Lena Sanders returned to Fried Rice Alley and sat beneath the veranda, lost in thought for half the morning. After lunch, she spent the entire afternoon poring over the rough map of mountains and rivers spread before her.
When dinner was over, she ordered another round of mosquito incense to be lit. Jack Golden brewed the tea, and the four of them sat together, each with a palm-leaf fan in hand. Lena pointed to the map and said, "As for the courier routes, I intend to start with the Wuwei line. It passes through Chenzhou, Yingzhou, and Shouzhou before reaching Wuwei. What do you all think?"
"I think that's fine!" Harris Ma replied with unseemly haste, his face full of mock contemplation.
Jack Golden shot him a scornful side-glance, nearly spitting in disdain.
When it came to feigning insight before their leader, Harris Ma's shamelessness truly knew no equal.
"We should go toward Yangzhou," Darren Chang said in his low, steady voice. "That way, we'll pass through Yingtian, Bozhou, Suzhou, and Sizhou. Around Yangzhou there's Zhenzhou and Taizhou—not far at all, and far livelier than the Wuwei route."
"If it were merely for trade, then yes—Yangzhou would be ideal. The land routes are convenient, and there's the canal besides, lined with grand docks and bustling merchants. But that's precisely the problem—it's too convenient. Ships ride the current and reach Yangzhou in just six or seven days; by land it's only four or five. Couriers abound, messages travel easily, and there's no need to pay anyone to carry a letter.
Besides, most who travel that route are merchants, and merchants rarely write letters. They've always someone to send word for them. The ones who write long letters, whether or not there's real need, are the scholars—and scholars, unlike traders, lack the same web of couriers and go-betweens.
Also, aside from Yingtian Prefecture, the cultural life along the Yangzhou route is duller than that toward Wuwei. Far fewer scholars there pass the provincial or metropolitan exams. Between Castleton and Wuwei, there are more candidates and literati, more men of letters studying or seeking office.
And it's from the officials and scholars that our business must first take root."
Lena spoke patiently, then added with a faint smile, "You know your boss—she handles one matter at a time, never mixes one with another."
"Then Wuwei it is," Darren said simply.
"For our first step, we'll run only express couriers—three hundred li a day, a round trip to Wuwei every ten days," Lena continued.
"We'll set up courier posts in Chenzhou, Yingzhou, Shouzhou, between Shouzhou and Wuwei, and within Wuwei Prefecture itself. We won't borrow the government's stations—we'll need our own places, our own people. Tomorrow I'll take Jack Golden and head out to establish them. We'll also find out how local deliveries are handled and recruit the necessary riders."
Turning to Darren, she went on, "You and Harris stay in Castleton. First, find out the price of horses and which breeds suit our work—avoid warhorses if you can. Second, seek out Prince Heir, ask him to recommend riders who can cover three hundred li a day, and a few grooms—twenty or thirty to start. Third, learn where the scholars along this route gather, and lastly, find out which local gazettes sell best—how many copies, how often, and to whom."
Darren nodded.
The next morning, by the time Ruby arrived with a summons for Lena, she and Jack Golden had already driven their cart several dozen li beyond the city gates.
…
By the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival, Lena and Jack returned to Castleton, travel-worn and weary. Lena had barely washed and sat down with a cup of tea when Ruby's voice sounded outside the courtyard gate.
Before she could respond, Harris Ma leapt up and dashed through the second doorway. Moments later, his dark face shone red with excitement as he burst back in. "Boss! Boss! Prince Heir! Prince Heir himself has sent festival gifts to us!"
Lena choked on her tea at that.
"What nonsense are you spouting!" Darren smacked Harris on the head, then turned to Ruby with an apologetic bow. "Forgive him—he speaks without thinking."
"No offense taken," Ruby said, struggling not to laugh. Of Lena's three men, Harris Ma was the one he liked best—so guileless, so rare.
Still smiling, Ruby saluted Lena, gesturing to the servants behind him bearing boxes and wine jars. "His Lordship heard you had just returned and might not have had time to prepare for the festival, so he personally chose a few things and sent us to deliver them."
Lena, still coughing, stood and bowed. "Many thanks."
Ruby laughed and stepped back. As the servants carried the gifts out through the second gate, Lena caught her breath again. Harris hunched his shoulders, silent now, realizing he'd gone too far.
