Chapter 320: Shen Qiushuang

There was no mockery in her laughter. It sounded more like a kind of release.

“You’re finally willing to write a sentence for them.”

She reached for the receipt.

Lu Yuan did not let go.

“First, explain what ‘held in safekeeping’ means.”

“It means keeping a place where they can be found,” Manager Shen said. “They won’t be entered as offerings, used to settle accounts, or sent onto the boat. Whoever comes to claim them can take the evidence and lead them away.”

“Then why didn’t you do this before?”

“Because nobody was willing to take responsibility for it.”

She pointed at the white paper drifting all over the hall.

“A wandering name isn’t a nameless one. A wandering name is one someone remembers, someone has searched for, but whose destination remains unknown for the time being.

“You found Han Qi. Han Qi has to find those five people himself. You found Liu Sanniang. Xu Erxiao has her land deed and knows her former home, but still doesn’t know where she is now. You found the little girl from Little Stone Village, but all you have is half a silver lock. You can’t even confirm her surname.”

“If they aren’t kept in safekeeping, the old registers will swallow these names again.”

Wang Cheng’an said, “So you used the Southern Register’s name as a pretext to detain people here?”

“Not as a pretext.” Manager Shen looked at him. “The Southern Register has always wanted to swallow them.”

She took off her glasses, revealing a deep, old scar at the corner of her eye.

“I’ve guarded the grain depot for twelve years. I’ve seen too many people come looking for a name that had already fallen apart, carrying half a sheet of paper, half a lock, or a single rumor. Some were truly searching. Some wanted to seize land. Some wanted to sever family ties. Some just wanted to use a dead person to settle their own accounts.”

“Do you think I enjoy making them verify names and take over accounts?”

“But that’s how the Southern Register works. As long as someone puts a hand in the bowl, they can assign a destination to a string of names. It’s the easiest way, and the cleanest.”

Xu Erxiao said coldly, “You know it’s wrong, yet you still guard the gate for them?”

Manager Shen looked at him.

“I guard the gate so they can’t come in and take them directly.”

“The white papers you saw just now are wandering names I’ve intercepted over the years.”

She paused.

“They’re also the last batch I’ll ever be able to intercept.”

Lin Zhaoxuan’s gaze sharpened. “The Name-Crossing Boat sets sail tonight.”

“When the Hour of the Rat arrives,” Manager Shen said, “every unsettled name in the grain depot will be forcibly taken by the boat’s master register, whether or not it belongs to the Southern Register.”

Song Qinghe looked toward the black boat outside.

The mist over the river was growing thicker. The white paper lanterns lit up one after another. Each lantern seemed to hold a faint spark, and from a distance, it looked as though the entire boat carried countless eyes that had yet to go dark.

“Did you let us in because you want us to help stop the boat?” she asked.

“Originally, I wanted you to take over the accounts,” Manager Shen admitted.

“As long as you take the names, the Name-Crossing Boat can’t forcibly collect them.”

“But once we take them, all those names will be on our shoulders,” Wang Cheng’an said.

“That’s right.”

“What if we die?”

“Then the names will scatter again.”

“That’s no different, then.”

Manager Shen fell silent.

Lu Yuan released the receipt and took Wang Cheng’an’s duplicate register.

Its pages recorded the names, evidence, witnesses, fragments, and unresolved matters they had uncovered along the way. It wasn’t thick, yet it felt terribly heavy.

“We won’t take over the accounts,” Lu Yuan said.

Xu Erxiao looked up.

“Brother Lu?”

“Nor will we hand the names over to either side.”

Lu Yuan spread the duplicate register across the long table and turned to the page Wang Cheng’an had just written: “Old Southern Route Transfer Rules, Corrected as Follows from This Day On.”

“If we can’t yet determine who a name belongs to, we’ll write ‘Pending Investigation.’”

“Evidence should be entrusted to whoever can protect it.”

“If someone is still alive, their name should wait for them to claim it themselves.”

“We won’t wait for one person to guarantee a hundred others, nor for a boat to swallow them all.”

Wang Cheng’an’s eyes brightened.

“Then we need to establish another register.”

“Not another one,” Lu Yuan said. “We need to split the registers apart.”

Manager Shen frowned. “How?”

Wang Cheng’an already understood.

He pushed the duplicate register forward an inch and pointed to its different columns.

“The name register records names and evidence, not offering quotas. The evidence register records where each item came from and who is safeguarding it, without tying it to anyone’s life. The land deed register records land and cannot be used to trade for a child’s name. The missing persons register records where people are being sought, and nobody can use it to claim a family connection. The corrections register records only erroneous accounts removed from the old books.”

