Kidnapping the entire Journey to the West, starting by turning Sun Wukong against his own side.

Chapter 194 Mountain People Block the Abandoned Office

Before dawn, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the sutra hall.

It's not about causing trouble.

There are now even more people queuing up.

The news of the twenty-seven invalidated deeds reviewed last night couldn't be suppressed. It spread through several neighborhoods in the west of the city, and even the woodcutters on the mountain paths came down. Some carried bamboo baskets, but instead of mountain produce, they contained deeds wrapped in old cloth. Others held sleeping children, their faces buried in their shoulders, their noses red from the cold.

Jiang Chao had just removed half of the door panel when someone outside asked, "Are we still going to investigate today?"

"Check," he replied, his feet moving without stopping, carrying the remaining door panel to the wall. "Line them up first, don't crowd. If anyone's paper is worried about creasing, protect the corners with your hands."

Xuanzang sat back down at his desk and replaced the teacup with a cup of coarse tea. The tea leaves were old and wouldn't steep properly, with a few broken stems floating on the surface. He looked down at the confession he had written down the night before, and his fingers stopped at the back.

Every invalid contract has small print on the last page.

Lifetime signing service.

This wasn't added casually.

It's like a group of people who have been copying for many years, and they've gotten used to it.

Si Mo sat at another table, which was covered with black wooden plaques. He hadn't slept all night; his eyes were bloodshot, but his fingers were steady as he arranged the plaques according to their numbers. The front of each plaque had its number written on it, while the back had a shallow engraving. The engraving was so fine that it was invisible unless held up to the light.

Chen Fan stood by the window, watching the crowd outside gradually increase.

He Qi squeezed in from outside the door, his shoulders still damp with dew.

"There were people peeking out at night near the abandoned City God's Office," he said. "I pretended to be a pancake seller and squatted there until the hour of Chou (1-3 AM). I saw the side gate open twice. Two thin monks dressed in gray robes came out quickly. They weren't carrying any scrolls, just two baskets of charcoal ash."

"Charcoal ash?"

"Like a mask for smells." He Qi spat. "I followed him for half the alley, and he disappeared back inside."

Chen Fan closed the window slightly and turned to look at Si Mo: "Could you frame the person first?"

Si Mo didn't look up. He held a thin piece of charcoal in his hand and wrote a series of numbers on a piece of paper.

"The black wooden plaques weren't issued randomly. The first four digits represent the workshop, the last two the mortise and tenon joint, the next digit is the handwriting recorder, and the last digit is the signature," he said. "Last night, eleven of the twenty-seven invalid contracts had the same handwriting on the last page. The signature page numbers were also consecutive. It wasn't done by one person; it was a group of people taking turns writing them."

Pigsy leaned closer and looked for a long time, but could only make out a string of black dots.

Speak like a human.

Si Mo dipped his tongue in cold tea to moisten his throat.

"The copying team left behind by the old bookkeeping monk."

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name: 202ᴋᴋs.ᴄᴏᴍ]

The room fell silent for a moment.

Xuanzang raised his head.

The old-style bookkeepers were neither officials nor clerks. Wherever there was a need to copy lists—temples, granaries, riverbanks, soup kitchens—they were there. They kept records of incense offerings in normal times, and disaster relief registers during famine years. When officials encountered dirty work they couldn't handle themselves, they were often used. Their handwriting was fluent, and their tongues were tight-lipped. Several temples in the west had laid off a round of staff; ostensibly they were gone, but it seems their bones remained intact.

"The master copy is in their hands." Si Mo pointed to the eleven discarded contracts. "The follow-up copies are also in their hands. They use the old contracts to cover up identities, and then they use secret records. Who went into the kiln, who shipped goods out, who died outside—they can cover it all up. If we really want to track them down, we won't look for them in the official kilns, but in these smugglers."

Chen Fan hummed in agreement.

Now the person and the road are aligned.

There are paper troughs in the abandoned office building. The troughs lead to the port warehouse. People can leave through the side door at night. If those copyists were allowed to take away the continuation pages, the twenty-seven pages that were first examined would only count as twenty-seven pages.

He turned and walked out.

"Call Brother Niu over."

The Bull Demon King arrived very quickly.

He rested at the inn outside the city last night and came before dawn. When he entered, he was carrying half a cold pancake. He took a bite and his eyebrows furrowed: "The pancakes in your city are really hard to chew."

He Qi handed him water, and Chen Fan slammed the papers that Si Mo had just sorted out onto the table.

"The abandoned government office must be surrounded. We can't just guard the gate."

The Bull Demon King was delighted upon hearing this, and even stopped eating his pancake: "I know how to do this. Tell me how you want to form a circle."

"Block people, block goods, block catalogs." Chen Fan drew three lines on the table. "Keep an eye on the front door, the side door, and the dog hole in the back wall. Let no one slip through, whether they're walking on the ground or floating in the water. If anyone comes out, detain them first. If goods come out, search them first. If catalogs come out, seize them first."

The Bull Demon King nodded, more readily than anyone else: "I'll lead the mountain people. Who's going to talk to the port workers?"

"White Cliff," Chen Fan said.

Baiya was already well-connected at the port. He knew the White Dragon Clan's waterways, mooring routes, tides, and hidden stakes better than anyone. Having him block the waterways was perfect for him.

Chen Fan then looked at He Qi: "Go to the market. Pick ten people from those who came last night who are willing to step forward. Don't just talk the talk, make sure their families have really embarrassed them. Have them stand guard outside the abandoned government office. It's not to beat them, it's to help them recognize people. They should be able to recognize some of the faces that come out of there."

He Qi grinned: "This job is even more effective. When you actually see someone, you can even call out their ancestors."

Once the people were dispatched, the library became even busier.

Jiang Chao stood at the door, shouting orders at the top of his lungs. Xuanzang continued to examine the contracts. Zhu Ganglie moved stools and even brought out an empty table from the backyard. The people lined up outside, seeing that they weren't being chased away, gradually grew bolder, and a few even rolled up their sleeves to help maintain order.

As the hour of Chen approached, a message came back from the Bull Demon King's side.

It wasn't a messenger who came; it was an old man from the mountains. His trouser legs were covered in mud, and he was panting heavily as he ran. He grabbed the doorframe as soon as he entered.

"Old Niu sent me to say hello." The old man wiped his face. "The east entrance is blocked. More than thirty of us came down from the stone beam and occupied both the alleys in front of and behind the abandoned government office. Nobody can push their cart through there."

"Has anyone broken in?"

"I managed to get away with it," the old man chuckled. "I disguised myself as a firewood seller, with a roll of paper tucked under my carrying pole. Before I even reached the alley entrance, that widow from the Wang family recognized me. Her son had gone to Xiyao with me three years ago and never came back. She remembered that the man had a black mole behind his ear, and she bit him immediately."

Chen Fan asked, "Where are they?"

"Tie him to the locust tree at the alley entrance. Old Niu said he'd wait for you to come and interrogate him."

No sooner had he finished speaking than another Hong Kong worker came in, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands covered in rope marks.

"Master Bai said the West Waterway is blocked," the port worker said. "Three awning boats and one salt boat are all blocked outside the reeds. Someone wanted to take advantage of the early tide to smuggle goods out. Master Bai went into the water himself to check, and there's a hidden compartment under the deck. There's an oilcloth package inside, still unopened, waiting for you to see."

Chen Fan finally felt a little more at ease.

There are people on land, and there are people in the water.

Those people from the abandoned government office are adept at finding loopholes. If you block the door, they'll scale the wall. If you watch the alley, they'll carry out fires. Now that they're under attack from all sides, they'll have to keep their meager pamphlets under their belts and distribute them.

Si Mo then finished arranging the last black wooden plaque.

He rubbed his temples and handed over the paper filled with numbers.

"There are nineteen matching numbers in total," he said. "Six of them are old numbers that have been out of use for many years, but have been reopened in the last three months. The places where they are reopened are all next to the old road leading to the former City God Temple. If I go back further, I found one that will be recorded."

"What's your name?"

"Continued on page 1"

Pigsy clicked his tongue in disbelief: "This name really doesn't seem to care if people criticize it."

"That's not their official name," Si Mo said. "It's probably their internal colloquial terminology. The old bookkeepers were in charge of the first page, the copyists were in charge of the second page, and the person who filled in the last page of the old contract was called the 'Continuing Page'. The head of the association was at the very top. They didn't use their real names, only a reversed 'Shen' character. All eleven of those last night's contracts had this mark."

Xuanzang reached out and took the paper, glanced at it, and his expression darkened.

"Writing the character '申' upside down isn't a taboo; it's a way of noting down fragments copied in old temples," he said. "I saw it when I was young. When filling in missing pages of a fragment, the notation had to be written upside down in the corner to avoid it being included in the main canon. People who could use this method were mostly genuine copyists."

