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

Chapter 139 Thirty Steps of Fireworks Return to Position, the Third Pile of Sea-Suppressing Iron Welds Yin and Yang to Death

"What's so good about it?"

As soon as Tieguai Li finished speaking, the ground gave another dull thud.

The force arched upwards from the bottom of the bricks, creating cracks in the blue bricks along the well. The remaining broth and oil from the stew pot seeped into these cracks, reaching the second and third cracks. The black smoke rising from the cracks shortened by half, but it didn't disappear completely.

Cheng Xiaojin did not respond to that sentence.

He crouched down, his livid left hand hovering above the crack, palm down, two inches from the brick surface.

Ten seconds later, he opened his eyes and turned to look at Tong Kexin.

Is there still oil left in the pot?

Tong Kexin turned the empty pot over. A ring of old broth oil clung to the bottom of the pot, with half a piece of meat jelly stuck to the center. The meat jelly had a salty color underneath.

"Yes, enough to pour water into the bottom of two furnaces."

"enough."

Cheng Xiaojin walked to the pancake cart and glanced at Sister Zhou.

Sister Zhou sat against the wall, an old rag draped over her knees, her hand on the top of the handlebars, her thumb repeatedly rubbing the rusty dent.

She touched it a few times, then stopped.

The person hadn't even fully returned, and the business had already been taken over.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't disturb her and turned to look at Han Shaobai.

"Turn to a blank page in the ledger and hold down the pen."

Han Shaobai immediately turned the page.

"You tell me, I'll write."

Tieguai Li followed him back to the well, his eyes scanning the crack in the ground.

"Do the piles need to be overturned?"

"Don't flip it."

Cheng Xiaojin squatted down, his livid fingers hovering above the brick seam, slowly tracing the force lines he heard.

"It's tilted by more than ten degrees. The mud underneath is stuck, and we can't push it back by water, air, or the fire in the pot."

Tieguai Li tucked the pliers back to his waist.

"Then what do we rely on?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked up and glanced at the Huguosi morning market.

Aunt Liu's bean juice bucket was still emitting sour white steam, Old Li's tofu pudding stall had its bowls rearranged, Aunt Zhang's sesame seed cake oven had been refilled with coal, and Aunt Wang's steamer basket was steaming again.

Finally, he looked at Tong Kexin's braised pot.

"It's been the result of decades of debts owed to this street."

Tieguai Li didn't ask any more questions.

Tong Kexin came over with the pot and poured the oil from the bottom of the pot into a small bowl.

The oil dripped to the bottom of the bowl, forming a thick yellow ring, with half a piece of meat jelly sinking in the center. The heat was not intense, but it suppressed the fishy smell.

Cheng Xiaojin took the bowl.

His bluish hands touched the rim of the bowl, unable to distinguish between hot and cold, only able to hear the fumes rising from the oil.

Bones, Sichuan peppercorns, pork skin jelly, the sour smell of fermented bean juice, the voices of early risers, the salty smell by the pot, and Tong Kexin's habit of smelling the soup noodles before adding ingredients each time.

A bowl of oil at the bottom of the bowl represents the decades-long history of the Huguosi morning market.

Cheng Xiaojin placed the bowl next to the brick seam at the wellhead and listened to the bottom of the pile.

The stake is biased to the west, and the mud on the west side is tightly bound, forming a hard, burnt crust resembling the bottom of a pot.

To get back on track, you need to loosen that hard lump.

It has been used hot, used with water, and used in both acidic and salty conditions.

That thing down there learns quickly; if you feed it the same thing again, it might not eat it.

Cheng Xiaojin picked up the bowl and poured the broth oil little by little into the widest crack between the bricks.

The oil seeped into the crack, and the black mist retreated downwards, stopping at a depth of two inches.

Han Shaobai stared at the account pages.

"Brother Cheng, you're just one breath short."

"The voice of a living person is missing."

Cheng Xiaojin stood up and faced the entire street.

"Aunt Liu."

Aunt Liu responded.

"How many years have you been selling soy milk here?"

"Twenty-three years. I learned from my mother for the first two years, but then her legs got bad, so I took over the stall."

"The line I used when I told you to open the pot."

