Folklore and Strange Tales: At the Start, You Retrieve the Sea-Suppressing Black Iron

The door to Master Qi's house wasn't closed properly, and Cheng Xiaojin pushed it open.

The old man, wearing a tank top and shorts, sat on a rattan chair in plastic slippers, cracking sunflower seeds. An enamel mug rested on the armrest, and the television was on but the volume was turned down to the lowest setting.

"Oh, what a rare guest."

Master Qi tilted his head and glanced at him, his gaze falling on the plastic bag he was carrying.

"Niulanshan?"

"Two bottles, one to honor you, and one to apologize."

"What crime are you apologizing for?"

"Last time I asked you to pass on a message, it caused a lot of trouble, and now I'm bothering you again."

Cheng Xiaojin placed the plastic bag on the coffee table and pulled up a low stool to sit down.

Uncle Qi's hands never stopped cracking sunflower seeds, and the shells he spat out piled up like a small mountain on the enamel mug lid.

"Speak, what is it this time?"

"It's still Zhenhai Iron."

"Didn't the last one go well? You got 800,000 in hand, why are you still thinking about this?"

"I'm not doing business this time, I just need you to keep watch for me."

Qi Sanye was a beat slow in cracking the melon seeds.

"What rumor are you spreading?"

"Could you please pass on a message to me at the Bell and Drum Tower? Tell them that Cheng Xiaojin has a second piece of Zhenhai Iron, which came from the same batch as the first one. It's in better condition than the first one, and he's currently looking for a buyer."

Uncle Qi picked up the enamel mug, took a sip of water, and rinsed the melon seed shells from his mouth.

"Do you really have a second one?"

What do you think?

"I think you're up to no good again."

Cheng Xiaojin smiled and did not deny it.

Master Qi tossed the sunflower seed shells onto the coffee table and leaned back in his rattan chair.

"I'll help you spread the word. I'll go take a stroll around the Bell and Drum Tower area this afternoon. Those who need to know will know by tomorrow. But there's something I need to tell you."

"Please speak."

"Recently, a new face has appeared in the black market, asking about information related to the Zhenhai Iron. He has talked to several stall owners, paid them quickly, and left after asking the questions, never leaving any contact information."

Cheng Xiaojin sat up straight.

"When did this happen?"

"The day before yesterday, no, the day before that, it started two times in a row."

"What does it look like?"

"The black market was dimly lit, so I couldn't see clearly, but I asked Old Zhou, who had talked to him, and he said it was a young man, in his thirties, wearing light-colored clothes, speaking politely and gently, very proper, like a schoolteacher."

Cheng Xiaojin tapped his fingers twice on his knee.

"Anything else?"

"Old Zhou mentioned a detail: when the man paid, he glanced at his hands. His fingers were long and fair, and his nails were neatly trimmed. They didn't look like the hands of someone who did manual labor; they looked like the hands of someone who plays the piano."

"What did he ask?"

Uncle Qi unscrewed a bottle of Niulanshan liquor, poured half a enamel mug of it, and smelled it.

"I asked about the market value of Zhenhai ironware in Beijing, whether there were any good quality ironware items for sale recently, and who had any old Zhenhai items in Panjiayuan."

Did he mention my name?

"No, the questions were very broad, jumping from one topic to another. It didn't sound like they were asking about a specific person; it sounded like they were trying to figure out the whole picture."

"Isn't this Fatty Sun?"

"He's definitely not one of Fatty Sun's men. I can recognize Fatty Sun's men with my eyes closed. Those guys walk into the black market like they're in their own kitchen, all cocky and arrogant. This guy is different. He's so clean, he doesn't look like someone who works underground."

"What's Mr. Lin's approach?"

"No, not really. Boss Lin's way of doing things has a Southeast Asian flavor. He starts by mentioning the port. This guy is a pure Northerner. He speaks without an accent. He's just too polite, to the point of giving people goosebumps."

Cheng Xiaojin remained silent for a few seconds.

She wore light-colored clothes, was in her thirties, spoke politely, and had long, slender, fair fingers.

The figure in light-colored clothes on the rooftop of the building across the street, the one who climbed out the window and left a note saying "Brother Cheng," the handwriting in blue-black ink fountain pen was so neat it looked like printed text.

Right.

"Third Master Qi, when was this person's last visit to the black market?"

"Last night, I left around 10 p.m., through the exit at Gulou Back Street."

"Which direction?"

"I don't know about that. You know the rules of the black market; once someone leaves the door, nobody follows them where they go."

Cheng Xiaojin stood up.

"Please take care of the wind issue. Will it be released this afternoon?"

"Okay, I'll go take a look around this afternoon. I guarantee you'll hear the news by tomorrow, Fatty Sun."

Thank you.

"Don't just thank me, tell me, who exactly is this third group of people?"

"I don't know either, but I have to find out."

Third Master Qi took a sip of wine from his enamel mug and smacked his lips.

"Little Jin, I've been in this business for thirty years. I've seen thieves, robbers, swindlers, and cheaters, but I've never seen someone break through a window and leave their name tag. This person is either a madman or someone more difficult to deal with than any of us. Be careful."

"understood."

Cheng Xiaojin left Master Qi's house and headed towards Gulou Back Street.

He had walked this street countless times. The narrow alley was lined with old residential buildings, with scattered shops such as car repair shops and general stores on the ground floor. There were trash cans every twenty meters, and occasionally an old man would squat under the wall playing chess.

He slowed down when he reached the alleyway corresponding to the exit of the black market.

Master Qi said that the man left from the Gulou back street exit around 10 p.m. last night.

Cheng Xiaojin walked a few steps into the alley and glanced around.

At the end of the alley, around the corner, there was a large green trash can with the lid half open, and several black plastic bags piled up next to it.

As he walked over, he stepped on something hard.

Looking down, I saw a used fountain pen ink cartridge lying on the ground. It had a transparent plastic shell and a little ink left inside, its color appearing dark blue under the streetlight.

Cheng Xiaojin squatted down and pinched the ink sac with two fingers.

Blue-black ink.

It's the exact same color as the line of text on the note.

He held the ink cartridge up to the streetlight and looked at it. There was no trademark on the casing; it was the kind of bulk, generic model that stationery stores sell by the box.

The ink cartridge was casually tossed next to the trash can, not into it, indicating that the person who threw it was walking and simply tossed it aside before leaving.

Cheng Xiaojin took out his phone and glanced at the time.

9:40 PM.

Master Qi said that the man left around 10 p.m. last night, and he arrived at Master Qi's house at 9:30 a.m. today, chatted for less than 20 minutes, and then came out.

He squatted down next to the trash can, wrapped the ink sac in a tissue and put it in his pocket, then looked up at both ends of the alley.

It's empty; nobody's there.

But this ink sac illustrates one thing.

The person in light-colored clothes not only broke through his window, but also came to Qi Sanye's neighborhood to inquire about information, and what they inquired about was directly related to what Cheng Xiaojin had.

What's worse, the ink cartridge looks brand new, with no dust on the casing and the remaining ink not yet completely dried.

It wasn't thrown away yesterday.

I threw it away today.

The time difference is no more than half an hour.

Cheng Xiaojin put his phone back in his pocket and walked briskly along Gulou Back Street toward Panjiayuan.

He sent a message to Tieguai Li as he walked.

The second thing is to get started tomorrow and prepare the materials.

Tieguai Li replied with a single word.

become.