novelAbuy Chapter 302 The Killing Intent Under the Dusk: Northern Spies Are Being Eliminated One by One!
Chapter 302 The Killing Intent Under the Dusk: Northern Spies Are Being Eliminated One by One!
dusk.
As dusk settled over the eastern market of the imperial city of Liyang, a veil of twilight gently enveloped the rows of rooftops.
The streets were still bustling.
An old man selling candied hawthorns slowly pushed his creaking wooden cart through the crowd, the straw baskets adorned with bright red fruits that gleamed amber in the setting sun.
Boiling water bubbled in the iron pot at the wonton stall, and plumes of white steam rose up, carrying the fresh aroma of scallions and dried shrimp that wafted across half the street.
Several children ran past him carrying windmills, their giggles as clear and crisp as beads scattered on the ground.
The afterglow of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm orange-red hue.
Yuelai Teahouse is located at the deepest part of the East Market.
There were no customers in the teahouse at that time.
At this hour, those who genuinely enjoy tea have long since left, and those who want to indulge in pleasure wouldn't come to such an inconspicuous little shop.
But Old Zhang wasn't in a hurry. He had been running the shop for twelve years and was used to the quietness.
Or rather, he needs this quiet.
Dusk seeped in through the window, bathing the entire teahouse in a dim yellow hue.
The banner with the character "tea" on the wall has faded and the edges are frayed; it was hung up by him twelve years ago.
Back then, he was a strong young man with jet-black hair and a straight back, able to walk from the east side of the city to the west side in one breath without getting out of breath.
He is fifty-three now.
No matter how many white hairs I pluck, I can't get rid of them all. My back is starting to hunch, and my knees ache slightly on rainy days.
Old Wang, who sells sesame cakes next door, always says he looks like a sixty-year-old. He just smiles and says that running a teahouse is tiring.
Granny Wang believed it.
Everyone on the street believed it.
Old Zhang put the last teacup back on the shelf, straightened up, and gently patted his back.
His gaze inadvertently swept across the street corner, which was directly opposite the Yuelai Teahouse. From where he stood, he could clearly see everyone coming from the east.
For twelve years, he has never broken this habit.
The street corner was deserted at this moment, with only the twilight flowing along the bluestone pavement.
A wonton vendor was packing up his cart when several schoolchildren chased after him, their laughter echoing through the alley.
They were all familiar faces.
Old Zhang withdrew his gaze, took out a small notebook from under the counter, and opened it.
The notebook contained some numbers, which looked like a teahouse's daily log—on a certain day of a certain month of a certain year, ten catties of Longjing tea, five catties of flower tea, and three teacups were purchased.
On a certain day of a certain month of a certain year, the income was twelve taels of silver and the expenditure was eight taels.
The ledger was very ordinary, so ordinary that any shopkeeper would keep such accounts.
But only Old Zhang himself knew what was hidden in those numbers.
For example, "ten catties of Longjing" means receiving ten pieces of intelligence about the troop movements in the eastern border of Liyang, ten of which need to be immediately transmitted back to the northern border.
"Five catties of flower tea" is one of the five orders sent from the North.
"Three teacups" refers to three brothers who left for various reasons.
But not a single word was written on this page today.
Old Zhang's fingers gently stroked the blank page, his brows furrowing slightly.
It's been three days.
For three whole days, there was no news.
The last instruction was received three days ago.
"Quickly locate Liu Hongyan and confirm her detention location and current condition."
Liu Hongyan.
The envoy stationed in Liyang from the Northern Territory is one of the Crown Prince's most trusted advisors and his only superior contact on this front.
She was captured by the Li Yang court.
There was no warning, no reason, and no one even notified him.
He learned about this news from other sources.
A spy working for the Ministry of Justice in the northern border region got drunk and mumbled a few words during the rendezvous.
When he sobered up and pressed the man for an explanation, the man said he couldn't remember anything and only told him "not to do anything rash."
Do not act rashly.
Old Zhang closed the ledger and put it back in the hidden compartment under the counter.
His fingers touched the loose brick at the bottom of the hidden compartment. Underneath the brick was a packet of arsenic wrapped in oiled paper and a three-inch-long short blade.
That was the last path he left for himself.
Old Zhang got up, picked up a rag, and started wiping the table.
As you wipe each table, the rag swirls across the surface, and the water stains are gone, leaving not a speck of dust even in the crevices.
This is what he has done for most of his life, from the northern border to Liyang, from his youth to his old age, wiping tables and brewing tea for twelve years.
Twelve years.