Aunt Liu paused for a moment, wiped her apron, and opened her mouth, still in her usual drawn-out tone.

"The fermented mung bean juice is ready."

The black mist shrank down by a finger from the crack in the brick.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the tofu pudding stall.

"Old Li."

Old Li slammed the ladle against the rim of the bucket and caught it faster than anyone else.

"Sweet tofu pudding, braised tofu pudding, you can drink it sitting down or stand up and hold the bowl, I have them all."

The black mist shrank further, revealing dry bricks through the seams.

Tong Kexin understood and turned to call out to the neighbors.

"Everyone shout your old lines, no need to make up anything new. Anyone who shouts the wrong one shouldn't say they're a vendor from Huguosi Temple today; they'd be too ashamed!"

Old Zhao lifted the mailbox lid.

"Morning and evening papers are two cents each, old newspapers are one cent. Whatever you need, I'll find it for you."

Aunt Wang patted the steamer lid.

"The meat buns are hot, and the vegetarian buns are fresh out of the steamer."

Aunt Zhang picked up the sesame seed cake and tossed it aside.

"Pancakes filled with pickled vegetables and eggs—don't mind the smell of ash from the stove; that's what makes them delicious."

Old Sun, leaning on his cane, called out for candied hawthorns, his throat dry, but carrying the old energy of years of street walking.

The sounds of vendors hawking their wares filled the street, and the black mud outside the well began to be collected.

It tried to retreat into the brickwork, but was stuck outside by the street sound effects, squeezed into a circle of dry, hard mud.

But the pile hasn't been straightened yet.

Cheng Xiaojin squatted back down at the wellhead, listening to the bottom of the crack with his left hand.

The hard mud on the west side has loosened a bit.

Just one more bite.

He looked up at Sister Zhou.

Sister Zhou was still sitting against the wall, an old rag on her knees.

She heard the vendor's cries, slowly looked up, and her gaze returned from the empty space to her pancake cart.

The chime was cold, the charcoal hadn't been lit, and the small drawer next to the cart was still open.

The bowl with the burnt edges was placed in front of the car, bottom down, and placed upright.

Cheng Xiaojin walked over and squatted down beside her.

He didn't urge her, waiting for her to look away.

When Sister Zhou saw him, she noticed the bruises under his elbows and rubbed her fingers on the rag.

"How long will I be down there?"

"A little over one night."

Sister Zhou touched the chime, but withdrew her hand due to its coolness.

"I can't remember, I only remember it was black."

She paused, her throat still tasting of the watery smell she hadn't completely expelled.

"Someone in the dark told me that the stall should close up shop, the pancakes are sold out."

Tieguai Li placed his toolbox next to the pancake cart and squatted down to inspect the chassis.

"The bike isn't broken, but I'll oil the rust on the handlebars for you."

Sister Zhou glanced at his prosthetic leg.

"Your legs."

"It's an old problem, don't worry about it, it's embarrassing."

Tieguai Li used the wooden handle of a screwdriver to nudge the rusty edge of the handlebars, preventing the iron tip from hitting the vehicle.

Sister Zhou didn't say anything more, and folded the old rag a couple of times.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at her hand.

"Sister Zhou, how many years have you been setting up this stall?"

Sister Zhou thought for a while.

"Nineteen years, almost twenty."

She touched the handlebars, her voice hoarse.

"My mom's car was even worse; she had worked in it for over ten years before I took over."

"Shout out the opening call."

Sister Zhou looked at him without asking why.

She unfolded the old rag and wiped the chime.

After wiping, she raised her head, her voice not fully clear, but it was the first note of her morning routine.

"Pancakes, egg pancakes."

She took a breath.

"Tell me if you want sausage, cilantro, or spicy."

The sound, though not loud, was real as it fell on the street.

Cheng Xiaojin heard a noise coming from deep within the cracks in the brickwork.

The hard mud on the west side loosens from the inside out, and a dark crack appears in the thick mud.

Cheng Xiaojin got up and returned to the well.

"Iron pillar, the heaviest alloy steel pipe, lies horizontally along the well edge, three inches to the east, don't let it tilt."

Tieguai Li immediately rummaged through his toolbox.

