Chapter 2712: The Capital (Part 68)

The Chongwen Gate of the capital had once been called Wenming Gate, though the common folk knew it as "Hade Gate." Since the characters for "Hade" were considered inelegant, literati often substituted the more refined homophone "Haidai." After the Jingnan Campaign, Emperor Yongle Zhu Di relocated the capital to Beiping and renovated its walls, extending the southern rampart outward while retaining Wenming Gate as a hub for boats, carts, and merchants. In the fourth year of the Zhengtong reign, an outer barbican was added and the gate officially renamed Chongwen Gate—yet the common folk of the capital stubbornly continued calling it Hade Gate.

In the thirty-first year of Jiajing, an outer walled city—the Luo Cheng—was constructed south of the capital to strengthen its defenses. From that time forward, Chongwen Gate became an inner city gate. The newly built outer city encompassed a vast area; even through the end of the Qing Dynasty, large tracts of farmland still lay within its walls.

Chongwen Gate connected southward to the Grand Canal and eastward to Tianjin. Imperial tribute goods and daily necessities all flowed through here. Protected by the outer city wall, the market district surrounding the gate flourished with exceptional prosperity.

The moat waters ran clear, spanned by arched bridges and dotted with painted pleasure boats. Trees and flowers lined both banks. Green willows swayed in the wind while red blossoms seemed to court the moon—altogether thoroughly lovely. During the Ming Dynasty, it served as a scenic destination in its own right. Passing through Chongwen Gate and crossing the moat, one soon reached a dirt road. It bore no official name but was called Chongwenmen Outer Street after its location. In the Ming Dynasty, this had been the capital's renowned Flower Market. Fresh flowers transported from Lugou Bridge, Caoqiao, and other locales competed for attention here alongside the various "imitation flowers" produced within the capital itself—paper flowers, silk flowers, velvet flowers, pith flowers—a riot of color and craft.

The Flower Market was held on every fourth day of the month. When Little Qian arrived at Chongwen Gate to meet his contact, it was not a market day, yet the streets remained bustling. Farmers from the southern suburbs and the outer city brought vegetables, fruits, chickens, ducks, and fish and shrimp harvested from various waters to sell here daily. Though technically within the city, the tax checkpoint stood at Chongwen Gate itself, which meant selling goods here allowed merchants and farmers to pay less in levies.

Little Qian was no stranger to the capital. Like Min Zhanlian, he was a Jianghu wanderer who had roamed both north and south. He had been arrested and imprisoned during the "Parasol Umbrella" case. After enduring a spell of suffering in prison, he was recruited by the Foreign Intelligence Bureau and became a member of the Special Operations Team. Originally from Hejian Prefecture in Beizhili, he had worked as a servant for wealthy households in the capital during his youth and knew the local customs intimately. His baby face made him appear younger than his years; everyone called him "Little Qian," though he was actually in his mid-forties.

He had set out early from Zhangjiawan, disguised as a servant from a wealthy household running errands, riding a rented healthy mule. Covering sixty li in a single day, he entered the southern city toward evening and quietly took lodging at an inn on Chongwenmen Outer Street.

Early the next morning, Little Qian changed his attire, adopted the guise of an out-of-town peddler, and headed for the Juchun Garden Teahouse.

Chongwen Gate served as both a tax checkpoint and a major thoroughfare. Inns, restaurants, teahouses, porter guilds, and cart-and-horse stables lined both sides of the street.

He arrived at the bridge outside the moat but did not cross into the city. Instead, he walked east along the river. After just a few li, he came upon a Daoist temple called Taiping Palace, commonly known among the people as Pantao Palace—the Flat Peach Palace. The scenery here was beautiful, another of the capital's sightseeing destinations. Since it was the depths of winter, few tourists ventured out, lending the area a somewhat desolate air. Yet the Juchun Garden Teahouse, situated on the dirt road before the temple, still buzzed with voices.

Several teahouses stood along this street, but this was the largest. The teahouse owner was also surnamed Qian—a renowned fudichong, a local fixer, outside Chongwen Gate, equally familiar with both legitimate and underworld circles.

The teahouse occupied a two-courtyard compound. By the road stood a tall gate frame bearing a shop sign; below hung a row of green-painted wooden plaques with the names of various famous teas inscribed in ink: West Lake Longjing, Pre-Rain Maojian, Sparrow Tongue Cloud Slice. In truth, most people in the capital were not particularly discerning about tea; these varieties were more for show than for pouring.

A rush-mat awning sheltered the outdoor area, furnished with a dozen scattered tables and benches. On one side stood two brick stoves—one constantly manned by a worker baking sesame flatbreads, the other holding two large copper kettles that steamed away ceaselessly. Whenever the water reached a rolling boil, a whistle sounded that could be heard down the length of the street.

Past the open-air seating, the three-room main hall served as the front room, with tables and chairs slightly more refined than those outside—only people of some status sat there. As for the back room, that was the domain of scholars, elegant guests, and officials; ordinary folk did not venture there.

Even though it was midwinter with biting wind, people still occupied the open-air seating. These were mostly laborers or passing peddlers who sat by the stove's warmth to rest, drinking a bowl of hot tea and eating a flatbread to fill their stomachs—all for very little money. They would sate their hunger and continue making their living.

Little Qian passed through the rush-mat awning, climbed the steps, and lifted the thick cotton door curtain. A wave of hot air struck him in the face, carrying with it the mingled scents of sweat, incense, meat, and tea. Hard on its heels came the clamor of voices, rushing into his ears like a tide.

