Another sigh escaped me, although I hid it well from Xiao Qi, this one of weary resignation. Running out of food on the road was not an option. Shanzhou it was.

  I didn't want Xiao Qi to learn the wrong lesson from our past encounter. And to do so I'd have to make sure the rest of this trip went smoothly.

  Following my new doctrine of caution, we pulled the cart into a small, hidden copse of trees on a hill overlooking the main road, giving me a clear vantage point. Shanzhou was substantial, surrounded by a proper wall of stone and packed earth at least twenty feet high, with watchtowers flying the Tang banner. Smoke rose from thousands of roofs, and I could see the busy docks of a river port on its far side. This was a prosperous place.

  My attention, however, became fixed on the crude checkpoint established about a hundred paces outside the southern gate. A dozen brutish-looking thugs in mismatched leather armor manned a simple wooden barrier, carrying themselves with the arrogant swagger of bullies who know they have backing. They were not soldiers.

  I watched them stop a small merchant caravan, shouting and shoving the master until he reluctantly handed over a pouch of coins. A few minutes later, a farmer with a cart of firewood argued and was dragged from his seat and beaten with cudgels while the thugs looted his cart. No one from the town gate came to intervene. It appeared the road tax was collected through violence. My own cart, with its healthy mule and a scholar dressed in fine silks, would be a prime target.

  A rich scholar is a target; a poor traveler is just a nuisance. I decided to become a nuisance.

  Back in the hidden copse, the transformation began. I stripped off the fine silk robes and pulled on the simple, coarse beige linen of a commoner, the humble duǎn hè I first awoke in. The rough fabric felt strange after weeks of silk. Hiding my expensive boots, I let the cool earth press against my bare feet. Next, I prepared my funds for the inevitable shakedown: a few copper coins in the pouch at my waist, a tiny piece of silver tucked in a sleeve, and a larger piece secured within the knot of my hair bun. The jiàn, a clear sign of status, I left hidden with my robes.

  “Stay here and work on a map of the area,” I instructed Xiao Qi, who watched the change with wide, questioning eyes. “Watch the cart. I'll be back before nightfall.”

  I left the woods and began the long walk, finding a nice walking stick along the way, consciously altering my posture, rounding my shoulders, and adopting the shuffling gait of a weary traveler. By the time I reached the gate I looked the part, road dust and all. As I approached, one of the thugs, a lanky man with a scarred face and stained teeth, stepped forward to block my path, lazily tapping a heavy cudgel against his palm.

  “You there,” he said, his voice flat. “The Magistrate has decreed a road tax. Ten copper coins.” He held out a grimy hand, his gaze filled with bored contempt.

  I adopted a subservient posture, bowing my head slightly. “Good sir,” I said, my voice humble. I opened my pouch, making sure he saw the meager collection of coins within, and counted out eight. “Could a generous man like yourself see fit to accept eight? By his magistrate's glory, it is all I can spare if I am to eat tonight.”

  While he considered my plea, flattered by the deference, my senses took his measure. His gear was cheap, his stance lazy, his movements sloppy. Most importantly, I felt nothing. There was no pressure in the air, no oppressive weight like the one that suffocated me in the forest. The memory of Steward Feng's terrifying aura made the difference profound. These were merely regular men.

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  "Fine! Eight it is," he grumbled, snatching the coins. "Now get on with you before I change my mind!"

  I shuffled past the barrier and into the bustling streets of Shanzhou. The air was a thick stew of roasting meat, raw sewage, and fragrant incense. My first goal was observation. As I walked, a disturbing picture formed. The town was prosperous, yet a nervous energy lay just beneath the surface. I saw no soldiers, no official town watchmen. The only law was more thugs like those at the gate, patrolling in small groups, shaking down vendors and shoving their way through the crowd with impunity.

  The question of what happened to the town's real guards felt rather urgent. I found a small, dingy noodle stall in a side alley, the perfect place for candid conversations. As the weary-looking old man running it served me, I leaned in. “Pardon an ignorant question, uncle,” I whispered. “I saw the magistrate's men at the gate. Very... diligent. But I haven't seen any of the town's regular soldiers.”

  The old man glanced around nervously. “Soldiers?” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Hah. There are none left to see.” He explained that Magistrate Wu had sent a glowing report to the capital, claiming the army garrison was being "wasted" in such a peaceful town. Most of the garrison was reassigned. The pay for the rest goes directly into his pockets. Now, no one was left to challenge the magistrate or his ‘tax collectors.'

  The rot was the only law in Shanzhou. This is how empires begin to die. Not in a single battle, but in a thousand small, outwardly prosperous towns like this. For the next hour, I moved through the town as a scout, keeping a running tally. My final estimate was between eighty and one hundred thugs in total, not quite an army, but more than enough to terrorize an unarmed populace.

  But my mission was to buy food and leave. The challenge wasn't just buying it; it was getting it out. The solution presented itself in the town's main food market: porters who used bamboo sticks to transport large loads on request. I hired one, an older man with a trustworthy face, concocting a story about being a steward for a merchant camped outside. With him in tow, I moved methodically from stall to stall, buying sacks of rice, strings of salt-dried fish, salt eggs, pickled vegetables, and bundles of hard flatbreads.

  With the porter's baskets full, we faced the most dangerous part: the exit. A man in rags couldn't walk out with a month's worth of provisions without raising questions. In a secluded alley, I made the porter an offer that made his eyes go wide. For one whole silver tael, I bought his sweat-stained tunic, his conical straw hat, his well-worn biǎndan, and his silence. I changed clothes a second time, hiding my commoner's outfit at the bottom of a basket. Shouldering the immense weight, I concentrated on mimicking the rolling, energy-saving gait of a seasoned laborer and headed for the west gate. Where I lacked in technique I made up with better nutrition growing up.

  The thugs there didn't know me. They saw just another exhausted porter. Before they could speak, I let the load down with a weary groan.

  "Brothers!" I said, forcing a rough, common accent. “Long day! My boss sends his greetings. He asked me to deliver these provisions to his woodcutters in the hills.” I pulled out a string of dried fish and a half-dozen fresh fragrant flatbreads. “He said to leave a little something with you lads, to thank you for keeping the roads safe.”

  They were taken aback, used to threats, not proactive bribery. One snatched the food with a grunt of approval. “Your boss is a smart man,” he said, tearing into a piece of bread. He asked what else was in the baskets.

  “Just rice and preserved vegetables for the workers,” I replied, patting my nearly-empty coin pouch. He was satisfied and waved me through.

  I shouldered the heavy pole and walked out of the west gate, my back aching but my plan was a success. An hour later, as dusk settled, I'd finally circled around and arrived at the hidden copse of trees. Xiao Qi saw me, his face flooded with relief. He proudly showed me his work: a remarkably detailed map of Shanzhou, sketched from his vantage point. His skill was growing. We were finally clear of Shanzhou, our cart now fully stocked for the journey ahead.

  Do you think the Protagonist has experienced failure in the story so far?