Xu Jinghong moved before night fully settled.
The reasons were plain:
The ledger taken at East Wharf proved the enemy could now raid nodes using official-office procedure.
If the roster ledger in Qiu Qi's house fell into their hands, it would become a living register—who, where they lived, when they worked, where they handed off—everything.
Chaosheng set the verdict in a single sentence: "If that roster gets copied, the porter crews scatter. If they scatter, East Wharf dies."
Xu Jinghong answered, "Then we take it back first."
Qin Zhao kept his mouth shut the whole way, only tightening the strap of the medicine basket.
I. The Posted Notice: They're Searching with the Full Seal Now
A fresh notice was pasted at a north-city road junction:
Suppression Searches. Night Inspections.Anyone concealing salt tickets will be charged alike.
In the corner was a full official seal: SALT TAX.
The thin old man needed only one glance. "They're not hiding anymore. With a seal like that, they can enter doors."
Xu Jinghong's question was precise. "What do they use to enter—just words, or documents?"
"Both," the old man said. "A notice slip and an authority token. The slip is paperwork; the token is command. With both, they can search."
Chaosheng gave the price-tag version: "Hard search. We have to be faster—by one quarter-hour."
Xu Jinghong nodded. "Take the road least like a road."
She led them through two households' rear courtyards—laundry lines, stacked firewood, pickled jars. The more ordinary it looked, the less anyone would recognize it as a route.
II. Qiu Qi's House: How to Lift the Brick Under the Stove
Qiu Qi lived in a narrow alley. Half an old Spring Festival couplet still clung to the doorframe, its ink worn away.
Inside, it smelled of firewood—and salt. The stove's corner stones had been polished bright by years of hands and knees.
Qiu Qi pointed beneath the stove. "That brick—there's a hollow under it."
Xu Jinghong didn't let him lift it. She checked the ash first: old ash, no fresh footprints. Then the door latch: no new gouges.
"Not searched yet," she said.
She slid a thin blade into the brick seam and levered gently. The brick loosened without a sound. Beneath it lay a thin layer of straw; beneath the straw, an oilcloth bundle.
She tucked the bundle into the basket's hidden layer. "Move."
Qiu Qi shook with panic. "My home—"
Xu Jinghong pressed his shoulder down. "Leave first. A home can be returned to. A person has to come back first."
III. They Arrive Fast: Not Sweeping the Street—Calling a Name
They were barely at the threshold when synchronized footsteps struck the alley mouth.
Three people. Even cadence. This wasn't a night patrol. This was an assignment.
A voice called from outside: "Is Qiu Qi here? The Salt Tax Office wants to question you."
Not Suppression. They invoked the Salt Tax Office directly. The meaning was unmistakable: they had the authority—and no fear of letting people know it.
Qiu Qi's face drained white. "How do they know me?"
Xu Jinghong answered without softness. "Because they didn't find you. They named you."
Chaosheng murmured, "So they've got a list."
The thin old man added, "That list could come from the East Wharf inspection ledger—or from the shadow of the route network."
Xu Jinghong didn't argue which was true. She chose exit. "Back yard."
IV. Getting Out: Over the Wall, Along the Ditch—Don't Step in Water
Behind the firewood stack in the back yard was a low wall. Beyond it, a vegetable plot—and beyond that, a shallow ditch.
Chaosheng went first, landing without a sound, reaching back for Qin Zhao.
When Qin Zhao swung over, his sleeve caught on a thorn. He swallowed the curse and landed quietly.
Qiu Qi climbed last. He was heavier. His landing made a dull thump.
Outside, footsteps sharpened instantly. "Back yard!"
Xu Jinghong dropped her voice to a blade. "Run along the ditch edge. Don't step in water. Water talks."
They ran tight to the bank. Wet mud muted their soles. Behind them came shouts, but the distance widened—just a little.
V. Hiding: The Roster Bears the Same Full Seal
They slipped into an abandoned woodshed. Once the door pulled shut, the room held only breath.
Xu Jinghong spread the oilcloth bundle open.
The first page of the roster ledger was the most lethal kind of paper:
porter crews grouped into teams
shift times
foreman names
handoff points (written in coded marks)
And in the top corner: a full official seal—SALT TAX.
The thin old man stared at it, voice lowered. "Not just anyone can stamp that. Whoever uses this seal holds a position inside the Salt Tax Office."
Chaosheng asked, "What's next?"
This time Xu Jinghong's answer was crisp—actionable, not poetic:
"Track the seal.""An official seal isn't used casually. Seal use gets logged.""We find the Seal Usage Ledger—who, when, and on what document."
Qin Zhao finally spoke, but only one sentence. "How do we get into the Salt Tax Office?"
Xu Jinghong looked at him. She didn't scold. She set terms.
"Force our way in, and people die.""First, hide this roster safely.""Then choose a door—and make them open it."
Chaosheng understood. "You're going to force them to stamp again?"
Xu Jinghong nodded. "Yes. Let the seal leave its own trace."
Chronicler's Note:The larger the seal, the heavier the procedure. The heavier the procedure, the more it can be used against itself.
(End of Chapter.)