Late at night, Soot Alley lay silent.
Qin Tiexin had just soaked his feet in hot water and was preparing to settle down beside the furnace's lingering warmth. An urgent knocking sounded at the door, its rhythm unlike the familiar knock of a neighbor.
He draped on his clothes, rose, and drew back the bolt.
Zhao Ming stood outside. This time, he had brought no assistants, only an enormous tiered food box and a bulging cloth bag. The lid was not quite closed, and the rich fragrance of meat and steaming rice wafted straight toward Qin Tiexin. Zhao Ming's face was piled with smiles, though the smile looked somewhat stiff in the dim light.
"Brother Qin, haven't turned in yet?" Zhao Ming tried hard to sound amiable. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you so late. Look, with the weather this bitterly cold, I brought you some hot food, and... shall we talk again?"
Qin Tiexin looked at him without speaking or stepping aside.
Zhao Ming braced himself and raised the food box. "Braised pork hock, red-braised pork, white-cut chicken-all made by the head chef at the Virtuous Prosperity Restaurant! And this premium green-grain rice smells wonderful!" He hefted the cloth bag, which gave a heavy metallic clink. "Six hundred taels in silver, not a coin short. Brother Qin, just nod, and this silver, this wine and meat, will all be yours at once! With your craftsmanship, our Heavenly Craft Workshop will immediately arrange a steward's position for you. Your monthly pay is negotiable! Why cling to an empty shop with no prospects? What do you gain by competing with those poor wretches for a mouthful at the docks? People climb toward higher ground, just as water flows toward lower ground!"
The fragrance of meat kept burrowing into his nose. The little thin porridge in Qin Tiexin's stomach had long since been completely digested. He could clearly feel the almost spasmodic emptiness in his stomach. His throat moved involuntarily.
Zhao Ming noticed that slight swallowing motion and secretly rejoiced. Striking while the iron was hot, he actually turned sideways and tried to squeeze inside. "Come, come, it's cold outside. Let's go in and talk while we eat! You can heft this silver yourself..."
Just as one foot was about to cross the threshold-
Qin Tiexin moved.
His hand shot out, not to take anything, but to overturn the food box Zhao Ming had held out before him!
Crash-bang!
The exquisite porcelain plates struck the ground and shattered. Sauce-dark pork hock, glossy red-braised pork, tender white chicken, and snowy rice splashed across the floor amid their juices, spattering Zhao Ming as well. Scalding broth soaked through his brocade clothes, making him bare his teeth in pain.
"You!" Shocked and furious, Zhao Ming had yet to curse when his collar tightened, and once again his whole body flew as though riding clouds and mist.
This time, Qin Tiexin used even greater strength.
Zhao Ming and the money bag in his hand were hurled violently out the door, landing on the alley's hard, frozen earth. The mouth of the bag loosened, and gleaming silver rolled everywhere, glittering with an enticing yet icy light in the red glow of the furnace opposite.
"Scram."
Qin Tiexin spat out that single word. His voice was hoarse, yet like a block of heated iron plunging into cold water, it carried a bone-piercing chill and an unquestionable resolve. Without so much as glancing at the silver on the ground or the bedraggled Zhao Ming, he slammed the door with a bang.
Inside, he leaned against the door, his chest heaving violently, not from exertion, but from the surging anger and humiliation that almost burst through his chest. He lowered his head and looked at the scattered food scraps on the floor, still giving off their enticing fragrance, and the burning sensation in his throat grew worse. But he clenched his teeth, bent down, picked up the broom and dustpan in the corner, and began sweeping up the broken porcelain and dust-covered meat and rice, bit by bit.
With every sweep, his stomach cramped.
Once he finished, he tipped the rubbish into the firebox and added a handful of firewood. Flames surged up, turning the food that should have entered his belly into a burnt smell and wisps of smoke.
He returned to the front shop and sat beside the icy anvil, staring motionlessly at the faint fire rekindled in his own furnace, like a silent iron statue.
Outside, Zhao Ming shivered in the cold wind as he clambered to his feet. Looking at the tightly shut door and the silver scattered everywhere, his face alternated between red and white before settling into utter malice and venomous resentment. He hastily gathered the silver, disregarded the grease covering him, and stumbled away from Soot Alley.
"Useless!"
In the secret chamber, Zhao Xuan listened to his son's tearful account. Particularly upon hearing that Qin Tiexin had overturned the wine and meat and thrown him out again, he finally flew into a rage, slamming his palm onto the ironwood desk and making the ore atop it jump.
