21: Chapter 21: Various Forces, Undercurrents Flow

The streets of the South Market were narrower than the main thoroughfares of the capital, yet far more crowded.

Stalls stood shoulder to shoulder, and the cries of vendors rose and fell in a chorus. The candy seller beat a gong, the cloth merchant shouted at the top of his lungs, and an old man crouched in the corner at a fortune-telling stall, muttering incantations, claiming he could divine marriages and predict futures for ten wen per reading.

As the five of them, led by Chen Xuan, turned into the entrance of the South Market, they were immediately engulfed by the bustling energy.

Zhao Hongling spotted a stall selling rouge and powder ahead and her eyes lit up immediately; she lifted her feet, ready to dash over.

Leng Shuang reached out to block her, saying in a low voice, "Don't run around."

"I'm just looking!" Zhao Hongling shook off her hand. "Do you take me for a three-year-old who can't walk past a stall without stopping?"

"You are one," Chen Xuan chimed in from the side, grinning. "Just a three-year-old who knows how to curse."

Zhao Hongling glared at him and made a move to kick, but Chen Xuan had already dodged behind Liu Ruyan.

Blocked by him, Liu Ruyan nearly collided with a nearby bamboo-ware vendor. She hurriedly steadied herself, the tips of her ears turning slightly red.

"Stop messing around," she whispered. "We're here to gather information."

"Right, right, right." Chen Xuan nodded, straightening his expression. "Business first."

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the tattered signs advertising old books for wine and ancient Incomplete Manuals, before finally settling on an inconspicuous stall at the street corner.

The stall didn't even have a proper shed, just a piece of faded blue cloth for shade. Beneath it lay a few stacks of yellowing thread-bound books, and an old man sat on a small stool, squinting as he flipped through a tattered volume, a dry tobacco pipe clutched in his hand.

"That's it," Liu Ruyan suddenly said softly. "That's the 'Book-Trading Old Man,' the oldest information broker in the South Market. If you want to buy news, you have to trade something for it—a book, a piece of jade, or even a single truth will do."

"Sounds like a black-market pawnshop," Zhao Hongling frowned. "How can we trust him?"

"It's safer because we can't trust him," Dugu Xue said indifferently. "The more hidden a place is, the more likely people are to bring out the real goods."

Chen Xuan smiled and fished a thin booklet from his robe. It was the Jiangnan Gazetteer he had copied last night. The handwriting was sloppy, the paper rough; it looked just like a travelogue written by a penniless scholar.

He walked up and placed the booklet on the stall. "Old man, I want to trade for something interesting to hear."

The old man didn't even lift his eyelids. He took a slow puff of his pipe, exhaled a ring of gray smoke, and only then reached out to pick up the booklet. He flipped through two pages and snorted, "The characters are as crooked as earthworms crawling, and the content is crude. It's only worth a bit of gossip."

"That's enough." Chen Xuan wasn't annoyed. "I want to know who in the city can't be provoked recently, and which places shouldn't be visited."

The old man looked up at him, his cloudy eyes rolling, then lowered his head to continue flipping through the book. "Outsiders?"

"Just arrived," Chen Xuan nodded. "Looking for a backer, a way in. I hear there are many powerful figures in the capital and no shortage of Jianghu experts, so I want to figure out the ropes first, so I don't step into a mud pit."

The old man was silent for a moment, then closed the booklet and gently pushed it back to him. "You shouldn't ask me that. You should stand in front of the Ministry of War for three days and see whose sedan chairs come and go the most; or go to the West Market gambling dens and listen to whose name is mentioned in the quietest whispers."

Chen Xuan didn't move, just smiled. "But right now, I just want to hear the truth from you: who is really in charge in this city?"

The old man stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "Young man, smart people shouldn't ask such questions, but since you asked... In the imperial court, there are those in purple robes; in the Jianghu, there are those wearing black scarves. One controls the seal, the other controls the blade. If you want to live long, don't offend both of them at the same time."

Having said that, he ignored him and lowered his head to continue smoking.

Chen Xuan took the booklet and stepped back, his brows slightly furrowed. Leng Shuang asked in a low voice, "Did you understand?"

"Half of it." He tucked the booklet back into his robe. "The purple robes are officials, the black scarves are Jianghu factions. It seems that in this city, while it's governed by the imperial court on the surface, there's another set of rules operating in the shadows."

"That's troublesome," Zhao Hongling pursed her lips. "We're neither officials nor bandits, won't we be the unluckiest ones caught in the middle?"

"That's why we need to pick a side," Chen Xuan rubbed his chin. "Or, we don't pick a side at all and carve out our own path."

After he finished speaking, he suddenly lowered his voice. "I deliberately let it slip that I was looking for a backer just now. Did you notice the surroundings? There are a few guys whose ears are perked up higher than a rabbit's."

Dugu Xue's eyes narrowed. "The third stall to the east, selling spices, has been stealing glances at us. And in the building opposite, the second-floor window is half-open, and a shadow flickered behind the curtain."

"We're being watched," Chen Xuan laughed aloud. "That means this fish of ours has some weight."

"What now?" Liu Ruyan asked.

"Keep fishing." He winked. "Let's go, time for tea."