"Lowering the center of gravity?"

"The stake is veering westward, so we need to give it some weight on the east side."

"How much does the steel pipe weigh?"

"Using steel pipes as a catalyst."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the entire street.

"The weight comes from this street."

Tieguai Li placed the heaviest alloy steel pipe horizontally along the edge of the well, held both ends with his hands, braced his prosthetic leg against the brick surface, and pressed his entire weight onto it.

"Three inches to the east?"

After listening for a moment, Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand and pointed to a spot on the edge of the well.

"Move in half an inch more."

Tieguai Li adjusted his position.

Tang Wanqing walked over, holding two silver needles in her hand, her gaze falling on Cheng Xiaojin's left wrist.

"Can we urge them one more time?"

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at the bruise below his elbow.

I have no feeling below the wrist bone, and only numbness two inches above the wrist, with a sensation of rolling iron filings within the numbness.

"Enough."

Tang Wanqing didn't ask any more questions and inserted two needles into the acupoints on his wrist.

The needle tip first turns white, then becomes hot.

She pressed two fingers against the end of the needle, keeping her voice short.

"hurry up."

Cheng Xiaojin squatted back at the wellhead, his left hand hovering above the brick seam, pushing the Xin metal energy towards the bottom of the pile.

This time, he looked for the stake itself.

The third Zhenhai Iron Pile has stood underground for six hundred years. Inside the iron cavity are rust, soil, water, the gravity of rock strata, and old fire from deeper within.

He listened intently, layer by layer.

The first layer is rust, the second layer is iron sheet eroded by damp water, the third layer has the echo of old copper pipes, and in the depths of the fourth layer, the original cavity of the Zhenhai Iron when it was cast is finally revealed.

Low, slow, heavy.

That was the third instance of his own voice.

Cheng Xiaojin aligned the Xin metal energy with this frequency and pushed it inward.

My elbow ached, and the bluish-black color traveled up half a finger's width along my forearm.

Tang Wanqing pressed down on the needle's end, which burned her fingertips until they turned red. She didn't let go, but her brows furrowed deeply.

The hard mud on the west side of the pile bottom has loosened.

That faint sound sent a chill down one's spine, like a dark crack appearing in the thick mud.

enough.

Cheng Xiaojin pressed the air inlet below the stress point at the bottom of the pile and flicked it against the dead knot in the rock stratum.

The ground shook open in a circle.

This tremor came from deep within, as if a bell that had been buried underground for many years had been awakened, its sound emanating from the iron, from the rock strata, and from every crack in the blue bricks.

All the street vendors stopped for a moment.

Old Zhao was the first to react and patted the mailbox lid.

"Old newspaper, one cent."

Aunt Liu followed, and the sound of the douzhi (fermented mung bean juice) boiling up started again.

They accepted all of Aunt Wang's steamed buns, Aunt Zhang's sesame seed cakes, and Old Li's tofu pudding.

This time, nobody felt like they were helping.

They were simply setting up stalls, doing business, just like the Huguosi Morning Market should be.

Cheng Xiaojin drew back the Xin metal energy.

The breath dissipated as it returned to my shoulder, and a metallic taste rose from my throat.

He tilted his head and swallowed, then listened to the bottom of the well again.

The western side of the pile base has loosened.

The third pile, relying on its own weight, turned eastward back, and its axis rotated a small angle within the rock strata.

Half a bite left.

Cheng Xiaojin looked up at Tong Kexin.

"pot."

Tong Kexin brought over the braised pot.

There were only a few ounces of old broth oil left at the bottom of the pot.

"Where to?"

"Wellhead."

Tong Kexin carried the pot to the well. The pot tilted down, and the little bit of old soup oil flowed into the cracks between the bricks.

The oil fell, but made no sound.

Two seconds later, Han Shaobai pushed the ledger forward.

"Brother Cheng, the black mark is gone."

The tiny black spots that were originally pinhole-sized have all disappeared, and the paper is now clean and white.

Han Shaobai turned to a new page, his pen hovering in mid-air.

"Write what?"

Cheng Xiaojin listened for half a minute to confirm that the sound of the pile bottom was stable before speaking.