"The book repair shops have closed down, but the people haven't," Chen Fan said. "They've moved to another place and are continuing to repair pages for others."

Suddenly a commotion arose outside the door.

It's not chaos.

Like many people moving in the same direction.

He Qi peeked in through the crowd, his face covered in sweat, but his eyes shone brightly: "They're here."

"Who's here?"

"The people in the abandoned government office are getting restless," He Qi said in a low voice. "They opened a crack in the east side gate first. A man in a gray robe tried to peek out. The mountain people standing outside didn't say a word, they just sat down in front of the gate, put down their baskets, and went around like they were going to a market. The man retreated. A little while later, two more popped out from behind the wall. They were caught red-handed by the coolies who came from the port. Now the alley is full of people, even the scallion seller pushed his cart through."

Chen Fan rolled up the list on the table and stuffed it into his sleeve.

"Let's go to the abandoned government office."

Xuanzang also got up.

"I'll leave two people here at the academy to keep an eye on things," Jiang Chao said hurriedly.

"No need for much." Chen Fan glanced at the long line outside the door. "This place is important today too. The more people come, the more panicked those people outside will become. Proceed with the interrogation as usual. Confiscate any old contracts that someone has. Record the names of anyone who recognizes the copyist."

Xuanzang nodded, sat down again, and tapped the corner of the table.

"Next one."

The sound wasn't loud, but everyone outside the door heard it. The old woman at the front of the line hugged her cloth bundle tighter and took half a step forward.

Chen Fan and his group left the scripture hall and headed west along the alley.

Before even getting close to the abandoned City God's Office, you could hear the Bull Demon King's booming voice echoing throughout the entire street.

"Listen up, you guys inside! Anyone who dares to pass paper out today, I'll shove their hand under the door!"

Chen Fan turned the corner of the alley and immediately saw that the dilapidated courtyard was completely surrounded.

The mountain dwellers sat on the stone steps of the front gate, their bamboo baskets laid out horizontally. Port workers blocked the back alley, hemp ropes coiled around their waists. Vegetable sellers, firewood carriers, people searching for missing persons, those who had lost sons, those who had lost brothers—all crowded outside the wall. The two dilapidated doors of the abandoned government building were tightly shut, but a corner of paper slowly emerged from under the cracks.

The corner of the paper had just peeked out by half an inch.

A muddy straw sandal stepped on it first.

Chapter 678 Wooden Fish Splits Three Paths

After the straw sandal stepped on the corner of the paper, there was a moment of silence inside the door.

The next moment, a wooden fish sounded from behind the courtyard wall.

"Yes."

The sound was faint and hollow, like something being knocked out from the bottom of a well, seeping out along the cracks in the bricks.

The villagers blocking the door were taken aback at first. He Qi looked up, his face darkening immediately: "It's that voice again."

Chen Fan could tell too.

This is not the wooden fish used in the morning and evening prayers at the temple. The sound is muffled, with a short ending note, as if someone is using it as a secret signal.

Chaos soon erupted in the courtyard.

Someone was running behind, their shoes scraping against the stone surface, followed by two more sounds.

"Tap, tap."

The Bull Demon King kicked the door. The rickety door shook twice, but the bolt held. He cursed and swung his shoulder to slam it again. The door cracked open with a "crack," and dust covered his face.

"Step back!"

Jiang Chao pushed the people in front of the door to both sides. The port workers pulled out the hemp rope, wrapped it around the door knocker, and several people pulled together. The wood twisted first, then broke. The two doors flipped open inward, crashed to the ground, and pinned down half of a broken stool.

No one came out to greet them from the courtyard.

Only a minor official at the side room entrance was lying on his back, clutching a roll of paper. He tried to get up, but He Qi pounced on him and pinned him to the brick floor.

Where are they?

The clerk's lips trembled, his eyes darted around, and he kept glancing towards the west corner.

Pigsy rushed over following that gaze and lifted the old water vat in the west corner. A wooden plank was pressed against the bottom of the vat, revealing a dark hole beneath it.

"I am below!"

Chen Fan didn't jump immediately. He first glanced around the yard.

Half a basket of incense ash lay overturned against the east wall, and three bronze fish-shaped mallets were scattered on the ground. On the table in the side room, there was half a bowl of cold porridge, with two black sesame seeds stuck to the edge. The person had left in such a hurry that they hadn't even taken their eating spoon.

Those few taps on the wooden fish weren't in vain.

This is a recruitment drive.

"Leave ten to guard the courtyard," Chen Fan said. "The rest of you come with me. Block up the back alley too, don't let the exam papers leave through the port entrance."

Yang Jian had already bent down and entered the cave. He wiped the edge of the board with his fingertip and found it covered in freshly rubbed grease.

The entrance was narrow, but it went deep down. First, there was a straight ladder, slippery to the touch. Further in, a damp, musty smell mingled with the odor of stale paper. A lamp swayed precariously ahead, as if being carried along.

The sound of the wooden fish rang out again.

This time it's closer.

"Tap tap—tap."

Three short and one long.

Jiang Chao, panting as he ran, asked, "Divide it into sections?"

"We're redeploying manpower," Chen Fan said. "The front is transferring inventory, the back is cutting off traffic. If I'm not mistaken, after another round of gongs, the ship will be ready to depart from the port warehouse."

Pigsy cursed, "A broken wooden fish is more effective than the drum in the government office."

The corridor widened as we walked. The walls on either side still bore those engraved frames: name, place of origin, guarantor, pledge, transfer. Sweeping across them in the lamplight, each frame resembled a tombstone. Rounding the second bend, voices suddenly came from ahead.

"Take the master page first!"

"Don't forget the seal bag!"

"The foreman said, the live seal should be on top, and the old contract should be below!"

Chen Fan raised his hand, gesturing for everyone to stand against the wall.

Yang Jian peeked out half a step, glanced at the scene, then withdrew: "Six handbag carriers. Two carrying boxes. And an old monk."

"A monk?"

"Gray clothes. No ordination scars. Ink on his hands."

Chen Fan's brow twitched.

He had been investigating underground networks, focusing on abandoned government offices and brokerage firms. He'd dug deeper, but always seemed to be missing a crucial element. Today, that element finally surfaced.

He touched the blank contract in his sleeve and whispered, "Rush over there. Take the one in gray first."

The Bull Demon King was the first to move.

He didn't dodge at all, crashing straight around the corner, his shoulder like a city gate. The two men carrying boxes in front of him tumbled to the ground, scattering scrolls of paper everywhere. Zhu Ganglie lunged to the left, pinning one of the porters against the wall. He Qi grabbed a short carrying pole from the ground and struck the other man on the knee, sending him crashing to his knees with a scream.

The sound of the wooden fish suddenly stopped.

The gray-robed monk stood at the door of the main room, still holding the fish mallet in his hand. He didn't run, but only took half a step back, as if he had known someone would come here.

Chen Fan saw his face clearly.

He had a thin face, dark circles under his eyes, and two white eyebrows that drooped to the corners of his eyes. There was an old mole near his mouth. He didn't look like someone who was practicing asceticism in a temple; he looked more like a rat who had been squatting in an accounting office for years.

What's most striking is his left hand.

The area between my thumb and index finger was covered in calluses, and the black ink under my fingernails couldn't be washed off. That wasn't from copying scriptures; it was from years of dipping my fingers in cinnabar and turning the end of the scroll.

"The old accountant monk," Chen Fan said.

The old monk lifted his eyelids slightly: "You recognize him?"

"I don't recognize you." Chen Fan looked at the main room behind him, "but I recognize your style of writing."

The old monk smiled, his teeth yellow, but his lips remained steady: "Young benefactor, those poor families outside would have starved to death long ago if they didn't have this skill. Some come to sell their fame, some come to exchange their lives; everyone gets what they need. You smashed the door today, but tomorrow someone will be kneeling and begging me to mend the contract."

No sooner had he spoken than Yang Jian swept past him from the side, flicking his scabbard and knocking the fish hammer from his hand.

The hammer struck the door frame with a clang and fell into the main room.

The group chased after them, but paused for a moment.

The main room was small, with a dark wooden altar in the center. There were no statues of gods on the altar, only a wooden fish.

The wooden fish was not new; its lacquer was worn smooth. Three cracks ran down the center of its belly, seeping a dark red color, like cinnabar that had seeped in over the years, or something else entirely. Beside the wooden fish lay stacks of contracts, thick as bricks. The topmost ones were covered with handprints, some red, some black, some with cracks in the skin, trembling as they were pressed.

Three burlap sacks were placed under the offering table.

Jiang Chao tore open the bag, and his expression immediately changed.

Inside weren't grain or money. They were all signed contracts and packets of seal-pressing cloth. Some people pressed their entire palms, others only their thumbprints. The ink had dried, the cloth had hardened, and it made a cracking sound when squeezed.

He Qi grabbed a document and glanced at it, his voice hoarse: "This belongs to Old Sun from the neighboring village. His son has been missing for two years, how come his seal is still here?"