The more he spoke, the steadier his voice became.

“Anyone who wants to investigate Liu Sanniang can consult the name register and evidence register. Anyone who wants to investigate her one and a third mu of land can consult the land deed register. No one can use her land to put pressure on Erxiao’s name again.”

Xu Erxiao nodded firmly.

“I’ll guard my mother’s name.”

“You won’t guard it alone,” Wang Cheng’an said. “Everyone who leaves behind evidence will guard it together.”

Manager Shen gazed at the duplicate register and remained silent for a long while.

A dull rumble suddenly sounded outside.

It wasn’t heavenly thunder.

Someone was hauling the boat’s anchor chain.

The Name-Crossing Boat was beginning to weigh anchor.

The workers on the riverbank stirred in alarm. Someone shouted from outside the grain depot, “Manager Shen! The boat is demanding the names!”

Manager Shen whirled around and glanced toward the door.

When she turned back, her expression had changed.

“It’s too late.”

“How much time is left?” Zhou Heng asked.

“Less than the time it takes to burn one incense stick.”

“How does the boat collect names?”

“The white paper lanterns,” Manager Shen said. “When a lantern goes out, the name on its paper enters the master register. After that, even if you have the original item, a relative, or an old contract, you can only redeem the name aboard the boat.”

“What if we can’t redeem it?” Xu Erxiao asked.

“Then it remains in the Southern Register to fill in its missing entries.”

Lu Yuan folded the receipt and tucked it back into his clothes.

“Save the lanterns first.”

Manager Shen paused.

“There are more than three hundred lanterns aboard.”

“Just tell us which ones matter most.”

“The most important ones are in the lowest hold, beside the master register.”

“Then we’ll board the boat.”

“You can’t board it.” Manager Shen pointed toward the river. “The Name-Crossing Boat doesn’t take the living. Anyone who boards must first give their name to the verification plaque at the bow.”

Lin Zhaoxuan asked, “Would covering our names with ink lines work?”

“No. It doesn’t verify the written characters. It verifies where a person comes from.”

Song Qinghe suddenly looked toward the roof of the grain depot.

The gaping hole above, which had been torn open when she burned away the black ink with her lantern, had yet to close. Clouds churned in the night sky, and half of a ghastly pale moon was faintly visible.

“The living can’t board,” she said. “Then we’ll make the boat think we aren’t boarding.”

Manager Shen looked at her.

Song Qinghe gently lifted the green lamp.

“We’ll pass it off as a white paper lantern being sent over to fill a vacant place.”

“You want to sneak into the lantern array?” Lin Zhaoxuan asked.

“The boat collects names, not people. If we use a wandering name’s lantern to get there, the verification plaque won’t check us first.”

“But someone has to stay on shore and send the lantern,” Zhou Heng said.

“I’ll stay,” Manager Shen said.

Xu Erxiao immediately grew wary. “Why should I trust you?”

Manager Shen looked toward the altered receipt on the table.

“Because if you succeed, the papers I’ve guarded will finally have a proper place to be kept.”

She walked to the rear wall and lifted a floorboard. Beneath it was a very narrow water channel, which led to the unloading dock at the lowest part of the riverbank.

“There’s an old delivery route in the grain depot that leads to the rear hold of the Name-Crossing Boat. It used to carry grain. Now it carries talismans.”

“You’ll go through here. I’ll send an empty lantern.”

“How long can an empty lantern cover us?” Lu Yuan asked.

“At most half an incense stick.”

“That’s enough.”

But Manager Shen did not lead the way at once.

She took a blackwood box from beneath the table and opened it. Inside lay seven copper seals, arranged neatly in a row.

The grain-tax seal, the merchant seal, the safekeeping seal, the evidence seal, the land deed seal, the missing persons seal, and the corrections seal.

“These seals were originally used for safekeeping at the grain depot. After the Southern Register arrived, only the grain-tax and merchant seals were allowed to remain. The other five became forbidden items.”

She handed the safekeeping seal to Wang Cheng’an.

“If you’re establishing five separate registers, you’ll need someone authorized to stamp them.”

Wang Cheng’an did not take it immediately.

“You’re giving this seal to me?”

“I’m not giving it to you,” Manager Shen said. “I’m giving it to the rules you wrote.”

Wang Cheng’an drew a deep breath and accepted the copper seal with both hands.

It was very heavy.

Four characters were carved into its face:

Temporarily Kept, Awaiting Recognition.

He stamped it beneath the newly written corrections in the duplicate register.

The cinnabar touched the paper, and its surface glimmered faintly.

