Chapter Two

In the dining room of Gu Datong’s home, a large round table stood at the center, illuminated each evening by a grand marine lantern. Its bright light filled the room, making every corner shine. The Gu family would gather here and eat dinner together in the glow.

Tonight’s meal was a little earlier than usual, for Gu Yurou had finished cooking ahead of time. After dinner, Gu Yusheng returned to his room. He did not light a lamp but fumbled in the dark, pulling a night-walker’s outfit from beneath his bed and changing into it.

He sat quietly on the bed, waiting for the night to deepen before slipping out. For several nights he had lain in ambush atop the great banyan tree at the East River ferry, hoping to catch the notorious flower thief who once struck there. But the thief had not appeared again.

“Villain, have you flown to the heavens? If not, I’ll surely catch you,” Gu Yusheng cursed inwardly. He had a premonition that tonight, the thief would return.

As dusk fell, Gu Yusheng took down the Lou family’s treasured sword from the wall. But as he stepped out, his father stopped him and asked, “Yusheng, have you tallied the wages for the men this month?”

“Not yet, Father. The silver hasn’t arrived. Why the rush?” Gu Yusheng replied.

Gu Datong said, “Silver? Yaoyao will bring it tomorrow. Why not stay home tonight and settle the accounts, so when the money arrives, you can pay them?”

His father was the emperor of the household; Gu Yusheng had to obey. He returned to his room, removed his night-walker’s garb, and, candle in hand, carried the ledgers, abacus, brush, and ink to the dining room. Sitting at the round table under the lantern’s brilliance, he tapped away at the abacus and made notes.

Gu Datong sat in a corner, watching his son work as he puffed on his water pipe. He had two sons and a daughter, all born in the Central Plains. During the great famine eighteen years ago, he fled with them to Yangcheng. Time had flown—eighteen years gone in a blink. In those years, Gu Datong was both father and mother, braving wind and rain to raise them. The eldest, Gu Yuren, was now twenty-four, engaged to Qi Qiongqiong, the eldest daughter of his junior fellow disciple Qi Wei, though not yet married. Three years ago, Gu Yuren, as the sixty-seventh ranked scholar from Yangzhou Prefecture, went to the capital for the exams, but failed. Upon his return, he told Gu Datong that his failure was due to lack of mastery and inexperience; he no longer wished to work at the salt-drying grounds. He found a modest post at the Yangzhou Prefecture’s inspection office, enough to support himself.

Gu Yusheng, the second son, was twenty-one, handsome, intelligent, and precocious, skilled both in martial arts and scholarly pursuits, even surpassing his brother. He was much beloved by his father. Three years ago, he was to join his brother for the autumn exams, but fell gravely ill before the date, missing the opportunity, and so remained a scholar rather than a degree-holder.

The daughter, Yurou, nearly starved as a baby, and as she grew, she resembled her mother in her youth—exceptional in every way.

Indeed, Gu Yusheng’s accounting skill was superb; in less than half the time it took incense to burn, he calculated wages for dozens of men. He handed the payroll to his father, saying, “Father, I have a feeling that flower thief may show tonight. May I go out?”

Gu Datong glanced at the payroll and nodded. Gu Yusheng returned to his room, donned his night-walker’s outfit again, took up the sword, and vanished into the night.

“Protect yourself, don’t fight recklessly, use your wits…” Gu Datong called after him from the dining room.

“Don’t worry, I will,” came the reply from the darkness.

Gu Yusheng’s premonition proved wrong; he returned empty-handed that night.

Before dawn, Qi Wei, the proprietor of the Qi Family Salt Shop in Yangcheng, and his wife Yin Yuanyuan rose early. As Yin Yuanyuan opened the safe, she said, “Husband, we’re taking three thousand taels of silver and over a dozen carts of grain today—it’s conspicuous. Is it safe to let Yaoyao supervise?”

Qi Wei patted her shoulder. “Yaoyao is grown now; she needs experience. Besides, Chief Steward Chen Ren is going along—he’s weathered many storms and is skilled in martial arts. Rest assured.”

So Yin Yuanyuan hauled out a pile of silver from the safe. Qi Wei counted and packed it into three wooden chests, locked them, and summoned six workers to carry the chests outside. Chen Ren had them loaded onto a large carriage at the door.

