Leaving Xile Street and entering Wanping Street was like taking a boiling kettle off the stove; the clamor instantly died away.
Zheng Hui said, "The people who frequent this street are either rich or noble. You never know which shop is backed by which high official or duke, so be careful. Things aren’t what they used to be; we Night Guards have to walk on eggshells these days. Qingxian, you’re the youngest and the most impulsive, but as your big brother, I have to warn you: the waters of the Divine Capital’s East District run deep. This place is a den of dragons and tigers, not some outer district where you could run wild as a kid."
"Captain Zheng, rest assured. In my six months with the Night Guard, I’ve slowly started to get the hang of things. If I don’t show some growth after all this, I’d really be a lost cause," Li Qingxian said with a soft sigh.
"You really joined at a bad time," Zheng Hui sighed. "Back in the day, the sight of this Brocade Robe was enough to make even an official of the Upper Three Grades behave. Now we’re not even as respected as the Military Department..."
In the early morning on Wanping Street, the road was paved with clean bluestone slabs. Pedestrians were sparse. The taverns and brothels had their doors shut; only the merchant shops were wide open.
As the group of four passed, shopkeepers and clerks from many of the stores took the initiative to greet them, cheerfully calling out "Zheng Hei" and "Brother Zheng."
Some acquaintances offered them food. Zheng Hui usually refused, but today he accepted some peanuts, crackers, and osmanthus cakes. Han Anbo didn’t care for snacks and gave his share to Li Qingxian and Yur Ping.
Yur Ping was so happy his eyes narrowed into slits. He ate with great relish and secretly thanked Li Qingxian, "You should get sick more often. I owe this all to you."
Li Qingxian glanced at the snacks in his hands and asked, "Don’t you like osmanthus cakes?"
"On the contrary, I like them too much to eat them now. I’m saving them to savor later," Yur Ping said, carefully stroking the paper-wrapped osmanthus cakes.
A short while later, they passed Liu’s Fengxiang Silk Shop.
Two burly men in short black jackets stood at the entrance. They gave the four a cold glance before looking away.
After a few more steps, Zheng Hui said in a low voice, "The ’Liu’s’ on the sign is gone. There’s a new blood-red rose below it. I’m afraid the Demon Sect just left its mark. Poor Old Liu."
Han Anbo sighed and shook his head.
The early morning air on Wanping Street was cold and still. As they neared the end of the street, the faint aroma of wine wafted through the air.
Zheng Hui took a deep sniff, his gaze turning toward the Huahai Building.
An imposing three-story wooden building towered over the street. Waiters were busy polishing the large red lanterns that hung all around it.
In the bottom-right corner of the main entrance plaque bearing the name "Huahai Building," one could clearly see the calligraphy of the nation’s founding prime minister, Xu Zhiping.
Unlike other establishments, the wine banner hanging out front had a crimson and yellow border—a privilege only granted to businesses the Emperor himself had visited.
Two banners fluttered gently before the building. The one on the right read, "Brewing the wines of spring, summer, autumn, and winter." The one on the left: "Intoxicating the people of east, west, south, and north."
Zheng Hui couldn’t help but glance at Li Qingxian. "Last time, you said you’d buy me a jar of Flower Sea Brew when you reach the Tenth Grade or I reach the Ninth Grade. Don’t you forget it."
"If that day really comes, I’ll buy you that jar even if I have to pawn my Night Saber," Li Qingxian replied.
"Alright, I’ll be waiting. For us ranked Martial Cultivators, that yellow wine is bland and tasteless. We need a strong spirit like Flower Sea Brew! It’s just a shame it’s so expensive," said Zheng Hui.
Li Qingxian remembered his father, Li Gangfeng, also drank yellow wine sometimes. It seemed strong spirits were rare in the Daqi Empire; even when available, the production was extremely limited.
Reaching the end of Wanping Street, Zheng Hui stopped in front of Zhao’s Clothing Shop.
"Check your weapons."
The four of them drew their sabers in unison, checking the blades for cracks or nicks.
"You all have your whistles?" Zheng Hui took a bamboo whistle from the leather belt on his right hip.
Li Qingxian took out his whistle as well. He had tied it to his belt with a cloth strip long ago, where it hung opposite his Deer and Crane Pattern Jade Pendant.
"We’ll split into two groups. Whistle if there’s trouble! Qingxian, let’s go."
Just then, a horse-drawn carriage approached them, a black flag with a single white character for "Night" embroidered on it flying from the roof. It came to a sudden stop right in front of them.
Behind the carriage, four Night Guard soldiers stood with hands on their saber hilts, their gazes menacing.
"Street Patrol Room?"
A cream-colored gauze curtain was pushed aside from within, and a middle-aged man with a three-stranded beard poked his head out, revealing the Brocade Robe of his Official Uniform.
The gazes of Li Qingxian and his three companions sharpened. Embroidered on the Official Uniform’s patch was a majestic leopard, and the patch itself was trimmed with gold thread.
Senior Seventh Grade.
"Zheng Hui, Captain of Team A9, pays his respects to Room Leader Pang." Zheng Hui stepped forward, cupped his fist, and bowed.
Li Qingxian and the other two immediately lowered their heads slightly in a gesture of respect.
"Ah, I remember now. Zheng Hei, isn’t it?" Pang Mingjing said from inside the carriage, resting his right arm on the window frame with a smile.
"Yes, My Lord," Zheng Hui replied.
"I’m heading to Ministry of Revenue Street to collect a debt, and I need someone young and sharp. You... yes, you. Fall in," Pang Mingjing said, pointing a finger at Li Qingxian before gesturing toward the back of the carriage.
The moment he heard "Ministry of Revenue Street," Li Qingxian’s heart skipped a beat.
The expressions of Zheng Hui and the others changed. Zheng Hui froze for a moment, then Han Anbo stepped half a pace forward. "Begging your pardon, Lord Pang, but Li Qingxian has not yet fully recovered from a serious illness. He’s supposed to see Doctor Sunx. Lord Zhou himself gave special instructions for his care."
"Oh?" Pang Mingjing’s smile vanished, and his gaze turned cold.
Zheng Hui quickly put on a fawning smile. "Lord Pang, this Li Qingxian is just a brute, not sharp at all. Why not take me instead? You can rest assured, I have the strength of the Tenth Grade."
Pang Mingjing swept his eyes over the four men, then crooked a finger at Zheng Hui.
Zheng Hui hurried forward, stopping below the carriage window. He lowered his head slightly, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.
"Tenth Grade. How very impressive," Pang Mingjing said, reaching out a pale right hand to pat Zheng Hui’s shoulder lightly three times.
"This subordinate wouldn’t dare claim to be," Zheng Hui said, his head bowing even lower.
"The prestige of our Finance Department seems to dwindle by the day," Pang Mingjing sighed.
A cold wind blew past, and a dead silence fell.
Of the Eighteen Departments of the Night Guard, the Finance Department controlled the purse strings, making it the true number one department.