The Zheng family's private vessel glided across the river like a dragon on silk. Its lavish rooms, carved railings, and red-lacquered lanterns shimmered in the sunlight, the proud banner of Zheng fluttering above.
This was no common trader's boat. It was the pride of one of the Qin Empire's wealthiest merchants—a floating palace. On the upper deck, noble merchants, minor officials, and wealthy traders sipped expensive tea while elegant women danced and sang. Laughter mingled with music, and silver exchanged hands along with secrets and gossip.
Below this vibrant scene, danger stirred in silence.
Twelve-year-old Zheng Jun wandered away from his father. Sharp-eyed and curious beyond his years, he crept through the lower deck's narrow halls, slipping quietly from corner to corner in search of adventure.
Then he saw it.
An unmarked door, tucked in the farthest corner of the deck.
Without thinking, Jun gently pushed it open. It creaked—a low, uneasy sound that echoed through the stillness.
Inside, the air was damp, laced with the smell of wet wood… and something sharper. Metallic. Like blood and danger.
The dim light flickered weakly from a hanging lantern. Stacks of crates reached toward the ceiling. Many had been pried open, revealing glints of silver and strange, unfamiliar contents.
At the center of the room sat a man dressed entirely in black. A mask concealed his face, leaving only his sharp eyes visible. Behind him stood two large guards, arms crossed, eyes closed but alert.
The masked man leaned forward, speaking in a voice that was low and cold.
"Everything is going according to plan. The funds from the border military camp have been diverted. The grains meant for the soldiers have been swapped with inferior stock. We'll move the rest through the Merchant's Guild. It'll all reach Yangzhou within five days."
Zheng Jun froze behind a stack of crates, his breath caught in his throat.
He didn't understand everything, but he knew this—these men were dangerous. If they saw him, it wouldn't end well.
Above deck, Zheng Lian laughed as he turned to speak to his son—only to find him missing.
"Jun'er?"
He called again. Still no response.
Panic bloomed in his chest. Something felt wrong—terribly wrong. He rushed past confused merchants, descending the stairs two at a time.
Then he saw it.
The half-open door.
And a small shadow crouched behind it.
"Jun'er…" Zheng Lian's heart seized.
He rushed forward and knelt to pull his son close—but in his haste, his elbow struck a crate.
Scrrreeech.
The sound scraped through the silence like a blade. Inside the room, all conversation stopped.
A voice sliced through the darkness.
"Who's there?"
One of the guards moved. Heavy footsteps thundered toward the door.
Zheng Lian scooped Jun into his arms and darted into hiding. They held their breath, trembling behind a row of barrels.
But in the rush to flee, a small object slipped from Zheng Lian's robe.
Clink.
A jade pendant—a personal heirloom—hit the floor and rolled to a stop.
The guard stepped out, eyes scanning. There was no one in sight.
Only the pendant.
He picked it up and returned to the masked man, placing it in his gloved hand.
The masked man studied it, turning it slowly in the flickering light. His eyes narrowed beneath the mask.
"Investigate this pendant," he said darkly.
"Find out who it belongs to immediately