Kidnapping the entire Journey to the West, starting by turning Sun Wukong against his own side.

Chapter 193 The First Light of the Navigation Channel

The next morning, before the sea fog had completely dissipated, the sound of chiseling stones could be heard on the beach.

Last night's fire was devastating; the wooden plaques, shell seals, and supplementary identification tags on the old Tide Tower were all reduced to ashes. The stone platform at the base of the tower, however, remained stable; despite the seawater pounding all night, it only managed to leave a damp sheen on the edges.

The white dragon horse stepped on the stone platform, circled around, and stomped its feet twice.

"This place is usable."

Chen Fan sat on a broken stump, flipping through an old notebook he had copied the night before. The notebook was missing many pages, the edges were brittle, and it crumbled when he turned the pages quickly. He didn't even look up.

"If it can be used, don't take it apart."

The white dragon horse grunted and pointed, "Pry off that rotten piece of wood on top. Leave the stone base. Add two more rings outwards, making it higher."

Jiang Chao and a dozen or so young men had been waiting for a while. As soon as they heard the order, they immediately grabbed crowbars and ropes and went forward. The wooden windows of the old tower were removed first; the nails were rusted red and creaked as they were pulled out. Several children squatted behind watching, picked up half a bag of long nails, and compared them to swords.

Wukong leaned against a rock, basking in the sun. He glanced at it and clicked his tongue, saying, "You're not repairing a tower; you're just teaching them a lesson."

The white dragon horse didn't turn around; it already had a piece of white stone that looked like chalk in its hand, and it drew a circle on the stone ground.

"If you don't have a good memory, the road will be blocked."

He spoke calmly, but his hands never stopped. He added three more lines to the circle: one pointing out to the sea, one to the south, and one diagonally to the northwest.

Si Mo stood to one side and watched for a while, then suddenly asked, "Is this a waterway?"

"The old shipping routes," said the white dragon horse. "Most of the small boats that the Dragon Palace used to protect used these routes. The Nameless Island is stuck in the middle, not exactly the main port. Tax collectors love to profit from both ends of the route here."

Chen Fan then closed the book, got up, and walked over.

"From today onwards, it's the real deal."

Upon hearing this, Jiang Chao paused in his hammering and turned to look at him: "Really changing it?"

"Change it," Chen Fan said. "The names you called out yesterday, don't wait for me to write them down for you."

Old woman Kuchun was carrying a basket of broken stones when she heard this. She snorted and said, "It should have been changed long ago. What's this talk about losing one's reputation? If you live long enough, you'll start to have bad luck on your lips."

Several women laughed along, and after laughing, they started moving stones again. There's no shortage of stones by the sea, but what's lacking are people willing to put in the effort. Now everyone on the island seems to be holding their breath, some carrying stones, some mixing mortar, and even the two families who were hiding in their houses last night have brought their old timber beams.

The place chosen by the white dragon horse faces the southeast tide estuary.

As the sun rose in the morning, the fog slowly thinned, revealing the waterline in the distance. The sea looked like a piece of iron that had been polished smooth by a knife. Two small fishing boats cautiously approached from the outside, but the people on board didn't dare to go ashore. They just watched from a distance, as if observing a spectacle.

Wukong waved to them: "What are you looking at? Come over and lend a hand."

The two boats immediately turned around and sped away even faster than they had come.

Laughter filled the beach.

Chen Fan laughed, then handed the old ledger to Si Mo: "List all the recognizable numbers separately. Record which boat, which salt, and which company owes arrears. Don't chase after old debts, but make sure the names are organized."

Si Mo took the book and carried it to a shady spot to sit down. She wrote quickly, her wrists slender, yet her pen strokes were steady. Three or four women surrounded her, each quietly announcing their names. Some women would pause mid-announcing their names, first stating their husband's surname, then their birth order, and when it came to themselves, they would fall silent for a long time.

Si Mo looked up at her: "What's your real name?"

The woman clutched the hem of her dress, her face flushed from the sun: "My father died a long time ago. When I was little, I was called Ah Qi. After I married into this family, no one called me that anymore."

Si Mo nodded and wrote two words in the book: "Jiang Qiniang".

The woman stared at the paper for a long time, unsure of what to do with her hands, and finally just gave a soft reply.

The sound wasn't loud, but the people around it all fell silent.

Chen Fan was standing not far away. He heard it, but didn't say anything.

Some things, no one can do for you. You have to recognize your own name to truly understand it.

By midday, the base of the tower had risen half a zhang (approximately 3.3 meters). The old stones were pieced together with new ones, their colors varying in shade, making it look somewhat irregular, but it was much sturdier than the previous empty shell of a tower. The White Dragon Horse personally fixed the top ring of grooves and then had a copper basin brought over.

The copper basin was not large, with old dragon patterns on the rim and a layer of green grime pressing on the bottom.

Jiang Chao stared in disbelief: "This is something from the Dragon Palace?"

The white dragon horse wiped the dust off the rim of the basin: "It was dug out of an abandoned warehouse. It used to hold lamp oil."

"kerosene?"

"If sea lanterns don't use lamp oil, are they for cooking porridge?"

Jiang Chao blushed and quickly reached out to take it.

The white dragon horse placed the bronze basin on top of the tower, then took out a slender, green scale from its sleeve. The scale fell into the basin, and with a gentle tremor, a pale white flame immediately floated to the surface. The flame was thin and low, unshaken by the wind or the sun, like a suspended drop of tide.

The beach fell silent.

Even the stone carriers stopped.

Ku Chun squinted at it for a while, then suddenly nudged the child next to him with his elbow: "See that? That's what a proper lamp looks like. If you dare say there are will-o'-the-wisps in the sea again tonight, I'll whip you with my shoe."

The child shrank his neck, but his eyes were very bright, as if he wished it would get dark immediately.

Wukong squatted down beside the tower and reached out to poke at the ball of fire. The White Dragon Horse slapped him away.

"Don't touch it. You're too impulsive."

Wukong rolled over and sat directly on the eaves of the tower: "Stingy."

The white dragon horse ignored him and turned to look at Chen Fan: "The lamp is set up, and its name should be decided now."

Chen Fan glanced around.

The people on the beach were all watching him. Some had salt stains on their faces, some had wet trousers, and even the old tax collectors who had hidden in the tower last night were now huddled behind the crowd, not daring to look up.

He stepped onto the newly erected wooden plank.

The wooden plank was freshly planed, still smelling strongly of wood. Si Mo handed him a pen, the tip fully dipped in ink. Chen Fan didn't think for long, picking up the pen and writing three characters.

Huichao Port.

"From today onwards," he put down his pen, "the words 'Unnamed Island' will no longer be used. From now on, when ships enter this waterway, report back to Chaogang. When people set foot on this land, write their own names. Anyone who tries to fool others with empty names can go back to the ashes and dig them out."

Jiang Chao was the first to respond: "I'll remember."

As soon as he shouted, a whole bunch of people followed.

The voices weren't in unison; it was a chaotic mess. It's doubtful many people were actually listening. Chen Fan, however, thought it sounded more authentic this way. Only when everyone spoke in unison would it resemble a theatrical performance.

The wind picked up in the afternoon.

The sea lantern burned steadily atop the tower, its white flames reflected in the copper basin, resembling a small star nailed to the tidal bore from afar. The people from the other side of the white cliff arrived at that moment.

There were six people. Two old sailors, three younger ones, and a tall, thin accountant carrying a black wooden box. The leader, surnamed He, had a dark face and an old scar on the corner of his mouth. As soon as he landed, he bowed to the white dragon horse.

"He Qi of Baiya is in charge of the permanent garrison."

The white dragon horse nodded: "From now on, you'll be in charge of watching this light. Three shifts, all night long. If there's a strong wind or heavy fog, turn on the second light. Record any nearby ship numbers you recognize in the escort log."

He Qi readily agreed and immediately led his men to check the tower, the ropes, the basins, and even measured the surrounding tide lines. His earnestness made Jiang Chao and the others stop laughing.

Chen Fan saw this and knew that the matter was only truly settled now.

Simply hanging a sign is useless. There needs to be someone to guard it, accounts to keep track of, and ships to acknowledge it before returning to Chaozhou Port becomes just empty talk.

As evening approached, the first legitimate cargo ship docked.

The boat wasn't big, with the words "Qingwei" painted on its bow. It was loaded with salted fish, dried seaweed, and two baskets of freshly dried shrimp. The boat owner, a man in his forties, was missing half of his left ear. As soon as he stepped onto the wooden plank, he glanced three times toward the sea lanterns.

"Are you really going to light it?"

"I ordered it." Jiang Chao grinned. "If you don't believe me, stay here tonight and see."

The boat owner clicked his tongue, his tense expression finally easing a bit. He pulled a roll of oilcloth from his pocket, unfolded it layer by layer, revealing a rough list of goods inside. The writing was messy, the ink smudged, and the name field was completely blank.

Si Mo spread out the new book and placed it on the makeshift wooden table.

