Liú Lǎoshí and Hé Xiǎolíng’s worried eyes flickered like weak lanterns, swaying in the dim light of the hut.
Liú Xiǎomǎn, however, wore a confident smile, calm as if everything were already under control.
She leaned closer, voice tinged with a mix of mystery and assurance: “Uncle, if the authorities come to inspect, we’ll give them a reason they can’t question.”
Liú Lǎoshí frowned, lowering his voice as if afraid of being overheard: “A reason they can’t question? Xiǎomǎn, this isn’t a game. If they think we’re secretly making weapons, heads will roll!”
His rough hands were slick with nervous sweat, knuckles instinctively clenched.
Liú Xiǎomǎn gently patted his hand, the warmth calming him slightly.
“Uncle, we’re buying openly and honestly. How could they accuse us?” Her eyes gleamed brighter than the lamp on the table. “We just need a reason big enough to satisfy them.”
At dawn the next day, Liú Xiǎomǎn and Liú Lǎoshí boarded the first ox cart heading to town.
Qīngshí Town’s streets were noisier than usual, and Liú Xiǎomǎn quickly noticed the rice price board outside Fùkāng Grain Shop—the numbers had climbed slightly since their last visit.
The air carried a subtle tension, like the oppressive calm before a storm.
Liú Xiǎomǎn didn’t visit random shops. She led Liú Lǎoshí to a quiet corner of a modest teahouse.
From her sleeve, she produced a piece of rough paper with a crudely drawn map of the town. Using charcoal, she had marked the locations of every smithy, cloth shop, and apothecary.
Pointing at the largest blacksmith shop, she began laying out a detailed plan.
“Uncle, there are three smithies in town. Zhāng’s is the largest, best-skilled, but also most watched by the authorities.”
She pushed a heavy pouch of coins across the table. The clink of metal rang sharply.
“Take a few trustworthy villagers, act as representatives from several neighboring villages. Say you have a benefactor and are reclaiming the hills, so you need plenty of farm tools. The more people, the stronger the reason.”
She paused, her tone leaving no room for doubt: “Remember, pay a generous deposit. Show confidence, nothing to hide. I’ll handle the other two smaller smithies myself, with the same reasoning, but different items, so no suspicion arises.”
Liú Lǎoshí listened, heart racing. This wasn’t a fifteen-year-old girl—this was a strategist, commanding like a general. Her composure and insight humbled him.
By now, he believed almost entirely in her “wise guidance” story.
They split up to execute the plan.
Liú Lǎoshí gathered a few pre-selected honest villagers and approached Zhāng’s smithy as representatives, posture straight and faces confident despite worn clothes.
Meanwhile, Liú Xiǎomǎn headed to the cloth shops.
She didn’t act timidly. Instead, she approached the shopkeeper directly: “If I need winter garments for a wealthy household—hundreds of people, from the mansion down—how much cotton and coarse cloth would be needed? Give me an estimate.”
She cleverly turned a massive bulk purchase into a legitimate custom order. The shopkeeper’s eyes brightened at the prospect of a big sale, inviting her inside for tea.
While Liú Lǎoshí negotiated with Zhāng’s smithy, a man in silk clothing, shrewd-faced, entered the shop.
He was the manager of Fùkāng Grain Shop, ordering a few iron parts for carts. His gaze swept Liú Lǎoshí’s group, then casually rested on the girl stepping out of the cloth shop.
He studied her closely, sensing something unusual about the rural man and the petite girl working separately.
Liú Xiǎomǎn noticed his scrutiny. Her heart skipped, yet she didn’t avoid him. Instead, she gave a small nod, then returned to discussing cloth colors, perfectly masking any concern.
After securing the cloth, Liú Xiǎomǎn visited the apothecaries.
She deliberately avoided the well-known Qiānshū Hall, instead buying common but bulk herbs from three smaller shops: dried ginger for colds, coptis for diarrhea, and Sanqi powder for bleeding.
Her explanation was the same each time: “I’m buying for villagers, to prepare for winter.”
Reasonable, mundane, and suspicion-free.
By evening, the town was bathed in a warm orange glow.
Liú Xiǎomǎn and Liú Lǎoshí met at the designated cart stand.
Liú Lǎoshí, exhilarated, grabbed her hands, voice trembling: “Xiǎomǎn, it’s all set! Zhāng’s agreed—the goods ready in three days! The other two small shops are done too!”
He looked at his composed niece, dark face full of respect:
“I’ve lived long, seen much, but never met anyone as clever as you. Uncle is truly impressed, completely.”
Their blood-bound trust now deepened into an unbreakable alliance.
Meanwhile, back at Fùkāng Grain Shop, the manager instructed his assistants:
“Check for any households, besides the Wáng family’s wedding, holding big events or reclaiming land—especially any activity from Liú village.”
He had already connected the seemingly unrelated actions of Liú Xiǎomǎn and Liú Lǎoshí.
Night fell.
All purchased goods—including early cloth, herbs, and supplemental grain—were loaded onto two ox carts.
The wheels groaned under the weight, like lamenting voices.
The town gates were about to close. Heavy iron doors slowly descended under the soldiers’ push.
They had to depart immediately, quietly transporting the cargo back to Liú village, bypassing main roads, and hiding it in the secret rocky spot behind the hill.
Liú Lǎoshí peered into the pitch-black road ahead, concerned: “Xiǎomǎn, should we rest in town until daylight? It’s too dark and dangerous to travel.”
“No,” she said firmly, eyes piercing through the night. “The longer it stays out of our hands, the greater the risk. Tonight it must reach our hideout!”
The two fully loaded ox carts creaked and groaned as they rolled past the closing west gate of Qīngshí Town, swallowed gradually by the darkness.
Ahead, the road was a void of blackness, seemingly ready to devour everything. Would this night transport succeed?