By the time the coffin lid in the paper-effigy shop closed, daylight had only just taken hold.
Xu Jinghong returned the genuine notice slip to the hidden compartment exactly as before. She carried away only two things:
a copy of one line from the Seal Use Ledger, and
a seal-trace so faint it was almost nothing—the ghost-outline of an official imprint.
Chao Sheng asked her, "Do we seize him now?"
Xu shook her head. Her answer was blunt. "No. We shadow."
"Grab the one who stamped the seal and you at most cut off a single hand.""Shadow the countersigner and you might learn whose hand stands behind the seal."
The old man recited the line again, as if chanting an account book:
Notice: No. 17
Time: early Mao hour (near dawn)
Seal used: Deputy Salt Tax Seal
Countersigner:Shen Weijun
"Remember that name," the old man said. "A desk-clerk in the outer hall can copy notices. A countersigner carries liability. And the one who carries liability is the one who goes to see the people he must see."
Qin Zhao stood at the street corner without speaking. He rolled the Gui copper coin half a turn in his palm—the character still facing inward. He'd made his mistake last night, so today he was more like a wooden stake driven into the ground: watch, don't move.
Xu glanced at him. "You watch for the tail. And remember—what you're watching is behind us, not inside your own head."
Qin Zhao lowered his voice. "Understood."
I. Which Door: Where the Countersigner Comes Out
The main entrance of the Salt Tax Office's outer hall was loud and crowded.The people who actually "got things done" often used the side gate—back to the street, close to the inspection booths, close to the Suppression Office as well.
Xu didn't go near. She chose a soy-milk stall across the street, sat with a bowl of warm soy milk and a strip of fried dough—like a woman waiting for someone to start work.
Chao Sheng stayed farther off, leaning into the shadow of a bridge pillar, only half his face visible.
The old man wasn't on this line. He'd gone back to the salt warehouse to steady their "door," so no one could pry it open in the chaos.
At the start of the morning watch, the side gate opened a crack.
Two junior clerks came out first, each hugging a tube of notices.Then a man in a dark blue long gown stepped through—clean cuffs, a small tag hanging at his waist. The tag wasn't shiny, but its edges were worn round: used often.
Xu matched the name to her copied line.
Shen Weijun.
Chao Sheng didn't speak. He tapped two fingers against his thigh.
—Out.
II. The Teeth of Procedure: He Takes the "Controllable Road"
Shen Weijun didn't head for East Wharf. He didn't head for North Gate.He turned into a narrow alley.
At the alley mouth stood a small booth with a hanging board:
"Notice slips in/out — registration required."
A yamen runner sat inside with a thick brush and an open ledger. Anyone entering either showed an authority token or left a name.
Shen lifted his waist tag. The runner stood at once, stepped aside, and—almost casually—made a stroke in the ledger.
From far off, Qin Zhao saw that single stroke. His throat bobbed once.Now he understood: this city was made of ledgers. One step, one line of ink.
Xu didn't chase the ledger with her eyes. She noted only one thing:
Shen Weijun's route was a registered route.And registered routes led to larger places.
III. First Contact: Not a Government Office, but a Teahouse Back Room
Shen passed through the alley and entered a teahouse.
Its signboard was old: Qinghe—"Clear Harmony." Three large tea jars sat at the door. Prices were pasted beside them:
Hot tea: 1 coinStrong tea: 2 coinsGinger added: 3 coins
He didn't sit in the front hall. He went straight inside.The proprietor didn't ask a question—just lifted a curtain and let him into the back room.
Chao Sheng edged closer under cover of buying tea, bringing his ear to the curtain seam.
Someone inside spoke first—quiet, but hard.
"Notice Seventeen corrected?"
Shen replied, "Corrected. Both East Wharf and North Gate have tightened procedures."
The voice asked again. "Where did the counterfeit notice come from?"
Shen paused for one breath. "Looks like someone fed it to the booth on purpose. Not written by Salt Tax Office hands."
