The night sky stretched clear and endless, dotted with stars like scattered pearls.
Atop the tallest structure in Great Feng's capital—the Astral Observation Tower, headquarters of the Imperial Astronomers—a young woman in a yellow skirt ascended the steps with light footsteps. As she passed the seventh floor, raucous arguing spilled out from an alchemy chamber.
A group of white-robed alchemists stood red-faced in heated debate.
"Why did it fail again? The steps are child's play!"
"I told you—it's the salt measurements! They must be off!"
"Nonsense! It's the water purity!"
"The fire, surely? Senior Brother Wan boiled the salt into oblivion earlier."
"Impossible... Turning salt into silver is beyond mortal skill..."
The yellow-skirted girl, Caiwei, twitched her lips. "They're still at it?"
Two days prior, she'd reported the salt-to-silver phenomenon to the Imperial Astronomers. Her seniors had scoffed.
Salt becoming silver?
Not even three-year-olds would believe that.
But when the tax silver case was solved, the emperor—intrigued by the counterfeit silver's potency—had ordered the Imperial Astronomers to replicate the process.
Thus began their suffering.
The alchemists threw themselves into the task with desperate fervor, working through night and day in a relentless cycle of trial and error.
Two sleepless days.
Countless failures.
Zero success.
"Caiwei! It's Junior Sister Caiwei!" someone shouted excitedly.
Instantly, haggard faces whipped around, eyes gleaming with desperate hope.
"Junior Sister, how exactly did you produce that counterfeit silver?"
"Caiwei, come check my steps—you're the only one who's succeeded!"
They swarmed around the yellow-skirted girl like starving scholars confronting a sudden feast.
With no escape, Chu Caiwei entered the alchemy chamber to observe their attempts.
"Another failure!" A white-robed alchemist groaned over his apparatus.
"Junior Sister, where did we go wrong?" The group adopted postures of reverent humility.
Nothing's wrong—I did it exactly like this...
Caiwei stroked her chin with feigned wisdom. "This ancient alchemy is profoundly abstruse. Mastery demands gradual enlightenment through simplified teaching." She raised a finger. "I shall impart a mantra. Treasure it."
The seniors leaned forward, ears pricked.
"Hydrogen Helium Lithium Beryllium Boron Carbon Nitrogen Oxygen Fluorine Neon Sodium Magnesium Aluminum Silicon Phosphorus!" She enunciated each syllable with theatrical gravity.
"What... what does it mean?" The alchemists exchanged baffled glances. Each character made sense—yet together, they formed pure mysticism.
I don't know either... Caiwei maintained her sage-like smile.
"Genius! Absolute genius!" A senior clasped his hands in awe. "Whoever devised this mantra must be an alchemical prodigy!"
There is no genius, Senior Brother—stop hallucinating! Her smile tightened.
"Junior Sister, who taught you this? Did you meet some alchemy master?"
Chu Caiwei thought to herself, Great question! and deftly passed the buck:
"The person who told me is named Xu Qi'an—nephew of Xu Pingzhi, a seventh-rank Green Blade officer in the Imperial Guards. You should go ask him."
The moment they heard it was some martial artist, the white-robed alchemists immediately scoffed.
"Ridiculous! Our Imperial Astronomical Bureau is filled with elite talents—why would we need an outsider to help us forge silver?"
"And a mere martial artist, no less!"
"If word got out, we'd be a laughingstock!"
Different cultivation systems had given rise to some amusing hierarchies of disdain:
Daoists looked down on Buddhists.
Buddhists did Daoists right back.
Spellcasters did shamans.
Shamans did gu masters.
Gu masters, in turn, did spellcasters.
And then, Daoists, Buddhists, spellcasters, shamans, and gu masters all collectively looked down on martial artists.
As for Confucian scholars? With all due respect, everyone else here is trash.
Though in recent times, Confucianism had declined significantly.
"Junior Sister Caiwei, why don't you guide us instead?"
Caiwei let out a dry "Heh." "Next time, definitely!"
She shoved her way through the crowd of white-robed seniors and continued climbing the stairs.
Truth be told, she didn't understand either.
Back at the government office, she had succeeded in forging the silver in one smooth attempt. But afterward, when she tried replicating it in private, she failed.
She had followed the exact same steps—yet it didn't work.
Why?
She had no idea.
The summit of the Astral Observation Tower was not a conventional roof, but an octagonal platform that mirrored the Eight Trigrams.
Thus, it was called the Bagua Platform.
At its edge, a white-robed elder lounged against a low table, a wine cup pinched between his fingers, his other hand propping up his head. Half-drunk, half-drowsy, he gazed down at the sprawling capital below.
The yellow-skirted girl knew better than to disturb him. Her master spent most of his days doing nothing productive—just drinking and watching the world from this very spot.
And he hated interruptions.
Sipping wine, squinting at the mortal realm.
"Caiwei's here?" The white-robed elder chuckled without turning.
"Master!" The girl brightened, skipping to the platform's edge where the wind tugged at her fluttering skirts.
"What did the emperor reward you with this time?"
"A few hundred taels of silver and some bolts of silk." She paused. "Master… what was that counterfeit silver?"
"This master doesn't know."
"There's something you don't know?"
"Far too many things." The elder smiled faintly. "For one, I still don't know where those thieves from nineteen years ago disappeared to."
"You always complain about those thieves," Caiwei huffed, "but you never tell me who they were or what they stole!"
The elder stood, stepping to the very edge of the octagonal platform with a sigh. "What they took… was something extraordinary."
"Then do you at least know who made the fake silver?"
The Imperial Astronomical Bureau was the birthplace of spellcaster techniques. Every alchemist under heaven, even those not formally trained here, had some connection to it.