Chen Fan took it.

The small characters at the end of the contract are so fine they appear almost invisible.

The document was signed on behalf of the owner and never returned. If the owner dies, the document will be cancelled using the original page.

He flipped to another page. Still the same line. He flipped to the next page, and there was a small monk's seal on the back, neither square nor round, with worn-out edges, and only the character "会" (hui) was recognizable.

Xuanzang followed him in at that moment.

He stared at the monk's seal for a long time before speaking: "This is the seal of the old Buddhist monastery."

Everyone in the room turned to look at him.

Xuanzang took two steps closer, his finger hovering over the mark without touching it: "In the past, the temple managed rice donations, loans, bone offerings, and registration through the bookkeepers. During the chaotic years, there was a group that was particularly good at making secret registers, ostensibly recording incense offerings but secretly recording the number of people. The imperial court abolished it once, and the temple was also expelled once, so I thought it was all gone."

Upon hearing this, the old monk's composure slowly vanished.

"Expelled?" He stared at Xuanzang, his eyes turning red. "Back then, you sat high in the court of law, and you could just execute people whenever you wanted. Who would support those three hundred dependents? Who would collect the ashes rotting in the cemetery? We filled out contracts for people, registered names for the dead, and kept a foothold for those fleeing famine, and in the end, we became filthy hands."

"Leave people a foothold; there's no need to send living people into the kiln," Xuanzang said.

The old monk's chest heaved, and suddenly he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Start the register! Start the master page!"

Someone outside immediately responded.

It turns out there was a hidden door behind the main room.

Two men carrying a wooden box crawled out, clearly having hidden in the wall. Yang Jian turned and gave chase, kicking the first one over. The box shattered, scattering its pages all over the floor. The edges of the pages were coated with black oil to prevent moisture. Each cover bore the name of a place: Xigang, Dongbu, Chengxiyao, and Nanping Wharf.

Pigsy grabbed the person behind him and slapped him across the face: "Run! Run again and I'll show you!"

The cook, his mouth full of blood, still shouted, "The foreman has ordered! Burn the mother pages!"

"Where's the squad leader?" He Qi lifted him up.

The man gritted his teeth and remained silent.

The old monk beside the wooden fish burst out laughing, coughing as he laughed: "You can block the gate, but you can't stop the river. The foreman is long gone. As soon as the three wooden fish sounds end, the boats start loading cargo. You're arresting me today, but I'm just a bookkeeper."

Chen Fan did not respond.

He bent down and gathered the scattered pages one by one. When he turned to the middle, his hand stopped.

That wasn't an ordinary secret book.

Inside were many loose-leaf pages. Each page didn't have a name, but a number. After the number, a small strip of old paper was pasted on it, indicating where it came from: village, household, who signed on behalf of the person who delivered it, and who filled in the original page at the abandoned City God Temple. At the bottom, there was another column that read "Exchange Temple" and "Receiver Monk".

The thread has finally been fastened.

Ahead was a brokerage firm, an abandoned government office. Behind it were not only kilns and warehouses, but also a section of an old monk's hand.

He looked up at the old monk: "Your group leader's use of the wooden fish for scheduling isn't just a charade; it's a continuation of the old Buddhist monastery's clockwork system. You people are just remnants of that old group of monks and copyists."

The old monk's lips twitched, but he remained silent.

Xuanzang looked at the cracked wooden fish and said in a lower voice, "Three cracks, not an old wound."

Chen Fan followed his gaze and reached out to turn the wooden fish over.

There are three lines of shallow characters carved on the bottom of the fish's belly, which seem to have been added later.

The name is written on a single line.

Write "Transfer Account" on one line.

The last line reads "disappeared".

The Bull Demon King cursed, "With one tap of this thing, a path to life can turn into a path to death?"

"More or less." Chen Fan put the wooden fish back. "The piece of paper that was sticking out of the abandoned gate earlier wasn't a cry for help, it was just stalling for time. Once the wooden fish here finishes ringing, the secret register can split into three groups."

He turned to Jiang Chao: "Go to the port warehouse. Seal the ships according to the place names on the register. First, cut the rolls with black lacquer binding."

"I'll go right now!"

Jiang Chao led his men out, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Chen Fan then looked at He Qi: "Bring that clerk from the courtyard down to identify the people. Who wrote the master page, who put their fingerprint on it, check them one by one tonight."

He Qi nodded and dragged the man with his hands out.

Only the flickering light remained in the main room.

The old monk finally took a step back, his back hitting the wall. His stubbornness had almost completely dissipated, but his eyes were still fixed on the offering table, as if he were staring at the last possible path.

Yang Jian followed his gaze and raised his sword to flick it.

The bottom of the confession case was opened, revealing the thinnest copy hidden inside.

The cover was blackened, and the edges were curled up, as if it had been flipped through for years. Chen Fan took it, and his face darkened as soon as he turned to the first page.

The names recorded there are not from recent years.

It's an old number from thirty years ago.

At the end of the first page, a faint seal is crooked in the corner. Only half of the seal remains, the same fragment I had repeatedly seen on the mother page of the discarded contract a few days ago.

Old accounts, old monks, old seals.

They were all huddled together next to the wooden fish with three cracks. Chen Fan closed the booklet and looked up at the old monk.

"This time, don't even think about just being a bookkeeper."

The old monk swallowed hard, his lips dry.

Suddenly, the sound of running footsteps came from outside. Jiang Chao hadn't returned yet when a port worker stumbled in from the tunnel entrance, leaning against the wall and panting heavily.

"Mr. Chen!" He gasped, unable to catch his breath. "Two boats were intercepted at the back of the river mouth. The third one had just left the shore. The foreman on that boat, who was striking a wooden fish, was missing a finger on his right hand!"

Chen Fan stuffed the booklet into his sleeve and turned to leave.

As he went through the interrogation, he casually picked up the cracked wooden fish, weighed it in his hand, and tucked it under his arm. The old lacquer on the wooden fish smudged onto his sleeve, leaving a dark red mark.

Chapter 679 Yang Jian Cuts the Scroll

The wind at Houhekou carried dampness and the smell of rotten planks.

Three cargo ships were in the dark water. The first two had already been hooked by the harbor workers and were leaning against the shore. The third ship had just moved half a meter away, and the poleman was trying to push it into the middle of the river, but the stern got stuck.

The Bull Demon King stood on the wooden stake, holding a section of the mooring post in his hand, and slammed it into the water.

"Hold on a little longer, and I'll break you and the pole in one go."

The foreman on the boat was missing a finger on his right hand, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and he was clutching a cloth bag tightly. Beside him lay a wooden fish, half of its lacquer peeled off, the edges gleaming as if it had been touched by his hands for years.

Chen Fan recognized him at a glance.

It's a pair with the one in the abandoned office.

"Leave them alive," Chen Fan said.

Pigsy pounced on him. He stepped onto the side of the boat, causing the whole boat to rock. The foreman tried to crawl back into the cabin, but Pigsy grabbed him by the back of the collar and pulled him back, pressing him face down onto the deck. The planks were covered in wet mud, and the man coughed violently from the stench.

As soon as Liu Er landed on the mast, his hands moved with lightning speed. The cloth bag had just been tucked into the foreman's arms when he had already untied the knot.

It doesn't contain money or seals.

It was a stack of thinly cut pages.

Each page was narrow. The edges were evenly ground. The name was written first, followed by the place of origin, and a blank space was left at the bottom, just short of a fingerprint. The back of the paper was also printed with faint red grid lines, which matched the dimensions of the master slots in the underground tunnel.

Jiang Chao glanced at it, and the hairs on the back of his head stood on end.

"This is not a contract, it's a sequel."

Chen Fan took a sheet and shone it on the river lantern. The paper was mixed with fine hemp, so it wouldn't rot even when damp. It could be shipped from the port, delivered to the abandoned government office, and handed to the village security officer. The master page was in the underground groove, while the child pages flowed outside. If one name wasn't enough, they would add more, one sheet after another, until the person was gone, and they could still continue recording.

"Take the people with you, but don't release the boat," Chen Fan said.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a deep thud came from the other side of the riverbank.

It doesn't look like a door falling down.

It's like a large beam underground has broken.

Everyone turned around at once. From the dark alleyway entrance, a cloud of dust rose first. In the dust were wood chips and a series of figures darting outwards. Several bailiffs carrying paper baskets bumped into each other, shouting as they ran, "It's collapsed! The trough has collapsed!"

Chen Fan's eyes narrowed.

"Yang Jian has arrived."

He had suspected it before; the underground operation had lasted this long not just because of a few ledgers and a few foremen. There must be a main channel. The master pages were first sent in, then branched out to various districts and ports. As long as the channel remained open, killing a few writers wouldn't make a difference.

This sound now sounds like someone has choked him.