"The old form is no longer needed. Fill it out again."

The boat owner scratched his head: "Do I need to write my name on it?"

"I need the real names," Si Mo said. "The ship's number, the quantity of cargo, the port of departure, and the escort fee. Write everything down clearly."

The man hesitated for a moment, then turned to look at Chen Fan. Chen Fan was squatting to the side, poking at the charcoal in the brazier with a twig, as if he hadn't even noticed them.

He stood there for a while, but finally went over and took the pen.

"The Green Tail, Zhao Liu'er."

He wrote slowly as the pen touched the paper. The three characters were crooked and uneven, with the last stroke trembling slightly. After finishing, he didn't let go immediately, staring at the name for a long time as if he didn't recognize it.

Si Mo completed the count of the goods, took out the newly carved small wooden seal, and pressed it onto the corner.

They returned to the port and escorted the ships into their tents.

The white dragon horse walked over and turned the page of the book to show Chen Fan: "The first one."

Chen Fan glanced at it, then looked out to sea.

As dusk fell, the light at the mouth of the tide shone even brighter. Two more ship lights slowly approached, circling at a distance before finally turning towards the waterway beneath the light.

He reached out and tapped the edge of the ledger page.

"Keep it safe."

Si Mo closed the book and put it into the wooden box. He Qi had already led his men up the tower to check the second batch of lamp wicks. Jiang Chao squatted on the shore unloading cargo from the Qingwei ship, still teaching the children to read.

"Return to Chaozhou Port"

The children followed along, reciting in a drawn-out, exaggerated way. When they got to the word "Hong Kong," the youngest one lost his balance and fell flat on his backside into the sand, chipping a corner off the small wooden sign he was holding.

He paused for a moment, then quickly got up, first patting the wooden sign, then his pants, all the while continuing to chant.

"Return to Tide Port".

Chapter 671, sequel, letter.

As soon as it was light, the first pot of porridge in Huichao Port was set up again.

He Qi squatted in front of the stove, adding firewood. He stirred the seaweed in the pot with a wooden ladle. Several children sat at the foot of the tower, holding wooden plaques and reciting words. The lamp from last night hadn't completely gone out yet; a ring of yellow flame remained inside the lampshade, flickering gently against the glass.

Si Mo, carrying the book, came out of the newly built shed.

She had just finished counting the salt bags that had come and gone yesterday when she looked up and saw a gray sparrow flutter down onto the wooden fence, with a thin string tied to its leg.

It's not a sparrow.

It's made from monkey hair.

The next instant, the ginger candy vendor behind the railing looked up, grinned, and revealed the face of Six Ears.

"We've intercepted it." He threw the candy stand on the ground. "This time it's neither an official letter nor Buddhist talisman."

Chen Fan was using charcoal to add characters to a new plaque when he heard this, and his hands didn't stop.

"read."

Liu Er took out a letter from his pocket.

The letter paper was yellowed, with a faint watermark pressed into the corner. The seal wasn't completely sealed; it was only wrapped with three layers of fine hemp thread. The most striking thing was the line of text on the outside—no name, no shop number, just four small characters.

Missing page, please open.

Jiang Chao was unloading fish baskets on the shore when he heard these four words. He paused and looked up.

With a flick of his two fingers, Liu Er opened the letter.

There was only half a page inside. The ink on it wasn't fresh; it looked like it was copied from an old template, and even the strokes looked contrived.

"I'll sign this life-saving contract on your behalf, guaranteeing you won't end up in a ruined place. Your old name can be continued, your old duties can be postponed, and your old seal can be preserved. First, submit the sample; the next page will follow. Proof will be presented at the mountain pass at the end of the month. Signed—Continuation Committee."

After he finished reading, he flicked the letter.

The half-page rustled twice in the morning breeze, like a dried fish skin.

He Qi frowned.

"What the hell?"

Si Mo reached out and took the letter, looking at the paper first, then the words. She flattened the edge of the paper, her fingertip pausing on the sentence "Submit a sample first, then follow with the next page."

"It's not written for ordinary people," she said. "Ordinary people won't understand it."

Chen Fan put down the charcoal, washed his hands, and then took it.

He didn't look at the front first; he turned the paper over to the back.

There is a faint mark on the back. It is neither an official seal nor a temple seal. It is like the footer pattern often used by old bookstores, with a broken pen inside a square frame and half a fingerprint next to it, which is oily black and shiny.

Wukong had somehow climbed down from the top of the tower and squatted down next to the wooden box.

"A life-saving contract?" He tapped the lid of the box with the back of his hand. "Sounds like leaving a coffin for someone who's about to die."

"It's not for people who are about to die," Chen Fan said. "It's for people who are about to go hungry."

Jiang Chao walked over at this moment, still smelling of the sea.

"Old duties can be postponed." He stared at those words. "This sounds like it was written for old officials, old handlers, and old errand runners. When the tide tower was demolished and the sea tax was burned, some people didn't just run away; they just had nowhere to register their names."

He Qi slapped his thigh.

"No wonder there were so many people loitering around the port the other day. They pretended to buy salt, but all they asked were about old jobs. Who could fill out forms, who could recognize old stamps, who used to run errands for the Taliban."

Si Mo nodded.

"There are also people who collect replacement licenses. There are also people who keep track of old debts. There are also people who put fingerprints on other people's documents."

She paused for a moment and looked at Chen Fan.

"They're picking people up."

Chen Fan folded the letter back to its original shape and pressed it in his palm.

In the previous chapters, he burned the accounts, dismantled the tower, and changed the name, cutting down the old rules and framework. But even if the framework falls, those who depend on it for a living won't all disappear overnight. The accountants, the runners, the guarantors, the sellers of empty names, the remnants of the old ways—once these people gather together, they become even harder to recognize than when they were scattered.

They don't raise flags, ring bells, or preach any grand principles.

They only sent one letter.

The letter should first mention the benefits.

Signing on behalf of someone, saving one's life, deferring one's sentence, keeping one's seal.

There are few words, but the sharp edge is hidden within.

Liu Er then pulled out two more packets from under the candy stand.

"It wasn't just one place. I followed the trail of the messenger for a long time and found three lines."

He spread the three letters out on the wooden box.

The first letter, this one, came back to Chaozhou.

The second sheet was coarser, with oil stains on the cover and a wooden fence mark commonly seen at mountain passes drawn on the outside. The contents inside were exactly the same, except that "proof of the mountain pass at the end of the month" was changed to "a collection held every three days, with a designated person to receive the pages."

The third letter was the strangest. The paper was whiter, and the folding method was different, like the narrow fold commonly used for ferry tickets. The letter didn't say "Yamaguchi" at the end, but instead said "At the ferry in this world, I see the old awning."

He Qi felt a chill run down his spine.

"The port market, the Yamaguchi market, the modern ferry terminal... why are they so widespread?"

"It's already being distributed," said Liu Er. "Not just about to be distributed, but people are already delivering them. I intercepted three, and at least thirty have been sent out. The messengers don't show their faces; they use peddlers, porters, fortune tellers, and blind men as fronts. The recipients don't reply; they just take back rubbings of their old certificates, samples, and seals."

Wukong reached out and picked up the second letter, then smelled it.

"It smells of ink. It looks like they copied a lot."

Si Mo took it and looked closely at the fold.

"It really is. There are creases on the edges. It wasn't written one letter at a time, but rather pressed out from stacks of them."

"People under the old system always did things this way," Chen Fan said. "One master page can be used to create a whole bunch of child pages. Whoever has the master page can identify people, set prices, and take lives."

Jiang Chao smacked his lips, his face darkening.

He'd learned this the hard way before. No name, no register, you're not considered a person for your work, and you're not counted even if you die. Now that he's just returned to Chaozhou and someone's name has been established for him, someone immediately hands him another piece of paper, saying they can continue his old ways.

This thing is most likely to fool not the elderly, but those who are halfway through their journey.

They can write a few characters, recognize a couple of old seals, and are used to living off other people's paper. Ask them to carry sacks, and they complain it's too tiring. Ask them to go into business on their own, and they're afraid of dying. If someone offers to extend their service by providing a sample, they'll likely be tempted.

He Qi cursed.

"Damn it, we just tore the door down, and they're already squatting outside selling locks."

Liu Er chuckled.

"That's not all. Over in Yamaguchi, they've already started collecting 'off-duty tax' records. If you owe any old taxes, you pay 30%, and they'll put a record on your file. If anyone comes to investigate in the future, they'll say you're someone who will be listed on the next record, and you won't be considered a vagrant or a fugitive."

Si Mo's face turned cold.

"An empty name with a new shell."

"Hmm," Liu Er said, "There's something even more ruthless. Over at the ferry crossing in the mortal world, there are people who specialize in collecting the names of the dead. If someone dies and their name hasn't been completely removed from the register, they buy it at a low price and then resell it to someone who needs a name to fill the gap."

There was a moment of silence beside the wooden crate.

