Chapter 322: The Name-Verification Plate

The moment the Name-Crossing Boat came crashing toward it, all four lamps in the grain depot tilted toward the river.

Their light stretched like four ropes, pulling the bow forward.

Shen Qiushuang did not dodge. Instead, she spun around and rushed to the wall, yanking down a hemp rope hidden inside a wooden beam. The other end was connected to the water-channel sluice. She pulled hard, and a rumble immediately sounded beneath the back wall as water that had collected in the underground channel surged into the grain depot.

“The grain depot was built over an old riverbed,” she shouted. “The channel leads straight to the lower hold of the Name-Crossing Boat. Send the physical evidence in. The boat will recognize the objects first, instead of recognizing people right away!”

“Send in as much as you can!” Lu Yuan said.

Xu Erxiao had already rolled up his sleeves. Together with the grain depot workers, he stuffed oil-paper bundles into empty grain sacks. A wooden tablet was tied to the mouth of each sack, listing the object’s origin, who had handled it, and its safekeeping number. The tablets did not bear the names of the missing, only the words “Awaiting Recognition.”

“This bundle has a copy of the old land deed from Liu family gully!” Xu Erxiao shouted.

“This bundle has the copper abacus left behind by Ma Fusheng’s family!”

“This bundle has the Red Cord found in Little Stone Village!”

His voice had gone hoarse, but he had not put a single piece of evidence in the wrong sack.

Wang Cheng'an stood guard before the stele, his left hand pressing down on the safekeeping seal while his right hand kept writing new rules. Blue flames crawled along the inscription. Every time they burned away a stroke, he immediately added it back.

“Anything brought into the grain depot must have its origin recorded first, then its destination!”

“Any name that cannot be verified must not be transferred into the master register!”

With each added line, the stele flashed faintly.

Lin Zhaoxuan looped the ink line around the stele, then threaded it through the bases of all four lamps. He handed the end of the line to Wang Cheng'an.

“Don’t let it separate you from the new rules,” he said. “As long as you keep your hand on the seal, the stele will remember.”

Wang Cheng'an nodded. The burns on the back of his hand throbbed so painfully that he trembled, but he still did not let go.

One grain sack after another slid into the channel. The current carried them through the underground passage and swept them toward the river’s lower reaches.

At the same time, the Name-Crossing Boat was closing in on the grain depot.

Its bow struck the stone steps along the bank, and the river water abruptly split to either side. Zhou Heng leaped onto the stone railing and looped a long rope around the anchor chain on the side of the boat. He braced both feet against the base of the wall. The rope pulled taut as he forcibly slowed the boat.

“Move faster! I can’t hold it for long!”

The green lamp in Song Qinghe’s hand flared to life. Its light fell on the channel, where the words “Awaiting Recognition” on the grain sacks all began to glow faintly, as though countless unseen hands were guiding them forward.

Shen Qiushuang returned to the long table and took a small silver lock from the lining of her clothes.

The silver lock was incomplete, and a plum blossom was engraved on its face. She placed it in Lu Yuan’s palm.

“This is the half I had with me when I chased the carriage back then.”

Lu Yuan lowered his eyes and looked.

A corner was missing from the edge of his own lock fragment, exactly where it should be.

The two pieces of silver lock did not fit together completely. A fine gap remained between them. But the broken petals reflected one another, like two memories separated for many years finally recognizing each other.

“What can it do?” Xu Erxiao asked.

“I don’t know,” Shen Qiushuang said. “I only know that when I was chasing the carriage, Gu Changgeng looked back at me. He said, ‘Don’t let the lock fall into the water.’”

She raised her head and looked toward the Name-Crossing Boat.

“I’ve guarded it for all these years, but I couldn’t protect what my father left behind. At least this time, I can’t let it fall into the register again.”

Lu Yuan put the two lock fragments away.

“Once we’re aboard, find the name-verification plate first. If the lamps on the boat start calling names, no one answers.”

Song Qinghe nodded, holding up the lamp.

