids meant the enemy wasn't after "one arrest." They were after cutting the route network apart.
She lifted her eyes to the three fires burning in the distance and made the choice without explaining it.
"East Wharf," she said."Crowds there. In chaos, we can pull one node back out.""The salt depot is the gate. North Gate is the hand. East Wharf is the road. Lose the road, and gate and hand mean nothing."
Chaosheng asked only about cost. "How many can we bring back?"
Xu Jinghong answered plainly. "Start with one."
Qin Zhao almost said I understand, swallowed it, and only nodded.
The thin old man hitched his medicine basket higher on his shoulder. "East Wharf has two booths. First checks salt tickets. Second checks boat plaques. One wrong step and they detain you."
Xu Jinghong glanced at Qin Zhao. "Mouth shut. Stay close."
I. East Wharf: Past the First Booth
The first inspection booth was already up at the bridgehead.
A wooden placard read: SALT TICKETS RECHECKED. PASSERS MUST PRESS INTO CLAY.Inside sat the familiar three tools, laid out with bureaucratic neatness: a basin of red clay, a wooden ruler, and iron chains.
The thin old man went first. He handed over an old salt ticket and said only two words:
"New stamp."
The clerk-soldier pressed the ticket's corner with the ruler, then rubbed the back where a gritty trace had been left before. His brow tightened.
"Why's there sand on it?"
The old man didn't over-explain. "Queued last night. Dropped it on the ground."
The soldier stared for two breaths, asked nothing else, then pressed the ticket against the rim of the red-clay basin to leave a fresh mark.
"Go."
Xu Jinghong kept to the outer edge like an herb seller who wanted no trouble, tugging her sleeve down to hide the cloth band at her wrist. Chaosheng walked even farther out, eyes skimming only the ground—fresh mud, clustered footprints. Where it looked newly disturbed, someone was likely posted.
Qin Zhao followed with the copper token clenched in his palm, sweat held in, not allowed to show.
II. The Second Booth: Not Checking Cargo—Hunting the Foreman
At the dock entrance, the second booth wasn't checking salt tickets anymore. It was checking boat plaques.
Under each mast hung a wooden tag listing boat number, registered origin, cargo type. A Han-clothed soldier stood with a ledger and matched entries one by one, voice hard as a mallet:
"Mismatch, we seize the boat. And we seize people too."
A row of porters had already been detained, wrists threaded on a rope—loose, but enough to stop a run. The lead soldier demanded, for the third time:
"Who's the foreman for Pier Twenty-Six?"
No one answered.
He didn't hit them. He chose a sharper method. He pointed at the youngest porter.
"You don't talk—he comes with me."
The boy's face turned the color of wet ash.
Qin Zhao's toes shifted.
Xu Jinghong didn't scold. She tapped his shoulder blade twice—two quick knocks:
Don't move.
Chaosheng murmured, "They take the foreman, they can raid the crew line by line."
Xu Jinghong answered, "Find the foreman first."
Then she looked at Qin Zhao. "Find Pier Twenty-Six. Don't ask people. Read the boards. Read the nails."
Qin Zhao nodded and slipped into the forest of boats.
III. Qin Zhao Finds the Marked Boat
Pier Twenty-Six wasn't a gate or an archway—just two wooden posts. A worn board nailed to one read TWENTY-SIX, paint half gone.
Qin Zhao followed the posts inward and saw a medicine-boat. The stern plaque was new, the nails new too, but the characters were crooked, like hurried work.
He crouched and slid his fingertips behind the plaque.
A pinch of red clay and grit clung there—uneven, not rubbed in naturally. Not an accident. Someone had pressed it there, checked it, confirmed it.
He didn't turn back to shout. He found a stall to use as a message point.
He bought a bowl of hot soup—three cash—and held it out to the vendor with a perfectly ordinary complaint:
"Too hot. Swap me a warm one."
The vendor's eyes flicked to the copper token in Qin Zhao's palm—GUI turned inward. The vendor asked nothing, only replaced the bowl with a warm one.
Qin Zhao returned to Xu Jinghong and said only four quiet words:
"Twenty-Six. Medicine-boat."
Xu Jinghong asked, "What's wrong with it?"
"New plaque. New nails. Grit behind it."
Chaosheng glanced at Qin Zhao. For the first time, there was no sneer in his voice—only a verdict.
"You've learned to use your eyes."
Xu Jinghong didn't praise him. She gave an order.
"Watch the medicine-boat. Don't show."
IV. Saving the Foreman: Break Procedure for Two Breaths
Xu Jinghong scanned the detained line once and fixed on a middle-aged porter—broad shoulders, rough hands, a steady squat.
