Sulfuric fumes billowed from the pile of rubble. Shen Xitang lifted her skirt and stepped over the charred wooden beams, the cloud-patterned toes of her gold-embroidered shoes quickly becoming coated in ash.
She intentionally trailed half a step behind Xiao Heng. Under the guise of bending down to pick up a broken brick, she pressed a handkerchief soaked in mulberry-ash lye against the scorching surface.
As the heat took effect, the dark patterns on the grey brick slowly revealed themselves: it was half a gold-traced map of a river channel. Shen Xitang used her fingernail to gently trace the lines, a fine dusting of gold powder catching on her fingertip—a pigment made of cinnabar mixed with malachite, a specialty of the Imperial kilns that no ordinary merchant could ever afford.
"Careful, Third Miss!"
Qingxing’s startled cry rang out behind her. Shen Xitang spun to avoid a falling roof tile, but as she moved, a gold hairpin slipped from her hair.
The head of the pin struck the brick with a crisp ring, and a pearl-sized jade bead rolled out from the hollow interior, revealing intricate, gear-like carvings.
Xiao Heng’s black leather boots crushed the sparks near the jade bead, his dark cloak sweeping away the dust. "The Shen Family actually hides a Xuanji Jade Pearl Lock?"
Shen Xitang gripped the bead tightly; the sharp edges of its internal mechanism bit into her palm, causing a sting. This was clearly the object her mother had tucked into her swaddling clothes before she died. When she had been considered simple-minded, it had been nothing more than a toy, but looking closely now, the patterns inside the bead perfectly matched the lost jacquard loom blueprints from the *Tian Gong Textile Annals*.
"You joke, My Lord. It is merely a ball for a toy." She pressed the bead back into the hairpin, her fingertips grazing the still-warm river map on the bricks. "Though, this emblem on the brick... it looks like the fire-brand of the Yangzhou Salt and Canal Yamen."
Before she could finish, the sound of a ceramic jar shattering echoed from deep within the ruins. Five masked figures emerged from behind the collapsed walls, their steel blades reflecting the dying embers of the fire. The hilts of their swords were all wrapped in indigo cloth.
Shen Xitang’s pupils constricted—the texture of that cloth was the unique double-warp, double-weft weave exclusive to the Shen Family’s embroidery workshop.
As Xiao Heng’s blade parried the first incoming strike, Shen Xitang swiftly unfastened her waist sash. The goose-yellow silk unfurled in the wind, woven with her mother’s unique "thousand-layer weft" technique, shimmering like rippling water in the sunlight. The masked men faltered for a moment, as if blinded by the glare.
"Get down!"
Shen Xitang flung the sash into the nearest fire. The fabric, soaked in saltpeter, ignited instantly, exploding in a spray of gold powder. Taking advantage of the assassins shielding their eyes, she dragged Qingxing into a half-collapsed kiln, her back slamming against a stack of pottery molds.
In the darkness, a cold blade pressed against her throat. Shen Xitang chuckled softly. "If Manager Wang is going to silence me, why not let me die knowing the truth?" She felt a carved mark on the base of a pottery mold; the pattern of three short lines and one long was the secret code used by the dye house for inventory.
The masked man pulled off his veil, the firelight revealing Manager Wang’s twisted face. "Does the Third Miss know that curiosity killed the cat? Madam Chen was looking into things she shouldn't have..."
A sharp whistling sound cut through the air as a silver needle pierced Manager Wang’s throat and embedded itself in the pottery mold. As Shen Xitang watched the man collapse and convulse, she noticed the blood dripping from the tip of Xiao Heng’s sword seeping into the brick cracks, mixing with the cinnabar and gold powder to form a grotesque, purplish-black stain.
"A clever hand, Miss Shen." Xiao Heng shook the blood from his blade, his gaze sweeping over the pottery mold in her hand. "They are burning more than just bricks in this kiln."
Shen Xitang flipped the mold over. A scrap of mulberry paper was stuck to the bottom. Though charred, the handwriting was legible, recording that on the day of Frost’s Descent last year, a Shen Family canal barge had been loaded with three hundred extra bushels of "white sand."
She recalled the Ming Dynasty salt industry archives she had consulted before crossing into this world, and her fingertips trembled. "White sand" was the code name used for smuggling salt in the Lianghuai region. And around the time of Frost’s Descent was exactly when the eldest son of the Shen Family had taken over the canal shipping business.
As the sun sank, Shen Xitang stood before the dyeing vat in the embroidery workshop and submerged the bloodstained mulberry paper into the indigo dye. As the liquid churned, dense patterns of silver thread emerged—the "hidden threads" her mother had soaked in arsenic, which only appeared when exposed to an alkaline base.
"Look, Miss!" Qingxing pointed at the emerging navigation map. "This isn't marking a canal terminal. It’s... it’s the Sea God Temple?"
Shen Xitang’s hand tightened on the threads. The location pointed to by the threads was the exact site of the Huansha Shrine, which her father had built for her mother. The jade Guanyin statue in the shrine, holding a spindle, likely held secrets of its own.
When the water clock dripped, she used the excuse of paying respects to her mother to visit the shrine. Moonlight filtered through the lattice windows, landing on the Guanyin’s palm; faint traces of a mechanism were visible within the spindle’s hole. Shen Xitang inserted the Xuanji Jade Pearl Lock, and in the silence, a click sounded as gears turned.
