Innkeeper Wang's seemingly casual command landed like a stone in a still pond, sending shockwaves through Lin Yan's heart.
He froze mid-motion, the iron token suspended in his hand, until Wang's footsteps faded down the stairs. Only then did he lower his arm slowly.
He knows?
How much does he know?
Did the old man merely sense Lin Yan's strange fixation with Qingshi Alley—or had he already glimpsed the secret identity buried beneath this false name?
That line—"don't knock on the wrong door"—was it a warning, a test… or a lure?
Cold sweat beaded down his spine. Countless thoughts collided and fractured in his mind. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he reviewed every past encounter with the innkeeper.
Wang had never shown open malice. If he'd wanted to turn Lin Yan in, there'd be no need for subtlety.
Then perhaps… the man had only suspected.
Maybe tonight's words were not a threat, but an invitation.
Hours passed. The dormitory filled with the heavy snores of sleeping laborers. Outside, the watchman's wooden clapper marked the third watch. Lin Yan lay awake, eyes open in the dark.
Go—or stay?
Leaving meant safety. Staying meant risk—and possibly answers.
At last, vengeance and curiosity outweighed caution. He had to gamble.
Moving soundlessly, he slipped out of the dorm, gliding through the shadows of the courtyard until he reached the cluttered storage hut behind the inn—the one where Wang had told him to fetch firewood.
The door stood ajar, a thin line of lamplight spilling through.
He inhaled deeply and stepped inside.
The air was thick with the scent of aged timber and dust. Piles of broken furniture loomed like silhouettes in the dim glow.
At the center sat Innkeeper Wang, calm as ever, a tiny oil lamp flickering before him. He was wiping an old purple-clay teapot with deliberate care, as if he'd been expecting this visitor all along.
"Close the door," he said without looking up.
Lin Yan obeyed. Darkness deepened, leaving only that fragile pool of yellow light between them.
He waited.
Wang set the teapot down at last, lifting his eyes. The lamplight glinted off them—sharp, probing, unreadable.
"Lin Yan…" he said softly, "or should I call you something else?"
Lin Yan's pulse spiked, but his voice remained steady. "I don't understand what the master means."
A dry chuckle. "A beggar who sees through forged contracts, speaks with precision, and writes with a scholar's hand? Come now. Even when you try to disguise it, that posture—the way you hold the brush—still carries the air of a Hanlin scholar. I've been to the capital in my youth. I've seen your kind before."
Lin Yan's stomach sank. He thought he'd hidden the traces well. Apparently not well enough.
His right hand curled into a fist, ready for the worst.
"Relax, boy." Wang waved lazily. "If I meant you harm, you wouldn't have made it past the threshold."
He took a sip of cold tea, eyes half-closed.
"You're looking for the mute blacksmith at the end of Qingshi Alley, aren't you?"
Lin Yan said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
"Don't worry," Wang went on. "I'm a businessman. I sell beds, not secrets. As long as your troubles don't splash onto my doorstep, they're none of my concern."
He paused, gaze sharpening. "But listen well—the ones watching that alley aren't from the local yamen. They're hard men, sharp eyes, heavy hands. The kind that make people vanish without noise. I want my inn clean of corpses and politics."
Lin Yan's voice came out low. "Then what do you want me to do?"
"Leave Sishui Town," Wang said flatly. "The water here is turning muddy. Not the place for a small fish like you. Go while no one's truly looking."
Lin Yan didn't move. Leave? And abandon the only trail leading to his father's death, his family's ruin? Impossible.
He stared at Wang and asked quietly, "If you want me gone, why call me here tonight? You could've sent me away in the morning."
Wang blinked, then gave a thin smile that carried a hint of admiration. "Smart. That's why I bothered."
He rubbed the teapot, thinking for a while before he spoke again.
"Because I'm curious. Curious why a man who shouldn't exist walked into my inn. And why he's hunting another man who's also disappeared."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Besides… I owed Grand Tutor Ling a favor once. A small one, but a debt nonetheless."
Grand Tutor Ling!
The name struck Lin Yan like a thunderclap. His father's name—spoken aloud for the first time in months.
Shock, suspicion, and a fragile flicker of hope tangled in his chest.
Wang met his gaze evenly. "Don't expect much. I'm no hero—just an old trader protecting his neck. But I can tell you this: that mute blacksmith vanished shortly after the… incident in the capital. Left in a hurry. Yet it didn't look like he was taken by force."
Not taken by force? Lin Yan's mind raced. Then perhaps the man fled intentionally—knew danger was coming.
"Where did he go?" Lin Yan pressed.
"No idea." Wang shook his head. "But before he left, he sent word through a messenger. Said that if he didn't return, a certain son of an old friend would come looking for him—bearing a token. He told me to lend that person a hand… within reason."
A son of an old friend.A token.
Lin Yan's fingers brushed the iron plate hidden against his chest.
Wang's eyes flicked to the motion, the faintest smile ghosting at his lips. "Then it's you. Keep it close—and never show it unless you must."
He stood, walked to a heap of discarded boxes, and pried loose a loose brick in the wall.
From the hollow behind it, he drew out a small oil-cloth bundle, flat and heavy, the size of a palm. He placed it on the table between them.
"The blacksmith left this. Told me to give it to whoever brought that token." Wang's tone hardened. "I don't know what it is, and I don't want to. After tonight, this conversation never happened. At dawn, you leave Sishui Town. That's best for both of us."
Lin Yan took the parcel. It was cool and weighty in his hand—mysterious, silent, alive.
He bowed deeply, the gesture carrying both gratitude and mourning. "Thank you… Innkeeper."
"Go," Wang said, already turning back to his teapot. "I've heard enough ghosts for one night."
Lin Yan slipped out quietly.
Back in the dark dormitory, he lay awake, the bundle pressed to his chest like a burning coal. Wang's words echoed in his mind.
The blacksmith left on his own. He left something behind.
What was hidden inside this small parcel—and why did so many powerful men want it buried?
Could he trust Wang at all?
Beyond the window, the horizon began to pale. Another day was dawning.
And with it, a choice that could alter everything:
to flee and survive—
or stay, and uncover the truth buried beneath Qingshi Alley.
His fingers traced the oil-cloth again, feeling the cold, intricate shape within.
Somewhere inside that silence, it seemed, the blacksmith was still whispering to him—
a warning,
or a call to destiny.