Quietly: "That's the foreman."
Chaosheng asked, "How?"
Xu Jinghong gave actions, not speeches. "Cut the knot. Don't hurt anyone. You get two breaths."
She went to manufacture those two breaths herself.
She walked to the booth, offered a checkpoint slip, and set down broken silver—two mace, no more, no less.
As the clerk reached for the silver, Xu Jinghong tapped the table corner with her knuckle. The wooden ruler snapped off the edge—clack—and hit the ground.
The clerk bent by reflex to grab it.
First breath.
Xu Jinghong nudged the red-clay basin inward half an inch. Its rim scraped the table and a small lump of clay fell away. The clerk looked up and cursed at the basin's edge.
Second breath.
Chaosheng was already crouched beside the line. A blade flashed—at the rope, not flesh. The knot parted. The foreman's wrist went loose.
Chaosheng breathed one word: "Go."
The foreman didn't bolt. First he shoved the youngest porter outward.
"You first."
The boy was squeezed two steps by the crowd and vanished behind a mound of salt sacks.
Only then did the foreman rise, hoist a sack of salt, and become a "cleared porter," drifting with the flow.
As he passed Xu Jinghong, she lowered the brim of her hat by a fraction.
A signal: Follow me.
V. Withdrawal: Misalign the Plaques, Force the Ledger Out
The lead soldier finally noticed the gap.
"One porter's missing!"
He raised his hand. "Seal the dock mouth! Match the ledger! No boat moves!"
The barricade snapped shut. The dock became a lidded pot.
Xu Jinghong looked once at Qin Zhao. "Swap the plaques. Don't hesitate."
Qin Zhao said nothing. He slid between two boats, pried open the rope loops with his thin blade, swapped the medicine-boat plaque with the dried-salt-fish boat's plaque, and snapped them back in place.
The booth erupted instantly:
"Medicine-boat plaque doesn't match!""This salt-fish one doesn't match either!""Did the ledger get copied wrong?!"
The lead soldier's face hardened. He seized the book. "Bring it!"
He flipped too fast—faster, messier—until the ledger itself became confusion. The inspection rhythm broke; even the barricade mouth loosened a hair.
Xu Jinghong used that hairline seam to slide the foreman along the hulls. Chaosheng held the rear, ready to yank someone free.
Qin Zhao withdrew last. He didn't look back.
VI. Taking the Ledger: Xu Jinghong's Hand Is Cleaner
Xu Jinghong didn't let Qin Zhao risk the snatch. She went herself.
She pressed into the crowd and bumped the lead soldier's shoulder like a passerby shoved by traffic.
He snapped, "Blind?!"
Xu Jinghong dipped her head in apology. In that same motion, her fingertip hooked the binding cord and cut it. A corner of the ledger lifted.
The soldier's hand shot down to press it—
and in that single reflex, Xu Jinghong slid the ledger from under his arm, tucked it into the hidden layer of the medicine basket, and walked away.
Not fast enough to look like fleeing. Not slow enough to look like watching.
Chaosheng saw it and murmured, "Got it."
VII. Back to the Salt Depot: A Full Official Seal
They cut through side lanes into the inner route and returned to the salt depot.
Breathing hard, the foreman finally spoke. "My name is Qiu Qi. Foreman for Pier Twenty-Six."
Xu Jinghong didn't ask about his hardship. She asked for the key point first.
"Do you still have a roster ledger at home?"
Qiu Qi's face changed. "One's hidden under my stove. Crew names, shifts. If that gets seized—my whole crew is finished."
Chaosheng stated the price, flat and cold. "They'll raid for it. Now."
Xu Jinghong opened the seized book.
On the first page: EAST WHARF INSPECTION LEDGER.Below, in smaller print: Forwarded by the Suppression Office.
The thin old man rubbed the paper edge. "Official stock."
Xu Jinghong flipped to the last page. A small diagram was tucked there—three marked nodes: the salt depot, East Wharf, North Gate.
In the corner was a seal.
Not the notched stamp. Not a field mark.
A full official seal, complete and clean. Two characters:
SALT TAX.
Xu Jinghong closed the ledger, voice level but heavy.
"The receiving end isn't only at the side gate. Someone inside the Salt Tax Office can use this seal."
She looked at Qiu Qi. "We go to your house now. First we pull the roster ledger from under that stove."
Chaosheng added, colder still: "Tonight we may have to burn a gate."
Xu Jinghong nodded once. "I accept."
Chronicler's Note:Only when the chase shifts from who passed the message to who can stamp authority do you touch the real lever of power.
(End of Chapter.)