The floor tiles groaned and opened, revealing stone steps leading into the dark depths. Shen Xitang gripped the phosphorus-soaked sash and, in the faint blue glow, saw dozens of precision-made iron jacquard looms. Stretched across them was an unfinished brocade with dragon patterns—a forbidden imperial motif.
"Third Sister has refined tastes."
The crisp sound of jade pendants clashing came from behind. Shen Yanzhou, the legitimate eldest son of the Shen Family, stood with a lamp in his hand, the python pattern on his silk robes appearing like a living creature in the flickering light. At his feet lay a bloodstained mulberry branch, exactly like the ones found in the brick kiln.
Shen Xitang tucked the half-finished dragon brocade into her sleeve and turned with a soft, gentle smile. "Does Brother know why Mother loved the Sea God Temple so much? Because when the tide rises and falls, the sound of the looms in the cellar is masked by the waves."
Candle wax pooled like coral in the bronze lamp. By the swaying light, Shen Xitang caught sight of specks of indigo on the hem of Shen Yanzhou’s robe.
It was the new sappanwood dye from the workshop, which only turned that purplish-red hue when mixed with alum—yet when she checked the accounts yesterday, the ledger stated only three *qian* of alum were used per vat.
"You’ve been much sharper since recovering from your illness, Third Sister." Shen Yanzhou used the lamp handle to lift a corner of the dragon brocade, the gold thread reflecting in his eyes like poisoned silver needles. "Do you remember the Qiqiao Festival last year, when you pestered me to show you the weaver's shuttle inside the Xuanji box?"
Shen Xitang’s fingertips brushed the iron crossbar of the jacquard loom, feeling two intersecting grooves. This was the "double-weft clasp" her mother had invented, requiring a special copper key to activate the loom. She feigned a stumble and steadied herself against the frame, her jade bead catching perfectly in the hidden slot.
The sound of gears locking was clear in the silence. Shen Xitang felt the floor tiles beneath her vibrate. Shen Yanzhou’s lamp tilted, spilling oil onto the dragon brocade; in the rising smoke, a star map outlined in gold powder appeared.
"Brother, be careful!" As she reached out to steady him, the jade ring on her waist pendant snapped. Seven jade beads rolled down the stone steps, forming a Big Dipper pattern in the glow of the phosphorus sash, the last one lodging itself in the mechanism of the cellar’s secret door.
Shen Yanzhou’s expression shifted, and a short blade inlaid with sapphires flashed from his python-patterned sleeve. Just as the edge was about to touch Shen Xitang’s throat, she pointed at the brocade and screamed, "Look! The Weaver Girl star has moved!"
The oil-drenched brocade was undergoing a strange transformation. The malachite powder in the gold thread oxidized with the heat, and the Xuanji star position on the map shifted three degrees to the east.
Shen Xitang seized the opportunity to push the weft-shuttle lever of the jacquard loom, and the iron dragon head sprayed a puff of white smoke that smelled of bitter almonds.
"This is... *cough*... Western soul-bewitching incense?" Shen Yanzhou staggered, leaning against the stone wall, his blade scraping sparks against the stone. Shen Xitang held her breath and rolled behind the loom, feeling for the copper button protruding from the base—the "Thousand-Mechanism Lock" recorded in the *Tian Gong Textile Annals*.
A roar of gears came from deep within the cellar as dozens of jacquard looms began to operate simultaneously. Five-colored silk threads crisscrossed like a spider web, weaving not dragon patterns this time, but the scene of a canal barge being attacked.
Shen Xitang saw the Shen Family flag on the brocade stained with blood; the emblem revealed at the broken mast was the official seal of the Jiangning Imperial Textile Factory.
Shen Yanzhou’s blade whistled through the air, grazing her ear and pinning into the loom. Shen Xitang reached back and tore the warp threads; the specially treated Ice Silkworm Silk instantly coiled around the blade. Using the recoil of the threads, she lunged toward the stone wall, her back hitting a loose square brick.
"Does Brother know why Mother carved the Xuanji star positions onto the jacquard looms?" She gasped, turning the brick. "Because at the hour of the rat on every Winter Solstice, the copper pivot in the cellar resonates with the North Star..."
Before she could finish, a sound of stone slabs shifting came from overhead. Moonlight poured down like a silver waterfall, revealing Xiao Heng’s cold, stern figure. The agate bead dangling from his silver fish-tally resonated with the Xuanji Jade Pearl Lock.
Shen Yanzhou chuckled, his python-patterned robe flapping in the draft. "Does Third Sister think you can turn the tables just by bringing people from the Court of Judicial Review? Why not take a look at the second level of the cellar..."
A violent explosion erupted from beneath their feet. Shen Xitang grabbed the swaying warp threads and saw the stone floor crack in a spider-web pattern. Amid the thick smoke, indigo flames flickered—the color of saltpeter burning with sulfur.
She suddenly remembered the steel blades wrapped in indigo cloth in the brick kiln—the "sappanwood" the Shen dye house smuggled every month was likely raw material for gunpowder.
"Grab the crossbeam!"
Xiao Heng’s scabbard swept across the air, shattering the falling masonry. Amidst the dust, Shen Xitang caught a glimpse of the entwined branch patterns on the inner side of his wrist guard—they matched the Xuanji star map on the jacquard loom perfectly.