Qi Wei saw that dozens of salt carts lined the street, forming a caravan. Each cart was drawn by two horses with bells around their necks; ten carts carried rice—ordered by Gu Datong a few days earlier for the salt workers.

He saw his daughter, Qi Yaoyao, riding a spirited brown horse, shouting commands up and down the line. Qi Wei called her over and cautioned, “Yaoyao, be prudent on the road; don’t act rashly, consult with Steward Chen if anything happens.” He handed her three keys and a pouch of silver. “These three hundred taels are for emergencies along the way.”

“Yes, Father,” Qi Yaoyao replied, accepting the keys and silver from horseback.

“All right!” Steward Chen shouted from the driver’s seat.

At once, the street rang with the jingling of bells—the caravan was on its way. At dawn, they left through the East Gate, winding along the salt road.

The salt road had once been a narrow, broken sheep path. After the salt-drying grounds were built, bridges and wider roads allowed carts to pass, though the East River was still crossed by ferry, as its waters were too wide for a bridge. Horses and carts had to be loaded onto ferries to cross. Beyond Yangcheng, the salt road was flanked by vast fields of rice and mulberry.

In the early morning, tender green grass glistened with dew; the moist air carried the invigorating scent of earth. A crescent moon still hung in the eastern sky.

Qi Yaoyao rode her brown horse, gazing at the moon and breathing the fresh, earthy air, feeling elated—for she had barely slept, the excitement of her first solo escort keeping her awake.

She was a striking young woman with a delicate, beautiful face: bold forehead, proud, arched brows, large discerning eyes, a high nose, and cherry-red lips.

She favored black attire: black jacket, skirt, hat, and the waterfall of glossy black hair cascading down her shoulders lent her a heroic air on horseback, making her seem a wandering swordswoman. Yet in truth, she was a pampered daughter of wealth.

She had practiced martial arts from childhood, learning the Lou family sword technique. Her family ran Yangcheng’s largest salt shop—the Qi Family Salt Shop. Previously, her elder sister Qi Qiongqiong had always supervised the salt caravans. Though the salt road’s journey was but a day, part of it skirted the notorious bandit haunt, Shijiao Mountain. Banditry had grown rampant in recent years. The southern stretch followed the East River’s left bank, winding to the ferry, with both banks covered in sprawling wetlands thick with reeds, tall as a man’s head, perfect for hiding thieves. While escorting the caravans, Qi Qiongqiong had faced robbers and bandits many times, but always escaped danger. Qi Yaoyao had never escorted a caravan, though she had traversed the salt road.

This was Qi Yaoyao’s second journey on the salt road. A year before, she had delivered several banknotes alone to the salt-drying grounds—being banknotes, they attracted little attention and she arrived safely. Qi Yaoyao loved seafood; Gu Datong treated her to lobster and crab, and she drank a few cups of wine, sleeping in late the next day. Gu Datong urged her to stay and enjoy herself, but Qi Yaoyao insisted on returning. “Thank you, Master Gu, for your kind invitation! But I promised my parents to make the trip in one day each way. If I delay, they’ll worry—I cannot bear that. Besides, my horse is fast; a few extra lashes and I’ll be home before dark.” Gu Datong could only see her off, and for safety, ordered Gu Yusheng to follow and protect her in secret.

Though Qi Yaoyao’s mount was swift and she pushed it hard, she was delayed at the ferry, and darkness fell before she exited Shijiao Mountain. Luckily, it was the eighth day of the lunar month, and the moon soon rose after sundown. Qi Yaoyao pressed on, hoping to leave the mountain quickly. Yet, rounding a bend, she found herself blocked by more than ten men, armed with knives and swords—they were the mountain bandits. These robbers sought both riches and beauty, forcing Qi Yaoyao to fight alone against them.

She believed her martial skills were enough to handle ten bandits, but soon found two among them were exceptional. Despite all her efforts, she was outnumbered and began to falter. She resolved that, should the worst come, she would rather die than fall into their hands. At the critical moment, a dark figure on horseback rushed in, shouting, “Miss, don’t be afraid! I’m here to help you!”

The shadow swiftly drove off all the bandits.

Qi Yaoyao stepped forward to thank her rescuer. She saw he wore black night-walker’s garb and a black scarf over his face—a swordsman.

She was so moved she asked for his name, but he refused, saying only, “Call me the Salt Hero,” before vanishing into the night.