"Prince Heir left the day after you did," Darren explained while unpacking the boxes. "He was on an imperial mission, only just returned a few days ago."
Jack squatted and began lifting the lids. Harris craned his neck, eyes round, but dared not utter another word.
Inside were pomegranates, grapes, oranges, tangerines, chestnuts, fragrant pears, red dates—a generous heap of them. Another box held fat river crabs, each tied neatly with straw. The next two contained half a lamb and assorted cured meats—soy duck, smoked chicken, salted goose. Finally, five or six jars of new wine, their labels reading Jade Soul.
"We'll dine on these tonight," Lena said, picking up a bunch of grapes and tasting one. "Steam the crabs, stew the lamb shanks, salt and roast the ribs tomorrow, and make a mixed vegetable dish. Harris, go buy some sesame cakes."
"And perilla leaves!" Harris jumped up. "Darren, anything else?"
"Get some scallions and green garlic," Darren replied, lifting the lamb.
When the crabs were steamed, Lena ate slowly, while Jack sat beside her, sharpening one chopstick to pick out the meat. The others disliked crab—the effort for so little reward, and the faint briny tang.
After two crabs, the lamb stew was ready. Darren also shredded smoked duck and chicken, tossed them with spinach, carrots, cilantro, and crushed peanuts. Lena ate heartily—lamb soup with garlic greens, sesame cake wrapped with crab meat, cool salad on the side—a most satisfying meal.
Afterward, Harris opened a jar of wine, and the four filled large bowls. They had scarcely begun to drink when Ruby's voice sounded again at the gate.
This time, Harris rushed off and back again, but held his tongue. "Boss, Prince Heir invites you to view the moon."
Lena drained her bowl and rose.
Outside the alley, several grooms waited with horses. Ruby smiled. "His Lordship said the autumn air is crisp—riding is better than riding in a carriage—so he sent a mount for you."
"He's very thoughtful." Lena accepted the reins, sidestepped the kneeling groom, and mounted in one smooth motion. The servants followed as they rode toward Golden Bright Lake.
At the gate, dismounting, Lena looked around at the empty expanse. "Has your Prince Heir cleared the place?" she asked with a teasing smile.
"Not exactly," Ruby replied, lips twitching. "The lake's open only on solstice days, New Year, or during martial displays—barely thirty days a year."
"So that's what you call not cleared," Lena said, amused.
Ruby led her along a path lit by low lanterns to a waterside pavilion deep within the lake grounds.
Gavin Shea stood by the railing, dressed in silver-white robes. Hearing footsteps, he turned and smiled. "You've just returned?"
"Yes." Lena came to stand beside him, gazing at the moon mirrored in the rippling water below.
"The night we left Riverford City," Gavin said softly, "the moon was just like this."
Lena glanced at him, smiling. "Too bright for comfort. Darren had to carry you upstream for thirty li before daring to cross."
He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled, gesturing toward the wine. "This year's new brew is fine—shall we taste it?"
"It is indeed. Thank you—for the wine, and the lamb as well."
She sat, lifted the crystal cup before her, examined the liquid in the moonlight, poured, and sipped.
"How went your business?" Gavin asked, hesitating between pleasantry and inquiry.
"More or less complete," she sighed. "But literate people are too few—and those who can read, all puffed up with pride, are insufferable."
Gavin smiled. "Those who read and know propriety will naturally have their pride. But why must you find the literate?"
"How else can a courier read the names and addresses?" she shot back.
He blinked, then nodded with a wry laugh. "Ah—of course. Door-to-door delivery. A family-letter service. Yes, that makes it difficult. The educated rarely stoop to such work."
"You've just returned yourself?" Lena asked, changing the subject.
"Yes. The day after you left, I received my commission. Returned two days before you. Since March I've been overseeing the Ministry of Revenue. It's a leap year, so we're auditing household registers, revising records, rotating granary stocks—corruption everywhere." He sighed deeply.
Lena said nothing.
"Enough of that," he smiled. "What will you do tomorrow, on the festival itself?"
"Sleep. Wake to eat, then sleep again." She stretched lazily. Three months of travel had drained her to the bone.
Gavin laughed. "To sleep through the Mid-Autumn Festival! And your previous ones?"
