Chapter 5: The Merchant of Shadows

                            

Chang’an City, at the third watch of the night.

The Great Zhou dynasty’s curfew had long fallen. After the evening drums sounded, no one was permitted outdoors. Any violator would be punished with twenty lashes. Thus, the streets were silent, the markets closed, and only the armored Golden Crow Guards moved through the fog-shrouded night, their torches flickering like restless spirits.

Tonight, the fog was unusually thick—one could barely see ten steps ahead. The guards’ formation was strict, their boots echoing softly on the cobblestones. Suddenly, through the haze emerged six burly figures. Their faces were pale as paper, and their movements eerily light, as if they carried no weight at all. Resting on their shoulders was a palanquin shaped like a pavilion, veiled with white gauze embroidered in treasure-flower patterns. Its jeweled top gleamed faintly in the mist.

Strangely, the Golden Crow Guards passed them by without notice. The ghostly palanquin drifted silently through the curfewed streets and stopped before a lavish mansion in Qunxian Ward, west of the city.

The mansion exuded wealth. Even from outside, one could smell agarwood—the owner had mixed the fragrant wood into the very soil of the courtyard walls. A property of this size in Chang’an would cost a thousand strings of cash, ten times a high official’s annual salary. Yet, despite its grandeur, the residence’s main entrance was modest—a simple side door instead of the grand gates of nobility. The owner was clearly a merchant, not an aristocrat.

From within came the melody of strings and flutes. The palanquin’s bearers passed through the closed gate as though it were air and entered the rear courtyard. Inside, several Western dancers with pale skin and gauzy attire swayed gracefully to the rhythm of the Huxuan dance. Their movements were light, their laughter sweet, and at the center sat a young man, drumming joyfully to accompany them.

When the music reached its peak, one dancer twirled toward him, her eyes teasing. “Why has the master stopped?” she asked as his gaze drifted beyond her shoulder.

“Business has arrived,” he replied, rising to his feet.

The women looked around, puzzled. There was no one else in sight. One pouted, “You’re just making excuses not to dance.”

The man chuckled, pinching her waist playfully. “If I don’t do business, how would I afford to keep you all fed? Off you go.”

Though reluctant, the dancers obeyed. As they vanished, a faint shimmer appeared in the courtyard—the gauzy palanquin, carried by the six pallid men.

“They were paper effigies,” the merchant murmured with a smirk as the bearers bowed toward the palanquin and dissolved into the mist.

A gust of wind lifted the gauze curtains, revealing a woman seated within. Her hair was coiled in elegant double buns with a celestial knot; her brows were like brushstrokes, her expression serene yet radiant. The merchant’s breath caught.

“One glance from her amid the crowd, and all others fade to dust,” he whispered. “This deal… will be worth it.”

The woman stepped down gracefully, holding a brocade box. “May I ask if you are Master Yu Fuwei?”

“‘Master?’” He chuckled. “I’m just a merchant. Hardly worthy of such a title.”

“Though you are a merchant,” she replied softly, “you walk between the realms of the living and the dead. You help restless souls find peace and lend aid to those burdened by fate. That alone makes you deserving of respect.”

Yu Fuwei’s amusement faded to curiosity. “You’re no ordinary ghost. Who are you?”

“I am Princess Yong’an—Li Ying.”

He froze. “Princess Yong’an? The one whose drowning thirty years ago turned the waters of Chang’an red?”

Li Ying’s gaze dimmed, but she remained composed. “Yes.”

Yu Fuwei muttered, “The Empress Dowager lit eternal lamps across forty thousand temples for your soul… Why haven’t you reincarnated?”

Li Ying smiled faintly. “Do merchants not prefer trade over talk, Master Yu?”

Realizing his impertinence, Yu Fuwei laughed awkwardly. “Forgive me, Princess. Old habits die hard.”

She placed the brocade box before him. “I’ve come to exchange the offerings my mother burned for me into currency of the living world. Will you take this trade?”

Yu Fuwei opened the box—ten golden ingots gleamed under the lantern light, each engraved with “Taichang Year 20.” He whistled. “Excellent quality. My fee is ten percent—you’ll receive nine living-world ingots in return. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Li Ying.

Yu Fuwei bowed slightly. “It may take a few days to prepare the living currency. Business has been thriving.”

“How long must I wait?”

“Thirty ghosts ahead of you in line,” he said dryly.

Li Ying gave a faint, weary smile. “Even the afterlife seems busy during festival time.”

Yu Fuwei laughed. “Indeed. During festivals, ghosts bribe underworld officials for salvation rites. And those same officials—unable to spend their gains—exchange them with me to send gifts to their descendants. The underworld and the living world are not so different.”

Li Ying’s eyes softened with irony. “Master Yu speaks the truth.”

Her gentle composure stirred something in Yu Fuwei. “Princess,” he said finally, “your grace humbles me. Allow me to expedite your exchange. You’ll have your ingots by dawn.”

“Then I thank you, Master Yu.”

“Where shall I deliver them?”

“To the mansion of Junior Minister Cui in Xuanyang Ward.”

Yu Fuwei blinked. “Cui Xun—the infamous Minister of the Investigation Bureau?”

“Yes.”

His tone turned sharp. “That man is a snake, Princess. Why him?”

Li Ying’s voice was steady. “Because he is the only one who can see me.”

Yu Fuwei hesitated. “But… I can see you too.”

“You can,” she replied, “but you cannot help me.”

Her words struck him like thunder. For the first time, his smile faltered. “A merchant cannot be an official. A merchant’s voice carries no weight. I understand now.”

Silence settled between them, filled only by the distant rhythm of drums from the city walls.

Then Yu Fuwei said quietly, “The line between nobles and commoners is not as wide as it once was. That, too, is thanks to you, Princess.”

Li Ying looked startled. “Me?”

He nodded. “The Late Emperor introduced the imperial examinations to break the power of noble clans. But it was your death—the Taichang Blood Incident—that forced their hands. Your sacrifice reshaped the fate of every commoner in Great Zhou.”

So, her death was a tremendously good thing for the world and the Great Zhou?

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