He had barely entered when a waiter approached to greet him:

"The gentleman's face is new! Is this your first time at Juchun Garden? How many—"

Little Qian answered unhurriedly, "Find me a quiet seat. A pot of jasmine tea, two cups. Also, bring two flatbreads." He tossed out a string of copper coins.

Teahouses attracted all sorts from every walk of life, so waiters developed the sharpest eyes of anyone. With a single glance up and down, this one already understood. He called out acknowledgment and led Little Qian to a single table tucked in a corner near the back door.

Little Qian swept his gaze across the room. The three rooms of the front hall were already more than half full. Most people who frequented teahouses to drink tea resembled the old saying about the drinker whose mind is not on the wine. Some came to chat and kill time, others to discuss business, still others to mediate disputes, act as go-betweens, arrange marriages, broker deals, or trade pawn tickets. The teahouse also harbored many who made their living there daily: fortune-tellers, fruit sellers, traveling barbers, singers—all manner of folk, bizarre and colorful.

He filled both teacups, then slowly sipped his jasmine tea while eating the flatbread. Quietly, he observed the patrons in the hall and those coming and going. Teahouses were places of constant flux, where dragons and fish mingled freely. The location of Juchun Garden meant most customers were passing travelers stopping to rest. Especially in these three front rooms—a place designed to welcome all comers—his unfamiliar face would attract no attention.

Before long, a cart driver wearing a felt hat and a sheepskin jacket walked over. He gave a slight bow and asked in a thick Shandong accent, "Are you the old customer who came to hire a cart yesterday?"

Little Qian nodded slightly. "You're from the cart service? I'm not traveling far; I need someone who knows the local roads well."

"Yes, exactly. Our outfit is Weiyuan," the cart driver replied with a bow. "The capital prefecture's two counties and the surrounding counties—we know all the roads."

"Wait for me a moment. Let me finish my tea and I'll come."

The cart driver said, "My cart is right outside. The one with the blue cloth cover and three copper coins on a red cord—that's mine." He then withdrew.

Little Qian did not rush to leave. He sat a while longer, watching. Then he saw the cotton curtain lift as a middle-aged, sturdy man entered. The newcomer wore a blue satin-bordered six-panel "Unity" felt hat with a fire-fox fur ear flap, a blue cloth straight robe with a padded gown over it, a black satin plank belt, and felt boots. His attire marked him as a man of standing.

The moment he stepped inside, the waiter called out, "Third Master Qin has arrived!"

Before the echo faded, a commotion arose throughout the shop. The various sorts seated at their tables rose to greet him. Third Master Qin merely offered a general bow in return and spoke no word. His hawk-like eyes swept quickly over everyone in the front hall. Only then did he pace slowly, with measured steps, to an empty table in the center and take his seat.

All the teahouse tables were Eight Immortals tables of varying sizes—except this one, which was rectangular. It faced the main door of the hall. No matter how many patrons came and went, no one ever sat at this particular table. Little Qian knew it was a matou zhuo—a "horse-head table." Only the local "dragon head master" could sit there.

The waiter immediately brought over a pot of tea and two plates of southern fruits and candied plums.

Third Master Qin took a sip of tea and stroked his short beard. By now, people were already approaching to pay their respects. Little Qian understood that Third Master Qin was the local tyrant of the outer city. Jianghu newcomers were obliged to pay respects at his pier before they could conduct any "business."

While exchanging pleasantries with those around him, Third Master Qin asked the waiter attending him, "Where's Liu Xiaobian?"

"Replying to Your Lordship, he hasn't been to our shop for two days," the waiter said. "Several lords have asked for him; even his family came looking. He's probably drunk in some cheap brothel again."

"How disgraceful," Third Master Qin said. "A perfectly good job, barely managed to make something of himself, and he doesn't cherish it. Truly a hopeless case!"

He thought for a moment. "If he still doesn't come today, have Wu the Daoist Priest come find me tomorrow."

"Understood!" the waiter answered. Just as he turned to leave, Little Qian had already approached the horse-head table with his teacup in hand, smiling and cupping his hands in greeting. "Boss, please have tea!" As he spoke, his right thumb pressed the rim of the cup, two fingers supported the bottom, while his left thumb and index finger curved and the other three fingers extended straight to touch the tip of his right elbow.

"Boss, please have tea."

Third Master Qin observed that the newcomer's face was unfamiliar and recognized him as a "colleague" from out of town. This was a routine pier visit. He picked up his own teacup and made a token gesture in return, asking:

"May I ask your surname and what kind of celebration you seek?"

"I dare not presume. My humble surname is Qian. I run a small operation. Currently, I'm setting up a cookpot in Zhangjiawan in Tongzhou, and from time to time I come into the outer city to do some business. As a newcomer, I'd like to ask Third Master for guidance."

Third Master Qin raised an eyebrow slightly. "Normally I shouldn't block your fortune, but recently the weather's been bad—winds fierce and rain sudden. Take care of yourself."

"Yes, thank you for the lesson, Third Master." Little Qian remained deeply respectful.

"This is carved plum from the south, quite fancy. Try one."

"Thank you, Third Master." Little Qian ate a carved plum and said in a low voice, "In a day or two, I have something I'd like to consult Third Master about. Would you be available?"

"Just come find me here. If I'm not around, ask the waiter."

"Thank you, Third Master!" Little Qian respectfully retreated a few steps, then turned and left the teahouse.

Third Master Qin watched his departing back without paying too much attention. Jianghu people came to pay respects at the pier every day. Besides, this one's business was in Tongzhou, sixty or seventy li distant. To be honest, there was not much significant business to be conducted here in the outer city, and it would not disturb the constables of Shuntian Prefecture.

(End of Chapter)