Chapter 4
Chapter 4
We decided to take the risk.
I had Old Mo send back a message: “Price: two taels of camphor, four taels of beeswax, and roughly one qian of borneol. Half the goods paid up front, with this gold earring as collateral.
“The remaining half will be paid upon delivery. If you break the deal, this item-and the information-will find their own way out.”
It was a naked threat, and the only leverage we had.
The three days of waiting dragged on endlessly.
Every time Old Mo appeared, our eyes locked on his every movement.
On the third night, he pulled two small oil-paper packets from his robes.
Inside were camphor and beeswax, both pure in scent.
Two days later, the borneol and the rest of the materials arrived as well.
The earring was returned with a new slip of paper: “You have kept good faith. I may trouble you again in the future.”
We successfully made a chilblain salve so convincing it could almost pass for the real thing.
Consort Zhao even identified, by scent alone, that the palace formula might include an extra ingredient-patchouli-so we copied that too.
From this transaction, what we gained was not merely ingredients, but a vague sort of credibility.
When the note came a third time, its tone had changed: “Capable one, perhaps we will be in frequent contact from now on. How should I address you?”
I looked at that line, dipped the brush in ink, and wrote back: “West Third Institute will do.”
I did not need a name.
A code name-one that seemed to represent some hidden force-was far more useful.
Gradually, more business came to our door, each request stranger than the last.
A palace maid wanted to smuggle a letter home beyond the palace walls, afraid it would be inspected.
A eunuch wanted to find out whether the palace maid he was paired with could be trusted.
A low-ranking consort wanted to know whether His Majesty had mentioned her name recently.
There was even a eunuch from the procurement office who wanted to get his hands on a batch of old silk that was scarce on the market but had been discarded by the palace, so he could move it outside and resell it…
We screened them carefully.
Three iron rules. If a request touched any one of them, we refused it:
First, nothing involving affairs of the outer court. Second, nothing that harmed anyone’s life. Third, nothing involving witchcraft, curses, or poison.
We were only information brokers and bespoke problem-solvers, searching for cracks in the vast gray shadow cast by palace rules and collecting our commission.
The commissions varied just as widely.
Sometimes it was solid silver. Sometimes it was more practical supplies. Sometimes it was information.
Our information grew richer by the day, cross-checked against the “archive” inside Consort Zhao’s head.
Consort Zhao’s “files” were no longer mere symbols on paper.
Using codes and diagrams only the three of us could understand, she built a complex web of relationships and secrets.
A certain lady’s wet nurse and a certain chief eunuch came from the same hometown.
A palace maid currently in favor had a brother addicted to gambling.
One mistress ate vegetarian meals and chanted Buddhist scriptures in public, yet in private was obsessed with a certain Jiangnan pastry…
These seemingly useless details could, at the right moment, become the fulcrum that shifted the entire situation.
Attendant Li’s embroidery became an exquisite token and codebook.
A particular orchid pattern might mean, “Three days from now, the usual place.”
The way the tassels were knotted on a sachet might hint, “Danger. Cancel.”
Her craft gave our cold transactions a warm, gentle cover.
Our web spread through the silence.
Through Old Mo, we made contact with an old imperial guard who had retired because of an injury and now ran a general store outside the palace.
He became our reliable channel for passing more sensitive items in and out of the palace.
After resolving several crises successfully, we earned a reputation for being dependable in certain small circles.
Even though no one knew who-or what-the “West Third Institute” truly was.