Hearts Aligned - Chapter 2.1

For several days, torrential rain had battered the roads, leaving the official route in a state of disarray. A merchant caravan, stuck for hours, finally managed to free their wagons from the thick mud after great effort. By the time they reached a nearby tea shed, they were all drenched and caked in mud, their appearance utterly wretched.

“Sir, this is a resting spot, not a storage depot for your goods…” protested the tea shed owner as he hurried forward to stop them from hauling oilcloth-wrapped bundles into the shelter.

“Here, take this.”

The middle-aged leader of the caravan pressed a heavy silver ingot into the owner’s hand, cutting off his words. “Keeper, the rain is too heavy for us to move on. Will this be enough for us to take refuge here until it eases?”

“More than enough!”

The owner’s face lit up as he pocketed the silver and quickly set about preparing hot tea for the group.

The tea shed, enclosed on three sides with tightly secured oilcloth, offered effective protection against the wind and rain. At a corner table sat three individuals who had already been there for some time. A nearby brazier had nearly dried their damp clothing. A boy of thirteen or fourteen leaned against the table, his chin resting on one hand as he watched the newcomers ferry goods into the shed. “They certainly give off the vibe of people with money to spare,” he remarked idly.
A young woman, her face concealed beneath a gauzy veiled hat, seemed to sense the boy’s unspoken thoughts. She spoke immediately, her tone measured but firm. “Young master, you mustn’t meddle with items that belong to the government.”

“Government property?”

The boy turned to her, his curiosity piqued.

The man in purple, who had been gently drying his cat’s fur, raised his eyes. After briefly glancing at the woman, he turned his attention to the boy. “She’s right, Jingzhe. Don’t cause trouble.”

“They don’t seem like government officials,” Jingzhe replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“No, they’re not officials,” the woman said in a quieter voice, “but they’re working on behalf of the government, which means they’re under its protection. Those goods are likely grain being transported to the northwestern border.”

“You’re surprisingly well-informed, Miss Hua,” Jingzhe said, his tone neutral.

Hua Ruodan stiffened at his words and said nothing.

“It’s not her knowing too much—it’s you knowing too little,” the man in purple interjected calmly, his voice steady despite the torrential rain pounding outside. He gently stroked the cat in his lap, continuing, “The northwest has been plagued by war in recent years, causing grain shortages. Transporting grain is a costly and time-consuming task. To address this, the court authorized salt licenses under the guise of grain delivery, encouraging salt merchants to take grain to the northwest voluntarily.”

They weren’t government officials—just salt merchants.

Jingzhe nodded, a spark of understanding lighting his expression. “Ah, Miss Hua, isn’t your father the Inspector of Salt Affairs? No wonder you’re so knowledgeable.”

At the mention of her father, Hua Ruodan’s face fell. Her eyes reddened with unshed tears, and she remained silent.

“I heard there’s a drought over in Lintai—not a single drop of rain. But here, it just won’t stop. This morning, the skies were clear as far as the eye could see, so we dared to set out. Who would’ve thought it would start pouring again halfway through?” A young man from the merchant caravan grumbled as he sat next to the middle-aged steward, futilely attempting to wipe the mud from his clothes.

“My real concern is if this rain continues,” the steward sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the endless curtain of rain outside.

“If the grain gets damp or we miss the delivery deadline, we’ll have no way to explain ourselves to the boss.”

The rain, desperately prayed for by the drought-stricken people of Lintai, had turned into an insurmountable obstacle for those sheltering in the tea shed. Xiliu and her two companions, who had left the inn late the previous night, had traveled directly here. With the rain growing heavier by the hour, they were left with no choice but to wait it out.

“Let’s go,” Jingzhe said, clearly restless and unwilling to listen to the merchants’ incessant complaints about the weather.

He grabbed his bamboo hat but paused when he noticed Hua Ruodan clutching her handkerchief, her expression hesitant. He frowned. “What now?”

Xiliu glanced down at Hua Ruodan’s embroidered shoes peeking out from beneath her skirt. The fabric was soaked through with mud, and the edges were beginning to fray. Without a word, Xiliu removed her own boots and handed them over. “Wear these.”

“What about you?” Hua Ruodan looked up, startled.

“There’s another pair in the carriage,” Xiliu replied simply.
She stood, her dark purple skirt swaying slightly, unable to fully hide her now-bare feet. Her pale face betrayed no emotion as she walked toward the stove.

The shopkeeper was busy feeding wood into the fire, but his attention wasn’t on the flames. Following his gaze, Xiliu saw that it was fixed on the table where the caravan steward sat.

“Miss?” The shopkeeper’s voice pulled her focus back. She turned to find him smiling at her, his tone light and friendly.

“Wrap some steamed buns for me,” Xiliu said, tossing a few pieces of broken silver onto the counter.

“Right away!” The shopkeeper quickly pocketed the money and moved to lift the bamboo steamer. A burst of steam rose, briefly scalding her face. Then, Xiliu noticed something—faint white powder clinging to the cuff of his sleeve.

Her eyes sharpened. Scanning the stove, she saw fine traces of the same powder scattered around. Even the tea boiler had visible residue clinging to it. Suddenly, the kettle reached a boil, releasing a sharp, piercing whistle.

Xiliu looked up, locking eyes with the shopkeeper.

The smile was gone from his face.

More steam rose from the bamboo steamer, but there weren’t any buns inside.

“Xiliu!” Jingzhe’s sudden shout shattered her thoughts. She turned abruptly to see Hua Ruodan collapsed over the table, unconscious. Jingzhe staggered, his legs buckling as he struggled to stay upright.

A wave of dizziness hit her like a tidal force. Instinctively, Xiliu’s hand tightened around the knife at her waist.