Not far away was a teahouse called "Listening Wind Pavilion," a two-story wooden building with strings of copper bells hanging under the eaves that chimed whenever the wind blew.

The five of them went upstairs and chose a table by the window.

The waiter brought five bowls of coarse tea, and Chen Xuan casually tossed a copper coin to him. "I hear your storyteller is quite good."

"That's for sure!" The waiter puffed out his chest. "Old Man Zhang tells the story of the previous dynasty's crown prince fighting for the throne; even the eunuchs from the palace sneak in to listen!"

As he was speaking, the sound of galloping horses approached from the distance. A few fast horses sped past, startling pedestrians into scattering. The riders were dressed in black, with long blades at their waists and black scarves covering their faces, revealing only a pair of sharp eyes. They didn't stop, heading straight for the west of the city.

"Who are they?" Zhao Hongling couldn't help but ask.

The waiter immediately lowered his voice. "Shh! Don't ask. Those are people from the Night Crow Guard, known in the Jianghu as the Black Scarf Order. You can't afford to offend them."

"Black Scarf Order?" Chen Xuan feigned curiosity. "Doesn't sound like an official government title."

"Of course not!" The waiter shook his head. "The government wouldn't dare let them run rampant in the city. These people are elusive and specialize in shady business. Two days ago, an accountant died in the West Alley. There were no wounds on his body, but his face was blue; he was most likely poisoned, and it's said to be related to them."

Having said this, he quickly shut his mouth, picked up the tray, and scurried downstairs.

The table fell silent. Leng Shuang tapped her fingers lightly on the tabletop. "It seems that old man wasn't wrong. Jianghu factions are already able to run rampant in the capital."

"And they aren't afraid of exposure," Dugu Xue gazed out the window. "Daring to ride through the streets like that means someone is backing them."

"Who?" Zhao Hongling asked.

"Who else could it be?" Chen Xuan sneered. "The ones in purple robes, of course."

Before he could finish, a wooden block clapped downstairs at the storyteller's stage: "Clack!" An old man with white hair walked onto the stage leaning on a cane, coughed twice, and began:

"It is said that back in the day, when the Great Zhou was newly established and the Empress ascended the throne, the world was shaken. Loyal officials urged her to name an heir, but the Empress replied: 'I have yet to choose a husband, how can I speak of an heir?' Thus, she issued an imperial decree to hold the Husband Selection Ceremony, gathering talents from all over the world..."

Zhao Hongling perked up the moment she heard this and leaned toward Chen Xuan. "Hey, isn't this talking about what's happening now?"

"It's just using the past to satirize the present," Chen Xuan picked up his tea bowl and blew on it. "If he really dared to put the current Empress's affairs on stage, this old man would have been dragged off for a 'chat' long ago."

The old man on stage continued: "...However, before the ceremony has even begun, all factions are already restless. Civil officials recommend their students, military generals endorse their kin, and Jianghu heroes want to use the opportunity to make a name for themselves. There are even exotic masters from overseas who have traveled thousands of miles, all for a chance at destiny."

"Destiny?" Leng Shuang sneered. "I fear it's a death sentence."

"Indeed." Chen Xuan took a sip of tea. "A ceremony like this, on the surface, is for choosing a husband, but in reality, it's a reshuffling of power. Whoever truly marries the Empress won't just be a consort; they'll be the regent."

"Then, are you interested?" Liu Ruyan suddenly looked up at him, her eyes probing.

Chen Xuan grinned. "What do you think? If I were interested, I should be practicing swordplay, finding a master, and building connections right now. But do I look like that kind of diligent person to you?"

"No," Zhao Hongling answered quickly. "You even drag your feet for half an hour just to get up in the morning."

"That's why I only use my brain." He rubbed his chin. "Others compete with strength; I compete with timing. By the time they've beaten each other to a pulp, I'll stroll out, and maybe I can even pick up a ready-made reputation."

Dugu Xue looked at him and suddenly said, "You're wrong."

"Hmm?"

"A ceremony like this has never been about honest people picking up bargains." Her voice was calm. "To show your head is to become a target. If you don't compete, others will drag you in anyway. Because not taking a side is, in itself, a stance."

Chen Xuan was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "That's true."

He set down the tea bowl, his gaze passing through the lattice window to look at the towering silhouette of the Imperial City in the distance. The sunlight hit the glazed tiles, reflecting a blinding light.

"So..." he said softly, "rather than being pushed around, it's better to take a step myself. The Husband Selection Ceremony—I need to think carefully about how to make myself important without risking my life."

The four women at the table said nothing. Zhao Hongling unconsciously traced the rim of her teacup with her fingertips, Leng Shuang stood with her arms crossed, looking toward the center of the street, Dugu Xue's hand was quietly resting on her sword hilt, and Liu Ruyan kept her head down, as if pondering something.

Outside the teahouse, the copper bells chimed softly in the wind. An inconspicuous blue-canopied carriage slowly drove past the street corner. The curtain lifted slightly, a gaze swept across the second-floor window, and then it fell.

Chen Xuan sat motionless, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. He knew that someone had started to take notice of them. And he, at last, saw clearly the true colors of this city.