Chen Fan led his men toward the tunnel entrance. The stone steps along the river were slippery, and the port workers followed behind with lanterns, their footsteps crunching through a pile of snail shells. The closer they got, the heavier the dust became. The tunnel entrance, which was originally only half-open, now had its entire lintel tilted, with stone dust falling straight down.

It's already in chaos inside.

Several dark alleys connected, the routes most familiar to those who regularly carried paper. Now, all the intersections were blocked. A row of large wooden frames used for engraving had collapsed, a broken axle lay across the ground, two inkwells were overturned, and black ink was seeping through the brickwork. A few people tending the inkwells tried to move things, but just as they lifted them, a cold shout rang out.

"lay down."

Yang Jian stood at the end of the main road.

He didn't get entangled with anyone. The three-pointed, double-edged sword hung diagonally, its tip still dripping wet soil. The main groove at the front was split from the middle to the root. It wasn't just a cut; it was cleaved in two. The stone bottom was exposed, and the wooden trough, copper buckle, and hinge wheel buried inside were all broken into several pieces.

The most critical part is the central part.

Like an old centipede lying on the ground, its belly was filled with hundreds of pages. With one cut, its abdomen was completely opened. Paper scraps mixed with sawdust flew all over the ground, and when the wind blew, they swirled all over the alley. Someone rushed forward to grab them, but Yang Jian stepped on his wrist, and with a "crack," the person curled up in pain.

"Whoever draws another card, I'll chop off their hand."

He spoke calmly. The alleyway fell silent instantly.

When Chen Fan arrived, he first examined the cut. The cut surface was clean, without any mud or water. The knife hadn't chopped the frame; it had first precisely targeted the groove and then severed it from the groove downwards. The secret book transport line was now completely dead.

"Are there any survivors?" Chen Fan asked.

"Yes." Yang Jian gestured with his chin to the left.

Three people were kneeling by the wall. Two were the wheelmaster's handymen, their faces pale with fright. The one in the middle wore a short jacket, with a thin rope tied around his waist, from which hung seven or eight small calligraphy brushes. His fingernails were full of cinnabar, and there were marks on his neck from the wooden fish rope.

Liu Er was squatting in front of him, tilting his head to look at him.

"You ran pretty fast," Liu Er said. "When the trench collapsed, everyone else scrambled out, but you crawled in. Was your mother or your account book in there?"

The man clenched his teeth tightly, but his eyes darted around.

Liu Er wasn't in a hurry. He reached out and picked up a half-wet page from the ground, then patted it on the man's face.

"This must be one of the handwriting styles in your class. You tend to start your strokes with a rightward flick and add extra flesh at the end. Are you afraid your handwriting notebook will be exposed?"

The man remained silent.

Liu Er chuckled, then suddenly pressed his right hand to the ground, picked up a piece of broken wood next to him, and compared it to the little finger that was half an inch short.

"This isn't something you were born with less of."

The man's expression changed instantly.

"In the wooden fish troupe, the first rule for changing the signature is that the lead writer must lose a fingertip. This way, when dipping the brush in cinnabar, the pressure won't be too strong. The resulting last page will look more like the original." Six Ears' voice wasn't loud. "You're the head of the page-changing group. The names you've worked on aren't limited to just this county."

The man's Adam's apple bobbed twice, and his forehead was covered in gray sweat.

Chen Fan remained silent.

In situations like this, saying everything you know is useless. You have to let the other person say it themselves.

Liu Er raised his hand and pressed the broken piece of wood down.

The wood didn't hit the bone, it only grazed the skin as it fell. The man cried out first, then stumbled forward, panting heavily.

"I'll talk! I'll talk!"

The Bull Demon King spat, "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

The foreman lay prostrate on the ground, his voice trembling, but he spoke quickly, as if afraid of being hit a second time if he was too slow.

"We only handle the page updates here, not the creation of the master register. The master register comes from the prefecture and the original copy is changed every three months. We still cut the pages, add signatures, and distribute them to various neighborhoods. We can handle invalid deeds, old deeds, and lists of displaced persons, as long as someone wants to save time."

Chen Fan's eyes darkened.

"save trouble?"

The foreman nodded hurriedly, dust flying onto the tip of his nose.

"That's what they call it. Save one review, save one detention, save three rounds of intermediaries. Someone at the top collects the final accounts, and someone at the bottom signs on your behalf. The village wants to investigate fewer people, the neighborhood wants to get more work done, the shipping company wants to fill missing persons, and the brickyard wants to swallow people alive. It's all done through this chain."

Jiang Chao's hands went cold from listening.

Who collects the final accounts in the state?

"I only know the signboard, not the real name," the foreman panted. "It's called the 'Easy Account.' Every time someone comes, they bring a gray envelope. There's no official seal on it, just a short hook, like half a fish tail. We hand over the envelope without daring to ask any questions."

Liu Er pressed on, "Where did the person come in from?"

"Sometimes I travel to the port. Sometimes I travel through the alleys outside the inn. More often, I mingle with the pilgrims along the post road. Those who strike the wooden fish are those who deliver messages, and those who send ashes are those who seal accounts."

Even Xuanzang's expression darkened.

The wooden fish was not only used to communicate with the head of the pilgrimage group, but also to smuggle out through the guise of scripture halls, crowds, and pilgrims. No wonder there were always some who slipped through the net despite several previous investigations.

Yang Jian raised his sword, and the back of the blade struck the ground.

"Take him away. I'll look at this place one more time."

Chen Fan nodded. He understood Yang Jian's meaning. Severing the main channel only crippled his hands and feet for now. If there were other hidden layers at the bottom of the channel, they could still be secretly repaired later if they weren't thoroughly cleaned. With Yang Jian's keen eye, he was more suited than anyone else to do this job.

The port workers stepped forward and tied the three survivors together.

The foreman tried to beg for mercy, but Liu Er gently patted him on the back of the head, and he quieted down. After walking a few steps, Liu Er suddenly stopped and took a piece of oiled paper from his pocket. When he opened it, he found a gray sealed sheet inside, the edges damp with sweat, but the ink marks were still clear.

Half a fish tail.

Chen Fan took the gray envelope and stuffed it into his sleeve.

At the end of the alley, Yang Jian had already stepped onto the collapsed wall and looked down. The lamplight illuminated the mud on his blade, sometimes bright, sometimes dark. No one dared to utter a sound, only paper continued to leak from the broken wall, rustling against the brick surface.

Liu Er dragged the gang leader out, and when they reached the alley entrance, he grabbed the man's hair and lifted him up.

"Do you know the way?"

The squad leader's legs went weak, and he nodded hastily.

"I acknowledge...I acknowledge."

Liu Er pushed him forward.

"Then take us to find the next person who strikes the wooden fish."

Chapter 680 Tearing Up the Life-Saving Contract in Public

As soon as it was light, a long queue formed in front of the temple.

Unlike yesterday, when people peeked around curiously, today everyone who came was clutching pieces of paper. Some wrapped them in old cloth, others tucked them into their clothes, pressing them down with every step, as if afraid they might grow legs and run away.

Three long tables were set up at the entrance.

Place the contract on the left. Verify the name in the middle. Record the transaction on the right.

Xuanzang sat in the middle, the wooden fish broken into three pieces, lying horizontally on the corner of the table. He didn't strike it again. That thing was a testament to his actions today. The old monk sat on the right, a newly bound thick book spread out in front of him, the pages made of coarse hemp paper, the edges still bearing the rough edges left from cutting the paper last night. Jiang Chao was grinding ink, and halfway through, a patch of black ink had already smeared onto his sleeve.

Chen Fan stood on the steps and glanced at the street corner.

More and more people gathered.

Ahead were the mountain people. Behind them were the port workers. Further away were the city dwellers, the ones who usually avoided trouble the most. Today they were here too, huddled under the eaves, staring at the case, saying nothing.

The Bull Demon King carried a door bolt and poked it against the door.

"Line up, by name. Anyone who dares to push, Old Niu will drag them to the back."

Zhu Ganglie didn't sleep last night; he has bruises under his eyes, but his voice is still loud.

"Listen to the rules first. Today, the doors will be open, and there will be no secret interrogation. Whoever is called, come forward. Recognize the contract, the words, and the fingerprint. After recognizing them, tear it up yourself. After tearing it up, revise the ledger. From now on, only ledger pages will be recognized; invalid contracts will not be recognized."

These words caused a low commotion in the group.

Some people gripped the paper even tighter.

Some people looked back to see if there was a way out.

Chen Fan didn't urge him. He waited for the sound to subside on its own before tapping the edge of the table.

"Yesterday's trial focused on who harmed people. Today's trial focuses on who's afraid of death." His voice wasn't loud. "Being afraid isn't shameful. Living with this kind of paper all these years isn't shameful either. What's shameful is the person who forced you to put your fingerprints on it. Today, we're changing it back in public, so this paper will no longer be used to pressure people."

The streets were quieter.

The first person called was an old man who sold charcoal.