Four thousand three hundred and eighty days.
Sometimes he thinks that his life will probably just pass by like this.
Old Zhang finished wiping the last table, straightened up, and rubbed his sore back.
The setting sun slanted in through the window, casting a patch of orange-red light on the table in front of him.
Tiny dust particles danced slowly within the light spots, like snowflakes falling in the North during winter.
He stared at the patch of light, suddenly feeling somewhat dazed.
After a while,
Old Zhang sighed, draped the rag over the back of the chair, and turned to go to the kitchen to boil water.
Another regular customer is coming tonight, surnamed Zhou, who works in the Ministry of War. Every time he comes, we drink until 9 PM and talk about matters of the court.
Of course, what was said without malice may have been taken to heart by the listener.
He would write down those words and tell the girl everything when she came next time.
"Bang, bang, bang."
knocking.
Old Zhang paused slightly in his steps.
Who would it be at this moment?
Old Zhang turned around and his gaze fell on the tightly closed door.
The knocking sounded three more times, unhurried and with a familiar rhythm: three knocks, a pause, then three more knocks.
His heart suddenly skipped a beat.
That's a code from the North.
Old Zhang strode to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
The setting sun surged in like a tide, its rays so intense that he squinted slightly.
He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light and squinted to look outside—then, he froze.
There was a person standing outside the door.
a woman.
She wore a lake-blue brocade long dress, a moon-white outer garment, and her long hair was styled into a simple bun, secured with only a silver hairpin.
Her face was very pale, unnaturally pale, not the delicate white of someone raised in seclusion, but rather the almost transparent pallor of someone recovering from a serious illness.
Her cheeks were slightly red and swollen, with faint traces of fingerprints visible. There was a scabbed wound at the corner of her mouth and a thin, dark red line on her chin.
But Old Zhang recognized her at a glance.
Liu Hongyan!
She's back!
Old Zhang's eyes flickered. He stepped aside, making room for half the doorway, and called out repeatedly, "Miss, are you here for tea? Please come in, please come in!"
Uncle Zhang.
Liu Hongyan spoke.
The sound was very soft and faint, like a fallen leaf drifting across the water, leaving almost no trace.
Old Zhang paused in his sentence.
He looked at her, into her eyes.
Every time the other person came, they were all smiling, their eyebrows and eyes curving into two crescent moons, filled with a clear, bright light that could only be found on the snowy plains of the North.
But at this moment, there was nothing in those eyes.
It was not sadness, not anger, not fear.
There is nothing there.
It was empty, like an old well that had been drained, leaving only a dark, bottomless abyss.
Old Zhang's heart suddenly sank.
"Young lady..." he began, his voice trembling slightly, a tremor he himself didn't even realize, "What's wrong?"
Liu Hongyan did not answer.
She just stood there, looking at Old Zhang.
Then, she turned slightly to the side.
Old Zhang's gaze followed her movement, looking behind her—
The alley was packed with people.
Imperial Guards.
At least thirty men, fully armed, with their swords drawn.
The setting sun shone on those blades, reflecting a blinding, cold white light.
They stood in two rows, stretching from the teahouse entrance all the way to the alleyway, completely blocking the narrow lane.
The leader was a young captain with a stern face. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and his gaze went over Liu Hongyan's shoulder and landed on Old Zhang.
Old Zhang's face turned deathly pale instantly.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something.
But it felt as if an invisible hand was tightly gripping his throat, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.
"Miss..." His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "This...this is..."
Liu Hongyan looked at him.
Her red lips parted slightly.
The sound was still very soft and faint, yet it was like a knife, splitting the twilight in two.
"take away."
In the alley, the Imperial Guards moved.
The rhythmic, muffled sound of armor clashing against metal echoed through the narrow alley, causing dust to fall from the walls.
Two imperial guards strode forward, one on the left and one on the right, and grabbed Old Zhang's arms.
The young general walked up to Old Zhang, stopped, took out a document stamped with a large vermilion seal from his pocket, and unfolded it.
"Zhang Degui, a spy from the northern border, has been infiltrating Liyang for twelve years. The evidence against him is conclusive. By His Majesty's decree, he shall be detained immediately."
Old Zhang's body stiffened suddenly, and he instinctively tried to struggle.
But those iron-like hands gripped him tightly, and he couldn't even move a finger.
He could only stare wide-eyed at Liu Hongyan.
"You've got it wrong!" His voice trembled with fear, sharp as an old cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"I'm innocent! You've got the wrong person!!"
Liu Hongyan did not speak.