At the foot of the tower, the children were still chanting "Huichao Port," their voices soft and carried on the wind, as if they were talking about someone else.

Chen Fan moved the three letters together and pressed them down one by one with his finger.

The market in the port area is all about making money off people you know.

The small market in Yamaguchi is for catching passersby.

In this world, the ferry crossing only catches those without roots.

This is not the work of any deity or Buddha, nor is it the work of any temple.

This is an old trade where people stick together.

Those who wrote the pages, copied the contracts, verified the seals, guaranteed the names, and even collected blank pages from the dead—they all came out. Before, they relied on the pagoda, the granaries, and the officials for their livelihood. Now that the pagoda has burned down and the granaries are empty, they've built their own shell.

Even the naming is tricky.

To be continued.

They don't say they're creating new accounts, they just say they're putting the missing page back on for you. It sounds like a favor, but it's actually still the same cannibalistic method.

Wukong slammed the letter onto the box.

"Find it and smash it."

"Don't rush to smash it," Chen Fan said. "This kind of meeting isn't just about one room or one leader. If you smash the people selling the letters at the front, the people copying the pages at the back will still do it."

He Qi asked, "Then what should we do?"

Chen Fan looked up at the newly lit waterway outside the port.

The morning mist hadn't completely dissipated. In the distance, two small boats were hurrying towards this place, their bows adorned with wooden signs that had just been issued by Huichao Port. The signs were new, the lettering was new, and they swayed in the light as the wind blew.

"They want it this way," Chen Fan said. "Then give them the sample."

Si Mo looked up.

"You want to go fishing?"

"Fishing," Chen Fan said. "Let them come and get it themselves."

He put the letter marked "To be opened by the person with missing page" back into the envelope and handed it to Liu Er.

"Return it. Pretend it hasn't been opened. Follow this line, first find the person who takes pages from the port market. Don't take it yet. Remember the person, remember the shop, remember which craftsmen he usually works with."

"What about Yamaguchi?" Jiang Chao asked.

"You go," Chen Fan said, looking at him. "Don't bring too many people. People in Yamaguchi recognize faces. You've done this before, so you know who the old scalpers are. Find out which stalls have suddenly had extra money recently, and which ones have started collecting old deeds."

Jiang Chao nodded.

"Leave the mortal ferry to me," Si Mo said. "They collect the pages of the dead there, which will inevitably involve dealing with old books. I can find the information through the book records, which will be faster."

He Qi stood up and wiped his hands on his pants.

"And what about me?"

Chen Fan glanced at him.

"Starting today, a new board will be added to the port."

"What should I write?"

Chen Fan picked out the darkest piece of charcoal from the pile, walked to the teaching board under the tower, and wrote two lines.

The old pages are not recognized.

Signing on behalf of someone else is useless.

He didn't stop after he finished writing; he added another sentence below.

Anyone who collects the names of the dead shall have their hands broken and be thrown out of the port.

The children who were supposed to be reciting stopped and all looked up.

The youngest swallowed hard and whispered, "The...dead...person's...name..."

He Qi looked at the words, his shoulders relaxed, and he turned around to call for someone to set up the board.

Liu Er stuffed the letter into his pocket and then grabbed a piece of ginger candy and stuffed it into his mouth.

"Alright, I'll go and meet those guys who're into continuing the story."

He turned and took two steps, then turned back and asked, "What if they really produce the master page?"

Chen Fan didn't answer that question. Instead, he rubbed the half-finished pen mark onto a thin piece of paper, folded it up, and stuffed it into Liu Er's hand.

"If you see something exactly the same, don't touch it."

Liu Er glanced down, tucked the paper into his sleeve, and with a sway of his shoulder, he had already blended into the crowd at the morning market.

The sea breeze blew in, and the old lights on the tower finally went out.

Si Mo put away the other two letters, Jiang Chao went to steer the boat, and He Qi carried the planks and ran towards the harbor. Chen Fan was still standing under the tower, his fingertips stained with a bit of ink ash.

The ash was impossible to wipe away, like oil hidden in old paper.

He rubbed it twice, but it didn't come off.

Chapter 672 Black Wooden Sign at the Market

The morning market disperses slowly.

The sun had already climbed over the tide tower, but the stalls hadn't all been cleared away yet. Fishmongers were gutting their fish, salt vendors were shaking out their bags, and several old cloth shops were hanging out damp scraps of cloth, which, when blown by the wind, emitted a strong, lingering fishy and salty smell.

Liu Er mingled in the crowd for half a day and didn't return.

Si Mo wasn't guarding the tower either. She took the half of the broken pen mark from last night, put it in her sleeve, and started searching along the winding street outside the port. Chen Fan didn't stop her, only telling He Qi to stay away and not show herself.

By noon, the tide had receded, revealing a layer of shiny black crust in the muddy ditches along the street.

Si Mo just returned.

She didn't enter the tower first; instead, she rubbed the mud off her shoes twice on the threshold, then glanced down at the soles of her shoes. Her expression wasn't hurried, but rather as if she were clutching something hard, afraid it would roll away if she let go.

Chen Fan was flipping through the old workbooks he had collected yesterday when he looked up at her.

"You saw him?"

Si Mo nodded without speaking first. She took out three plaques from her sleeve and placed them flat on the table.

The wooden sign was small, shorter than a children's reading board. The wood was dark brown, and the edges were rounded. There was no name on the front, only four small characters engraved on it.

Signature on behalf of another.

He Qi leaned over and touched it first.

"This thing looks like leftover materials from a coffin shop."

Si Mo said, "It's not newly made. It's old wood. It's been soaked in oil."

Chen Fan picked up a piece and smelled it. It wasn't the smell of lacquer, but rather tung oil mixed with a little sea ash, and it was very heavy. There were also tiny pinholes in the wood grain, as if something else had been nailed in before, then pried open and the label changed.

"Where did it come from?"

Si Mo pulled up a small stool and sat down, first drinking half a bowl of cold water.

"There's a narrow alley behind the fish market. At the entrance of the alley is a stall selling used locks. The stall owner can't read, but he's good at using an abacus. I first showed him a broken pen mark, but he pretended to be deaf. Later, I bought two used locks and asked him who collects old locks at night. He glanced at me and led me to look at this thing."

She reached out and flipped one of the pieces over.

There were no words on the back, only a shallow indentation. The indentation was made by a rope and was shiny from age.

"He didn't sell them on the street," Si Mo said. "He would ask you what you wanted to exchange for first. Grain coupons, workstations, or ship numbers. Only after you knew the answer would he draw a card from the bottom of the wooden bucket. The person buying the card didn't take the goods on the spot, only this card. At night, they would go to another place to exchange it."

He Qi frowned upon hearing this: "This piece of rotten wood, can it really be exchanged for grain coupons?"

"Yes," Si Mo said. "I watched for a while. There was a woman ahead who exchanged her token for two grain coupons. There was also a skinny man who exchanged his for a short-term job unloading cargo at the dock. Later that night, a traveler from out of town took his token to ask for the ferry number, but the stall owner didn't give it to him and just told him to wait by the South Ditch at night."

Chen Fan put the wooden sign back on the table.

"What's the price?"

"Lower than the current account," Si Mo said. "Twenty to thirty percent lower. The difference is most obvious with grain coupons. Officially, three catties can be exchanged for one page of old work permits, but here they only cost two and a half catties. The work positions are also lower. The waiting list at the dock is from today until the day after tomorrow, but they can squeeze into tonight's shift."

He Qi clicked his tongue: "Giving away money for free?"

Si Mo shook his head.

"It's not free. You have to bet your entire stake."

As she said this, she put down the bowl of cold water and tapped the rim of the bowl with her fingertip.

"When you buy a license plate, they don't ask if you write your name down. But when you redeem the license at night, you have to give your real name, where you came from, and leave something tangible. Some people leave their fingerprints. Some leave old contracts. Out-of-towners leave their boat ticket stubs. That skinny guy who changed jobs was even asked what his mother's surname was, how many people were in his family, and which boat he worked on last year."

There was a moment of silence in the tower.

He Qi was the first to react, cursing, "They're using cheap prices to lure people in."

Chen Fan didn't respond to the insults. He put the three cards together and slowly ran his thumb over the corner of each card. The wood was hard, and there was a slight unevenness on the edge, as if it was intentionally left with a notch; it would feel prickly to the touch after a while.

In yesterday's letter to the continuation page meeting, the mother page was mentioned, and the broken stroke mark was mentioned.

What Si Mo brought back today was a pile of nameless black wooden plaques.

The sign is not recorded in the ledger, nor is the person's name written on it; only a voucher for signing on behalf of someone else is written.

These four words are cunning.

No one says for whom it's signed. And no one records who it's given to after signing. Those who buy the cards during the day feel they've gotten a good deal, but those who redeem them at night gradually reveal the truth.

Chen Fan asked, "What does the stall owner look like?"

