The city gate guard opened the pass handed over by the Hu merchant, his gaze cold: “Commandant of Carriages?”
The leading merchant, with a face of honest simplicity, smiled obsequiously: “Indeed.”
The guard stared at the long row of chests, his eyes growing colder: “A mere fifth-rank official requires so many goods?”
It was already highly suspicious. Even the wealthiest households rarely ordered more than a dozen large chests at once.
Seeing the guard’s doubtful expression, he barked: “Open the chests. Search!”
The first chest was kicked open—empty, nothing inside.
Three or five guards stepped forward, kicking open the chests one by one. The sound of merchants shoving and jostling filled the air.
By the time the fifth chest was opened, the merchants’ hands had already slipped into their sleeves, eyes flashing with murderous intent. If their plan failed, assassins hidden nearby would immediately strike, launching another bloody escape.
Suddenly, a bright firework shot into the night sky over Chang’an.
“Damn, curfew has begun!”
The guards’ faces darkened. “Quick! Speed up the inspection!”
One of them glanced behind the line of merchants and saw several more groups waiting with their own chests.
At once, the northern gate commander, Luo Wuqi, ordered: “You five—go check the ones at the back!”
Several guards rushed to the rear of the line. One lifted the lid of the last chest—again, empty.
The leading merchant still wore his humble, ingratiating smile as he faced Luo Wuqi.
Luo Wuqi frowned, then finally waved his hand: “Go!”
The merchant immediately kowtowed: “Thank you, my lord!”
The leader gestured, and the dozen men dragged their long string of empty chests, swaying and rattling, out of Chang’an.
Half a cup of tea later, all the Hu merchants had left the city. Facing the now-deserted northern gate street, Commander Luo Wuqi’s eyes remained dark, fixed on the night where the merchants had disappeared.
“What is it, my lord?” a soldier asked in surprise.
Luo Wuqi extended his hand: “Bring me the pass documents.”
A thick stack of papers was placed in his hand. Luo Wuqi pulled out the one issued by the Commandant of Carriages and squinted at it for a long time.
“Take this pass immediately to the Court of Judicial Review. Deliver it to Minister Pei.”
He recalled that earlier this evening, just before the night market closed, Cui Shi, the Qian Niu Guard lieutenant, had sent him an urgent order.
The command: change the inspection rules. Instead of focusing on officials of second rank or above, pay special attention to merchants of fourth rank or below who carried excessive goods, and the closer they were to leaving before curfew, the more suspicious they should be.
Though Luo Wuqi did not fully understand the meaning of this order, from the moment he saw those Hu merchants with more than a dozen chests, his years of guarding the city gates told him instinctively that something was wrong.
Leaving aside whether a fifth-rank Commandant of Carriages would ever need so much cargo—even if he did—why was there no record of such a large group of Hu merchants entering the city in the past few days?
No entry record, yet an exit record. That alone proved the strangeness of the group just now.
The Commandant of Carriages seemed insignificant, but precisely because he was so inconspicuous, it was all the more suspicious.
The pass document was delivered overnight to the Court of Judicial Review. Pei Tan had not yet rested. When he saw the pass that had been issued, he immediately understood that his decision to change the inspection target at the last moment had been correct.
“Master, this Commandant of Carriages, Song Lang, issued only three passes in all of last year in Chang’an. They were for antiques and porcelain, altogether less than half a chest.”
Pei Tan had previously thought that with Zong Chuke’s connections, obtaining a second-rank pass issued by the Wei family—exempt from inspection—would be easy. But then he realized: if he could think of such a thing, how could the cunning Minister Zong not think of it too?
Passes issued by officials of second rank or above were too conspicuous, too risky.
What seemed safe was in fact unsafe. Conversely, what seemed dangerous might actually be safer. Pei Tan reflected that the more thoroughly the cargo was inspected, the less suspicion it aroused. After all, the gate commander would never doubt what he himself had already checked.
The only way to pass inspection smoothly was during the period when even the gate commanders had no time to check everything. The northern gate of Chang’an was the busiest, with the greatest flow of Hu merchants.
Pei Tan had identified this crucial moment: just before curfew. Even the most diligent commander would relax when faced with more cargo than could possibly be inspected.
Thinking of this, Pei Tan had sent word to Cui Shi. Everything had aligned perfectly—just in time.
“Just as you predicted, master. Our men lying in wait at the gate have already followed that group of Hu merchants.”
Pei Tan closed the document and looked at his attendant, Pei Xian: “We must know where they go once they leave the city.”
Where Zong Huo’s father intended to send him—making a man vanish completely from the world—was no simple matter.
“Rest assured, master. The trackers are experts we selected from the Pei household, skilled in concealment. Those Hu merchants will never notice.”
Even if Zong Chuke had sent his own experts to protect Zong Huo, they might not detect them.