The old man was hard of hearing, and his granddaughter helped him up. He rummaged in his pocket for a while and finally pulled out an oiled paper package, the corners of which were worn smooth. Unfolding it, he found a yellowed contract inside. There were teeth marks from rats gnawing on the edges of the paper, but the words "Lifetime Signature" were still clearly visible in the center.

Xuanzang asked, "Name?"

The old man reported it.

Place of origin.

The old man reported it again.

Do you recognize this character?

The old man squinted, looked for a long time, and then shook his head.

"I can't read. That year, they said they would protect me and help me transport coal across the river. They said if I put my fingerprint on it, they would compensate me if I lost any goods. But every year after that, someone would come to collect the goods, saying I owed them money for saving my life. Even after I sold all the coal, it wasn't enough."

Chen Fan turned the contract over and showed it to everyone.

There are two old seals on the back. One is from the abolished government office, and the other is an old seal from the Buddhist academy. Below each seal is a tiny hook, like a fish tail.

"According to the nameplate, all thirty-seven charcoal-producing households in Yamaguchi have this mark," Chen Fan said. "Let's start with yours today."

The old man's hands were shaking a little.

His granddaughter looked up at him and whispered, "Grandpa, are you really going to tear it?"

The old man's throat bobbed a few times before he took the paper. He first tried to tear a small opening. The paper was tough and didn't break. He rolled the edge of the paper around his fingers, gritted his teeth, and yanked it sharply to both sides.

With a "snap," the whole street seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

The sound wasn't loud, but it carried far.

The old man stood motionless, as if he hadn't come to his senses. His granddaughter cried first, laughing between sobs, and picked up the two halves of the paper, intending to put them on the table. The old monk picked up his brush and wrote four small columns on the ledger page: name, place of origin, arrears voided, and to be transferred to the public account. He then dipped the old man's finger in ink and pressed it back onto the page.

"This is a flexible ledger." The old monk turned the ledger over. "One entry per page. Anyone can check it. How much was collected, how much was waived, and who handled it are all recorded here."

The old man stared at the ink fingerprint for a long time, then suddenly bent down.

Xuanzang raised his hand to stop him.

"Don't bow to the altar. Just recognize the characters."

The second was a porter at the harbor. The third was a widow. The fourth were two brothers who pulled boats for others. The beginnings were slow, but the pace quickened as they went on. Many people who initially only dared to hand over their papers became more assertive when they heard their names called.

"I'll tear it myself."

"Give it to me, I'll do it."

"This has been weighing me down for seven years; today it's time for it to break."

Paper rustled as it was drawn, one sheet after another.

A layer of shredded paper quickly piled up at the foot of the table. A gust of wind blew, and the corners of the paper curled up and rolled into the street. Liu Er, finding it in the way, picked up an empty basket and swept all the shredded paper into it. Halfway through sweeping, he grinned at the person behind him.

"Look carefully, everyone. From now on, if anyone tries to scare people with this thing, ask them if they have the guts to stand here and let people examine them."

A thin man in the crowd shrank his neck and turned to slip away.

Yang Jian had been leaning against the stone lion at the street corner. When he saw the man move, he held his sword sheath horizontally in front of the man's knees.

"You've been queuing for ages, not here to tear things apart, are you?"

The thin man's face was ashen, and a black wooden plaque fell out of his sleeve.

The surrounding area suddenly dispersed in a half-circle with a "whoosh".

The plaque was about a foot long, with rounded edges, clearly indicating it was frequently held. The front was engraved with the character "引" (yin), and the back had a string of fine numbers. This was exactly what I retrieved from the scroll yesterday. The holder of the plaque could use the secret passage to pass the master page and transmit new contracts.

Liu Er grabbed him by the back of his collar.

"The one striking the wooden fish?"

The skinny man's legs were shaking, and he couldn't even speak coherently.

"No, no. I'm just a runner. The shift leader dropped out, and I didn't dare leave. I figured there would be a lot of people today, so I thought I could sneak out..."

Chen Fan glanced at him.

"name."

The skinny man reported it, his voice so faint it was like a mosquito's buzz.

Chen Fan pulled out the booklet he had copied last night and matched it up. The booklet contained both numbers and names.

"How many times have you used this card to guide people?"

"Six times. Really, six times. Once to the port warehouse, twice to the back river mouth, and three times to the back gate of the abandoned government office. I never went in the rest."

"Whom should we take?"

"There are monks, officials, and even the foreman on the boat. I only recognize the nameplate, not the person."

The street erupted in noise again.

Some people were cursing. Others picked up clods of dirt and were about to throw them. The Bull Demon King quickly turned the door bolt sideways to suppress the crowd.

"You can criticize all you want, but don't make a mess of things. Today is for reviewing the contract, not for ruining it."

Chen Fan reached out towards the black wooden plaque.

"Give it to me."

The skinny man quickly offered it with both hands.

The brand felt heavy in his hand, with fine wood grain and a glossy sheen from being heated. No wonder it withstood moisture. Chen Fan wiped it with his thumb, removing a layer of shiny grime.

"Record his name, keep him here, no lock today." He placed the sign on the table. "Let him stand here and watch. See how others tear it down, and see how he changes it."

The thin man was startled and looked up at him.

Chen Fan ignored him and continued calling out names.

The trial lasted from dawn until the sun was high in the sky. There were only two breaks: once to give the old man water, and once to let the children pass. The threshold of the scripture hall was worn white by the soles of shoes. Three full volumes of new accounts were filled. The old monk's hand was steady at first, but towards the end, his wrist ached so much he could barely lift it. Xuanzang then took over. His handwriting was different from the old monk's; it was slender and long, with clean strokes, which was more reassuring than the old monk's previous rounded characters for "hall."

In the afternoon, the people at the back of the line suddenly made way for each other.

They weren't officials. It was just a few people carrying bamboo baskets.

The basket contained neither vegetables nor fish.

All of them are black wooden plaques.

Some were pulled out of the tunnel. Some were taken from abandoned government beams. Others were brought over by people rummaging through their homes and bringing out signs they had kept for years. The wooden signs clashed together, making a dull thud. It sounded like someone was pulling out old teeth one by one and throwing them into a basin.

Jiang Chao ran over and flipped through it, then looked up and laughed.

"That's enough for one batch."

Chen Fan finished reading the last contract and closed the booklet.

"To the ferry crossing."

The crowd immediately started moving.

The distance from the gatehouse to the ferry crossing wasn't far, and there were people watching along the way. Some even chased after the crowd with their rice bowls in hand, afraid of missing the second half of the event. Last night, half of the wall at the abandoned government office had been demolished, and the entrance to the tunnel was exposed to the sun, looking like an old snake hole that had been turned upside down, damp with mud and still clinging to rotten paper and rope.

Yang Jian went down to take a look first.

"There are three branch channels. All of them lead to the old warehouse."

Chen Fan nodded.

"fill."

The port workers are experts at this kind of work. They fill sacks with sand, carry soil, push carts, and dump it down continuously. The Bull Demon King stands at the edge of the breach, specifically kicking large rocks into the trough. Each time he kicks one, the bottom of the trough thuds. Pigsy takes a shovel, digging until he's covered in sweat, muttering under his breath.

"The road for the living must be built underground. No wonder it gets darker and darker the further you walk."

The mountain people weren't idle either. Some were dismantling the scrap yard's filing cabinets, while others were dragging out old planks. Those planks, covered in intricate grids, were carried out one by one and piled up against the wall. The grids still bore traces of ink, with names, guarantors, and transfers all neatly carved. The neater they were, the more infuriating they became.

Liu Er picked up his axe and swung it around, chopping.

"What good is being neat and tidy?"

With a snap, the wooden board broke in half.

The broken surface revealed blackened growth rings.

On the other side, the small stove at the ferry crossing had already been set up.

The furnace wasn't the kind used for forging weapons; it was just an iron furnace used for repairing anchor hooks and ship rings. Once the fire started, smoke carrying the smell of burnt wood shot straight up. Black wooden planks were first chopped up, then basket after basket were fed in. The wood had been soaked in oil, so when it burned, the flames were fierce, bluish-white, and crackling as they licked at the furnace opening.

The blacksmith was bare-armed, his forehead covered in sweat.

"This wood cannot produce iron."

Jiang Chao squatted to one side, watching the fire in the stove.

"Who said it was melted wood? The nails are iron nails. The wooden plaques were burned to ashes, mixed with mud, and used to seal the base. The copper buckles, iron rings, and thin hooks on the plaques were all removed and remade."

The experienced craftsman was taken aback for a moment, then understood and grinned.

"That's it."

The ebony was burned to ash. The copper buckle was thrown into the furnace. The thin hook was hammered straight. The old iron was melted down and forged into short plank nails. The nail heads were flat, and the nail shafts were thick, specifically for driving the most strenuous parts of the wooden plank at the ferry crossing. With each nail hammered down, the hearts of those around would tremble.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

The thin man who first donated the wooden plaque stood at the edge of the crowd. After watching for a while, the ashen look on his face slowly faded. He suddenly took two steps forward and reached out to the old man.