"His left ear was chipped, his teeth were yellow, and his cuffs were covered in verdigris," Si Mo said. "He looks like someone who's been handling locks and hooks for years. There weren't many locks on the stall that could be opened, but there was a tray of thin iron needles hidden under a straw mat next to it. I saw him rub the card with his thumb when he handed it over, as if he was recognizing a mark."

"What's behind the stall?"

"Next to it was a stall selling incense and candles. Inside the stall was an old woman who never looked up, her hands always cutting paper. She wasn't cutting paper money, but thin strips, bundled together, almost like ticket stubs. Every time the stall owner sold a piece, he would glance at her. He wouldn't sell unless the old woman nodded."

He Qi understood a little better.

"It wasn't done by one person."

"Of course not," Si Mo said. "I went around to the back of the alley to take a look. There was a small hole in the back wall, just big enough to pass a hand through. Someone was receiving something inside. I didn't get too close, but I smelled a damp rice bag smell, and the sour smell of boat ropes that had been soaking for a long time. It was like a warehouse, not a house where people lived."

Chen Fan leaned against the table, his gaze fixed on the view outside the window.

Outside, several children were squatting in the sand, learning to read and marking characters with sticks. The youngest, still holding a small, chipped wooden sign, looked up at Jiang Chao halfway through and shouted, "How do you write the character 'Chao' with the water radical?"

Jiang Chao scolded him for being stupid, but after scolding him, he squatted down and taught him stroke by stroke.

Chen Fan glanced at it twice before looking away.

"They don't want the poor people on this island," he said. "They want people who will leave their mark. They use food stamps to lure people in need, job postings to lure people in urgent need, and ship numbers to lure people in urgent need. Once people have taken advantage of the system, they'll hand over their names overnight."

Si Mo nodded.

"I also asked a question. Someone in the alley said that not just anyone can buy this talisman. For the first time, you need to have an old customer to guide you. If you don't have a guide, you have to bet the truth first."

He Qi was taken aback: "You'd bet on a single truth?"

"It depends," Si Mo said. "For example, which ship you came from, whether anyone in your family has died, and whether you owe any taxes. If it all matches, you'll get a license plate the second time. If it doesn't, the stall owner won't say anything, but no one will sell to you after that."

He Qi gritted his back teeth, making a cracking sound.

"They offer cheaper rates for live accounts, use real names to track customers, and even have old customers bring in new ones. Isn't that a way to slip through the net?"

"It's not just an ordinary slip-through," Chen Fan said. "It doesn't cast a wide net; it casts it where the opening is the most swift."

Footsteps sounded outside the tower gate.

Liu Er darted in from outside, a half-basket of dried fish slung over his shoulder, as if he had just grabbed it from the stall. He closed the door as soon as he entered before tossing the basket on the ground.

"There's some commotion by the South Ditch," he said. "Before it even got dark, people were already taking up positions. One was paddling, one was selling noodles, and two were carrying sacks. They all seemed unrelated, but they were standing very steadily. Like they were waiting for someone."

Si Mo pushed one of the wooden signs over.

Do you recognize it?

Liu Er picked it up, squinted at it, and snorted through his nose.

"He can read but not recognize the signs. Just now, there was a kid squatting by the South Ditch, whittling wood chips. The edges he whittled off were about the same color as this. Thin knife, fast hands, like he does it often."

Chen Fan raised his hand and tapped the table twice.

Things have progressed beyond the initial probing with the letter from the sequel page. Someone has laid out another avenue for survival outside Huichao Port. They offer you discounts during the day and keep track of your every move at night. From now on, anyone short of food, anyone wanting to find work, or anyone rushing to board a ship will all seek out that alley.

As more people touch it, the roster grows out on its own.

It wasn't the official hard-copy register; it was a much dirtier, secret register. Whoever was poor, whoever was in dire need, whoever had a mother and children, whoever owed taxes, whoever had skipped work—all of these would end up behind these black wooden plaques.

Chen Fan suddenly asked Si Mo, "What did you say when you bought the license plate?"

Si Mo glanced at him.

"I said I was buying it for my brother. He injured his leg at sea and wanted to switch to an easier job."

Did the stall owner believe it?

"I only believed half of it," Si Mo said. "He asked my brother if it was his left or right leg. I said right leg, and he asked if the injury was on his knee or ankle. I answered a little slowly, and he only sold me the cheapest piece, and told me not to go at night, but to go tomorrow night."

He Qi smacked his lips.

"Old fox."

Chen Fan took out the cheapest wooden sign and set it aside.

"This isn't for sale, it's a trial," he said. "He also wants to see who would switch jobs for someone with an injured leg."

Liu Er rolled up his sleeves, his eyes already blazing with anger.

"Then tonight I'll go to Nangou and stake out the place, find the back of the warehouse, and drag the person out directly."

"No rush," Chen Fan said.

He pulled a scrap page from the box, placed it on the table, and then arranged the three wooden plaques in a row.

"Let them think that someone in the harbor has actually taken the bait. Si Mo won't show his face tonight. He Qi, find someone who's genuinely injured, keep quiet, and make sure no one in your family recognizes him. Liu Er, pick up his old customers. As for Nangou, just watch who's really in charge, don't make the first move."

He Qi asked, "What if we could really exchange them for grain coupons?"

"Change it," Chen Fan said. "Get the tickets back, and bring the people back too. Find out exactly how they recorded things at night, where they recorded them, who nodded, and who released the goods."

Si Mo understood what he meant.

"You suspect the cards aren't the root of the problem; there's more to the story."

"Nonsense," He Qi retorted. "If he doesn't keep accounts, how will he recognize old customers?"

Chen Fan didn't laugh; he simply pushed the discarded page in front of Si Mo.

"First, make a rubbing of the sign. Make sure to include the gaps on the sides. Then, have Jiang Chao go to the alley entrance and pretend to be a tourist looking for a boat number. Don't buy it yet, just listen to the price first."

Si Mo lowered his head to grind the ink, and paused when the tip of his brush touched the paper.

"Should we bring the children back inside the tower first? If this thing is spread out, things will quickly descend into chaos outside."

Chen Fan hummed in agreement.

"Everyone should be back before dark. The port closed half an hour early today. If anyone asks, just say the tide lights are being replaced."

The wind picked up again outside the tower, causing the window paper to flutter.

Jiang Chao was still squatting outside teaching characters. The child was scratching his head in frustration because he had written the three-dot water radical of the character "潮" as a long stroke. He Qi walked out and kicked the tree branch next to Jiang Chao's feet closer, cursing, "Write it shorter, whose water radical is so long?"

The child was startled and quickly rewrote it.

Inside the tower, Si Mo peeled off the first rubbing and placed it on the table to dry. The ink wasn't dry yet, but the four characters were already very clear.

Signature on behalf of another.

Chen Fan stared at the four characters for a moment, then reached out and turned one of the genuine cards face down.

There was a bit of fine ash pressed under the sign. It wasn't ink ash, but sawdust, so black it was shiny, and when you rubbed it with your finger, oil came out.

Chapter 673 Abandonment of the City God's Office

Before dawn, Yang Jian had already left North Street.

He took one of the black wooden plaques he had collected last night. The corners were neatly trimmed, with fine burrs along the edges, as if it had been rushed out. The wooden plaque had been soaked in oil; pressing it with a fingertip still brought out a bit of its glossy black color.

This type of wood is quite rare.

It's neither the ship timber commonly used by the sea, nor the cedar wood often used in temples.

It looks more like the old beams of a government office that were removed from the ground.

He walked slowly, glancing at the stalls, the doors, and the piles of scrap metal along the street. The morning market had just opened, and vendors carrying loads of food, pancakes, and water were all crammed into a narrow alley. Someone recognized him and was about to speak, but seeing his calm expression, they swallowed their words.

Yang Jian stopped in front of a small shop that repaired a memorial archway.

The shop had no door, only half an old mat hanging on the ground. Inside, an old craftsman squatted on the ground, shaving wood shavings. As he pushed the plane, wood shavings fell all over the floor, their color grayish.

Yang Jian handed over the black wooden plaque.

The old craftsman took it, touched it first, and then smelled it.

"Where did it come from?"

"You tell me first whether you recognize it or not."

The old craftsman squinted, scratched the back of the card with his fingernail, leaving a thin, shiny mark.

"I recognize it. It's old government building beams. It was soaked in grease, so it wouldn't get eaten by insects or rot in water. Later, the government cut a batch of them, and the wood was supposed to be put into storage and burned. I don't know if it was burned completely."

Which government office?

The old craftsman turned the card over and saw the cracks on the back; his hand paused for a moment.

"It's near the City God's Office. The old West Ward. That place has been demolished three times; the plaques have fallen, and the walls have been torn down. Nobody dares to use the timber properly anymore; most of it is sold secretly."

Yang Jian put the cards back into his sleeve.

"Who accepted it?"

The old craftsman shook his head.

"I couldn't find out. Things were chaotic back then. The old clerks either fled or went into hiding. Even the timber movers didn't use the main gate. They all came out through the back alley."

