The postmaster informed the group that Hongzhu Town did not impose a night curfew. On the western side of the town lay a bustling market district—modest in size but impressively complete, offering a wide array of goods and trinkets. Upon learning that Chen Ping'an and his companions were intending to purchase supplies for their scholarly travels, Postmaster Cheng Sheng volunteered to serve as their guide. He claimed his assistance would help them avoid unnecessary trouble—at the very least, merchants wouldn't dare to overcharge them. Chen Ping'an glanced at A-Liang, who had visited the town once before. The man in the bamboo hat nodded and remarked that he was only familiar with the riverbanks' scenery, not the marketplace.
Cheng Sheng exchanged a knowing smile with A-Liang, two old souls sharing a quiet understanding.
Every night, nearly a hundred pleasure boats would sail from Fushui Bay, entering the town via the river, making a circuit before returning. Along the way, men would board the boats to indulge in drink and laughter. In Hongzhu Town, the boatwomen of Fushui Bay and the courtesans of the brothels alike held the lowly status of state-registered entertainers under the imperial Dali administration. Yet the former were directly overseen by the capital's Entertainment Bureau; even the county magistrate lacked the authority to elevate their status. Hence, a persistent rumor lingered in town: that the founding ancestors of Fushui Bay's five prominent families were once imperial scions and meritorious nobles of the ancient Divine Water Dynasty.
Under Cheng Sheng's local guidance, the group headed west toward the marketplace. The deeper they ventured, the more vibrant and bustling the streets became. Learning that they could replenish supplies at towns along the two-hundred-li journey south by boat, Chen Ping'an abandoned the idea of stocking up heavily on rice and preserved meats. Instead, he purchased various medicinal salves and herbs from an apothecary—remedies for common ailments like chills, heatstroke, and bruises.
It was not until the moment of payment that Chen Ping'an realized silver ingots were rare in this small town. He converted two snowflake-patterned silver ingots into copper coins—standard Tianhua Yuanbao currency. Because the silver was of exceptional quality, the conversion yielded a generous premium of two hundred wen, leaving Chen Ping'an grateful to the kind girl at the forge who had given them to him.
With Cheng Sheng by their side, everything proceeded smoothly. In small county towns, minor officials like postmasters wielded considerable influence—especially someone like Cheng Sheng, who regularly dealt with gentry, merchants, and traveling dignitaries. In the eyes of the townsfolk, he was a man of far-reaching connections and quiet authority. At every shop they entered, proprietors greeted him with eager reverence, addressing him as "Master Cheng" as though he were a living deity.
Along the way, Li Huai was visibly nervous, clinging to A-Liang like a shadow. A-Liang teased him for being bold only when safe at home. Li Huai tried to shout back in mock anger, but the curious glances from passersby made him shrink behind A-Liang once more, drooping like a wilting plant. A-Liang couldn't stop laughing, occasionally giving the boy a playful smack on the head, leaving him fuming but powerless.
Lin Shouyi remained aloof and detached, unaffected by the surroundings—as if even walking the grand avenue of the capital wouldn't alter his calm demeanor. Only Li Baoping stood tall, shoulders squared, her emerald bamboo chest strapped to her back like a badge of pride. She scuttled sideways like a crab, head held high, itching to tell any passerby that her cherished book chest had been crafted by her little martial uncle himself.
The market district comprised two north-south avenues. After browsing Guanshan Street, they prepared to cross an alley to reach Guanshui Street. But as they passed a quiet, nearly empty bookstore, Cheng Sheng continued on, while Chen Ping'an stopped. After a quick word with the postmaster, he smiled at the three children.
"Each of you may pick a book. Price is no matter, as long as we can afford it."
The shop was narrow, barely two zhang wide. Inside, two towering walls of books lined either side. At the far end sat a young man in a black robe, legs crossed on a small bamboo chair. Eyes closed, he gently tapped his palm with a folded fan, humming a tune.
The young shopkeeper had a strikingly handsome, refined face—utterly free of the worldly air common to merchants. Zhu Lu stared in surprise, perhaps not expecting to encounter such an elegant figure in this town's common marketplace. Even when the Earth Deity of Qidun Mountain had shed his disguise and reclaimed his divine form, transforming into a graceful young noble, Zhu Lu still thought of him more as a slovenly old man. But this youth's presence was simply unforgettable. Even Zhu He was filled with suspicion—could he be the scion of a fallen aristocratic house? Compared to their own young masters, he lacked nothing.
Without opening his eyes, the shopkeeper spoke lazily:
"All books are non-negotiable in price. Whether you profit or suffer by your purchase depends entirely on your own discernment."
Cheng Sheng leaned in and whispered to Zhu He:
"This little shop is quite renowned in Hongzhu Town. Many scholars passing through make a point to visit. But the owner is famously eccentric—his books are priced far above market value, and if anyone dares haggle, he throws them out on the spot. There was once a high-ranking official from the Ministry of Revenue, traveling incognito, who took a liking to a rare tome marked at three hundred taels of silver. He tried to bargain it down by fifty taels—and was immediately evicted without a shred of courtesy. The man fumed all the way back to his inn, nearly petitioning the county to shut the place down. Perhaps he thought it would look petty, and so the matter was dropped."
Zhu He understood—clearly, this was one of those out-of-touch scholars, the type his second young master often ridiculed: gentlemen who speak of virtue when idle, only to die for the emperor when calamity strikes. His young master once joked that in less than two centuries, even Dali would be plagued by such types. Hence, Zhu He had little regard for wandering scholars.
This postal route through Hongzhu Town was one of three main roads connecting the southern frontier to the capital. Minor officials and merchants of modest fortune traveling north often chose this route, as the other two—though broader—were perpetually overcrowded. Without the proper credentials or military passes, travelers would not even be allowed through the gates of the relay stations, let alone lodge there. Every year, numerous oblivious nobles and bureaucrats suffered humiliation because of this. Southern scholars traveling to the capital for the imperial examination often chose this route as well—banding together in small groups for safety, companionship, and the chance to explore scenic and spiritual sites. Even demoted officials, filled with melancholy and disillusionment, often took this southern path, leaving verses of lament on the walls of inns and stations along the way. Over time, the walls of the Pillow Inn in Hongzhu Town became a gallery of poetic grumblings from countless wandering literati.
Li Baoping began her search, head lifted proudly as she wandered the shop. She peeked here and glanced there, following her whims. Occasionally, she pulled out a book, flipped through a few pages, then returned it without hesitation. In the end, she found a travelogue priced at three hundred wen. The cost made her wince, but she liked it too much to walk away. She looked up at her little martial uncle. Chen Ping'an nodded with a warm smile.
Lin Shouyi's gaze moved steadily across the shelves, methodical and deliberate, from right to left, top to bottom. Every time he chose a book, he began at the title page. At last, he selected an anonymous tome on geomancy, priced at four hundred wen. He turned to Chen Ping'an, who gave the same approving nod.
Li Huai, once inside, shed the restraint he'd shown on the street and returned to his mischievous self—like a wild colt loosed from its reins. The youngest and smallest of the group, he insisted on climbing onto A-Liang's shoulders...