Qi Yaoyao was disappointed. She stood dazed on the salt road, gazing at the spot where the shadow disappeared. After a moment, she mounted her horse and rode towards Yangcheng.

“Second Miss, we’re nearly at Shijiao Mountain!” Chen Ren reminded her.

“Remove all the bells from the horses’ necks,” she ordered.

The caravan entered Shijiao Mountain, winding slowly along the salt road’s bends. The jingling ceased, and only the rumble of wheels over hard red earth could be heard.

Qi Yaoyao rode beside the main carriage, guarding it. She hoped the caravan would exit the mountain quickly—there were three chests of silver aboard. Yet she also hoped they’d go slower—perhaps the Salt Hero was nearby? By dusk, the caravan arrived safely at the salt-drying grounds.

That evening, the grand marine lantern atop Gu Datong’s round dining table was already ablaze. Around it, the table was laden with seafood: steamed grouper, scallion-fried conch, boiled shrimp, crab, lobster, and abalone-rib soup—all the harvest of Gu Yurou, Xiao Guimu, and Zhao Rouya’s seaside labor; plus Xiao Guimu’s signature dish, spicy beef stir-fry.

Qi Yaoyao sat at the table, drooling over the sumptuous spread—ten times more lavish than last year’s banquet. With her were Gu Datong, Xiao Guimu’s father Xiao Tianjian, and Gu Yurou. They awaited the arrival of Xiao Guimu’s mother, Zhao Rouya, who had gone to distribute grain to the salt workers. She was clever and resourceful, renowned for her beauty in youth.

Xiao Tianjian kept urging, “Brother Datong, Yaoyao is starving, let’s eat first! Don’t wait for her.”

Qi Yaoyao replied politely, “Uncle Tianjian, I’m not that hungry, let’s wait a bit longer.”

Before she could finish, a reproachful voice sounded from outside: “I already told Yurou—start eating, don’t wait for me.”

Gu Datong turned and laughed, “Yaoyao, now we can begin!” He reached for the wine jug, but Gu Yurou quickly took it, saying, “Father, let me pour.” She filled everyone’s cup.

Recently, Qi Yaoyao dreaded seeing Gu Yusheng, so she asked, “Master Gu, will Yusheng and Sister Guimu dine at home tonight?”

Gu Datong replied, “By custom, they eat tonight with the workers and those from Yangcheng.”

Qi Yaoyao thanked him, “Master, your hospitality to the Qi Salt Shop workers is truly generous! I thank you.”

Gu Datong said, “It’s all for the salt-drying grounds, no need to thank me.”

After several rounds of drinks, Gu Datong raised a cup to Zhao Rouya, “Aunt, in so little time you prepared this feast for Yaoyao—I am moved. I toast you.”

Zhao Rouya sipped her wine. “Brother Datong, it’s not my doing. Most ingredients were gathered by Yurou and Guimu.”

Gu Datong drained his cup and asked, “Aunt, what kept you busy just now?”

Zhao Rouya sipped again. “I was handling coordination for you, Master Gu.” She was highly respected at the salt-drying grounds, especially among the women, who trusted her. When disputes arose, Gu Datong often asked her to mediate. Today, she had been tasked with distributing rice.

Gu Datong asked, “Was there trouble?”

Zhao Rouya shook her head. “No trouble. It was the rice Yaoyao brought this morning that caused a stir.” As mentioned earlier, Gu Datong had recently ordered a batch of rice from Yangcheng’s grain store, delivered by Yaoyao.

Gu Datong was surprised, “What’s wrong with the rice? Is it moldy? I checked the samples before paying.”

Qi Yaoyao, cracking open a lobster, quickly set it down and said, “I personally inspected it this morning before loading.”

Zhao Rouya waved her hand. “The rice isn’t moldy, rest assured.”

Gu Datong relaxed, “Then what’s the issue?”

Zhao Rouya sipped her wine and replied, “The salt workers’ homes are now so stocked with grain, there’s nowhere left to store it—it’s nearly infested with bugs.”

Gu Datong laughed, “I’ve lived half a lifetime and never heard anyone complain of too much grain at home—this is a first!”

Zhao Rouya said, “Brother Datong, you’ve always cared about the workers, especially fearing hunger. I know it, they know it, and are grateful. But have you considered? For half a year, every ten days or so, you purchase grain in bulk, and deduct the cost from their wages. As the saying goes: ‘It hurts to cut one’s own flesh!’ No wonder they complain.”