Zhou Heng pulled on the anchor chain and suddenly shouted, “The boat’s steady!”

The last few grain sacks surged out of the channel and slammed into the door of the Name-Crossing Boat’s aft hold. The door seemed to be pushed open from within, slowly revealing a pitch-black gap.

Shen Qiushuang pointed at the gap.

“Go in through the aft hold!”

“You lead the way,” Lu Yuan said.

“I’ve been through this boat’s hidden passages.” Shen Qiushuang wound the ring of keys around her wrist. “But I’ll say this first: there are some doors in the hold that must not be opened.”

“Why?”

“Some names have been inside for too long. If they’re woken carelessly, even the boat might not be able to tell who’s who.”

Xu Erxiao rested his iron shovel across his shoulder.

“Then we won’t wake them. We’ll find the name-verification plate first.”

Wang Cheng'an suddenly called after them.

“Brother Lu!”

Lu Yuan turned around.

Wang Cheng'an handed him a sheet of paper. It bore only three lines:

“Record the location of anything seen aboard the boat.”

“Do not treat anything heard aboard the boat as testimony.”

“If you encounter an old name, look for physical evidence first.”

“This is for you,” Wang Cheng'an said. “Once you’re aboard, don’t let it use one story to decide everything for you.”

Lu Yuan took the paper, folded it, and put it inside his clothes.

“When we get back, we’ll add these lines to the corrections register.”

Wang Cheng'an smiled, though there was not the slightest trace of ease in his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Zhou Heng wrapped the rope around himself again and climbed onto the stern first. Song Qinghe followed with the lamp, then Lu Yuan, Xu Erxiao, and Shen Qiushuang. Lin Zhaoxuan stayed on the bank to assist Wang Cheng'an. One end of the ink line guarded the stele, while the other was tied around Zhou Heng’s waist, the only connection between the two sides.

The stern’s hidden door creaked damply.

Beyond it was not a cargo hold, but a narrow staircase descending into darkness. White-paper lamps hung on both sides of the stairs. Their faces bore no names, only densely packed blank spaces.

Song Qinghe raised the green lamp.

“Can blank spaces collect names too?”

“They can,” Shen Qiushuang said quietly. “Before a name is written in, it’s easiest to deceive. It will call on you to give your own name.”

The group descended the stairs.

The planks beneath their feet trembled lightly from time to time. Each time they did, the paper lamps above rattled. The lamps had no flames, yet a faint white light shone through them, as if each concealed a breath.

After they had descended a dozen or so steps, Xu Erxiao suddenly stopped.

A faint voice came from one of the empty lamps.

“Erxiao.”

His face changed at once.

The voice was hoarse and gentle, like someone calling him home from the kitchen many years ago.

“Ma?”

Song Qinghe reached out to stop him and lowered the lamp.

The empty lamp spoke again. “Xiao Er, it’s getting dark. Come home for dinner.”

Xu Erxiao gripped his iron shovel tightly. After a long pause, he said softly, “That ain’t my ma.”

He did not answer again and continued down.

The lamp gradually dimmed.

Shen Qiushuang looked at him and said softly, “You recognized that clearly.”

“My ma wouldn’t call me that,” Xu Erxiao said. “She called me Erxiao. She only used my full name when she was mad.”

After saying that, he continued without looking back.

At the bottom, a corridor stretched out before them. The cabin doors on both sides had no numbers. Instead, each bore a different old object: a copper bowl, a length of Red Cord, a piece of cloth, or a broken needle.

Song Qinghe approached one of the doors. As the lamplight fell on its panel, faint tapping sounds came from within.

A length of Red Cord hung on the door, tied in a distinctive knot.

Lu Yuan recognized the knot. It was exactly like the Red Cord on the girl’s wrist in the old carriage.

He reached out, but Shen Qiushuang grabbed his wrist.

“Look for evidence first.”

“She might be inside.”

“Or it might simply know that you want to find her.”

Shen Qiushuang took a tiny, folded piece of oil paper from inside her clothes. On it were old grain depot records she had secretly copied over the years. The edges had worn almost white.