The white papers that had been drifting through the grain depot seemed to hear something. They flew toward the long table one after another, arranging themselves into separate stacks by name, village, and evidence.

“This place recognizes the seal,” Manager Shen murmured. “From now on, they’re temporarily held in safekeeping. They don’t belong to the Southern Register.”

As soon as she finished speaking, a furious shout came from outside the door.

“Shen Qiushuang!”

Everyone jolted at once.

So that was her name, Shen Qiushuang.

A tall man in a black cloak stood at the entrance to the grain depot, with more than ten workers wearing black bands behind him. He held a white lantern without a paper shade, its wick burning with a faint blue flame.

“The boatmaster has ordered that all names awaiting transfer be shipped out tonight.”

Shen Qiushuang’s face turned ashen.

“I told you, the grain depot’s wandering names don’t go aboard.”

The man smiled.

“They stayed off before because the boatmaster respected your father’s service guarding the depot.”

“Now the northern route has collapsed, and the central route is in chaos. The Southern Register is short on entries. Your few wandering names are just what we need to make up the shortfall.”

He raised the lantern, and its blue flame flickered.

An invisible force seized the stacks of paper that had just been sorted on the table and pulled them toward the door.

Wang Cheng’an clutched the duplicate register. Xu Erxiao struck the edge of the table with his shovel, knocking down the first few stacks of paper. Zhou Heng’s figure flashed. His swordlight swept across the air, driving half the pages back into the room.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s ink lines threaded through the beams and interwove into a net.

The man in the black cloak narrowed his eyes.

“Daoists from inside the pass are here too.”

“Then you’ll all be entered in the register together.”

The workers behind him all pulled the black bands from around their necks.

The bands unfurled into strings of paper covered in tiny writing. The moment they hit the ground, they became like living snakes, coiling toward everyone’s feet.

Lu Yuan drew his blade and cut two of them apart.

Countless tiny cries came from the severed paper strings. Xu Erxiao’s ears rang from the sound, but he did not hesitate. He turned his shovel around and struck the writing with its flat back.

“Don’t cut the writing!” he shouted. “Knock off the seals!”

Lu Yuan immediately saw what he meant.

A red dot appeared at regular intervals among the black characters on the paper strings. They were the Southern Register’s transfer seals. As long as the seals remained, the paper strings would keep rejoining.

“Cheng’an!”

Wang Cheng’an grabbed the corrections seal, dipped it in cinnabar, and stamped the paper strings repeatedly.

“Forcible entry invalid! Compensation invalid! Transfer invalid!”

Each stamp left a section of the paper string blank.

Song Qinghe shone her green lamp over them. The blank scraps of paper did not fall to the ground, but turned into tiny white butterflies that flew through the hole in the roof and into the night sky.

The black-cloaked man’s expression darkened.

“You really think you can violate decades of Southern Register rules by changing a few lines in a ledger?”

“If the rules are wrong, they should be changed,” Lu Yuan said.

The man sneered and slammed the blue lantern onto the ground.

Boom!

The floor of the grain depot split open.

There was no foundation beneath it, but a gigantic pool of ink. Waterlogged account books, broken wooden tablets, and who knew how many fingerprints floated in the pool. A thick iron pillar stood in its center, with strings of white paper lanterns chained to it.

The names in every lantern were struggling.

One of the lanterns at the very bottom bore the words:

“Liu Sanniang.”

Xu Erxiao’s eyes instantly reddened.

“My mother!”

He tried to charge forward, but Lu Yuan seized him.

“That isn’t her herself. It’s one of the entries they seized from her.”

“Then it still can’t stay here!”

“Of course not.”

Lu Yuan looked at the iron pillar above the ink pool.

A closed-eye fish seal was carved into its top, with a chain fastened beneath it. The chain ran straight through the back wall of the grain depot and led to the Name-Crossing Boat on the river.

“This is the boat’s auxiliary anchor,” Lin Zhaoxuan said.

“Once the lanterns are shipped out, these duplicate registers will be sent along the chain to the master register,” Shen Qiushuang gritted out. “They opened the auxiliary anchor ahead of time.”

The black-cloaked man stood at the edge of the ink pool and spread his arms.

“The Hour of the Rat is near.”

“The Southern Register collects names!”

All the white paper lanterns suddenly blazed with light.

The names inside and outside the grain depot began to tremble. The wooden tablet in Xu Erxiao’s arms grew hot. The pages of Wang Cheng’an’s duplicate register fluttered, and even the half silver lock in Lu Yuan’s hand gave off a series of urgent clinks.