"You spurn the face you're given! You refuse the toast only to drink the forfeit!" Zhao Xuan's face was livid as he paced rapidly about the room. "Good! What tough bones you have! Let's see whether your bones are harder than my methods!"
He stopped, a fierce chill flashing in his eyes. "Since he's willing to lower himself to hauling sacks, we'll make sure he has no sacks left to haul! Hasn't Foreman Li of the Canal Gang at the docks been trying to establish ties with our Heavenly Craft Workshop and get some cheap weapons for his men? Go tell him that, starting tomorrow, none of the warehouses at the docks may hire Qin Tiexin! Anyone who dares employ him makes an enemy of our Heavenly Craft Workshop!"
Zhao Ming nodded hurriedly. "Yes, Father! I'll go first thing tomorrow!"
"And," Zhao Xuan continued, "who did Old Qin buy the shop's land and building deeds from back then? Find them! Find a way to turn that purchase into a 'lease'! Say it was leased back then, not sold! Old Qin is dead, so the dead can't testify. That brat hasn't even grown all his hair yet-how could he know the details of a contract from over a decade ago? Even if there was a deed, after all these years, it might well have been lost or gone moldy! We'll collect rent-an astronomical rent! Let's see what he pays with!"
Zhao Ming's eyes lit up. "That's a good plan! I remember he bought it from some down-and-out fellow surnamed Wu. That man seems to have died the year before last, but I think his son is still around..."
"Find his son! Offer him something and make him change his story!" Zhao Xuan said coldly. "Lastly, find someone to cause trouble in the shop! Have him say a kitchen knife made there curled and chipped after only a few days, and demand compensation. If he can't pay, report him to the authorities! Ordinary townsfolk fear officials most, never mind a half-grown boy with no one to rely on! With all three measures at once, let's see how long he can stay tough!"
Zhao Ming listened with his heart blossoming in delight, as though he could already see Qin Tiexin kneeling and begging for mercy. "Father, don't worry! I'll handle everything properly this time!"
Over the next few days, Qin Tiexin did indeed hit a wall at the docks.
That morning, he had barely reached his usual place to wait for work when a familiar foreman approached with an awkward expression and pulled him aside. "Young Brother Qin, I'm sorry... lately, the warehouses here... aren't really in a position to hire you. How about looking somewhere else?"
Qin Tiexin looked at the foreman's evasive eyes, then at the slightly sympathetic faces of the laborers nearby who dared not say more, and understood most of it. He said nothing, nodded, and left the eastern docks.
He did not return to Soot Alley, but crossed the city to the southern freight yard, farther away and more chaotic, where fish and dragons mingled. Management was lax there, gangs abounded, and the Heavenly Craft Workshop's hand had not yet reached that far. But the work was heavier and more varied, and the pay lower.
Qin Tiexin did not care. He had strength and was willing to exert it, and soon found work in the southern city. He still carried the heaviest sacks, walked the farthest, and earned the most meager wages. At night, he still went up the mountain to cut firewood, saving every copper he could on charcoal.
The morning of the twenty-second day of the twelfth lunar month.
Qin Tiexin had just seen off an elderly woman whose iron pot he had repaired and was keeping his accounts-a habit he had learned from Old Qin. For every transaction, large or small, he briefly recorded what materials he had bought, how much labor he had spent, how much he had charged, and even the customer's approximate appearance and clothing in a little notebook bound from coarse paper. Old Qin had said, "A craftsman needs a ledger in his heart. You're not just recording money, but your painstaking work and other people's trust."
Just then, a skinny middle-aged man in a silk robe, his eyes shifty, arrived with two men dressed as yamen runners and knocked at the shop door.
"You're Qin Tiexin?" The skinny middle-aged man tilted his head up to look at the tall Qin Tiexin, his tone somewhat unnatural. "My surname is Wu, and my name is Wu Youcai. This shop... your grandfather Qin Feng leased it from my father back then! A twenty-year lease! It's expired now. Either renew it at a hundred taels a year, or hurry up and move out!"
Qin Tiexin looked at him without answering immediately.
Seeing his silence, Wu Youcai took it for a guilty conscience and grew bolder, pointing at the shop. "For this location and this storefront, a hundred taels a year is fair! If you can't pay, the gentlemen from the authorities are right here, and we'll have to follow the law!" Behind him, the two yamen runners folded their arms, their faces expressionless.
