In the salt depot, the thin old man kept pinching out the rush-wick—then lighting it again—then pinching it out again.
"The countdown's down to one day," he said, starting with the conclusion. "If you still want to keep fishing, you have to make them believe you're panicking."
Chaosheng leaned against the wall and gave one line. "Panic—like it's real."
Xu Jinghong nodded. "We give him a road-net map that looks urgent. Looks true."
Qin Zhao lifted his eyes. "How long can a fake map fool them?"
Xu Jinghong answered straight. "Until tomorrow morning is enough."
Chaosheng added the price. "If it doesn't hold, three points burn at once."
Xu Jinghong didn't snap back. She reached for the stack of papers on the table.
"Make the map."
I. How to Make a Fake Map Look Real
The thin old man brought out two things:a notched red stamp, and a basin of red clay mixed with sand.
"Official papers don't look like underworld notes," he said. "If you want it to look official, you need three things: paper, seal, and trace."
He cut the paper into two sizes:one the size of a salt ticket—small enough to slip into a sleeve;one slightly larger, like an attachment sheet to a checkpoint slip.
Xu Jinghong took only the larger size.
"They need to believe this is the shadow of a road-net," she said. "Not a scrap note."
With charcoal she marked dots and lines. No fine drawing. No full names. Just four characters—four categories:
WELL. BOOTH. GATE. BOAT.
Qin Zhao stared. "That little?"
Xu Jinghong: "The less you write, the more it looks like it was scratched in a rush. The more complete it is, the more it looks like a trap."
The thin old man pressed the notched stamp into the bottom right corner. Then, with the pad of his thumb, he smeared the red clay-sand along the edge—unevenly, like it had been rubbed there while running.
Chaosheng glanced once. "Too clean."
Xu Jinghong folded the sheet, then scuffed the crease with the corner of a salt sack cloth.
"Now?" she asked.
Chaosheng nodded. "Now it looks like it lived."
The thin old man added one more "system detail":
"The map needs a point that makes them move. Something actionable. For instance—Back-Well Alley."
Xu Jinghong wrote two small characters beside WELL:
BACK WELL.
She paused, then looked up at Qin Zhao.
"Remember: this is for them to probe the gate—not to copy the entire net."
Qin Zhao nodded. "Understood."
Xu Jinghong corrected him at once. "Don't just say 'understood.' Do."
Qin Zhao swallowed and changed his answer. "Yes."
II. Delivering the Map: Qin Zhao Does One Motion Only
Xu Jinghong folded the fake map down to pawn-ticket size and tucked it into the lining of an old salt sack.
She gave Qin Zhao only three instructions:
Go to the North Gate pawnshop.
Set the salt sack back down by the wooden post.
Turn and leave—immediately. Don't look at faces, don't look at prices, don't look at doors.
Qin Zhao answered short. "Yes."
Chaosheng added a reminder shaped like a blade.
"You look back once, one more point may die."
Qin Zhao's throat tightened. "…I won't."
Xu Jinghong threw him a single word. "Go."
At the pawnshop, the price boards were written with crisp clarity:
Silver bracelet—one tael.Cotton coat—three mace.Copper kettle—five mace.
The clearer the prices, the more this place "kept rules."And the more it proved that rules could kill.
Qin Zhao set the salt sack back beside the wooden post. He moved as if he were placing a bag of rags—not as if he were placing a life. Then he walked away, neither too fast nor too slow.
Twenty paces out, he heard an abacus bead click once behind him.
He didn't look back.
He heard a brick-crack whisper—someone sliding paper into a seam.
He still didn't look back.
His hand slipped into his sleeve and found the Gui coin in his palm. He pressed his thumb into the carved character and forced his heartbeat down.
III. How the Map Reaches the Receiving End
Xu Jinghong and Chaosheng watched from two angles.
Xu Jinghong watched the passing hand.Chaosheng watched the receiver.
When the pawnshop clerk came out, his face was pale as before. His first move wasn't to rummage the sack—it was to clamp the mouth shut.
He was afraid of dropping it. Not money he feared losing—life.
He went to the wall. A boot tip hooked, and the paper disappeared from the brick seam. The paper itself carried no writing—only a tiny stamp:
the notched red stamp.
A command: Go.
The clerk turned toward the Salt Tax Office side gate.
The gate clerk accepted the sack and did not open it. Instead he did two things first:
First: he tested the corner—thumb rubbing the red clay-sand mark.Second: he asked one question. "Does it have the notched stamp?"
The pawnshop clerk nodded.
Only then did the gate clerk slip the map into his sleeve and knock twice on the doorframe. A single sound answered from within. The side gate opened.
From far off, Qin Zhao watched and felt cold spread through him.
They ran the workflow—check seal, check trace, check gate—like an assembly line.
Chaosheng murmured, "The receiving end doesn't have just one door."
Xu Jinghong answered, "I saw."
Chaosheng: "Cut it or not?"
Xu Jinghong: "Not yet. Let it go deeper."
IV. The "Suppression Office": They Start Scheduling a Probe by the Map
The side gate didn't lead to the main hall. It led to a small inner yard. A wooden plaque hung at the yard entrance:
SUPPRESSION DUTIES.(a cover name)
The plaque was small. The boots at the door were clean. Belts tight.
These weren't ordinary Salt Tax Office clerks. This was the rebel-hunter unit's hand inside the building.
The gate clerk passed the map in. The man inside didn't unfold it right away—he only rubbed the sand trace with his fingertip. Grit clung to the pad.
He smiled.
"They changed gates."
Then he issued orders—plain, practical, and cruelly executable:
"Tomorrow morning—Back-Well Alley.""Seal the alley. Set up two booths.""Re-verify salt tickets.""If you see a checkpoint slip with a notched red stamp—detain first, question later."
Every line could be carried out.Every line could hurt someone.
Xu Jinghong heard every word. She didn't move.
Chaosheng lowered his voice. "Satisfied now? They bit."
Xu Jinghong replied, "Biting isn't winning. I want to see how they throw the net."
She turned to Qin Zhao and gave him an order, not comfort:
"Back to the depot. Sleep for a quarter hour. Tomorrow morning, you run."
Qin Zhao wanted to say I can't sleep. His mouth opened—then closed.
"…Yes."
—Chronicler's note:Counter-baiting isn't "tricking" someone. It's making the enemy commit predictable harm at your tempo. If you can predict it, you can strike back.
(End of this chapter)
Translator's Memo (as requested)
缺角红印: Notched Red Stamp
红泥砂痕: Red Clay/Sand Mark
盐课司侧门: Salt Tax Office Side Gate
缉务: Suppression Office (cover name)
封巷设棚: Seal the alley, set inspection booths
试门: Probe the Gate