Worst of all, the flame in the white lantern bearing the name “Liu Sanniang” beneath the iron pillar had already been drawn into a thin line, slanting toward the chain.

Xu Erxiao broke free of Lu Yuan’s grip.

“I’ll smash the pillar!”

“If you smash it, every lantern will fall into the ink pool,” Shen Qiushuang shouted.

“Then what do we do?”

Lu Yuan fixed his eyes on the iron pillar.

“Don’t smash it.”

He suddenly took the receipt from his clothes, then pulled out a paper talisman marked “Awaiting Transfer to the Southern Register” that he had brought from the underground granary.

He laid the two sheets together, one bearing the old rules and the other their corrections.

“They use transfers to collect names.”

“Then we cut off the transfer first.”

He handed the papers to Wang Cheng’an.

“Can you alter the auxiliary anchor’s accounts?”

Wang Cheng’an looked at the stone stele beside the ink pool.

It was densely engraved with the order of transfers. At the very top were the words:

“North Route to Central Route, Central Route to South Route, South Route to Master Register.”

A glimmer of understanding flashed through his eyes.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Turn the South Route into safekeeping.”

“What do you need?”

“Someone has to hold down the master seal on the iron pillar.”

Zhou Heng looked at the pillar.

Ink churned around it, and the black-cloaked man stood closest.

“I’ll go.”

“I’m going too!” Xu Erxiao said.

“You stay here,” Lu Yuan said. “You have to recognize the lantern bearing Liu Sanniang’s name.”

Xu Erxiao clenched his teeth, then finally nodded.

Lin Zhaoxuan had already tied one end of an ink line around Zhou Heng’s waist and handed the other end to Song Qinghe. Zhou Heng leaped down, tapping his toes several times against the broken account books floating on the pool, and lunged straight for the iron pillar.

The black-cloaked man raised a hand. Several black arms surged from the ink pool and reached for Zhou Heng.

Lu Yuan swept his blade sideways, striking the edge of the pool and sending up a spray of shattered stone. Xu Erxiao followed close behind, bringing his shovel down and pinning one of the black hands back into the ink pool. Song Qinghe lowered her lantern, illuminating layer upon layer of red seals on the black hand’s wrist.

“Suppress the seals!”

Wang Cheng’an swung the corrections seal.

The first stamp fell.

“Dead accounts cannot offset living names!”

The black hand immediately loosened its grip.

The second stamp.

“A mother’s name cannot pay a child’s debt!”

The ink line wrapped around Liu Sanniang’s lantern abruptly faltered.

The third stamp.

“Pending Investigation does not mean Pending Detention!”

Countless account books floating in the ink pool flipped open together. The black characters on their pages faded like a receding tide.

Taking advantage of that moment, Zhou Heng finally climbed onto the iron pillar.

He grabbed the chain with one hand and drove his short sword into the recess beneath the closed-eye fish seal with the other.

“Cheng’an!”

Wang Cheng’an knelt before the stele and dipped his brush in cinnabar, but the tip hovered without touching the stone.

“What should I change it to?”

“Write what you just said,” Lu Yuan replied.

Wang Cheng’an looked up.

“South Route, Temporarily Kept, Awaiting Recognition.”

“Write it.”

Wang Cheng’an took a deep breath and wrote, one character at a time, in the empty space at the bottom of the stele:

“Wandering names, fragmented names, and missing names found along the North, Central, and South Routes shall all be temporarily kept, awaiting recognition, and shall not be transferred to the master register. Only after the person concerned, a relative, and evidence have all been verified shall a destination be assigned. No one may use these names to offset offerings, rent, debts, or lives.”

When he finished the final character, he raised the safekeeping seal and stamped it down hard.

Boom!

A crack appeared in the closed-eye fish seal at the top of the iron pillar.

The chain shuddered violently.

The Name-Crossing Boat on the river let out a piercing blast of its horn. All its white paper lanterns shook wildly. Lanterns bearing village names went out one after another, then relit, as if countless people in the hold were fighting over the same account book.

The black-cloaked man’s face finally changed.

“You dare alter the main route?”

“We’re not changing the main route,” Lu Yuan said. “We’re sending back to places where they can be investigated the names that never should have taken the main route.”

The man raised the blue lantern. Pale faces suddenly surged from its wick.

“Then I’ll make sure you all stay here and investigate!”

Blue flame rushed toward the stele.

Shen Qiushuang suddenly charged forward, placing herself in front of Wang Cheng’an.

She flung the string of copper keys in her hand. The keys collided in midair, ringing out in a clear, lingering chime. The iron grilles, storeroom doors, and hidden cabinets all around the grain depot opened at once.