A cold chuckle. "Someone wanted to use 'exempt from inspection' as a blade—to test our seal-mouth."
At the words seal-mouth, Xu didn't move her eyes, but something in her sank a fraction.That wasn't ordinary Suppression Office talk. That was the voice of someone who understood bureaucracy.
IV. Second Contact: A Suppression Office Token Shows Itself
Through the curtain slit, Chao Sheng saw the other man set down an object—a black wooden token, a hole punched at the corner, a red cord threaded through.
It flashed once. Two carved characters:
SUPPRESSION.
Chao Sheng retreated to the front hall, tea bowl in hand, as if he'd seen nothing at all. He came up beside Xu and gave four words only:
"Suppression token."
Xu nodded. "Salt Tax countersigner meets Suppression people. The line is connected."
Qin Zhao whispered, "Should we—now—"
Xu cut him off, still speaking in verbs. "No. Shadow what comes next."
"Grab him and the teahouse turns into an iron barrel.""We watch where he carries the line."
V. They Aren't Talking About Arrests—They're Talking About "Sealing Doors"
The voices continued.
The Suppression man asked, "Is the Salt Tax Office issuing a general notice today?"
Shen answered, "The inner office is drafting it. To press down last night's counterfeit, we need a bigger one."
"Make it big," the other voice said. "Write seal."
"Seal the wharf, seal the gates, seal the water mouths. Seal one place and one road dies."
Shen's voice dropped. "Seal as far as where?"
Three words, clean and final:
"North Water Gate."
At North Water Gate, Qin Zhao's knuckles went white.It was one of their network's "doors"—not the largest, but the one they used most often.
Shen asked, "When will the seal be affixed?"
"Before noon," the Suppression man replied. "Once noon passes, the notice hits the booths—and the booths detain by procedure. Detain until you decide the road isn't worth anything."
Xu set her tea bowl down. The base touched wood with a small, dry sound.
She said one clear sentence. "We have half a day."
Chao Sheng asked about the price. "Do we save the North Water Gate door—or do we keep shadowing Shen Weijun's hand?"
Xu watched the teahouse doorway, as if flipping maps in her mind. "Both. But the order changes."
She gave Qin Zhao an assignment. "You go to North Water Gate. Watch how they lay the booths—watch only, don't touch."
"See whether they seal the mouth first or set booths first.See what notice they use, what authority tokens they show."
Qin Zhao swallowed. "I can—"
Xu didn't give him can. She gave him rules.
"You come back with three things:what the placard says, how they detain people, and who's giving orders."
Qin Zhao nodded and left at once.
Xu turned to Chao Sheng. "You shadow Shen Weijun when he leaves. See where he goes to have the seal affixed."
Chao Sheng asked, "And you?"
Xu lifted her eyes. "I find a door into the inner office of the Salt Tax Office."
"The outer hall is accounts. The inner office is the seal."
VI. Hook at the End: Shen Weijun Leaves with a "Name"
Before the shadow of noon reached them, the curtain stirred.
Shen Weijun stepped out of the back room with something new at his cuff: a narrow wooden tube.Not large—yet bound tight. Inside was either notices or a list.
When he exited the teahouse, he didn't return to the Salt Tax Office. He headed west.
In the west of the city was the best place to "drop a seal" onto an order: the military supply transfer office. Once the seal fell there, notice slips could be dispatched straight to every booth and gate.
Chao Sheng followed at a distance, neither fast nor slow.
Xu stayed where she was, as if reordering three things in her mind—doors, roads, rosters.
She spoke softly. "That tube in his sleeve is more lethal than the seal."
Chao Sheng asked, "Why?"
Xu answered without ornament. "A seal is only an order."
"In that tube may be the names to be detained."
She turned and walked toward the Salt Tax Office.
Historian's Note: In Huai'an, the Salt Tax Office pulled on canal transport, military pay, and human lives. A single official "seal-off" notice might never appear in the grand lines of history, yet it could snap a grain artery, scatter a unit—and rob a dynasty of breath on a larger battlefield.
(End of Chapter)