"This will be my fourth," she said, reclining. "The first year, we'd just taken over the incense shop—earned over a hundred strings of cash, heavy in chests. Mutton was cheap then—one string for nearly two catties. We bought four whole sheep and ten jars of wine. By night's end, all gone—meat, drink, and money."
She smiled faintly, eyes half-closed, recalling the laughter.
"Sounds lively," Gavin said. "And the second year?"
"By then we could eat anything we wanted. That year, we held a street feast—mutton, wine. Harris called it a beggars' assembly. I watched from the roof, then later drifted downriver under the moon, drinking. We even saved a man that night."
"He Shui Cai?" Gavin asked.
She nodded. "A born waterman. Took an arrow in the shoulder, half-dead, yet floated face-up till Darren fished him out. When he healed, he followed me. The third Mid-Autumn—well, that one I spent with you."
Gavin smiled. "I hardly remember that night—wasn't I still half-fevered?"
"Yes. It rained at dusk but cleared before dawn. The moon shone huge over a pear orchard. You hadn't had fever all day, and from then you recovered."
"I remember those pears," he said. "Harris bought two baskets. You made shrimp balls with pear pulp, and a pear-and-fritillary soup. The palace stewards make it every autumn, yet never as good as yours."
Lena laughed softly. "Pan's mansion cooks better than the imperial kitchens, I'll grant you that. But if my cooking bested the palace chefs, I'd have opened an inn by now—or been summoned to court as a royal cook."
Gavin burst out laughing, so hard he could barely hold his cup. She poured herself another drink, and he raised his in salute.
"You truly know how to live, Lena. My Mid-Autumns were always the same—save last year. In the palace, we'd offer moon rites under the late Empress's care. My brothers and I would chase each other's shadows in the moonlight—those were happy days. But after the Crown Prince fell ill, and the Empress passed, the festival became a dull banquet of ritual toasts and court music.
Tomorrow will be the same—music, prayers, no joy. Tonight, at least, counts as a true celebration. Tomorrow morning—council." He drank.
"I dislike festivals," Lena said. "Too many rules, too much small talk. Tiresome."
He laughed again and drank quietly beside her.
After a while, he asked, "You killed Qing Laizi. Yet his wife doesn't seem to hate you."
"She's called Zhang Mao—'Mao' as in 'cat.' Her mother named her that because a cat sat on the windowsill the day she was born. She had an elder brother, a sister, a younger brother, and two little sisters. The younger ones were sold off when they were small.
When she was thirteen or fourteen, her sister was sold to buy land and a wife for her brother. Zhang Mao was taken by Qing Laizi soon after—he paid five taels of silver for her contract. He beat her daily, always with things, never his hands—said his hands hurt. She bled often, yet in those first years she thought herself lucky. She ate what he ate, she said—she even grew plump.
When her sister fell ill, Zhang Mao stole a bit of silver to help her. Qing found out, beat her half to death, dragged her sister out, and whipped her in the street. She died that same evening.
The night I killed Qing Laizi, Zhang Mao came to kneel before me outside. She makes fine scallion cakes—and the best pickled mustard greens."
Lena's eyes narrowed in fond remembrance. "Hot cakes wrapped around those greens, slick with sesame oil—divine."
"You must've eaten plenty," Gavin said, amused.
"Whenever I craved them, I went." Her voice lilted with cheer.
He smiled. "Aren't you curious how I know of He Shui Cai—or Zhang Mao?"
"I looked into you the moment I reached Castleton," she said, glancing at him. "Naturally you'd do the same."
He paused, then laughed. "Fair enough. I didn't dig that deep—only learned of He Shui Cai. The rest came from my elder brother—he's thorough, thinks far ahead."
Lena only murmured an indifferent "Mm." She didn't mind being investigated—what she wished hidden, none could ever find.
"I remember one night on the boat," Gavin said softly. "The moon was just as bright. You said you wished for a flute. Would you like to hear one now?"
She nodded.
He signaled to Ruby. Moments later, a clear flute melody floated through the still air.
Lena leaned back in her chair, sipping her wine, her eyes drifting toward the moon mirrored on the rippling lake.
The moonlight, the water, the breeze, and the song—all timeless, unweathered, crossing centuries with the same fresh grace.