The late spring streets of Jiangzhou were steeped in a soft breeze. Clumps of willow catkins swirled and drifted down, their white fluff brushing against the shoulders and collar of Yue Tingzhou's black Henglu Si uniform, settling in a thin layer that resembled unmelted snow from the eaves the night before. His fingertips rested on the cracked-ice glaze edge of a coarse clay teacup. Following his usual habit, he rotated it three times, his thumb pad rubbing against the rough granular texture of the clay particles before he slowly lifted his gaze. The spiritual sense he had just broken through to the third level of the Tongmai realm silently spread out like an invisible, fine net. In half a breath, it swept over the entire crowd of onlookers lining the street, accurately seizing three strands of spiritual energy fluctuations that did not belong to ordinary Jianghu folk. A spy from the Caohe League was mixed in beside the sugar-figure stall, the hem of his robe stained with half-dried tung oil, the fishy smell mingling with the cloying sweetness of maltose wafting out for half a *zhang*. An informant from a collateral branch of the Zhu family leaned against the stone lion across the street, a copper bell tassel exclusive to Zhu family escorts hanging from his waist, swaying in the wind with a faint, almost inaudible tinkling. And two more strands of unfamiliar spiritual energy, wrapped in a faint gray concealment charm, cold as short daggers quenched in black frost, were suppressing their auras, crouching behind the cloth banner of the fried oil cake stall, their breathing slowed to three times the normal rate. "According to the verification records of the Jiangzhou branch of the Henglu Si, the Wan Jing Escort Agency's eighteen northern-bound escort contracts in the past three months all lack corresponding travel permit filings." He deliberately raised his voice, the knuckles gripping the gilded copper Henglu token at his waist taut and pale. His tone was the cold, unyielding one honed by years of official duty, leaving no room for sentiment. The cool jasmine tea on his fingertips dripped down between his fingers, splashing on the bluestone paving and spreading into small, damp stains. "Although Yue has come on orders from my sect to discuss marriage, I disdain forming ties with bandits who smuggle contraband." The scorched sweetness of frying oil cakes mixed with the clear bitterness of jasmine tea wafted across the street. A willow catkin flew straight into Zhu Hanli's nasal cavity, tickling her nose so that it twitched almost imperceptibly. She turned her face slightly, covering her sleeve as she let out an extremely soft sneeze. Her fingertips pinched that warm, smooth Hetian jade betrothal token—carved by the most famous old jade artisan in Gusu, found by her father before his death. She had clutched it against her chest the whole way here, the jade surface still damp with the thin sweat from her palm. Her thumb unconsciously rubbed over the twin lotus pattern carved on it, while her other hand reached for the silver abacus hanging behind her waist. Her knuckles were steady and precise as she flicked three copper beads backward: *click, click, click*. Three sounds so light only Tongmai realm cultivators within three *zhang* could hear them. This was an old habit of hers when thinking, but now she deliberately made the movements slightly larger. To onlookers, it merely seemed like she had lost composure in anger. Only Yue Tingzhou knew this was the signal she was passing: the covert agents are in the southwest corner; proceed with the original plan. "Officer Yue's words are rather amusing." Her voice carried the soft, trailing cadence characteristic of the south, yet each word was enunciated with heavy force, her breath and spiritual energy pushing them out, loud enough for half the street to hear clearly. "Every single escort contract from our Wan Jing Escort Agency has been registered and stamped with the Caohe League. Your Henglu Si has been sitting on the travel permits for three months without issuing them, and now you come to turn the tables?" "Manager Zhu wants evidence? The Henglu Si's case files are all locked in the secure archive cabinets at the office. You are welcome to go and look through them yourself." Yue Tingzhou gave a cold laugh, his wide sleeve sweeping the coarse clay teacup from the table. The crisp sound of shattering startled the onlookers, making them instinctively step back half a pace. The cold tea splashed onto the surface of his black cloth boots, a cool, damp sensation seeping through the fabric and clinging to his ankles. "But this betrothal is annulled as of today." As soon as the words left his lips, Zhu Han The onlookers erupted instantly, their chatter boiling over like freshly scalded water. Some whistled and jeered, others huddled together in whispered exchanges. In less than the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, the news of "the Yue and Zhu alliance marriage talks collapsing, a public rupture" was being chewed over with fervor, carried by the wind down both ends of the street. Yue Tingzhu covered