"Write down the third Zhenhai Ironworks, and settle the accounts between Yincheng and Huguo Temple morning market."

Han Shaobai put pen to paper.

As the words were written on the paper, the paper turned yellow, revealing the color of an old account book.

The ground shaking stopped.

The fire was completely extinguished, the boiling pot was extinguished, and the soup and noodles were brought to a quiet rest.

Tieguai Li loosened the steel pipe, stretched his wrists, and glanced into the well.

"Is it correct?"

"It's correct."

Tieguai Li picked up the steel pipe.

"Okay, that's all for today. Ugh, I'm exhausted."

Tang Wanqing pulled out two silver needles.

The needle tip is bent, and the bend turns outward from the inside.

She put the needles back into the box, wrapped the bandage around Cheng Xiaojin's wrist again, and didn't ask if it hurt.

She knew he could no longer feel it.

Tong Kexin stood beside the empty pot.

The bottom of the pot was scraped clean, not even a drop of old broth oil remained.

She turned the pot upside down and placed it face down on the stove rack, standing there for a moment.

The cries of vendors at the Huguosi morning market are still audible.

Old Zhao's newspaper, Aunt Liu's soy milk, Aunt Wang's steamed buns, Old Li's tofu pudding, and Aunt Zhang's sesame seed cakes—nothing was missing.

Once the ground stabilized, the sound from above also deepened.

Sister Zhou stood up from the wall, folded the old rag, and put it back on the handlebars.

She walked behind the pancake cart, added charcoal to the stove, and struck the fire twice until the charcoal finally caught fire.

The hot air was directed to the bottom of the chime.

She took the bowl out of the truck bed.

The burnt edge of the old pancake was still in the bowl.

She glanced at it, put the bowl back in front of the car, and started mixing the batter.

Aunt Wang stood in front of the steamed bun stall, her eyes reddening, but her hands steadily pressed the lid of the steamer.

Cheng Xiaojin moved two steps to the side and stood next to Tieguai Li.

"Once someone buys the first ticket at Sister Zhou's stall, take that bowl back. Don't let it keep taking up space."

Tieguai Li nodded.

"clear."

Han Shaobai closed the ledger and tightened the pen cap.

The cracked red needle made no sound when it was poked into the bamboo tube, and the moldy green spot at the opening of the tube shrank back into the crack.

"Is the third case completely resolved?"

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at the pancake cart.

"Nine out of ten miles, eight out of ten."

Han Shaobai's face, which had just relaxed, tensed up again.

"Two points short? Holy crap, that's some serious account hijacking."

"Sister Zhou will make up for it herself."

Cheng Xiaojin watched the steam rising from above the chime.

"The moment she opened her stall, those two cents were gone."

Tang Wanqing walked to the side, opened the silver needle box, and picked out the curved needles one by one.

She ran her fingers along the bends of each needle, discerning the direction of the backlash.

She broke off the tip of the needle that was bent too sharply and wrapped it separately in a small paper bag.

When Tieguai Li saw this, he squatted down and asked.

"Do you have enough needles?"

"enough."

Tang Wanqing didn't even look up.

"I'll ask if it's not enough."

Tieguai Li kicked the toolbox to his feet and pulled out a handful of blackened screws.

That's the scrap iron residue from the soy milk bucket that was just poured in.

He threw the screw into the mud pile next to the brick seam.

"This batch is a waste. The soy milk buckets will still be soy milk buckets. Don't actually turn them into hardware stores."

Aunt Liu glanced at him from the side.

"You threw iron into my bucket, and I'm being quite polite by not charging you for the materials."

Tieguai Li spoke with righteous indignation.

"Find Cheng Xiaojin, he's in charge of the accounts."

Cheng Xiaojin did not answer.

He stood by the well, listening one last time.

The third stake is secure.

The iron pillar stood straight underground, its 600-year-old iron cavity still echoing with that deep sound, and the rock strata gripped the bottom of the pillar again, gripping it even more firmly than before.

On the other side of Yin City, the outline of the city gate was pressed back into darkness by the Zhenhai Iron, and it could not emerge from the area of ​​Huguo Temple.