Neighbors gathered to watch, talking among themselves.
Qin Tiexin turned and walked to the incense table bearing Old Qin's memorial tablet. He crouched, felt around beneath it, and pulled out a long wooden board tightly wrapped in oilcloth. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing two yellowed but perfectly preserved contracts.
He unfolded the contracts and held them up before Wu Youcai and the yamen runners. There in black ink on white paper were the buyer and seller, the shop's location, dimensions, price, and the marks of the guarantors who had handled the transaction. Most importantly, at the bottom of the contract was the bright red official seal of Ink City's government office. Though the seal paste was old, the impression was perfectly clear.
"This is the deed for the shop's purchase, the official contract stamped and registered by the authorities," Qin Tiexin said evenly. "And this is the proof of tax payment. The shop belonged to my grandfather Qin Feng, and now it has passed to me. Where does this talk of a lease come from?"
Wu Youcai craned his neck to look, and his expression changed at once. That official seal could not be faked. The yamen runners behind him also leaned closer to inspect it and exchanged a glance. One said, "With a proper deed and official seal, this is undoubtedly private property. There is no basis for calling it a lease." With that, the two ignored Wu Youcai and turned to leave.
His face ashen, Wu Youcai stammered a few words and slunk through the crowd under the neighbors' contemptuous gazes.
The afternoon of the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month.
A man with a brutish face barged into the shop carrying a kitchen knife that was plainly brand-new but had several notches deliberately ground into it. He slammed it onto the anvil with a clang, spraying spit as he spoke. "You, Qin! Look at this lousy knife you made! I had this kitchen knife made here a few days ago, and it chipped just cutting a radish! Pay up! Ten taels of silver! If you don't pay, I'll report you to the yamen for selling inferior tools and cheating the people!"
Qin Tiexin picked up the knife and examined the "flowing-water pattern" on its blade, then the fresh grinding marks around the chips and their degree of wear, completely different from the rest of the blade. He did not argue. Turning, he went behind the counter, took out his thick ledger, and carefully searched through the last few months, page by page.
The man grew somewhat uneasy and urged him, "What are you looking at? Hurry up and pay!"
Qin Tiexin turned a few pages, stopped his finger at one entry, and looked up at the man with clear eyes. "Brother, my memory is poor, but my pen keeps a clear record. Over the last three months, this shop made and sold seventeen kitchen knives in all. The buyers' appearances, the approximate times, the batches of iron used, and the amounts charged are all recorded here."
He turned the ledger around and pointed to a line, then to a small piece of sample iron hanging on the wall. "On the afternoon of the tenth day of the twelfth month, a hunter with a scar on his right cheek bought a thick-backed chopping knife, made with batch C iron, for thirty copper coins. On the morning of the twelfth, an assistant from the wine shop on East Street bought a thin, light slicing knife made from offcuts for fifteen copper coins... right up until yesterday, when the last kitchen knife sold went to Granny Liu at the end of the alley for twenty copper coins."
He closed the ledger and looked at the man, whose face was beginning to pale. "There's no record of you here. The pattern on your blade is the standard pattern pressed by the Heavenly Craft Workshop's Divine Forging Furnace. The chips are fresh, and... the handle is clean, without a trace of grease or sweat. It doesn't look like a frequently used knife. You want to report this to the authorities? I can go with you. As it happens, I'd also like to know who told you to bring a Heavenly Craft Workshop knife here and extort ten taels of silver from me."
Cold sweat broke out on the man's forehead, his eyes panicked. He snatched the knife from the anvil and roared, fierce in appearance but weak within, "You... you're talking nonsense! I remembered wrong! I didn't buy it here! Rotten luck!" With that, he rushed out of the shop without looking back, even faster than he had arrived.
Laughter erupted from the watching crowd, and their gazes held something different as they looked at Qin Tiexin.
Qin Tiexin silently put the ledger away, returning it to its original place. There was no triumph on his face, only a faint trace of weariness.
The trouble had passed for now, but the shop was still quiet and his pockets still empty. He went to the rice jar, looked at the rice that had dropped another stretch, and calculated how many more days it would last. Hauling work in the southern city was irregular and poorly paid, barely enough to keep him fed.
He added a piece of firewood to the furnace. The flames danced, illuminating his silent, tenacious profile.
Across the way, the hammering continued tirelessly, as though it would never cease.