the side of his face that had been struck, his gaze as cold as frost. He gave a violent flick of his sleeve, turned, and strode towards the direction of the docks, deliberately making his steps heavy, stomping so hard that the broken poplar catkins in the cracks of the bluestone slabs flew into the air. He truly looked as if he was enraged and had lost his composure. Zhu Hanli also swiftly mounted the jujube-red horse tethered nearby. With a crack of her whip that split the air, she turned the horse's head and galloped off towards the opposite West Street. The horse's hooves clattered rhythmically on the bluestone pavement, and she disappeared from sight within moments. Yue Tingzhu had walked several dozen paces when the corner of his eye precisely caught two men in gray, short-sleeved work clothes. They deliberately lagged about thirty paces behind him, their footwork light and rootless—a sign of professionally trained field agents. The hem of one man's clothes was stained with a faint, almost invisible trace of specially prepared pine-soot ink, used exclusively by personnel of the Celestial Mandate Bureau's field operations. Without changing his expression, Yue Tingzhu turned into a nearby bluestone alley, making three consecutive turns. He secretly gathered his energy and quickened his pace. As the recently unblocked meridian-level spiritual power from his newly broken through Meridian Opening realm circulated halfway, his meridians, clogged for seven years, suddenly spasmed with a sharp pain—a sign of his old injury flaring up. He grunted, gritting his teeth to suppress the pain. Behind him, the footsteps also quickened in sync, maintaining that exact thirty-pace distance—not an inch more, not an inch less—like a clinging, festering sore. The pungent odor of tung oil assaulted Yue Tingzhu's throat first, making it feel parched. The wind whipped the blue cloth banner of "Chen's Tung Oil Depot" at the alley mouth, flapping so loudly it made his ears tingle. He deliberately swayed, feigning an old injury flare-up, leaning against the mottled wall to catch his breath for a moment. The rough grit of wall dust stuck between his fingers. Then he straightened up and walked directly into the depot. The rainwater pooled in the cracks of the bluestone slabs splashed up in fine droplets under his feet. The *da-da* rhythm of his footsteps precisely overlapped with the two sets of footsteps thirty paces behind him, as if striking the same drumbeat. The shopkeeper Chen, behind the counter, looked up and saw the black uniform of the Bureau of Discipline and Law. He hurriedly rose and bowed, the coarse soles of his cloth shoes scraping against the wooden floor with a faint *creak*. Yue Tingzhu reached out and knocked on the stacked tung oil barrels at his feet. The dull *thud-thud* made the poplar catkins settled on the barrel surfaces flutter up. He deliberately raised his voice, loud enough for half the alley to hear: "Where are the canal transport permits for this batch of tung oil? According to Bureau of Discipline and Law regulations, all unregistered contraband goods are to be confiscated." "Sir, it's a misunderstanding!" Shopkeeper Chen was so anxious that sweat trickled from his forehead down his temples, his voice trembling. "We just sent a copy to the Bureau of Discipline and Law the day before yesterday. Please check again when you return?" The two of them argued back and forth heatedly. Sure enough, the two gray-clad agents at the alley mouth, by the corner of the wall, halted their steps, craning their necks to peer into the depot. The hems of their gray cloth clothes brushed against the moss in the brick cracks, making a faint rustling sound. The scent of soapberries mixed with the unique pine-soot ink odor of the Celestial Mandate Bureau's field operations wafted on the wind into Yue Tingzhu's nostrils. They were completely unaware that the pomegranate-red hem of a martial arts skirt had already silently pressed against the alley wall behind them. Zhu Hanli's shoe soles were stained with mud splashes from the damp ground near the wall base, her steps as light as a cat treading on snow. The silver abacus clenched in her palm was cold and hard, digging painfully into her flesh. From the corner of his eye, Yue Tingzhu saw Zhu Han Zhu Hanli swiftly and accurately struck the pressure points on the two spies, rendering them unconscious. She then searched their bodies, taking their waist tokens and any remaining communication talismans, stuffing them into a hidden pouch. Looking up, she saw a fishing boat with its nets being hauled in drifting on the river in the distance. The salty, fishy smell of the catch drifted over with the river breeze, mixed with the pungent odor of dry tobacco. The two of them worked together to drag the unconscious spies to the stone steps by the river at the mouth of the alley. Taking advantage of the moment when the old fisherman lowered his head to gather his nets and the smell of his tobacco pipe wafted ashore, they tossed the men into the rear hold piled high with fish, covering them with half a tattered fishing net. From