The night sky gleamed like washed silk, scattered with stars.
At the capital's tallest structure, the Star Observation Tower, a girl in a yellow dress climbed with light steps. Passing the seventh floor, she heard a clamor from the Alchemy Hall.
"Why did it fail again? The steps are clearly so simple."
"It has to be the salt dosage."
"It's too difficult. I can't do it!"
The yellow-dressed girl, Caiwei, felt her mouth twitch. Two days ago, she'd brought the salt-to-silver feat back. Her senior brothers refused to believe it at first — salt becoming silver? Even a three-year-old wouldn't buy it. But soon the case was solved, and His Majesty ordered the Directorate to synthesize the substance. The Alchemists had thrown themselves into the blessed grind, nine-to-nine, six-day weeks. From then straight through to now — defeat after defeat.
"Caiwei! Junior Sister Caiwei!"
Haggard faces turned toward her. "Junior Sister, how is this false silver actually made? You're the only one who succeeded!"
Chu Caiwei entered the Alchemy Hall and watched their attempts.
"Failed again!" groaned the white-robed Alchemist at the station. "Junior Sister, what's wrong?"
Nothing was wrong — she'd used the exact same method. Chu Caiwei spoke gravely. "This technique descends from antiquity — deep, obscure. It requires thorough instruction to take root. I will impart a mantra. Engrave it in your hearts."
The senior brothers leaned in.
"Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon, phosphorus!"
"What does this mantra mean?" Each character was clear, but together — total loss.
I have no idea either. Chu Caiwei maintained her enigmatic smile.
"A genius! Whoever composed this is a genius of alchemy," one senior brother exclaimed.
"Junior Sister, who told you this mantra? Some master of alchemy?"
Excellent question. "His name is Xu Qian, nephew of Xu Pingzhi of the Imperial Blade Guard. Go find him."
A martial cultivator. The white-robes grew displeased. "Ridiculous! The Directorate, overflowing with talent — needing an outsider for false silver?" "And a martial cultivator at that." "What would people say?"
Several contempt chains governed the cultivation world. Daoists looked down on Buddhists and vice versa. Artificers, Shamans, and Gu Masters formed a triangle of mutual disdain. Then all of them together looked down on martial cultivators. As for Confucians — everyone else was trash. Though Confucianism had weakened in recent times.
"Junior Sister, guide us yourself."
Caiwei let out a *hah*. "Next time!"
She squeezed out and kept climbing. Truth was, she'd tried replicating the feat in private — and failed. Every step perfectly duplicated, yet still failed. She had no idea why.
The top of the Star Observation Tower was not a normal roof — it was an octagonal platform matching the Eight Trigrams, the Eight Trigrams Terrace.
At its edge, a white-robed old man lay bent over a desk, wine cup in hand, half-drunk, half-sober, gazing at the capital below. The girl wisely did not disturb him. Her teacher preferred drinking and watching scenery, disliking interruption.
*Pinch the wine cup, narrow your eyes, and say you're wholeheartedly watching the mortal realm.*
"Caiwei is here?" The elder smiled.
"Teacher." She scampered over, skirts billowing at the terrace edge.
"What reward did the little emperor give?"
"A few hundred taels, a few bolts of silk. Teacher, what exactly is this false silver?"
"Your teacher does not know."
"Is there anything Teacher does not know?"
"Far too many. For instance, where those thieves went nineteen years ago."
"You always mention those petty thieves, yet never tell me who they were or what they stole."
The elder rose, sighing at the edge. "What they stole was momentous indeed."
"Then do you know who refined the false silver?" The Directorate was the birthplace of the Artificer system. Every Alchemist under heaven was connected to it. Behind the tax silver case stood an Alchemist who'd refined such a wondrous substance — no ordinary figure.
"Your teacher, naturally, does know."
The small courtyard. The main room. Xu Qian lay on his bed, staring at the rafters in the moonlight. He was fretting over his future — fearful and adrift, yet heated with excitement. With his mind, filled with cheat-code knowledge, he could easily stand out in this backward monarchist society. And yet, human rights came with zero guarantee. Today models in private clubs; tomorrow conscription and exile.
He drifted off. When he opened his eyes, daylight was bright. He dressed in his dark constable's uniform, fastened his belt, hung his saber at his waist — straight-backed, imposing.
He had to admit, ancient clothing did a lot for presence. The only drawback was using the bathroom.
He hopped the wall for a free breakfast at his uncle's. Uncle and nephew left for work together. The Changle County Yamen was six or seven li from the Xu residence. No horse, no carriage — Shoe-Leather Express. A quarter hour later, he arrived.
The yamen faced south. Two life-sized stone lions flanked the entrance. Its structure: the County Magistrate presided, with a Vice Magistrate and Clerk as deputies — the three ranked officials, with proper appointments. Below them, the Warden, unranked. Then the Three Squads and Six Offices — the Squads for ceremony, patrol, and garrison; the Offices mirroring the six imperial ministries.
Xu Qian was a runner in the Patrol Squad. The common folk called them constables.
He entered just as the Warden was conducting roll call. Warden Li saw Xu Qian with his saber and froze — as if he'd seen a ghost in broad daylight. The runners followed his gaze and registered the same expression.
"X-Xu Qian, man or ghost?!" someone quavered.
Warden Li noticed Xu Qian's shadow and relaxed. "What superstitious nonsense? Do ghosts cast shadows?"
Everyone exhaled. Xu Qian cupped his fists. "A joke. I've been released."
Warden Li asked, "What happened?" Everyone had heard about the Xu family's imprisonment.
"Atonement through merit. His Majesty, in his mercy, pardoned us." Xu Qian summarized, shifting credit to his uncle, and produced the certificate from the Jingzhao yamen. He realized the verdict hadn't been formally announced yet — procedures took time. The Changle runners hadn't heard.
Roll call ended. Familiar constables crowded around with congratulations. "Ningyan, you've got to treat us to drinks." "Surviving a calamity means great fortune ahead." "Waterside Street just bought fresh courtesans. Coming with us tonight?"
Buying drinks was one thing — paying for women too? Xu Qian was about to plead poverty when his foot struck something hard. A lump of silver.
So surviving calamity really does bring fortune? He stepped on it, pretending to admire the scenery. When the others walked ahead, he swiftly scooped it up and stashed it.
He sat in the west-side hall a few minutes before Warden Li entered, face overcast. He looked toward Constable Wang. "Old Wang, the Magistrate wants us in the inner hall."
Constable Wang trudged out. Xu Qian asked, "What's going on?"
"While you were in jail, a murder case came up on Kangping Street. A merchant, fairly wealthy. The Magistrate's furious — calls Constable Wang in daily to chew him out."
"It's just a dead merchant. Shouldn't be this big a deal." Xu Qian shelled melon seeds. Homicides were major cases, but as a junior fifth-rank county magistrate, he shouldn't be this worked up.
"That merchant had ties to someone in the Office of Scrutiny. Pressure from that side." The runner added, "Besides, this year is a Gengzi year."
"Gengzi year?" Xu Qian didn't follow.
"Capital Evaluation," the runner spelled out.