Before she even reached the small courtyard gate, ten paces away, Lena Sanders could already hear the blind man Mi's voice—a cracked, gong-like wail stretching a tune to its breaking point: "...the rain drizzles, the wind sighs, mist drifts upon painted boats, beauty behind the silken screen..."
Lena Sanders couldn't help but rub her ears.
It was truly unbearable.
As she pushed open the gate, Jack Golden, squatting outside, clutched his ears in agony. Seeing her, he jumped up, shut the gate behind her, and dashed inside, shouting right into Mi's ear:
"Stop singing! The boss is here!"
Mi ignored him, fingers pinched in a delicate pose as he continued, "…such a waste, this fleeting youth."
"Did you get the shop ledger?"
Lena asked, waiting for him to finish his note before speaking.
"A trifling task—easily done!"
Mi waved his arms proudly, beaming.
Jack darted forward, fishing a thick account book from Mi's robe.
"August eleventh, late afternoon—Anfu Trading House.
Everyone there remembers him—nose in the air, thought the place filthy. Made them wipe the counter twice before deigning to sit, still complained. The shopkeeper was so furious he nearly turned him out."
While Mi spoke, Lena swiftly flipped to the pages dated the eleventh.
"Liu Yun?"
"That's him!" Mi jabbed gleefully at the entry.
Lena read the notes carefully, then closed the book. She placed it, along with a rosewood case, into a leather satchel, tied it securely, and handed it to Jack Golden with a bright tone:
"Pack up. The moment the city gates open tomorrow, we head for Riverton. Once ready, come with me to Tongfu Inn."
Still giving orders, she started toward the door.
"Will you check in with the Marshal's Office? When will you be back?" Mi called after her.
"I will. And if I can help it—not at all."
Her voice was casual, almost careless.
Mi stood there, watching as she left the courtyard. After a long pause, hands clasped behind his back, he too wandered out, shuffling down toward Willow Alley.
That last sentence of hers—'if I can help it, not at all'—sat heavy in his heart. He needed somewhere to drown that ache.
––––––––––––––––––––
Tongfu Inn.
Lena sat in the storage room, just beyond the wall from the counter, a bottle of bamboo-leaf wine in her hand, listening intently to the sounds beyond.
The wine was exquisite—brewed by Master Zhao himself.
She had been drinking it for two years.
And after tonight, she would never taste it again.
She sighed softly.
In the next room, Yang Xian was still scolding the bookkeeper.
Lena waited in silence.
When the night deepened and the bookkeeper's dragging steps faded into the distance, she rose and slipped soundlessly out of the storeroom.
Behind the counter, Yang Xian was humming a tune as he stacked silver pieces neatly into the cash box.
Lena vaulted lightly over the counter.
The moment he looked up, her narrow blade flashed—a clean strike, straight into his throat, just an inch below the Adam's apple.
His eyes bulged wide, frozen in disbelief.
Lena released the sword, grabbed his hair, and dragged him out from behind the counter. Smiling faintly, she asked,
"Your brother-in-law—he cracked his skull right here, didn't he?"
Yang Xian convulsed, gasping soundlessly.
Lena kicked the back of his knees, forcing him down, pressing his chest tight against the sharp corner of the counter.
Moments later, he went still.
She drew the blade free, careful not to step in the spreading pool of red, barred the door, and slipped out through the window into the dark.
––––––––––––––––––––
By the time the sun stood high above, the first riverboat from Riverford City drifted slowly into Riverton's docks.
Lena Sanders stepped off, cloaked in a dove-gray silk coat trimmed with silver-furred cranes, a veil hat shading her face—a portrait of quiet, unostentatious wealth. Jack Golden followed close behind, dressed as a loyal servant, burdened with parcels and a rattan trunk.
At the top of the stone steps, Jack hailed a carriage and told the driver, "To the Jufu House."
They chose a private corner room on the second floor. Lena opened the window and gazed across the street at the Governor's Residence.
"The man we heard about last time—didn't His Lordship, the Prince Heir, claim he knew who it was?" Jack leaned forward, craning his neck for a look.
"The portraits they have of us—how did General Shao get them? Has he ever seen us?"
Lena nodded toward the residence.
Jack blinked, then realization dawned.