a distance, they looked like two idlers who had gotten drunk and passed out on the boat. Confirming there were no other traces of spiritual energy from watchers nearby, the two circled around to the abandoned warehouse behind the cargo depot. Pushing open the heavy cypress door, its hinges let out a long, drawn-out creak, like someone sighing under their breath. A damp, musty smell mixed with the scent of old paper and ink rushed at them. On the cover of the topmost stack of old account ledgers from the Wan Jing Escort Agency, a fresh greasy handprint was clearly imprinted, still smeared with a bit of unfinished tung oil, its sticky texture feeling almost palpable from three steps away. The damp mustiness, the odor of old ink, and the pungent smell of tung oil drilled straight into their nostrils. Zhu Hanli strode the three steps to the camphorwood ledger rack. The moment her fingertips touched the cover of the topmost ledger, the sticky tung oil stain smeared all over her fingers, a cool, clammy slickness that clung greasily between them. With a rustle, she flipped open the ledger's pages. As expected, three pages from the core escrow records for the third year of Jiatai were missing. The torn edges of the paper were still fresh and white, her fingertips brushing over them felt rough and scratchy—clearly torn off not long ago. She reached back and pulled out the silver abacus from her waist, her knuckles quickly flicking the beads backward—an old habit of hers when thinking. The copper beads clicked softly, unusually clear in the empty, dim warehouse. "Exactly three pages—the records for the three batches of 'Heaven's Mandate' escrows last autumn. Converted to silver, that's enough to cover the agency's half-year cash flow. Whoever did this was precise, tearing them out right at the escrow handover point." Yue Tingzhou's ears twitched slightly. The river wind carried in the distant clacking of the river patrol's wooden clappers—three slow, two fast, the exclusive patrol signal of Huo Qingya's team. He pressed his fingertips against the Heng Lü Si commander's token at his waist, circulating his spiritual energy to extend his detection range. But the moment his true energy reached the Jianjing acupoint at his shoulder, it jammed abruptly. A familiar, dull pain shot from meridians that had been blocked for seven years. Cold sweat trickled from the back of his neck down his spine, chilling his undershirt against his skin—the backlash from using his meridian-opening cultivation to deal with the tail earlier was already beginning. "Reinforcements will arrive in three quarters of an hour. Look for the stubs in the hidden files. Don't touch the surface accounts, to avoid leaving traces." They split up, crouching down to search through the old ledgers at the bottom of the rack. Dust accumulated on the ledgers fell in a shower, tickling Zhu Hanli's nose. She couldn't help but stifle a half-sneeze, afraid of alerting anyone outside. Yue Tingzhou's fingers brushed against an old ledger from the 23rd year of Jiaqing at the very bottom. Its cover was so brittle it crumbled at a touch, flaking off in yellow paper dust as soon as he opened it, leaving pale yellow stains on the cuffs of his black official uniform. When he reached the thirty-seventh page, his fingertip touched something stiff and flat tucked inside. He paused, then slowly pulled it out. It was three stubs made of mulberry bark paper, their corners pressed with dark golden cloud patterns. His fingertips felt a subtle, raised texture—the exclusive mark of the Heaven's Mandate Book's life-borrowing vouchers. The lower right corner of each stub bore the vermillion wax seal of the Wan Jing Escort Agency, still slightly sticky from years past. On the back was half of the Heng Lü Si secret vault's split seal, its serial number and the escrow sheet's hidden codes matching perfectly, without The two of them sat side by side on the cold, icy bluestone slabs. The dried tofu was saturated with a decades-old brine; biting into it released a scalding, fragrant heat that numbed the tongue. The sweet aroma of osmanthus wine slid down the throat, warming and swelling the stomach, temporarily suppressing the dull ache in the meridians. Yue Tingzhou pinched the half-piece of Frost Hawk token found on the scout between his fingertips. The cold, hard iron pattern pressed painfully into his flesh, the chill shooting from his knuckles up to his forearm, mingling with the dull pain in his meridians. He was just about to speak about the Heng Lü Si emergency code when his peripheral vision caught a sudden, violent flicker of fishing lights on the river's surface. A swift boat, flying a dark golden flag emblazoned with celestial script cloud patterns, cut through the river waves, heading at full speed toward the dock. Several figures in black robes stood at the prow, each with a Frost Hawk token identical to the one in his hand fastened at their waists. The black cloak of the leader was whipped up by the wind, revealing at his waist a half-piece of a gilded Frost Hawk medallion—a token only Huo Qingya himself was entitled to wear.