As he said this, he seemed to remember something and added another sentence.

"The City God's Office is abandoned, but the underground hasn't been completely excavated. Years ago, someone went there at night and said that there were still grooves inside. When you shine a light on it, it looks like a snake hole."

Yang Jian glanced at him, then turned and left.

The old Xifang neighborhood isn't far from the main street, but the path is difficult to navigate. The further in you go, the fewer stalls there are. The walls on both sides are blackened, and moss grows at their base. The wind seeps through the dilapidated alleyways, carrying a damp, earthy smell, along with a hint of old oil, which lingers in your nostrils.

There is a half-section of a stone archway standing at the corner ahead.

Only two of the four characters "Yinlu Branch Office" remain. The break in the middle is slanted, as if someone had forcibly pried it open. Further inside is the old City God Office.

The main gate is gone, but the threshold remains.

A layer of dust covered the threshold, but within the dust were shoe prints. Some were new, some were old. Some people wore cloth shoes, some wore leather-soled shoes. The innermost set of footprints was small, the steps hurried, as if someone had been carrying something in or out.

Yang Jian didn't rush in.

He stood outside the door and looked around.

Half of the well in the courtyard had collapsed, and the well rim was tangled with grass. The roof of the side room was leaking, exposing the black, shiny beams. The plaque in the main hall lay on the ground, its back facing up, the wood color almost identical to the black wooden plaque.

It's useless now.

But to be honest, it's a bit lacking in realism.

This place is like an overturned pot; the bottom wasn't cleaned properly, and if you put your hand in, you'll get a layer of old oil on it.

Yang Jian stepped into the courtyard.

The bricks were loose underfoot, wobbling with every step. He walked to the front of the main hall and first looked at the door frame. There was an old engraving on the lower right corner of the door frame, as if it had been made by hitting it with a hard object over the years. Looking further inside, the floor was half an inch higher than the outside, but the brick joints were neat.

He squatted down, pressing his fingers against the edge of the brick.

The space beneath the brick is empty.

Just then, a slight noise came from the side room. It sounded like a mouse scurrying about, or like someone stepping on and breaking a tile. Yang Jian didn't turn around; he simply placed his hand on the hilt of his three-pointed, double-edged sword.

"come out."

There was a moment of silence inside.

Then a thin old man emerged from behind the broken window, his back hunched over, carrying a tattered bamboo basket. The basket wasn't filled with vegetables, but with a pile of incense ash and scraps of paper.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me," the old man said repeatedly. "I'm just here to collect paper to paste on my shoe soles."

Yang Jian looked at him.

"How long did you collect them?"

"It's been more than half a year."

"Who gave you permission to come?"

The old man chuckled dryly, missing a front tooth, and his speech became slurred when the wind blew in.

"There's no need to be precise about this place. City people consider it unlucky and don't come here. I'm old and have nowhere else to go, so I just wander in here."

Yang Jian gestured with his chin toward his bamboo basket.

"This document is not a formal document."

The old man's expression changed, and he quickly covered it with his hand.

"These are just old, worthless notes."

Yang Jian reached out and pulled out the top one.

The paper was yellowed and brittle, with curled edges. It was printed with fine lines and two lines of blank text.

The contract was entered into on a certain date. A certain official and a certain clerk were present.

There are three blank printing spaces at the bottom.

It's not accounting paper.

It is a contract.

The old man's eyelids twitched, and seeing that he couldn't hide it any longer, he had no choice but to put down the bamboo basket.

"I really didn't do anything else. A few days ago, someone came in and ransacked the place. I waited until they left before I dared to pick up the scraps of paper on the ground. They won't fetch much money if I take them back, but it's better than nothing."

"How many people?"

"Two or three. All of them were masked. One was tall and dragged his right foot when he walked. Another was quick-handed and rummaged through things silently, like an old official."

Yang Jian held the paper up to the light and examined it.

The paper was mixed with fine hemp fibers, and the embossing was very precise; it couldn't have been made by a street vendor. Next to the printed grid, there was a small line of hidden marks, the ink so faint as to be almost invisible.

A life-saving contract.

Yang Jian's eyes darkened slightly.

Have you ever seen one in its entirety?

The old man quickly shook his head, then paused, as if afraid of missing something.

"I can't say for sure what the complete page looks like. A few days ago, the wind was strong, and a page was blown off the ground. I glanced at it. There was a name written on it, and a fingerprint on it. Later, someone picked up that page."

Who picked it up?

"It wasn't that group. It looked like a woman, wearing a veil, with chilblains on her hands, and pinching the edges of the paper to avoid getting it oily."

Yang Jian didn't ask any more questions.

He walked back to the main hall and lightly stomped his foot on the empty brick. The brick echoed dully, but the surrounding bricks were even more hollow. With a flick of his knife handle, he pried up half an inch of the outermost brick, and dust fell down in a flurry.

There was indeed a groove underneath.

It wasn't a cellar, but an old-fashioned file storage trough from a government office. The files were laid out horizontally, large enough to hold long scrolls and folded pages. The trough opening was narrow, and the lime edges used for moisture protection were still there, though they had many cracks.

Yang Jian peeled off the bricks one by one.

The underground was dark and cold, with cold air rising upwards. The smell of old oil was even stronger, mixed with the smell of moldy paper and insect shell fragments, as if someone had been suffocating a pile of damp account books for many years, until the words themselves seemed to be sweating.

He tore a broken lamp stand off the side of the door, lit it, and shone it into the trough.

The first slot is empty.

The second compartment was filled with rotten wood chips, which were the leftover scraps from the black wooden plaque.

From the third slot onwards, it's all paper.

Not just one or two volumes.

They were neatly stacked in rows. They were covered with old cloth, which crumbled at the slightest touch. Yang Jian pulled out the outermost stack, blew off the dust, and found only two words on the cover.

"Existing style".

He turned to the first page.

A life-saving contract.

The second one is the same.

The third, the fourth, and more than a dozen in a row were all printed in the same format. The heading was left blank, the subject matter was left blank, and the signature was left blank; only the official jargon was printed neatly. The signature area had three spaces reserved for the City God's Office, the Underworld Records Office, and the Inspector, but the seal spaces were all blank.

Like a batch of life-saving insurance policies without names filled in.

They are like pre-prepared pathways for people to make a living.

Yang Jian flipped through several more stacks.

Some of the designs were more detailed, with annotations written beside them. They indicated who should provide their fingerprints, who only needed to sign on their behalf, and who could receive payment first and then add the pages later. The handwriting varied, clearly not from the same person. Some had "urgent" circled in vermilion, while others had a black dot in the corner, resembling the oil stains on the back of the black wooden plaque from last night.

This is not a remnant of an old file.

This is a warehouse that someone didn't have time to move.

The City God's office is rotten on top, but underground it is still preparing death accounts for people.

Yang Jian rearranged the stacks of papers on the ground and looked at them one by one.

The more I looked, the less expression appeared on his face.

If these things were to truly leak out, there would be no need for real officials to be present, nor for real seals to be complete. As long as one obtains the name and finds someone who can forge the characters, one can extend a person's life, take the blame for someone, and change a footnote on the margin of the Book of Life and Death.

No wonder there are proxy signature certificates in the market.

That's not just loose stock.

It was taken from this set of formulas.

A gust of wind rose outside, bending the weeds in the yard to one side. The old man huddled at the doorway of the side room, afraid to go any further, afraid to look any longer. The firelight flickered, illuminating a line of faint marks at the base of the wall, like drag marks left when boxes were moved years ago.

Yang Jian took a lantern and followed the trail to the back wall.

A crack appeared in the back wall, with fresh mortar falling off the edges. Several broken bricks were piled in the corner, with half a wooden wheel sticking out from behind them.

It's not a scrap wooden wheel.

It's a small car.

Someone recently transported goods from here.

He bent down to look at the tire tracks, then reached out and picked up a bit of black dust stuck in the cracks between the bricks. The dust shone when heated, just like the oil on a wooden sign.

Yang Jian smeared the black residue on his palm and turned to look at the old man.

"Who else has come in the last few days?"

The old man swallowed hard and whispered, "There were dogs barking last night. I didn't dare go near them. When I came back at dawn, there was a tire track outside the back wall, heading towards the riverbank."

Yang Jian inserted the lamp back into the crack in the wall, took out two blank contract templates, folded them, and put them into his sleeve. He then pulled out a wooden strip from the bottom of the slot to hold down the paper. A very faint line of numbers was engraved on the strip, the last character of which was still legible.

"A-7".

He raised his hand and pressed down, putting the bricks back on, leaving only the outermost one crooked, as if it had been hastily flipped over and not properly covered.

The old man stared in disbelief.

"Sir, this...aren't you going to seal it off?"

Yang Jian brushed the dust off his hands.

"Don't seal it yet."

He took two steps outside, then stopped.

"You weren't here today. Leave the papers in the basket here."

The old man nodded hurriedly, put down the bamboo basket, and retreated to the wall, not daring to make a sound with his heels.