Whoever had crafted that silver—someone capable of producing such a marvel—was no ordinary figure.
The elder smirked.
"Of course, this master knows."
Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a silver lattice over the wooden beams above. Xu Qi'an lay on his bed, wide-eyed, tracing the crisscrossing rafters with his gaze.
His mind churned with restless ambition and quiet dread.
With the knowledge from nine years of compulsory education, my brain's practically a cheat code. Standing out in this backward monarchy should be effortless—I could bloom like the fanciest damn flower in the field.
Yet a society where imperial authority reigned supreme also meant one where human rights were negotiable. Today's luxuries could become tomorrow's exile. The thought sent a familiar modern anxiety coiling through his gut.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed him.
Dawn found him clad in his official black constable's uniform, the belt cinched tight, his hair tied back with deliberate precision. The heavy pudao hung at his waist—a lethal counterweight to his sharp features and upright posture.
Can't deny it—these ancient robes do wonders for a man's looks. Pity they make taking a piss feel like defusing a bomb.
After vaulting the wall to mooch breakfast off his uncle's household, the two men set out for work side by side. Xu Pingzhi, reinstated to his former post, moved with the ease of a man back in his element.
The Changle County Office, located within the capital as an auxiliary administrative seat, lay about three kilometers from the Xu residence. Without a horse or carriage at his disposal, Xu Qi'an had no choice but to rely on his trusty "Bus No. 11"—his own two feet. After a brisk half-hour walk, he arrived at the yamen.
The county office faced south in traditional fashion, flanked by two life-sized stone lions. Faded red drums stood on either side of the vermilion-lacquered main gates, their surfaces peeling with age.
The yamen's organizational structure was worth noting:
At the top stood the Magistrate, the chief official. He had two deputies—the Assistant Magistrate and the Registrar. These three were ranked imperial officials, what in Xu Qi'an's previous life would be called "iron rice bowl" civil servants.
Below them came the Chief of Police, also called the Head Clerk. Though a leadership position, it carried no official rank.
Then came the Three Divisions and Six Offices:
Runners Division: Ceremonial duties
Arrest Division: Law enforcement and arrests
Militia Division: Security
The Six Offices mirrored the central government's Six Ministries.
Xu Qi'an served in the Arrest Division—what commoners called a constable.
As he entered the compound, the Chief of Police happened to be conducting morning roll call. Spotting the black-uniformed figure with the distinctive pudao at his waist, the Chief froze mid-sentence.
His expression suggested a man seeing ghosts at high noon.
Noticing their superior's shock, the other constables turned—and promptly mirrored his horrified look.
"X-Xu Qi'an... are you human or ghost?!" someone stammered.
The Chief, observing Xu Qi'an's shadow cast clearly on the ground, steadied himself. "Nonsense! Since when do ghosts cast shadows?"
The group collectively exhaled in relief.
Xu Qi'an cocked his head. "Unless it's a walking corpse?"
The Chief paled. Several constables instinctively reached for their weapons.
"Joking, joking!" Xu Qi'an quickly clasped his hands in salute. "Greetings, Chief. Colleagues—I've been released."
"...How?" The Chief's eyes narrowed.
"Naturally, we atoned through merit and redeemed ourselves through service. His Majesty, in his benevolence, pardoned the Xu family's crimes." Xu Qi'an promptly recounted the events once more, though he credited his uncle with the success this time, presenting the documentation issued by the Metropolitan Prefecture as proof.
This exchange also gave him clarity—while the tax silver had been recovered, the official verdict had yet to be finalized. Cases like this required due process, after all, and wouldn't be resolved overnight.
No wonder the constables at Changle County Office were still in the dark.
Once roll call concluded, several familiar faces from the Arrest Division crowded around him with congratulations.
"Ningyan, you owe us a round of drinks!"
(In this era, friends addressed each other by their courtesy names rather than given names, while formal introductions used given names.)
"That's right—'Survive a great disaster, and fortune will follow.' You're treating!"
"I heard the brothel on Linshui Street just acquired a batch of untouched songgirls. Ningyan, how about joining us tonight?"
Buying drinks is one thing, but expecting me to fund your escapades? That's pushing it...
Just as Xu Qi'an was about to plead poverty, his foot bumped against something hard. Glancing down, he spotted a small, glinting piece of broken silver.
Could the proverb actually be true?
He immediately planted his foot over it, feigning nonchalance as he surveyed the scenery.
Once the group moved ahead, he swiftly bent down, pocketed the silver without batting an eye, and strolled on as if nothing had happened.
After walking down the corridor and waiting for a few minutes in the western side hall, Chief Li entered with a grim expression. He looked straight at Constable Wang and said, "Lao Wang (Lao means senior), the Magistrate wants to see us in the inner hall."
Constable Wang's face fell, but he wordlessly headed out.
Watching his superior's retreating back, Xu Qi'an asked, "What's going on? The boss didn't look too happy."
"While you were in prison, a murder happened on Kangping Street—a wealthy merchant was killed. The Magistrate has been furious, chewing out Constable Wang every single day."
"Just a merchant's death shouldn't make the Magistrate lose his temper like that, right?" Xu Qi'an cracked a melon seed between his teeth.
Though murder cases were serious, the Magistrate of the capital's auxiliary county held a rank of fifth-grade—he shouldn't be this worked up over a single death.
"Heh, that merchant was distantly related to a certain Jishizhong official. Pressure must've come from above," the constable explained. "Plus… this is a Gengzi Year."
"Gengzi Year?" Xu Qi'an didn't immediately follow.
"Metropolitan Inspection!" the constable clarified.