She just stood there, watching as the two imperial guards dragged Old Zhang out of the doorway.
Then she turned around.
In the alley, the Imperial Guards had already put Old Zhang into a prison cart.
She stood there, looking at the prison van.
Watching it slowly drive out of the alley, turn onto the main street, and merge into the flow of people in the twilight.
Pedestrians on the street quickly made way for them, some whispering, some pointing, and some recognizing the person in the prison van as Old Zhang.
"Isn't that the owner of Yuelai Teahouse? What did he do wrong?"
"I don't know... everything was fine just now..."
"Sigh, who knows these days..."
Liu Hongyan withdrew her gaze.
She turned around and walked towards the alley entrance.
The moon-white skirt trailed along the bluestone pavement, making a soft rustling sound.
The setting sun sank behind her, casting her long, long shadow on the mottled walls on either side.
Like a shadow torn apart and never to be pieced back together.
.........
The Brocade Silk Shop in the south of the city is the largest cloth shop in the area.
The three storefronts were combined into one, creating a spacious and bright area, with shelves piled high with various kinds of silks.
Shu brocade, Yun brocade, Song brocade, Hangzhou gauze, Suzhou satin, and Huzhou crepe hung from the ceiling to the ground, in red, green, purple, and blue, like solidified rainbows.
The air was filled with the distinctive, faint, sour smell of dye and starched fabric, mixed with the fragrance of camphor wood chests; smelling it for a while could make one feel slightly dizzy.
It was already three-quarters past dusk, and the sky was darkening, with fewer and fewer pedestrians on the street.
The shop assistants at the silk store began tidying up the shop, refolding the fabrics that had been rummaged through by customers and putting them back in their original places.
Only one young man was still standing at the door, leaning against the door frame listlessly, staring blankly at the dwindling crowd on the street.
His name is Li Erniu, he is 23 years old, and he has been in Liyang for five years.
Five years, more than 1,800 days and nights.
He stands in this shop every day, from morning till night, from spring to winter.
He learned to distinguish the texture of silk, to tailor clothes, to bargain with customers in Liyang Mandarin, and even to curse those poor, stingy customers who only asked questions but didn't buy anything in Liyang dialect.
But he never learned to forget the North.
He remembered the winds of the North.
That wasn't the soft, fragrant breeze of Liyang; it was a knife-like wind that could cut right into your bones.
He remembered the snow in the North.
That wasn't the thin snow that melts as soon as it hits the ground like in Liyang; it was a blizzard that covered everything and could bury half a door.
He remembered the nights in the North.
It was pitch black, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, with only the occasional crackling of campfires from the distant military camp and the echoing howls of wolves further away.
He still remembers that older sister.
The older sister who picked him up from the snow.
He was eighteen years old that year. He fled from his hometown due to famine and traveled south. When he reached the northern border, he had not eaten for three days.
He collapsed by the roadside, covered with a thin layer of snow, thinking he was going to die.
Then he heard a sound, very light and crisp, like icicles breaking.
"Hey, are you still alive?"
He opened his eyes and saw a face.
She was very young and beautiful, with a heroic air unique to women from the North in her brows and eyes, but her eyes were smiling, curving into two crescent moons.
"Can you still walk?" she asked.
He opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.
She had already knelt down and brought a pot of water to his lips.
"Drink some water, drink slowly, don't choke."
That was the first time he met Liu Hongyan.
Later he learned that she was someone close to the Crown Prince, the youngest advisor in the Northern Territory, and someone many people could only look up to.
But in his eyes, she will always be the older sister who squatted in the snow and handed him a water bottle.
She asked him if he was willing to go to Liyang, and he said he was.
She asked him if he was afraid, and he said he wasn't.
She asked him what his wish was, and he said he wanted to live.
She smiled, patted his shoulder, and said, "Don't be afraid, your big sister is here."
My older sister is here.
He remembered those words for five years.
Li Erniu leaned against the door frame, watching the gradually thinning crowd on the street, wondering when his sister would arrive.
There has been no news of my sister for the past few days. His Highness the Crown Prince has also sent word, asking him to inquire about my sister's whereabouts and find out why the Li Yang Dynasty kidnapped her.
He kept asking around, but he couldn't find out anything. The government was too tight-lipped, and he couldn't get any information out of them. He was extremely anxious.
"Erniu! What are you daydreaming about! Bring the cloth inside the door, it's going to rain!"
The shopkeeper's voice came from inside the shop, tinged with impatience.
Li Erniu snapped out of his daze, responded, and turned to move the cloth at the door.
Just then, he saw her.