The fire in the pot, the voices of people, the hawking, the cursing, the footprints, the old oil, the scorched edges, the old broth, all weighed down on the third pile.

This time, what's sealed in is not just the old rules from six hundred years ago.

There's also the weight that the people on this street have to carry on with their lives.

Cheng Xiaojin took two steps back and glanced at his bruised hands.

The iron-blue mark below his elbow stopped; he neither climbed any further nor retreated.

He put his hands in his pockets and turned to find Tong Kexin.

Tong Kexin is adding water to the pot.

She saw him approaching, and the water ladle didn't stop.

"alright?"

"alright."

Tong Kexin put down the water ladle and added a piece of coal to the stove.

The coal was put in, the fire dipped slightly, then reignited.

"All the broth from the pot got into it."

"I know."

"We'll calculate the cost of the braised dishes from today's morning market once they've been reheated."

"OK."

Tong Kexin glanced at his hands in his pockets, but didn't expose him; she just snorted.

"Don't pretend nothing's wrong. Go back and let Tang Wanqing stab you."

Cheng Xiaojin's lips twitched.

"Do I have to wait in line to get vaccinated?"

"You're the kind of person who needs a scalding treatment, no need to get it done."

Tong Kexin wiped her hands with a piece of paper and threw the crumpled paper into the ashes.

Cheng Xiaojin stood by the stall, watching her start cooking again, watching the street recover, watching Sister Zhou's pancakes heat up, watching Han Shaobai sit on the stool flipping through the account book, and watching Tieguai Li oil the handle of the pancake cart.

The Huguosi morning market is gradually returning to its original state.

The incident happened, it was suppressed, and it's over.

This street is still the same street.

Tang Wanqing walked to his side.

After a moment, Cheng Xiaojin spoke.

"When we get back to Master Ma's place, let the fortune teller look at the road map."

"Did you hear it somewhere else?"

"The third pile is stable, but the pressure underneath hasn't completely dissipated."

Cheng Xiaojin looked north.

The sky was already bright, and the clouds to the north hung low, giving off a heavy, earthy feel.

"They went to Deshengmen."

Tang Wanqing closed the silver needle box.

"Shall we leave now?"

"Wait for Sister Zhou to release the first one."

Tang Wanqing didn't urge her, and folded the medicine cloth again.

Sister Zhou's griddle is hot.

She poured the batter on top, spread it out, sealed the edges, cracked the egg on top, and sprinkled chopped green onions on top.

The first card is a solid one.

She looked at the pancake, paused for two seconds, and gently tapped the edge of the chime with the spatula.

When wrought iron strikes wrought iron, the sound is clear and solid.

The sound fell into the hawking of the morning market and was quickly drowned out by the voices of the people.

Cheng Xiaojin heard it.

Those two points went in.

The third Zhenhai Iron Pile is a sure thing.

He took his hand out of his pocket, his livid fingers twitching in the air.

There was no sensation in my fingertips; the metal energy circulated once and then returned to my palm.

"Let's go."

Tieguai Li carried the toolbox, Han Shaobai picked up the account book, and Tang Wanqing put away the medicine bag. The group headed towards Master Ma's courtyard.

As Cheng Xiaojin reached the street corner, he glanced back at the Huguosi Morning Market.

Sister Zhou's pancake cart was steaming, Aunt Liu's soy milk bucket was emitting white steam, and Tong Kexin's new pot was being heated again.

The white mist dissipated into the morning light and into the sounds of people.

He turned his head away and didn't look again.

The gate to Master Ma's courtyard was open.

Zhou Banxian stood in the center of the courtyard, holding a compass in his arms.

The compass needle is divided into three strands, which are rotating around the center of the compass.

He saw Cheng Xiaojin enter and immediately pushed the compass towards him.

"Has the third stake been dropped?"

"It's fallen."

"Did the stress go away?"

"Head north."

Zhou Banxian turned the compass over.

There is a charcoal line on the back of the compass, starting from Huguo Temple, passing through Jishuitan, passing through Deshengmen, and stopping at the old ditch outside Deshengmen.

A black dot was worn into the spot where the pen stopped.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at that spot, hovering his finger above it to listen.

Too far.