Yang Jian left the old City God's Office, stood outside the threshold, and looked back once.

The broken plaque lay buried in the weeds, and the window paper of the outbuilding was rotten to the frame. The courtyard was deserted. But he knew the rows of roller shutters on the ground were still warm. Someone had just stuck their hand inside and hadn't had time to clean it up.

He lifted his foot and headed towards the riverbank.

As he stepped out of the alley, the morning light fell on his sleeve. The blank paper template inside the sleeve pressed against his arm; the edges were stiff, like freshly ground bone. Yang Jian pulled his sleeve up slightly, but didn't stop walking.

The soy milk vendor in front had just lifted the lid of his pot when white steam billowed out, blocking half the street.

He walked through, his shoulders damp with a thin layer of water, but the black oil on his hands still hadn't dissipated.

Chapter 674 Buying a Life Through a Proxy Signature

When Yang Jian arrived at the dock, Chen Fan had already set up three tables in the old warehouse.

A black wooden plaque.

A blank contract sample was taken from the abandoned office.

The last table contained only three items: half a bushel of old grain, a small bag of coarse salt, and two bolts of blue cloth. An old hemp rope used for tying boats was also pressed against the corner of the table.

He Qi stared at it for a long time before finally cursing.

"Where is the mourning hall set up?"

Chen Fan raised his hand and moved the hemp rope forward half an inch.

"almost."

Yang Jian handed over the blank contract template from his sleeve. The paper was stiff at the edges, with fresh creases at the rolled-up corners, as if it had just been pulled from the wooden trough last night. Si Mo took it, laid it flat, and used a paperweight to hold down the four corners. As soon as the paper was unfolded, the top line of small characters was revealed first.

Signing old contracts on behalf of others.

The following section is divided into three columns.

Exempt from taxation. Exempt from corvée labor. Exempt from forced labor.

Jiang Chao stood by the table, staring at the three words, his brows furrowing little by little.

"I understand conscription. I understand military service. But what is pumping out?"

Si Mo tapped the edge of the paper with his pen.

"Pulling out people was an old practice on the old waterways. In years of disaster, when boats were being requisitioned, or when dikes were being repaired, the government could conscript people according to their population and send them to other places. In name, it was a temporary transfer. Once people left, they wouldn't come back for several years. When some did return, they even forgot their own surnames."

Jiang Chao smacked his lips and turned to look at Chen Fan.

"Will the follow-up page say that they can sign this on your behalf?"

"It sounds better," Chen Fan said. "They say they'll help people mend their ancestral deeds, and after that, all three of the obligations will be waived."

He Qi scoffed.

"There's no such cheap deal in the world."

Chen Fan didn't reply, but simply had Liu Er bring the person in.

The first person to enter was a thin old man with a slightly hunched back, carrying an old cloth bag in his hands. The threshold was high, and he tested it before stepping on it, as if afraid of missing a step. Yang Jian recognized him; he was a salted fish seller at the morning market, surnamed Lu, a widower for many years, with a lame son at home.

As soon as the old man entered the door, he looked at the grain, salt, and cloth on the table, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Sir, I haven't done anything wrong."

"Sit down," Chen Fan said.

The old man didn't dare to sit properly, but just sat on the edge of the stool.

Si Mo pushed the black wooden plaque over.

"Where did you get this card?"

The old man's hand trembled, and he quickly pulled a rolled-up ticket from his cloth bag. The ticket was stained with oil, had sweat stains on the corner, and was already soft. A half-finished brushstroke was clearly stamped on it.

"It wasn't stolen," the old man said. "Last month, someone set up a table in Nanbu. They said old deeds could be renewed. If there were any old debts, miscellaneous levies, or corvée labor in the family, they could all be cancelled at once. First, you paid a deposit, then you took a number. When it was my turn, I was given this token."

"How much did you pay?"

"Half a peck of rice, a pound of salt, a bolt of cloth," the old man said, his voice lowering. "And I've been working for three days, waiting for them to call me."

He Qi immediately stood up straight.

"You charge for three days of labor?"

The old man shrank back in fright and nodded repeatedly.

"Yes, that's fine. They say copying contracts, turning pages, and running away all require people. Those without money can make up the difference with their labor."

Chen Fan pointed to the items on the table.

"Is this all?"

The old man stared at it, his eyelids twitching.

"Same. Even the rope is the same. That day they also put down a rope, saying that Old Qi was tangled up and needed to be untied."

He Qi was about to start cursing. Jiang Chao laughed first, then his face darkened.

"You actually believe me when I try to fool you with a broken rope?"

The old man rubbed his knees, his knuckles cracked from salt and alkali.

"You have to try even if you don't believe it," he said. "Last year, during the migration, the second son of Old Lin's family on the east side of the street never came back. They didn't even receive a letter from home. Most of us are not literate, and we don't have any old copies. If someone lays out the master page and flips through an old print, who can tell if it's real or fake?"

The warehouse was quiet for a while.

The sea breeze slipped in through the crack in the door, causing the edges of the door frame to ripple slightly.

Chen Fan asked, "Did you sign it?"

"I can't write," the old man said, "but I put my fingerprint on it."

"Where do I press it?"

"They said the master page couldn't be stained, and told me to press it onto the secondary page. After I pressed the secondary page, they took it away, only giving me this card."

Si Mo and Yang Jian exchanged a glance.

The secondary page was taken away, the main page was not shown, and a black tag was left for people to wait for their turn. This matter is no longer as simple as just scamming some small amounts of food.

Chen Fan raised his chin, signaling Liu Er to bring in the second person.

This time it was a woman, in her thirties, with broad shoulders and a white, calloused heel, as if she'd been operating a waterwheel for years. She entered without looking at anyone, immediately searching for the black wooden plaques. Seeing three plaques on the table, her expression changed instantly.

"You guys do this too?"

"Have you done this before?" Si Mo asked.

The woman rolled up her sleeves, revealing a ring of red, old marks from a binding strap around her wrist.

"It's been done. The deed is still at home. Ten days after it was done, someone came to register my name. They said the old deed was finalized and my husband needed to go to the west of the city to report for duty for three months. Once he finishes the duty, he won't be required to serve anymore."

Upon hearing this, Jiang Chao immediately dragged the stool closer.

"Did you go?"

"He went." The woman's throat was dry. "The first time he came back, the soles of his feet were completely rotten. When asked what he was doing, he wouldn't say. The second time he went, he never returned. Later, someone secretly spread the word that the place in the west of the city wasn't an official residence, but an underground kiln. The gates were sealed during the day, and goods were shipped out at night. The names of those who went in were all changed to number tags."

He Qi slammed his fist on the table, causing the salt bag to jump.

"The government wouldn't dare do that."

"That's why we need the old contracts," Chen Fan said. "Once the old contracts are replaced and the names are added, they have a provenance. Exemptions from taxes, corvée labor, and forced labor are just empty words. The secret register is for future generations."

Chapter 675 Underground Passage

The wind stopped in the afternoon, making the backyard of the abandoned government office even more stuffy.

The grass at the base of the wall grew strangely, some sections tall, some short, with a thin line sloping down in the middle, as if someone had been pressing it down with a wooden stick. He Qi walked around it twice, his shoes covered in wet mud, and cursed under his breath.

"This place is really haunted. The front yard is so rotten, but the soil in the back is fresh."

Si Mo squatted down and used the tip of his knife to pry open the turf. The soil underneath was loose, lighter in color than the surrounding soil, and mixed with fine ash, like the ash from the bottom of a kiln.

Chen Fan glanced at it, but didn't rush to make a move. He simply waved towards the alley entrance.

"Old Pig, don't pretend you can't hear me."

A burly man emerged from behind the pancake stall at the alley entrance. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a layer of white ash on the hem of his clothes. He had half a pancake in his mouth, chewing so hard that his cheeks bulged, and he carried a short pickaxe in his hand.

Zhu Ganglie swallowed the cake, first looked at the soil, then at the wall, and snorted through his nose.

"You should have called me for this kind of work a long time ago. You guys in the accounting and auditing departments get dizzy just looking at dirt."

He Qi scoffed: "Stop bragging. If you collapse the pit, you'll be sleeping there tonight."

Zhu Bajie ignored him, stuck his pickaxe into the ground, squatted down, grabbed a handful of soil, rubbed it in his palm, and then sniffed it near the base of the wall. His fingers were thick, but his movements were delicate; he felt along the base of the wall inch by inch, until he reached the southeast corner, where his knuckles stopped.

"There's nothing behind this wall."

Si Mo looked up: "How did you know?"

"The echo is wrong." Zhu Bajie raised his hand and tapped the wall bricks twice. "It's muffled here, and brittle there. There's either a hidden layer inside, or an old passage. And look at this soil, it's been turned over more than once. If it wasn't done last night, it's been at least half a year."

