Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Dangerous Song Jiang Town

Past Huai Ting Pass, the road ran north for a little over twenty li before reaching Song Jiang Town, which fell under the control of the Capital Guard Office.

The exile convoy planned to arrive in the Song Jiang region around dusk, when lanterns came out and shadows deepened.

Song Jiang Town wasn’t huge, but it sat at a north-south junction—a place everyone passed through. That made its market streets lively. It was also close enough to the capital that traveling merchants often chose to stop here, find a clean inn, and breathe for a night if they weren’t pressed for time.

First, they could sniff out what the powerful in the capital were currently obsessed with.

Second, they could swap gossip with merchants coming from the South Sea up through the north.

So Song Jiang drew every kind of person. Strange clothing, strange faces, even the occasional mysterious traveler—none of it earned more than a passing glance.

People here were busy surviving. Who had the energy to be shocked?

At the edge of dusk, guests who’d spent the day working drifted to open-front stalls by the road. A bowl of tea, a story told well—small comforts for tired bones.

A little tea stall sat on Lai Yun Street, between the south and north city gates. Four bamboo poles held up an oilcloth roof. Under it were five or six tables, flanked by long wooden benches for guests to rest.

At the head of the stall stood a long table, set with the storyteller’s teapot and wooden clapper.

The hour for the next session hadn’t arrived yet. The storyteller was still absent.

People filtered in. Some sat, drank, and left. Others ate a small snack with their tea and asked the shopkeeper what tale would be told tonight.

“Sir—are we getting the old story again today?”

The shopkeeper smiled like he was guarding a secret. “Guest, you came at the perfect time. Tonight’s story is fresh—hot off the pot. It’s tied to those strange happenings in the capital lately. The storyteller will be here soon. Want me to bring something to eat first?”

That perked up the traveling merchants immediately.

They waved their companions over, sat down together, and slid a few bits of silver across the table.

“Good tea,” one said. “Good food. Don’t be stingy.”

Before long, the nearby tables were filled.

The sky darkened. Lanterns were hung at the corners of the stall, their light turning faces soft and expectant.

A gray-robed figure walked out with measured steps and stopped behind the storytelling table.

Under the dim glow, the storyteller’s lean, bearded face looked almost legendary—as long as he stayed silent.

“Sir!” someone called. “What are you telling tonight?”

The storyteller smiled, cupped his hands, and bowed to both sides.

“No need to rush the book. First—let me wish all our guests peace and safety!”

The crowd laughed and settled in. The shopkeeper and shophand hurried between tables, pouring tea and refilling cups. When the old sir flicked his robe and set his expression, everyone knew the real show had begun.

The clapper snapped.

The storyteller’s voice rose, beginning with the strange rain that had fallen from nowhere in the capital a few days ago.

“The Xie family was defeated in the northwest—clan and household facing catastrophe. On the day their property was confiscated, disaster struck: the Xie ancestral shrine caught fire. Flames roared under a bright sky… and then, in broad daylight, rain poured down—hard and sudden!”

He spread his hands as if painting the scene in air.

“Those clouds were uncanny. They didn’t drift. They didn’t miss. They hung directly over the Xie ancestral hall, and the rain smothered the blaze. The ducal manor’s fire died, and the shrine remained unharmed. Now, you tell me—doesn’t that make you wonder? Why should the Xie family have such luck?”

“Don’t tease us, sir!” someone shouted. “Tell it already!”

The old sir stroked his beard, smiling. “I’m not spinning nonsense. This miracle isn’t surprising at all, because in the Xie ancestral hall sits a household god tablet, passed down for generations. Over a hundred years.”

Someone laughed. “I know that story. The yamen even posted notices. That Xie family deity was a fake, wasn’t it? Never showed any power!”

A guest beside him snorted. “Fake? Then how do you explain the rain that put out the fire? Sir just told you—it happened.”

“Real or fake?”

“I just came from the capital,” someone else chimed in. “People there swear they saw it with their own eyes.”

Curiosity spread like sparks. The crowd pushed the storyteller to continue.

“If you want to know whether the Xie family’s century-old deity truly exists—and whether it’s truly effective—then we must begin with the Xie family’s own ancestor. Long ago, at death’s door, the man received the deity’s pity. He returned from death and rode eight hundred li to move troops and save the Founding Emperor. An incredible tale!”

The tea stall buzzed. Guests listened, eyes bright, occasionally interrupting with comments about the Xie family’s fall from glory. That only deepened the hunger to know more.

If the Household God protected them… how had a ducal manor of that size ever collapsed?

The storyteller sighed theatrically. “Heaven has its laws. The human world has its rules. Fate and chance matter in all things. Immortals do not manage mortal affairs—mortals should not judge immortals. Back then, the Xie family gained the deity’s protection, and the Founding Emperor gained the aid of Xie family men. The army marched west to east, conquering cities, sweeping the Central Plains, and laying the foundation of Great Liang.”

He lifted one finger.

“After that, the Xie family deity returned to the Heavenly Palace to cultivate. A hundred years without showing itself.”

Someone leaned forward. “Then why did the deity show itself again now?”

“Yes!” others echoed. “Why now?”

“Because the Xie family bloodline has reached the edge of life and death,” the storyteller said, voice lowering. “The deity could not bear to see the Xie family wiped out. So it appeared again, saving old and young from disaster. His Majesty, merciful, changed death to exile. Count the days—this exile convoy should be passing through our Song Jiang Town soon.”

Before the last word even settled, voices outside the stall rose.

People were talking about exiled prisoners entering through the south.

The guests, still buzzing from the tale, twisted around and stared toward the southern end of the street. After a while, the convoy appeared—a line of sword-wearing soldiers escorting a long procession of exiled prisoners through the town.

After meeting You Zhan at midday, Xie Yu Chuan had spent the entire afternoon replaying the war in the northwest—especially every detail that might connect to the Third Brother.

He ran the memories through his mind again and again, but found no obvious flaw. No suspicious behavior. No sign that the Third Brother had a woman from the You family at his side.

You Zhan spoke with too much certainty to sound like a liar.

And the bodies of Xie Yu Chuan’s father and brothers had already been carried home and buried. No matter how much Xia Hou Jie despised the Xie family, he wouldn’t tamper with funerary matters just to make a point.

One detail lingered like a thorn.

Xie Yu Chuan had been badly injured and unconscious on the journey back to the capital.

On that, You Zhan was right: Xie Yu Chuan alone had not seen the Third Brother’s body with his own eyes.

His thoughts stayed trapped in that news. His family saw his silence and didn’t dare disturb him. During brief rests, they only handed him food and water, quietly, as if noise might crack something fragile.

The road had drained everyone.

By the time Xie Yu Chuan looked up, the sky had darkened and the convoy had already entered Song Jiang.

The long, unusual procession moved through Song Jiang Town like a shadow crossing light. Xie Yu Chuan’s gaze swept the crowd. A faint darkness flashed and vanished in his eyes.

He slowed, studying shifting shadows along the street.

There were too many looks that weren’t just curiosity.

Xie Wu Ying had trained in martial arts since childhood. He could sense trouble before it arrived. The moment they entered Song Jiang Town, his skin prickled.

As he walked, he caught up to Xie Yu Chuan, who had slowed.

“Sixth Brother… something feels off. Maybe I’m imagining it.”

“You’re not,” Xie Yu Chuan said. “Tell Huai Zhang and the others to stay sharp.”

Xie Wu Ying stiffened at once. “Understood.”

The convoy passed a small tea stall.

Xie Yu Chuan walked forward with the cangue on his shoulders. When he lifted his eyes, he met a familiar pair of eyes in the crowd.