"Right! He's never seen us. So how does he know what we look like? How does he know it was us who escorted the Prince Heir across the river? One night later, he knows everything? Who told him?"
"I suspect General Wu. Tonight, slip into the signing room across the street—see if there's an official letter from him."
"What? Would they send a letter for something like that?"
"Why not? Officially, it's about pursuing river bandits. Cooperation between friendly nations, you know. What lies beneath—well, that's another matter. Come, let's take a walk."
Lena closed the window, donned a plain cotton cloak, and went out with Jack toward the docks.
The streets near the waterfront bustled with warehouses and broker houses. Between them stood large, ramshackle courtyards crowded with boatmen and their families.
Most of them had been born on the water.
A boat could not house too many souls; when sons married, they had to move ashore, rent rooms in these courtyards, and work as dockhands until they could afford a boat of their own.
Few ever did.
Far more met their end beneath the river's surface.
Only last month, a boat had overturned—none aboard survived.
Lena stopped before one such courtyard and looked inside.
In the center lay a heap of thick sails. Four or five women in coarse mourning linen sat upon them, talking quietly as they stitched the torn canvas. Others nearby—also in mourning clothes—were busy with shoes and tofu presses.
Lena gestured for Jack to wait outside, lifted her skirt slightly, and stepped into the yard.
The women paused, all eyes turning to her.
"Does Mrs. He live here?" she asked gently.
"Which Mrs. He? There are three on this street," said a stout woman making tofu, cheerful and quick-tongued.
"You must mean the one who used to live here," another woman murmured from the sails. "Let me think—he had no sons, only three daughters. The eldest married early this year."
Lena smiled with a hint of awkward familiarity.
"Ah, then you mean our old neighbor, Mrs. He," said the tofu woman, wiping her hands on her apron. "They moved out early this month. Looking for him? Need to ship goods? My brother's boat's idle—honest man, where you headed?"
"Not shipping today. I'm bound for Yangzhou. Just passing through, thought I'd stop by.
Mr. He was a good man—helped me once."
As she spoke, she moved closer to the pile of sails.
"I didn't expect he'd moved. I've come all the way from the north side—my feet are sore. May I rest a while?"
"Please, sit!"
The women shuffled to make room, patting the sailcloth clean, even laying a few scraps of fresh fabric over it.
"Your clothes are too fine to soil."
"Fujie, pour this lady some tea—use the white porcelain cup," the tofu woman called to her daughter.
"Thank you," Lena said with a gracious nod.
The girl brought the tea. Lena accepted it, then drew a small packet of candied lychees from her sleeve and offered it to her.
"Share these with your little brothers and sisters."
The child looked to her mother.
"Go on, take it," the woman laughed.
"May I ask," Lena said softly, glancing at their mourning clothes, "what sorrow has befallen you, sisters?"
A weary sigh escaped the tofu woman. "This whole courtyard is full of widows.
Just last month, our men took a northern job. The boat capsized. None came back. Such cruel fate."
She sat down beside Lena, wiping her hands again.
"How will you manage now? Any kin left to rely on?" Lena asked, her eyes warm with concern.
"It was Mr. He who took that job," one said. "The employer was said to be decent but short on silver. Promised to count the lost boat as paid for—said wages would still come twice a year, same as before. Mr. He was a good man."
"A blessing amid misfortune," Lena murmured.
"If it lasts," another woman sighed. "Fourteen families altogether—it's a lot of money. How long can they keep paying?"
"I told Song-sao the same thing—we can't depend on it forever. Better earn a little ourselves. If the wages stop, at least we can still live. See, sewing sails, pressing tofu—these are things we can do. If men lift in twos, we'll lift in fours or sixes. We can manage."
The tofu woman's words were brisk, her tone firm—clearly the leader among them.
"Do you know where Mr. He moved? Will he return?" Lena asked with a smile.
"No idea. But he owns a fine boat. Riverton's a busy port—wherever he lives now, he'll come back often enough. Depends on his next job, that's all."
"I see. Then meeting him again won't be easy. Thank you, sisters. I've rested enough—I'll take my leave."
Lena rose, bowed politely, and departed.
She returned to the Jufu House and did not go out again.
At dawn the next day, she and Jack Golden joined a merchant caravan and set out north from Riverton.