You can't hear the iron from afar and reach Deshengmen.

But he recognized that place.

On Cheng Shouyi's road map, there is a break in the old road in the north of the city, right there.

Tieguai Li placed his toolbox by the courtyard gate and glanced at everyone's faces.

"Judging by this, there's more to come."

Master Ma came out of the house, holding an enamel teacup, and stood on the porch.

"The sound path diagram has been re-marked."

He placed the teacup on the stone table.

A sound map was spread out on the stone table, with two new charcoal lines added to it.

Two lines extend from the break at Deshengmen, one to the east and the other to the west, with the western one extending to the old puddles outside Andingmen.

Master Ma tapped the broken end with his pipe.

"Last night, this mouth opened in both directions."

Cheng Xiaojin stood in front of the stone table.

His dark blue hand pressed against the edge of the drawing, without touching the charcoal wire, only listening through the paper.

He heard Cheng Shouyi's hand gestures from when he was drawing twenty years ago.

Light, steady, and very meticulous.

Those lines weren't drawn; they were lines he personally walked through, heard with his own ears, and gradually came to recognize.

The road I knew twenty years ago opened two new paths last night.

Cheng Xiaojin looked up.

"The roads in the north of the city have been scattered."

Master Ma tapped the cigarette ash on the edge of the teacup, and the ash fell next to the sound map.

"It's over, we have to manage both sides."

The courtyard fell silent for a moment.

Tieguai Li kicked the toolbox to the foot of the stone table and sat down.

"Then let's keep going. We can't really rest properly anyway."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the two carbon lines.

He suppressed the sounds of the tents at Huguo Temple, the footsteps of the stakes, and the sizzling of the iron when Sister Zhou made her first pancake.

After suppressing it, only one thing remained.

What's the next step?

He raised his hand, his dark blue fingers hovering above the coal wire to the east.

"Start from this end."

Master Ma pushed the enamel mug in front of him.

"Have a hot drink."

He looked at Cheng Xiaojin's hands.

"I can't tell if my hands are hot or cold, but I can still recognize my throat."

Cheng Xiaojin picked up his teacup and took a sip.

The heat passed through my throat and settled into my stomach.

I can't feel anything in my hands, but I can feel it in my throat.

He put the teacup down.

"Okay, let's start from this end."

As soon as Cheng Xiaojin finished speaking, the tea in the enamel mug swirled around, the tea leaves clinging to the side of the mug, and then sank to the bottom near the charcoal line at Deshengmen.

Master Ma glanced at the teacup.

"Don't go yet."

Tieguai Li had just picked up his toolbox when he put it back on the ground.

"Master Ma, if you had said that even a beat later, my back would have been aching for it."

Master Ma didn't answer; the tobacco pipe was located north of the sound road map.

"The well cover at Huguo Temple was nailed shut, so there was nowhere for the gas to escape. Once the breach at Deshengmen was opened, the old ditches in the north of the city were thrown into chaos first."

Cheng Xiaojin's fingers hovered above the charcoal wire, without touching the paper.

"How chaotic is it?"

Zhou Banxian placed the compass on the table.

The compass needle splits into three strands: the left one circles around Deshengmen, the right one around Andingmen, and the middle one sometimes plunges downwards and sometimes hits the edge of the compass. A layer of dust floats on the surface of the compass, and the dust is swept out by the needle's movement, leaving three fine grooves.

Zhou Banxian stared at the trading board, his nose covered in sweat.

"The rules for meals are stable, but the rules for roads should be relaxed. People should walk their own paths, and the roads beneath their feet should not be dictated by anyone."

Han Shaobai sat on the threshold, holding the account book, his pen cap still on, his hand already pressing down on the corner of the page.

"Can I really be taken to the underworld just because I'm walking around Panjiayuan?"

Tieguai Li glanced at him.

"If you don't bring money, even Yincheng will refuse to let you run up a tab."

Han Shaobai tucked the account book into his robes.

"I am now a legitimate entity; you can attack me, but don't attack my asset structure."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the sound route map, his fingertip pausing in mid-air.

"Familiar paths can change. You may be heading east, but then you find yourself in an underground ditch. When you look up, the road sign is still on the ground, but your footprints have already entered the City of the Dead."