Pei Tan said quietly: “His Majesty’s command was to act with expediency. If this matter can be resolved outside Chang’an, all the better.”
That was why Pei Tan had allowed the merchants to leave. If the matter erupted within Chang’an, it would benefit no one—not even Emperor Zhongzong.
Pei Xian’s eyes darkened as he thought of something: “Master, what about those palace maids who escaped in secret? What do you intend?”
It was like another case hidden within Zong Huo’s feigned death. The identities of those palace maids and the person behind them—if not reported to Emperor Zhongzong—how could it be settled? Who would have thought that upon taking office as Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, his master would face so many tangled and complex cases?
Pei Tan’s gaze was deep: “Once Zong Huo’s matter is resolved, His Majesty will naturally give further orders.”
Including, as Emperor Zhongzong had said, a retrial of the Jing family case.
Jing Wan’er entered her room, her eyes instinctively glancing toward the foot of the bed. Her heart sank. The ashes she had scattered beneath the bed now showed signs of disturbance—someone had moved what she had hidden there. She rushed forward, lifted the bed curtain, and looked down at the bundle she had concealed. She reached for it, only to find the knot tied differently. When she opened it, the inside was empty.
“Are you looking for this?” A malicious voice, full of triumph, came from the doorway.
Jing Wan’er turned sharply. She saw Qiao’er stepping inside, holding in her hand the very paper and pen that had been inside the bundle.
Seeing Jing Wan’er’s expression change, she clenched her hands tightly and slowly rose from the side of the bed.
Qiao’er leaned proudly against the doorway, shaking the items she had taken from the bundle: “Jing Wan’er, how dare you secretly hide brush and ink! Once I tell the Palace Madam, let’s see how she condemns you to death!”
Jing Wan’er felt a slight relief—at least this meant Qiao’er had not yet told anyone else. She sneered coldly: “What brush and ink? I know nothing of it. I think these are clearly your own things.”
Qiao’er shrieked sharply, glaring at her with malice: “Don’t try to deny it! These were found under your bed. Besides you, no one here can even read. Once I hand these over to the Palace Madam, no matter how clever your tongue, you won’t escape death!”
A chill ran through Jing Wan’er. Qiao’er had shown some cunning—she had found her weak spot.
Indeed, Palace Madam Cui would never believe the papers and ink belonged to someone else.
But Jing Wan’er suddenly smiled and stepped closer.
Qiao’er immediately retreated in alarm: “Y-you… what are you trying to do?”
Jing Wan’er fixed her gaze on her: “I’m wondering—do you really have the courage to accuse me before the Palace Madam?”
Qiao’er snapped: “Why wouldn’t I dare?”
“Do you dare?” Jing Wan’er stepped forward again, her cold, chilling face always enough to make the palace maids shrink back. “Don’t forget—last time, Palace Madam Cui ordered you to accompany me in preparing that corpse. I haven’t yet told her that you forgot your token and ended up waiting at the palace gate instead of following me.”
That was Qiao’er’s greatest mistake. Palace Madam Cui would never forgive a maid who disobeyed her orders—especially since Jing Wan’er understood why Palace Madam Cui had insisted Qiao’er follow her closely.
It was the corpse of *Zong Huo*. No error could be tolerated.
Qiao’er’s proud face instantly changed. She turned pale, staring at Jing Wan’er: “You wretch… you wouldn’t dare!”
Jing Wan’er’s lips curved into a smile: “As long as you dare, I dare.”
Qiao’er cursed: “Wretch! It was you who told me to wait at the palace gate…”
Jing Wan’er cut her off: “Yes, but don’t forget—it was you who forgot your token first. That’s not my fault.”
Qiao’er’s face turned paper-white. She had not expected Jing Wan’er to use this against her.
Jing Wan’er sneered coldly: “Do you want to test it? Which crime is greater—my hiding brush and ink, or your disobedience and deceit of the Palace Madam? Between us, who do you think will die?”
Qiao’er trembled with rage: “You… you venomous wretch…”
Jing Wan’er replied icily: “The feeling is mutual.” She was unafraid of dragging Qiao’er down with her. She reached out a hand toward Qiao’er, her meaning clear.
Qiao’er met her gaze for a long moment, her face pale, before finally gritting her teeth: “Jing Wan’er, I’ve long known you harbor ill intent. These papers and ink—surely you use them to plot treachery with your accomplices?”
Jing Wan’er’s eyes flickered: “I am with you all every day. Even if I hide paper and ink, who among you could be my accomplice?”
Qiao’er was defeated. She hurled the brush and ink to the ground with venom, glared at Jing Wan’er one last time, then turned and left the room.
Only then did Jing Wan’er drop her mask. Her face pale, she hurried forward to pick up her belongings. The brush tip had been broken by Qiao’er’s throw, and the ink she had painstakingly saved was now nearly gone.
Even so, Jing Wan’er carefully tucked the items back into her bosom— as though placing away a precious dream.