Countless oil-paper packets flew out.

White, red, yellow, and black talismans gathered into a vast tide of paper, blocking the blue flames.

Shen Qiushuang shouted:

“Yongji Grain Depot has kept things in safekeeping for twelve years! From tonight onward, the storerooms are open, and the evidence is returned! Whoever a name belongs to can investigate it! Whoever an item belongs to can claim it! The Southern Register has no right to take anything from this depot!”

Blue flames burned through dozens of oil-paper packets, but the evidence inside fell piece by piece.

Copper coins, wooden tablets, silver locks, red cords, fragments of old family records, copies of land deeds, rubbings of fingerprints...

They fell into the ink pool, and the ink began to grow lighter.

Each piece of evidence was like a stone, weighing down an old account that was trying to drag someone away.

Xu Erxiao seized his chance and rushed to the white lantern bearing Liu Sanniang’s name.

He did not reach out to grab the lantern. Instead, he took the wooden tablet, the copy of the land deed, and that half-piece of osmanthus candy from his clothes, then placed them one by one on the floating account book before the lantern.

“Liu Sanniang.”

His voice was loud, as if he were afraid someone might not hear.

“A native of Lower Bay, Liu Family Gully. Her birth name was Liu Sanniang. After marrying into the Xu family, she was called Xu Liushi. She owned one and a third mu of land. She had a land deed, an old household registration, and a son named Xu Erxiao. She wasn’t a child’s account, compensation, or an offering quota.”

The flame in the white lantern suddenly stilled.

Xu Erxiao’s eyes were red, but he delivered his final words with absolute steadiness.

“She’s my mother.”

A woman’s shadow slowly emerged from the lantern’s flame.

She had her back to everyone, her long hair falling down her back, an old padded coat draped over her shoulders. She did not turn around. She only raised a hand, as if after so many years, she were gently touching Xu Erxiao’s forehead.

Xu Erxiao trembled all over.

“Mother?”

The shadow did not answer.

But the three characters “Liu Sanniang” on the white lantern slowly changed from black ink to ordinary ink.

Then the lantern’s flame stopped slanting toward the chain. It turned into a wisp of warm light and flew into the wooden tablet in Xu Erxiao’s hand.

The words “Liu Sanniang’s son, Xu Erxiao” on the tablet glimmered faintly.

Xu Erxiao stood where he was, unable to move for a long time.

Lu Yuan called to him:

“Erxiao!”

Xu Erxiao wiped his face and turned to answer:

“I’m coming!”

Before the words had even left his mouth, a sharp crack suddenly sounded above the iron pillar.

The short sword Zhou Heng had wedged there was snapped by the chain.

A wet hand reached out through the crack in the closed-eye fish seal. Its five fingers clamped around Zhou Heng’s ankle and yanked hard.

Half of Zhou Heng’s body dangled over the ink pool.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s ink line was stretched to its limit, cutting into his palm until it bled.

Song Qinghe raised her lantern toward the crack in the iron pillar, her expression changing abruptly.

“There’s something inside!”

There was no mechanism in the crack, nor a lock core.

There was a gigantic eye.

It had no pupil. Tiny names were densely carved across its white surface. It slowly opened, and all the lights in the grain depot immediately caved inward.

The black-cloaked man fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the edge of the ink pool.

“Southern Register scribe, request the master register open its eye.”

Lu Yuan finally understood.

The master register aboard the Name-Crossing Boat was not merely a book.

The true “scribe” of the Southern Register had been hidden at the root of this transfer route all along.

It wrote itself with the names of countless people, and used their separations, deaths, and forgotten lives to ensure that every page of its accounts would remain forever unfinished.

The gigantic eye inside the iron pillar turned. It looked first at Xu Erxiao, then at Wang Cheng’an, and finally stopped on Lu Yuan.

A new line of writing appeared in that eye:

“Lu Yuan, original name pending verification. The Gu family’s old case may be opened. Exchange five companions for one viewing of the original register.”

Wang Cheng’an jerked his head up.

Xu Erxiao tightened his grip on the shovel.

Song Qinghe shouted, “Don’t look at it!”

But Lu Yuan had already seen.

Deep within the gigantic eye was an old carriage.

A young version of himself sat inside, holding the little girl whose face was hidden by her hair. Beside the carriage, Gu Changgeng was covered in blood, using a short blade to cut through paper strings covered in names.

And behind the carriage, a young woman in a dark blue jacket was running after it, holding half of a plum-blossom silver lock in her hand.

That face was unmistakably Shen Qiushuang’s when she was young.