She unfolded the paper and found a mark.

“After the old carriage left North Mountain Pass, it stopped at the ferry crossing for the time it takes an incense stick to burn. Among the things sent aboard that day were a Red Cord, a copper bell, and an unsigned herbal prescription.”

“Which door?”

They continued down the corridor and finally found the mark of a copper bell on a narrow door. The bell itself was gone, leaving only a round impression.

Shen Qiushuang pressed her half of the silver lock against it.

A thin silver line suddenly lit up inside the door panel.

The line stretched out from the edge of the impression, winding along the corridor before finally pointing toward a larger door farther in.

Song Qinghe lowered the lamp. “The lock recognizes the way.”

“It’s not a key to open the door,” Lu Yuan said. “It’s evidence that points the way.”

They followed the silver line to the end. The large door bore no old object, only a blank paper mask. Beneath the mask, a wooden tablet was nailed to the door:

“Before verifying a name, verify its origin.”

Zhou Heng stepped forward to inspect the hinges.

“The lower level beneath the bow should be behind this door.”

A knocking sound suddenly came from behind the door.

Three knocks.

A pause.

Then three more.

The sound did not come from inside the cabin, but from the other side of the door panel, as if someone were tapping out a prearranged signal with their knuckles.

Shen Qiushuang’s face turned deathly pale.

“My father taught me that signal.”

She raised her hand and tapped twice on the door, paused, then tapped four times.

Silence fell inside the door for a moment.

Then the same signal came from within:

Two knocks, a pause, then four.

“Someone’s in there,” Zhou Heng said.

“Or it copied that signal from an old account,” Song Qinghe warned.

Lu Yuan took out the sheet Wang Cheng'an had given him and placed it before the door.

“Look for physical evidence first.”

Shen Qiushuang felt along the bottom of the doorframe and found a loose wooden wedge. She pried it out with a key, and a small, blackened piece of copper rolled out.

One character was engraved on it:

“Shen.”

Shen Qiushuang’s fingers stopped.

She recognized the writing. It was her father’s.

“This isn’t a character from the register,” she said. “My father carved it.”

“What does it prove?” Xu Erxiao asked.

“That he came to this door.”

She handed the copper piece to Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan did not touch the door. He merely placed the copper piece outside the threshold.

The sound of paper turning suddenly came from behind the door. The blank mask slowly turned toward them, and several lines of text appeared on it:

“Who comes?”

No one answered.

“What is the name of the one who comes?”

Still, no one answered.

The large door silently opened a crack.

Beyond it was a round cabin. A bronze plate was embedded in the very center, with a relief of a closed-eyed fish on its surface. White paper covered the wooden walls around it. Different roads had been drawn on the paper, marked with the names of villages, rivers, and ferry crossings.

The maps were incomplete.

Many places had been painted over with black ink, as though someone had erased their destinations from the maps one by one.

Beneath the bronze plate was a long, narrow slot. Three shallow engravings were cut into it, their shapes resembling the plum-blossom silver lock.

“The name-verification plate,” Song Qinghe whispered.

There was no flame on the plate, but it reflected people’s shadows. The moment Lu Yuan stepped over the threshold, the closed-eyed fish on the bronze plate slowly opened its eyes.

A circle of dim light swept across the group.

Their names immediately appeared on the cabin walls.

Lu Yuan, Wang Cheng'an, Xu Erxiao, Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, Song Qinghe, Shen Qiushuang.

Beneath each name was a line of small writing:

“Birthplace awaiting verification.”

“Kinship awaiting verification.”

“Origin awaiting verification.”

“Destination awaiting verification.”

Xu Erxiao snapped, “Even Manager Shen has to await verification?”

“It wants to make everyone await verification,” Shen Qiushuang said. “Once you’re written in here, no one can prove where you came from.”

“Names aren’t evidence.” Wang Cheng'an’s voice suddenly came from inside the bronze plate.

Everyone was startled.