"I can handle pliers. I've done it before."

The old master glanced at him.

"Don't let your hands shake."

"No shaking today."

He actually got to work. The iron bar came out of the furnace, glowing red-white. He held it firmly, and as the master wielded the hammer, he followed along, turning the corner. The two worked together for a few rounds without making a mistake. Someone nearby recognized him, opened their mouth, but didn't utter a curse, simply looking away.

By evening, all three tunnels had been filled in.

The collapsed patch of ground in front of the abandoned government office had become solid underfoot. Someone even deliberately stomped on it a few times, and only breathed a sigh of relief when it stopped sinking. The newly nailed planks at the ferry crossing had also been put into the water, and the seams of the planks were thumped loudly, making them more stable than before.

Chen Fan stood at the head of the pier and looked down.

The last nail had just been driven into the wood, its head still steaming. A sea breeze blew, sending up a wisp of white smoke that quickly dissipated.

The old charcoal seller, leading his granddaughter, also arrived at the ferry. The little girl squatted down, touched the wooden plank with her hand, and then looked up to ask Chen Fan.

Will it collapse again?

Chen Fan said, "If you want to pass, go this way."

The old man understood and nodded slowly. He bent down, picked up a small piece of unburnt black wood ash from beside his feet, smeared it on the sole of his shoe, and then rubbed it a couple of times on the new pallet.

"It's dirty, just step over it and that's it."

Upon hearing this, the Bull Demon King laughed heartily and hoisted the door bolt onto his shoulder.

"That's right. Who goes first tomorrow?"

One of the port workers responded, "Unload the salt ship first!"

Someone else shouted, "Let the children have their turn first!"

The crowd suddenly became lively, chattering amongst themselves, all arguing about who should be the first to step forward.

Xuanzang, carrying the new account book, came from behind and stood next to Chen Fan.

"Two hundred and thirteen pages were revised today," he said. "The news has already been released for the remaining counties. I reckon there will be even more tomorrow."

Chen Fan took the account book and glanced at it.

The ink wasn't completely dry, but the pages were pressed flat and neat. After the names, there were no longer those cumbersome transfer marks, only straightforward entries for overdue payments, voided items, supplementary entries, and write-offs. It was legible and traceable.

At the ferry crossing, the old man swung his hammer again.

A new nail pierces the wood with a crisp, clear sound.

Chen Fan closed the booklet and handed it back.

"Then let's continue setting up the table."

After saying that, he stepped onto the new pier and walked across first.

Chapter 681 The mountain road connects to the stone street

Before dawn, the beach was already bustling with activity.

At the end of the old stone street, there should have been a wall blocking the tide. Behind the wall were broken reefs and black water. The fishmonger on night watch had just pushed his cart out when he saw that the wall was gone, replaced by a mountain path leading uphill.

The road was a dirt road, damp from the night. Low pines and wild vines grew on both sides, and dew from the previous night still clung to the cracks in the stones.

The fishmonger parked his truck and didn't dare to move for a long time.

Someone stopped at the other end of the mountain road.

He was a mountain dweller carrying firewood. Two bundles of wet firewood were still weighed down on his carrying pole, and his shoes were covered in yellow mud. He saw the sea first, then the street, his mouth agape for a long time, and the carrying pole slowly slid down.

Neither side spoke.

The sea breeze blew in from the street corner, carrying a salty smell and the scent of grass from the mountains. The smells mingled together, creating a strange combination, like the steam from two pots colliding.

The old woman selling breakfast on the street was the first to peek out.

"Old Lin, what are you doing blocking that spot?"

The fishmonger pointed, his fingers taut: "The road... the road has grown out."

The old woman thought he was being foolish, so she carried the steamer basket closer. But when she looked up, she froze. The lid of the steamer basket wasn't properly closed, and steam billowed out, white mist drifting up the mountain path.

The mountain dweller opposite finally came to his senses, wiped his face, and took two steps forward.

The people at this end of the stone street followed along.

The people at the other end of the mountain road also started to descend.

The first to reach the middle was a child of about seven or eight. A city kid, barefoot, with his trousers rolled up to his knees, he clutched a copper coin in his hand. He looked up at the man carrying firewood and asked bluntly, "Do you have monkeys over there?"

The man carrying firewood paused for a moment, then nodded.

The child's eyes lit up immediately: "Really?"

The man carrying firewood nodded again and pointed up the mountain: "More."

At that moment, everyone behind them surged forward.

Some people touched the blue bricks of the stone street. Some people pinched the soil from the mountain roadside. The salt-selling man squatted down, grabbed a handful of mud, and smelled it. Across from him, a woman picking vegetables reached out and touched his salt-carrying pole, then quickly withdrew it, as if afraid of getting burned.

The news spread faster than the tide.

In less than half an hour, both ends of Old Stone Street were packed with people.

The city's constables arrived first. Four of them, carrying short sticks, their sabers hanging askew. The leader, who had been half-drunk in a tavern the night before, was now bleary-eyed, but the moment he saw the mountain path, he sobered up completely.

"Get back, everyone!"

He shouted, his voice cracking.

No one is backing out.

Fishmongers, vegetable pickers, firewood carriers, and onlookers crowded even more tightly. A few port workers had also slipped into the crowd; broad-shouldered and steady, they blocked the way so much that even the constables couldn't lift their batons.

People also arrived from the other end of the mountain road.

Jiang Chao walked ahead, his trouser legs still damp with dew. Behind him followed two bookkeepers, each carrying an account book they hadn't finished recording the night before. Following them was the Bull Demon King. He had originally come to the pier to move timber, but upon seeing the sea halfway there, he stopped and cursed under his breath.

Did I sleep in the wrong place last night?

Liu Er squatted on a roadside stone, first looking at the sea, then at the street signs. He read them word by word, and when he got to "Fuxing Pingmahang", he smacked his lips.

"The characters are almost the same."

Jiang Chao didn't reply, he just looked down at the road.

This road isn't a figment of imagination. The mud is real mud, the stones are real stones. There are even shallow footprints on the shoulder left by rabbits last night. It's as if it was ripped off the mountain in one piece and forcefully pressed into this old stone street.

Chen Fan arrived a little later.

He had been checking accounts at the temple last night and had only managed a brief nap before dawn. Before he even reached the street corner, he heard the noise growing louder and louder. When he turned past the old archway and saw the mountain path that led in, he paused for a moment.

Xuanzang stood behind him, his prayer beads halfway through, then he stopped.

"That saves trouble." Sun Wukong had somehow squatted down on the remnants of the tidal wall, his voice tinged with laughter. "No need to climb mountains or cross seas. We just bumped into each other."

Chen Fan looked up.

The street is an old street. The stone slabs are quite old, with moss growing in the cracks. The road is a mountain road, very winding, going up the slope, and ending directly at the low hills outside Flower and Fruit Mountain.

This is not just a crack.

This truly connects the two roads.

Before he could speak, another group of people arrived from the east end of the street.

This group of people didn't push or look on with curiosity. There were four sedan chairs, seven or eight servants, and two accountants following behind. Everyone's sleeves were clean, and their shoes were spotless. As soon as they got out of the sedan chairs, they looked around first, then checked the width of the intersection.

Leading the group was Zhou, the second manager of Fuxing Pingma Trading Company, who had a neatly trimmed mustache. He first bowed to the yamen runners, then took a few steps toward the intersection and tapped the stone slab with his toes.

"Measure it from here."

The men behind immediately released the rope.

A red hemp rope was laid out from the street and stretched all the way to the entrance of the mountain road. Another person took out a wooden stake and was about to swing a hammer to strike it.

The Bull Demon King frowned: "What are you doing?"

Shopkeeper Zhou turned around and first saw the Bull Demon King's physique. His eyelids twitched, but he still said steadily, "Measure the land. This place is the intersection of two realms, and with the flow of goods, it will inevitably become chaotic in the future. There must be some rules."

He paused, then smiled.

"Let's pool our money and set up a cordon at the intersection. We'll erect tents, set up checkpoints, and hire people to guard it. We'll charge a fee for clearing the way for people entering and leaving, which will also prevent idlers from wandering around and disturbing the local villagers."

The moment those words were spoken, the street erupted in chaos.

The old woman selling breakfast was the first to yell, "Is the road so long it's in front of your house?"

Some of the mountain villagers understood and shouted, "We have to pay to pass through?"

Manager Zhou raised his hand, as if he had expected this scene.

"Please don't be anxious, everyone. It's not much money. Whether you're coming from the city to the mountains or from the mountains to the city, it's the same. We'll charge more for heavy goods and less for empty-handed goods. Once the rules are established, it will be convenient for everyone."

"To make things convenient for your ancestors."