He started drawing lines as he spoke. He first used a short pickaxe to cut the grass, then switched to a small shovel, shaving it layer by layer. He Qi had initially wanted to laugh, but after standing there for a while, he couldn't laugh anymore. Zhu Ganglie didn't swing his shovel haphazardly; each shovel stroke went close to the base of the wall, easily clearing away brick seams, puddles, and grass roots. The pit was dug quickly, and the edges were neat and tidy.

When Jiang Chao arrived carrying two planks, Zhu Ganglie had already dug half a person's depth.

"I'm just going to take a stroll around the harbor," Jiang Chao said, peering into the pit. "Are you trying to summon the City God?"

"Whether we can get the master out is hard to say," Pigsy said without looking up. "Let's find out about the Rat Path first."

It went down another half foot, then the shovel stopped and hit a hard object.

It's not a stone.

It's a brick.

The bricks were laid horizontally, their color a dull black, and the seams were filled with hemp mortar—a method completely different from the one used on the abandoned government building's exterior walls. Zhu Ganglie scraped away all the mud around the edges, revealing a narrow, door-sized opening. He squinted at it for a moment, then reached up.

"Crowbar".

He Qi handed over the tools. Zhu Ganglie wedged himself into the brick seam, pushed with his shoulder, and pried outwards with all his might. The first two bricks didn't budge, but on the third push, the mortar cracked first, followed by a "crack," and the entire row of bricks collapsed inwards, creating a gap and sending out a cloud of old dust.

The air was damp with dust and smelled of musty paper.

None of them said a word.

Zhu Ganglie first poked his head in, listened for a while, and then climbed out to brush off the dirt.

"You can walk through. It's a passageway, not a burial pit."

"Rollway?" Si Mo repeated.

"It's commonly seen in granaries," said Zhu Ganglie. "They love using this kind of thing for transporting grain, bricks, and hiding from tax inspections. The entrance is narrow, but the interior is spacious. The vaulted roof is rolled up so it doesn't collapse easily. If it's made by an old craftsman, he'll even follow the terrain to carry away moisture along the way."

Chen Fan told Jiang Chao to guard the alley entrance, then lit a small lantern and crouched down to go inside.

It was more spacious inside than I'd expected, enough for two people to walk side by side. The ground wasn't muddy; it was hard, compacted flooring. The walls on both sides were plastered, but much of the plaster had peeled off, revealing the old bricks underneath. The vaulted ceiling wasn't high; someone of He Qi's height would have to shrink his neck to fit inside. Zhu Ganglie, on the other hand, seemed to know the way well, feeling his way along while muttering to himself.

"This wasn't newly dug. It was there before, and then it was repaired. Look at the corner of the brick, it's in the old city style. Look at the mortar joints, they were sealed again in recent years."

The lights shone forward, and the first fork in the road appeared on the left.

A half-rotten wooden sign was nailed to the fork in the road, the characters on it so badly decayed that only a few ink edges remained. Pigsy leaned over and wiped it a couple of times.

"warehouse."

Further ahead, another path branched off to the right. There was a breeze there, carrying the smell of fish and damp burlap sacks. Jiang Chao sniffed and whispered, "This is the other side of the port warehouse."

Chen Fan didn't speak, but walked along the main path. After walking a few dozen steps, more and more things appeared on the wall. At first, they looked like a child's scribbles, but when the light came closer, it became clear that they weren't.

It consists of rows of carved squares.

The box contains fields for name, place of origin, guarantor, and small characters for "examine," "reply," "certify," and "transfer." Each cell is small and meticulously carved.

Chapter 676 Public Examination of Contracts

Before dawn, three long tables were set up at the entrance of the library.

A deed of originality.

A sample rubbing.

A sheet containing only water, a lamp, and a small knife.

He Qi carried the door panel over and laid it across the bottom of the steps to make a fence. Jiang Chao poured water twice from the ground, burying the dust from last night. Si Mo squatted by the table grinding ink, and halfway through, looked up at Xuanzang: "Are you really going to spread the word?"

Xuanzang rolled up his sleeves a little higher and picked up his brush.

The paper is small, and the writing is simple.

Only three lines were written.

Anyone holding a life-saving contract may come to the monastery for public trial.

With the Lord present, the three parties compared the documents, and the document was read aloud in public.

Any items that are implicitly attached but not explicitly stated shall be deemed invalid.

Chen Fan stood to the side and read through the document, then tapped the table: "Let me add one more thing. Today, we will examine the old contract first, without asking where it came from or pursuing any past responsibilities."

"Okay." Xuanzang added the finishing touch.

He Qi peeked out and clicked his tongue: "If you say that, will anyone actually dare to come?"

"There will be," Chen Fan said. "Once one comes, we won't be able to stop the rest."

The post was copied from nine pages in total.

A poster was pasted on the port, the morning market, the salt market entrance, the outer wall of the old City God Temple, and even on the pillars of the soy milk stall.

Liu Er ran the fastest, completing a lap in half an hour. When he returned, his shoulders were covered in dust. He gestured with his chin at Chen Fan: "There's already a crowd gathered at the market entrance. Some are reading, some are listening, and two old officials are pretending to be passing by, their feet never leaving the area."

It was just past Chen Shi (7-9 AM), and the entrance to the scripture hall was still empty.

He Qi leaned against the door, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, looking rather impatient. Jiang Chao sat on the steps, using a twig to draw characters, making two "审" (examine) characters before erasing them. Si Mo flipped the inkstick over; the little water in the millstone had almost turned into black slurry.

Xuanzang remained seated, his hands resting on his prayer beads, moving at a steady pace.

As the sun rose above the rooftops, a woman turned into the street.

She was thin, with a slightly hunched back, and clutched a cloth bag tightly in her arms. She walked to the front of the scripture hall, first looking at the notice, then at the few people at the entrance, pausing three times before finally coming up.

"This...this really means we're not going to hold past grievances accountable?"

Xuanzang raised his eyes: "You brought a contract?"

The woman nodded and opened the cloth bundle, layer upon layer, until she found a stiff, yellowed piece of paper wrapped inside. The edges of the paper were rolled up, and the fingerprints on it were old.

"My husband was so sick he couldn't get out of bed. Someone said that signing this contract would allow him to defer three months' taxes and even get medicine. Later, he passed away, and then people from the west of the city came and said that the contract was still valid and the son had to take over."

As she spoke, her voice became weak and her hands trembled.

Chen Fan took the contract, but didn't rush to flatten it; he checked the seal first.

The wax has been applied.

The threads have also been replaced.

He handed the contract to Si Mo: "As before. Make a rubbing first, then test it under the lamp."

Si Mo hummed in agreement, his technique extremely steady. He covered the thin paper, the ink rolled over, and the words on the front were revealed line by line. He Qi raised a lamp closer, while Jiang Chao brought a glass of water and gently moistened the edges of the original paper.

The inscription is short.

The first half is quite respectable.

The terms "borrow medicine," "tax deferral," and "exemption from military service for three months" were clearly written in black and white, and seemed like a life-saving measure.

Xuanzang read the inscription aloud from beginning to end, though he didn't read it very high, but the crowd on the street grew larger and larger. When he got to the last line, Chen Fan raised his hand to stop him.

There are also words along the back seam.

The woman was stunned: "Where did these words come from?"

Chen Fan didn't answer, but instead used a small knife to pry along the replaced stitches. The paper seam loosened by half an inch, revealing a thin ink line as thin as an ant's leg.

Si Mo moved the lamp over, his eyes squinting.

"There are supplementary provisions."

He Qi cursed, "Read it."

Xuanzang read the small characters aloud one by one: "If the contract holder is ill, dead, or exiled, the service undertaken under his name shall be renewed for life by the original contract holder, and no further notice shall be given."

The street corner suddenly fell silent.

Even the vendors selling sugar cakes stopped using their spatulas by the pot.

The woman didn't understand at first, but after a couple of breaths, her face gradually paled: "Lifetime...signed on behalf of someone?"

Chen Fan showed her the contract: "This is the contract your husband signed this time. No matter if he's still alive or not, they can use this paper to continue adding names, renewing contracts, and transferring numbers. Your son takes over, and if your son is gone, it goes down to the next person."

The woman's legs went weak, and she sat down on the ground.

He Qi reached out to help, but then withdrew his hand halfway, as if afraid of breaking it. He could only shout to Jiang Chao, "Get a stool!"

After the first contract was reviewed, the people outside the door did not disperse.

On the contrary, we're even closer now.

Some people pushed forward, while others turned and ran. They weren't running out of fear, but to go back and rummage through the boxes.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, the second one arrived.

The first was an old man missing two front teeth, carrying a life contract he had made for his granddaughter. The third was a boat laborer, and the fourth was a widow who made hemp rope. Some people who had been standing in the crowd listening turned around and ran home as soon as they heard the words "lifetime contract signing," even breaking one of their shoes in the process.

A queue gradually formed in front of the temple.