Tang Wanqing stood beside him and wrapped the last loop of the medicated cloth around his wrist, tying the knot tightly.

"Your hand is not to be used today."

Cheng Xiaojin looked down at his hands.

His elbows were bluish-black, his skin dull and aged, but his fingers could still move. When he touched the edge of the teacup, he could only hear the boiling water inside, unable to tell if it was too hot to drink. "I want to give it a break too."

Tong Kexin came in from outside the courtyard gate, her apron still stained with braised soup.

She placed a paper package on the stone table.

"I left Huguo Temple under Aunt Liu's supervision. Sister Zhou made three pancakes. She ate two bites of the first one herself and gave the rest to Aunt Wang. The third one didn't leak anymore."

Tieguai Li reached for the paper package, but Tong Kexin slapped his hand away.

"For him."

She pushed the paper package in front of Cheng Xiaojin, "A sesame seed cake with an egg, less spicy. Sister Zhou said you owe her a meal today."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the paper package, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

"She just came out of the well, and she's already thinking about my breakfast?"

Tong Kexin looked at his hand.

"Eat."

Cheng Xiaojin tore open the paper package and took a bite. The edges of the sesame seed cake tasted of ash from the stove, and the egg was overcooked. Sister Zhou's cooking skills had returned.

As the salty taste entered his throat, he looked at the sound map again. The edges of the two charcoal lines in the north of the city were stained dark with old ash.

Master Ma sat down at the stone table and turned the teacup to his side.

"When Cheng Shouyi drew this map, he only marked the sound roads in the north of the city, not the dead ends."

Cheng Xiaojin swallowed the sesame seed cake.

"The fact that he didn't mark it means that the dead end hadn't been opened yet at that time."

Master Ma tapped the edge of the picture.

"Last night, the third impact pushed the city wall below back a bit. Shen Jiulou used this pressure to dig a secret trench. He wasn't waiting to rescue people."

Tang Wanqing looked at Master Ma, "Is he waiting for Xiao Jin to find the way?"

Master Ma nodded.

"He knows the Cheng family can hear directions. Your father could hear directions back then, and so can you. As long as you can hear, he will know which road leads to the Cheng family's voice."

The courtyard quieted down.

Tieguai Li pulled out the pliers and put them back in his waist.

"Open three roads and let Xiao Jin choose?"

Zhou Banxian pushed the compass forward.

"Three streams of energy, nine gullies. Only three streams are visible on the surface, but all nine hidden ditches beneath the old gully in the north city are open."

Han Shaobai looked at the account pages, his pen pausing.

"Nine hidden ditches, this account needs to be recorded separately."

Cheng Xiaojin folded the sesame seed cake paper and placed it on the corner of the table.

"First, note down three points of vulnerability: the broken section at Deshengmen, the old waterlogged area at Andingmen, and the empty wall of the Drum Tower."

Zhou Banxian looked up at him.

"You're going to split into three groups?"

Cheng Xiaojin pointed to the sound route map.

"Shen Jiulou divided the North City Road Regulations into three parts: Deshengmen followed the old ditch, Andingmen followed the water channel, and Gulou followed the empty wall. Whichever part became chaotic first, that's when the road signs appeared first."

Han Shaobai tightened his grip on the pen.

"The signpost?"

Master Ma bent down and took an old wooden box from under the table.

The box was sealed with a strip of kraft paper, the kind commonly used for cultural relic archives, with a red stamp on the side, half of which had been worn away by sweaty hands.

Tieguai Li narrowed his eyes.

"Mr. Ma, have all the official documents ended up under your desk?"

Master Ma pushed the wooden box to the center of the table.

"Someone slipped it through the crack in the door half an hour ago."

Tong Kexin walked to the courtyard gate and glanced at the door.

"I didn't see it when I came in."

"He came from the wall."

Master Ma raised his eyes.

"Tiezhu, that brick in the east corner."

Tieguai Li carried the steel pipe over and picked up a loose brick from the east wall. Behind the brick was half a black button, with two small characters engraved on the back: "Suppressing Object".

Tang Wanqing's expression changed.

"The Bureau of Treasures".