Xing Honglang frowned. "If they won't let people touch gunpowder, what about the gunpowder artisan himself?"
The rotating-duty artisan lowered his voice. "The artisan can still leave the workshops, as long as he's not carrying powder. Getting out to stroll the market isn't a problem. But leaving the city? That's impossible. Too many resident artisans have fled in recent years.¹ The officials are terrified the gunpowder men will slip away too. They're watched very closely."
Xing Honglang connected the dots. "So, he can't handle powder, can leave the workshop compound, but can't leave the city. Right?"
The artisan nodded vigorously. "Exactly!"
"Good. I understand." Xing Honglang pulled another piece of broken silver from her sleeve and placed it in his palm. "Still interested in earning more?"
The artisan's head bobbed like a chicken pecking grain. "Yes! Very much!"
Xing Honglang produced a full five-tael silver ingot² and dangled it before his eyes. "Bring the gunpowder artisan out to meet me. This is yours."
The man's eyes widened. "That's... that's all? Just for a simple meeting? You're not... playing me for a fool, sister?"
Xing Honglang's laugh was cold. "Do I look like the type who plays games? Let me tell you, anyone who tries to cheat me ends up meeting Yama, the King of Hell. One slice at a time."
The threat was brutal, but it paradoxically reassured the artisan. Brutal honesty was a currency he understood. "Alright. Wait in the teahouse around the corner, sister. I'll drag the powder man out for a drink."
As he turned to go, Xing Honglang called after him. "Hold on. What's your craft?"
The artisan scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "I'm a lantern maker. Pretty useless these days."
"Ah, a lantern man." Xing Honglang understood. In the glorious Tang Dynasty, when this city was called Chang'an, a lantern maker was a sought-after artisan, crafting the brilliant lights for its famous, vibrant nights. But now, as Xi'an in these dim, desperate times, his craft had faded into near-irrelevance.
Her voice dropped. "Ever thought of leaving? Making real money out there?"
The lantern maker shook his head. "What skills do I have for that?"
Xing Honglang flicked another piece of silver at him. "Use that to pay your artisan service tax for the next ten years.³ Then come with me. I'll take you to a place that's lively, prosperous, where you can make a fortune."
The lantern maker's face lit up with greed and hope. "Sister, wait for me at the teahouse! I'll pay the tax, fetch the powder man, and then I'm yours!"
---
Xing Honglang settled into a corner of the designated teahouse, sipping bitter tea without much interest.
Before long, the lantern maker returned, shepherding a man in his late thirties. The newcomer's clothes were threadbare, his face etched with deep wrinkles—the unmistakable look of a state workshop laborer. The gunpowder artisan.
They took a table. The powder man looked at his companion with open curiosity. "Old brother, where did you strike gold? Paying ten years' service tax in one go! Congratulations, you're a free man for a decade. And you can still afford tea? Impressive."
The lantern maker shrugged. "I brought you here to meet someone."
As if on cue, Xing Honglang thumped down onto the bench beside them. She was a large woman, and the wooden bench groaned in protest. The gunpowder artisan flinched, nearly jumping out of his seat. He relaxed only slightly upon seeing it was a woman.
Xing Honglang, a true daughter of the jianghu, didn't believe in small talk. "You're the powder man?"
Seeing she was no ordinary person—and not someone to offend—the man quickly replied, "This humble one is called Xu Dafu. A gunpowder artisan."
"How's life treating you?" Xing Honglang stabbed straight for the heart. "Eating well? Dressing warm?"
It was a direct hit. Xu Dafu stiffened, pain flashing across his weathered face.
"Ever thought of running?" Her words were blunt as a club. "Lots of resident artisans have fled lately. Ever considered it?"
Xu Dafu started, a flicker of sharp wariness in his eyes before he lowered his head. "Never. I wouldn't dare. I only wish to serve the officials steadily and peacefully."
Xing Honglang almost laughed. Years on the road had sharpened her eyes. That micro-expression hadn't escaped her. He wants to run, alright. He just doesn't trust me. He was afraid she was an official sent to test his loyalty. One wrong word, and he'd be dragged back for a beating.
"Let's be clear," Xing Honglang said, leaning forward. "I'm not a 'proper' person."
Xu Dafu tensed again. The lantern maker did too, though he'd suspected as much.
"I'm a salt smuggler. The kind who carries a blade and resists arrest." A salt bandit, in other words. The kind for whom killing was just business.
Both artisans paled.
"I'm telling you this so you know I'm not with the officials. Speak your mind. No fear here."
But Xu Dafu had survived a lifetime by being cautious. Reckless, incautious men didn't last long in his line of work; they got blown up. He shook his head firmly. "I truly do not wish to escape."
"Fine. Understood." Xing Honglang stood up. "Come with me. I'll show you something interesting."
She strode out without looking back. The two artisans exchanged a long, questioning glance. Then, with a mix of fear and desperate hope, they shuffled after her. She'd read them right—they didn't trust her, but they couldn't let go of this slender chance at a different life.
Xing Honglang led them through a maze of alleys back to the market, into the same shadowy corner. Her thirty-eight subordinates were there, clearing the last of their cargo. Pristine white salt was being sold at twenty percent below the government price.
Xing Honglang walked up. "How's the salt moving?"
A subordinate grinned. "Almost gone, boss!"
"Good." She turned to the two artisans. "See what I do now?"
The two craftsmen looked at each other once more. Then, Xu Dafu suddenly dropped to his knees with a thump. "Please, honorable outlaws, take me away from Xi'an. I can't live like this for another day."
Xing Honglang's face split into a wide, fierce grin. "That's the spirit."
"But... the city gates are tightly watched," Xu Dafu stammered. "How could someone like me possibly leave? Do you... have a plan, honored sister?"
"Die," Xing Honglang said, her grin turning wicked. "You just gotta die to get out."
"W-what?"
"With all these refugees in the city, finding a starved corpse isn't hard. Tonight, we stage a robbery and murder. You, Xu Dafu, get killed in a back alley. Your face... gets hacked beyond recognition. Understand?"
A wave of understanding washed over Xu Dafu's face, followed by grim resolve. "I understand. I understand completely."
---
Footnotes:
¹ History Fact: Resident Artisan (住坐匠 Zhùzuò Jiàng) – Unlike the rotating-duty artisans, these were permanently attached to government workshops in major cities, providing year-round skilled labor. Their flight was a significant problem for the Ming government, as it deprived them of essential technical expertise in fields like weapons-making and construction.
² Fun/History Fact: The Tael (兩 Liǎng) – A traditional Chinese unit of weight and currency. One tael was roughly 37-40 grams of silver. A five-tael ingot was a substantial sum, enough to support a common family for months. Xing Honglang offering this for a simple meeting shows both her resources and the extreme value she places on the gunpowder artisan.
³ History Fact: Artisan Service Tax (匠班銀 Jiàngbān Yín) – A monetary substitution introduced in the mid-Ming dynasty. Artisans could pay a silver fee to commute their compulsory labor service. This created a loophole for skilled workers to buy their freedom, though the fee was often prohibitive. The lantern maker using Xing's silver for this is a key step in legally severing his state obligations.