The Bull Demon King strode forward and snapped the rope in two. The rope end struck the worker's face, leaving a red welt. The worker covered his face, and the hammer fell to the ground.

Manager Zhou's face darkened: "My friend, there are rules to buying and selling."

"Rules?" Liu Er jumped down from the rock, picked up a wooden stake from the ground, and weighed it in his hand. "You only found out about this road half an hour ago, and you've already made up the rules?"

People from another trading company also arrived.

He was the young master of Juhai Trading Company. He was young, but his clothes were shiny. He didn't open his fan, just patted it in his palm. He glanced at Chen Fan, then at Sun Wukong, his eyes darting around quickly.

"It's not about enclosing land," he said with a smile. "It's about protecting the road. Both sides are unfamiliar. What if someone causes trouble? Who will take responsibility? We'll contribute manpower and money to set up a fence to check people and goods. Wouldn't that save us a lot of trouble?"

Chen Fan then started walking forward.

He walked slowly, and when he reached the intersection, he first bent down to pick up the broken rope and shook off the mud. The rope was very new; the hemp fibers hadn't even been worn away.

"Who gave you permission to take those measurements?"

Manager Zhou recognized him.

In recent days, his name has become well-known in the city due to the court's review of contracts and the abolition of the government office and the blocking of the gate. He dared not be too arrogant, and only bent his waist by half an inch.

"Mr. Chen, someone has to do this first."

Chen Fan rolled up the rope and casually handed it to Jiang Chao.

"This road connects the mountains to the city. Nobody has secured it yet. You think you can just bring a few ropes and divide people into two groups, then charge them by their heads?"

Manager Zhou's smile faded.

"Sir, you make it sound so easy. If we don't establish rules first, when merchants come in later, it will be a mixed bag, and who will take responsibility if something goes wrong?"

"Is it any of your business?" Chen Fan looked at him. "Or is it your few online gambling platforms that are in charge?"

Manager Zhou did not answer.

The young master of Juhaihang stepped forward and tapped his palm with his fan.

"Mr. Chen, you're an excellent accountant. But running a business at an intersection requires capital. Paving roads, setting up stalls, and hiring staff in the city all cost money. We can't let everyone spend for nothing."

Chen Fan looked up at him.

"Who said it's free?"

The young master was taken aback.

Chen Fan turned around, pointed to both sides of the stone street, and then pointed to the top of the mountain road.

"The old stone street is for city dwellers. The mountain path is for mountain dwellers. If it needs repair, construction, or guarding, both sides should provide their own people. There are no barriers at the intersections, and no tolls are collected. Anyone who wants to set up a stall should move to the side. Anyone who wants to transport goods should first report the weight to the guild hall. If there is a dispute, it will be checked against the records."

"A scripture shop?" Manager Zhou couldn't help but exclaim, "Sir, you're overstepping your bounds."

"My arms aren't long," Chen Fan said. "I'm just a step faster than you guys."

Someone in the crowd laughed out loud.

It was the same old woman selling breakfast. She placed the steamer basket on the ground, lifted the lid, and as steam billowed out, she called out towards the other side of the mountain path, "Steamed buns! Hot! You can trade them for firewood!"

The man carrying firewood opposite him paused for a moment, looked down at the firewood on his shoulder, then at the basket of white buns, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

Before he could even step forward, a woman from the mountains had already put down her bamboo basket.

"Should we trade the eggs?"

The old woman's eyes lit up: "Change!"

No sooner had they finished speaking than the salt seller put down his load by the roadside and said, "Who in the mountains needs salt? Bring us your mountain produce."

The crowd immediately dispersed in a half-circle.

The people who were just standing around the intersection have now set up stalls on both sides. Bamboo baskets are placed on the ground, and on wooden shelves, seafood, salt blocks, eggs, wild mushrooms, bundles of firewood, coarse cloth, and earthenware bowls are arranged side by side. It's chaotic, but lively.

Manager Zhou's face turned pale.

His men were still holding the wooden stakes, unsure where to drive them.

Sun Wukong, perched on a high place, watched with amusement and pointed at the young master, saying, "You're still inspecting the goods? They've already opened for business."

The Bull Demon King, finding them an eyesore, kicked the remaining two wooden stakes into the mud beside the damp wall. The stakes sank at an angle, with only half of them sticking out.

"Anyone who takes measurements again, I'll use them as a benchmark."

The businessmen exchanged glances and dared not make another move.

Chen Fan ignored them and only said to Jiang Chao, "Go to the library and bring back two old case files. Also, find a board."

Jiang Chao nodded and ran off.

Xuanzang rolled up his sleeves, walked to the roadside, and righted a fallen bluestone, clearing a section of flat ground. Seeing this, Liu Er casually hung the red rope of "Fuxing Pingmaxing" on the stone, like hanging a dried-up dead snake.

Before long, Jiang Chao brought the case over with his men.

One is placed on this side of the city. Another is placed on the other side of the mountain road.

Chen Fan picked up his pen and wrote two lines of large characters on the wooden board.

There is no toll for passage.

Record the exchange first.

After he finished writing, he put down his pen, raised his hand to press down on the top edge of the wooden board, and stood it upright. The board stood between the mountain road and the stone street, and the edges swayed in the wind.

The woodcutter finally came over, carefully placed a bundle of damp firewood at the old woman's feet, and exchanged it for two steamed buns. The buns were scalding hot, so he tossed them from side to side a couple of times. When he took his first bite, the steam made his eyes squint.

At the other end of the street, a barefoot child had already darted up the mountain path, running and shouting back:

"There really are monkeys! I saw them!"

Someone on the mountain immediately chimed in, "Where?"

The child raised his hand and pointed right at Sun Wukong's face. Sun Wukong grinned and showed him his teeth. The child was so frightened that he sat down in the mud, then got up and laughed again, his pants soaked.

Chapter 682 Both Sides Need to Stand Up

As soon as the morning market opened, a crowd of people squeezed out of the mountain road entrance.

The sign that read "Mountain Goods Can Be Exchanged for Grain" from last night was still there, and the bamboo pole had been driven deeper into the ground. Next to it, another thin pole had appeared, with a new wooden board hanging on it. The ink wasn't completely dry, and it had four characters written on it: "Come and go, write your real name."

The characters were written by Si Mo.

He disliked the chaotic way the mountain people reported numbers and was also afraid of people sneaking in to deliver messages, so he squatted by the roadside before dawn to grind ink. The wooden board was carved from an old door panel, and the rough edges were sharp. After finishing writing, he blew on it twice and then smeared half of his palm with ink.

The old woman recognized the character, squinted and read it aloud, then nodded: "That's more like what a manager should do."

No sooner had she finished speaking than another person arrived at the other end of the stone street.

First came two bailiffs in black robes, followed by a thin-faced clerk. The clerk was carrying a lacquered plaque in his arms, panting heavily, his shoes covered in mud. When he saw the wooden plaque already erected at the entrance to the mountain path, his face immediately darkened.

"Who gave you permission to set that up first?"

The Bull Demon King was squatting under the sign eating a sesame seed cake when he heard this, and he looked up and laughed.

"The intersection isn't your kitchen stove; do you expect me to tell you if it's accurate?"

The clerk held up the lacquered plaque.

The sign has eight characters, neat and upright: "Temporary establishment, official control."

The paint was freshly applied, a strikingly bright red.

The other porters carrying loads stepped back. It wasn't out of fear, but because they were afraid that once the sign was nailed up, there would be another person having to handle things.

The clerk lowered his voice and said, "Merchants in the city need official passes to bring in goods today. Who comes in, who goes out, how many people they bring, and how many loads they bring—all of this must be recorded by the officials. Without a pass, this passage is closed."

Si Mo tucked the pen behind his ear and took two steps forward.

"People come and go, so keep a record of what they bring, what they exchange, and what they owe. Just write down their real names, don't ask about old records or their rank."

The clerk looked at him as if he were a joke.

"Real name?"

"right."

"Do people of low social status write their real names? Do those who evade corvée labor write their real names? Do those from outside the designated neighborhoods write their real names?"

Si Mo reached out and patted the wooden board.

"Leave your name wherever you go. If something happens, find the person by name. Record the goods too. That's the fastest way."

The clerk sneered and handed the lacquered plaque forward.

"The fastest way is for officials to set the rules. What's your worthless piece of wood?"

The Bull Demon King stood up, with crumbs of sesame seed cake still stuck to his beard.

"It's made of wood. It's quite handy to smash someone's head with."

Both constables had their hands on the hilts of their swords.

The street corner suddenly fell silent.

The old man selling steamed buns quietly closed the lid of his steamer basket. Several people carrying firewood on the mountain path stopped, and even the little monkey squatted silently on the stone railing. A gust of wind blew, and the lacquered and wooden signs swayed together, making a soft knocking sound.

Chen Fan then came down from the mountain.