Gu Datong was pleased. “Aunt Rouya, your reminder is timely. Tomorrow, tell everyone—the next batch of grain won’t be deducted from their wages. I’ll use the salt grounds’ reserve fund.”

Zhao Rouya replied, “You’re still buying in bulk?”

Gu Datong said, “Yes. Drought is spreading everywhere; fields are barren. Our region fares better, but the drought worsens. How can we let the workers’ families lack grain?”

“But they already complain of too much stored,” Zhao Rouya said.

Gu Datong drained his cup, sighing, “Aunt Rouya, they’re foolish, but we can’t be! Do you remember the great famine eighteen years ago in the Central Plains?”

Zhao Rouya was sensitive; mention of that time chilled her to the bone. She fell silent, stopped drinking, stopped eating, and only wept quietly.

Xiao Tianjian understood his wife well. He set down his cup, went over, and gently led Zhao Rouya from the dining room.

That night, in the great hall at the salt-drying grounds, dozens of salt workers and Qi Salt Shop employees gathered, drinking, gaming, and laughing—the atmosphere a world apart from the Gu family’s dinner.

Xiao Guimu enthusiastically promoted her signature dish—spicy beef stir-fry—to the Qi Salt Shop workers. She set a plate on each table, saying, “To our guests from afar, this spicy beef is tonight’s highlight. Normally it would come last, but knowing you’re all gourmets, I’m letting you try it first—please taste and give your opinions.”

A seasoned salt worker picked up a piece and chewed, saying, “It’s excellent!” He recommended it to Steward Chen Ren, “Try it, Steward Chen, quick…”

Chen Ren tasted the beef and pepper, then said to Xiao Guimu, “Miss Xiao, I’ve traveled the country with Master Qi, eaten spicy beef countless times, but tonight’s is the best; yours is unique, with a special flavor!”

Xiao Guimu was delighted, repeatedly asking, “Really? Really?…”

Seated at the head, Gu Yusheng seized the moment, raising his bowl: “To the Qi Salt Shop workers from afar, and our salt grounds friends—tomorrow, our sparkling, crystalline salt will be delivered to market. It’s the fruit of your sweat and their anticipation. Let’s raise a glass and pray for good prices!”

“Agreed!” Everyone rose, clinking cups and draining them. Gu Yusheng drank his dry.

He refilled his bowl and said, “Friends, comrades, blue sky, blue sea, one cup dry, two cups clean, three cups for true feelings! Now for the second cup!” He raised his bowl and drank.

“Cheers!” Another round of clinking.

Gu Yusheng filled his bowl again. “Friends, comrades, now for the third cup!”

“Wait!” Xiao Guimu approached, bowl in hand. “Gu number two, you said three cups make true feelings—do you mean it?”

“Of course!” replied Gu Yusheng.

Xiao Guimu stepped closer, asking, “If we drink thirty together, what does that make us?”

Gu Yusheng, bleary-eyed, said, “What? Then we’d be sworn brothers!”

Xiao Guimu spat twice on the floor. “Who wants to be your brother!” She too was tipsy.

Gu Yusheng finished his bowl and asked, “Not brothers—what do you want then?”

Xiao Guimu blinked drunkenly. “Gu number two, I want to be your wife.”

Gu Yusheng set down his empty bowl. “That’s impossible!” He steadied it with his hand, afraid it might fall.

Xiao Guimu pressed, “Why not?”

Gu Yusheng patted his chest. “My wife must be here!”

Xiao Guimu asked, “We grew up together—am I not here?” She tapped his chest.

Gu Yusheng stroked his chest. “You are, but not in the way that holds hands for a lifetime.”

Xiao Guimu, disappointed, asked, “Then what am I to you?”

Gu Yusheng answered, “Like Yurou—a sister.”

Unwilling to give up, Xiao Guimu said, “If so, why did you hold my hand in your sleep?”

Gu Yusheng blushed. “That was in a dream! I thought you were her…” Xiao Guimu was utterly disappointed. She fired back in grief, “I know who! But let me tell you, it’s your wishful thinking—one-sided, futile!”

Gu Yusheng slumped back into his chair, muttering, “Futile or not, it’s none of your concern…” He was drunk.