Immediately afterward, the ink line connecting the stele to Lin Zhaoxuan passed through a crack in the cabin wall, and its end trembled lightly. Wang Cheng'an was still guarding the grain depot, yet the rules he had written had traveled aboard the boat along the ink line.

The names on the bronze plate wavered slightly.

Lu Yuan placed the copper piece beside the plate.

The character Shen lay next to the three characters of Shen Qiushuang’s name, and the words “Birthplace awaiting verification” on the plate immediately faded halfway.

Shen Qiushuang’s eyes reddened, but she said nothing.

Zhou Heng took an old object from one of the grain sacks and placed it before the bronze plate. It was a broken ferry-crossing tablet bearing a year and the mark of a ferry crossing.

Song Qinghe then laid down an old grain depot record.

With each piece of evidence they placed down, one line of blank writing beneath the names on the bronze plate disappeared.

The name-verification plate began to vibrate.

The closed-eyed fish let out a piercing cry, and the maps on the cabin walls curled up. The villages that had been painted over in black ink began to emerge from the paper as hazy outlines.

“It isn’t verifying people,” Lin Zhaoxuan’s voice came from the other end of the ink line. “It’s verifying whether names can be separated from physical evidence.”

“Then don’t let it separate them,” Wang Cheng'an said.

Xu Erxiao placed his own wooden fragment before the bronze plate.

“Xu Erxiao, son of Liu Sanniang. Liu Sanniang is my ma, and she gave me this wooden tablet. Her land deed is in the grain depot, and her old home is in Liu family gully. If you want to investigate, investigate them together.”

The three characters of Xu Erxiao’s name suddenly lit up on the bronze plate. Then another line appeared along its edge:

“Liu Sanniang, Temporarily Kept, Awaiting Recognition.”

Xu Erxiao’s shoulders relaxed.

“You see that?” He stared at the closed-eyed fish. “It’s not that there’s no name. It just hasn’t been fully investigated.”

The boat suddenly lurched violently to one side.

All the names on the bronze plate slid in the same direction, as if they were about to fall off its surface. A shrill whistle sounded outside the cabin. The Name-Crossing Boat had accelerated again, charging toward the Middle of the River.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

One step, two steps, three steps.

Someone was walking down the corridor toward them.

The black-cloaked man’s voice came from outside the door:

“Hand over the name-bearer.”

Shen Qiushuang grabbed her ring of keys.

“How did he get aboard?”

“He’s been on the boat all along.” Lu Yuan stared at the cabin door. “The one in the grain depot might not have been his true body.”

The blank paper mask on the door slowly turned, and two narrow slits split open where its eyes should have been.

The person outside continued:

“Hand over Lu Yuan, and the others aboard the boat may still be kept in safekeeping.”

Lu Yuan took out the plum-blossom lock fragment and placed it against the final engraving on the bronze plate.

The moment the silver light touched the plate, a deep rumble rang through the entire cabin.

The incomplete plum-blossom seal appeared on the bronze plate with a fifth petal.

The place for the sixth petal remained empty.

The footsteps outside the door stopped.

Through the door panel, the man let out a soft laugh.

“You finally found the name-verification plate.”

“Too bad the missing petal isn’t on Lu Yuan.”

The wooden wall on the other side of the cabin slowly split open, revealing a narrow, dark room.

There was no lamp inside, only a wooden box locked with iron rings. Half of a faded old photograph was pressed against the lid.

In the photograph, a young Lu Yuan was holding the girl whose face could not be made out.

On the back of the photograph, a line had been written in ink:

“The name-witness has boarded the boat. Do not open the box.”

Xu Erxiao tightened his grip on the iron shovel. “Who left this?”

Shen Qiushuang stared at the wooden box, her voice barely audible.

“My father.”

Just then, a faint sound came from inside the box.

Once.

After a pause,

once more.

The half of the silver lock in Lu Yuan’s palm grew slightly warm.

The little girl’s face in the photograph, blurred beyond recognition, slowly became clear in the lamplight.

And at last, a face identical to the one in the photograph appeared on the blank paper mask outside the door.