He didn't hurry, but glanced at it first. The official plaque was bigger than a human face, with copper nails in the corners, clearly made overnight. The trading company was quick; the mountain road had just connected to the stone street yesterday, and today they wanted to close the gap.

When the clerk saw him arrive, he immediately bowed, his expression much more composed than before.

"Mr. Chen, this place is a well-known market town, and it should have official authorization. Several merchants in town have already given their approval. If the goods are defective, who will take responsibility?"

Chen Fan didn't respond to that, but instead looked at the booklet next to Si Mo.

The booklet lay open on the small wooden table, the first page already containing more than a dozen entries.

"Two bundles of firewood, exchanged for three liters of coarse grain."

"A jar of mountain honey, and half a pound of salt as collateral."

"One packet of herbs, unchanged, temporarily stored."

The handwriting isn't particularly beautiful, but it's clear.

Chen Fan pointed to the booklet and asked, "Who couldn't understand these few lines from this morning?"

Several people nearby shook their heads.

A man carrying a basket draped his handkerchief back around his neck and said in a deep voice, "I can understand this. If I understand it, it'll be easier to admit it later."

The clerk said, "Acknowledging the debt is one thing, verifying the person is another. When merchants want to buy goods, the first thing to ask is whose goods they are, what kind of people brought them, and whether they are allowed on the main street. If we don't distinguish between them, it will violate city regulations, and who will clean up the mess later?"

As soon as he finished speaking, several people wearing silk robes arrived.

He wasn't an official, but a manager of a business.

The leader was tall and thin, with a gleaming nose. He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, looking as dusty as a mountain breeze. After he stopped, he first looked at the wooden sign, then at the booklet, and his brows immediately furrowed.

"Remembering only the goods and not the identity is unacceptable."

Si Mo asked, "What's wrong?"

"If you record a basket of mushrooms, who knows if they were picked from the forbidden mountain? If you record two bags of rice, who knows if they were dumped from an abandoned granary? You only write your real name, not the owner, not the guarantor, not your previous records. If one comes in today and ten come in tomorrow, will the street still have any business?"

Si Mo's scholarly air immediately tightened.

"What's the point of writing down old books? Even when exchanging a handful of salt, do we have to distinguish between high and low quality?"

The manager rolled up his sleeves, his voice low but each word piercing to the bone.

"It's always been this way in the city. Who can go into the back warehouse, who can only stop at the street corner, who can buy on credit, and who can only pay cash—these are all the rules. If you smooth out the rules, how can businesses do business?"

"You're in the business of buying and selling, not screening people," Si Mo said.

"Only by screening people can you do business."

As soon as he uttered those words, several suppressed curses rang out from all around.

One of the mountain dwellers spat on the ground. Several port workers also squeezed closer. A while ago, when the business was set up, the group from the abandoned government office was utterly thrashed. Now, the business wanted to block the entrance again. Everyone knew what they were after.

The thin, high-ranking official ignored everything around him and focused solely on Chen Fan.

"Mr. Chen, we didn't stop you from setting up your stall yesterday. But today, there needs to be a procedure for the goods to leave. Official signs can be placed here, wooden signs can be placed there, it doesn't matter. But the main sign at the entrance can only be an official sign. Upon entering the city, we must check your identity first, then check your goods. The merchants will accept this."

The Bull Demon King was so angry he wanted to kick it forward.

"You still want to divide the trump suit and side suit?"

Chen Fan raised his hand to stop him.

He walked forward to the middle of the two plaques and reached out to touch the lacquered plaque. The lacquer was still sticky; when he pressed it with his fingertip, a blackish-red mark appeared.

"You're in such a hurry to put up signs, not because you're afraid of messing up the goods."

He looked up at the thin, high-ranking executive.

"You're afraid that if this path doesn't recognize the old rankings, other paths will follow suit."

The manager's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't take it.

Chen Fan then turned to the clerk and asked, "Who issued the official order?"

The clerk hesitated for a moment.

"A temporary meeting was held within the city."

Which parties reached an agreement?

"The trading company, the brokerage firm, the two warehouses, and the people left behind by the street patrol department."

Does the abolition of the City God's office count?

The clerk choked.

The gates of the abandoned government office are still blocked, and the old books inside are being turned page by page. Everyone knows that the place doesn't have much influence now.

Chen Fan nodded, as if he understood.

"Then it's not a city-wide order, but only an order for a few households."

The thin, senior executive's face darkened: "A few are enough. The supply chains are in our hands."

"The mountain goods aren't in your hands," Chen Fan said.

This sentence sounds simple, but it has a sharp edge.

Those carrying firewood, medicine, and mushrooms on the mountain stood even straighter. Even the child who had been frightened into sitting in the mud by Sun Wukong peeked out from the side, staring at the official plaque.

Si Mo picked up the booklet, his voice still hard.

"First, keep a record of the transaction. Once the goods have been delivered, then discuss who pays on credit and who pays cash. Keep the real names and quantities. Nothing else."

The thin, high-ranking executive shook his head with a cold expression.

"No. Without proper identification, the trading company will not open its warehouses."

"Fine, then we won't open it!" someone shouted first on the mountain road.

"Find someone else!"

"They'll be selling them on the street!"

"If you won't take them, someone else will!"

The sound was like water boiling in a pot. The vendors on both sides of the stone street, who had been watching the spectacle, now had a few of their hands itching to make a living. While the main street shops refused to budge, selling small items on the street was more profitable.

The thin, senior executive, sensing the shift in the wind, grew increasingly grim.

He pointed to the wooden sign and said, "If this sign stands firm today, anyone will dare to use my name to sneak in. And if trouble comes, who will take responsibility?"

Chen Fan continued, following his lead.

"Whoever keeps the accounts is responsible for the accounts. Whoever receives the goods is responsible for the goods. If anyone wants to check someone, they should use their real name. Using the old grade system won't work."

The clerk grew anxious: "That official badge—"

"Even official credentials can be established," Chen Fan said.

The surroundings fell silent for a moment.

The Bull Demon King turned his head to look at him, and Si Mo was also stunned.

Chen Fan stepped back half a step, making room for the two signs.

"If you want to set up a sign, then set it up. Set it up on this side of Stone Street. Make it clear that the officials are only in charge of disputes within the city and disturbances on the streets. No one is allowed to use a sign to block mountain goods or to use a sign to verify old records."

The clerk's face turned pale.

"This is not in compliance with regulations."

"Didn't you just say you were setting up a temporary checkpoint?" Chen Fan looked at him. "If it's temporary, then just follow the existing path. The mountain road connects to the stone street, and we have to cross both sides. If you want to put up signs, we'll put up signs too. Make it clear who's in charge of which section. Don't say one thing and do another."

Before the thin, high-ranking official could speak, Si Mo had already dipped his brush in ink and added two lines of small characters directly below the wooden sign.

Visitors should write their real names.

Goods are recorded in the accounts.

He wrote quickly, and when he finished, the ink beads were still running down the wood grain. A port worker immediately brought over a stone and pressed the wooden base of the sign down more firmly.

Chen Fan raised his chin at the clerk.

"Your lacquered plaque also says that."

The clerk stood still.

Chen Fan smiled, but the smile was not very deep.

"If you're not going to write, then don't hang it up."

The wind picked up again on the street.

The official plaque bumped against the clerk's chest, the lacquered surface making a dull thud. The thin, high-ranking official stared at the two characters "True Name" on the wooden plaque, his lips pressed into a thin line. Several shop assistants behind him, carrying abacuses and short rulers, dared not step forward first.

After a moment of stunned silence, it was the clerk who couldn't take it anymore.

He turned around and asked in a low voice, "Where's the pen?"

The constable next to him was stunned for a moment, then took out a small, worn-out brush from his waist and handed it over.

The clerk placed the lacquered plaque on the stone stool, rolled up his sleeves twice, and his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the brush. As soon as the ink touched the surface, a black dot spread across the red lacquer.

The Bull Demon King stood to the side with his arms crossed, grinning as he watched, "Write it bigger. Don't write it like a mouse's claws scratching."

The clerk ignored him, gritted his teeth, and added words to the bottom of the sign, stroke by stroke.

Disputes in Shijie can be reported to the authorities.

Goods and goods on mountain roads must not be obstructed.

The last stroke was dragged out too long, almost scratching the paint edge. He quickly stopped, his forehead covered in sweat.

Si Mo held the ledger, glanced at it, and neither said it was good nor bad. He simply put the pen on the table.

"Next."

The man who had been carrying firewood immediately pushed forward and put his load on the ground.

"Two bundles of wet firewood, exchanged for two steamed buns, plus half a liter of brown rice."

Si Mo opened the book and began to write down the accounts.

The clerk still held onto the still-wet lacquered plaque, his fingers hovering, afraid to touch the words. A gust of wind blew, and the official plaque and the wooden plaque swayed gently side by side. He looked at it for a while, then moved half a step to the side, making way for the man carrying firewood.