Chen Fan told He Qi to push the door panel outwards a little more, leaving an opening. He also asked Jiang Chao to borrow two low stools specifically for the contracting parties. Those who could read volunteered to come forward as witnesses. For those who couldn't read, Xuanzang would slowly read aloud, asking each time if they understood, and then asking if anyone had said it this way before.

No one said they had heard of it.

Twenty-seven contracts, examined one by one, revealed quite a few unusual clauses.

Some hide the supplementary rules in the back seam.

Some were pressed under fingerprints, covered with red clay, and could not be seen without removing them.

Some were simply written at the bottom of the page, the ink so light it looked like old ash, and could not be seen at all without a light.

There are two particularly suspicious contracts. The main contract states a six-month exemption from service, but the side page adds a clause stating that "the guarantor may assume responsibility for subsequent service duties." Unless all three parties compare the documents, no one would know that the other page had been altered.

By the time Si Mo finished reviewing the eleventh sheet, his hands were covered in ink, and his voice had turned cold: "The characters are the same, the strokes are the same, they were all copied from the same original sample."

Yang Jian arrived at noon, and the entrance to the scripture hall was already blocked off for half the street.

When he entered, he carried two volumes of pages he had taken from the abandoned archives. The corners of the volumes were damp, but the memories inside were clear. Names, serial numbers, and destinations were all neatly arranged.

Chen Fan turned to one of the pages and slammed it on the table: "It matches up."

The contract owner was a fishmonger who had died of illness three years prior. However, in the register, four strokes were added after his name. The first stroke transferred the ownership to the western kiln. The second to the northern warehouse loading and unloading area. The third wrote "damage." The fourth stroke listed a young man's name, with the note: "Inheriting the old contract."

The man's wife stood to the side, staring at the words, her lips trembling for a long time. Suddenly, she lunged forward and grabbed the booklet: "This is my son's nickname! This isn't his official name; this is what I call him at home!"

Her shout caused the crowd outside to thrash like water being poured into hot oil.

"Do they remember all the nicknames they have at home?"

"That means they already knew everything!"

"This isn't a life-saving contract, it's a noose!"

He Qi's temples throbbed with anger. He grabbed a wooden mallet from beside the door and slammed it on the ground: "Line up! One by one! Anyone who pushes past will be out of the running today!"

The crowd then moved back a little.

Xuanzang didn't stop, his voice hoarse, but he still followed the rules. First, he verified the contract owner. Then he verified the original contract. Then he verified the bottom page. Once the three matched, the verdict was made in front of everyone. Any hidden attachments or unannounced documents were immediately canceled. The "waste" seal was hastily carved by Chen Fan; the wood was still new, but it was very heavy when it was struck.

One piece of trash.

Two useless sheets.

Twenty-seven sheets, all useless.

As dusk fell, the last contract was removed from the table. Si Mo carefully stacked the discarded contracts, stretching his fingers until his knuckles stiffened. Jiang Chao brought over a pot of warm water, first handing it to Xuanzang, who didn't drink it but instead gave it to the old man who had come carrying his granddaughter.

The crowd outside hadn't dispersed yet; instead, quite a few more people arrived carrying cloth bags.

Some people stood far away, too afraid to go in.

Some people are already asking, "Will the trial still be held tomorrow?"

Chen Fan glanced at the pile of cloth bundles, then looked at the twenty-seven invalid contracts spread out on the table. On the last page of each contract, there was that tiny, almost sinister-looking handwriting.

Lifetime signing service.

He reached out and flipped the top one over, pressing it under the light.

"Investigate," he said. "Add another case tomorrow. Investigate who wrote the master page."

Chapter 677 Mountain Folks Block the Abandoned Office

Before dawn, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the sutra hall.

It's not about causing trouble.

There are now even more people queuing up.

The news of the twenty-seven invalidated deeds reviewed last night couldn't be suppressed. It spread through several neighborhoods in the west of the city, and even the woodcutters on the mountain paths came down. Some carried bamboo baskets, but instead of mountain produce, they contained deeds wrapped in old cloth. Others held sleeping children, their faces buried in their shoulders, their noses red from the cold.

Jiang Chao had just removed half of the door panel when someone outside asked, "Are we still going to investigate today?"

"Check," he replied, his feet moving without stopping, carrying the remaining door panel to the wall. "Line them up first, don't crowd. If anyone's paper is worried about creasing, protect the corners with your hands."

Xuanzang sat back down at his desk and replaced the teacup with a cup of coarse tea. The tea leaves were old and wouldn't steep properly, with a few broken stems floating on the surface. He looked down at the confession he had written down the night before, and his fingers stopped at the back.

Every invalid contract has small print on the last page.

Lifetime signing service.

This wasn't added casually.

It's like a group of people who have been copying for many years, and they've gotten used to it.

Si Mo sat at another table, which was covered with black wooden plaques. He hadn't slept all night; his eyes were bloodshot, but his fingers were steady as he arranged the plaques according to their numbers. The front of each plaque had its number written on it, while the back had a shallow engraving. The engraving was so fine that it was invisible unless held up to the light.

Chen Fan stood by the window, watching the crowd outside gradually increase.

He Qi squeezed in from outside the door, his shoulders still damp with dew.

"There were people peeking out at night near the abandoned City God's Office," he said. "I pretended to be a pancake seller and squatted there until the hour of Chou (1-3 AM). I saw the side gate open twice. Two thin monks dressed in gray robes came out quickly. They weren't carrying any scrolls, just two baskets of charcoal ash."

"Charcoal ash?"

"Like a mask for smells." He Qi spat. "I followed him for half the alley, and he disappeared back inside."

Chen Fan closed the window slightly and turned to look at Si Mo: "Could you frame the person first?"

Si Mo didn't look up. He held a thin piece of charcoal in his hand and wrote a series of numbers on a piece of paper.

"The black wooden plaques weren't issued randomly. The first four digits represent the workshop, the last two the mortise and tenon joint, the next digit is the handwriting recorder, and the last digit is the signature," he said. "Last night, eleven of the twenty-seven invalid contracts had the same handwriting on the last page. The signature page numbers were also consecutive. It wasn't done by one person; it was a group of people taking turns writing them."

Pigsy leaned closer and looked for a long time, but could only make out a string of black dots.

Speak like a human.

Si Mo dipped his tongue in cold tea to moisten his throat.

"The copying team left behind by the old bookkeeping monk."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Xuanzang raised his head.

The old-style bookkeepers were neither officials nor clerks. Wherever there was a need to copy lists—temples, granaries, riverbanks, soup kitchens—they were there. They kept records of incense offerings in normal times, and disaster relief registers during famine years. When officials encountered dirty work they couldn't handle themselves, they were often used. Their handwriting was fluent, and their tongues were tight-lipped. Several temples in the west had laid off a round of staff; ostensibly they were gone, but it seems their bones remained intact.

"The master copy is in their hands." Si Mo pointed to the eleven discarded contracts. "The follow-up copies are also in their hands. They use the old contracts to cover up identities, and then they use secret records. Who went into the kiln, who shipped goods out, who died outside—they can cover it all up. If we really want to track them down, we won't look for them in the official kilns, but in these smugglers."

Chen Fan hummed in agreement.

Now the person and the road are aligned.

There are paper troughs in the abandoned office building. The troughs lead to the port warehouse. People can leave through the side door at night. If those copyists were allowed to take away the continuation pages, the twenty-seven pages that were first examined would only count as twenty-seven pages.

He turned and walked out.

"Call Brother Niu over."

The Bull Demon King arrived very quickly.

He rested at the inn outside the city last night and came before dawn. When he entered, he was carrying half a cold pancake. He took a bite and his eyebrows furrowed: "The pancakes in your city are really hard to chew."

He Qi handed him water, and Chen Fan slammed the papers that Si Mo had just sorted out onto the table.

"The abandoned government office must be surrounded. We can't just guard the gate."

The Bull Demon King was delighted upon hearing this, and even stopped eating his pancake: "I know how to do this. Tell me how you want to form a circle."

"Block people, block goods, block catalogs." Chen Fan drew three lines on the table. "Keep an eye on the front door, the side door, and the dog hole in the back wall. Let no one slip through, whether they're walking on the ground or floating in the water. If anyone comes out, detain them first. If goods come out, search them first. If catalogs come out, seize them first."

The Bull Demon King nodded, more readily than anyone else: "I'll lead the mountain people. Who's going to talk to the port workers?"

"White Cliff," Chen Fan said.

Baiya was already well-connected at the port. He knew the White Dragon Clan's waterways, mooring routes, tides, and hidden stakes better than anyone. Having him block the waterways was perfect for him.

Chen Fan then looked at He Qi: "Go to the market. Pick ten people from those who came last night who are willing to step forward. Don't just talk the talk, make sure their families have really embarrassed them. Have them stand guard outside the abandoned government office. It's not to beat them, it's to help them recognize people. They should be able to recognize some of the faces that come out of there."

He Qi grinned: "This job is even more effective. When you actually see someone, you can even call out their ancestors."

Once the people were dispatched, the library became even busier.